Alibi

I am ashamed to say now that I was on cloud nine with relief that he had so positively given me his approval. I was excited beyond belief about all the illicit sex I was going to have, that I clean forgot all about Bill's 55th birthday coming up. It fell on the Wednesday of the week we were away.

Now, of course, thinking about Bill's birthday immediately after being caught, I feel so bad about that. If everything else I did to Bill, this was one thing that was unforgivable. At the time his birthday fleetingly registered with me but I just thought that he would find some Brummie floozy to commiserate with; that he'd get his secret pleasures while I took full measure of mine. He'd have his cake and eat it and I'd have my gateau; probably with French cream dribbling down my chin, I giggled to myself. That's seriously what I thought. I was such a stupid selfish bitch.

My neighbour and best friend Sandra is about eight years older than me and she had a lot to do with the lowering of my libido; my standards of behaviour, too, I suppose. We talked about sex over morning coffee all the time, over the last dozen years or so. Twice-divorced Sandra was obsessed with banging a never-ending supply of younger boyfriends, and some of her enthusiasm for extra marital affairs rubbed off on me. She was still married, to hubby number three, and had been for almost as long as Bill and I. The difference was that she and her husband kept their open marriage alive by having regular affairs. Sandra said it was more natural for men to have multiple partners, but the freedom provided by the contraceptive pill had meant that women could do the same.

No, Sandra, I said to her, there's no way that Bill would ever be unfaithful, he just wasn't the type. Tosh, she retorted, he's a man, that's all the type of cheater there is. Besides, she continued, he may have developed a paunch in the last couple of years, but before that, while he was regularly running a couple of weekday evenings and twice at weekends, he had maintained a nice bod and a really cute butt.

"I would have fucked him five years ago, in a heartbeat," teased Sandra.

"You would any man with a pulse," I laughed, and she couldn't deny it.

Sandra knew that Bill had to attend this exhibition every year plus once a quarter he would visit his customers in Scotland for between two and four days at a time. He had plenty of opportunities for casual sex, Sandra said, and he would take them like a man; what opportunities had I had while I still had kids at home?

"But I've been on several of those more recent Scottish trips with him and the national exhibition week four times,' I replied confidently, "and everyone of his colleagues and contacts had remarked to me how Bill rarely went out in the evenings, until I turned up with him."

"Yeah," Sandra sneered, "and that sounds nothing like a set-up to you?"

"No."

"I bet," Sandra added, when I confided in her about the planned Nice trip, "that Bill'll be happy you're not going with him."

"Bill was insistent that I go," I admitted quietly.

"Yeah, like I knew that would happen," Sandra sneered, "it gives him every opportunity to get a strange bed partner or two on his Birmingham trip."

It gave me food for thought that bubbled around in my head in the days leading up to the trip. I was careful to make sure that Bill didn't see the sexy clothes that I packed. To his mind, all I would be wearing were kitchen sweats, a few casual clothes for relaxing in, plus a dress for celebrating the last night.

Bill dropped me off at the airport at the departure and pick up point. I gave him a perfunctory kiss on the lips and urged that he go straight home while I checked my luggage in and waited for the plane. Mentioning the cost of short-term parking was a good way of ... getting rid of Bill, I suppose.

I had arranged to meet my French lover in the departure area. I had paid for the plane tickets on our credit card, while Marcel took care of the hotel room. Bill rarely checked the statements, but all he would see would be a charge for flights, I told him that the accommodation was freely provided by the hotel as part of their benefit of our free labour.

Stupid, selfish piece of shit, that's what I was. I didn't think that at the time, of course. No, I only thought about how clever I was and how daring and exciting the trip was going to be.

Now I know the consequences of my actions, I was so wrong. Never, ever, in my wildest dreams had I entertained the possibility of being caught and thereby losing Bill's love and respect. I thought the risk was so small it barely registered as anything at all. I had no desire to present him with the opportunity to get rid of me. I love Bill and he is my soulmate who I wanted in my life and in my eternity.

