Cheating Husbands and Wives - 18 Hot Short Stories (8 page)

My cock squirted the first bit of cum into Cathy's mouth. As if I was trying to hold back it was just a small squirt, but it was followed by a second, larger shot of semen, then a third, then a fourth. I suppose that I should detail how it came dripping out of the side of Cathy's mouth and onto my belly...but honestly...I didn't see a thing. My eyes were still tightly closed, every fiber of muscle in me seemed contracted, my breathing was...well not breathing at all, panting, gasping. What once was an insatiable cock needing attention was now too sensitive for touch. Cathy gently stroked my balls and released my cock from her mouth, it laid flat on my belly as she very delicately kissed and licked it.
I was exhausted, we were both totally spent. Cathy curled up around me, her head on my chest, one arm and leg draped over me like a leopard on a tree branch. We fell asleep that way. A deep satisfying sleep. It was to be the first of a series of frequent encounters we would have during my stay in her town.

The nightclub throbbed all around me. My head was sore with noise and drink, and the ceaseless writhing of the dance floor was beginning to wear me out. I could see my mates away on the other side of the floor. Gary raised a bottle of lager in a cheery salute and I tipped him a wink. They were having a great time - as they would. As the only married man in the party, it was my role to act curmudgeonly about their boyish excesses and daft plans, and we all laughed about it. Even so, it was what - 2:30 in the morning? Unlike them, my long working days weren't followed by relaxation in front of the telly. My wife and I were renovating a house, parents of two young babies, short of cash and almost permanently tired. A trip out with The Boys was both a welcome break and a tiresome chore.
Sick of the lurching about, I decided to either get some fresh air or find a relatively quiet corner to have a sit down for a while. Stumbling about the club, I noticed a bench behind some barrels that were there obviously as a kind of table, and slumped down gratefully. I could feel the sweat of my dance floor exertions pinning my shirt to my back. I closed my eyes and let my head loll back, keeping a leg tapping to the beat in case anyone though I was asleep.
"Excuse me?" A muffled voice penetrated the darkness. For a second, I think I must have fallen asleep. I opened my eyes and looked to my left. A slender young woman in a white dress was bent over to talk to me.
"Yes?" I said, cupping a hand to my ear.
"Mind if I sit down?" she shouted. I gestured that this was fine, and she slid into the seat next to me. As drunk and as married as I was, I couldn't help but take in her long tanned legs as she crossed them. She crossed her arms under her tits and sagged forward so her chin rested on one of her palms. I got the strong impression that she was as tired and as fucked-off with this place as I was. A kindred spirit, in an odd sort of way.
"I'm too old for this shit," I said, inanely, "I'm feeling your pain." She looked across at me from under her blonde fringe and smiled.
"Yeah - I know what you mean. Young man's game, isn't it?" She said. I laughed.
"Thing is, these kids today - begging your pardon - don't know what real music is. Back in my day, it was all Glenn Miller." She laughed back, relaxing a little from her tense posture.
"Fuck off, " she smiled, "you're not that old. I bet you remember Elvis though." She motioned at my sideburns, a slightly ridiculous teenage affectation that had stayed with me into adulthood even though they say uneasily with my receding hairline. I chuckled.
"Yeah - I used to get on my teddy boy gear on and go down the Mecca ballroom to see Bill Haley." She looked quizzically at me.
"What the fuck is a Mecca ballroom? You really are old, aren't you?" She said it with a disarming smile. From some mouths, that would have come across as a slightly spiteful question - a don't-even-think-about-getting-into-my-knickers shot across the bow. As it was she delivered the line with a relaxing laugh.
"Fuck me – is it that obvious? 32 years old... I remember the war, you know..." I started. I'm a terrible gobshite when I get going. "A young lady like you would have to coloured her legs in with gravy browning and drawn a seam on the back cos you couldn't get stockings back then. You don't know you're born." She laughed again and leaned in so I could hear.
"I don't get stockings now!" she said, indicating her bare legs. I quickly looked down before feeling like a bit of a letch and looking back to her face. "It's alright," she said, smiling again, "they're only legs. I can hardly complain if someone's looking at them seeing how I'm dressed." She pointed at herself and I had a quick scan up and down. Pure white and silky. Low cut at the top with thin shoulder straps. Actually not that short on the legs, coming a few inches above her knee. I felt a bit silly. Clearly this girl was bold and confident, but she certainly wasn't coming on to me. For some reason I felt desperately keen to not look like I was coming on to her.
