tagLoving WivesCupid's Dart

Cupid's Dart


Wednesday nights were Date Nights. She would start preparing right after dinner, leading her husband into the bedroom and, using the cushioned handcuffs she had bought, bind him face up and naked, hand and foot, to the bedposts.

He loved to watch her get ready, the care she took with her shower and her makeup. As she walked around the bedroom naked, choosing and discarding lingerie, jewelry and clothing, he would chew on his lip, his prick standing up straight like the ears of an alert dog.

She usually wore a button-up blouse with a twirly skirt that would spin out and show her legs when she danced. Of course, she had to be careful with that because under the skirt, she wore a garter belt and stockings but never anything else.

After she put on her boots she was almost ready, just one or two more things. She opened his bedside drawer and took out two condoms and popped them into her purse. She went over to her dresser and slipped off her wedding and engagement rings and slid them over a thin ring-holder shaped like an erect penis (a present, she'd told her husband). She turned off the lights and lit candles on the bedside tables to emphasize that this was a special night.

Then she went over to the bed, kissed her husband's engorged cock, told him she'd be back before he knew it, and left.

When she got home, she was usually swaying a bit. When she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, she tasted like wine and her hair smelled smoky. She stroked his cock and turned away into the walk-in closet.

"Did you miss me?" she always asked him.

"I missed you terribly," he would say.

She would stick her head out of the closet and smile in the candlelight. "I know," she would say.

By the time she came out of the closet, wrapped in a sheer silk robe, he was aching for her. When she fished the two empty condom wrappers out of her purse and dropped in the trash can he followed her with hungry eyes. She would stand next to the bed, looking at him and ask, "Aren't you going to ask me about my evening?"

"How was your evening?" he would ask hoarsely.

She would slip out of her robe and climb on the bed, straddling her husband as she told him about it, teasing his cock with the lips of her cunt. Her lover, she would sometimes say, had been irritable that night and it had taken some time to placate him. Luckily, she knew how to do that, better than anyone. A furtive hand job in the cab would usually do the trick or a taste of her pussy behind some convenient bushes.

But he wasn't always cross. Sometimes he was exuberant and expansive, One of his favorite games was to have her go into a bar without him and play an attractive honey pot to the men buzzing around. Eventually he would come in and claim her but not before she'd had a chance to kiss and fondle and be kissed and fondled, sometimes to the point of orgasm. He always scolded her as a slut afterward but she also knew that he really got off on watching her face from across the room as she felt some young stud's cock through his trousers while he fingered her until she came.

When they finally fucked at his apartment, she would say dreamily, it was always something new. A new liqueur. A book of erotic drawings that he wanted to try out some of the positions from. A green marble dildo so big she thought she couldn't accommodate it (but she could). Dripping honey on his cock so it would be sweet when she sucked him.

By this point, her husband would be frantic. She had him all the way inside her now, and was rocking against him.

"Fuck me," he would implore.

"Yes," she would tell him. "I'm fucking you. But I'm a little tired after all the fucking I've had."

But she never really seemed to be tired. She would squeeze against him and her face would contort, once, twice, three times before she finally lay down on his chest, breathing hard, with him still inside her. But he couldn't come that way, strapped down with her on top of him. Eventually she would roll off and unfasten the cuffs so he could really fuck her. These times he always took her from behind, slamming into her hard and fingering her clit while telling her she was a bitch to act the way she did.

"You're a slut," he would say. "A whore." And when he finally came he would roar her name and collapse on her.

If her husband noticed that her hair and makeup and clothes were never mussed when she got home after these evenings he didn't say anything. He didn't even ask about why her capricious and erratic lover would be satisfied with her company for a predictable few hours a week.


Valentine's Day was a Wednesday, so it was a Date Night. She wore sheer red stockings with a pattern of hearts under a pleated black skirt, and a red blouse that showed the outline of a lacy black bra underneath. Her husband admired her from the bed.

"Don't be late tonight," he told her. "I really want you."

She smiled at him, adjusting an earring. "You'll be happy to see me," she told him. She twirled around and lifted up her skirt to show him that she had shaved and clipped her pubic hair into a neat heart shape.

"Oh my God," he said. "Let me out now." But she only smiled again.