Nor was Marcel ever my 'lover', there was no love involved between us. He wasn't even my fuck buddy because he was never a buddy as such, just a parasitic fucker who scratched my itch for a little while as he got his. Once we got around to stopping our little romantic interlude, I told myself, that would be that. I could settle down with Bill in my old age and, every time I felt low or frustrated, I would feed off my naughty memories. I even added the thought that maybe I'd even offer Bill my arse in the future if he was interested, once I had gone through the initiation process with the arse-obsessive Marcel.

Right then, though, we were stoking our sexual embers on the flight all the way to Nice, Marcel and I, just by sitting close and touching each other like newlyweds. I felt like a teenager again, as if I was on a school bus trip and acting furtively, like I didn't want the teachers to tell my parents how slutty I was. The stewardess was giving me some funny looks, but then I thought, sod her, the jealous cow. She knew I was cheating, I might as well have had 'A for Adulterer' tattooed in big red letters on my cheating forehead.

As soon as we checked into our room around the backside of the classically grand Nice hotel, we were undressed and getting good and down with some steamy mid-afternoon fucking. Just like that. Clothes on the floor, nothing unpacked, and we were on the bed snogging and grabbing at each other's blood-engorged sensitive bits.

After a quick snog, his mouth, tongue and teeth were abusing my tits and he had one, two and then three fingers roughly stuffed up my cunt and frigging away, with his fat thumb rubbing my clitoris like he was trying to erase a bad mark. I noisily came, repeatedly, just from the heavy petting, I just couldn't help myself. I had been primed and cocked, wet with anticipation of this action all day. I was screaming at the top of my voice! He knew I was enjoying those multiple orgasms, the grinning bastard knew it all right. I was biting his shoulder and pulling on his iron-hard schlong for all I was worth. Then he stuffed that thing in my cunt and we banged away like rabbits until he sprayed my insides with what felt like a gallon of pent-up cum. And that was just on that first Saturday afternoon.

While Marcel dozed to restore his energy for another round, I texted to Bill, "Arrivd Nice nice room no C view bt rumie Michelle swt girl. NFR, chef wants us strait way, love A".

That night, after a romantic dinner followed by dancing at a nearby club that Marcel knew, we took our pleasures more leisurely. Marcel ate me out for what seemed like hours. The bastard kept taking me to the brink, then easing off until I finally begged him to fuck me hard. He played me with his tongue like I was a violin, holding those high notes then crashing down through the octaves with a finger or tongue eased into my virgin rosebud arsehole.

I was lathered with sweat when he finally gave me my longed for release, he took me with his cock buried up to the hilt in one fell swoop. He only had an average sized pecker, but in my heightened arousal he felt absolutely enormous. I was overcome with wave after wave of orgasms as he eased slowly, then fast and furiously in and out, grinding his pelvis into my demanding clit at the completion of each stroke. Then he turned my pulsating body over on the bed and from behind banged the pair of us together in order to achieve his own gratified conclusion.

We'd had quite a bit to drink during the evening and so we fell asleep where we eventually collapsed, sated and exhausted until the morning.

I was awake before Marcel on Sunday morning. Sometime during the night he must've got up for a wee and turned out the bedroom lights. I felt like I had slept like the dead, definitely not the innocent, I think. Actually, I felt absolutely no guilt at all. It was as if I had consciously divorced this week from my normal life, as if it was only a fantasy.

I hadn't even thought of Bill until that uncertain moment of awakening in a strange place in the morning. I soon realised that there was no Bill with me of course, it was Marcel who was peacefully snoring away, lying flat on his back with his morning wood as vertical as any guard on sentry duty.

I grabbed my phone to check the time and found I had received two messages from my unsuspecting husband. Shit! I had forgotten to text him during the evening as I had planned. And by this time he would be on the motorway towards the exhibition for helping complete the stand and briefings.

The first message received from Bill was a brief, "Hope u landed ok, luv u, B", from the afternoon and another from about ten in the evening, "Did u hv a gd eve sesh? love B".

I texted back to Bill that I just woken up from an exhausted sleep following my first full evening's work and on my way to join the permanent kitchen staff for breakfast before starting food prep. I lied to Bill that the previous night's experience in a proper French restaurant had been wonderful. Well, the meal enjoyed in the restaurant was.

