It was fifteen minutes after noon, and I stood in the stairwell of the hotel where I was staying for the technology convention that my employer had sent me to for the weekend. I was naked, with my clothes lying messily on the stairwell landing to the side of me, and I leaned forward with my hands on the stairway rail as my boyfriend fucked me hard from behind, his thick cock thrusting in and out of my wet pussy in furious strokes.
I was taking an outrageous risk. Somebody might catch us, and it would have been difficult–no, impossible–to explain.
My phone, which lay face up in the pile of my clothes on the floor, buzzed. It was a text from my husband.
“I have to get this,” I said to my boyfriend, Dave, who grunted his approval but didn’t stop fucking me.
I leaned over and picked up the phone to see the text.
“How’s it going?”
I managed to type out a reply, awkwardly, while my body rocked back and forth from Dave’s cock thrusts.
“I’m being fucked in a stairway right now.”
“The boyfriend?”
“Yes!” I texted back.
“You’re a very bad wife. You should be punished. I’m going to have to fuck you hard when you get home.”
“You better!” I replied. “But I’m probably going to be sore.”
“That’s what you get for being a bad wife. Bye for now.”
He ended the text with an emoji of a yellow face sticking its tongue out at me.
I orgasmed right after that. Dave orgasmed too, moments later, his cum jetting into me and then leaking down my leg. We both panted as we came down from the sex and slowly got dressed afterward.
How in the world did I get here?
It’s a good question and an interesting story.
I wasn’t always a bad wife. Just a few years ago I could not have imagined being in this situation. I was Kristen Johnson, an executive at a famous technology company (I won’t say which one), a soccer mom who volunteered sometimes to help in her kids’ classrooms, and a loving and faithful wife (to my loving and faithful husband Rick).
One day, my husband started taking sexy pictures of me to spice things up in the marriage. Nothing too outrageous at first. He put them on some MILF chat forums on the Internet, and to our surprise, they were very popular. So, we kept posting, and the pics kept getting spicier.
Now, just two years later, I was Mrs. Pillsbury, my new online persona, a naked Internet sensation with a website that made tens of thousands of dollars every month from my salacious online activities. My pussy was on display to the world. I fucked men who were not my husband and I told everyone online about it.
I was shameless.
I was making money–more than I could have ever imagined from doing something like this.
I was having a great time. I’d even enlisted some of my friends–moms like me who were a little bored with the status quo and yearning to do something adventurous–to get naked with me online.
The funny thing? My marriage was better than ever. I loved being a hot wife. I think Rick liked it every bit as much as I did, maybe more. We were in our 40s, and our sex was more intense and pleasurable than ever.
Did I think about the implications of my lifestyle for my marriage? Of course, I did. But somehow, it worked out. My sexuality was like a boomerang, cavorting and spinning through the air, seemingly wild and likely to bump into something unexpected. But somehow it always returned to its point of origin. Rick, of course, often gave me that “What the hell have you been up to, Kristen?” look, eyes wide and arms crossed, when I returned from one of my adventures. But it was all part of the play-act. He knew I’d always come back. The sexy play was part of the super glue that held us together.
The Internet hot-wife lifestyle wasn’t without its complications. I didn’t want all my co-workers and neighbors to know. There was some unpleasant drama here and there when some people found out. But you know what was the weirdest and most unexpected thing? It was all the moms who approached me and confided to me in private about how they wanted to do the same thing, and about all the weird covert sexy shit that was going on in their lives. I became their confessor. Some of them set up websites just like I had. We even did videos together. I felt like the leader of a movement.
It was a good thing, all things considered, despite the constant delicate maneuvering that was needed to navigate the often-conflicting obligations of my demanding tech executive job, my mom duties, my wife duties, and the naughty but irresistible (and profitable) demands of my Mrs. Pillsbury online persona.
Things got especially tricky at a convention like the one I was at that day. I was obliged to be on my most professional and discreet behavior. At the same time, I felt hot and horny. I was like a jungle cat constantly on the prowl. Don’t get me wrong: I took my job very seriously, and I was very good at it. But my pussy tingled constantly with sexual need. Kristen Johnson had a job to do. But Mrs. Pillsbury would not be denied.
* * * *
Five minutes after my stairwell tryst, I was back in my hotel room. I had another hour before the afternoon session began. One of the scheduled presentations was to be performed by Dylan, a computer programmer at the company we worked at and a recent college graduate. He could not have been over 24 and he was kind of cute in an awkward, nerdy way, with a thick mop of hair, a shy grin, and an innocent, guileless face. I was his supervisor on a couple of projects. I sometimes referred to him (but not to his face) as one of my “cubs.”
Naturally, I wanted him to bone me.
The subject first came up over lunch with one of my friends, Clarabelle, whom I had convinced a while earlier to have her own sexy Web page. I could be honest with her. I was talking about work and mentioned Dylan, and that I thought he was cute.
“Sounds like you want him to slip his kielbasa between your loaves,” she said to me. Clarabelle was a chef, and she was always using silly food metaphors. I rolled my eyes, but I think I gave her a guilty look, too. She always knew how to read me. I knew I was busted.
“I kinda do,” I said.
I thought about that conversation while I paced back and forth, naked, in my hotel room. I had to take off the dress I’d worn into the stairwell because it had a splotchy cum stain on it. Dylan was scheduled to stop by my room any minute so we could go over a few aspects of his presentation. I knew he was nervous. I wanted to help him get ready.
But more than that… I admit it… I wanted him. I wanted to seduce my young cub. He seemed so innocent, so in need of seducing. I was just the one to do it!
But I couldn’t just open the door naked, so I pulled a light silk kimono from my suitcase and cinched it to my body, after drying off from the shower I’d just taken. It was sexy, but not totally over-the-line sexy. The hemline hit just above my knee. Obviously, I was braless. I saw my nipples poking forward from the fabric in the full-length mirror in my room. I am blessed–or cursed, depending on your point of view–with long pointy nipples that are often hard, and with thoughts of my cub coming by soon, they were undeniably firm at that moment, and rather conspicuous. But I thought I could pass it off as OK to wear the robe in his presence because I was just out of the shower and in the process of getting ready for the afternoon session of the convention.
I thought I could sell it. I was a business executive. It was my job to sell things. But not usually myself.
I heard a knock at the door.
