How Bad She Needs to Be Good Ch. 01

I was struggling with a secret. My husband, Tim, and I were in a lovely, romantic restaurant and I fought to stay attentive to his conversation about the day. I should have been doing better because this was actually something of an anniversary dinner. Three years. Not of our wedding but of our recommitment. We'd been together for seven years but I'd had a affair four years in that nearly ended our marriage. It was all my fault. I'd succumbed to a moment of weakness.

Tim was a wonderful husband. He was caring and supportive. I didn't want to lose him and so, with consistent reassurance, I rebuilt his trust in me. But in the process, I sacrificed something of myself. I never shared the truth of what drove me into this affair and instead I blamed myself thinking some of my needs were dirty and shameful. I convinced myself that I should live without that type of fulfillment.

Yet today, the brutal irony couldn't escape me. I was here with a secret. The desires I tried to repress were still with me. I was attracted to another man -- a man who could see those needs in me, who had held them up in front of me to confront. But the man wasn't willing to have a secret affair (and neither was I.) I needed my husband to agree to the relationship. In fact, the man I wanted to fuck me had insisted that my husband give his consent in writing, before I was permitted to go any further. And I longed to obey.

While I felt guilty and tortured, the horrible truth was that I was also excited to put these feelings down in front of Tim. Even though I knew it could risk everything we had repaired, part of the thrill of this affair was the idea -- the pale hope -- that this time, my husband might embrace this aspect of my identity. Partly it was because I was getting clear signals that he'd also changed in the wake of my affair.

The man I was on the brink of risking my marriage for, who was making this demand of me, had already shown me that I was all too willing to submit to another in ways that my husband had never been able to evoke from me. My imminent confession was the next step in my humiliation, and a crucial proof of loyalty to the man who now dominated my thoughts and who I hoped might literally dominate me.

Staring into the eyes of my loving husband was filling me with deep guilt and shame, and with each minute, I was becoming more excited, as if an orgasm might lay on the other side of the admission. And perhaps it might. My mouth was dry and my pussy was wet. What if Tim said, yes?

These three years had also changed my husband. At first he said he was hurt and felt betrayed by my first affair, and for the longest time, he couldn't let his feelings go about it. I understood, of course; I knew I was in the wrong. I had been young and selfish. I should have been honest about my needs. But to be fair to myself, I didn't really understand them as needs so much as wicked compulsions.

But for Tim, it was more than letting go of the affair and forgiving me. In time, he began to talk about the affair in a different way. He began to ask more about the details.

Of course, I didn't want to relive my mistake. And I would put him off or give vague details to appease him. But he became more insistent. He asked questions about what the other man was like, physically. How did I respond when I was with him? What did I say to him during the act?

He began to bring it up in intimate moments. And the challenge was that every time he asked me about it, I had to picture those passionate moments with my former lover. Finally, about a year ago during the intoxication of foreplay as Tim asked me what my lover would say to me, I decided to play along.

I leaned into my husband's ear as he penetrated my soaked pussy and I whispered, "I told him, 'Please, fuck me... Sir.'"

For dirty talk, it was tame. I don't think I even said it to my lover. They were words I held in my heart though -- a hint to my deepest fantasies. I only meant to call the bluff on my husband's obsession. But whatever the motivation, it worked. Tim fucked me hard that night. But he came quickly just as I was beginning to peak. And apologizing, he did something I never expected. He pulled out of me and, looking me in the eyes intently, began to slide down.

"What are you doing?"

"You want to come don't you?"

I couldn't argue. I was a little worked up with my own boldness and he had left me right on the edge. I watched him slide down until his face was between my legs. He looked at my pussy. It must have been a mess but he seemed enrapt. He was actually trembling. He stuck out his tongue to taste me. I watched carefully as he pulled his tongue back into his mouth, seeming to test both the flavor and his own resolve. A blush came across his face and he thrust his tongue out again and used it to draw a large scoop of his cum that was dripping out of me now.

A thrill went through me. Tim had never shown an interest in that before. But seeing him willing to clean his own cum out of me turned out to be a major turn on. Partly it was the way he seemed to savor it. He looked up at me with an expression of desperation that just melted me. I bit my lip and nodded.

