Sexual Adventurers

My transition from a respectable married woman to a sexual adventurer.

"Walk round to the foot of the bed," he told me rather than asked.

I did as he said.

"Just stand there and let me look at you," he went on.

I stood there naked apart from the black, lacy boyshorts.

"For your age Cat your tits are still fucking great," he went on looking admiringly at my thirty six inch, D cup boobs. Despite having born two children, although I did not breast feed them, I am proud of my boobs. They are full and round, with only a modest amount of sag.

"Hold them up," he ordered. I did as he said. "Now lick them."

I lifted both orbs up, bent my neck and holding his gaze I licked the stunningly hard nipples. I had only recently told him that I could do this and now he wanted to watch me do it each time we met. As we stared at each other with me caressing and licking my breasts, I watched fascinated as his hand went to his gorgeous, big, hard cock and slowly stroked it. I had always loved watching a man play with himself and since we had been together I had revelled in watching him masturbate, often with him shooting onto my stomach, tits or face.

"Walk round to the foot of the bed," he said.

I obeyed instantly; that was part of our game. He got up and stood with his back to the window, which was to my right and slightly behind me. I glanced at him and shivered with anticipation. He had a fabulous physique and with his Mediterranean colouring and huge cock, he looked stunningly alluring, immensely sexy and so eminently fuckable that I almost broke our rules and went to touch him, but I resisted the temptation.

"Bend over and grasp the footboard."

I gripped the wrought iron footboard and bent forward.

"No further."

I leaned forward further so that my body was bent nearly ninety degrees at the waist.

"Like this?" I asked.

"Yes like that, but move your feet further apart."

I felt so exposed and vulnerable, yet available and accessible. 'But for what?' I wondered as out of the corner of my eye I saw him moving towards me. He came very close, I could almost feel the heat from his gorgeously hard cock. He ran his fingertips across the lace of the boyshorts and the skin of my bum cheeks not covered by the intentionally skimpy garment. Most of my arse was displayed for him and momentarily I wondered if he was going to spank me, but I knew he would not as we had a rule on leaving or, more to the point, not leaving trophy marks on each other.

"Stay like that," he instructed me adding. "I have to get something."

I could not avoid turning my head to watch his firm, sculptured buttocks and lithe, strong legs as he walked out of the bedroom. He was by some margin the most erotic looking man I had ever known. He returned very quickly and said.

"Close your eyes and keep them closed, do not let go of the bed."

He stroked me, sending more shivers of anticipation and excitement through me.

"Don't speak again until I tell you," he said.

I felt him pulling on the lace of the panties and then I felt something else on my bum and thigh. It was cold and made of metal. At first, I could not work out what it was, but then I heard a click or two and realised he must be holding a pair of scissors, large ones. The cold, steel side of them was resting on both of my cheeks presumably bridging the crease between them. He pulled on the panties again and then I heard the sound of the scissors cutting through the lace of the panties making me think as I smiled. 'Better than ripping them as he had a couple of times.' The elastic round both of my legs loosened and I felt the material that was the gusset brush against my thighs. As I felt him lift up the back of the cut panties, I worked out that he must have cut through the gusset. This made me feel enormously aroused and even more exposed and vulnerable.

We had been playing this sort of dom/sub thing on and off for a few weeks now. It was not a role-play we used every time we met, just now and then, and this happened to be one of those times.

I felt him against my bare buttocks as his hands reached round and cupped my dangling breasts. He pulled and pinched my nipples probably just a little harder than normal or when we were not playing this game. He kissed my back and ran his tongue upwards into the tangles of my ash blonde, shoulder-length hair that may well have been a tad on the long side for my forty-five years. I felt his cock trying to snuggle into the crease between my cheeks, but it was, of course, too thick for that. Nevertheless, the underneath of it rubbed right across my anal hole. Involuntarily, my legs started to close.

"Keep them open," he growled, frustratingly removing his cock from between my bum cheeks.

He gripped the slight surplus of flesh on each of my hips making me wish I worked harder in the gym or on the tennis court.

