Work Wife

"So was that better than your husband, or what?"

He had to go and ruin that afterglow from sexual bliss. I'm not sure if it was his smug attitude that dripped from every syllable, or if it was the fact that this arrogant bastard gave me several toe curling orgasms that really bothered me. His chiseled frame, his broad shoulders, and his rugged good looks were enough to make me melt all over again. Already, I can feel that longing between my thighs to have his monster cock buried inside me once more. Still, that question was off limits.

"Let's not talk about him right now," I replied, trying to sound angry. I'm pretty sure that the words came across more as a meek schoolgirl trying to tell the school's bad boy that she's not that kind of girl.

He rolled over on top of me, gazing down into my eyes. God, he had a smoldering look, which only confirmed that he was in control. He grabbed my legs and pulled them up as if he were going to split me in two like a wishbone. He planted his arms on the outside of my body, causing me to either bend my leg over his bulging biceps or his strong shoulders. I'm sure he could tell that my pussy was begging to be pummeled yet again. I never thought sex could be like this. Before I even had a chance to breathe or offer up some kind of mild protest, his cock thrusted deep inside of me. The thick shaft had no problems sliding in and reaching the deepest part of me. My body betrayed me. My body wanted this cock deep inside me.

"Does he fuck you like the slut you are?"

How dare he call me a slut! His cock bottomed out, forcing my head against the headboard of the hotel bedroom. My vaginal walls tightened around that cock, trying to cling onto it for dear life. The mere thrust caused my train of thought to derail and take up a new line of thought. My husband doesn't fuck me, he makes lo-. I could not even finish that thought before another powerful push came from this fine alpha male specimen. God, his cock is so big and hard. I couldn't help myself. In this new position, I could feel his cock from a different angle. His rigid shaft was pressing up against my clit each time he sawed in and out of me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, not so much in a loving embrace, but because I was afraid that I was going to fall and needed something to hold on to prevent that from happening.

"I'm going to fuck your brains out, bitch."

Too late. Each pelvic thrust from his cock pounded my head against the headboard. However, I didn't care. I could feel yet another sexual wave of pleasure overcoming me. I'm sure the people in the room next to ours could hear us, both the physical pounding against the wall and my cries of ecstasy. There was no rational thought coming from my brain. It was on sensory overload. No, there was no rationality for this. It was pure lust and wanton abandon. I dug my nails into his shoulders as my body was wracked with another earth shattering orgasm.

His cock hardened once more, throbbing as it unleashed another blast of cum inside of my womb. My husband had become a one and done wonder. To experience multiple orgasms from a man in a single night only added to the mind-blowing phenomena. However, just like my husband and probably every other male, he rolled over onto his side of the bed after blowing his load inside me. I didn't complain though. That position was rather awkward, and I needed to catch my breath. My breasts heaved for every ounce of precious air. Once again, I was feeling that euphoric high of sexual bliss.

"Now tell me, whose cock do you like better? Mine or your husband's."

And again, the asshole had to ruin it with that question. I forced myself to sit up, though it took me a moment to find equilibrium as my head was still spinning. Whether it's from the headboard pounding or the sexual high, the jury is still out.

"I told you not to talk about him," I deflected. This time, I am certain that I came across as annoyed. "I love my husband very much."

"Right, and spreading your legs for me is the purest form of that love for your husband."

His voice, laced with sarcasm, taunted me as he already knew the answer to the question. He just wanted to hear me say it.

I spat back at him, "I am not going to disrespect myself or my husband by giving you an answer."

In disgust and protest to such arrogance, I stood up from the bed. I wobbled a little from being weak in the knee, both from the awkward position and from just how great that sex truly was. I stormed over to the hotel's bathroom and slammed the door. I hated him. Why does he always have to be an ass? I hated that arrogant prick, almost as much as I hated myself.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. My dark roots were finally starting to show through. I loved all of the attention that I got from the change from brunette to blonde. It made me feel alive, like I was that young twenty something from so long ago. Unfortunately, my husband did not care for me being blonde. He said it didn't look natural. He said that it looked fake and store-bought. Did he not care about me enough to let me feel young? Was he too selfish and wanted me to remain as 'plain Jane'? Though, if I was truly being honest with myself, then I would admit that I changed my hair color because I knew that arrogant bastard, Brad, had a thing for blondes, and I wanted to get his attention.

