It takes all of sixty seconds.
I park my car next to yours in my driveway, and turn off the music. Silence reigns for a moment when I shut off the engine. Then a rush of sound and scent as I grab my briefcase, and open the car door. The summer sounds – a whirring maelstrom of cicadas, chirping birds and wind rushing through the branches of the oaks. The ticking sound from your SUV’s cooling engine lets me know you arrived only moments before me. As I pass your car, I glance inside at the contents. CDs, scrunchies. Sunglasses and a compact umbrella. I take in everything, feel the glancing familiarity that comes with knowing one has seen something before. It isn’t the clarity that comes with daily routine. I’ve only been in your car a few times – and whenever I’m in it, we’re usually busy fucking each other’s brains out.
I walk up the steps beside the garage, to the glass door of the breezeway, and enter the house. My house. The door is almost always unlocked. After living in such a remote location for a couple of years, I had eventually just said *fuck it* and stopped bothering. It’s quiet inside but I can feel that you’re near. The air smells faintly like your skin. The taboo of it, knowing that your scent is alien in this environment, knowing the risk that your being here entails, makes my heart begin to race. My cock is instantly hard.
It would take longer to describe all of my thoughts than it takes me to find you. In my head, minutes, hours maybe, of debate. A mental transcript of my own tattered conscience flashes before my mind’s eye, trying to get me to obey the inclination to tell you to get out before my wife gets home, to tell you to go home to your husband.
*Go. Go, before we are caught.*
I can almost taste the words in my mouth. Please. Before all is lost. Before I lose control. Before I give in to my desire, my need for your lips on mine, my need to taste your tongue and your sweat. My need to feel you writhing under me, moaning and cumming hard as I pound myself into your body.
I don’t say the words. I never do. If there is an angel on one of my shoulders, he must surely be getting tired of losing to the other guy. I walk down the hall and stop. You are waiting for me, in the quiet of my study, as I knew you would be. Your knuckles are white, gripping the edge of my desk. I picture your own inner fight drawn to a close, your own laughing devil offering a hand to its battered angelic adversary. No hard feelings, chum. It wasn’t even close to a fair fight. A sigh escapes your lips, we both know what is going to happen next.
I could have driven up, seen your car and thought better of coming inside. I could have texted you from outside and told you No, we aren’t doing this again. We have the rules, boundaries for a reason. I’m leaving, and I want you gone when I get back. I could have just driven away, resolutely refusing the temptation.
Instead, it took me sixty seconds to give up. sixty seconds to walk from my car to this spot a scant few feet from you. Sixty chances to turn back, and I said *fuck it* to each one.
A flurry of motion as we explode toward each other. Small moans of desperation well up from within us, escaping here and there into the otherwise quiet room. Silence for a moment as our mouths smash together, your tongue seeking mine. Hands moving fast, hurrying. We don’t know how much time we have, but it won’t be a lot. Your fingers are fighting at the clasp of my belt, while mine rush to unbutton your shirt, exposing inches of pale breast with each small success. Having negotiated the clasp, you pull my belt off with one hand, a snapping sound ringing out as it whips free of the belt loops of my pants. You growl impatiently and push against me, dropping to your knees. I unbutton my pants and unzip with one hand, and you help by pulling my underwear down, freeing my erect cock from its captivity. Your eyes are a marvel, sparkling, beautiful, and focused. Filled with lust. I miss them immediately as your eyelids close in tandem with your lips opening. You have sucked me before, but something about today – maybe it was all the extra flirtatious teasing we did, the perverted instant messages and dirty Snapchat pics – seems to have infused this act with a new intensity. Your groan is infectious as you settle yourself, eliciting a matching one from me as you take me all the way to the base, your freckled nose nestled in the black curls of my pubic hair and your tongue slipping out from between your lips, trying to lick and tongue my balls as you hold me in your throat. My balance must have shifted in some small way, and indeed I am thinking of fucking your mouth and throat with my cock, but you stop me, holding me still with your arms and hands around my thighs. You sway, shaking your head gently as if to say, *just a moment*. You still haven’t come up for air. I feel your throat constrict ever so slightly with a delicate swallow, and finally you slide my saliva-slick length from your lips. Your tiny gasp sends a shiver up my spine. We both pause, you introspectively considering the fact that you just deep throated me for the first time with nearly no effort, me watching you lick your lips and kiss the head of my dick as you stroke my shaft slowly. The diamond on your engagement ring flashes as it catches a ray of light coming through the study window. I reach down and bury my hands in your dark hair, gathering it between my fingers. You correctly guess my intentions and smile wickedly for a moment before allowing me to guide my cock back between those delicious lips.
