3 Fucks and Out

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It was a lonely year.

Richard, my corporate lawyer husband was travelling even more frequently. He was in New York at least every other week and sometimes every week. It was rare that he had more than fifteen nights at home in a month and most of that time he was either, jet lagged or, preparing for a trip. On top of that, when he was at the firm’s London office, where he was a partner, he was working on big mergers and acquisitions that required meetings well into the night and he ‘had to’ entertain existing and potential clients. I didn’t see him that much, but that’s the price you have to pay, I suppose, to earn over two million a year, and that’s pound sterling!

His increased absence from home coincided with my daughter going off to university where our son had been for the past two years. Hence, my loneliness.

Then I went to back work.


It was a sexually frustrating year.

The loneliness had an influence on our marriage. I have always had a high sex drive, which Richard for many years had managed to satisfy. This year he wasn’t doing that so I was almost permanently frustrated.

I didn’t know what to do to overcome it, other than masturbate more frequently and involve myself in other hobbies and pastimes.

I took up golf by having lessons, I went back to tennis, which I had played when I was younger and I joined a gym throwing myself into getting fit. I played around a bit on the Internet, wrote some erotic stories that I published on Literotica, which promoted some email exchanges that led to some quite interestingly, horny evenings. I was tempted to meet a couple of guys, not together, but didn’t.

I had to try to get our marriage back on track. When Richard was home I was extra nice to him. I prepared his favourite meals, accompanied him on business dinners and stopped bitching about the hours he worked and his murderous travel schedule.

I started to take the initiative with sex. I would cuddle up to him in bed, rub my breasts against his back, put my arm round him and stroke his stomach and caress his cock. I would walk around in just my panties or those and my bra. I went down on him and swallowed his cum and I discretely offered him something he had once been so keen about, anal penetration! I suggested we take up photography again and offered to strip for him as he took shots of me. I bought a vibrator and used it on myself as he watched and then on him.

Some of it worked, but most didn’t. In the end I realised it wasn’t helping that much and with some distraught had to acknowledge that the marriage was on the rocks and heading for only one thing, divorce. Maybe as a sop to my female ego ‘how he could he not want me?’ I even thought he was having affairs, he certainly had every opportunity.

Nothing really improved so I went back to work.


It was a learning and broadening my outlook year.

I had been back at work for a couple of months. It had been such a hassle with Richard when I told him that I was getting a job, but the more he argued and tried to stop me the more persistent I became.

I hadn’t worked for the best part of ten years and I simply loved the relaxed, jokey, flirtatious way of the modern work environment in a Mercedes car showroom. Alright, at forty five being one of the oldest in the dealership was a bit off-putting, but I coped.

Largely due to my copywriting experience I had managed to fiddle my way into being the Regional Marketing Manager for a national group of dealers.

It was hugely therapeutic and really did help me overcome my loneliness. Whilst I was employed part-time, I worked flexi-time and usually worked far more hours than my contract required, I just loved being there. I loved chatting and meeting people, I loved the attention I got and I loved the salesmen particularly flirting with me.

There was loads of extra-curricular activity. Nearly every evening a few went to the pub and every Friday nearly everyone, well those in Sales, went there often staying quite late. Once a month there was some sort of social event, bowling, go karting, watching a football match or playing softball or netball, usually ‘boys against the girls.’ Slowly I found myself being drawn into this, for me unusual type of social life. After a few months, I was going to most of them and was at the pub two or three times a week.

I knew it was dangerous. I was aware that my resolve was being tested, that temptation was all around me and that almost wherever I looked there were extra marital opportunities being dangled at me.

As I got to know the team I learned that many had been divorced and that there had been numerous affairs between members of the group. I found it quite strange, but reassuring in a way that so little was said about it and that flings between couples, both of whom were often in a relationship were taken as being so matter of fact and ‘just one of those things and now whose round is it?’

Although I didn’t go to the pub as often or stay as long when Richard was home I still went and didn’t get home to nine or so. It didn’t canlı bahis seem to bother him at all as it also didn’t when I started helping out the sales team by working on Saturdays and Sundays.