He'd never eaten me out so enthusiastically before. His moans and hungry sounds were exciting to hear. He was usually so quiet. And he just kept going and going and I kept coming and coming. It felt like he wanted to literally crawl inside of me face-first. Finally I had to tap out, grabbing the sides of his face and gently lifting his face off my pussy. His tongue extended desperately.

He crawled back up. His face was soaked. His eyes were practically glazed over. I delicately licked his cheeks and lips, tasting myself. There was nothing left of his cum now.

"What got into you? " I said.

Then I felt it. His dick was hard again and pressing against my vulva.

"Wow, baby, this is a night of firsts,"

He shook his head and pressed inside me again. After so many orgasms and the way he had been devouring me, I was actually kind of sore; so I touched his shoulder to make him slow down. He groaned a little in protest and stopped with himself fully pressed into me. I could feel his dick twitching inside.

"I'm a little sore, baby. Why don't you come on my belly?"

He looked disappointed, but then a thought struck me.

"I like watching you lick up your cum."

"Oh, fuck," he said as he scrambled to pull out. He was already coming in spurts as he grabbed his dick and began pumping over me. His cum streaked my belly.

It was always amusing to me how boys look when they jerk off. It's a little panicked, a little weak as they lose control to their orgasm. He had a way of masturbating over me that was totally in control. It had me begging for him to bring himself off for me especially if it was on my face, neck, or breasts. And there was always so much more of it.)

Fuck, I don't need those thoughts again, I told myself. I'm not that woman anymore.

And there was Tim looking up at me with his mouth poised over his puddle of cum pooling around my belly button. It was like he was waiting for something from me -- permission, absolution, judgement? I smiled.

"Clean up your mess," I said sweetly.

He had this blissful expression and began to lick and slurp up his cum. It felt different this way. He looked more vulnerable. There was no conceit that he was also getting me off. No, this time, he was explicitly eating his cum for its own sake, for me to watch. He looked up at me and swallowed the last of it.

I heard myself say, "Good boy," which fired something in my brain -- a memory.

A lot changed after that. There was a week or two where he seemed to avoid sex. I think he was ashamed at vulnerable he was, how much of his lust was exposed. Maybe he worried I thought he was gay, and that was the furthest from my mind. Desire is a spectrum. But eventually, we repeated the fantasy and when Tim seemed to understand that I didn't judge him, he became more obsessed with it.

We had a lot more sex at least. And the bonus was that Tim seemed to let go of the need for details of the affair as the fantasy of cleaning me up took over. It was so much a part of his fantasy that there were times I had to pretend to be on my period just so I could get to suck his dick. I mean, I loved giving him head and I really like the taste of cum. So, I was a little, "Save some for me!"

A few times I even told him to share it with me. That was quite exciting as he held his cum in his mouth and kissed me, letting our tongues fight for the largest portion of his load.

One time he said, "You're the little cum slut."

"Takes one to know one," I said. He didn't answer. Maybe I took it a little too far, but then I saw him shiver.

I did get off on the wickedness of it all. But I balked anytime his role-playing crossed into suggestions that it was not his cum inside me. I didn't want to take that bait in case it brought up the affair again. Knowing how much it had hurt him, I wanted to be very careful.

Another reason, if I were honest, was when he was eating me out and I drifted into my fantasies, I did, occasionally, imagine that it was not Tim's own cum he was eating. And I was a little abashed that it brought me off so much quicker.

So, it's in that context that the events arose that had me facing the prospect of another affair.

I worked as a content developer in a tech company. Mostly it was marketing copy, but anything that needed writing tended to come my way. I was asked to meet Mr. Marks, our new CTO and talk to him about a documentation project. I hadn't met Mr. Marks before, but I heard he was a nice guy and very experienced in the field. I went to his office. He wasn't there yet so I sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk and waited.

I looked around for clues about him but he hadn't really made the office his own yet. I'm not sure his name was even on the door. But I was shocked when I heard his voice coming through the entry.