“I’m going to fuck your greedy little mouth.” I had intended to speak softly. My voice is usually soft, accustomed to whispering dirty things in your ear in the office hallways. But the words come out roughly, my hoarseness surprising me. I am so fucking horny for you that I can’t even speak normally. Nevertheless, fuck your greedy mouth I do, until I see your eyelids flutter a little and feel you moaning into my pelvis. Strings of your spit are dangling from your lips and chin, and drops spatter onto the floor between your knees.
“You just had to come here, didn’t you? Needed me so badly you’d risk everything?” I do not pull my dick out of your mouth but your moan is a quiet but affirmative response. *Yes.*
“Do you know what will happen if she comes home and finds us like this?” Another soft *mm-hmm*, punctuated by the wet sounds of you slurping away at my cock. I can see that one of your hands is now between your legs, the soft fabric of your underwear stretched as you rub your clit with urgent, deliberate motions. A bubble of exasperation at our willingness to throw caution to the wind pops in my mind and I relinquish your hair and step back slightly, my cock sliding out of your mouth with a pop. I reach down and grab your shoulders, lifting you back to your feet.
“How fucking dare you?” Somehow I’m more in control of myself for the moment, or so I believe. You briefly let me entertain that fantasy, absurd as it is. But then your defiant and wicked smile is all it takes to turn the tables.
“What?” I ask.
“Shut up and fuck me.”
******
Sometimes I can’t believe that this began so innocently. We were office acquaintances, doing work things at a large company. A year later we were fast work friends gossiping about coworkers over coffee, bitching about managers and customers, and talking about the world and everything under the sun. We were so good, never speaking of our growing attraction. Until I was getting ready to transfer to another job in a different part of the company building, and in the stress of the transition I let it slip. I will never forget the way that blush spread across your face. It was wrong. So wrong. I was – I am – married. You were engaged. It was wrong in every way except for the taboo one, the feeling of craving what you knew you shouldn’t have. We knew we couldn’t ever do anything, but *holy shit* did we want to fuck each other. And the more we pushed against that boundary, the hotter it got.
On my last day in our shared office, when all the goodbyes had been said, I was finally leaving. It was over, I thought. We didn’t break the one rule. But then the steel elevator doors slid open and there you were, waiting. I stepped inside, and we began to descend. A moment of silence passed before you pressed the ‘stop’ button and then we were alone, cocooned in a box, insulated from the world. Between here and there, in a universe of a few square feet, I watched you approach, stepping oh so close to me.
I could feel the heat of your body. Your voice was so soft.
“Open.” Just one word.
I had only just begun to comply but in an instant you were already touching my lips, and your middle two fingers rested on my tongue. A split second, a heartbeat, and then I could taste what I’d only daydreamed about, and my eyes widened. Your sudden, wicked smile was tilted up to me in a way that would be for kissing if my lips hadn’t already been in use. Your gaze was dark and unfamiliar. My heart thudded in my chest. The urge to moan was nearly overwhelming but I resisted. What if someone heard?
You fucked my mouth slowly with your fingers. Your soft voice was in my ear again, telling me such wretchedly wonderful things, like how you could tell my mouth would feel so good put to proper use. Telling me what you’d been doing to yourself under your office desk, how you’d gotten so close but that you had wanted to wait for this. That you were sure it wouldn’t take much now to send you over the edge.
You asked me if I liked the way you taste, and if I wanted more. I nodded, and you nodded with me.
“Of course you do, don’t you,” you said.
Your fingers still between my lips, you took my hand in your other, and guided me under your skirt to find you bare and ready. My fingers plunged into your warmth, and the symmetry wasn’t lost on either of us. You rode my palm until your body was shuddering, with your eyes closed tight and your mouth open in a near-silent gasp. When you were steady again, you brought my hand back to the light, lifted it to my mouth and replaced your fingers with my own. My lips became slick and sweet with your juices. With flushed cheeks, you straightened your skirts, stepped back across this pocket universe, and pressed the button again. We resumed our descent to a new normal, to flimsy rules and unsteady boundaries, to carefully negotiated rules of engagement drawn up on the equivalent of tissue paper. I licked my fingertips clean as the chime sounded and the steel doors opened upon a world of lust.
