My Marketing Men Ch. 02

Another affair with another guy in my company. Longer and more intense.

This is the second chapter of Ms. Screwloose's affairs in New York while living apart from her then-fiance-later-husband.

This story is largely about a committed couple who lived for several years in separate cities, required by their jobs. Both partners gave the other room to have sexual experiences, short-term affairs so that they did not have to be completely celibate for their years apart. Their affairs were not "cheating" or "unfaithful" in any sense. They encouraged each other to enjoy themselves sexually, just so long as they did not become entangled emotionally. They talked a lot about their adventures, used them as fuel for their mutual lust when they were together. Sport fucking, yes; romance, no. This story is about the woman's adventures in her workplace.

If you are upset by the idea of spouses having sexual experiments outside their primary relationship, please stop reading right now. Don't just leave nasty comments because you don't like this type of story. Skip it entirely. You have been asked politely.

There is a lot of truth here, plus fictional details added for spice. The overall arc of the story is completely true. Some incidents, some actions, some dialog have been elaborated, increased in intensity and detail. Ms. Screwloose isn't a slut just because she went to bed with a number of men. She was just somewhat hypersexual. She was still single, and her fiance encouraged her to play. If anything, he was her coach cheering from the sidelines. She was basically serially monogamous in her affairs. Sex-driven, not sex-crazed. A helluva woman.

For some years between grad school and marriage, my guy - hubby now, fiance then - and I carried on a long distance relationship, me in New York, him in DC. We got together on weekends as often as we could afford, bless Amtrak. Train was cheaper than the shuttle (plane) but still too expensive to do all the time. Otherwise we just had long phone calls and the occasional letter. We were young and in love and highly sexual, so there was hot stuff in the phone calls and the letters.

I was assistant to the president of a medium size marketing firm. I had an MBA and several years' experience, so I was not just a glorified secretary. I was his top staff guy - well, girl of course, but that's what he told people: "See my staff guy." At that time, I had been working there about a year.

This was a very proper, buttoned down office: suits on the men, dresses or suits on the women. Skirts were well above the knee as was the fashion then. But no pantsuits. Verboten.

It wasn't like the orgy-prone ad agencies of that era. It's not that there was no hanky panky in the office; it wasn't *that* buttoned down. I saw hints of it in some of the working relationships, everyone saw a little of it, but it wasn't blatant. So, a normal office, somewhere in the middle between a convent and an orgy.

A couple months after my affair with boss ended, I started seeing a new man, the new VP of the Western Region, Marc. He was really smart, sharp, really handsome, a great dresser, 40ish. He was on the short side, only a little taller than I am. Thin, wavy red hair. He had grown up a rough city kid, but all the rough edges were sanded off by education and years in business. He was married of course, out there in the burbs somewhere. All the men I met in New York were married.

I got involved in a couple special projects for him - you know, service above and beyond, not my job but I volunteered - where I prepared fancy graphics for his presentations. He was very grateful, said he owed me dinner or at least a couple drinks for my effort. Sure, some day after work.

We went to quiet cocktail lounge in another neighborhood, just chairs and a small table. We had to lean in to talk quietly. He told me how much he appreciated my work and how clever I was to do such a thorough job on his projects. And he told me that he liked me, wished I were *his* staff guy. Well, I liked him, too, but I already had more than enough to do for my boss, the pres.

Into the third drink, pretty tipsy, we flirted a little. In the city, no one had to drive home, so tipsy was okay. He put his hand on top of mine on the table, told me again he really enjoyed my company. I was a little shocked but didn't pull my hand away. He stroked the back of my hand with his fingertips gently. It was very nice, but that day we went no further. At least I didn't think we were going to.

We finished our drinks and left. As he was walking me toward the avenue, he took my arm and guided me with him into a doorway, where he kissed me. He took my face in his hands and really kissed me. Gently first then harder. Our mouths opened, our tongues touched and caressed. This was really a serious kiss. Not a friendly peck that one might have expected from an office mate. I was a little breathless, surprised. He apologized. Sorry if that was unwelcome. No it was okay. I liked it. I pulled his face to mine and kissed him back.

"You know I'm engaged."

"The whole office knows you're engaged. But I also know you had a fling with Van. So you're not exactly immune to extra-pre-marital affairs."

