Surrounded

(This story is posted on the Literotica website. Do not repost anywhere else without the author's consent. For fans of my stories, they know what kinds of things to expect. This story deals with similar themes as the stories by wannabeboytoy, seducedHylas, and Dark Betrayal, namely cheating, betrayal, and heartbreak. If stuff like that isn't your cup of tea, then you probably shouldn't bother reading it. I do not condone any of these actions in real life. This is just a story. Enjoy.)

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(Kelly)

I never imagined that this would be my life.

Staring out over the ocean from the window seat of a huge 747 on an overnight flight back from Australia, the silence onboard was deafening. I was one of the few awake in the dim cabin, having found myself lost in my own thoughts, unable to rest. I sometimes had trouble falling asleep these days, unable to calm my mind enough to rest, and I had never been able to sleep well while traveling. So me being the only one awake was no great surprise. Next to me was my husband, Bob, completely out cold, a sleep mask over his eyes. He always slept easy.

Bob was a good man, and he'd always been a good husband, but I'd be lying if I said the spark between us was still there. I loved him, I loved the life he'd been able to provide me, and I loved the two children he'd given me. But in reflecting on our relationship, I certainly felt the absence of that certain special something you'd always hear about. That bond of something deeper than love. That deep, spiritual connection you were supposed to always have with your spouse. Maybe aging causes that spark to die slowly. Maybe it was never there period. I think the latter was the truth, honestly. I loved him, but I never pretended he was my soulmate or anything like that. I'm not sure I even believed in that kind of stuff. But that being said, as much as I cared for him, I was disappointed to never find that deep connection with Bob.

But like I said, he was a very good man. Certainly better than I deserved. I'd certainly heard horror stories from friends of mine about their husbands, and when compared to them, I had nothing to complain about. Bob was friendly and patient and affable. When we did fight, I knew the cause of the conflict was usually me. Sure, his looks had faded. His belt size had gone up, and his hairline had as well. But his good spirit was still there. My marriage to him had been smooth sailing for the most part. However, there was just that certain something missing, but that was more on me than him, I think. I'm sure he thought things were as good as always. Any complaints about our marriage would likely come from me. But it wasn't the woman I was now creating these feelings of dissatisfaction within. It was the woman I'd used to be speaking out, rising to the surface, screaming at me for my life choices. I tried not to dwell on stuff like this, especially after such a wonderful getaway. But in moments like this, with no distractions, these thoughts would always rise to the forefront. Always.

Sipping a stiff drink, I tried to find some peace in the sight of the smooth dark ocean below me, bathed in moonlight.

If you'd asked me when I was a teenager if this is where'd I'd be at the age of 48, I wouldn't have believed you. Thirty years prior... God, had it been that long? But, uh, anyways... When I left for college, leaving my boring hometown for greener pastures, leaving behind the boring, small-thinking people of the place I called home, I couldn't imagine ever slowing down. I never thought I'd go domestic and be a normal wife to a normal man, like all those women back home did. I always thought I was meant for something greater, something exciting. At that point, finally heading to college, I was away from my parents and unleashed on the world. Nothing was ever gonna hold me back.

And nothing did.

To be honest, I'd always been a party girl. Even in high school, I was pretty wild. Hey, I was young and hot and popular and desired, so I didn't hold back. I didn't see any reason not to hook up with a lot of guys, so I did. I didn't care about any social stigmas or labels. I didn't care what the old people at the church said. I didn't care that the other girls called me a slut. Boys liked me, and to teenage me, that's all that mattered.

That feeling certainly carried over to college.

Away from my parents, with easy access to copious booze and tons of horny guys, I admittedly went a little crazy. I was going to some truly insane parties, like... beyond the normal shit. Way beyond. I was getting laid all the time, with all sorts of guys, and I felt no shame. Frankly, I fucking loved it. I was hot and horny, and there were guys all around me, ready and eager to satisfy my every need. And with the rate I was going, I was getting VERY satisfied.

