This is a true event in my life. I am not used to writing, so please forgive me. This is how, three years after the event, I think about what happened.
I am dry-mouthed and breathless at my audacity. It is 6:00pm and he will be here at 7:00. No, not my husband; he is working away, and in any event, when he is with me, his attentions, saddeningly brief, satisfy only him.
The meal is ready, and I spend a few moments in the bathroom, making sure I am ready. My white evening dress was a lst minute decision. The right one I think. Underneath, I allow myself a small smile. I am wearing a pair of ordinary white bikini panties. There is a touch of innocence about it. This is, you see, my first time; my first attempt at adultery.
The doorbell chimes, and Chris is there. He has no idea, of course, what is on my mind. He glances up and down and is clearly taken aback at what I am wearing. He is far too much of a gentleman to make any sexual comment, and that adds to the tension. We talk over the meal. I am beginning to flirt with him. I lean forward looking deeply into his brown eyes as he tries so hard to stop himself looking down my dress. It is so loose fitting at the top and although my breasts are small...almost school-girlish, I know that he can see everything. Inside, I am in turmoil. My nipples are hard, and brushing against the inside of my dress sends little electric shocks straight to my clit.
My panties, are, of course, already quite damp. We adjourn to the conservatory. I turn the conversation so gently to my husband. You see, I want it firmly in my mind that if anything happens tonight, this MUST be adultery. I tell Chris that I have been missing my husband, that, inadequate as he is, any man's touch is better than my own. I notice how he crosses his legs and shifts a little uncomfortably in his chair. How delicate this moment is. Chris asks if I masturbate a lot. Now it is my turn to shift in my chair. I allow my dress to ride up my thigh. I tell him that lately, I haven't been able to reach a climax. Not true, of course, but it leads to him suggesting that if someone were with me, maybe that would help.
I pretend I don't understand. He suggests, perhaps, that if he were to watch me masturbate...? The thought had not occurred to me, yet it is thrillingly intoxicating. I look into those brown eyes again and ask him if he would mind being the one to watch. He nods and I relax into my chair. I slip my dress up my thigh and let my knees part. I begin to stroke my thighs, and eventually my panties. Chris starts to talk to me. He tells me how sexy I look, how he can see how wet my panties are. I ache for him inside me, I ache for him to talk dirty to me. I murmer obscenties softly, hoping he will take the hint.
The next thing I know, he is kneeling between my legs. 'I have to see, Karen. I have to see your cunt.' I raise my hips and let him take my panties off me. He does it so slowly, and to me, it feels like the first time a man undressed me. I feel almost virginal. I even press my knees together in mock protest. He gently but firmly parts them. 'Come, Karen. Show me. Show me your beautiful wet cunt.' How I love the word. His hands, not my own travel tantalizingly slowly up my thighs and with agonizing slowness he touches my pussy lips.
For some reason, I glance at the clock. I realise that he has taken over fifteen minutes to stroke my legs. The juices are flowing from me freely. His long delicate fingers open my sex like a precious flower. I feel his warm breath on my wetness. Even now, he has not touched my clit or attempted to enter me. He blows right, it seems, onto the very tip of my clit. I try to make him kiss me there, but he resists. A hand reaches up to my breast and he reaches inside the dress that has now slipped over one shoulder. 'So firm.' he says. 'So firm and young. You look like a teenager on her first time.' And that sets the scene perfectly in my mind.
I am 15 again, and this is my first time. I feel his finger begin a long slow insertion. Can a man's finger be so long that it takes an eternity to enter? I moan, I encourage him to keep talking. He tells me, as he gently finger fucks me, that he can feel my virginity, that he will be gentle with me. His fingers now tease my clit as well. I am close. He continues to work his magic upon me. 'You are so young, so beautiful' he says, 'you are going to have your first ever orgasm into my hand. Just relax and let it happen.' My breathing is rapid, my pulse hammers in my ears. I join the fantasy fully. 'Oh, I'm scared! I feel like I need to pee'. 'It's alright,' he replies ' A lot of young girls do the first time they cum.' Then, oh then I feel his first kiss. He tracks his way up my right thigh, his fingers dancing upon my clit. As the rising tide of my orgasm hits the shore of my consciousness, he rubs my clit and my world explodes into fragmented rapture. I orgasm harder and longer than ever in my entire life. He keeps me going for an eternity.
(Post Script. That is exactly what happened and how it happened. He took me to such heights that night. We were wild, abandoned and he denied me nothing. I was allowed, no, encouraged to explore every facet of my sexual imagination. I did things with him that I had never even fantasized about as well as many things that I had. Yet everything was at my bidding, my suggestion. He led me through the maze of my sexual being so completely. We fantasized, I played everything from virgin to whore. Early in the morning, before the sun was yet up, we drove to a park where, at my suggestion, I asked him to deny me nothing.