Emma's Night Out

She was quite a good looking woman in her late thirties though she looked much younger. She had been married, it seemed, for ever and had a twelve year old son and a husband to whom she had been absolutely faithful for twenty years. Emma had worked her way up with the same employers for most of her working life and was now PA to one of the directors. She was a level-head, fair minded woman and popular amongst the men even though she was never really flirty with them.

Her low-key attraction to the opposite sex, which she never even seemed aware of, made her a bit less popular with the other women in the office. Although all the girls got on well enough there seemed to be a bit of jealousy that no matter how much they flirted , no matter how coyly suggestive they might be, Emma seemed to get all the attention from the men though she hardly seemed aware of it.

What seemed to annoy the girls and intrigue the men was that that she was very mysterious in her ways. It wasn't that she had dark secrets or a notorious past, it was just her way. Where many men and women would boast about their conquests, it was Emma's quiet, enigmatic reserve that somehow implied a deep and secret eroticism. She was quite a private person and while she was absolutely open about anything and everything to do with work, her private life was her own and few people in the office knew much about her, except that she seemed to have some money of her own and that her interests were quite highbrow, though no-one would call her a snob. In fact one of the attractions of Emma was that she treated everyone with the same friendliness, from the cleaners to the directors.

Though she almost seemed unaware of it Emma had the most fantastic figure that had hardly changed from her teenage years. Even at the age of thirty-eight she still had a good complexion, long, slender smooth legs, a shapely bum and the most fantastic breasts... In fact they were absolutely stunning. 32F, full and firm with nipples that seemed permanently erect. Childbearing had given her belly a bit of a bump that she had never been able to quite get rid of but it just seemed to enhance her fabulous hour-glass figure. Strangely enough, she never seemed aware of just how superb her breasts were and was in fact, if anything, a little embarrassed by them. For one thing, they made buying clothes difficult.

Her tits, however, had been what first attracted her husband to her when they first met in London where she was a student in 1972. At that time she was going out in a desultory kind of way with his best friend but within a couple of days and after a few frantic phone calls, she found herself alone with him on a Wednesday evening in early autumn in a pub on the Euston Road. At the end of the evening he had his hand under her tight, pale blue jumper fondling her left breast as they kissed goodbye, and that Saturday he fucked her for the first time in the corner of a wheat field near his parents house in Kent.

They were married next Spring and to begin with sex was OK but nothing to write home about. Despite her all too obvious assets Emma's rather too strict country upbringing had made her a bit diffident and three years in London had loosened her up only a little. Besides, they were both working too hard to think much about it. Her career and his business came first and they always seemed too tired to make much effort. Eight years later they had their first and only child and things went downhill from there. She was always tired from trying to juggle a career and a young child and he was increasingly busy with a business that he was struggling to keep afloat. They had a few close friends but hardly ever went out and rarely seemed able to relax. James seemed to spend more and more time at the works, often not coming home until ten or eleven at night.

Bob Foden, their oldest friend, was a civil servant, slightly older than Emma and James, and it was well known that he had long been involved in a half-hearted affair with a much younger girl in his office. His wife Annie probably guessed what was happening but chose not to believe her worst fears. A manipulative man, Bob thought he could distract attention from his own rather sordid little affair by spreading malicious and completely unfounded rumours about his friends non-existent extra-marital behaviour. Slowly he put the idea into Emma's head that James's long evening absences were due not so much to pressure of work as to the effort he was putting into Nicole Bundy, the young, attractive but totally vacuous, empty-headed lab assistant at the factory. It was well known at the works that Nicole was a bit of a slut and had a crush on James, but it was never reciprocated - he didn't fancy her in the least and Nicole wasn't too worried; give or take an inch one man was much the same as the next to her.

At home on her own, though, Bob's insinuation had taken root in Emma's mind and over the next few weeks doubts about James's faithfulness turned to anger.

Under normal circumstances there would have been no way that Emma would have discussed her fears with anyone but, as luck would have it, a few days earlier a temp, Christine, had arrived in Emma's office and one way or another, despite the fact that Christine was more than ten years younger than Emma, they seemed to hit it off. Over coffee in the executive restaurant Emma confided in Christine, who had recently had problems of her own. Her husband had had numerous affairs and she was in the midst of very messy divorce proceedings.

