Anne's Ambition

But being the analytical person that she was, like a business decision, she needed to be prepared in case she failed. And so, Anne also made a decision as to what to do if this happened. She knew she could not keep going on the way she was. She knew it was simply stupid (and wrong) to bed anyone related to her work. She knew it was simply stupid (and wrong) to bed a friend's husband. If she was unable to get her own mind in order and banish the thought of other men, she decided she would have to find some kind of outlet.

The only outlet there was involved being unfaithful to her husband. But if she was going to be unfaithful, it would have to be with two separate conditions: 1) it couldn't involve anyone even remotely related to her work; 2) it couldn't involve anyone in her personal life or anyone who could, even potentially, connect to her family. There had to be no risks in these matters. This ruled out anyone she knew.

Anne went to bed that night determined to make things right. And if she failed to make things right, she'd do whatever it took to protect her loved ones as well as protect all she had achieved in business, but still seek out, somehow, extramarital sex.

Anne lay there thinking about the men she knew who were trying to get her in bed, many of whom were married. She realized in most cases, they didn't want to leave their wives. Instead, they mostly just needed something more. Maybe it was the rush of bedding a VP of the company - it didn't really matter. The fact is, maybe – just maybe – she was no different. If she couldn't get these thoughts out of her head, she was going to have to pursue a different solution. And hopefully, it would be solution smarter than what the men chasing her were attempting. She would accept no risk here.

Minutes turned into hours. Anne could not fall asleep. She was desperately tired, but could not fall asleep. Sticking with her program, she decided to masturbate – but this time she would deliberately masturbate while thinking of her husband.

As she began to rub her clitoris, Anne began to focus on the romantic getaway she had had with him on Valentine's Day. It had been a perfect evening – a great dinner; and great sex after. Anne attempted to relive the moment. The images of the evening went through her head; she remembered the various courses of the dinner, the conversation, the sexual innuendo. She remembered brushing her foot against his leg. She remembered the elevator ride back to the hotel room they had booked just for the evening. And she thought of them kissing on the elevator. She remembered breaking off the kissing to get off the elevator and she remembered the resumption of kissing as they entered the room – her with her back against the wall, and him pressed against her.

Anne was close to cumming. She worked her clitoris with a feverish pace as she recalled their kissing, as his hands pulled up her short dress over her waste. She recalled how he tasted as his hand found its way into her panties and then into her. She remembered the gasp she made as he first touched her clitoris. At that moment, Anne's own fingers brought her to the brink of orgasm. And at that very same moment, in her imagination the sensation of his finger on her clitoris had caused her to break the kiss momentarily, and she could see, still left to her imagination, that the man that she had been kissing was not, in fact her husband – but instead was Tony.

As the waves of her orgasm washed over her all she could imagine was being with Tony. She hadn't even lasted a day. Her problem was clearly serious. She would need to act on it or something much worse would happen. She vowed to always love her husband and always protect her family. But fighting these desires wasn't going to work at all.

Snapshot Day 1 #2 (Extended version)

Her business clothes now either hanging or put away neatly in the drawer, Anne went back to her suitcase and pulled out some gym clothes – black tight lycra pants; a sports bra; a white tank top. The hotel had a fitness centre and Anne never looked for excused to break a routine.

It was 4:45 p.m. now. She'd be back in the room before 6:30 p.m. It had been a bright, warm, sunny day in Dallas. It would likely be pretty warm this evening as well. The conference started tomorrow morning. The evening was hers, and she had a plan.

She gathered her mp3 player and went off to work out. As planned, she was back in her room by 6:20 p.m. Time to call home.

Her nanny answered. Her husband wasn't home yet, but expected soon. Anne talked to her kids, saying all the things expected of her as a loving mother. It was now time for a shower.

Anne stripped out of her gym outfit, neatly putting her clothing away – the tank top was too sweaty to wear again – but the pants would be needed. She proceeded to the washroom and took a long shower.

The shower was followed by the painstaking application of skin cream. As a seasoned traveller, Anne knew to take care of herself. She applied a special light cream to her face – the product had a bit of shimmer in it. It wasn't the skin cream she'd put on before going to work. It was more for when she and her husband were going out on the town.