We still had sex, but it was more a cursory gesture certainly on his part, or so it seemed, but worryingly now also more on mine as well.


It became an action year too.

Fuck one – the young man, how corny!

I suppose it was inevitable. Maybe it was what I was looking for? Perhaps I saw the tennis club as a means to an end? Possibly deep down I imagined I would meet men in no strings attached situations? I really don’t know, but it was and I did. But I swear I never looked for it or promoted it, things like the young man and me just happen, I don’t think they can be planned.

Craig was an outstanding tennis player. When younger he had been almost, but not quite good enough to play at Wimbledon and be a pro. He had been the club champion at my club so many times he had stopped entering it to give others a chance. We had been paired together for a home counties ‘junior and senior’ tournament for people of our disparate ages; he just qualified being twenty, the max for the junior was twenty one, but I made it easily being in my early forties, the minimum for the seniors being thirty five. This meant travelling to away matches up to fifty miles away and spending considerable time together both practising and playing and of course in the car. Although we had known each other for a few years we got to know each other much better and I liked him even more, worryingly more. After a few weeks of becoming increasingly closer, I still didn’t have any sexual thoughts about him, but looking back, I could see how they gradually came about.

Due to his tennis ability, he had been a ‘star’ from an early age. He acted like one. Not cocky or arrogant, but confident and assured. He was about six three and muscular, yet lithe, as male tennis players need to be nowadays. He was nicely tanned and had longish, dark brown hair. He was handsome and all the younger girls at the club as good as ‘swooned’ over him, but then so did some of the older ones. His tennis ability had another enormous influence on his life. He had neglected his studies, but his high degree of raw intelligence was very evident to me; he had the same level of panty dropping intellect as I had seen in Richard, my husband, many years ago.

I hadn’t really known Craig well, other than seeing him at the club, nodding to him and smiling occasionally. We’d played in mixed comps at the club a couple of times and had danced once or twice at club dos, but that was it, before I was asked to partner him in this competition.

Craig and I practised a few times and I enjoyed it. We played a couple of matches, one away and one at home, we won them both. As is traditional we kissed after a match. We talked on the way back in the car. Even looking back now and trying to recall any hints, there was nothing in those early days to suggest what would happen over the next few months.

It started at an evening practise session. When we finished, he put his arm round me and pecked me on my cheek. Then as we walked off the court he kept his arm round my shoulder. That happened a couple more times as we walked off with other pairs there. It looked innocent, I think. However, looking back, that was the start and I have to own up, it felt nice. But then, what forty something woman wouldn’t find it nice having a twenty year old man’s arm round her?

A few evenings later we had a practise session prior to a match the following day in Croydon some hour or so away by car. The same thing happened. I ask myself now if I could have done anything different, but have no answer. That session I had felt his eyes on me looking down my low front, watching my tits jiggle as I ran. I swear the fact that I was not wearing a big, ugly sports bra, but instead a lacy, pretty one was unconscious, just as was the lowness of the front of my top and the shortness of the pale blue skirt I had chosen to wear.

“Looks as though we’re the last here” he said as we walked into the club house.

It was often the case that a few of the members stayed late and the club had a system whereby the last away had to telephone the secretary who explained how to set the alarm, the code of which he changed frequently.

“Yes so it does,” I replied feeling a little uncomfortable, but also I have to admit slightly tingly because his arm was still around my shoulders.

“Are you going to have a shower?” He asked as we approached the small clubhouse.

“No I’ll have one when I get home.”

I didn’t feel that comfortable stripping off in the ladies with Craig as the only other person in the building. On top of that my long, ash blonde coloured hair took ages to dry if I washed it and would go all frizzy if I showered with a plastic shower cap on. I didn’t want him to see me like that so I just ran my hands under a tap and kept my hair in a pony-tail.

“Your husband still in New York?”

“Yes he is,” I told him as bahis siteleri we walked up the steps his arm still draped loosely round my shoulders.

“Do you miss him?”

“In some ways yes, but I am used to it.”

As we walked through the narrow doorway he had to remove his arm. I felt relieved, but then he placed it in the small of my back. It’s sometimes so difficult to know with men, when they are making a pass and when they are just being friendly and polite. I just had no idea about this twenty-year old Adonis’ intentions.