I had all sorts of crazy adventures in those days. I fucked the RA in my dorm within the first week of school, getting him wrapped around my finger, allowing me to get away with pretty much whatever I wanted in my dorm for the rest of the year. I banged both the starting quarterback of the football team and the star power forward on the basketball team within a couple weeks of each other. I had sex with two of my professors, one during office hours, and one in his car after we had run into each other downtown. I gave a blowjob to the student pastor of the on-campus church and made him toss away any vows he had just because I thought he looked cute that day. That was enough impetus for me to upend his life and everything he believed in and send him spiraling into a crisis of faith. A few months later, I saw him at a party having a three-way with two super skanky, large-breasted classmates of mine, and I couldn't describe the intense rush it was knowing that I had done that to him. That I had rocked his world so severely that one night with me filled him with such desire and lust that it changed who he was. That feeling was one I could barely describe.

But I wasn't done yet.

Let's see... I convinced the head student spokesman for abstinence to fuck me in the ass. I had a three-way with this Latino dreamboat on the soccer team and his smoking hot girlfriend, my first but not last sample of some lady-action. Like later, when I got into a teeny bit of trouble on campus, I convinced the head of student discipline, this older, silver-haired bitch, to drop the charges in exchange for helping arrange a threesome with her, a cute young married professor, and me. As I shared some of my adventures with her, I recognized a glint in her eye that let me know that she wasn't an obstacle but a peer, as different as we were. She seemed to enjoy hearing about my many misbehaviors, enough to share some of her own, and soon, we were gabbing like best girlfriends over drinks. It didn't take long for plans to be made, and it didn't take long for me to make those plans a reality. And yeah, that was definitely a unique experience, but it was ultimately very, very enjoyable.

And finally, after all that, I capped off my freshman year by getting gang-banged at an off-campus party by a bunch of guys I'd just met hours prior. I didn't go there planning to do something so crazy, but once I saw where things were going, I went for it. What the hell? I was up for some fun. And I had a lot of fun.

So, all-in-all, I'd had one hell of a good time during my first year of college, and I was even more excited for the next one.

I suppose these were moments I was supposed to look back upon shamefully years later as a more mature minded woman, but I honestly didn't. If anything, I looked upon these moments fondly. I loved those days. I'd never had more fun. I loved feeling so popular. So desired. So wanted. I experienced a raw, physical pleasure I had never known possible, and I couldn't get enough. Those were the best days of my life, me in my absolute prime, and part me missed that level of extreme excitement.

But, I quickly got way out of control. Even my younger self could admit that. As I moved beyond my freshman year and into the next one, I kept chasing my next thrill. As I did, I got into some rougher stuff with some pretty sketchy guys. On top of that, I started to get into some harder booze and drugs, and by the end of my sophomore year, I was flunking out. I was pretty much a mess by the time I dropped out, and being forced to return home to my disappointed parents so they could see what their daughter had become... that was a wake-up call, even for someone as shameless as me. If I kept going like that, it wouldn't end well for me. I had to accept that the party was over. I had to get my shit together. I had to finally listen to the advice people had been giving me for years, to settle down and live on the straight and narrow.

So... I did.

I cleaned up and got myself in line. It wasn't always easy. I certainly wasn't as willing and eager to clean up my act as I probably make it sound here. The lure of fun and excitement was a wicked siren's song I didn't want to resist. But my family had a stronger will than I, and they gave me a solid enough support system that allowed me to see my own issues and work to improve, to get my life together. I cooled it on the drinking, and swore off drugs altogether. I enrolled in a school nearby, a smaller school, where I was less likely to get into trouble. It took a little bit to tamp down my nature, though. I mean, I REALLY loved sex, and it was hard to not indulge myself at every opportunity. I had thoroughly enjoyed the popularity that comes with being such a little slut, so suppressing that side of me was tough. That was my true nature, so trying to live a healthier lifestyle was very difficult for me.

It was around this time I met Bob, or Bobby, as his friends called him when we first met. He was a good man back then, too. Kind and sweet, a far cry from the guys I used to be with, not as exciting or dangerous as them. But he was patient with me and didn't demand anything. He wasn't in it for my body or for any ulterior motives. He was the healthy choice, the mature choice. He liked me for the person I was, for some reason, I don't know why. But he certainly cared, and for the first time, I had a boyfriend I could take home to Mom and Dad.

