tagLoving WivesA Tale of Immorality Ch. 03

A Tale of Immorality Ch. 03


Chapter Three: A Whiff Of Debauchery

I am Anne.

I am the woman who went to Chicago to fuck a Russian concert pianist and his juicy Chinese page turner. Remember? I am also the woman who afterwards whispered "I love you" to her husband while rinsing her lover's fresh sperm from her cunt.

By now you must find me disgusting.

Please don't think I'd care less. I am not a masochist. I love to be liked. But yes, your disgust won't stop my desire to fuck outside my marriage. It is the spice of my life. Losing it would turn me into the most boring of persons. And who needs that?

My husband George doesn't deserve a depressed wife, does he? I promise to be careful. There is no need for him to know what puts the bubble in me. Wouldn't that spoil it all, for him and for me? I need my little holidays. I bring them home as a gift. Like a fresh tan from Aruba. Or a healthy blush from a spa.

Yes, I can see how you shake your head. So much bullshit just to get what I want. Selfishness wrapped in generosity. Treason in disguise.

Ah well. I guess I have to live with your disapproval. A small price to pay. At least I have one consolation: it has been a great life so far.


It took almost half a year before a new adventure presented itself.

Six months of getting wet from tasting oysters. Or just hearing a Beethoven sonata. Any piano piece, actually. It was also six months of bringing home a horny body because of it. And having sweet George gloriously fuck it.


More and more celebrities hope their fame will spill over into a well-sold perfume brand. I guess it all started with Coco Chanel. Nowadays there are many others. Some are successful; a lot, not really.

I still work at this growing chain of delicatessen and catering shops. I do PR and marketing there. Of course I have a boss. And as all bosses do, he sometimes has an idea.

Funny thing about the ideas of bosses is that they always get implemented. All other ideas tend to be squeezed through a bottleneck of research and yawning committees. But his idea of tying in with the perfume brand of a celebrity made it into execution in no time at all.

My boss had met a particular celebrity at a fund-raiser against land mines or something. She is a famous model, known for her face and her coke parties. (Ah, well, I shouldn't be this transparently jealous, should I?)

In my desperate quest for just the right PR strategy, I came up with a great idea — we would contract with famous restaurants throughout the state to prepare dishes that would go well with the perfume — combining the senses of smell and taste, so to speak.

It was all bullshit, of course. But it was the right bullshit. The restaurants were enthusiastic and so were their chefs, but paramount was the endorsement I got from the celebrity model herself, because it made my boss smile.

I met Alan as we prepared our campaign. He was the head of the laboratory that had designed the perfume.

I at once knew I had to have him.

He was tall, lean and Mediterranean. His nose made me chuckle. It was as impressive as one might expect from a man of his profession. I also mused about what they say about men with large noses.

Alan wasn't nice.

He was haughty and arrogant. Looking down his nose came natural, I'd say. It seemed he didn't even see me at all. I tried to catch his gaze during our meeting. But he never even looked my way.

The next meeting was hardly different. Funny thing was, the more he ignored me, the more I wanted him. I was like a ditzy teenager. After the first disaster I had decided to dress up. A lot more leg, a bit more tit. And shiny lipstick. But in the end I had to believe he was gay, if only to protect my self esteem.

As the meeting petered out, we ended up being the last ones around. I gathered my stuff and started to leave. Suddenly his hand was on my wrist. It felt warm and strong. And it stopped me. I turned to meet his eyes. He pulled me closer and kissed me.

I struggled for about two seconds.

Make that one.


He was staying at the local five star hotel.

That worried me — too many people knew me there. Even if George wouldn't accidentally see me, there were too many chances someone else might notice me and tell him. (I don't want to lose George, remember?)

So I drove my little sports car over to a motel twenty miles down the highway. It was quite a nice place, actually. Pool and garden and all. But that wasn't where our main interest lay.

The rumor about a link between noses and cocks may still be unfounded. With Alan it was deliciously true. Thank God he was very considerate with it.

He must have seen me flinch when I opened his fly. He was only half way up, but the pole that swayed in front of me was already both taller and fatter than any I had ever seen. Including my Russian maestro.

"Kiss it, please," he murmured. And I did.

When he had at last worked it into my cunt, I thought I had died. Yes, and gone to heaven, as they say. In my memories the afternoon was one solid orgasm.

I had to avoid poor George for two nights afterwards, until my pussy had shrunk to its innocent proportions again. It may have been hard for him (no pun intended) — but it was frustrating for me, too. The afternoon delight had left me horny like you wouldn't believe. All I wanted was to fuck George. As I said: he profited as much from my little adventures as I did.

He just had to wait a bit, sometimes.


I met with Alan quite a few times after that.

The meetings were purely professional, though. I had the Law of Anne to consider. It precluded any possibility of repeating our sexual fling. I could tell it wasn't easy for Alan. As arrogant as he had been before, that's how eager he was now for us to get together again.

I was really quite proud.

Although my dripping pussy protested, I kept the promise I had made to myself. Until our last meeting.

It wasn't at our offices. It was at their headquarters in San Francisco. I was requested to fly there to compose the final bouquets of scents and fragrances that would intersperse the different courses of the meals.