We gave each other a brief and unassailably chaste embrace in the lobby and then I walked to my car, alone, heart pounding and mind blown. I could still taste you when I got home and hugged my wife.
Time passed, and this thing between us grew in power, sustaining me through late night solo masturbation and occasional daytime trysts in which we would get off together, watching each other and saying the dirtiest things we could dream up. We toyed with each other, including others in our fantasies but not in our secret reality. I told you how I wanted to watch you fuck them. How I wanted to see you pleasured beyond your capacity for rational thought. Our appetites broadened, and we would spend hours over instant message, discussing scenarios in which a never ending cast of partners fucked us senseless. We circled each other like binary stars, getting hotter and hotter, full of destructive forces. We had crossed many lines, but we didn’t fuck, and that was something.
And then you got married. And it only made me want you more.
********
*<Are you alone?>*
Your text message asked so much yet revealed nothing. It was a month after your wedding. I had attended, congratulated you both. I had also fantasized about fucking you right there in your wedding dress in front of everyone. The usual.
*<Come downstairs. I’m outside.>*
You were on my doorstep. At night, and while my wife was away on a business trip.
I had looked into your eyes so many times, seen shared frustrations, mirth, affection, and of course, lust. Now that you were there before me, you looked by turns unsure and committed. I stepped aside when I saw you shiver in the night air, and, if nothing else, the prospect of warmth seemed to be enough to help you finally decide to come in.
But when you stepped over the threshold, I relinquished the will to care about anything else. And now it was no longer a matter of mere warmth. The ever-present spark between us ignited into open flame.
With the first kiss, my world was on fire. Your hands were everywhere. Did you savor it, the way I reacted when your fingers toyed with my shirt, my skin, my neck, my hair? Your lips were a red hot brand, your voice searing me, your words quick as though you could only just bear to let them out. You told me what you wanted, and turned to ascend the stairs. For a moment I watched the shape of your ass as you climbed.
I followed, and paused with you at the second threshold, my bedroom door. Was this really going to happen? The universe was quiescent, permissive.
And there was …something. At first I hadn’t been able to tell. But this close to you, standing at the cusp of another choice, in the light of the waxing moon streaming through the windows, I could see a fading flush in your skin, see the sweat sheen on the curve of your neck. You leaned back into my arms, a purring sigh low in your throat. Your scent in my nostrils was both familiar and exotic. You could tell when I figured it out, and wiggled your ass against me like a kind of reward when my breath caught in realization.
You smelled of him. And you smelled of sex.
I was helpless. Your body moved, my heart pounded. No sound but the faint whisper of soft, sheer clothing slipping away, revealing you slowly until the universe is monochromatic, all inky shadow and moonlit pale skin. In that moment, we stood at the precipice again, and we jumped together.
You were needy, and your mouth on me was hungry, alternating between kisses, bites, and a dark stream of filth as you whispered your need again into my ear, into my neck. Your tongue tasted sweet. It imagined that it tasted like him, too. In the moonlight I could see that the marks his hands had left on your hips and ass had yet to fade. You wriggled at the way my lips traced the outlines of his fingers. Then my own fingers found the thick wetness between your legs. His cum.
Your confession of need became a demand, and I had no desire to resist. When we had been downstairs, your words had come haltingly, with hesitation. But in my bed you’d pushed me down onto my back and straddled my shoulders. You paused, gazing down at me. This might be my bed, but you were in complete control. Your expression was veiled once more in shadow but your intent was unmistakeable.
“… you know what I want, don’t you?” Your tone was the best kind of tease. Controlled, conversational, and completely at odds with the intensity of having me completely at your mercy. Your hips rocked back and forth above me, beckoning promisingly while holding back the final reward. *Not yet.* One hand behind you trailed down my body and almost casually rested upon the front of my boxers. My cock stood at attention, straining the fabric. With your other hand, you reached down and twined your fingers in my hair.
I tried to whisper yes. I didn’t recognize my own voice.