I opened it, and it was Dylan, carrying a laptop, and looking at me with that shy and cute look that just made me want to jump him.
I didn’t, though. Not yet. We had work to do.
I affected a casual, business-like air, as though there was nothing sexy or unusual about my wearing just a thin silk robe over my otherwise nude body in front of my co-worker.
“Let’s see your presentation,” I said.
We sat on the edge of the bed, and he opened his laptop. I tried to pretend I was interested, but all I could think about was that his hip was pressed against mine, and I liked knowing how close my bare skin was to him. I wondered if he thought about it, too. Dylan had a shy and nervous nature, so I couldn’t tell whether the occasional hesitation and nervousness in his voice were the result of his anticipation of the presentation or of his awareness of being next to me.
I flirted. I tried to be subtle about it, and I thought maybe since he was a goofy and inexperienced young man, he wouldn’t be aware of what I was doing, but as we talked about his presentation, I sometimes touched his hand or his thigh on the bed. I even shifted and touched a bare knee to his leg. The silk kimono, parted, just an inch or two, revealing a bit more of my bare leg, and I wondered if he realized how close my pussy was to being exposed to his eye. I wondered if he wanted to see it. I wondered how he would react if he saw it.
But he didn’t say or do anything obvious in response. He seemed to keep his concentration on his project. I was disappointed, to tell the truth. I wanted my cub to want me. I wanted to see signs of his desire.
I put a comforting hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. Our faces were so close!
“I think you’ve got a great presentation, Dylan. You’ll do great. You’re doing a great job at the company. If you ever need anything–anything at all–you can come to me.”
I thought for sure I’d get a reaction from him with that line–something, anything. But no. He remained impassive.
Swing and a miss. But I swung again.
I gestured toward my outfit with my hands.
“I’m sorry about not getting dressed and ready to talk about your presentation. I hope you don’t think it’s inappropriate of me.”
“No… no… not at all,” he said. Was that a trace of a stammer in his voice?
“It’s important for people at work to dress appropriately,” I said. “And not to send the wrong message. But I’m so much older than you. You must think of me as an old lady so I figured you wouldn’t think anything about it.”
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head insistently. “I don’t think of you as old at all. You’re very….”
I arched my eyebrows at him, waiting for a reply.
“Youthful,” he said at last.
It was something. Maybe I’d gotten a nibble. But it was obvious Dylan wasn’t quite ready to be reeled in.
I jumped off the bed, aware of the way my silky robe flounced around my figure before his eyes as I did.
“Better get back to your room to finish your presentation,” I said. “I must get dressed. I can’t wear this to the presentation, after all.”
“Ah, no,” he said, in an adorable way. “I guess not.”
He left and I closed the door behind him and vowed to myself:
“You’re mine, cub.”
I was so horny I could barely stand it.
I thought about it. I was a planner. I’d get another chance at Dylan later that night, after his presentation and after dinner. Maybe if I got him a bit tipsy….
Room service. That was the ticket. I called the front desk.
“Room service.”
“Hi, this is room 325. Could I have a bottle of champagne brought up to my room? And two champagne flutes to go with it?”
I didn’t want to celebrate Dylan’s presentation by drinking from the plastic cups sitting on top of the little refrigerator.
“Right away, ma’am.”
Ma’am. Sigh. I may have felt like a lusty young strumpet, but the march of time could not be denied, and others wouldn’t let me forget it.
Time and age notwithstanding, I still felt horny. The room service server would be coming soon. I had an idea.
I loosened the sash on my kimono.
I picked my phone off the little desk in the room, and I set it up in an out-of-the-way spot with the camera lens focused on the area inside the room door. I hit “on.” I fished a backup phone out of my purse and put it on a little table near the door.
I was always looking for a way to have fun, and to contribute something fun and spicy to my website. I may have been a bad wife, but I was a smart and enterprising one.
A knock sounded at the door. I opened it, and a man who looked 30-ish and no taller than I held a metal bucket with a bottle of champagne in it. I beckoned him to come in.
“Can you put it over there?” I asked, pointing to the table. He did.
“Thank you so much!”
I walked away from the door, toward the camera, near which I had put my purse. I bent over at the waist–way over, knowing that the back of my robe would ride up and expose a lot of my bare thighs. I wondered if he was ogling me. I would find out later when I watched the video I was recording. After fishing out some money and before turning back to him I quickly loosened the sash of my robe a little. It was loose enough that it would barely hold the robe together, if it all. That’s how I wanted it.
I approached the man and noticed his eyes were on my chest and quickly scanning downward. I glanced down and sure enough, my robe was coming apart. An expanse of cleavage showed, but my nipples weren’t quite in view. I could feel the robe loosening and exposing my body, but I pretended not to notice and walked toward him with some cash in my hand for a tip. By the time I reached him, I knew that the sashes had fallen completely away and hung to the side of me.
I held out the money and he took it, but his eyes were cast downward the whole time and his mouth was open.
I looked down and feigned surprise.
“My goodness, I’m naked!” I said loudly, for the benefit of the video camera. My husband was going to love my naughtiness when I showed it to him later.
I didn’t move, pretending I was paralyzed, but I looked up into the face of the room service man and sure enough, his eyes roved over my exposed body. I let them rove for more than a few seconds before saying anything.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind. I get a little careless with the way I’m dressed sometimes.”
“It’s no problem,” he said, his voice a strangled whisper. I admit it gave me pleasure to see the intensity of his gaze on my body.
I don’t know what made me say it, but I did, when he finished scanning my body and looked me in the eyes:
“You can touch them if you want to.”
My hands held the kimono open, and my chest arched forward, pushing my tits toward his face.
We locked eyes for a few seconds, or maybe longer than that–I don’t know–but eventually, his eyes dropped from my face to my nipples, and he reached a hand forward, tentatively, as though trying to decide which breast to touch and not knowing if he would have a second chance if he guessed wrong.
Finally, an extended, nervous forefinger touched the tip of my nipple. I shuddered. My nipples were hard as pebbles, and their dark pinky-brown hue contrasted with the lighter color of his fingertip. At first, he touched me tentatively and nervously, as though my nipple were a piece of china that might break. But when it became clear it wouldn’t, he played with it more vigorously, pushing it back into my breast, tipping it from side to side, and twirling around it. My arousal was off the charts.
I pulled the kimono back farther with my hands.
