The Reluctant Representative

He positioned himself between my legs, lifting my legs up over his shoulders. He flashed me a wicked grin as his face descended. Our eyes were transfixed, and soon I perceived little but them, his forehead and gray hair. Soft lips again pressed to me, his tongue darted out exploring. No one had ever treated me with such loving passion. The mere thought of my husband nauseated me.

For his part, Thurgood pleasured me with wild abandon. He explored, nibbled, and kissed me from my throbbing clit all the way to my asshole. His tongue would alternate between my honey hole and my brown eye. All the while, emotions, passionate, loving, wild thoughts, stormed inside. I thought I would explode as physical pleasure and carnal, fiery sensations built toward a mind-numbing climax.

At first, this pleasant sensation, a mere ripple, gentle tingling waves, between my legs, and yet my delight wasn't restricted to one area. No, my breast tingled, my stomach knotted. And my head, oh god, my head gave off waves of escaping heat. A deep rush of pleasure surged through my whole body. I think I must have bucked and thrust into him. This weird, wild explosion caused my body to convulse, shuddering from one orgasm to the next.

As my body shook, twitching oddly from the events, my mind and emotions reeled. Never had I experienced such pleasure. The physical enjoyment bordered on a religious experience. In my stooper, I was defenseless, vulnerable, and unsure what to say or do. Thurgood kissed his way up my body over my hairy pubic mound, up my tummy. At last, he reached my breasts, caressing my tits and nipples, feeding on them like a baby suckling for nourishment. The slow rhythm, constant loving pressure, drove me to the edge of sanity as new waves of pleasure ran through my body.

I touched him for the first time. I petted his head as he feasted on my fat tits. My memory here is shaky. Not, however, from the years which have passed. Instead, the events, which followed, happen in a blinding, brilliant, explosive culminating climax. Touching, fondling, kissing as we both explored each other's bodies. I had only touched one other man's penis in my life, my husband. I stroked, fondled, and longed for Thurgood, so eager for much more.

I remember moving the foreskin back from the head, exposing the plumb-sized helmet for me to see. I tentatively sampled his manhood. If I am honest here, I had never done this with my husband. Yes, we had been married for many years. Still, I had never given him head any more than he had gone down on me.

To be fair to my husband, I had resisted doing or allowing either. In this explosion of lust, I lay in bed with my boss, licking, tracing, and running my tongue around his peckers head. All those latent inhibitions of oral sex melted away.

With new confidence, and bold resolve, I drew my tongue under the rim of the helmet, kissing the fat head, and I worked his shaft in my willing wet mouth. Thurgood showed his appreciation by touching me down between my legs. A soft encouragement accompanied by praising my oral prowess. His fingers were thrusting in out of my twat, matching the speed I used on him.

When he got near his climax, he softly pulled on my head and said, "I'll spill on the towel." I resisted and worked on him in a fevered, furious means, sucking his beautiful cock deep into my throat. He stopped his efforts to dissuade me and dumped his seed into my mouth. He bucked his hips into my face as hard as I had bucked on his.

With this guttural, grunting and groaning, Thurgood held my head tight to his belly. I took every drop and gulped his seed with rapacious greed. Devouring each drop with ravenous ferocity. Afterward, Thurgood lay still, sucking air as I crawled, and lay against him. in the sweet afterglow, and without realizing when the thing happened, we fell asleep in each other's arms.

My memory is all bright flashes of emotions and physical pleasure. Everything happened in these hot, intense moments of energetic, passionate mutual pleasures. With a pleasant fondness, I remember waking with Thurgood's hands running over my ass. A soft gushing and the cold, slick, sticky lotion sprayed onto my butt hole. The sensation of Thurgood's fat prickhead pushed on my brown eye, and he said in a soft yet firm whisper.

"This will hurt, but you find this pleasurable as well." With the warning issued, he thrust in the head. Biting my lip, I stifled myself from screaming out in pain as his prick invaded my ass. One of his hands massaged my breast while the other worked on my pussy. His big thumb drew circles around my clit as three fingers invaded my hole. All the while, he pumped deep into my rectum.

His chest pressed against my back as we lay on our sides, and his mature, toned, muscled body engulfed me. The curly hair on his chest roughness brushing against my skin, though not in an unpleasant way, a strange, pleasing phenomenon. Pressing in and out of me, the pain was intense while the pleasure was exquisite.

All the time, Thurgood expressed how hot I was, how desirable and sexy. My heart raced faster as my emotions swelled in me at the same time. Each time, always too short, seemingly all too soon, when his cum blasted inside me. From the time I had awakened until he climaxed, this took us over an hour. His cock shrank, falling from me, laying flaccid against me. Neither of us moved.

A thick stream of semen drizzled from my pussy, slivering past the crack of my ass, over my leg, at last, pooling in a wet puddle soaking the bedsheet. Soon the darkness covered me, and I slept sound and secure in Thurgood's masculine, tender embrace.