Anne found some casual clothes still in her suitcase – an old pair of jeans and an often worn blouse. She quickly got dressed and went out of her room to grab a bite to eat in the hotel restaurant. She brought her iPad with her to have something to read while she ate. Anne had developed a mental checklist of everything she had to do, and had been making steady progress. She was on a schedule here, and was proceeding with her characteristic determination.

8:15 found Anne back in her room. She finished unpacking one bag and moved her other bag into a corner of the room. She wanted her room to look neat. And she didn't want any tripping on her bags.

Anne stripped down again, removing her underwear as well. She put these clothes in a draw and then went to the one only partially unpacked suit case and pulled out some new undergarments. They were a recent purchase – a little black thong and matching demi-bra. She thought they were pretty sexy. On her, they were sexier yet.

Next up: she wanted to call home again and speak to her husband. This was important. She needed to not let this slip by. With the time difference it was close to bed time for him. She used to forget about time differences. As she travelled more frequently they became an ordinary fact of life. He was happy she called. They chatted about the kids and said loving things. She made a conscious effort to not in any way end the conversation. She waited until he announced he'd be heading up to bed.

After hanging up, Anne decided to check herself out in the mirror. Although 32, Anne looked younger.

Some were surprised someone so "young" could be a VP in a big company. They were usually equally surprised to find out she was 32 – that's still quite young for the title, but the company had many youngish employees at higher levels. She might be younger than others at that level, but not by much.

Anne approved of what she saw and returned to the one suit case only partially unpacked. She reached in and pulled out another recent purchase – a pair of jeans. These were very low rise skinny jeans. Of course, even with the term 'skinny', everything is relative. There are relatively skinny jeans and there are super painted on skinny jeans. This new pair was of the latter variety – they were the tightest fitting jeans she had ever bought, with some lycra in them to make them appear extra tight.

After a bit of a struggle, she did up the button and again checked herself out in the mirror – now in her skinny low-rise jeans and a bra.

She knew she looked hot.

Anne realized her husband would likely have found these jeans just a little bit too much, and not approved of her wearing them, even when out on the town with him. Jeans were meant to be sexy; but slender Anne looked a little too sexy in them. And if he would object to her wearing them even with him, he'd certainly be horrified at the idea of her going out without him; without anyone, in fact.

The mirror confirmed to her that the jeans were also particularly low rise. It was a bit of a struggle to keep her thong tucked into them so as to not be visible. She, like every woman, checked out her own ass in them. In public, she'd stand out.

Being so slim as well as in shape, Anne had a completely flat stomach. She rarely wore shirts that showed it though – at best, when with her husband, you might be fortunate to get a glimpse of her belly button - nothing more. Tonight would be different.

Anne reached again into her suit case and pulled out the remaining items – one pair of open toe black platform shoes; and three tank tops.

The three tank tops were white, black, and a deep neon pink respectively. Each had a different pattern on them and some embroidery. And each, when on her, ended above her belly button. She chose, after a bit of deliberation, the pink one.

Given the jeans and now the tank top, her flat stomach was very much on display now. She wished she had other shoes to wear – to match the pink – but that wasn't going to happen. Again she went to check herself out. The tank top fit her like a second skin. You could see the outline of her bra through it.

Her husband would end the marriage immediately if he saw how she looked. There would be no possible explanation open to her that could salvage her marriage, if he had a hidden camera and could see what she was wearing. For Anne, this was a very sexy, slutty look. And this was the look she wanted to achieve. She had transformed herself from an executive business woman look to a chick on the prowl look.

It was now just after 9 p.m. Anne made her way back to the bathroom. Time for cosmetics. First, she would apply some dark eye shadow; then eye liner. She stopped to admire her handiwork. She then added a tiny bit of rouge to her cheeks, and added lipstick pencil to complete the work. She again stopped to admire her artistry. The make-up added a desired whorish touch.