My reply to Bill was keyed in shorthand but l signed the text in full, "I love you honey". Honest injun, reader, as I typed that text I really did love Bill. I still do love him, despite everything I've done which seems such damning evidence to the contrary. I took a deep breath and turned the phone off, preventing Bill from calling me direct from the car.

Propped up on an elbow, I looked Marcel over for a while in that early Mediterranean Sunday morning light. He was lying flat on his back and snoring like a buzz saw. Bill always annoyed me whenever he laid on his back and snored. I used to punch him to turn over, sometimes quiet hard. Maliciousness on my part, is the thought that comes to mind. But at that moment I thought that Marcel snorting away was a manly sound that I could happily lay there and listen to without any rancour on my part. How strange was that?

Marcel was quite something to look at, too. I had never had the leisure time during our previous assignations to notice his naked body before. Up until thIs point everything between us had been done at a rush or in the dark. He was quite hairy on his chest and stomach. Thick black hairs they were, with one or two curly grey ones on his chest. He kept the hair around his erect penis closely cropped, almost a mirror image of his silly goatee beard. And of course, there was his big fat cock, standing up like a naked flagpole. I was drawn to it like a moth to the light.

Even as I gently woke Marcel up with a morning blow job, I realised I had never once in my married life, not even on our honeymoon, done this little service for Bill; never, not ever. It had never occurred to me as something I wanted to do for my husband and on his part, I suppose, he never dared ask me for it. Yet I didn't hesitate to do this simple sexual act spontaneously, for a man who was a near stranger to me. I didn't feel guilty about either the absence of the act in my marriage with the man I'd loved forever, or the determination to do it now for this man, who was not my husband. He was someone whose personal life I knew little of and didn't want to know anything further about. Even then I assumed he was probably a cheater and not someone I would want a long-term relationship with. It didn't even occur to me that I was the cheater now, that I was not the sort of person any man could ever again rely on being faithful in a relationship.

I felt no guilt in my action, nothing at all: I was simply feeling extremely naughty. I was going to be naughty all week, so I was in the mood. I leaned over and touched it with my tongue. I thought he would jump, but he didn't. So I licked his erect shaft slowly like a lollipop, swirling my tongue lightly around the top. Marcel started to stir from his exhausted slumber. I gripped his shaft firmly in my hand, sliding his foreskin up and down and sucking hard on the bulbous tip.

"Cherie," he croaked, his accented voice thick and heavy with sleep. So sexy, definitely sexy, "I must go ... call of nature." OK, not completely sexy.

I released him and he ran to the loo. I lay back in the heat of the bed and luxuriated in my wantonness, my legs spread, my just-licked fingers rubbing my erect clitoris, delving into my urgent unguents and spreading glistening moisture around my cunt lips and throbbing nub. When he came out of the bathroom, I skipped past him to clean my teeth and wash my filthy cunt and sweaty armpits.

By the time I had freshened up, he was lying flat on his back in the middle of the bed, all the linen kicked off onto the floor and a couple of pillows propped under his head. Marcel was idly stroking his half-hard prick and looking at me hungrily, knowing full well that I couldn't take my eyes off his fat cock.

I crawled up the bed from the foot on my hands and knees, between his hairy legs and, after a quick suck until his cock was hard as steel, I mounted him and we fucked both our silly brains out.

Sunday night, after our evening meal, we went to the cinema to watch a dubbed American film but we soon lost interest in the screen and petted each other heavily, stumbling out in the dark before it finished.

In the hotel room Marcel took me doggy on the bed, then fucked me from the front with me sitting on the side desk, before fucking me hard from behind on the desk until he came. Each position he tried, he also managed somehow to work his urgent fingers or thumb up my bum. He was determined to get his cock up my arse one way or another before the week was out. And I didn't even protest at his unsubtle digital invasions.

I checked my messages on the phone while we rested between fucks. Of course, Bill's expected text was there, sent three or four hours earlier. I wasn't sure about the time difference, resetting times on my phone and watch confuses the hell out of me, I always get Bill to do it for me.

I read: "Exh all set. Tired so early nite. Hope all gone well. Love B".

I typed in "tired 2. Grub grt, chef ruf on us arses. Gd luk with Exh, love A".