There were brief flashes of waking and glancing at the clock, 1:48, 2:20, and 4:15. At four-fifteen, I rolled over, still in this man's arms. My eyes fluttered open to him gazing at me. Impassive, his face emotionless with only the hint of a grin. In slow-motion, I moved my face to his, pressing my lips to Thurgood's mouth.

At this point, things are fuzzy, for I am not sure when or how we shifted, but somehow, I was on top of him. I knelt over his rigid pecker, descended on his manhood in a slow, deliberate way. Thurgood's cock was than my husband's penis, touching me where I had never been touched. While this was pleasurable, the experience was also painful, but only a tiny amount and only for a moment. No, painful is the wrong word, more of a discomfort.

Taking the entire shaft inside, I moved my hips on him as he thrust up into me. I had never been on top of my husband. I was not exactly sure how to proceed but had viewed some adult films on our cable. With blushing cheeks, I'm admitting I imitated what those women had done. Moving my hips and body the way they did in movies when they were on top of the men.

It was pleasurable, but more than pleasure, the manner satisfied some need deep inside me. An emotional connection had developed, which burst into a hot passion. The sex, in the end, was only a part of a larger equation. We moved as one in a passionate, long lovemaking session. My heart brimmed up with emotion, jumbled sentiments of lust, love, and guilt.

Oh yes, terrible, disturbing guilt rooted inside my brain, reminding me as I cheated on my husband, what a dreadful, nasty little bitch I'd become. I experienced the most intense orgasmic lovemaking of my life, accompanied by the most extreme mood swings imaginable. Sentiments of tender love and extreme guilt jumbled together. When at last we finished after hours of lovemaking, we again lay in each other's arms. Cuddling in the afterglow of our tumultuous affair.

The next day passed as a slow, agonizing ordeal of the blandest tedium. Clients and potential clients droned on about their needs, while all I could think of was my own profound wants. All I wanted was Thurgood and to be with him. The terrible day bore on from dullness to monotony with no end in sight.

At last, the day ended, and we rushed back to the hotel. Kissing and fondling like teenagers on a first date all the way back in the cab. Groping hands, wet willing mouths, and undulating bodies contorted on the back seat of the yellow taxi while the driver ogled us in the mirror. Perhaps he had a small amount of jealousy.

Ordering room service, we anxiously fed each other like newlyweds. In no time, we grew impatient, making love on the table with no regard to the food. The night was long, sweet, and scorching. On the whole, the two of us hardly slept. A few minutes' slumbers here, one or the other would awaken, with new arousal, and the whole thing blew sky high, once more.

We made love until time to get ready to leave. Yes, I can pinpoint the moment, for this was when the change happened. As we rode back to the airport on the little bus, I kept touching him, and he kept moving my hands from his body. With the harshest appearance, Thurgood gave me a stern disapproving scowl. Standing in line, waiting to board the plane, he spoke in my ear, in this soft, hushed tone.

"Nothing happened on this trip. You will never speak of the event to anyone, and nothing will ever happen again."

The words stung me, my heart sank in my chest. Despite the wisdom of his statement, I realized he was right; Thurgood's pronouncement, spoken in a harsh, cruel, and distant way, tore my heart from my chest. It had to end, for you see, working together with the sentiments we had for each other would be impossible.

The emotions I had for him are more acute than a fling would imply. I was confident he was accomplished at this seduction game. Still, I had no hard-heartedness about our affair or what happened afterward. I have this sweet memory I recall often. It takes only a passing thought, and I'm back in my hotel room, my chest heaving and body quaking and trembling.

Never again did I cheat on my husband. While our lovemaking improved with my newly found boldness in bed, our lovemaking never reached the heights of those two nights. I kept my secret all these years. I will take my secret to my grave. When I think about it, I get so guilty, but I wouldn't trade those sweet, passionate memories for anything.

The death notice in the paper with Thurgood's name overwhelmed my heart with sadness. I fear I shall have a heavy heart for a long time to come. Try as I might, after all those years, I can't shake my thoughts of Thurgood, more potent now with his passing. Mixed regrets overwhelmed me as I wondered if he ever thought of our wild nights together. I still wonder if he had held an emotional attachment for me after our stormy nights.

Through the years, Thurgood was always quite generous with my evaluations. I was the one he chose as his successor as director of sales upon his retirement. I wonder if he loved me in some slight measure. I mean, really loved me, or was I a plaything he seduced, used, and moved on without another thought of me?

"Are you alright?" my husband asked me with concern.

"I'm fine, dear. I had a sad thought for a moment," I said, laying down my paper. Getting up, I walked over to my loving husband and kissed him. Despite his being with me, I couldn't help but wish he was Thurgood.

Several days after the funeral, unable to resist any longer, I found myself on a wet afternoon standing at Thurgood's graveside. Kneeling, I placed a single rose on the freshly dug grave. Two dozen single red roses adorned the grave, this despite the cold rain drizzling down. The petals dotted here and there with moisture from the gentle raindrops reflected the light of a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds, falling over the grave. I assume each was placed there by a woman ... a conquest, like me.

Millie values your opinion. Feel free to comment here or send her a message.