With the amount of work that I do in the gym, the squats have really paid off and have sculpted my ass. All the yoga classes, all the Zumba classes, and all the squats really have given me an ass that I am proud to show off. Some women are conscientious about their back side, but not me. Even at my age, I shamelessly wear yoga pants to the gym. I don't mind it when guys at the gym seem to line up behind me when I'm on the treadmill or when I'm doing squats or even in the various classes. Let them look. It's an accomplishment that I am quite proud to put on display.

My breasts still had that bounce upon my thirty year old body. Gravity had yet to take its hold. I was proud of my boobs. I wore tight fitting tees or plunging necklines whenever I could. I'm sure that's another reason why Brad took a liking to me. A big tittied blonde bimbo is just his type. Never in a million years would I have used that to describe myself. But as I look at myself in the mirror, that's all I could see: just some stupid ass blonde bimbo and another conquest for Brad, and a repeat offender to boot.

Why are you here, Kimberly? That question haunted me endlessly. I didn't have an answer. Steve is a good husband and father. Is he some Adonis sculpted out of marble? No. He has the typical "Dad bod". No muscle definition, but he wasn't obese or hideous to look at either. Maybe there's a hint of a receding hairline, but we're both reaching that age where time starts to take over. He's sweet and loving, though he does get caught up in work from time to time. He thinks he's funny, but he's not. Well, ok, he is funny, but I will not admit to that because it only encourages him to tell bad jokes.

Why are you here, Kimberly? Brad is nothing compared to Steve. Ok, Brad makes your panties wet at the mere sight of him taking off his shirt. He is every woman's imaginary lover that accompanies the B.O.B. (battery operated boyfriend). He does not have a horse cock, though he likes to think he does. He just knows how to use it. With the number of whores that he has been with, he just has a lot more practice using it. Yes, I am one of those whores at the moment, which reminds me that I better get tested for STDs. I can't believe I let him go bareback tonight. I am usually so careful about these things! God, I am truly turning into a brainless bimbo that would do anything for that cock.

Even throw away what you have with Steve? Even destroy your home and family all for a roll in the hay with that cock? I really do love Steve. He's a great provider for the family. He is a wonderful partner that has the family's interest at heart. Plus, he does make me feel special, and like I am the only woman in the world for him. For our tenth anniversary a couple of summers ago, he surprised me with a trip to Nashville. We attended the CMA Music Festival. I got to see all my favorite bands like the dreamy Luke Bryan, Florida Georgia Line, and Carrie Underwood. Though, I think my favorite part of the whole trip was when we went on a carriage ride through downtown Nashville in a Cinderella carriage. It was so romantic. We made love that evening. Nothing like what happened a few moments ago, but it was completely sensual. Aroma candles lit up our bathroom as we soaked in the tub together. Having sex was just an extension of how intimate that night truly was for both of us. It reminded me of the joy and happiness I felt ten years ago when I said the words "I do".

So why am I here if I'm so in love with Steve? I feel like someone who is cheating on their diet with a big piece of chocolate cake with that fake whipped creamy icing, the kind that is more fluff than real buttermilk cream. It tasted good for the moment, but afterwards, you're regretting the decision. I just can't resist a good piece of chocolate cake, though.

I've always been a 'plain Jane' throughout high school. In fact, my favorite superheroine has always been Sue Storm, or Invisible Girl, from the Fantastic Four. And despite what some critics may say of Jessica Alba's performance from the 2005 film, I liked the way she was portrayed in that movie. I wish I could have been her. Ok, I wished I could have had Sue Storm's powers, and I wished I looked like Jessica Alba. It was my love for comic books that attracted Steve's attention to me. Plus, I think a girl running around at Gen Con was that proverbial mythical unicorn for him and his buddies. Models, being paid to wear skimpy outfits to promote some video game or some RPG game, are one thing. It is another for a girl to go willingly to one of these conventions in full cosplay gear because she liked the character. And best of all, you did not have to have a bikini model body in order to get guys to talk to you.