When she was ready, she slipped off her rings and slid them down the ring holder and then opened the bedside drawer. She took out two condoms, then paused and took a third and dropped all of them into her purse.

"I feel lucky," she told him.

Then she lit the candles and leaned over to give him a peck on the cock and was gone.


When she finally got home, the candles had burned out. Her husband heard her come in downstairs and called out to her.

"Can you uncuff me? I really need to pee!"

She came running up the stairs. "Oh my God," she cried. "I'm so sorry it's so late." She unlocked the cuffs and he sprang up, then, in the dim light from the streetlight, stared at her.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"It's Date Night," she explained weakly. "I was with my ---"

"Don't give me that!" he said. He leaned forward and sniffed her face, traced a finger on her cheek. "My God," he said. "Who have you been with?"

"Listen," she told him.

"Shit," he said. "I have to piss." He went into the bathroom and there was a long sound of a bladder emptying. He left the bathroom light on and when he came back into the bedroom, she was standing by the bed, her arms folded across her chest.

"I'm going to take a shower," she told him. "Why don't you get into bed and get ready for me?"

"Let's have it," he said. "I want to hear about it."

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? Listen," he ran his hand through his hair. "I just feel like you were cheating on me out there tonight and I need you to tell me the truth about it."

"Darling," she protested. "Every Wednesday night I go out and..."

"I don't know what you do every Wednesday night but it's not like this," he told her. "I love the stories you tell me when you get home and I love how we fuck then but look at you! Your hair is all messed up, your makeup is a mess. You smell like, oh my God. How did you think I wouldn't notice?"

She bit her lip and looked away.

He paced up and down a few times, then perched on the edge of the bed and sighed heavily. "Look," he said. "I know we've been playing some kinky games and maybe you misunderstood how I felt about them."

She turned back and looked at him. "Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? I don't know." He stared at her. "What did you do?"

"I cheated on you," she said.

He stared at her with narrow eyes. "With who?"


"Tony? Who the fuck's Tony?"

She sighed. "Let me take a shower," she said. "Why don't you go get yourself a drink? Then we can talk."

When she came out of the bathroom she had a terry-cloth robe wrapped around her. He was sitting on the bed leaning against the headboard, wearing a pair of boxer shorts. A tumbler with some scotch in it was on the table next to him. He'd scattered the contents of her purse on the bed.

"No condoms," he said. "Not even the wrappers. I guess you did get lucky." He glared at her.

"I don't think I can do this," she told him. "I'm going to just go sleep downstairs."

"Oh," he said. "Are you tired out?"

"Stop it!" she cried. "Stop sneering at me. I made a big mistake and boy do I regret it but..."

"But what?" He shook his head. "You think, you come say I'm sorry I fucked around, let's just forget it and go back to..."

"If it weren't for Date Nights, I would..."

"Honey, that was just a fucking game, this is real!"

"I know," she said. "I know."

"Can you just give me the rough outline of what happened? Who is this guy Tony? Where did you meet him?"

She was silent.

"What?" he asked.

"I think it's just going to make things worse," she told him. "I think you're just going to get madder."

"Probably," he said. "But I think you owe me at least this much."

She shook her head.

"Look," he said in a more reasonable tone. "I'm not going to lose control. We're both grownups, we've both fucked up in our lives. Tell me about Tony."

She shook her head again.

He stood up and came over to her and put his arms around her. "Come and sit," he said. "Tell me what happened."

She bowed her head.

"Come," he repeated. He took her hand and led her to the bed, sat down on it and patted next to him. "Sit."

She sat down and started to weep. "I feel so... stupid." she cried. "But it just, I don't know. I guess I lost control of myself."

He picked up his tumbler and sipped some whisky. "So you left here," he said. "And went..."

"To Chloe's," she said.

"Chloe's?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," she said. "That's where I always go on Wednesday nights. We have like a, you know, a girls' night. Me and her and Andrea and..."

"I get it," he said. "That's funny, you spend hours at her house and come home and tell me incredibly hot sexy stories and fuck me silly. What do you guys talk about?"

"Just random stuff," she said. "You know. And drink wine and smoke cigarettes. Sometimes we watch a movie."

