A Tale of Immorality Ch. 04byangiquesophie©
Chapter Four: A Glimpse Of Adultery
You want me to get caught, don't you?
Be honest. You ache for me to be discovered and punished. The dirty whore must have what's due her. She can't be a cheating slut and enjoy it, too. And get away with it. It would be a crying shame.
Look at poor George, you say.
Poor? I bet he is richer than you. He loves his little wife with innocent trust. He is proud of how bubbly and sexy she is.
He is happy.
He never even asks himself why Christmas is so early each year. And so often. His sweet wife keeps bringing all those adventurous new love games into his bedroom, and he has no clue. He just accepts them gratefully.
He should. They are given with all my heart.
You know who would be hurt the most if he found out? George. He'd have to divorce me. He doesn't want that. He loves me and I love him. But even if he didn't want to lose me, he wouldn't have a choice. He'd be a wimp in your eyes if he didn't throw me out. He'd reap your scorn and disgust, wouldn't he? He'd have to.
But after that he'd be all alone.
To you it would mean nothing that he would lose all he has. For you there is only Truth, Morality and Decency. To hell with all the poor souls that get trampled to mush under the iron boots of that unholy trinity.
"Justice must be done."
I am Anne, remember?
Almost thirty. I do PR and marketing for a fast growing company of delicatessen and catering shops throughout the state. And even beyond.
I am also the Anne who spices up her life by fucking men behind her husband's back.
It had been five months since I was with the crazy perfume maker in San Francisco. Sometimes I dreamed of his generous toy. But I never went back. I didn't even take his phone calls. The Law of Anne was back in force.
Once was all I'd allow myself. Well, two at the most.
The little bottles he gave me had long since been emptied. And yes, of course they never had the awesome power they seemed to have in his magical bedroom. Scents and fragrances can be potent aphrodisiacs. But their main ingredient will always be your imagination.
Still, they — and the memories attached — aroused me enough. They brought a lot of joy and satisfaction to our bedroom.
And to my George.
As I said before, I never actively search for my next conquest. It has to reveal itself, a present of Fate.
Justin proved to be that present, five months after my last fling. It was high summer and we were working on the winter holidays' brochures and campaigns.
Justin was a photographer.
He wanted to be a famous fashion photographer one day. But he was still young and had to earn a living. So he shot our food. He had become very good at it. But it wasn't where his heart was.
It was rather surreal to dress the sets with holly and artificial snow while outside his studio temperatures were nearing the hundred mark. His AC wasn't exactly state of the art either. So there we were all sweating over Thanksgiving turkeys and jingle bells.
That's when Justin took off his shirt.
He's a bit younger than I am, maybe by six or seven years. And I somehow never perceived him as handsome or physically impressive. Until he took off that shirt.
He had tanned muscles in all the right places. His shoulders were wide and his belly tight as a drum. I loved how ropes of muscle rolled beneath the skin of his back. And I sure appreciated his buns, tightly packed in faded denim.
Even his rugged face looked way more attractive than I remembered.
I only wore a thin white cotton blouse and a rather short skirt over my bare legs. But after Justin started moving around half naked, the studio definitely seemed to get hotter.
Of course we weren't alone.
There were the art director and the food specialist. And a boy to assist with the lighting.
Obviously, it wasn't wise to distract the photographer while on my boss's precious time, so I just looked on. I bided my time and bit my lip. I must admit that I didn't concentrate much on the turkey anymore. Or on the delicious Christmas pies, for that matter.
Around eight pm we were mostly done.
The others had left, but I wasn't in a hurry. (Yes, sorry, my flings have made me quite calculating when I smell a chance. Through the years, the level of sluttiness in my blood must have risen significantly. Ah well.)
Then Justin called my name. It startled me. I must have been daydreaming while he put his lenses away. Or whatever.
"You look beautiful, Anne," he said. I guess I blushed.
"I have to go," I answered. True, it wasn't quite what I meant to say.
"A pity," he said and smiled.
I caught his eyes and asked, "Why?"
He walked over to me. His bare torso became almost uncomfortably prominent. He had interesting nipples.
"I'd love to take pictures of you, Anne. I think you are beautiful."
His fingers formed a frame to look through. He smiled. I laughed nervously. Was there ever a more transparent pick up line.