We just looked at each other, then took hands and walked on. He hailed a cab, took me to my apartment building. We sat quietly in the cab, holding hands, not really knowing what to say about what had just happened. When the cab pulled up to let me out, he said, "I'd like to see you again."

"Yes, I'd like that too.

"Can we have dinner tomorrow?"

"Yes, I think so. Let's talk about it at work."

"We should be careful at work," he noted, "like leave separately and meet at the restaurant." He was right. Caution was good, even if nothing happened.

It turned out he had a small pied a terre in the city, just a one-bedroom apartment, because his home was so far out in the wilds of New Jersey that daily commuting was not feasible. He typically came in Monday morning, stayed in the city during the week, and went home Thursday or Friday night.

I sort of knew that he didn't catch a train home most nights because he was never rushed when we worked late. So that's the deal. How very convenient for a philanderer. And I sensed very strongly that he wanted me to be his philander-ee.

We met for dinner at little out of the way French place, tres intime. We talked about the office, news, and eventually about us. He looked into my eyes, took my hand, both hands, and told me he really wanted to continue to see me. I didn't even hesitate much. "I think that's okay. I think so, too."

As he helped me put my coat on, he put his arms around me and held me tight. I felt very warm and wanted.

In the cab we kissed. We kissed a lot, and long and hard. We made out like teenagers. The cabbie looked back in the mirror at every light. This was probably not an unusual sight for him, a May-December couple. Well, let's call it May-October, because he wasn't that old. His arm went down from my shoulder to my breast, inside my coat then inside my suit jacket, just my blouse and bra in the way between his skin and mine. I gasped sharply. I was not expecting that, but I should have been. I did not pull away. We arrived. He walked me to the door, kissed me, and got back in the cab.

Hey, maybe this is a new weekday lover for me. I can still spend weekends with my guy because Marc is a weekday-only guy.

I told my guy about it that night on the phone. As usual, he wanted to know about the guy and what we did. I told him about the guy, Marc, a very sharp 40-year-old guy. Really handsome. Could have been a male model in his youth. I told him VP, big bucks, pied a terre in the city. Yes, that would be extremely convenient for assignations.

We always had these long discussions about what might happen with a new casual relationship. I didn't want to do anything to endanger my serious relationship with my guy. What did I want, how did I feel about it? What did he want? How far was this flirtation going to go?

I told him that it started out as just drinks yesterday, but he kissed me. And then an innocent dinner tonight. But it turned sexual on the ride home. He kissed me. He felt my breast. A lot. And I let him. Yes, I was horny.

Did you like being touched that way?

Yes, I got a little hot from being touched like that.

Did I want to continue to see where it went?

Well, yes, sort of, I did. Is that okay, honey? Is it okay if we make out and he feels me up? What if he wants to go further? How far should I let him go?

That's up to you, babe. Whatever you want to feel. How far do you want to go?

Well, a little feelski on the blouse is one thing. But what if he wants to go under my clothes? Like, up my skirt? Can I open my legs for him? Can I let him feel my pussy?

If you want to, yes. Would that turn you on? It would turn *me* on to know that he was feeling you up.

You want him to feel me? You want him to reach up my skirt to my sex? Should I let him get under my bra to my tits? Or under my panties to my bare pussy?

That would be very exciting. If you let him feel you, feel your naked skin. Even get into your pants. And you tell me all about it.

Yes, I'll tell you. Like now.

And you'll tell me every detail when *I'm* kissing your breasts, or fingering you, or eating your pussy . . . or making love to you. I want to know everything he does to you. Everything you do to him.

Oh, god, yes, honey. I will always tell you how bad I've been. Where he feels me and fondles me. Is it okay if he touches me all over? Touches my bare skin? You know I have to wear a lot of clothes for work here. Can I take some of it off so he can touch me? You know, like bra, stockings?

Yes, babe, I think that would give him a clear message that you want to be touched.

Oh, god, yes! By this time I had a hand inside my pants and was rubbing myself furiously.

Panties? If I take my panties off, he will think. . . . What if he wants to get into me? If he feels my pussy and touches my insides? If he gets between my legs, gets *into* me?

Sounds like wonderful playing! I would love to hear you moaning and sighing when he sticks his fingers into you!