“Do you want to squeeze them?” I asked him.
He extended both hands, each one cupping a different breast. He squeezed and fondled both. I liked the naughty feeling that my body was being used for the pleasure of a man I’d never met before. He didn’t say anything. He seemed to be struck dumb with amazement at what I’d let him do to me.
I was so bad. I felt it, my badness, down through my body, to my toes. I reveled in it – the indescribable deliciousness of the way I offered myself to him. I wanted to do more. I wanted the badness to keep going and going and going.
I took one of his hands, which was busy kneading and mashing a breast, into mine. I pulled the hand away and then laid it against my tummy. I looked down.
“Down there,” I said. “You can touch that too.”
His hand slid down my torso, over my belly button–down, down, down it went. And then I felt it: a finger touching and tickling my clit, stopping at the nub, pushing and pressing it as it had against my nipple, although now the effect was ten times as powerful, electric in its intensity. I pushed my hips forward to encourage him. There was no limit, seemingly, to my badness. It was a Jekyll and Hyde moment, and Hyde had taken over.
That finger! It mashed and encircled my clit, and then it dipped down, until it found the furrow of my pussy, and it plunged into it. I knew the room service guy didn’t know how much longer his luck would hold out, and he was going to take advantage of every opportunity I gave him to invade my body. His tentativeness evaporated, replaced by aggressive urgency, and I felt the delicious, vigorous pumping of his thick finger into my pussy. And it was so, so wet! A gusher. I was so horny. He pumped his finger into me, and we said nothing as we both listened to the thick squelching sounds leave my body and fill the room.
It didn’t take long. In no more than two minutes, my body spasmed with his finger inside me, the orgasm spreading through me in irregular waves. My knees almost buckled. I grabbed his wrist.
“Ah,” I said. “I can’t take more.”
He withdrew his finger from inside me–reluctantly, I think, because the look in his eyes made me think he wanted a lot more. I fell back against the wall, my legs shaking.
Somehow, I stumbled over to where the money was. I grabbed enough for the tip and stumbled back to him, handing him the cash.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice shaky.
“Thank YOU,” the room service guy said.
I could tell he didn’t want to leave, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to, either, but I had no choice. I had to get myself together and get ready for the afternoon session of the program. Still, I was leaving him high and dry, so I thought I would offer at least something.
“Do you have a phone?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Why?”
“I have to get ready now for something. But I’ll let you take a few photos of me, and you can take them with you.”
I’d never seen a phone whipped out of a pocket so fast. I let him take several photos – some of my entire body and a few closeups of my pussy. I pulled my lips back for him. I knew what he’d be doing later as soon as he had an opportunity. It seemed like fair compensation after the pleasure he’d given me.
When he was done, and after a few uncertain seconds, he turned to the door and let himself out. I almost fell to the floor when the door closed behind him.
After a few deep breaths, I steadied myself, and I dressed for the afternoon’s events.
* * * *
They say money doesn’t buy happiness, and I believe it’s true, but boy, does money help you get away with a lot.
I knew with my extracurricular and online activities that I was taking many risks, but it was so much fun! And I made so much money from it. Could something go wrong? Of course! There were all kinds of ways I could get caught and get in trouble, but the monthly subscription revenue offered a kind of insurance policy against the risks, plus I knew I was good at my job and my employer would have a difficult time firing me even if the higher ups found out what I was doing. Heck, as far as I knew maybe they DID know what I was doing and just pretended they didn’t.
So, with every passing month, I took more risks. I pushed my limits. I became more brazen. It was intoxicating, in a way.
My husband told me one time, “I think you like this almost too much.”
I said, “You might be right, but I think you might like it even more.”
He grinned sheepishly.
“I think you might be right.”
“No regrets?” I asked.
“None from me,” he replied.
“You’re a good husband,” I told him, patting his cheek. Then I pulled up my skirt, showing him that I wasn’t wearing panties. “And I’m a bad wife, and I intend to keep it that way.”
* * * *
I thought about that conversation as I walked from my room to the main convention room in the hotel, where the afternoon presentations would take place.
I wore an emerald-green dress that I judged to be about three degrees sexier than appropriate for a corporate training program like this one. It showed a bit of cleavage–more than one typically would show in the office. The hem was an inch or two farther above my knee than a woman my age would usually wear among co-workers. Plus, of course, I wore no panties. Cool air tickled my uncovered pussy as I walked to the main convention room. Maybe I was unusually brazen for a corporate executive. But I wasn’t just Kristen Johnson. I was Mrs. Pillsbury, and nobody could stop her.
The orgasm I’d received from the room service guy had done nothing to temper my horniness. I was no more than 30 minutes removed from satisfaction, but my loins still blazed with need. Years of experience in the corporate environment fortified me in walking steadily down the hallway despite my distracted state, greeting my colleagues on the way to the convention room with bland pleasantries, but my body burned inside with still-unfulfilled desire.
Finally, I entered the expansive room where the afternoon presentations were to take place. A stage stood at the far end of the room, with a microphone on a stand its only feature.
“Kristen!” a voice called my name.
I turned. My supervisor, Hector, a company vice president, waved at me from a table at the back of the room, far from the stage. When our eyes locked, he beckoned me over with his hand. I couldn’t say “no” to my boss, so I walked toward him. I caught his eyes sweeping over my body in the sexy dress as I approached. Hector was older than I, in his 50s, with silver hair, but he was still lean and handsome, and more than once I had caught him eyeing me. Nothing had ever happened between us, but I had wondered a few times if, under the right circumstances, something might.
He rose from his seat when I reached the table and pulled my chair out to help seat me, like a gentleman. I was surprised. One didn’t get that kind of treatment too often at a tech company.
Hector and I struck up a conversation about nothing in particular, and I was sufficiently engrossed in our talk that I barely noticed when someone sat down at the table to the right of me. I glanced that way briefly, and it was Dave, my boyfriend! He pretended not to notice me, as he engaged in a conversation with a woman, whom I didn’t recognize, who sat to the right of him.
I sat at the table between Hector, on my left, and my boyfriend Dave, who had fucked me only two hours earlier, to my right. This was going to be interesting.
Our circular table was covered in a red cloth that extended well beyond the perimeter of the table and completely concealed our laps. It was a good thing because my dress was short enough that somebody strategically positioned at a table in front of me might have been able to see that I wasn’t wearing any panties. Fortunately, that wasn’t a problem.
