First Time Hotwife True Story: “Performing” Arts [FM]

**Disclaimer: This is a true story of events that just recently happened. Chronicling them to keep the memories fresh and sharing for fun. All names and identifying factors have been changed to protect my fuckbuddies*

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I sat in the coffee shop, trying to keep my mind on the work in front of me but completely failing as I imagined that moment, again. My back against the wall, his body pressed against mine, his lips, his scent, his hands at my waist. It had been only three days since our kiss but I could hardly think of anything else. My days went by in a haze of surreal remembrance and disbelief: had I really made out with another man? First against the wall and then those sweet little nothings as we danced. And then again outside the club when he had walked me to my car. It had been more intense, then. He had been more bold. Against the door to the car, our tongues together and his hands over my shirt grasping at my breasts and then sliding to my ass to grip and pull me against him. I wanted it. I wanted more.

DING.

My cell chirped out an incoming text.

Armando: “Hi”

We had texted the day after our kiss but the whole thing had been comfortingly normal. Just two friends chatting about the football game I was watching with my husband.

Me: “Hi to you too”

Armando: “Whatcha doin?”

And there was all the innocuous, inconsequential back and forth two friends might engage in, right up until he asked if he could stop by to see me at the coffee shop.

I didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

When I had spoken to my husband the night of the kiss, there’d been a whole two hours on the phone together communicating mutual assurances. We were both ok. More than that, we were both thrilled. Me for the sudden, unexpected excitement of the encounter and he for my obvious happiness. No plans were made, however, and we agreed this was in my hands to carefully and comfortably explore, as I wanted.

Which of course I did. 

Armando was on his way and I was starting to feel that wonderful drop of my stomach in excitement and anticipation. Cue the arrival of a coworker. No joke. I saw her. She saw me. And for the next ten minutes I worked my ass off trying to convince her to leave. She did and thankfully there was no sitcom-y awkwardness when he finally arrived.

Just him and his smile.

“You want to kiss me,” he said quietly after he caught me staring at his lips.

All those rush of feelings from that night were back. I heard myself attempt a coy, little,

“Maaaaaybe,” and then we were back. Our kiss. It was dangerous, of course, right there in the middle of the coffee shop where anybody could have seen. But my husband and I had agreed it was whatever I wanted. And I wanted his lips. And maybe his hands…

“Are you done?” He asked, seeming to sense my distraction. 

I looked at the work that wasn’t at all done and shut my laptop with a quick nod. Yes. Done with that. Ready for this.

We went to his truck.

I can’t recall everything. It felt like the dreamy nights of high school, turned into one another’s arms as we made out. I remember his beard, a feature I never thought I’d cared for since no man I’d been with had sported one. But with Armando, layed out on the seat of his truck in the parking lot of the coffee shop, I discovered I liked beards. I liked the softness of them against my neck as he traveled his lips. I liked the masculine feel of it. 

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” He finally asked in one of our few pauses.

I reiterated my desire to go slow but agreed.

The next thing I knew we were pulling into one of the large performing arts centers that brought in Broadway acts. I knew he worked at one and was curious why we’d come that evening. It was dark. Empty. No one but the occasional patrol of security which he didn’t seem to mind. Now, I’m not a naive girl, but I also had no clue what Armando had in store for this little surprise of his. He took my hand and we crossed to a side entrance that he opened with what must have been his work keys. The place was huge. He took me across the stage and described the many acts he had supported.

Past the seating and through another side door, he led me to the production crew area. There was a little office and inside a desk and a couch. It was almost pitch black so Armando had his cell light on and it was in that light I saw his cheeky, little smirk. That smirk that caught my breath as I realized my surprise was just about to begin.

We were on the couch. I was straddling him, desperately taking in his lips, again. But this time it was different from the other times. Because as we kissed, his fingers were tugging at the straps of my camisole and bra. Down my shoulders. I felt them slip past my elbows until my breasts were exposed. My nipples were hard in the chill and the heady thrill of what was happening. Another man sucking at my breasts. With my head tossed back, I arched into his lips, wanting it, wanting more. He laid me back on the couch and the passion of it had my head knocking back against the armrest which was more hilarious than sexy. My hair clip kept digging into my scalp until I finally dropped it to the floor.

After that, we broke to begin peeling off our layers of clothing.

My shirt and bra. His t-shirt. And then my pants and panties and in a few short seconds we were naked together. It’s hard to describe the feeling. I wasn’t thinking at all. No inhibitions. No worries. Just us in the moment and the reality that I wanted to fuck this man.

He laid me back against the couch and spread my legs. My pussy was wet with the need for him and Armando graciously obliged.

“You first,” he whispered. I didn’t quite hear him. I didn’t understand until his fingers began a mind-numbing and expert work of my clit. My husband and I had never quite known what to do. Even with the books and research and all the porn in the world, there was no creating what Armando made me feel. It was an intense pleasure. A build like I’d never known as his fingers rubbed and then inserted to beckon against my g-spot. Back and forth between the two until I was fighting the volume of my moans. And all the while, he multi-tasked by getting a condom open and slipped over his dick.

I could see it was not quite as long as my husband but definitely much thicker. And hard. So fucking hard for me.

He quit the foreplay and the moment had come. My first dick in over a decade that wasn’t my husband’s. It happened gently. We were down on the floor at this time. He spread my legs and then gently eased himself inside of me, watching to make sure he didn’t cause me any pain. What was I thinking in this pivotal moment?

So much for going slow.

And that was it. 

Right then and there, I became a vixen. I welcomed this new identity without a second thought. I wrapped my legs around his waist, squeezing to draw him deep and for the next forty-five minutes we fucked in that barely lit office space.

Unlike sex with my husband which was often frantic and fast out of necessity, this was wonderfully sensual and rhythmic. We took our time. We explored every inch of each other. And then when he had me on the ground he came. There wasn’t much fanfare and noise. It was all very natural. It felt right.

I let him know I had to go because I’d told my husband I was going to be at a class that night and was reaching the end of that time. We cleaned up. His exact words to me as we left were, “No evidence,” with that gorgeous smirk.

We snuck back out, dodging security until we were at his truck and heading to the coffee shop. It was then my eyes went wide.

I looked over at him sheepishly.

“Uuuuuuh so I may have forgot my hair clip back at the office.”

He offered to go back and get it and I declined. It wasn’t that important and there was a little excitement in knowing someone might find my clip and guess at what had happened.

On the way home, I called my husband.

“So you know how you said anything goes when it comes to my sexuality, now?” My husband chuckled. I grinned. “Well, I met Armando tonight and we kinda did it.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ad35hq/first_time_hotwife_true_story_performing_arts_fm