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I got off on it. Knowing he wanted what he couldn't have. He had it once and it wasn't enough. Oddly enough that happens more often than you might think.
Lots of guys are out for a fun night, but never do you expect to see them again. That wasn't the case for me. Once wasn't enough. Proximity didn't seem to matter either. There were fellas that would take a four hour bus ride, or that would drive 3 hours. There were fellas that had split with me, swearing we were through, coming back later, sometimes years later, for just one more romp please. Husbands that would sneak away from their wives, hide from their families and show up on my doorstep saying this is the last time, just once more… but it was never the last time. There always was another.
I wasn't good at saying no, I loved having sex. I didn't care really about the life he had that might end up in shambles because of the evening, I really didn't much care about the consequences. I wanted to get laid and did repeatedly. More than once I've been called a nympho, and there some truth to that; often I was asked where the off switch was. I never understood women who were too tired or men that got away with a " five minute quickie". A quickie for me was 15-20 minutes of hard riding, full blown naked sweating sex. From what I hear that is no quickie for most folks, just for me.
That’s what he begged for that night… just a quick fling and get it out of his system., for old times sake. He'd been telling me that for years… at least 20 of them. He was astonished I said no thanks this time. I don't think he'd ever heard me say it before. I played coy and wouldn't tell him why just in case I changed my mind. After all, odds were he'd ask again. It hadn't really been all that long since the last time - maybe a year? It served a couple of purposes then that I won't go into know; suffice it to say it wasn't every thing I thought it could be.
He was hung and then some, one big cock. However that last time just reminded me of just what he didn't know. In 20 years you'd think he'd have learned a few things, but nope. So instead of telling him I didn't want the disappointment, I just left him hanging. Maybe some other day I'd feel like trying to teach him a thing or two. Not that night.
The real problem was this one fella a few years younger than me. We'd known each other for a few years and then sort of accidently took advantage of each other one weekend. This led to other things, other times. Suddenly I was in over my head, he was showing me just what piss poor lovers I'd had in the past. Although our "thing" was at a current standstill, it was difficult not to rate other occasions with other folks on the "new normal" I had become used to. Instead I'd rather turn them away than go for something subpar. I got off on it too, knowing whoever it was thought he was going to get back in my pants when I knew he was just another bumbler that would get me wound up and then leave me not quite satisfied.
After all, I have toys that are better than that.
I became aware of the heat. I can hear the fan, what is supposed to be a steady cool temperature of air flowing, muted cars passing by. Heat just flowing next to my body. and as I begin to turn, to find its source I hear him murmur that everything’s fine, don’t worry, just relax & sleep. In a flash it comes back to me I’m not home, Not in any of the usual places I might be visiting. I’m in a strange city in a foreign hotel sleeping all curled up with a husband that isn’t mine.
I’m on what one would describe as a long strange trip, the final destination unknown and the beginning of the path quite blurry. I’ve fallen into an alternate reality for a few short days and can’t seem to remember much. Yesterday I forgot my life previous to this week. Couldn’t recall what I should have been doing with my day. Like it didn’t exist. And then making plans of sorts, I forgot he’s not my husband. It seems reality disappeared there for a moment. I forgot that when we leave this dimension it all melts away like an old movie with the words “the end” popping up on the screen.
I forgot I’ve slept with clothes on for the last two years, to hide from the fact that the person sharing my house doesn’t care to look at me, to touch me, to hold me. Tonight all I’m wearing is a sheet (and barely at that) with a furnace of a man tucked up against me just as naked. Even in his sleep he’s trying to comfort me, protect me. I’d forgotten what that was like. He was asked if his wife was enjoying herself and we both forgot that’s not me. It wasn’t until folks asked us how we knew each other that we recalled we lived separate lives in different places.
Its not the trip we intended to take, at least not in the beginning. Somewhere in the transition between reality and this strange dimension we stumbled, and holding each other up found we’d fallen down the rabbit hole. What should have been awkward, tense and troubling, flowed like he had lived beside me for a lifetime. Fears and concerns faded like reality and comfort turned to passion. And the passion held just as the concern and caring did underneath. I’m not sure where we are, nor where we’re going. The trip however is fantastic, and I have no intention of getting off the ride. I’ve forgotten which station to stop at, and my interest in recalling reality has faded fast.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was a fling, something fast and furious and over. He talked about making me come. About making me wet. About making me scream, about coming too hard, for too long, to want more. I teased him with a few thoughts. Went naked under my denims for him. Wore sweet nothings for him to feast his eyes on. Had him panting like hell. He made me think about it all the time. (Well okay, I thought about it most the time anyway.) Everything I said could have been turned one way or another. The panting phone calls and the risqué emails flew back and forth. Minutes burned on the cell phone just teasing. And then it suddenly happened. Not really pre-planned. Oh it’d been discussed ad nauseum. But never planned. One thing led to another and then he thrust himself into my mouth, into my slit. Hot and wet and slick. It was a fabulous furious fuck. Paid for it spades later with aches and pains, but worth it. Years of building up and then falling down the rabbit hole all at once. Wow. That was something. One of those moments when you believe all those stories in Penthouse & Playboy are true, because it belongs there.
Shave your balls. When she asks tell her you’re trying to make her happy. You don’t want all the chafing. You’re cooler with out all the hair trapping the heat. You’re more comfortable swimming. I don’t really care what you tell her but shave, and keep yourself shaved.
I want you to get yourself off every morning. Preferably in the shower, but wherever if that won’t work. I want you to picture yourself kneeling on the floor, wanking away with your face in my snatch. I want you to come hard, spraying the shower wall. If you shower more than once a day, then you should come more than once a day. Nope, this is not optional. I want you to come at least once everyday you’re away from me.
I want you to buy yourself a collar. No need to wear it, but I want you to buy it while on vacation with your wife and keep it with your clothes. I want you to look at it every time you change and think about how it will feel when I put it on you. I want it to have at least one connection point for a leash, preferably more for other things.
I want you to spend one day without any boxers/briefs on. I want to know your cock and balls are naked under your pants. I’d like you to get dressed up and take your wife out someplace nice that day, so you can feel the smooth fabric of your dress pants slide against you. Taking her dancing the same night will get you bonus points with me.
I want you to take one day and cheerfully let her make every decision. Where you go. What you eat. How to spend the money. When to nap and when to work. Take this day to serve her…. As in she shouldn’t have to wait in line, shouldn’t have to want something from across the room, and shouldn’t have to deal with any work whatsoever. Take this day and be totally pussy-whipped with out grief or bitterness.
I want you to make a list of the ways you can serve me - when you’re with your wife. Be creative. Be truthful. Be inventive. Be ready to carry them out.
Yes it appeals to me immensely. Knowing the Borrowed Boy is going home to his wife, freshly fucked. Not just a quick quiet roll in the hay snuck in between other activities, but he’s been rolling around fucking me for hours. Passionate kisses leading to much more, his hands massaging my body and his mouth devouring me. My clit swollen in his mouth, my juices dripping down his chin and his skin covered with my sweat. Not just a little sex, but some missionary, some cowgirl, some reverse cowgirl, some doggie style, and then a few more turns here and there. Not moments, but hours of marathon bouts of fucking and sucking, licking and stroking, til we are both screaming and exhausted, glowing from the endorphins flowing between us. Much I dislike his leaving, it does indeed appeal to me knowing he’s gone home to the wife after being completely and thoroughly fucked. After all what’s the sense in borrowing him if I’m not planning on using him completely?