Christine was a very nice looking, gregarious girl who in her youth had pretty freely put herself about around the clubs in Bristol, and, still only twenty-seven years old, she found it quite easy to slip back into her old ways. To get her own back on her husband she was once again out most nights in the local clubs and bars looking for one night stands and making no secret of it. She had never found any difficulty picking up men and suggested to Emma that she too should go and pick up some guy to fuck, just to get even with James. Christine said she could make a few phone calls and arrange a double date for them with a couple of blokes at the Studebaker club in town for the following Saturday.

At first it seemed a ridiculous idea – just not the sort of thing Emma would ever even dream of doing - and she simply treated it as a joke. But over the next few days her resentment against James continued to grow and so it was that at just after eight o'clock the following Saturday evening Christine and Emma got a taxi in to town while James was forced to stay at home looking after the child. Emma told James where she was going but not why. She just said that Christine had invited her out for a drink and she was going out to relax, something she had not had the opportunity to do with him for years. She said nothing else but she hoped he would get the picture, and that it would hurt him. Though angry, Emma's mind was torn: she was pretty sure that James had been fucking Nicole at work but only had Bob's word on that, and deep down she knew that Bob was trouble. She almost chickened out at the last moment and as a sort of compromise with herself she kissed James goodbye and promised him she would be home a little after midnight.

"It's OK," she told herself, "I'll just meet this guy that Chrissy has set me up with, have a few drinks, perhaps a dance and a bit of a laugh, then we'll get a taxi home. If James has been playing around then I'll just let him imagine the worst, but if he hasn't then perhaps one day I'll confess that nothing happened when I went out with Christine."

Emma had dressed for the part. Across her breasts she wore a very low neck blue-grey and black crossover top held together with a tie around the waist, and as she moved, her fabulous breasts wobbled gently in the confines of the black, lace-edged bra that showed slightly above the edges of her top. A large turquoise stone on a heavy silver chain nestled in here cleavage. As she got out of the taxi, rather frightened as to what might happened to her later that evening, she breathed deeply and involuntarily. As she did so her breasts rose and fell sharply, bulging from the constriction of her bra and forcing her erect nipples into the thin material of her top.

Her skirt was also a sort of cross-over design, short but not too short, five inches above her knees, plain black and tight with a zip in the back and three large but inconspicuous buttons up the side.

On the few occasions that they had gone out together James had asked that she wore stockings rather than tights, though she always wore tights to work. James had said that when they fucked on the sofa her stocking tops, the suspender straps and the lacy bottom edge of the basque she sometimes wore formed a sort of frame around the mound of her cunt. He liked the coolness of her naked thighs above her stockings brushing against his cheeks as he flicked her clitoris with his tongue or licked the lips of her cunt while rhythmically stroking two fingers deep inside her.

Emma secretly loved wearing thongs; nothing made her feel quite so sexy, but she never wore them out of the house, not even with James. She said she felt undressed in public as if she had no knickers on at all. Sometimes when she went to the local bar with James she would take her favourite thong with her in her handbag – a little black one with a delicate diamontine back – and as soon as they got home she would slip into the bathroom and change into it, hoping that James would think she had had it on all evening. She knew that James was always turned on by the thought of her wearing it while he fucked her from behind, with the thong pulled aside and stretched across her ass.

Tonight though, as she got out of the taxi, she was wearing her black lace thong and she felt really wicked, fearful and fabulous. Beneath her skirt she could feel the cool nakedness of her bum in the night air and with every step she took it was as if a man's fingers were gently stroking the inside of her thighs and the smooth cleavage of her ass.

She had toyed with the idea of wearing one of the basques that James had bought her over the years. She knew that he found them incredibly erotic and she knew that the thought of her fucking an absolute stranger while wearing one would really hurt him. Emma decided that perhaps that would be too much punishment and tried on instead an ordinary suspender belt but decided it was a bit common; every slut in the club that night would probably be wearing one, she thought.