I felt him kneel and waited expectantly for the feel of his tongue on my lips. His hand slid round me and his fingers fumbled in the folds of skin before finding my clit. He rubbed that and my knees nearly buckled with the surge of raw sexual want that hurtled through me. But that was nothing like what was to follow very quickly.

His tongue did not go to my pussy, but instead licked the length of the crease in my bottom. That surprised me as he had shown only a limited inclination for any anal play to date. But this time he did and I felt his tongue pressing right on that tight, taboo hole. I could hardly believe the sensations that roared through me as the tip of it slipped inside me. He licked my arse, he slid his tongue in a little way, he rubbed my clit and pinched and pulled my nipples all at the same time. The combination of feelings was amazing. Naturally I started to cum. As always, though, he sensed that and slowed down holding me at that level just beneath an orgasm.

I moaned and started to say. Make me cum, but he stopped me.

"I told you not to speak until I tell you."

I stopped.

I felt his finger slide along my slit, from the front to the back several times. And then, on one sweep it did not stop. Soaked with my juices it kept going, it slithered into the crevice, found my anal hole, pressed on it and slid inside me. That hurt and I grunted and cried out.

"No, stop."

"Shut up," he muttered back wiggling his finger inside me.

Then I felt the fingers on his other hand slipping into my pussy. I could feel them touching the other one through the thin membrane dividing those two passages.

As he finger fucked my arse and my cunt, so he licked and slurped his mouth all over both of them.

Then I did cum, then I did orgasm and then my legs did give way and we fell to the carpet his fingers still inside me.

"You can talk now Cat," he said.

*

I had met Ashiree Bashal at a charity function at the Grosvenor House Hotel, in London some four months or so ago. The corporate law firm of which my husband Richard was a partner had taken a table of ten at five hundred pounds a person; a huge sum I thought, but then it did include champagne and wine.

Ashiree, a Lebanese businessman had recently become a client of the firm and Richard and he had worked on several acquisitions. They were slowly transferring his business empire from the Middle East to Europe and America. Richard had helped him set up his headquarters in Dublin, due to the low taxes, and as he disposed of his older construction businesses in Lebanon, Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Saudi he was acquiring new ones in electronics and digital media in the US and Europe.

He was immensely rich, extraordinarily handsome and by some margin the sexiest man I had ever met.

I had been married for twenty five years and had strayed only once when I had a six month affair. I was certainly not promiscuous, I rarely thought of being with other men and although my marriage was somewhat rocky due to Richard being away from home so much, the idea of another affair had not entered my head. That is until I danced with Ashiree in the Grand Room of the hotel.

I could not believe what had been happening to me all of that evening. When he looked at me across the table I was transfixed and could not drag my eyes away from him. When he smiled at me I started to melt, when he spoke to me I became like a teenager and a gibbering wreck and when we danced, all I could think of was being held like he was holding me, but with both of us naked. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before and not since when I was teenager had I had such thoughts. I had no idea what was causing it other than the sheer animal magnetism I felt for him.

After the Grosvenor House a group of us, thankfully including Ashiree who was not with a partner, went on to a night club in Mayfair called Tramp. He stood close to me as we drank champagne that he had bought at two hundred pounds a bottle. Ridiculously and totally out of character I wanted to touch him, hold his hand and stroke his thick, long dark hair. As we all chatted, my heart was pounding and my pulse was racing at his closeness. And when we danced again and he held my body against his as his hand strayed up and down my back, pausing at my bra strap, I felt in danger of having an orgasm.

Richard and I stayed at the Grosvenor House that night. Arriving back there around three and going straight to our room, I was still feeling the effects of Ashiree. Almost since first seeing him, my nipples had been hard and when we had danced at Tramp I could feel my panties becoming damp. I undressed quickly, but kept my panties on and while Richard was in the bathroom I lay on the bed with the sheet turned back. When he returned I stared at him, hopefully invitingly, but he did nothing. He gave me a cursory kiss on the cheek, turned his back to me and was soon snoring.

I was both too annoyed and too excited to sleep.

My relationship with my husband had worsened over the past year or so, which had coincided with our second child going away to university. With Richard away mainly in New York, one week in three, I was desperately lonely and with his sex drive, with me at least, on the wane, I was also almost permanently sexually frustrated.