“Which ways are they?” He asked, starting to provide me with clues on his intentions.

“Never you mind young man” I replied smiling, turning and looking at him.

“But Cat I do mind, after all I don’t want my partner upset and off her game do I?”

“How do you mean?”

“You know.”

“No I don’t.”

“Well you know what I mean.”

“Let’s leave it shall we?” I said feeling a little flushed and awkward as we walked through the clubhouse.

“Would you like a drink Cat?”

“How can we?”

“I’ve got a key to the bar.”

“Where did you get that from?”

“They lent us the key once and we got some extra ones cut.”

“That’s very naughty” I said, realising I was sounding very mumsy.

“So? What’s wrong with a little naughtiness if no one gets hurt?” He asked.

I ignored the second part of his phrase; I could see where that might lead.

“No I’m fine.”

“Cat I know full well you are fine,” he said quite pointedly looking at my C cup breasts as we walked down the corridor towards the back door where we had to phone the secretary. He put his arm back round my shoulders. “Very fine.”

“Craig, be careful” I stammered seeing clearly where this was headed.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a married woman” I replied rather lamely.

“I know that and so what?” He said as we reached the door, his arm still round my shoulders.

“I think you should remove your arm.”


“Yes, really.”

We stopped by the door. We faced each other, his hand now on my shoulder, not round them.

“We have to phone Clive, you or me?” He asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” I stuttered as he reached across me for the phone on the wall. He didn’t pick it up.

I turned, pressing my back against the wall. He stood in front of me, his arm was across me, his face very close. He moved closer. We were just inches apart. He reached down and gripped both of my wrists. I felt powerless to stop him. He pulled both of my arms upward and outwards. My back was pressed against the wall. He pulled my wrists until my arms were stretched from my body in a crucifixion position, which pushed my full boobs out.

“No” I groaned as he leaned forward.

“You sure you mean no?” he asked, his lips almost touching mine.

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t move or say anything. I was transfixed, scared, excited, worried, concerned and, yes I had to admit it, well I do now, I didn’t then, interested and aroused. I didn’t answer his question.

His mouth found mine. I pulled away.

“Stop it, please,” I said, knowing that I sounded unconvincing, for really that was how I felt.

I didn’t pull my body away, I didn’t really struggle and I certainly didn’t move away as his lips found mine again. This time he kissed me. I began to gain an understanding of the conflicts with rape; my body was saying yes, but my mind was screaming no! I didn’t kiss him back, but then I didn’t tear my mouth away. He was still holding my wrists with my arms pulled away out from my body and my back pressed against the wall. He pressed himself against me squashing my breasts and thrusting his erection against my stomach. His tongue was pressing against my closed lips, probing and enquiring. I had never been in such a situation. I felt my lips moving, they were parting and my mouth was opening. It was unconscious, involuntary and completely unplanned, but I was accepting his enquiry. His tongue surged into me finding my tongue, teeth and gums, pressing against them and licking all round my mouth. He let go of my wrists, one arm went round me downwards and the other landed on my breast. He squeezed and I moaned.

At last, somehow and I have no idea where the resolve came from, I regained my senses.

“No Craig, stop it this is ridiculous” I said sternly, pulling myself away from him.

“Ok, Cat, I’m sorry,” he said very contritely. “I didn’t mean to push you like that, I wouldn’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

We didn’t say much more to each other that evening. I went home and showered and then found myself masturbating. You can guess what was in my mind as I stroked and rubbed and caressed my breasts and nipples and my lips and clit. And he was an exceedingly good mental fuck.

Perhaps the worst aspect of my evening was when my daughter, came home from a friend’s house and asked if I’d had a good evening!

We lost the next day. In fact we were well beaten by a pair who we should have well beaten. I would happily own up if it had bahis şirketleri been mainly my fault, but it wasn’t. I played ok, Craig was well off form, doing many double faults, not getting his angles correct and missing several easy vollies.

In many ways I was pleased that we were travelling home separately for it meant we didn’t have to confront the situation of last night. But we had to confront it again a few days later for once more we were the last two at the club.