Yes, yes! . . . I was about to come on my hand. Is it okay if this man has me? Can he have me? I know he wants to fuck me. I haven't even felt his dick yet, but I know he wants to have me. Can I let him actually fuck me? Oh, I'm so horny! My pussy is flowing onto my and into my pants just thinking about it! Honey, can I let him fuck me?

Long pause. Then, Yes, yes if you want to. If you think it's safe. . . . If you want to spread your legs and take him inside you, yes. And you'll enjoy it. And I'll love hearing about it.

One last thing, honey. You're going to be my husband. I'm going to be your wife.

Yes, yes.

Can he come in me? Can he come in your wife's pussy? Please, you have to tell me. Tell me to let him have your wife's pussy, he can come in your wife. Tell me if he can squirt his seed into my cunt. Can he use me to come in?

There, I said it. That's how hot I was. I use the c-word only to refer to my hot, wet, yawning chasm of a cunt that is dying to be filled with hard cock!

Honey, shall I give my pussy to him? Can he use my pussy? Eat it? Fuck it? Fill it with his cum? Do you give my pussy to him?

Yesssssss, he whispered as I came and he came.

Now *that* was good phone sex.

He wants to be reassured, This will be just casual sex? Weeknight casual horny?

Oh, yes, that's the law. Honey, I would never do anything endanger our marriage. Soon-to-be marriage.

Yeah, okay.

He told me again that he loved me madly and told me to have fun. And give him all the details.

The next week, Marc and I got together. The first time, in his apartment, we just tore off our clothes and jumped into bed. I spent the night. No one slept much.

We coupled in a pretty vanilla missionary way, except that he liked folding my legs up to my chest so he was very deep in me. He lay me back on the bed, knelt between my legs. I pulled his cock into me. Deep, all the way. After a couple minutes, he raised my knees to his shoulders. It felt wonderful. He was so much deeper into my hole than I was accustomed to. A couple more minutes. He asked me to grab behind my knees and pull them to my chest so he could push his cock as deep as possible inside my cunt. I did. I pulled hard, my knees almost on my breasts. It felt wonderful. I could feel every inch of his cock sliding deep into my sex tube and scraping the top of my vagina. I came, and pulled my knees back even more. He was directly above me pushing his member straight down into me. I didn't know I could take anything that deep. Then I could feel his cock get stiffer and pulse as he shot into me, as deep as anyone had ever been, pulse after pulse. And I came again and grabbed him with my arms and kissed him. And then locked my legs around him to hold that delicious cock deep in me. I squeezed his shooting cock as hard as I could with my pelvic muscles; I wanted to hold his hardness in me and feel it throbbing as long as I could.

Eventually he started to soften and one of my squeezes pushed him out of my pussy, along with a lot of his semen that I felt flowing down my crack and my ass. We made quite a wet spot, kind of a badge of honor. I hated to feel it go, hated to feel my womb empty instead of full. But I knew that I could get that feeling again, not just that night but many times as it turned out.

That first night, we went at it three times. Once urgent and fast. I could really feel him shooting in me because he was so deep. I came twice. Then relax, smoke and drink. He came into me again, long and slow this time, and for a while with me on top. I came in the middle but it lasted a long time. We were both wrecked. We slept. He pushed into me for a quickie in the morning. When the alarm went off we were spooning and he just stuck it in me. I was still juicy from night before, so it was easy in.

We had not planned well. To be clear, I hadn't planned at all. We both just lusted. I had to run home to change before going into office, glad that we remembered to set an alarm. And with luck I found all my suit and underwear before leaving. Such are the benefits of a small apartment.

My pussy was a little sensitive the next day. Bruised, but on the inside not on the outside. My labia were perfectly happy, but the hammering I took stretching my vagina to accommodate his length left some sensitive spots deep inside where I couldn't massage them. So I took a long, very hot bath that night to soothe my insides as well as outsides, and that helped.

He was really good. His long, skinny cock curved up so it felt especially good. I came a lot being drilled by it. He loved fingering me and eating me before we screwed, also two of my favorite things. And it turned out he was a cuddler, too, like my guy, and I liked that, too. He didn't just turn over and fall asleep on the woman he had just fucked. No Wham Bam Thank you Ma'am and then snore. No, he held me, either he lying on my chest or I lying on his. He fell asleep, of course. Guys always fall asleep, for a few minutes anyway. Don't get me wrong; this wasn't love; this was just good, clean, dirty fun.