"Becky, I wondered if that was you!"

That smooth baritone hit me in the feels. I felt a sting of excitement before I even placed from where I knew that voice. I turned back and was greeted by the warm smile of a man I had crushed on since I was eighteen. Mr. Marks was Allen Marks, a man who was a close friend of my father's and who lived with us for a time.

I was totally unprepared to see him. As I stood up, I was flustered and self-conscious, he reached out his hand. But I grabbed and hugged him before I realized it wasn't likely appropriate given the setting.

"So, you do remember me," he said.

"Absolutely."

I laughed and pulled away, feeling extra stupid in the moment for my emphasis. I could have said simply, "Yes." He didn't make anything of my flustering. He went around the desk and sat down.

He pointed to the chair, "Sit." I sat down immediately.

He looked better than he ever had. His hair had gone a little silver at the temples. And he had streaks in his closely trimmed beard. As my dad had gotten older, he had grown a little paunch but Allen was trim and athletic as ever. I imagined he still played soccer and tennis. Shit, I was looking at his forearms. I brought my gaze back up to his eyes.

He pretended he didn't see me checking him out. Maybe he was so used to the attention of women that it didn't register anymore. I played back my reconnaissance in my head. No, there was no wedding ring. Probably he had one of those long-term, adult relationships with a woman who didn't need that kind of commitment. Maybe he was still too happy playing around to get down to business. Maybe he had a stable of conquests.

"I was all ready to talk business," he said, "But I'm too happy to see it's you. You look wonderful. How's... Tom?"

"Tim."

Shit, he knows more about me than I do of him. But of course, he stayed in touch with my dad. And Allen was at the wedding now that I think of it. I remember he was with this gorgeous, blond woman about my age in this long, slinky gown. She couldn't have worn a bra in that dress. Her nipples were standing up all night for everyone to see, but she just hung on Allen. Her eyes were practically worshipful. In my experience, that how most women looked at Allen.

Had I been actually jealous on my own wedding day? Way to repress that memory, girl. And why do I care? I'm a happily married woman who had never even... Hold that thought, Rebecca. You're not the good girl you used to be.

"He's wonderful," I said, "Very supportive."

"Good, good. I'm glad. No man is worthy of you, of course, but if you're happy, I'm happy. Kids?"

I shook my head. "No one has pinned you down yet?" I asked.

He laughed, "I've been pinned a few times, but it seems like I missed my window. All the women who are right for me have been snatched up."

I had an idea of what kind of woman was meant for him but I wasn't going to go there. I understood the part about the window of opportunity though.

When I first knew Allen, he was renting a room from my father and spending most of his time in our garage working on his classic MG Midget convertible car. It ran like a dream but he still loved to tinker with it. I think he stayed out there too so that he wouldn't be too in the way. He was very respectful.

Allen and my dad had gone to college together. They'd both started companies right after graduating. My dad's company picked up steam and Allen's failed. It was bad timing, my dad told us. Allen was ahead of the curve. (And it turned out to be true.) With the fallout, Allen had a lot of obligations that he put before his own bailout. He was noble that way. My dad knew a lot of guys who left their employees holding the bag. My dad wasn't established enough to bail him out, but he gave him a job and a place in our home to have time to recover.

For me though, I was smitten by the enigmatic stranger who worked in the garage. Once he got home, the suit came off and the jeans and tee shirt would come on. I would make excuses to go hang out with him. Every little streak of grease seemed like an accent mark on his perfect body.

I pretended to be interested in cars at first, but as he explained everything I began to take a real interest and learned a lot. I would bring him a cold beer from the kitchen and pepper him with questions.

I crushed hard but I didn't dare let on. One time, though, when I was feeling completely cute and not too try-hard, I handed him a bottle that I'd just opened for him, and as he took it from me, something in his eyes overwhelmed me. I leaned up to try and kiss him.

He stopped me by putting the bottle to his lips and drinking. Kindly and without judgement. He just said, "Any boy your age would be lucky to have that kiss. But I'm old enough to know better for both of us." He took another sip and turned back to the car.