It was now time to put on the shoes. She didn't want to be too tall – the heels were only 2 inches high. But this put her up to 5'11. Once on, she'd be completely dressed. And then it was time for one more glance in the mirror.

Anne looked at herself over and over. She muttered to herself, "If I'm going to be a slut, I might as well look like a slut."

Anne then grabbed a black jacket and again went to check herself out once again with the addition on. "Makes it a bit less trashy and a bit more classy." She thought to herself for a minute and decided to forego the jacket and the class. Trashy would win tonight.

She gave one last tidy up, built up her nerve and left her hotel room.

Anne reminded herself that this was Dallas, Texas. Not only was it going to be warm, but she reminded herself of the funny accents and the funnier cowboy hats. It helped steady her. For the first time, she was feeling nervous. The nervousness was fueled by guilt. Walking onto elevator she saw herself in its mirror. She thought to herself that her outfit was no funnier, really, than the cowboy hat. Why was it funnier to dress like cowboy as opposed to a hooker?

Anne couldn't take her eyes off herself. She was concerned someone else would come into the elevator from a lower floor. She wanted an evening without unintended consequences. She was sticking to her game plan, but the idea of someone outside the game's arena seeing her like this, alone in an elevator, would be humiliating.

The hooker-like outfit was for this evening's activities only and not for eyes from the outside to be ogling. She gave herself one last glance and then exited, as the elevator landed on the ground floor. She chose the side exit from the hotel to avoid being seen in the lobby. She smirked at her labelling it as a "hooker outfit." She had no intention of selling her wares this evening, but if she ever needed a job, she certainly had the "look".

Her target was the nearby bar scene. Just over three short blocks away there were several bars which catered mainly to the university crowd, most of which nearly identical to each other, but one with an urban twist; and another with a country twist.

It was a short walk, but one she was unhappy with. A single, attractive woman wearing a fuck-me outfit should not feel safe walking alone.

Walking gingerly, even with the shoes, she made her way in short time. She was aware of feeling nervous, and decided to walk into the very first bar she came across. It was one of these cavernous places, with the big TV screens, a dance floor in the back, a number of places to get a drink, and various places to mingle – standing tables to booths. The place was fairly crowded for a Tuesday night. College kids don't distinguish the nights of the week very well.

Anne made her way through the crowd to get to a bar. She quietly sized up the competition. There were all kinds of girls, most looking young, in their early 20's. Some looked like they were there to score – tight jeans and short skirts were there for one's viewing pleasure – while some were clearly not looking to compete. Of the crowd, Anne thought her own outfit with the make-up was the most fuck-me explicit.

Anne remained nervous, but she was now also feeling excited. People were here to have fun and to hook up. She was going to be very much in that game.

Being older than the competition meant she'd have to be sending out her message in a very ultra-straightforward fashion. It's not like you get to interview each prospect. At 32, Anne could pass for 27, maybe 26 – but she doubted anyone would take her for younger than that. A guy's initial interest would be based on what he is seeing.

As according to her plan, people took notice. Guys have their radar on in places like this, and many eyes fixed themselves on the fuck-me-please chick in the fuck-me-please jeans. Anne was aware of the stares; she could even feel the stares of the guys from behind checking out her ass. Girls were checking her out too – some unhappy with the competition; some with mild to moderate disgust at the outfit they saw as perhaps more sleazy than sexy.

Before she reached the bar, a young man intercepted her and offered to buy her a beer. They introduced themselves. He was Scott. Anne checked him out quickly. First appearances were he was cute, and she could live with the accent. She glanced at the dance floor, and seeing it was more than half full, asked him to hit the dance floor first. She realized what she wanted to do was to evaluate him. Anne was, in her usual way, deciding to deal with this as she would a business decision.

The music was loud, booming house dance music. They began to dance. Anne let loose. She was aware other men were continuing to check her out. She wondered if she should check out others before settling on Scott.

Anne was a decent dancer. Tonight, though, she would be just a little wilder on the dance floor. If this guy didn't work out, there'd be another to fill his shoes quickly enough.