The next night, I called Danny to tell him all about it. He said he figured that I was out playing because I didn't answer my phone (land line only back then) last night. Yes, I was out with him. Yes, he fucked me. He fucked my brains out a couple times, and then left me another gentle present in the morning. Then I gave him the long version. While we talked, I ripped off my panties and plunged two fingers into my sopping slit. He did the same for himself, handling his erect cock for me while I whispered to him how bad I had been.

When I got to his apartment, he was waiting with a glass of wine. One sip and then he kissed me. Our clothes just melted away while we were kissing. We fell onto the bed. We kissed and kissed. He kneaded and sucked my breasts. I grabbed his cock. It was long and skinny. And hard and hot. I tickled his balls with my fingernails. He returned the favor. While he was kissing my breast, he reached down to my belly, cupped my pussy. Oh, I was so hot and wet. His fingers slid into me easily. My juice was all over my clit as he rubbed it and pinched it, driving me wild. I wanted to be filled! I desperately wanted a male pole to slide through my lips and stretch open my vagina again and again.

I lay back on the bed and spread my legs wide. I lifted my knees to angle my pussy up for easy penetration. I took his cock as he knelt between my legs and I rubbed the head of it up and down my wet slit. Finally I put the arrowhead of his cock right at the entrance to my hole, and I pulled it in.

He was gentle, pushed into me slowly. My hole opened up to accept the delicious intruder. He pushed inches more into me. He bottomed out. He pushed even more, inches more. It hurt a little, but it was a good hurt. I was so hot, my cunt was a boiling cauldron of sex juice. He pumped, out and in, slowly, then a little faster. I came after only a minute or two. He slowed, pulled my legs up onto his shoulders, and then started again. Long strokes. Deeper now because I was folded in half, my puffy lips sticking way out, going in and out with every stroke of his cock. I wanted to hold onto that cock, not let it pull out of me. I held him with my arms. I clamped my cunt tight on his dick as it slid deep and almost out and then in deep again.

He didn't last long, either. A few minutes of shoving slowly into me, with my cunt grabbing him like a hot fist on every stroke. I felt him growing stiffer and bigger. Come in me! I hissed. Come in my pussy! Fill me with your cream! My cunt is on fire! I got louder, almost screaming. Take my pussy! My cunt is yours! Come! In! Me! Come! In! Me!

And he did. Pulse after pulse! Shooting into my depths again and again! I came again with that thrilling sensation. My female cavern being filled with hot male juice, over and over. Squirt, squirt. Some flowing out of my hole down my crack. Warm. Hot. It tickled my ass.

He rolled off me. Halfway off, still tight against my side, his arm across my chest, his hand gently kneading my breast. We both fell asleep for five or ten minutes. He got up, pulled me up. We walked to the counter to get our wine glasses. Some of his cum had left a big wet spot on the sheets. The rest was draining slowly from my used pussy down onto my thighs. I could feel the wet slap thigh-on-thigh as I walked. I always love that feeling. My woman parts overflowing with man seed. I dipped a finger a little way into my hole to get some, and tasted it, showing him very dramatically that I liked his cum.

Somewhere during that long monologue, Danny and I both came from pleasuring ourselves. I was sopping wet all over again.

Did I drip cum into my panties all day?

Yes, I didn't clean up. I still have those wet panties on.

Danny seemed happy for me. He was maybe a little concerned because it seemed so intense, but then new relationships are always intense, aren't they.

I told him about being a little bruised inside from the depth of Marc's strokes, especially with me folded in half like that. Danny and I also often coupled with my legs up over his shoulders to get him deeper inside me. Having me pull my knees down and really fold myself in half, that was new, and we would have to try that at the next opportunity, which was that weekend. I have to say, it became a standard optional enhancement to our lovemaking if one of us or both of us wanted it. I was very limber in those days.

Danny may have guessed, from the bruising comments, that Marc's depth gauge in my womb was somewhat longer than his. But it was thinner. And a little up-banana. Not a problem for me, and he never mentioned it directly.