Unfortunately, you can't wear cosplay year round. It certainly isn't conducive for the working world. After years of working behind a computer screen, and being a mother of two children, having anyone other than my husband or my children take notice of me was a severe shock to my system. Sure, I have gotten hit on by the creepy dads at PTA meetings; however, I suspect they were fishing for any kind of strange. Not me specifically. But Brad was different. Brad was this new VP hot shot. He walked around with an air of confidence. All of the ladies in my department drooled over him. They loved it when he would walk by and visit. And I will admit that I fawned over him when I first met him, too. I may have been married, but I wasn't dead. But I fell back into my plain Jane, my "mother of two" mode. I didn't expect Brad to take notice of me, but he did.

At first, it started out as casual conversations in the hallways. It migrated to having lunch together. Mind you, most of the time, it was Brad this, or it was Brad that. Though, he did throw a compliment my way a time or two. He even noticed my kids and inquired about their activities, like baseball or dance recitals. The conversation always steered clear of Steve, though. Or when he was brought up, it was in such a negative light. I always did my best to defend him, as he was my husband and the father of my children.

When money started getting tight in the Swanson household, Brad even came through for me. He had me promoted from a billing clerk to serving as his executive assistant. The position actually doubled my salary, and I got my double helping of men. I got to be Brad's "work wife" during the day and I would come home to be Steve's "home wife" in the evening. While Steve appreciated the extra income, he didn't appreciate the other obligations that came with the position, such as the frequent travelling.

It was on one of these business trips that things escalated to the point of no return. We went to Vegas, of all places. It's so cliché, but what happened there was supposed to stay there. After a day of operating the vendor's booth at some convention, Brad bought me a sequined little black dress. It was more like a strapless sheath, really. The black garment barely covered my ass, but if I pulled down too much, my "girls" would pop out. It was a very daring dress, but Brad said I looked sexy in it. A hunk of a man thought I looked sexy! I wasn't Mommy. I wasn't Mrs. Swanson at that point in time. I was Kimberly the Sexy Goddess, attached to the arm of the adonis known as Brad. We looked like a "power" couple, enjoying a night on the town.

At one of the night clubs, the place was packed with people. Even though Brad was able to secure some VIP seating, it was wall to wall people. And just like any night club, there were a lot of Roman Hands and Russian Fingers in the crowd. I was either constantly swatting away hands, or trying to fix my skirt. Brad recognized my predicament. However, rather than be all macho and threaten the next guy to stray boundary lines, he told me to simply leave the skirt up. The thong panties that he bought me were now on display, or rather, my ass cheeks were on display for the entire club. Yes, it was dark, but I knew I was exposing my ass. He told me it was no different than me wearing a bikini in public.

I felt my heart race as I paraded around the club with my ass hanging out. Those hands got even more daring. However, I was on Brad's arm. While he didn't have to say anything, it would seem that the hands would do nothing more than cop a feel. Meanwhile, I got so aroused and so turned on by the exhibitionism and Brad's command of the situation. He could have pulled my dress down and exposed my tits to the club, and I would not have cared. He could have ripped my dress off right there in the club and fucked me on the table, and I would have enjoyed every minute of it without a care for who might have been watching.

Needless to say, when we got back to the hotel room, it was decided that we no longer needed separate rooms. He fucked me all night long. He had me up against the floor to ceiling window, looking out over the cityscape of Las Vegas, completely naked. My breasts pressed against the cold window pane, and me licking the glass, trying to find some cooling relief to the heat of our sexual desires. I became "Brad's traveling wife".

He had money. He had power. He made me feel like a sex goddess. He could do things to me that I would never let my husband do, for fear of Steve thinking I was a slut or a freak. Unfortunately, the relationship was more about Brad and his status symbols and his "trophy wife". He got to deal with the "good times", and could simply pawn me off to my husband in "bad times". Whenever my presence was a nuisance or an inconvenience, he made himself scarce.