Scott seemed young to her. That wasn't a bad thing – she had anticipated choosing a younger guy, but she hadn't expected the guy to be quite as young as he seemed. He was cute – seriously cute. She made a point of checking out the front of his jeans. There was a definite bulge there. Anne also liked the fact that he was quick in making a move toward her.

A lot of guys don't dance well – but Scott was okay. He had some basic moves. Without being able to check out every guy in the place, Anne felt Scott was a decent choice – he was a cute, sexy, really young guy. At one point as they danced, Anne put her hand on his waist. Scott seemed now a little shy, but smiled as she let her hand linger on him.

After one song, Anne asked for that beer. They found a crescent-shaped booth, and soon after a waitress. The beers would be on their way.

The two began to engage in small talk. Scott did manage to say that Anne looked "good", which was his way of saying either "hot", "sexy", or "slutty". It didn't matter to her which meaning he intended.

The booth, being in a crescent shape, allowed them to sit beside each other, as opposed to across from each other. This, in turn, allowed Anne to drop her hand on Scott's leg occasionally. Scott didn't reciprocate. It was beginning to dawn on Anne that Scott was so young he didn't have full confidence in his moves yet.

Anne wondered how she should proceed. Should she just break off the small talk? She was hoping for a smoother transition. She as hoping Scott would take more initiative. He clearly was interested, and he surely wasn't thinking of Anne as a long term prospective girlfriend. Again Anne read this as part of his inexperience.

Yes, he was cute, but Anne wondered if she shouldn't be looking for someone a bit more aggressive. Ultimately, she decided all that mattered was the package, and he was one cute package with a bulge in his pants.

The beers came. They continued to talk, Anne telling him why she was down here, and Scott talking a bit about school. He was aware she was older, but wasn't asking any questions. At one point he made some light fun of some other guys whooping it up in one area of the bar. Anne decided it was an opportunity to steer the conversation to begin moving forward to achieving her goal for the night. She said, "Yeah – guys will be guys. It's hard to put up with them. But...... they still can be useful to have around once in a while."

Scott gave his shy smile again. Anne was determined to proceed, and placed her hand on his leg again, this time leaving it there. She gave it a gentle squeeze. He seemed a bit surprised, possibly thinking he can't believe his luck; possibly thinking it can't be this easy!

Scott was maybe shy, but he was no dummy. He was quite happy to go down this road. They'd only begun drinking their beers, and he had this wild, hot chick's hand on his thigh already. "So," he started, "how do you find guys useful?"

This was the opportunity to end the game. Anne needed to make a final decision – proposition Scott, or move on to find someone else. She made it quickly – young Scott would do. "Well," she began – and then paused as she moved her hand up to pass by the front of his jeans– "I was hoping you'd be useful to me tonight. I was thinking of inviting you back to my hotel room so that you can show me what a man you are."

Anne gave his very hard cock another pass through by his jeans, and then moved it away. Scott's reaction was sincere. "Jeez – I'm ready now." His "I'm" sounded more like "Ah'm", but to Anne, it just didn't matter.

The glasses were still three quarters full. But Anne wasn't here for the beer. "Let's go now."

They departed quickly, leaving the beer behind. It was still only 9:45 p.m.

Anne normally would be tired at this time of the night, given the time difference. But her adrenalin was pumping, and as she walked she could feel she was very wet between the legs. This was actually her first sexual conquest of her life. Past sex experiences had been with boyfriends.

Anne made a point of grabbing his hand as they walked. They were going to be coupling, so she felt they should appear as a couple. Given her overly sexed up outfit, she felt a little easier being outside while holding his hand. She made sure they walked fast, and she again used the hotel side entrance to get to the elevators.

Once inside the elevator took about 30 seconds to return to the ground floor. Anne on the one hand wanted to rip Scott's clothes off; on the other hand wanted to get out of sight as soon as possible.

This was, in some sense, a fishing expedition for Anne. Her slutty outfit was the hook and bait. Having reeled in her fish, she didn't want anyone else seeing her like this. The slutty outfit was for him and him alone now. It was for a specific business-like purpose and wasn't to be used by others (meaning she wasn't interested in providing viewing pleasure for anyone else.)