The steam rising from both plates had slowed to a trickle. It rose languidly from the now soggy carnitas, slithered it’s way through the rough chopped romaine, scaled the snowy peaks of craggy feta, finally dissapearing behind the glow of a withered candle. “So much for date night,” I said to nobody, then stood, shaking my head. Would it even matter if she were here?
Canned lights shone down on spotless countertops. My OCD urged me to clear the table as well, but a low burning anger stayed my hand…leaving the untouched meal would be my own personal passive agressive dick slap when she rolled in at midnight. I opened my phone and sent off a quick text: -Thanks for the help Romina, – then headed off to shower.
The bathroom mirrors were just beginning to haze around the edges, when the reply came. I took my hand from the shower door and eyed my phone. Probably my wife, texting to say she’s going to be out late with the girls again, but my curiosity, aka phone anxiety took over, and I checked.
-Hope the recipe worked out well for you. Hope tonight goes even better. Romy-
I smiled at the response. I’d never met this woman, I just needed help with the recipe I’d found, and her number was listed in the church sponsored cookbook, no doubt this churchgoer was thinking herself risque. I decided to play along.
-Stood up. Tonight it’s just me, the shower, and I.-
Before my naked ass had time to turn, the phone was dancing across the fake marble countertop. A little ashamed, I checked the message.
-I hate when good meat goes to waste. You should go have a taste, or invite me over and I’ll finish for you.-
I stared at the phone until the mirror fogged over completely. Had she meant to write it that way? She had a hispanic name, maybe english wasn’t her first language. I couldn’t help myself.
-Can’t right now, getting into the shower. I should have tasted it. If you’re here when I get out, I’ll get to eating. I’ve always been a fan of hispanic.-
I winced at the cheesiness, but what was she going to do? Tattle on me? Get mad at me? Par for the course. I kept an eye on the phone the entire shower, watching to see if she messaged back. After 10 minutes I started to get worried. Just how close was this woman to my wife? For all I knew she was 80 years old, and was just being friendly. Plus she was obviously religious and married. Mrs. Rominita Ortiz.
Anxiety and worry took a dulled axe to my stiffened cock. It deflated and fell like a week old birthday balloon. My ass was in trouble if this got out. Good new was, that it couldn’t make things any colder between me and my wife. In fact, it might inject some emotion into the relationship.
The shower door flew open. I shivered as the air condiditoned air assaulted my quickly receding penis. The phone was still silent, no reply. “Idiot,” I said. What should I say? Should I apologize? Pretend I’m just a naieve house husband?
Steamy air billowed from the bathroom door into the ajoining master bedroom. My eyes were fixed to my phone, attempting to word a reply that illustrated my naievte when I sensed motion.
“Tiene hambre?” Came a feminine voice. I jerked to a stop. My phone fell from my fingers. My brain sent an all hands on deck, red alert, immediate reversal of the drawbridge that was my dick. I couldn’t find words, all I was able to do was move my lips like an out of bowl fish. “If you’re already full, I can…”she began.
“No,” I shouted, a bit too loud. “I mean, no. Stay, I think I can get things reheated.” Did I just refer to her as leftovers? God I’m good at this. Not trusting my rusty seduction skills, I let my body do the talking, I didn’t even need to worry about a sexy striptease, I was already naked.
She’s definetely not 80, I thought. I took in her body as I moved towards the bed. She was a dusty bronze, more light than dark. Her hair was midnight black and splayed out on my wifes side of the bed like a monochromatic peacock. I wondered if she knew that’s where Claire slept. She wasn’t fat, nor slim, but a perfect blend of the two. And her tits, they were so much bigger than my wifes, they barely fit into her…
“Is that Claire’s bra?” I said. So much for my vow of silence.
Romy just smiled and flicked the straps. My god, they barely covered her nipples.
“These are hers too,” she said, rolling to the side. My eyes widened at her round ass, my wifes granny panties wedged in her crack. “Hope you remember how to take them off. From what I hear, you haven’t done that in a while.” Something stirred inside me. Part anger, part outrage, but only small parts, the rest was pure lust.
I pushed her legs back to their original position, gripped her under the knees, lifted her smooth legs then pulled them apart. The fabric of Claire’s unflattering panties strained under the tension. I thought about saying something whitty, like, “dinner time,” or, “spreadem,” but fortunately decided against it. Instead I settled on violence.
I gripped Claire’s panties, and pulled. There was a satisfying rip that left Romy’s already glistening cunt exposed. I dove into her. Licking, sucking, kissing. She tasted excuisite. “Please,” she whispered, then ran her long nails through my hair, pulling my head this way and that, guiding me to the exact spot she needed.
Hips bucking, she let out a gasp, and pulled my head up, then flexed and met my lips. We sank into my marital bed together, her thighs strattling my leg. She began to grind up and down, smearing herself all over me. The torque in Claires bra sent it shooting off the bed when I unclasped it, and gravity delivered a pair of the prettiest tits I’d ever seen, right to my mouth.
I rolled off her, suckling her nipple from the side so she could get a grip on my cock. She spit on her hand and started rubbing. It wasn’t long before she stopped and sat up. For a second I thought I’d done something wrong, but she was just transfixed with my dick.
“I’ve never had white meat before,” she said, then proceeded to inhale me. Claire’s BJ’s are:
A) Non existent
B) Divided by 0
and C) All of the above.
Romy worked my cock like a pro. She took me all the way to my balls. Spit dribbled down my sack, soaking into the sheets, my head rolled around her tongue like an industrial rock tumbler. I knew I wouldn’t last long under the onslaught, so I pulled her up.
It was her turn to look confused as I rolled over and stood. The look turned into pure delight when I took my wife’s ring from the nightstand and slipped it on her finger. Pushing her legs apart, I sunk my married cock into her superior pussy. I told her to rub her clit with her ring finger to which she eagly complied.
The sounds she made is what would stay with me the longest. She moaned and writhed under my cock assault, her fingers danced over her clit, her wetness covering Claire’s ring. I groaned, tensed, and was just about to fill her with cum when she grabbed my shaft, pulled me out , and made me cum all over the ring. Apparently this sent her over the edge. She curled in on herself, and began to tremble.
I laid my head on her chest for another few minutes, then she got up to leave, as neither of us knew how much longer we had left. It was the first of several new reciped I tried that summer.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/nmnfa3/good_fare_affair_mf_cheating