"Do they know about Date Night?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I mean Andrea asked me once why I don't wear my wedding ring when I come over but I just said it was a game we play and she lost interest." She looked up. "I think married people sex is by definition boring if you're single."

"Are they all single?"

"Yes," she said. "Except me. Just a sec." She went to the dresser and got a tissue, blew her nose. "I hate crying," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"So you went over to Chloe's," he prompted.

"Yeah," she said. "But there weren't any cars out front. I guess they forgot to tell me it was off this week. Because of Valentine's Day. They all had dates."

"I'm sorry," he said. "We could have..."

"No," she said. "It was Date Night, right? Anyway, I rang the doorbell and Chloe was there and she was kind of mortified that nobody had thought to tell me. I guess she thought Andrea would and..."

"Right," he said. "So what happened then?"

She studied her fingernails for a moment. "So Chloe had a ticket to this party," she said. "She got it a while ago, before she started dating Damian and so, well, they were going to go out instead of her going to the party."

"Couldn't he get a ticket?"

She looked up. "It was a singles' dance."

"Oh," he said. "I see."

"Yeah," she said. "I wasn't going to go, but she felt real bad and she said, look, just go have fun, have a few drinks, check out the scene. She said it's always fun, she'd gone the past few years."

"And she thought I was an asshole for leaving you alone on Valentine's."

"No," she said. "Well, I don't know. Maybe. Anyway..."

"So you went to the party."

"Yeah," she said. "And she was right, it was a great scene. Music, people dancing up a storm. I had a drink, it was all red drinks for Valentine's Day."

"Huh," he said. "What did you have?"

She hesitated.

"What?" he asked. "Sex on the Beach?"

"That's not red," she said. "I had a Hanky Panky."

"Jesus," he said. "I've never even heard of it. But Jesus."

"It was good," she said.

"Good Hanky Panky," he said. "I guess that's appropriate."

"Anyway," she said. "After a while, I was just thinking it was time to leave when I ran into Tony."

"Tony," he said. "This is where it gets interesting. Tony who?"

"Tony of Tony-and-Diana," she said. "I told you about them, they dated all through college, I think they met freshman week."

"So where was Diana?"

"Maybe they broke up," she said. "I didn't ask."

"Okay," he said. "So here's Tony. You, what, danced with him?"

"No," she said. "Just talked. And we had drinks."

"More Hanky Panky," he said.

She sighed. "One thing, I'm sure I told you about this at some point, I had this huge crush on Tony the whole time he was with Diana. It was like. You know. He's with one of your friends and he's really cute and kind of flirty and he's safe because he's with her."

"Uh huh."

She looked at him. "And then one weekend we got together when Diana was off visiting her sister."

"No shit."

"I'm positive I told you about this," she said.

"I don't think so," he said. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember that. Then what happened?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. Diana came back and we were back to being just friends. Except I kind of drifted away from them. It was halfway through senior year anyway."

"Ok," he said. "Tony one-night-stand, ex-friend, ex-boyfriend of ex-friend."

"We talked for a while," she said. "And I guess I was getting a little drunk, because you know it was one of those places where you have to shout to be heard and he said let's go somewhere quieter."

"Fuck," he said. "What did you say?"

She looked at him. "I went with him."

He shook his head. "Not to the public library, I'm guessing."

"As I said, I was tipsy. I didn't realize really where we were going until we got to his hotel parking lot. Then he leaned over and kissed me. And it was like, pow."


She looked at him. "You really want to hear this?"

"Yeah," he said. "Tell me about pow."

"It was incredible," she said. "It was like being twenty one again and suddenly kissing this guy you've been carrying a torch for since you were eighteen and every time he kisses you..."


"It goes right to your cunt."

"Jesus," he said. She reached out and took his scotch and sipped it, gave it back to him.

"Yeah," she said. "It was like magic. He kissed me and I was all over him. I wanted to rip his clothes off right there in the parking lot. He pulled me out of the car and into the hotel. Longest elevator ride of my life, it was like we were fucking standing up with our clothes on."

He didn't say anything.

"You okay?" she asked. "You did say you wanted..."

"Jesus," he said. "Go on." He took her hand.