I ignored Dave, who was talking to his companion, and I gave my full attention to Hector, my superior, who seemed to be flirting with me, but in a surprisingly subtle way. Subtlety was a quality I never expected, and seldom encountered, in a man. Either they were interested, or they weren’t.
A waiter dropped off a bowl of mixed nuts at our table and took drink orders.
“Dylan’s presentation is next, isn’t it?” Hector asked. “He’s one of yours, isn’t he?”
Hector stared into my face with an inscrutable smile as the words left his lips, and I wondered if there was an ulterior meaning behind his words.
“You could say that, I guess,” I replied.
A screech pierced the room as one of the company higher-ups, Milton Friese, tapped the microphone at the front of the room. He said a few forgettable words before introducing Dylan, who nervously approached the microphone. I figured it was his first time speaking in front of such a large crowd.
I was proud of him, and I paid careful attention to his speaking for a few minutes, until a hand suddenly landed on my right thigh under the table. It was Dave! I turned subtly toward him, and he stared straight ahead, watching Dylan’s presentation, giving no sign whatsoever to me of the presence of his hand on my bare skin.
I wasn’t about to refuse an opportunity, even in a crowded hotel convention room. I swung my legs wide to give him greater access to my body.
My right leg swung toward Dave, but my left leg bumped into Hector’s leg, and into the fingers of his hand, which rested on his thigh.
I don’t know how to describe the feeling, except that it was electric. Each of my bare thighs was pressed against the fingers of my two male companions at the table. I pushed my right leg up, to signal to Dave that his overtures were welcome, while with my left leg, I remained discreet, to see what Hector would do.
Oh, my goodness, I was bad. I wanted both men to have their hands on me, under the table, in the crowded convention room, at the same time.
Dave wasted no time. His hand slithered over to the inside of my thigh, and it began moving inward, toward the gap between my legs. Slowly. Oh, so slowly.
I shifted in my seat so I could move my left leg against Hector’s hand in a way that wouldn’t seem too obvious–or so I thought. I wondered what he would do. He did nothing. Time moved at a snail’s pace. All my senses were on high alert. Dylan seemed to have hit his stride during the presentation, but I could no longer pay attention to him.
I feigned a yawn and a stretch, which resulted in rubbing my bare left knee against Hector’s hand. I pulled it away, as though it had been accidental, and after taking a sip of water and a bite of nuts from the bowl, I withdrew my left hand from the table and placed it under the tablecloth, directly on my knee. I guessed that no more than an inch or two separated Hector’s hand from mine.
My heart beat faster.
Meanwhile, Dave’s firm hand moved slowly up my bare thigh, until it hit the hem of my short dress. The hand didn’t stop there, since the angle at which I’d opened my leg to him offered a clear invitation for further exploration. Dave accepted the invitation. His hand moved under the dress, sliding quickly upward and inward until a finger touched my bare pussy.
“Oh!” I said, involuntarily.
Hector looked at me.
“You OK?”
“Yes,” I said back to him, in a strangled voice, barely containing my surprise.
Dave’s forefinger began tickling the nub of my clitoris. My body shifted. I didn’t want Dave to stop, but it would take all of my powers to control myself.
I glanced around. Our table was at the back of the room, so there was no one behind me to see what was going on under the table. The people at our table and at the tables to the side of us were all looking forward, watching Dylan’s presentation.
I felt like a bad boss, as well as a bad wife. I was supposed to be watching Dylan’s presentation so I could give him a helpful critique, but I couldn’t take my mind or attention away from what was happening to me under the table.
Dave’s finger worked against my exposed flesh patiently, touching and tickling me.
I shifted in my seat again and it brought the finger of my left hand, still on my knee, against the fingers of Hector’s hand. This time I didn’t pull back.
He responded! His little finger moved up and down, caressing my fingers unmistakably.
The game was on. Where to take it? I responded to Hector’s finger by caressing his fingers back, and a second later he fully entwined his fingers with mine.
Hmmm. I was concerned about where his hand would go. I couldn’t very well let him put his hand under my dress, or his hand would encounter Dave’s. That wouldn’t do. I had another idea.
It was time for Kristen to step aside and let Mrs. Pillsbury take control. I clasped Hector’s hand in mine and pushed left, until our hands lay together, fingers tangled, on his lap. I unclasped his hand and laid mine on his thigh. It was hard and muscular. Hector had a great physique, and I figured he worked out, and it sure felt like it. I began to knead the muscles of his upper thigh with my hand.
Then my hand moved to his inner thigh and snaked inward, toward his crotch.
Dave’s finger, meanwhile, had wormed its way inside me, and it undulated against the flesh of my vagina. I would have lost it, except my simultaneous encounter with Hector gave me something to divert my attention from Dave’s finger. Still, the ministrations of Dave’s questing digit sent waves of pleasure through me, and my arousal soared.
I was so bad! Playing with two men at the same time, under the table, neither knowing about the other.
My husband was going to love it when I told him about it.
My left hand crept further up Hector’s thigh, aided and abetted by the spreading of his legs and the push of his right leg toward mine, until my hand stopped at something tubular and firm. His cock! It was hard for me already, and I was sure it was bent uncomfortably within the confinement of his pants.
Hector placed a strong hand over mine and guided my hand further until it lay directly over his cock. It was difficult to tell for certain, but it felt big. It was unmistakably hard. I squeezed it under his pants, searched and found the contour of his shaft, and slid my fingers up and down it.
My hand felt Hector’s hand move over mine and push it down a bit. I knew what he was doing. He unzipped his pants. My fingertips felt his fly opening, contacting the cool metal of the zipper as he pulled it down.
I glanced at Hector’s face. His expression remained impassive and fixed ahead toward Dylan, who kept talking but whose words completely escaped me. I was, to say the least, too preoccupied to absorb anything that Dylan said.
When the zipper was pulled all the way down, my left hand went to work. It dove into the fly of Hector’s pants. I could tell Hector wore loose-fitting boxer shorts, probably silk, making my task easier than it would have been had he worn tight-fitting briefs. I grabbed the bare flesh of his cock, encircled it with my fingers, and fished it out of his pants. I felt it spring forward at its release.
Now it was mine to play with!
I did.