He didn't ask about my past, although he suspected I had a history that I wasn't proud of. He accepted me in all my mistakes and all my weaknesses.

It was very easy to fall in love with him.

For as eager as I had always been for sex, with him, I was nervous. With those other guys, it was fun. Meaningless, but fun nonetheless. With him, this kinda thing felt real. Like something a little deeper. I hate to use the term lovemaking, as I find that term truly nauseating, but it was kinda close to that. When we finally did do it, it was perfectly adequate. Just fine. But it lacked that raw animal lust that I had so thoroughly enjoyed before. However, that was the kinda thing got me into trouble, so I had to learn to let to let that stuff go. I had to go forward and be a better person, and that required some small personal sacrifices. Less fucking. More lovemaking.

It wasn't much later that I got pregnant with Katie, which spurred a quick wedding. A few years later, we had Amanda, and from then on, I'd been living my life as a good upstanding housewife. The wife of a very important man. The role every young girl was supposed to want, but one I never really wanted. Bob came from good money, so I didn't really have to work, which was both good and bad. Good for obvious reasons. Bad because that kinda left me with not a lot to do. Obviously, I took care of the girls, and that absorbed most of my attention. But as they grew up and I was able to have more free time, I often found myself looking upon my younger years more fondly. Sure, it was dangerous and risky behavior, but it sure was fun. A lot more fun than domestic life. Being a mom who spent all day at home raising her kids. Part of me wished I was still that girl and could still have that kind of excitement. I always wondered where I'd be if I'd continued that lifestyle. I always thought I was meant for all these great things... I wondered how far I could have gone if I kept it going.

I'd been married for, gosh... 28 years now. It's crazy, I know. I'd behaved myself and kept things in check for that long. I'd been a good wife and mom. I'd done it. I'd gained a discipline I'd never had before. Despite everything, I did take a certain pride in that.

But I was finding that the more removed I was from my younger days, the more I longed for them. Sure, I was well-aware of the bad parts of it, but the good parts were THAT fucking good. People don't become addicts if the high isn't worth it, and for me, it always was. I can't say that married life ever fully agreed with me, as a lot of it was so far out of my true nature, but I did my best to adapt and make healthy choices. I was disciplined in that sense, I suppose. Once I became a mom and became responsible for other people beyond myself, I threw myself into it, into parenthood, even as I had very different experiences with my two daughters.

Katie... she was a troublemaker from the start. Even when she was young, I saw a lot of me in her. The younger me. The true me. She was a handful for a long time after she was born, and because of that is why me and Bob waited five years to have another. But Amanda... she was a dream child. She was the kind of daughter every parent would want. Well-behaved, kind and smart, she was a breeze to raise.

As they grew older and started to become the people they would end up being, it felt like they really were the two versions of myself. It became clear with Katie as she grew up that she was boy-crazy. And it certainly wasn't shocking to see that she quickly became a total slut, just like her dear old mom had, as if it was in the blood. She even looked like me, similar looks, similar long, silky brunette hair, similar bodies, similar, uh... cup sizes. She was the younger version of me, at least the woman I used to be. My dirty, wicked, slutty core that I had been suppressing for years had been passed down to Katie. Katie, my oldest daughter... my dark reflection. But Amanda... she was the me I aspired to be. She was the light. The good person. The nice, kind, sweet, trusting person. The pure person. The sunny, friendly blonde, so different from me, but a part of me. I wish I could be more like her. I wish I was as good and as sweet and kind as Amanda. I wish I could find the happiness and satisfaction with a normal life like she did. But I wasn't Amanda. Deep down, at my core, I was totally a Katie. Amanda didn't see that side of me in the slightest, but I always suspected that Katie knew. That she saw our similarity in the same way I had. That she could see the real me I was trying my best to hide. That's why she'd always been so disobedient with me, I suspected, as she somehow just knew that my 'mom' persona was bullshit. That maybe she felt that if I couldn't be honest about who I truly was, then my motherly guidance and wisdom meant nothing.