However, as I lay there just in my panties that once more were becoming damp, I could not get Ashiree out of my mind. The recall of my body against his, the feeling of his hand on my back, the smell of his aftershave and the look in his dark eyes as we had stared at each other all filled my mind. That led to other thoughts and soon one of my hands was cupping my breast and pinching my nipple as the other slid into my panties and found my clit.

Silently, I gave myself the orgasm that I had invited my husband to provide, but which in my mind was being given by Ashiree Bashal.

We met again at a launch party a few weeks later, when this time he was with his wife, Esther or Esthel, I never found out which? She was a rather portly, though not unattractive woman, but one who was slightly aloof, made little small talk and seemed to be miserable. I could not see at all how Ashiree and her could be partners.

Richard had said that Ashiree would probably be there and I admit that thought was with me as I got ready. I found myself, rather ridiculously wearing sexy, black underwear, lacy top, holdups and a low cut dress.

Although I had masturbated a few times thinking that Ashiree was doing the most erotic things to me and I had thought about him frequently, my concentration was on sex with him. Unlike when David and I were falling in love before we had our affair, I didn't yearn to see and be with him, simply to be fucked by him. Given my background and experiences to date I had no comprehension as to how and why I would feel this way about someone I hardly knew. It was most strange, but quite nice.

Directly I saw him at the launch, my heart started hammering and my pulses began to race. As we shook hands and he gave me a peck on both cheeks, I felt that I might faint.

"How nice to see you again Cat," he said, his dark eyes boring into mine, running up and down my body seemingly stripping away the dress so that his gaze saw my holdups and underwear.

"And you Ashiree," I mumbled.

I was sure that he must have known the effect he had on me. The glint in his eyes and the small, confident smile on his lips seemed to be saying. 'You cannot hide it from me Cat, you want me, and badly don't you?' In my mind I was screaming back. 'Yes Ashiree, yes I do.'

Again we danced and once more I had those taboo thoughts and feelings. This time, though, I had the distinct impression, although it may have been my vivid imagination that he held me tighter and his face was much closer to my ear and cheek.

I had similar sensations when Richard's firm entertained him and lots of other people at Henley Regatta. They do it each year, but I rarely attend. I find rowing boring and the people are so snooty, but this year, knowing he would be there I agreed to go.

It was near the end of the regatta when he came and talked to me. We were apart from the main party. He stood close, probably too close really, but I didn't care. He could have taken me in his arms and kissed me for all I cared. I knew that I was becoming obsessive about him. He was constantly in my mind and most days when Richard was away and many when he was at home I found myself masturbating as Ashiree fucked or sucked me.

"How are you Cat?" He asked, quite pointedly I thought holding my gaze a little longer than necessary.

"I am well Ashiree and you?"

"Good thanks," he replied in his deep, velvety voice that had just a hint of an accent. It was a voice that I swear could talk the knickers off any woman, certainly this one.

We chatted about this and that, with me being oblivious to what was going on around us.

"Are you a tennis fan Cat?" He asked.

"Yes I play two or three times a week."

"Ah that accounts for it then."

"Accounts for what?"

"This," he replied running his gaze up and down my body sending shivers through me, particularly when his eyes lingered on my chest. "You look very fit," he went on using a term of the modern young. I wondered whether he realised that.

"Thanks, but then you do too," I rather undiplomatically and somewhat flirtingly replied.

"Well I too do my best to keep fit. I work out and swim every day, no matter where I am."

"I go to the gym a few times a week," I told him.

His eyes sparkled when he replied. "I would like to see that Cat as indeed I would you playing tennis."

He was now clearly flirting and I loved it.

"I was wondering whether you would like to watch the men's final at Wimbledon with me."

I had to think quickly. Part of me hoped he was just inviting me, but then if he were and he thought of it as anything more than a business outing then surely it would have been to somewhere less public than Wimbledon. On the other hand, if it was just business, then firstly I didn't really want to go, I lied to myself and secondly where was Richard in all this?

"Yes, I am sure we would like to, that is if Richard is not in the States," I replied as another shiver went through me when he put his hand on my arm as we walked towards the bar.