So as I look at myself in a mirror, I could almost picture the imaginary angel and imaginary devil resting on my shoulders. The angel Kimberly was dressed like a proper housewife and mother and had a halo over her head. The devil Kimberly was dressed in a see through sequined evening gown with a dangerously high slit all the way up to where my thigh and my pelvis meet. Her horns and tail were not lost on me, either. Which one did I want to be? Which one did I want to listen to?

Before I could answer, a loud pounding on the bathroom door disturbed my thoughts.

"Hey, what's taking so long? I have to use the jon."

Always an asshole. I opened the door to let him in. Despite being 10 years my senior, he still kept his body in great shape. He had just enough hair on his chest to make him sexy, and had that pleasure trail leading straight down to his glorious cock. As he walked into the bathroom, and as I walked out, I couldn't help but tug on that cock with a teasing smile.

"So you're good for another round, huh?"

What was I thinking? Why did I do that? God, I am such a stupid ditz. I decided right then and there to find my clothes and get home. Steve didn't deserve this from me. He was a good man, and deserved a good wife. I looked at the crumbled up sexy evening dress that Brad bought for me on this business trip. I certainly could not go home to Steve, looking like I stepped out of a bar. I grabbed my suitcase which carried my business casual work attire. By the time Brad got out of the bathroom, I had my blouse on and was slipping into my skirt.

"Hey, what are you doing? Where are you going?"

I turned to face Brad, though I made sure to look anywhere but his cock. I didn't want to salivate over that magnificent piece of flesh. I may have a moment of weakness and let him fuck me once more as a going away present.

I steeled my will and said, "Brad, I am going home to be with my husband."

"So, what... you use me for a night of sex? That's awfully selfish of you, don't you think?"

It's just like him to turn this around on me. I looked away in disgust. Though, I also looked away because I could feel his cum oozing down the inside of my thigh. I didn't want to look at that man's cock because I knew I would become weak once more. God, there was a lot of cum. I wonder how many children I would have if he was my actual husband?

"I just need to go, Brad. Please."

I'm sure the lack of conviction was heard in my voice. That devil Kimberly was kicking and screaming, trying to do all she could to make me stay. It would be a midnight red-eye flight, which always sucks. I could easily head for home in the morning, even after taking a shower to get Brad's scent off my body. And of course, it would be an entire night of 'farewell sex'. But who was that devil Kimberly kidding? If I didn't leave right now, I'm not sure if I would ever have the willpower to leave him. No, I needed to go and I needed to go now.

He didn't say anything, but I could hear the smirk on his face. Sadly, I think there was a little part of me that wished that Brad would say something to prevent me from going. I was hoping that he would say something romantic, like professing undying love for me. I was hoping he would say something like I would expect from Steve. With that small epiphany, I reaffirmed to myself that I was making the right decision in leaving. I walked over to the phone and called the hotel concierge, and not once did I look over to see if Brad's cock was hard and needed to have my pussy offer him relief. Ok, so maybe I did bend over the table with a little too much exaggeration as I placed the call, but seriously, I was trying to show him what he would be missing. It's not like I wanted him to grab my ass, lift up my skirt and fuck me while I was on the phone with some stranger.

I pressed my thighs together, trying to remove that thought from my head. Fortunately, the concierge answered the phone. The woman sounded pleasant enough.

"Yes, hello. My name is Kimberly Swanson, and I'm in room 1504. Could you have the doorman hail a limo for me, please?"

Just as I started talking to the woman, I could feel his hand slide up my thigh. My skirt was riding up with his hand. God, he was really going to do it. He was really going to lift my skirt up while I was talking on the phone to this woman. I kept my legs shoulder width apart because I needed to keep myself steady. I'm sure that woman was saying something important, but my skirt was getting dangerously high. I could feel the air conditioning blowing across my pussy. Damn it, in my haste to leave, I forgot to put on my panties.

I stammered into the phone, almost breathlessly, "What did you say?"

"Yes, ma'am. We will have a limo available for you in about fifteen minutes."

I'm still not sure if I heard what she said. My skirt was bunched up around my waist. He widened my stance, so that he could take me from behind. I could already feel the tip pressing up against my sex as I clutched onto the phone. My breathing increased with pure desire. I wonder if the woman on the other end of the phone could hear how aroused I was. Maybe she would like to come up here and help me satisfy this man?