I knew it was a blatant lie —

So I knew why I went, and it thrilled me to no end. (Yes, I know. Sliding standards and all.)

He picked me up at the airport. His kiss felt wonderful. He smelled good. It was great to just walk alongside him. He is very handsome; people notice.

Once outside, I breathed deeply. The sheer freedom made me dizzy.

He asked if it was all right to take me to his condo. We could easily finish the job tomorrow. He grinned at that. He knew as well as I how contrived our appointment was.

His car was a vintage Volvo. It had a high and elegant back, like a cat's. It felt as if I'd stepped into an old European movie. The tires even had white sides.

His apartment was at the top of a high-rise building. San Francisco lay at our feet as we were on the crest of a hill. I admired the view. His hand slid around my waist. I turned and kissed him.

I also thanked him for this incredible present.

"De nada," he chuckled.

Then he picked a rose from a vase and made me bury my nose in it. The sweet scent overwhelmed me.

"Did you know a scent can make you orgasm?" he asked. I looked up from the rose. There must have been skepticism in my smile.

"We'll eat first," he said.

I quickly changed into a small cotton dress and nice heels. My hair and make-up took most of my time. He drove me to a small old-fashioned Italian restaurant. They seemed to know him well. The wine was lovely. So was the pasta salad.

I kept feeling like a time traveler.


What should I make of the bedroom?

It was high kitsch, no doubt about that. There were old statues of saints all around. Virgin Mary's and Sacred Hearts. There were chandeliers and hundreds of burning candles. Colorful drapes too.

The bed was covered with a million fresh flower petals. A heavy perfume permeated the air. It almost took my breath away. The combination with the wine gave me a floating feeling.

There was one second of doubt. Then Alan knelt before me.

"Please undress," he whispered.

I did. He didn't. He gathered my clothes and hung them up. I stood naked. The living flames and the perfumed air swirled around my trembling body. My nipples grew. I touched my tits.

Should I run? It was all so…strange.

He just kept staring at me. I started to talk, but he shhhh-ed me, a finger to his lips.

"Please, lay down," he said at last.

The silk sheets and flowers felt cool against my back and thighs. My skin glowed with excitement. The lights went out, but the candles kept weaving their uncertain light over my naked skin. The scents and fragrances became even more intense.

He knelt at my side. A slow finger ran the length of my body. Sparks of arousal followed his touch. I caught his gaze. He asked me to close my eyes. A moan escaped me. I gasped at the sheer impact of sensations.

My body arched against his touch.

Then he took my wrist. Something soft but firm closed around it. Too late to run. My arm stretched until I knew it was tied to something. As was my other arm. And my legs. Was this weird? Scary, maybe? Oh yes, it was that too. But most of all, it was incredibly arousing.

When nothing happened, I opened my eyes.

I saw his dark silhouette over me. Suddenly something cool touched my left nipple. It felt like burning ice. I cried at the touch. Then I moaned as I felt the fire sink into my body. He touched my other nipple. A second fire was kindled. I felt the cold object slide down the center to my clit.

I screamed.

Then all touches were gone. I could not stop wriggling in their aftermath. My body rose in search of contact. A deep glow had entered through three tiny gates. It lifted me to the edge of a dizzying pinnacle.

"Xstaz 009 we call it."

His voice came from the dark. "Three little droplets at the right places. They vaporize and then…"

I could only moan. A confused mist replaced my brain. My nipples screamed. So did my clit.

Then a soft little ball touched my nose. Cotton, I guess. A flare of musky perfume hit me. My tied body formed a taut bridge as I came and came, screaming. Wide rivers of ecstasy drowned my body. It shook and convulsed with climax after climax. All air seemed to be cut off. I felt like a balloon tugging at its moorings, aching to fly away.

It was indescribable.

I am certain it made me pass out for a minute. Then I crashed back on the flowery bed. I panted, gasped. I also felt a cool breeze sweep over my wet and sweating body.


The dark dusk lifted.

I saw his face, he was very close. He smiled.

"I see you like our new perfume," he said. "Did I convince you?" I could only whimper.

That night he fucked me in a maelstrom of scents and perfumes. I rode his huge cock and gagged on it while exotic fragrances wisped in and out on the breezes of his high-tech but subtle air conditioning system.

The sun never reached his bedroom. But it must have been morning when we sank into a bottomless sleep at last.


"Yes honey…I'll land around 6 pm."

"Yes, I am very tired."

"So nice of you to pick me up."

"Hmm, yes. It sure is incredible what they can do with perfumes."

"A woman's paradise for sure."

"I brought a few li'l' bottles. Some are not even on the market yet."

"You'll see how great they are."

"Me too, honey."

"Yes, I do…deeply so."

"Kiss, darling."

"See you soon."


The departure hall was full of people.

I sat waiting at my gate. I looked very businesslike in my dark suit, white blouse. No one knew how my throbbing nipples screamed inside my lace bra. Nor did anyone see the trickling juices that darkened my cotton thong.

I just could not resist taking a whiff. The tiny crystal vial sparkled in the palm of my hand.

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