Wife Surrenders to Temptation

Wife sat staring out the planes windows onto the ice covered tundra of what she knew by now was Green Land. It was a trip that she had made often over the past five years – London to Los Angeles. This time was different. Not since her first trip to Hot Blk hubby's home in London had she travelled alone. Usually, the whole family travelled on holiday to visit family. At the very least, she always had brought her daughter. But this trip was business as well as pleasure. So she would take this first leg of the journey alone and join Hot Blk and their daughter in Orlando in a little over a week.

After the worst year of her life, things were looking up at least a little bit. One of the purposes of this trip was to meet a literary agent and potential publishers and producers. She had learned so much and stretched herself so far by writing for the Literotica Survivor contest last year. She had written over one-hundred stories and been read close to half a million times. Despite the occasional hate email, she had found her voice.

While only history would say for certain how successful she would be, she was confident that she spoke for a generation of women experimenting and stumbling through history to find their place in a brave new world of equality and inequity. She had through a lifetime of abandonment, rejection, pain and trauma faced a Rubicon of commonality: child of a single parent, re-marriage, a string of repeating those patterns with unsuccessful relationships of her own, the balancing act of career and motherhood and most recently perhaps the worst of all the unstoppable march of time itself. She was only slightly surprised by the warm reception that her first submissions had garnered from publishers and agents. She knew that hers was a timely voice that spoke as others just as Jane Austin and Kate Chopin once had of the unending struggles of women to find their place in the world.

While nothing was yet signed, she was hopeful of this trip. After all, the agency had insisted that they have a driver pick her up at LAX and take her to a hotel near their offices. They had said that it would allow her to focus on business rather than her usual holiday with family that would come later. They had filled her six day stop over with an array of meetings with publishers, producers and media. She was most excited about the photo shoot that she knew would result in the picture that would grace the back jacket of her soon to be released works. She was even scheduled for an interview on one of those morning talk shows that catered to women like her about her Cinderella story.

But it was something else that had her nervously wringing her hands and tempting fate with a glass of white wine. She had finally succumbed to the darkness. After two years of battling to remain faithful to Hot Blk, she was also planning to meet with a writing buddy of hers. A buddy, whom she knew, offered more temptation than her battered and scarred self-esteem could tolerate. Her last counselling session had even focused upon the almost inevitable: she was going to have an affair with Sean Renaud.

Assuming of course that he found her even slightly appealing. She had some concerns on that level, but not too many given her slimmer body and the dark black dye that covered the greys, along with the blessed genetics that had been the only good thing her bastard sperm donor had ever given her. The black hair was her latest rebellion and a tribute to Elizabethan romance heroine Skye O'Malley, the creation of Bertrice Small, one of her favourite writers. She had always felt a deep kinship for the character that had endured numerous tragedies by holding tightly to the unchangeable love of her children. Like Skye, she knew that for a woman of almost forty-five she appeared almost a decade younger; especially in the short dress that had replaced her usual torn sweat pants and t-shirts.

She might still have what the Brits called a muffin top; a layer of fat and skin from multiple pregnancies, which hung just over the front of her thong like the top of a muffin running over its paper wrapper. But the sports therapy that her GP had ordered to supplement her counselling and medication to combat the oppressive depression following the miscarriage had firmed and toned her mature figure. She was confident that she looked the best she had since her first trip to this magical wonderland almost a decade before.

She brought the glass of wine to her lips and sipped as she stared out the window of her comfortable business class seat, courtesy of her agency. She pondered how different and yet how remarkably alike those women were. The frightened but hopeful divorcee that was flying to meet her cyber lover for the first time and begin a new life in the city that she had always glamorised. And the older and wiser woman that once again sought her fortunes in its golden sunshine. Both were like butterflies emerging from cocoons after horrible times to spread their wings. Or perhaps more accurately like the mythical phoenix rising triumphantly from the ashes of its former self.

She hated the fire, but then again she imagined that everyone did. It seemed that even wealth and privilege could not completely insulate frail humanity from the gales of life. She had never had wealth or privilege so at times she jealously raged 'how could they complain.' It seemed that so many of her troubles could have been eliminated by a lottery win, which is what this trip seemed like.

Shaking her newly darkened and cut tresses at her morose thoughts, she decided to turn her energy instead towards more productive things: like imagining her new lover. She had spent the first eleven months of that silly contest carefully avoiding what she knew were the mind games of competition; after all she was only competing against herself. Then the top contenders had agreed to conspire to write a new chain story about their murders. For the first time, she had gotten curious about the other contestants. She had checked out more than just their scorecards for a change. She had read some of their stories and checked out their profiles as well. She liked Bakeboss' warped sense of humour and Boxlicker's self depreciation.

But it was Sean that had caught her attention. Ironically, it was because he reminded her so much of Hot Blk. He had ebony skin that covered firm muscles with just enough cushion for the pushin' as the saying goes. Of course, the smattering of tight curls that covered his defined chest was teasingly attractive as well. The fact that he had been a Marine was only icing on the cake. Her fetish for the Corps had deep roots in reading too many Harlequin romances by Maureen Child. She did not know if his cock was uncut as she preferred, but she hoped to find out soon. From reading his stories, she knew that he had a fantasy life that matched her own.

Oh, she loved Hot Blk, but this was about sex. Pure sex was what she was missing. She had realised that even when they did have sex, which was a great deal less often than she would have liked, it was making love. She was surprised to admit that she even liked it a great deal. Hot Blk might well be the only man that she had ever really made love with.

But her mature body needed what he could not provide, perhaps because of very love they shared. She needed fucking; hard and fast and mercilessly. It had been over five years since she had last enjoyed just a casual fuck. It was something at which she had once excelled; having even fucked ten hot young black men under the table at a gangbang.

That woman though had gotten lost in love, obligations and responsibilities. She had disguised herself with frumpy, practical sweat clothes and ponytails. She had rarely worn even lip gloss and mascara as she went through her day writing, cleaning, cooking and best of all mothering her daughter. On those rare occasions when she had ventured to dress up sexily, it was often to be greeted with a deep chuckle than a hard, black cock. It had taken a deep toll on her self-esteem and sexual confidence. Ironically, that was why she had begun to write erotica in the first place: to find that other woman she had once been.

She did not want to go back to that person. She just wanted to visit. A simple little affair would re-build her confidence and re-ignite her womanly passions. Then she could happily join Hot Blk and their daughter for a wonderful family holiday before returning to their stable life in London. She knew it was selfish and morally wrong. She had tried to fight the urge to cheat, but she knew that she was losing the battle. And if Sean was interested, she was definitely up for some kinky fun.