As we left the court, I was hellishly nervous, even though Craig didn’t put his arm round my shoulders. It was quite a lot cooler that evening than it had been the last time we practised so we were both wearing track-suits over our tennis clothes. I had, though removed the tracky bottoms, but had kept the zip up top on. This time I was wearing a big, sports bra.

“I guess you don’t fancy a drink do you?” He asked as we got near to the small bar.

“Probably best not to,” I replied as we passed the closed and locked door and got to the back door of the club, right where we had kissed a few days ago. I stopped in roughly the same position and for some unexplainable reason I turned so my back was almost against the wall. He faced me.

“I really am sorry for the other night Cat.”

I smiled. “It’s ok?”

“Really?” He quipped back quickly.

“Yes really.”

“So you didn’t really mind?”

“No, yes, look I didn’t say that, I mean oh sod it.”

“What, why sod it?”

“You’re making me tongue tied,” I stammered, realising this wasn’t going at all in the way I wanted.

“Oh dear, sorry” Craig said moving a little closer.

Part of me wanted to move away, pick up the phone, lock the bloody club and rush away. Another part, I began to realise with quite some alarm, didn’t. I was curious, intrigued, sort of interested in how this might pan out. ‘Surely’ I thought’ I don’t want that to happen again?’ My mind was racing and I was confused as he leaned further forward. ‘Surely I don’t want him to go further, oh fuck.’ I was thinking as he put his hand on my hip, moved his face very close to mine, smiled and said quietly.

“How can I stop that?”

I didn’t know what he meant.

“Stop what?”

“You being tongue tied of course,” he said one of his fingers slipping across the collar of my shiny track suit and softly rubbing my neck. I can’t explain why, but for some reason that was one of the most erotic gestures I had ever experienced.

“Oh Craig.”

“Oh Cat” he smiled. “What?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” He whispered, his hand sliding round my waist. I didn’t and couldn’t reply. “I know how to stop the tongue tied thing.”

“How?” I asked realising our faces were just inches apart.

“Like this” he whispered, his hand moving up and pressing on the side of my face as he closed the gap between our faces.

We kissed again. Once more my lips were closed. I wanted to stop, I wanted to go on, I wanted to finish this ridiculous activity, I wanted him to leave me alone, I wanted to be faithful to my husband and family, I wanted to avoid getting involved with a man and I wanted to stop this almost teenager making advances towards me. Wanting all those things, what did I do? I opened my lips. And I guess by that relatively simple gesture I accepted his request. Parting my lips was me effectively agreeing with him and accepting his need. Yes, by opening my mouth to him I was, metaphorically opening my legs and effectively saying to him that he could have me. He knew it and I knew it. We both knew now that he was going to fuck me.

What neither of us knew, though, was where and when. Those questions were answered in the most graphic, obvious and exhilarating ways possible very quickly.

He was tongue fucking my mouth and I was going with his every surge and plunge, even though much of me wanted to stop.

I was writhing my lips against his as equally strongly now as his were against mine, despite me knowing I shouldn’t. But then I shouldn’t have let him squash my breasts with his chest, thrust his erection against my stomach or put his hand on my bum. I should have stopped there and then. I should not have let him cup my breasts outside my tennis top, but inside the unzipped track top. And most certainly I should have stopped him slipping his hand inside my top at the front and up my skirt at the back.

But I didn’t, something was preventing me stopping him. I simply couldn’t. I was kissing him passionately and, or so it must have felt to him, hungrily, but that was how he was making me feel. My body was hungry for him, he had teased and titillated it primed and manipulated it and was now taking what I guess he thought was rightly his; it

And that was how I was fucked by a man other than my husband for the first time for so many years.

My tracky top came off and he pushed my tennis vest up. He was caressing my breasts in my big, tight sports bra and fiddling his fingers inside it right onto the tingling, sensitive flesh. At the same time his hands were on my panties, they were on my bum, inside the thin knickers and on the flesh of the two cheeks. He was rubbing and squeezing them. As he did those things he was also thrusting his erection harder and more firmly against me, sort of dry fucking me.

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