I squeezed it–that delightful, pulsing, veiny, hard shaft. My hand moved down until it hit his pubic bone and was tickled by his pubic hair. Then it rebounded up the shaft to the swelling, bulbous tip, where my thumb felt a dollop of precum at the peak of the cock head.
I had no ruler handy, but I could tell it was a big cock, longer and wider than either Dave’s or my husband’s. It squirmed like an untamed beast to my touch.
Speaking of squirming, my pussy, all this time, shivered at the treatment it received from Dave’s insistent finger. It plunged into me in fast spurts, challenging me to hold my body still against the repetitive beats of its pressure. Like Hector, I stared forward at Dylan, on the other side of the room, trying, with little success, to concentrate on what he said.
But a girl can only do so much multitasking.
My focus shifted back to Hector’s hard cock, gripped by my fingers.
It pulsed in my hand. I thumbed the tip, tapping a dollop of emergent precum, running that dollop between my thumb and forefinger before spreading it over Hector’s shaft to slick my handiwork. My left hand swept over Hector’s dick in ever speedier strokes. I glanced at Hector. He looked ahead, to the other side of the room, but the tightness in his face gave away his distraction. I guessed it wouldn’t be long before he came.
In the meantime, Dave’s finger brought my pussy closer to orgasm. I could have sworn I heard wet moist sounds emanating from under the table as his finger moved swiftly in and out of me. I hoped no one else heard those sounds. Dave’s finger moved skillfully inside me–it should have, because in previous encounters I had taught him how to use his finger on me. I knew what I liked, and I had no hesitation in training men how to please me.
It took every ounce of concentration and self-control I had to remain still in my chair at the table as one man frigged my pussy while the other had his cock stroked by my hand.
I silently started a contest, to see who could make who come first. My orgasm was fast approaching, thanks to Dave’s skillful movements, but I wanted Hector to come first to my hand. So I milked his cock harder with my fingers as my hand moved up and down on his shaft. I felt Hector’s thigh shiver under my arm. Excellent! His legs opened wider, and I directed his penis straight and forward so that when he came he wouldn’t mess up his pants. I wanted him to come all over the carpet under the table. Probably, nobody would see anything right away, and when the staff saw the stain later they’d probably assume somebody spilled some bechamel sauce.
I glanced at Hector and was glad to see my attention was having its effect. He could barely contain himself, his face a tight mask of arousal and concentration, and his hands tightly gripping the edge of the table.
Stroke, stroke, stroke. Come on, Hector. I had no idea what the fallout of this under-the-table tryst with a company vice president would be. I would deal with that at another time. It was Mrs. Pillsbury’s job to create messes, and it would be Kristen Johnson’s job to clean them up later.
It was all I could do to concentrate on Hector’s cock, because my legs suddenly spasmed from Dave’s steady, rhythmic fingering of my pussy. My orgasm was close.
I gave Hector a few more hard squeezes, and then I felt his cock pulse under my hand. I felt him ejaculate even if I couldn’t see or feel the cum spurting out of him onto the floor. I wondered how big his load was. When he was done, I ran my hand over the tip, and sure enough, it was covered in sticky goo. I scooped up as much as I could in my hand, closed my fist, and brought it toward my lap.
Just then, my own orgasm finally happened. I stifled a squeal as my body rocked to Dave’s expert touch. Fortunately, I wasn’t a squirter, so I didn’t have to worry about messing up my dress or the carpet. Dave kept finger-fucking me mercilessly even after my orgasm began, forcing me to grab his wrist with my right hand and pull him out of me. We exchanged a quick, silent look. Then all three of us looked forward, as Dylan wrapped up his presentation. My body stopped quivering. After Dylan concluded, everyone in the room clapped appreciatively. I took the opportunity to pull my left hand out from under the table and put it to my lips, where I lapped up Hector’s sticky cum that coated my palm. Nobody appeared to notice, as far as I could tell. I wiped my hands up the best I could with a napkin, and in a few minutes, I stood up and walked over to congratulate Dylan before the next presentation began. I told him to stop by my room at the end of the day so I could give him an evaluation, even though I’d barely listened to what he’d said. Fortunately, I’d gone over it with him enough beforehand that I knew it well, and I figured I could wing it with the evaluation.
I returned to my table, and the hours passed slowly as the speakers droned on and I anxiously waited for time with my cub. The delay drove me crazy. I was still on edge from my finger-fucking orgasm, and I wanted more. Hector and Dave still sat at either side of me. An hour after our last tryst Hector’s hand found its way to my bare knee, and I could tell he wanted to explore my body, but I didn’t want to have to explain when his fingers found Dave’s newly deposited cum in my vagina, so I took his hand in mine and moved it off me. I wanted to spend more time with Hector later, but not now. Hector and Dave behaved themselves for the remainder of the presentation.
When the last speaker finished, I stood up and circulated around the tables and lingered for a few minutes to fulfill the usual company small-talk obligations. As soon as I could, I retreated to the elevator and went back to my room.
I had half an hour before Dylan would show up, per our agreement. I showered and primped and slipped the silky kimono over my clean, eager body. I left my room in the sexy outfit to get a bucket of ice down the hotel hallway, which I carried back to the room to keep the champagne cold until Dylan arrived. I pulled out a notebook and pen and laid them conspicuously on the desk to add a touch of plausibility to my earlier claim that I just wanted to talk to Dylan about his presentation.
Soon, everything was ready. Dylan would arrive in 15 minutes, and I had one more thing to do.
I shucked off the kimono and laid it gently over a chair, and I pulled a tripod and remote control out of my small suitcase. My website followers counted on daily posts of nude photos, and I hadn’t posted anything so far that day. I put the phone/camera on the tripod at the foot of the bed, then I climbed onto the bed, faced the camera, and spread my legs.
For the millionth time, I thought about what I was doing.
I was a successful 40-something executive, educated and well-compensated, yet here I was, spreading my legs so I could post photos of my pussy to the Internet. I’d long since grown accustomed to doing it, but it was never completely normal. There was always that little “what the hell am I doing?” moment. But that was part of the fun–that knowledge that I was defying convention, rebelling against others’ norms, and getting sexy with the world on my terms. And I had my husband’s full support, of course. I couldn’t have done it without that.