"I was just thinking how inappropriate that dress was for a nice place like this," I gestured around the club. As I did so, a heavily overweight girl stumbled past, her gut dangling out between the tops of her jeans and her cropped top. As she walked past, we could see her thong sticking at a jaunty angle over the top of her jeans. I caught the eye of my mysterious new cohort and we both snickered.
"Classy," she said, pursing her lips and nodding with an air of seriousness.
"You see - this is what the kids are doing these days," I pressed on. Fuck it - I was enjoying the banter. "Never fancied that look yourself?" She snorted.
"Yeah - can't wait to show the world my knickers, me!" she paused as if thinking about it. "Unfortunately I don't own any. Joke," she added, quickly as she caught perhaps a certain look in my eye.
For a minute or two we sat in silence amidst the to sturm-und-drang of the bass, the dry ice and the flashing lights. It was she who broke the silence.
"So what you doing here then?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be at home sucking Werther’s Originals?"
"Yeah I know - snooker's on too," I said, pretending to look at my watch. "Nah - it's my mate's birthday. They're all single or... lightly attached. I'm something of a doughty traditionalist." I said. The last bit escaped her and she shook her head as if misunderstanding.
"Yeah I know," she said, holding up her ring finger to show me an engagement ring. "You get set aside a bit when you're not on the pull." I nodded.
"By rights, I should be sat having a pint of sticky beer in a quiet pub somewhere, picking apart a beermat and reminiscing about stuff." I said.
"Yeah, me too."
"Get fucked!" I exclaimed. She faked an outraged glare, again with that smile. "You're young enough to be my daughter." She tittered.
"Who are you? Cary Grant? I'm 31 - so unless you're even older than you look..." I tipped my head at her.
"You don't look a day over 28." She lightly punched my arm.
"You're a nob-head." She said, simply and went for a sip of her lager. She was right, of course. I was a nob-head. Sitting around, flirting in a nightclub. All of a sudden I felt tired again. The music was incessant, and the weight of the long day - up at 5:30 with the kids - was beginning to catch up with me again. The conversation had been a welcome diversion, but I was still tired and realizing that what I wanted to do was head back to the hotel.
For this birthday we'd decided to do it properly like the old days. We'd headed into Leeds and all got rooms at the cheapest Etap hotel in the whole city. That way we could come and go as we please without the confusion of taxis, and who was sleeping at whose. Tomorrow, we'd reconvene for breakfast and a game of five-a-side to sweat out the hangover before heading back to our normal lives. A good thing to do to maintain the camaraderie that is so important amongst men.
I realised that I was lolling again, and my companion's attention had drifted back to the crowd. I tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
"Listen, it's been lovely chinwagging, but I'm going out for some fresh air. My bloody head's killing me." She smiled again, then paused as if in thought.
"Mind if I join you?" she said simply, clasping her handbag in her lap.
"What about your mates?" I asked. She shrugged.
"What about yours?"
"Didn't your mother warn you about going off with strange older men?" I asked. She nodded.
"I never listened to my mother. Come on." She stood up and looped her arm through mine. I anxiously looked over to where Gary and the chaps were frugging in loose-limbed confusion with a gaggle of underdressed girls. If they saw me, I knew I'd never hear the end of it. It seemed unlikely that they would, given as they were to their dancing. This wouldn't be the first night I'd sidled off early to get some much needed shuteye. I'd text them later.
Following my companion's lead, we squeezed through the crowds, up the stairs, past the massive but polite bouncers ("Good night, Sir") and out onto the street. The cold air hit me like a slap. Beautiful. Cold, clear air. The cacophony of the club reduced to a background thud-thud-thud. I spread my arms, feeling the sweat drying on my skin.
"Aahh... bliss," I said. I turned to the woman and saw her heading to sit down on the step of the building next door. She sat down and scissored one leg over the other, slipped off her high-heeled shoe and began to rub the sole of her foot. As she did so, I caught a heartstopping glance of thigh. I warned myself to stop it, but stepped over to her anyway. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up at me.
"That," she said, "feels fucking ace. If a little cold," she added with a shiver. It was next to impossible for me not to notice that her small, braless breasts were crowned now by rapidly hardening nipples. She caught me looking and glanced down.
"Bruce Lees," she said and then, for clarification: "Hard nips." I laughed out loud. She was completely unabashed, which disarmed me totally. This was hardly appropriate, but the unease was giddily exciting.