I was mortified. Both that I was rejected -- however politely -- and that I had acted so impulsively. I think my eyes watered up and I was looking for the exit. If I could have disappeared right there, I would have willed it. Thankfully, he seemed to know how vulnerable I was and simply said, "Be a good girl and bring me that torque wrench."

That simple instruction brought us back to stasis. Going to get the wrench gave me time to process. Controlling the tremor in my voice, I asked him what setting he needed and made the adjustment before handing it to him. Things got back to normal and I never tried anything again.

But I never stopped having feelings for him. If anything, they were stronger for the now forbidden nature. Also, when I had looked down in shame after the attempted kiss, I was sure I'd seen the outline of his erection pressing through his jeans.

I fantasized about him near constantly. I wore out pillows with my desire. I replayed the image of his hard-on in my mind wondering if it was getting larger every time I recalled the image. In my soul, there was something else in that phrase he spoke right at the moment of my strongest desire and my deepest humiliation, "Be a good girl..."

After one particularly exhausting session of masturbation, I went downstairs to get a glass of water. I saw light coming through the bottom of the door to the garage. I went to open it to turn off the light when I heard muffled sounds through the door. I froze. It was clearly two people and the soft tones made it seem intimate. I pressed my ear to the door carefully. Their words ran through me like electricity.

"You want this?"

"Mm hmm."

"I need to hear you say it."

"Please, sir."

"Not too loud, pet."

She moaned. "I'll be good, sir. Please, give it too me."

Then I heard the smack. And the woman yelped.

"Quiet," he said, "Or I'll stop."

"Y-yes, sir." She dropped to a whisper which made me lay down on the floor to press my ear near the opening at the bottom of the door. With only one eye, I could see into the room only a bit. There was a step down from the door and they were farther away, so I could just see the bottom half of their bodies. He was seated on folding chair and she was across his lap. I didn't see her face; her voice was unfamiliar. Her rear was facing me and her panties were pulled down to her knees, locking her legs together. She was squirming against his lap. He was dressed in just his jeans. I could see the taught skin on his abs. He had light hair -- not too thick. I felt the desire to press my cheek against it like my cheek was pressed against the floor.

The woman had no hair on her sex, unlike me. I hadn't had the courage to trim mine like some of the girls, let alone shave it bare. I was fascinated by her pussy. It was pink and wet. I had seen porn before on the internet, but this was different. These were real people in front of me. The fact that I couldn't see everything made it seem so much more intense as I strained unblinking. I had to know what kind of woman would attract him.

He slid his hands up her leg and slapped her ass. It already had red marks there. She suppressed a squeal.

"Better. That's a good girl."

She moaned as he slid his hand up between her thighs and stroked his finger between her lips.

"Please," she whispered.

He stroked lazily up and down as her ass swayed and pressed against his crotch. Was he hard under there? Surely. My mind flashed on the memory of seeing that bulge.

"What will you do for me?" he said.

"Anything," she growled.

"Tell me."

"I'll suck your thick cock."

"Of course, my pet. But any slut can suck my cock."

"I'll drink your cum," she said.

"I know you will. You love it. Maybe you need some incentive to be more creative."

He pressed his fingers in deep and she groaned but then he pulled his hand out and spanked her again.

She whimpered as he gently stroked his hand over the new red mark. I saw the streak of her juices shining across her cheek. I licked my lips.

He began stroking her pussy again. I brought my own hand down to my own and began to rub through my panties, which were damp.

"What will you offer me?" he said.

Anything, I said to myself.

As he began to press into her, sinking three fingers deep into her vagina, she began to babble.

"You can cum on my face, my tits, anywhere. Fuck me in public, I don't care. Just please, please let me come?"

"What else?"

"You can take my ass, sir. You can fuck my ass."

I felt a wave of shock. I tried to imagine what that would be like.

"Yes, I take all your holes already, don't I?"

"Yes, sir. All of them are yours."

"What else, slut."

"I'll fuck anyone you like. I'll be your party girl."

"You'd fuck anyone for me?"

"Yes, yes, please."

"Could I lead you on chain from cock to cock while they painted your face and chest with their cum?"