Before hitting the remote button, I looked down, between my legs, at my pussy. The lips were open, a little bit, and conspicuously swollen from the attention they’d been given earlier from Dave’s finger under the table. My subscribers would be getting an exceptionally good look into Mrs. Pillsbury’s pink and well-used depths. The thought made me tingle inside.
I quickly took the pictures, and with a few flicks of my fingers on my phone uploaded them to my site.
I wanted my subscribers to get their money’s worth. If their comments were any indication, they did, but I had to keep up with the constant demand.
I put the tripod and remote away and slipped my kimono back on. Just a few minutes awaited before Dylan’s arrival.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Rick.
“Ready for your cub?”
“I am so ready,” I texted back.
“Go easy with him.”
“‘Go easy’ is not my style,” I texted, adding an emoji with a tongue sticking out for emphasis.
“You’re incorrigible,” he replied.
“That’s what you love about me.”
“It’s one of many things. Have fun.”
Moments after our text session ended, a knock sounded. I squared my shoulders, pushed my unfettered, silk-clad breasts forward, and walked to the door.
It was Dylan, looking as vulnerable and cubbish as ever. I held his gaze. He couldn’t help himself, however; his eyes strayed to the barely silk-covered hard bullets on my chest.
Oh, I wanted him.
I stepped aside from the door to let him in.
When he reached the middle of the room, near the bed, he turned around, facing me, and with a sheepish, guileless face, he said, “So how did I do?”
“You did great!” I said, jumping just enough that I knew he’d be able to see my breasts shake under the kimono. Sure enough, his eyes strayed from mine to my chest, even if just for a second. It was enough to satisfy me, for the moment.
“Everybody I talked to like the presentation,” I continued. “You should be proud. Let’s celebrate.”
I walked to the table with the champagne on ice and two glass flutes, swaying my hips in a way I hoped was pronounced enough to catch his attention but not so much to be obvious.
I popped the cork of the champagne bottle and filled two glasses, handing one to Dylan, sitting on the edge of the bed with my own, and patting the bedcover at my side to beckon Dylan to sit next to me. He did, obediently.
“A toast,” I said. Our flutes clinked. I looked at Dylan’s face over a long, bubbly sip. He glanced back at me, and then he glanced away. He was nervous, and he was adorable. But he wasn’t going to make it easy for me. I was seated a few inches away from him, my body hot, eager, and naked under millimeters of silk fabric, and he wasn’t making any moves. I was going to have to do everything myself.
Fortunately, I liked the challenge.
“You’ve been doing great at the company, Dylan,” I said to him. “Everybody is impressed with your work. You seem to take the job very seriously. You work long hours, don’t you?” I showed concern by putting a hand lightly on his knee.
“It’s not too bad,” he said, shrugging. “I like the work I do.”
“I’m so glad,” I said, squeezing his knee. “But it’s probably hard to maintain a social life, huh?”
He bobbed his head around and shrugged again before finally replying. “I don’t get out as much as I could, I guess.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No,” he said, ducking his head down. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“That’s too bad! You’re a handsome young man, you know. You know that, don’t you?”
“Not really,” he said. “Nobody’s told me that!”
“What!” I said, doing my best to look indignant.
I sidled closer to him. The silk kimono parted an inch or two more, further baring my legs, which already were laid considerably bare to his eyes.
“Dylan,” I said, in a confidential tone. “I’m going to give you some inside advice. It comes from experience. One of the best things you can do to succeed in the workplace–I’m serious about this–is to have a good sex life. If you get a little satisfaction in the off-hours, you’ll do better when you’re on.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being blush as much as Dylan blushed at that moment. A crimson wave spread over his face. I felt bad about making him uncomfortable, but not bad enough to stop going where I was going.
“Well,” he started to say. “I wouldn’t, ah… ah….”
“Surely,” I continued, “you must know what I’m talking about. In college you must have had some fun. You know, to get through the long nights of studying.”
“Wuh-well,” he said again, stammering, “I don’t know….”
It became clear to me in a flash. My god. I couldn’t believe it. Dylan was a virgin. I could read the truth plainly in that guileless, innocent face.
I sat up straighter, chest forward, more determined than ever. I was no longer on a lustful quest. I was on a mission of mercy.
“Dylan,” I said, as calmly and authoritatively as I could. “This will not do.”
“What do you mean, Kristen?”
I patted his hand with mine.
“Dylan, you know you can trust me, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ve always helped you in your career at the company, right?”
“Sure, yeah,” he said. He looked confused.
“And you know how to be discreet, to keep things just between us?” I looked him right in the eye to see if he could tell where I was going with this. He was so hard to read! He was a smart young man, but so innocent and inexperienced!
“Yeah, Kristen, you bet.”
That was all I needed.
My hands went to the kimono and loosened the sash around my waist. I opened it up and pulled the top down and off my shoulders. My breasts lay bare to him, my hard nipples jutting sharply toward his face. His jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out. It was cute and sexy at the same time.
“Kristen–” he started to say.
I put a finger to his lips.
“No, don’t say anything,” I said. “Let me talk. As your boss, and as a friend who cares about you. And as a woman.”
I cupped my breasts and pinched my nipples. I held Dylan’s attention. Good.
“Do you see me as a woman, Dylan, or just as a boss? I know I might be kind of old for you. You can be honest about it.”
“Woman,” he replied, in a raspy, whispery voice. “Yes, you’re definitely a woman. Not old at all.”
I kept pinching my nipples, manipulating them this way and that, and putting on a show for my cub. His eyes never strayed from them.
“I’m so happy to hear that,” I said. “I know this is a little… unusual. This is just between us, right?”
“Right!” he said.
I looked at him with a flirty, sidelong glance.
“Do you want to touch them?” I asked.
He tried to speak but couldn’t say anything intelligible. I took that as a “yes.”
I put a hand on the back of his head and pulled.
For a second, he resisted, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake. I was taking a big risk. But his eyes bored into mine, and I tried with everything I had to look back at him with acceptance and encouragement, all the while maintaining the pressure on the back of his head until finally, he relented.
I pulled his head to my breast.
His lips encircled a hard, eager nipple.
“Suck it, Dylan,” I said. “Just let yourself suck it.”