“You can tell what I’ve been doing.” Not a question. You watched me nod between your thighs while continuing to stroke me, feeling me twitch and pulse at each word. How did you come by such power? I was under your spell, drunk on you, laid bare, all of my most perverse thoughts yours to conjure.
“Say it.”
“You’ve been with him,” I murmured. *Not yet.*
“That’s right.” You nodded, grinning down at me. “I want to cum again, though. You don’t mind, do you?” You knew I didn’t mind without my needing to say it, which was good because I could barely form words in my head, much less speak. I was mesmerized by the view of you above me, your hair cascading down your shoulders and the heat of your bare pussy so tantalizing, so close to my lips. I felt you slide inside the waistband of my boxers, your fingers exploring, squeezing and stroking me. *Not-*
“Ready? I want you to eat my —“ your words were cut short with a gasp and a moaned *‘oh, fuck’* as I stretched to taste you, to feel you on my lips and tongue. You smelled and tasted like his sweat, and yours. A low sound, almost a growl, welled from within me. I could not get enough of you.
“You…” My punctuation was slow, sucking kisses on your thigh.
“Taste…” Your fingers twisted in my hair, hard.
“So…” My fingers gripped your hips, your ass, your lower back, marking your skin for the second time that night.
“…Good.” Your thighs trembled, and you settled upon me, shutting me up.
My world, my attention, the entirety of creation was you, your body, the way you moved, the weight of you, and the sound of blood rushing in my ears. My lips locked on you, sucking and nuzzling, teasing.
Senses blurred. Time slowed. At one point you lifted yourself up and repositioned so that you could taste me while I pleasured you. I felt cool air as you pulled me free from my boxers, then I felt your warm tongue on me, tracing me from base to tip, slowly, before you took as much of me between your lips as you could without choking. Mirroring me. Our rhythm was perfect, and years of half-joking promises were fulfilled.
Gone were thoughts of right and wrong, of morality, of conflict. Gone was daylight’s endless competition of attention, of purpose and priority.
There, that night, I was one thing only — yours. There was only the perfect symphony of desire and action, each of us using the other, giving and taking pleasure. I delighted in the way your body trembled when you came. The slick tanginess of his cum was commingled with yours, and the rising pitch of your cock-stifled cries sent me crashing over the edge. You swallowed every drop I gave you.
After, there were giddy smiles. But then the world returned to us, and practical concerns came clawing back. Had we opened Pandora’s box? Did we care? In the end, we pushed the questions away, staving them off for some possible future in which we decided we cared about consequence.
******
Today, in my study, you push your ass back against me, your nipples sliding over the top of the study’s wooden desk. Papers shift, falling haphazardly to the floor. You’re bent over, moaning continuously as I fuck you hard from behind. You arch your back, looking back at me and begging me not to stop, demanding that I never stop fucking you, laying claim to my cock. The air is thick and heady with the scents of our coupling, your hair is sweat dampened and clinging to your back.
“I want you to cum inside me.”
You’re panting, breath hitching with the impact of each thrust. In response I pump my cock into your sopping cunt even harder, making you grunt and writhe and the desk screech as it moves on the hardwood floor. Spanking and gripping your ass and hips has created a mosaic of pink handprints on your pale flesh, and I pull out and drop to my knees to bury my face in your ass. My moans are muffled as I lap up your juices and lavish your clit, lips, and tight little asshole with attention. Your sighs and entreaties are all the compliment I could wish for, perfect as a side dish to my feasting on you. I am touching myself as I kneel and worship you, stroking my cock at a steady pace while you plead for me to fuck you again. Not one to deny you for long, I stand and give my cock back to you and fuck you hard until a shuddering orgasm rushes through you. You reiterate your need.
“I said cum inside me. I want it. I want to take you with me when I leave.” Your tone, the naughtiness of your request, and the howling madness of lust inside me are too much. I grunt loudly as the onslaught of pleasure takes me. I bend over you, my illicit lover, feeling overwhelming exhilaration and the familiar pangs of guilt as my cock pulses and I release inside you. I stay there for a while, cock slowly softening inside you. Our breathing is in sync and beginning to slow.
“What now?” I ask the air.
“Now, we get dressed and I get out of here before your wife comes home,” you reply softly.
“And I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
END
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/c2wdqv/illicit_mf_infidelity