[FM] The first time [cheating]

I won’t pretend I was naive the first time I cheated. The build-up to it started months beforehand. A good friend had just moved back to my city, and after a few fits and starts we settled on weekly after-work drinks to catch up. We sampled a few happy hours, but ultimately we found our regular spot at a small neighborhood bar. It was between downtown and our neighborhoods, so an easy stop, but not so close to our homes that we felt compelled to invite our husbands. It was a perfect spot for a girls night.

In a smaller bar like that, stopping by on Wednesday evenings like clockwork, it didn’t take much to start feeling like a regular. The bartenders knew our likes and made recommendations; they got to know us well enough to make small talk if we were clearly bored but steer clear if we were in a conversation.

After a few months of going there, we became especially attached to the manager, John, who would usually stick around behind the bar on Wednesdays. He and I especially spent a lot of time chatting – I often got there early, and sometimes Ashley would need to take off before I was finished with my last drink. I got into the habit of lingering. It was a small, neighborhood bar, so it closed at a very innocuous hour, and I found myself there at last call most Wednesdays, enjoying a free drink and some conversation.

Like I said, I wasn’t naive about the whole process. I found myself getting off to fantasies about him – he was bigger, bearded with a full sleeve and a slightly-gruff demeanor that was so different from home. At some point I started slipping condoms into my purse (a few different sizes, just in case) for my weekly trip. After months of flirting, I was getting ready to make the leap. I started dropping some not so subtle hints, steering our alone-time conversations in a sexual direction. He responded in kind, until we were practically jumping over the bar at last call.

And then finally our chance came. My husband was out of town, and in a time zone several hours ahead – in other words, unlikely to notice if I came home late. Ashley peaced out at her usual time, leaving me there alone with John. We got to our usual flirting before I cut right to the point.

“I think we both know what we want to happen here,” I said.

He eyed me suspiciously, trying not to overcommit in case he was misreading the situation. “I don’t know. What exactly are you getting at?”

I leaned forward and tried to think of a way to be direct without sounding like some half-baked porn line. I don’t think I nailed it.

“Sex, John,” I gestured to my body. “With all of this. Me, I mean. Sex with me.”

He paused, then put down his towel and walked around the bar. I backed into a barstool as he approached, until I was half-seated and he was barely inches away. One big hand cupped my cheek, while the other rested on my now-trembling thigh. *Fuck* was all I could think, *I’m really going to do this*. His lips, then tongue hit mine. I felt a surge of nervous energy, making my hands reach out and touch him. He pressed me hard against the bar, the stool nearly tipping, his hand moving from my thigh to my hip, pulling me against him. I started grinding, denim on denim, against the obvious bulge in his pants, until I could feel me soaking through my panties and into my jeans. He moved down, kissing my neck, leaving me moaning against the bar.

As the sweat started to bead on my forehead, he stepped away and gestured toward the back. The bar had an eclectic mix of furniture, and he pointed to a thrift-store couch in the far corner. I walked over, silently, my legs trembling more than before, and sat on the edge of it. John checked the locks and took one last look in the kitchen to make sure we were alone, then followed me over. I fretted as he walked closer, *last chance, last fucking chance to not do something incredibly stupid*. The rational part of me was freaked, but the wet spot on my jeans was still growing.

John was about to sit down beside me when I put my hand up to stop him. My palm came to rest on the bulge in his jeans. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, then reached up to undo the button, then unzip his fly. My fingertips hooked under his elastic, and with a tug his underwear and jeans were down and I found myself wrapping my fingers around his cock. It was thicker than I was used to, even half-hard. I started stroking, feeling it grow in my hand, until it was hard and sitting inches from my lips. John’s tattooed arm reached out, and his hand cupped my cheek, making me look up at his face.

He nodded, and my lips were wrapped around his head. I stayed there for a few strokes, adjusting to the volume, tasting unfamiliar precum for the first time in nearly a decade. His hand moved to my shoulder, a gentle nudge to keep going. I moved further down his shaft, my hand stroking the rest. He moaned appreciatively as I got deeper, and as the sounds grew louder, slurping, gulping, gagging noises. I felt my chin getting wetter, my hair getting messier, my entire body getting moist with sweat. I pushed him back a little and moved from the edge of the couch to the floor, kneeling.

My free hand undid my own jeans and plunged downward. I worked my slit as I worked his cock, moaning and sweating, and soaking my shirt with my own spit. We moved at a frenzied pace, until finally I couldn’t take it any more. I shoved him back, stood up and turned around. He took the hint and grabbed at the top of my jeans, yanking them and my panties down to my ankles. I struggled to free one leg, leaving jeans, panties and socks on the other.

The sound of him fumbling with a wrapper made me get into position. I bent over the arm of the couch, ass pointed to him, wet and excited and completely terrified. The terror disappeared as soon as I felt him kneel down behind me and run his tongue along my slit. It was quick foreplay, but my knees buckled and I screamed at the top of my lungs.

He gave my ass a playful slap, then let his fingers wander into me. Two, then three, pushing in, opening me up. I moaned again, then whimpered, begging for more. With that he stood up and positioned himself behind me. I drew a deep breath, but it was forced out of me as he plunged in. It felt massive. I had toys as big, but the warmth and shape made him hit places they never could. I gripped the cushions and screamed as he moved in and out. The sweat soaked my shirt, and my legs began to weaken, until I was propping myself up on the couch’s arm with him fucking me from behind.

With my legs giving out we moved to the couch, me on my back, soaking the olive-green fabric as he thrust in again. I pulled my shirt off, and he reached out a big tattooed arm to free my breasts from my bra. I lost track of the time as he kept going – it must’ve been half an hour based on when I left, though. I came twice as he pounded me, shrieking into the dirty cushions each time.

When he finally was close his speed picked up, then he asked me where I wanted it. I was taken back by the question, but the whole experience had felt so filthy I wanted – no, needed – a memorable end. I gestured to my chest, and he obliged. Off came the condom, and out came big white ropes all over my chest and neck, a few even hitting my hair. He walked over to my end of the couch and placed his cock near my mouth, which I gratefully took to taste the last bit.

I lay there for a while on the damp fabric, playing with the cum that had covered my chest. I tasted some, then wiped up the remainder with a bar towel. I worked my jeans back onto two legs and put on my filthy shirt, the front covered in white marks from my spit. We said a silent goodbye, and he showed me out the front door to take my Wednesday night walk of shame.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/b8nq0m/fm_the_first_time_cheating