Was she right? Was I just putting up a front to deny my true nature? Was everything I presented myself as just total bullshit? I mean, I still had all those same desires, but I learned to control them. It hadn't always been easy. I mean, I wish I had a husband who was a more vigorous and satisfying lover, but in my situation, that was probably too much to ask for. I had pretty much struck gold already. Bob was handsome and kind and successful, although time had softened him up somewhat. Sure, he was maybe a 5/10 in bed, but he did more than well enough in other areas. Guys who were tens at every level were practically a myth, one that wasn't worth spending a lifetime searching for. So, my best bet was to tamp down my more wicked urges and accept my many blessings. This was something the younger me would have never done, so in that sense, I was the good, strong, mature woman I presented myself as.

Sure, I had to vent those wicked desires sometimes, often through vigorous masturbation, but I did my best not to get caught up in that stuff, knowing I could get carried away if I sated that hunger too often. But honestly, a toy or my fingers could never match up to a good, hard dick anyway. But it did enough to give me a nice pressure release when I needed it. Bob certainly couldn't make me cum anymore, so it was up to someone who could actually get the job done... myself. I calmed my nerves in other ways as well, through a fair amount of wine and other tasty alcoholic concoctions. While I had long given up drugs, I found a good balance with drinking. I knew my limits, and I had never gotten too carried away.

I did find some healthy release for my desires in other ways. I vented my frustrations into working out, keeping my body looking damn good. Despite my age, I was still fit and trim and fucking sexy. My ass was still firm and round and juicy, not quite as pert as a college student's, but not that far off. And my large FF-cup tits still maintained their springiness and perfect round shape. I'm not exaggerating, my tits looked damn good. They vaulted off my chest, massive and smooth, not surrendering to that dreaded sag, not in the damn slightest.

And on top of working out, I always made it a point to dress well. Striking a balance by dressing in nice clothes to flatter my impressive figure while still looking like a respectable mom. And underneath those clothes, I made it a point to always dress sexy, wearing thin, lacy bras and teeny-tiny thongs. Wearing thongs and g-strings had been a passion of mine in my younger days. Just wearing something so small and slutty turned me on like crazy, and I couldn't resist keeping that up even now. It was my small, silent rebellion against a life of domesticity. It was a rare day when there wasn't a tiny little thong threading between the cheeks of my hot, upturned ass. I always got a small thrill whenever I was around others with them not knowing what I was underneath. That was the most outward I could be with my innermost wearing desires, the costume of a slut hidden beneath my motherly façade. The young, shameless little slut I used to be would probably laugh at this small victory, but I took whatever win I could get these days.

Was this the life I thought I'd have when I was younger? Certainly not. I thought I'd be the wife of some super-rich, gorgeous, successful man, flying on first-class jets and living a life of luxury and endless pleasure. I now know that that stuff was just a fairytale, but part of me still thought I could have had that. Sure, Bob had money, and he was successful, but... none of it was on the level which I always imagined for my spouse. I just wanted... more, you know? Did being the wife of a merely successful man give me total satisfaction? No. Do I wish I had a man who knew how to fuck me in just the way I needed? Absolutely. That's probably why I still looked back fondly on those younger days, despite all my mistakes, and part of me wished I could have made it work. That I could have kept going like that without losing control. If I had... if I hadn't lost control, maybe I could be living the life I always wanted.

Clearly, there was something missing for me. Sure, I wasn't experiencing a life of total, complete satisfaction. But... I wasn't a young woman anymore. Those days had to stay behind me, didn't they? In general, I tried not to dwell too much on this stuff, but that didn't always stop them from rising inside me, especially in quiet moments like this.

But I put up a good front. I was the good wife for Bob. The good mother for Amanda and Katie. The good friend for all the neighborhood wives. None of them knew what I was deep down. No one suspected that the woman they thought they knew was a cheap, dirty whore in her younger years. None of them could have suspected the filthy desires bubbling inside me just beneath the surface. When my friends would admire a hot guy from afar, none of them could see the depths of filth flashing across my mind, stuff so shocking it would make their staid fantasies look tame in comparison.