When Marcel recovered from his first ejaculation, he gave my swollen labia a good licking, including getting his tongue up my arsehole, which was a first time for me. It was such a gross thing to do, so I refused to kiss him until he cleaned his teeth and rinsed his mouth out.

That man had some serious obsession with my back passage, perhaps he was a latent bumboy! That thought made me giggle but I didn't explain, he just thought I was enjoying the ministrations of his tactile tongue. His tongue technique on my front bottom was, however, the best I had ever experienced. Bill simply couldn't touch him with a barge pole in that department. I was sure I was going to miss that when this affair had run its course.

Monday morning we banged in the shower before breakfast. He held me up with arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist while he fucked the shit out of me. Then we went back to the bedroom after breaking our fast and fucked three more times trying to break the bed, with me finally riding him cowgirl until lunch time. Fucking four times in about seven hours was amazing. Afterwards he owned up that he had popped a blue pill.

We walked gently around Nice in the warm afternoon sunshine, conserving our energy for the evening. We both knew that I was going to give up my resistance and present Marcel with the carte Blanche he had been seeking for weeks: to stick his dick up my arse that night. My cunt was worn out, and his 'night stick' was red raw. I didn't know how he could possibly manage.

The next message from Bill was ecstatic: "Ali, gt sales tday. Best ever gt bonus 2 cum. Hope u havin gt success 2, love B".

Mmm, 'bonus'? Bill always was good at his job. Sincerity and integrity, he had those in spades, a combination worth its weight in gold. His customers in Glasgow loved him, their chairman's wife confided in me, they knew they could trust him to do right by them and not sell them a pup, just for the sake of a sale. The significance of thinking about Bill's integrity didn't dawn on me at that moment.

I returned, "Grt nus Bill. Goin grt here 2. C u Sat, love A".

Monday night Marcel surprised me with a Viagra pill, well two pills actually; one for him and one for me to take. I thought only older men who couldn't get it up any more used them and until now I didn't think he needed it. He admitted he'd used one that morning. We both took them as he directed and the sex that night was absolutely amazing: he came and came and didn't go down at all. My own orgasms felt nothing short of hotly intensified. After two hard fucks, he could've sweet talked me into doing anything.

So it was that Marcel gently introduced me to the world of anal intercourse. The pill seemed to help me relax, my sphincter muscles lost their previously unyielding rigidity. He took his time, using slow and gentle movements of his fat fingers, slapping on lots of lube, before squeezing his penis in me. Once he was inside me completely and rested until I had become accustomed to his size, he fucked me hard. It fucking hurt my arse like mad, but I was so naughty that, after a short space while I dozed and recovered, I let him fuck my sore arse again. This time it seemed less intrusive and I loved it, even though I didn't come, he was just beside himself with joy!

Tuesday morning I was still too sore for any more anal, despite all Marcel's pleading for another go. But we alternately fucked in my cunt and mouth all morning and slept late, until lunch.

It was only when we went down for something to eat and I bought a newspaper, that I remembered it was going to be Bill's birthday the next day and I hadn't even sent him a birthday card!

All those years he went to the exhibition on his birthday and I would slip a card between his underpants in the suitcase to find when he unpacked. The only time I have a naughty holiday with a lover, when I needed to deflect any criticism of my role as the devoted spouse, I forgot Bill's birthday completely. I felt like shit. It was too late to send him a message by then as he believed that I'd have been hard at work in the kitchen preparing the lunch I was actually about to eat. To keep up the pretence, I delayed and sent him a message in the middle of the afternoon, wishing him a happy birthday for the coming morning, promising to myself that I would make it up to him at the weekend.

On Tuesday early evening, Marcel and I enjoyed a romantic tête à tête supper in the hotel restaurant. A message arrived on my phone from Bill, but I was busy at dinner basking in Marcel's undivided attention, holding hands, and completely ignored the text. Back in our room we urgently undressed each other, jumping on the bed and kissing passionately, both consumed by our lust. Marcel started working my bum with his tactile tongue and clever fingers again, ready for another anal session, before we were rudely interrupted by an unexpected knock at the door, a waiter announcing the arrival of Champagne.