At first, I felt nothing but his saliva and the light pressure of his lips on my areola, but at last, Dylan began to suck. Lightly, tentatively, almost fearfully. Poor cub! I imagined he was worried he might get in trouble. I wanted him to set his fears aside. My whole body was aflame with desire. I kept the pressure on the back of his head. I sighed, loud enough for him to hear, when I felt the tip of my tit being sucked into his mouth. It touched his tongue.
Dylan was a novice–that much was clear. His mouth moved inexpertly over my nipple, and his tongue was like an untrained puppy in need of its first nipple-licking lesson. But it didn’t matter. My cub was sucking my nipple, at last. I was being a bad boss and a bad wife, and I absolutely 100% reveled in all of it.
“That feels so good, Dylan,” I said. “Do you like giving a woman pleasure?”
He replied almost incoherently, the words coming out in bits and pieces as his mouth worked over my breast.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess. I’ve never done this before.”
“Do you like my nipple, Dylan? Do you like having your mouth on it?”
“God yes,” he said.
“I think you should try the other one, then.”
With the pressure of my hand as a guide, Dylan’s head swerved from one breast to the other, and soon he sucked the next nipple. His sucking grew stronger, less tentative.
The sensation drove my lust through the roof.
I admit it: I liked the power I had over him. His body was bent over, nearly cradled in my lap, as his mouth went to work on my breast. This brilliant but innocent young man was in my power–my boy toy to play with. I felt I could get him to do anything.
My phone buzzed next to me, on the bed. I glanced at the screen. It was a text from my boyfriend, Dave. Well, Dave would have to wait. I ignored the text. So many horny men who wanted me. They would have to take a number and wait their turn.
Dylan seemed lost in the pleasure of sucking my erect nipple, but I wanted more.
“That feels great, Dylan,” I said. It DID feel great, though not because of any skill on his part. He had no idea what he was doing, but it didn’t matter.
I pushed him back and up with a hand on his chest. He looked at me, quizzically, eyes darting back and forth between my face and my tits.
“You have skills, Dylan,” I said to my cub, lying. “I wonder if you might want to try them out elsewhere.”
My hands drew apart the kimono at my waist, and I spread my legs. I showed him my pussy, exposed and bare from several laser treatments. Dylan’s face betrayed his shock and desire.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever–,” I began.
“Nuh… no,” he said. “I haven’t done that.”
“Then I think it’s time for you to start.”
This time, I didn’t have to use my hand to guide him. I just spread my legs wider, looking down and noticing that my pussy lips spread open too, exposing more of me to his eyes. Dylan’s head descended.
“Lightly at first,” I said. “Swirl around the outside, first, instead of diving too fast into the center.”
To my pleasant surprise, Dylan understood. His tongue extended and ran lightly up and down each side of my pussy, lathering my outer labia with moisture and occasionally darting inward to kiss and tickle the inner lips.
I reached down between my legs with my hand and spread the folds of my hood apart until the pearl of my clit was exposed. Dylan seemed to get the hint. A fast learner!
His tongue tapped at my clit, and circled it, without applying too much pressure on its center right at once. Ah, the sheer exquisite pleasure!
I had further plans for Dylan–OK, I wanted him to fuck me, obviously–but I wanted him to make me come first. Despite his lack of expert skill, I was so fired up by my sexual conquest of him that I knew it wouldn’t take me long to orgasm. How many times could a girl come in one day? I didn’t know, but I didn’t see any point in limiting myself.
My hands dug into the hairs on the back of his head as his tongue played with my clit and pussy. My hips bucked against his touch. I felt his needy tongue tip descend from the clit to the furrow between my lips, and it pushed inward. Oh! The sheer miraculous delight of it! With his tongue now inside me, I put a finger over my clit and rubbed it. And then, oh then, his tongue thrust into me more deeply.
My body rocked and exploded. The orgasm came without warning. I shook all over. My upper body fell back on the bed as Dylan continued to minister to me.
I thought I was going to pass out.
I didn’t, but I came close. I think for about a minute or so I lay insensible on the bed. Dylan pulled back. I didn’t know what was happening until after a minute or so I looked up and saw him watching my pussy closely. I looked at it too: it pulsed, still, lips opening and closing in an uncontrolled rhythm, in its post-orgasm denouement.
My pussy, at that point, had been fucked, fingered, and licked that day, and it was getting sore. But it didn’t matter. There was one more thing I needed, and a little soreness wasn’t going to get in the way.
“Dylan,” I said.
“Yes, Kristen?” He was adorable, young, and cute, but I saw the man awakening in him. And oh God, was I going to awaken him, fully, at last.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
He hesitated before he answered.
“Yes.”
“Then let me be your first. Fuck me, Dylan,” I said. Despite my soreness, I spread my legs open, again.
He took his time removing his clothes. He was awkward and uncertain and self-conscious. His hands fumbled over buttons and belts and buckles. When he was done, his body perched pale and lean and nervous over me. His cock stood out hard away from his body, and it was longer than I would have expected.
This was going to be fun.
“Like this, baby,” I said to him. My hands reached out to his hips, and I pulled him to me.
His tumescence touched my sex, still exquisitely sensitive from its recent orgasm. The touch was almost unbearable, but I was determined to bear it, anyway. I needed him.
“Go ahead,” I whispered.
Once again, I felt from him that delicious combination of rank inexperience and urgent need: the cock tip pressing forward, needy but misfiring, hitting my pussy here and there, seemingly without aim, until at least it hit just the right spot, the slightest of gaps between my lips, and, finding that gap, exploiting its discovery.
Dylan’s cock entered me. At last, after all the plotting, he fucked me.
“Just like that,” I said, encouraging him.
He groaned.
It was a pleasure not only to feel his cock entering me but to know that my pussy was his first, to feel his bare skin on mine. Normally, being a careful (despite what one might think) and compulsive person, I insisted on a complete STD test before I’d take a cock without a condom, but since he’d said he was a virgin (and I felt confident he was being honest), I let him in without such precautions.
And what a cock! It wasn’t porn-huge, but it was long enough and thick enough, and hard enough, that it filled me and stuffed me.
I groaned as well. It was no act. The pleasure was elemental and beyond words.
I looked down to see that he was all the way in, his pubic bone hitting mine, my fleshy lips gripping his rigid shaft. What a sight!
And what a feeling! I could imagine no better feeling than to be a slutty, wonton, hot wife, stuffed full by the cock of a man not my husband, knowing my husband didn’t just tolerate my adventures but supported and encouraged them.