Eventually she decided on the deep, black lace Rigby & Speller waspie that her husband had bought her last Christmas. It perfectly matched her bra, pinched in her waist beautifully giving her hips a slope to die for, and hid the slight bulge of her belly. Fleetingly, she could imagine, later that night, the pressure of a mans hands sliding up and down the elasticated lace sides of her waspie as he rocked her backwards and forwards on her knees, fucking her hard from behind, doggy style.

On her legs she wore long, 10 denier seamed black stockings held up by the six wide suspenders on her waspie, and on her feet she wore a new pair of strappy black shoes with ludicrously high heels that she had only bought that afternoon. Unused to wearing such high heels, she tottered a little, but this only made her throw back her shoulders, displaying even more fully her fabulous breasts and made her stick her bum out more to balance, which always gives a woman in high heels an incredibly sexy posture. Even Emma, who was really never aware of just how sexy she really was, suddenly felt good and she could feel the eyes of the six or so black guys waiting outside the club boring into her, running up her thighs as she got out of the taxi, and her cunt tingled as she imagined what they would like to do to her.

As Christine led her into the club and down the stairs Emma's mind was in turmoil. She felt angry with James but she was doubtful that what she was doing was right. She felt so sexy too, she desperately wanted a man... she suddenly realized that it was no longer that she simply wanted revenge on James, she just wanted to be picked-up, chatted-up, seduced, fondled and fucked senseless by someone she didn't know... over and over again if she could.

Her resentment was no longer over James' alleged affair; she had already realized as they drove into town in the taxi that that was all nonsense, just a malicious evil rumour started by the despicable Bob Foden. She wanted to make up for lost time. She was thirty-eight now and wanted to regain some of her youth, to go out and have a ball like she had never, except very occasionally, been able to with James because he was always too busy with his failing bloody business. She had told him years ago he should sell up and get a proper job, but he was so obstinate. But then there was the child to be considered, and she did sort-of still love James even though it was perhaps just force of habit. Perhaps she still had time to chicken out and rush back home. Or perhaps she should stay and last the evening out and just have a bit of harmless fun, maybe a couple of drinks, before going back to the monotony of life.

At the bar Christine ordered two large white house wines and looked around. She had arranged to meet Steve, a guy she had gone out with a couple of times in the past and his mate Alex whom she had never met and who was to be Emma's blind date, at 8:45. It was now well past nine and they hadn't arrived yet. The girls had another drink, and another, and warded off the advances of a couple of the predatory young black guys who were always sniffing around the unattached white girls in the club, hoping to get laid on the strength of the myth about the size of their dicks. Christine knew better. She had been fucked by a few of the local black guys in the past before she knew better and she knew they didn't have much finesse . Nor were they that big. She liked to have her vagina licked and fingered for a while to make her really moist but all these guys seemed to want to do was roll her over, spit on her ass and butt-fuck her.

So, while they waited they had another drink. This time Emma had a large rum and blackcurrant because it reminded her of her teenage days in London while Chrissy had something sweet and strong out of a bottle. By this time they were both pretty pissed and giggly, seated at the bar. Emma was perched on a high chair and was by now totally unaware that every time she moved she exposed a luscious length of stocking top, or that when she bent forward to whisper something wicked into Christine's ear her huge breasts bulged provocatively from her top, exposing just the very tops of the dark areolas that surrounded her prominent nipples. The club had become very noisy and smoky and the girls had to shout above the din to make themselves heard. Even then they were so drunk that they didn't really know what they were on about and frequently collapsed into fits of hysteric giggles. By now her work associated simply would not have recognized Emma. All the reserve and coolness had gone; she was bright and bouncy and loud and funny; very drunk and very, very provocative.