"Haven't heard that for ages," I said and indicated for her to scootch up. "Mind if I sit down too?" She shuffled up as I sat down.
"So," she asked, still rubbing her bare foot, "I'm Caroline. And you are...?"
"Paul," I said. I proffered my hand. "Pleased to meet you." The question sounded stupid, but smilingly she took my hand - then suddenly pulled it away.
"Shit - sorry. Been rubbing my sweaty foot with that." She looked at her hand with an expression of amused distaste.
"Doesn't bother me. I'm not exactly a Right Guard advert am I?" I asked - lifting my arms to reveal the sweat patches. She giggled.
"You're funny. Listen," she said, and now she was looking directly at me, and there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere between us. "I know a nice bar. Quiet music this time of night. Suitable for oldies like us. Fancy one more before beddie-byes?" I couldn't help myself now. There was definitely some excitement coursing through my veins. The stop-start tiredness had vanished as I read the look in her eyes.
"OK." I said simply. She nodded. We stood up and she put a slender arm around my waist to steady herself as she got back in her shoe. As we walked, we exchanged further laughs, with an increasing edge of double entendre. I knew before long we were likely to be crossing a line. We halted at the top of the steps that led down to the bar.
"You sure you want to do... this?" she asked. In context she meant 'are you sure you want to go here and have a drink' but I was sure that she was thinking something else. I knew I was. I nodded and we went in.
The bar was dark and warm and snug. As she promised, it was quiet and the music played at a discreet volume. Stax Atlantic soul records. Right up my alley. We found a table and sat down opposite each other when she said, suddenly.
"I need a wee. Be right back." I watched her slide back out from under the table and sashay over to the toilets. Her arse moved slickly under the sheer white dress. If she was wearing knickers, they were pretty small. Everything looked smooth from here. As she pushed her way threw the door, I started to realise what I was doing. I was a married man, in a bar with an engaged woman I'd known for about half an hour. We'd left behind the people we were out with for some seclusion. Whilst we'd said nothing implicit, sex was increasingly behind our conversation. We were flirting. And seriously. Maybe it was best if I just got up and left? Walked back to the hotel and had nothing to hide from my friends or my wife when I woke up. At the same time, I was aware that my cock was sitting, more than flaccid in my trousers. This was one of those moments that told you what kind of man you were.
Even as I mulled it over she was back. As she sat back down, she reached under the table and pressed something into my hand. Something warm and silky. She said nothing, but her eyes were fixated on mine, shining with what looked horribly like sexual excitement.
"I thought you might have speculating about my knickers from behind." she said. "Just to answer your question." She nodded downwards at the table. Suddenly, my cock wasn't just slightly alert, but was pulsing. Hard. Filling with pressure and sudden desire.
I pulled back from the table slightly and drew my hand back into my lap. A tiny white silk thong sat there. I pulled it open between my fingers and then looked back to her. Her eyes were still fixed on mine.
"My foot's still dirty," she said, illogically. But then I felt a bare foot on my thigh. I reached down and ran a finger along the arch of her foot, and then between her big toe and the other toes. She closed her eyes and her head sagged back a little. She let out a small 'mmm'. Then, she snapped her gaze back to mine and her foot slid further along my thigh.
I sat there, stupidly. Holding her knickers in my hand while her foot groped along my inner leg. She was having to slump back in her chair to reach any higher. Through the dense bunch of denim around my crotch, I felt her toes wiggling sensuously against the tip of my cock. I inhaled sharply. Every muscle in me was trembling with barely-suppressed excitement as her toes continued to gyrate slowly over my swollen penis. The look in her eyes - previously one of light-hearted flirting - was now one of deadly seriousness. Hardly believing what I was doing, I slipped off one of my own shoes and socks, and ran a toenail along the back of her calf. I smiled as I did so. She wasn't going to have the upper hand completely.
My foot ran up along the soft, smooth skin of her leg and past her knee until I felt the caress of her dress resting on the top. She looked at me now with eyes that said: 'I dare you.' She moved back in her seat a little bit. Her legs were shorter than mine and if I was to pleasure her, I'd have to make a sacrifice myself. Plenty of time, I thought to myself, and let my foot slip along her thigh. Again she closed her eyes and this time she gulped as my foot crept further up under her dress. And then she started as my big toe found a patch of wiry pubic hair. Even before I'd touched her properly, I could feel a hot wetness just below the spot where my toe rested.