"His room was on the ninth floor," she said. "He opened the door and turned on a lamp and I saw the blinds were open. By the time I had them closed he was under my skirt and I kind of just flipped over into a chair. I think he was surprised I wasn't wearing panties."

"He hadn't got that far in the car?" he asked.

"Anyway," she said. "That's how it happened."

He stroked her hand, lifted it to his lips. "And then what happened?"

"What do you mean, what happened? I think you can figure it out."

"No," he said. "You need to tell me."

She stared at him. He reached over and undid the sash of her robe, reached a hand inside, held one of her breasts.

"Tell me," he repeated. "He's under your skirt, working on you with, what, his tongue?"

"This is really weird," she said.

"It's Date Night, remember," he said. "Pretend it's make believe." He knelt on the floor and pushed his face between her legs. "Did he lick you here?" he said in a muffled voice.

"Stop it," she said. "I don't want to now."

He looked up. "But you wanted to then."

"Look," she said. "You're making this really weird."

"Tell me," he said. He got to his feet. "He licked you until what, you came?"

She looked away. "Yes," she said.

"More than once?"

"Probably," she said.

"Was it good?"

"Of course it was good," she said.

"Then what?"

"He pulled me down on the floor," she said.

"Was he hard?"

"Of course he was hard," she snapped. "What do you think?"

"Tell me," he said. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Tell me what he did."

"I was on the floor," she said. "My purse was right there, I got out a condom."

"Smart girl," he said. "Was he undressed at this point?"

"No," she said. "He'd pulled his shirt off right when we got into his room."

"And his pants?"

"I unbuckled them," she said. "His belt, I mean. And unzipped him. And..."

"And what?"


"Let me guess," he said. "He has a really big cock."

"It's big," she said. "I don't know about really big."

"What, eight inches? Nine inches?"

"I have no idea! How big is that? How big is yours?"

"It's bigger than mine anyway," he said. "So you got it out. Did you suck it?"

She didn't say anything for a moment. "I licked it," she said. "I didn't try to suck it."

"Wow," he said. "That big. Who put the condom on him?"

"I did," she said.

"And then?"

"I lay back," she said. "And he got on top of me. I was so turned on I wanted him right away but he dragged it out, kept touching me with the tip of it while he fingered my clit till I wanted to scream. I probably did scream."

"Did he kiss you?"


"While he was doing all this to your cunt and clit?"


"And his kiss was still... "

"Like fire," she said. "Like electricity."

"And then?"

"And then what?"

"I'm guessing he really fucked you. Like with his cock. Inside your cunt."

"Yes," she said. "He did."

"Where were his hands? When he was fucking your?"

"Under me," she said. "Under my ass. One finger was inside my ass."

"Did you come?"


"Multiple times?"


"How many times?"

"I don't know," she said.

"But lots of times," he insisted gently. "Like one big continuous come or lots of small ones strung together?"

She looked at him. "Maybe like lots of big continuous ones strung together. I'm telling you, it was like being on fire."

He adjusted his boxers and she noticed for the first time how hard he was. He picked up the tumbler and drained the last of the scotch.

"Refill?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "That would be great."

When she got back he was lying on the bed naked, with his hard-on sticking up. She handed him his drink and he propped himself up on an elbow to sip.

"I decided to get more comfortable," he said.

She had poured herself a drink too. She sipped it.

"Scotch?" he asked.

She nodded. "And water."

"Fresh out of Hanky Panky?" he asked her.

She sighed. "Look," she said. "I'm really tired and..."

"I'm not."

"What do you want from me? You want to fuck? Here!" She slammed her drink down on the table and got on the bed, pulling off her robe, then stretched out next to him. "Fuck me."

He reached out a hand and touched her shoulder. She flinched.

"I want to know," he said softly.

She rolled over away from him. Her voice was muffled. "It's just a ... a dirty story to you."

He slid up behind her and put an arm over her. "No," he said. "That's not true."

"Most men," she said. "Would not be lying there with their prick poking up at the ceiling listening to their wives talk about fucking some random guy they met in a bar."

"I thought you knew him."

"I did. I do. I mean, it was years ago. I haven't thought about him much recently."



"Listen," he said. "Yes, your story is turning me on. I think we both know hearing about you fucking other men turns me on. That's not news."

"This is different," she said, still looking away.

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