"No you go," Richard said later as were driven home in the chauffeured Jaguar.

I had told him about Ashiree's invitation and he had replied that he was travelling to LA that day.

"You and he seem to get on well and you should see Federer, Djokovic or Nadal and maybe even Andy Murray, he went on."

"You don't mind if it is just him and me?"

"No, not at all and in any case it will be good for the business," he said maybe hammering the last two nails into the coffin of our marriage.

The next day I sent Ashiree, or Ash as he had told me to call him a text.

'Unfortunately, Richard is unable to make Wimbledon as he is travelling to LA that day, so regrettably Ash, we have to say thank you, but decline your invitation.'

It could not have been more than five minutes later when my phone pinged to tell me I had a text.

'But you are not accompanying him are you?'

'No' I text back.

'Then you watch it with me, ok?'

'Are you sure?' I text back my blood pumping faster through my veins at the idea of being with him alone, well apart from fifteen thousand other spectators.

'Of course.'

'Then thank you,' I text with fingers that were shaking so much that I could hardly work my Blackberry.

'Cat, it is all my pleasure. I will have a car collect you at twelve on Sunday.'

*

Richard left for Heathrow around nine leaving me with three hours to get ready. As I bathed I was wondering just what I was getting ready for? I told myself not to be ridiculous and that he and maybe his miserable wife as well would be looking at this as purely business entertaining. In any case I had no idea how many other guests would be joining us here.

Despite my pretty strong conviction that any 'action' between him and me was all in my mind, I dressed carefully, with black underwear of the type that some called 'underwear to be undressed in.' As I still had a tan from ten days in Florida in mid-June and as the weather was pleasant I did not wear stockings or tights. On top, I wore a Stella McCartney suit that may well have been slightly too tight all round. The white jacket with some blue piping on the two small pockets and the collar, came to just beneath my waist. It was double-breasted with two rows of four, large, fifty pence piece size, blue buttons down the front. The blue pencil skirt matched the buttons and the piping. That too was tight and was stretched across my bum and round my hips. The hem was just above my knees and I wore blue, strappy heels on my bare feet with the pink painted nails. I felt good.

With Richard being a successful corporate lawyer and with my fairly substantial inheritances, we lived a reasonably upscale lifestyle. I was, therefore, quite used to chauffeur driven cars and visiting nice places. However, that was not on the scale that Ashiree was used to and that he quickly began to show me.

Dead on twelve a Rolls Royce pulled into our driveway. I was surprised when Ashiree was not in it, but the driver told me that he was taking me to his hotel. About thirty-five minutes or so later we pulled up outside the Ritz in Piccadilly. As we did, a guy came to the car and opened the door.

"Hello Missus Moor," he said in classic, public school English. "I am Ian, Mister Bashal's assistant. Ashiree awaits you for lunch, please follow me."

I was now becoming confused as I thought we would go straight to Wimbledon. I could not work out why I was following this guy or why I was supposed to be having lunch with Ash at the Ritz, as I had assumed we would have it at Wimbledon.

I was surprised when Ian led me to the elevators as I knew from eating there many times that the restaurants were on the ground floor. We were whizzed up to the fourth floor and along a deeply pile carpeted corridor to a pair of double doors that had a sign stating The Prince of Wales Suite. Ian opened the door and stood back to let me pass. Although quite used to London hotels and their opulence, it took my breath away. It was huge with a massive balcony overlooking Green Park. The furnishings and decoration were tasteful and elegant and there seemed to be rooms everywhere. I stood looking out of the widow for a moment or two.

"Cat, I am so happy you are here," I heard Ashiree say as he came up behind me.

I turned and looked at him and once more my heart started crashing so hard against my ribcage that I was sure he would hear it. He was wearing dark blue, formal, probably suit trousers and a brilliantly white shirt with no tie, he looked gorgeous. Just looking at him excited me. He was handsome, well-built and radiated so much sheer animalistic sex appeal that it should be banned. I decided there and then that women were not safe around him and as he took my hand and kissed me on both cheeks I could metaphorically feel my knickers sliding down and off. I was gaining sensations and feelings from him the like of which I had never before experienced.