Then the guys finally arrived just after ten. Both worked up at the University and both had been working late. Steve was thirty years old, good enough looking but fairly ordinary and liked to say he was the University property services manager. In fact he was in charge of the cleaners. Alex was only twenty-eight, worked in I.T. and at five foot ten inches was an inch shorter than Emma in her heels. Dark haired and always smiling he, like Steve, was well dressed in a casual way but not posey like a lot of the other guys in the club. After work they had stopped for a couple of drinks in the Students Union bar before coming on to the club and that was why they were late. Alex knew he was lined up for a blind date but thought it was just a joke.... Steve was pulling his leg. Christine introduced everyone as best she could, given the noise and her state of intoxication, and Emma's tummy had turned to lead. This was it now! How was the evening going to work out and what would she do? If she wasn't so drunk she might have panicked. As it was she stood up, flung both arms round Alex's neck, spilling her third rum and black over his shoulder, gave him a large very wet kiss on the right cheek and said "Hi Alixsh... I guesh you're mine for the night."

The next couple of hours were a bit of a haze. Christine, Emma and Alex continued to drink but Steve didn't. He'd driven down into town and anyway had to be off to his parents home in Birmingham early in the morning. They left the bar and went into the lounge, which was filled with deep red sofas arranged in groups of three like little, discrete cubicles. They had a little cubicle to themselves where Steve and Chistine sat in one sofa while Emma and Alex sat opposite. Steve and Chrissy chatted and cuddled in the unselfconscious way that old lovers do, while, to begin with at least, Emma and Alex sat at opposite ends of the other sofa and chatted in an embarrassed kind of way. Alex had already been told about Emma and her problems and gradually they moved closer as their initial inhibitions fell away and they got fed up with shouting above the din.

Alex went to the bar for another drink and when he came back he sat closer to Emma, putting his arm along the sofa above her shoulder. As they chatted with increasing intimacy he drew his left arm round her shoulder and occasionally touched her right knee with his other hand. All the while he couldn't keep his eyes from her gorgeous breasts and he was desperate to bury his head in her cleavage. He knew, though, that she was a married women - and an older married woman at that - and was in two minds as to what he was supposed to do. He knew what he wanted to do... there and then if he could.

As the evening wore on she told him about life with James, how she had sacrificed so much for him and how she thought he might be cheating on her but couldn't be sure. As he talked and listened Alex became angrier and angrier inside, while at the same time he was overcome with an absolute animal lust for this amazing creature with the fabulous breasts who sat beside him. He was as jealous as hell of James and he wanted Emma... desperately. Not for ever though... he wasn't into relationships.... he just wanted to take her from him, to make his mark, to make that bastard James sickeningly jealous so that he could never again say that Emma was his and his alone.

Meanwhile Emma was still in turmoil. She liked Alex well enough, but was she prepared to go through with her plan and probably destroy her marriage? She thought not, but as he bent again to whisper in her ear his hand slid up her leg beneath her skirt and the tips of his fingers gently stroked the lace top of her stocking, her resolve weakened. She didn't show it though and withdrew from him quickly, but with a coy smile. In the tension that followed he didn't know what to do, but Emma suggested that they dance. It was a sixties evening and the band was playing 'I Heard it Through the Grapevine'.

On the dance floor she held him very close, her breasts pushed hard into his chest so that he could feel the pressure of her nipples through her bra. As they moved her breasts rose and fell and she was breathing deeply. He kissed her gently but deeply and his hands fell from her shoulders to her hips and found the outline of her waspie. The sensation was electric as he traced the line of her suspenders and his cock stiffened, growing in power quickly to the strongest hard-on he had ever experienced. Emma felt the pressure against her cunt and rocked her hips almost imperceptibly, smiling cheekily at him through her lashes as she did so. Then she backed away a little, allowing him to adjust his trousers so that his erection would not show as they left the floor. In the near dark of the dance hall his hands spread across her buttocks pulling her close to him, his fingers finding, through her skirt, the thin black elastic of her thong. For a moment the gyration of her hips intensified as he pressed his fingers deep between the cheeks of her ass and then the music stopped. For a moment they looked at each other with a kind of panicky embarrassment, but Emma knew she was lost. It was half past twelve and Steve said it was time to go. He had things to do in the morning and wanted to get away. The girls had intended to get a taxi home but Steve said that as his car was parked in the multi-storey just down the road he would give them a lift, dropping Emma of first because she was closest. It was only a ten minute journey home.