I was lucky. And deliriously stuffed.
But I needed more than stuffing. I needed real fucking. Dylan’s equipment was up to the task, but his expertise was lacking. He needed my guidance.
“Ram me, Dylan,” I said, my mouth whispering into his ear. “Ram me with that big cock.”
He pulled back and pushed back hard.
“That’s it, baby,” I said. “Do it again and again. Take me.”
He may have been an innocent cub, but he got the hint. He began thrusting into me in earnest. I noticed that while he did so he stared steadily at the union of our bodies, the joinder of his hard cock and my needy pussy, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
I loved the power of my body over his desire–knowing that the sight and feel of me drove him mad with lust. I could see it in his eyes, in his grunts, in the wild abandon of the way his body moved against mine.
I pushed back. I did what I could to squeeze him with the walls of my pussy when he penetrated me to maximum depth. Thank goodness for Kegel exercises.
“How does it feel, Dylan?” I asked him.
“God,” he said. “It feels amazing. Kristen.”
“You feel amazing too,” I said. “Your cock feels amazing. It’s so big.”
His eyes rolled back when I said that. Poor boy. It was so easy to drive him over the edge.
I didn’t want him to finish TOO quickly, so I grabbed his hips and slowed his pace. He looked at me, quizzically.
“Take your time,” I said. “There’s no rush. Enjoy it.”
He got that hint, too, slowing the pace of his fucking and getting into a steady rhythm. Oh, it felt good. On the outstroke, the length of his shaft left me until just the tip remained between my sore and used lips. He hovered there, for no more than a second, though it seemed like an agonizing eternity. Then–oh then!–he thrust back, fast and urgent, his cock lighting sparks inside me everywhere it touched me.
“You feel so good, Kristen.”
“It will feel good to come inside me, won’t it, Dylan?” I asked.
“God yes.”
His body shivered. Mine shivered in response. I loved the erotic power I had over him. My hips pushed against him when his cock pushed into my pussy so I could feel him as deep inside me as possible.
We fucked missionary style, Dylan’s body over mine and his hands braced against the bed. I grabbed one of his hands with mine and pulled it off the bed and laid it against my breast. I enclosed his fingers with mine and led them to the bare nipple of my breast until I felt his thumb and forefinger clamp over it. He pinched.
“Harder!” I called.
He pinched harder until it hurt. It was a delicious hurt.
I put a hand between my legs and with my fingers spread my pussy lips open so Dylan could have better access to me. The diamond of my wedding ring on my finger glistened and sparkled in the hotel room light from overhead, reminding me, once again, of what a bad wife I was, and of how much I liked being bad.
Dylan was no longer an innocent cub. He was a man, grown up at last, taking me as he wanted me. And I wanted to be taken.
I pushed against him with my loins, and I clamped down on that cock with my pussy muscles again.
Dylan’s body shuddered, and I knew he wasn’t far off.
“Grab my ankles, Dylan,” I shouted. I didn’t care if someone in the next room might hear.
Dylan did as I told him and held my legs aloft, my pink-painted toes pointed to the ceiling. I knew he could bury himself in me even more deeply this way, and I wanted that sensation, more than anything. Dylan seemed to like it too, because he grunted like an animal as his body rocked mine back and forth and he looked down at me moaning and sweating under him.
“Give it to me, Dylan,” I said, panting.
“It’s coming,” he said, throwing his head back.
I savored the repeated assault of his cock into my body, craving every pore and cell. I wanted his fullness in me. I delighted in the indescribably melodious fugue of body on body. Dylan may have been a novice, but he was a thick-cocked, eager novice, and he satisfied me down to deep dark places I didn’t know how to describe.
I grunted and sighed at his thrusts. He would make me come again; I knew it. The only question was, who would come first?
Dylan did, just seconds later. His body tensed and at the moment of truth it held fast to mine, and I felt the spurt of his semen into my pussy. I’d never felt a man’s ejaculation quite that way before, but the flood of his spunk was so generous that there was no mistaking it. He pumped his virgin cum into me. My head lolled back, and I came too, my body shaking in great waves, my fingernails digging into his sides.
Oh, my cub!
We quivered and shook against each other as our mutual orgasms subsided.
Slowly, Dylan lifted his body off mine. His cock withdrew from my pussy.
I sat up and opened my pussy wide with my hands, revealing an enormous milky creampie between my swollen, gaping lips. Dylan and I sat mute on the bed as we watched it leak out of me.
I grabbed his face in my hands and kissed him hard, deeply. My tongue danced against his. I pulled away.
“Oh, that was good,” I said. “Did you like it?”
For a few seconds, his mouth flopped like a fish, with no sounds coming out. But eventually, the words came.
“That was amazing, Kristen.”
Damn right, it was amazing. He’d just fucked Mrs. Pillsbury.
We held and caressed each other for a few minutes, our bodies slick with sweat. Dylan’s cum trickled out of my pussy onto the bed covers. I didn’t care.
After a while, we stood up. Dylan got dressed. I didn’t. I wanted his last image of me that night to be of me naked, with his cum streaming down my thigh.
When he finished dressing, he looked at me, uncertain. I hugged him and kissed him again.
“I’m glad I was your first, Dylan.”
“Me too, Kristen.” After a few silent moments, he walked to the door.
Dylan turned back to me from the door one more time before he left.
I put my hand on his cheek.
“Good night, cub,” I said.
“Cub?” he asked me, eyes wide.
“Never mind,” I said. Sometimes it was better not to have to explain things to men.
He left and I closed the door behind me. What a feeling of exaltation and contentment!
I staggered on unsteady legs back to the bed. My body was wracked with soreness.
My phone rang.
It was Rick, my faithful husband. I picked it up.
“So,” he asked. “Did you get your cub?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised at the shaky tone in my voice.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get back,” he said.
“I won’t spare a single detail,” I said.
“You’re a bad wife, you know that?”
“I’m your boomerang,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
I didn’t want to explain.
“Never mind. Just… when I get home, cuddle me before you fuck me, OK?”
“Jeez,” Rick said. “You’re bossy even when you’re trying to be sweet. But OK.”
“I’m Mrs. Pillsbury, damn it.”
My husband laughed over the phone. My body melted. His laughter sounded like the music of water tumbling over rocks in a high mountain stream.
“Yes, you are, darling, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”