"I mean it," he insisted. "Ever since we met, I knew you'd be my perfect model. You are real. Different. I want you in my portfolio."
"You know very well I am not a model," I said. "Too old, too fat. Don't bullshit me, Justin. I am not a teenager. If you want to fuck me, just tell me. I might say yes."
I touched his biceps. He flinched.
Well, in the end it seemed he really did want to photograph me. He adjusted some lights and started taking Polaroids to test the lighting. I felt as nervous as a schoolgirl. But it excited me as well.
There is no substitute for the limelight, I guess.
Soon he broke out his Hasselblatt. He'd put on some music and had me moving to that.
Then he asked me to take off my clothes.
He went and locked the studio door. When he returned I waited in my bra and panties. He cleared his throat timidly. I understood. A moment later I was naked.
It felt incredible.
To be totally naked and on display lifts you to the top of the world. It felt like an intoxication. Even the stifling air screamed freedom into my ringing ears. My stressed out muscles uncoiled.
I guess I lost whatever remained of my inhibitions.
The lamps were hot. Added to the general heat it felt as if I were in a toaster. Sweat gushed off my limbs. It must have enriched the pictures, for Justin moaned and muttered enthusiastically.
I sensually gyrated my hips.
I pushed out my tits. I pouted my lips. Go try that when you are the brightly lit center of attention for a half naked Adonis. Hear him empty his camera on you like an automatic gun. You'll discover that it is quite enough to take a horny woman straight to the next level. And beyond.
It sure did me.
It also caused a wave of recklessness to gush over me. I slowly sashayed forward until I reached Justin. He kept snapping away, concentrating on a swaying nipple. I pushed his camera aside and kissed him hard on his half-open mouth. I felt him gasp as my slick tits made circles on his bare chest.
My tongue met his and we never stopped kissing.
My hands were on his bulging crotch. I opened his belt and fly. I wriggled down along his body until my face was at level with his cock. It sprang out.
He sure was excited.
When I closed my lips over his cock-head, I heard the clicking of his camera. I looked up and smiled. My right hand pumped his stem. The left one kneaded his balls.
He took in a sharp breath. But his camera kept clicking.
Justin was my youngest conquest to date.
His youth paid off – he never stopped. We fucked under his hot lamps, on his ancient couch and in his dark room. He took me wherever I could accommodate him. Even between my slippery tits.
He liked that. He took pictures of his cock sliding between the gleaming flesh I pressed together. He also took pictures of me riding him. Some must have been sensational — the sweat was flying off my tits in sparkling arcs. (I never intended for him to keep those, of course.)
He really was a stud.
As soon as he came, his limp cock started to fill out again. After he first spurted into my mouth, his stamina was incredible. I had four orgasms before he filled me again.
I loved the taste of his seed. It hardly had the bitter tang that is so common. He must be a health food fan. He also had lots and lots of it.
At last we were both exhausted.
We lay on his old couch, panting. He grinned. "Too old, eh?" he said. He removed a strand of soaked hair from my sweaty face. Then he kissed my nose.
"Thank you, Justin," I gasped. "You were wonderful. Do you have a shower?"
He was rather crushed when I assured him that this had been the one and only time for us. I also told him he should hand me all the negatives of my naked pictures — especially the ones where we had fucked.
I knew I had made a mistake letting him photograph me naked. And even while we fucked. Afterwards I could kick myself for being so careless. But it was such a turn on. Vain me had been unable to resist.
He protested. I was adamant.
I assured him I wouldn't destroy them. But I had to have them all. Of course I'll never know if he really gave them all to me, but most of his work is through me. I am his lifeline.
Until he gets famous, of course.
I stumbled to the shower. My skin was sticky with cum and sweat.
The gushing water was heaven. My entire body tingled. When I dried myself I felt the fatigue rush in. It dragged me down like a heavy blanket. I could hardly stand, my knees buckled. I felt as if I'd spent all day in the sun. My crotch felt numb.
My nipples burned.
When I arrived home, George was already in bed. I silently took off my clothes and slid beside him. He reached out for me in the dark. I groaned.
Yes, I had a headache. Heat wave, you know. Sorry, George. I'll make it up to you.