Wednesday, 9 October 2013

EARNING THE FIRST GOLD

Alan, my husband of 21 years, has lately been giving 
off hints that he thinks he has missed something in 
life by getting married so young and staying faithful 
so long. I don't think he missed a thing by being 
married to me. At least, I didn't used to think so, 
but now I know there is more to life than one partner, 
no matter how much you love that partner.

Let me back up a bit and provide some background. My 
name is Dawn, I'm 42, and I've been married to Alan 
since a month after my 21st birthday. He is 2 years 
older than me. We met in college during his final year 
of undergrad and were married just 9 months later, 
just before he started law school. I was madly in love 
with him from the first date, and though he wasn't my 
first lover, he was my only lover for 22 years. The 
early years of our marriage were tough financially, 
but we were in love and in lust and everything worked 
out. 

Then he graduated and got a clerkship that was 
prestigious but didn't pay many bills, so I worked 
full time and provided most of our income for those 
first five or six years of our marriage. Once he 
joined his first firm, the money was better but 
student loans and credit card debt had to be paid. 
Then he left his firm to go to a startup firm that 
made big promises, but folded within 3 years. After 
about 5 months without a job, he joined a major firm 
but had no seniority. 

That frustrated him, so 2 years later he and a friend 
left and hung out their own shingle. All of this goes 
to explain why we always thought it best that I keep 
working and that we hold off on starting a family. By 
the time his new partnership started to be a success, 
we were mid 30's and settled into the no-child 
lifestyle. 

Sorry to be so long winded, but this brings you 
forward to our current situation. I am 42, Alan is 44. 
He is now very successful in his law practice and I 
was able to quit working full time, doing some 
marketing contract consultant work and a bit of event 
planning. Life is pretty good for us.

That is why it bothered me so much when Alan started 
telling me tales of our neighbor, and his golf buddy, 
Eric. Eric is a very successful real estate developer 
and lives just the next street over from us. We met 
about 3 years ago at a neighborhood function right 
after we bought our house.  Eric and Alan became good 
friends, having golf in common among other things. 
Eric sponsored us for membership in the local country 
club. 

Eric is about 6'1" (2" – 3" taller than Alan), and at 
46 his hair, though very full compared to Alan's 
thinning locks, is already silver gray. His blue eyes 
and bright white teeth set off a very fit physique. 
Eric is the most eligible man in the neighborhood and 
in the country club, and if the stories Alan tells are 
half true, he enjoys the perks of his status very 
much. Apparently he has cut quite a swath through the 
ladies of our community.

Good for him, I always thought. He isn't married and 
he isn't cheating on any promises to anyone. The only 
trouble was, whether he was hearing them after golf, 
or at a couple of guy's nights out, or where, Eric's 
stories of the single life among the ladies of our 
community were having an effect on Alan. A comment 
here or there about how early we had married, or how 
long we had been married, or how he had never been 
single with money, or ... enough already, Alan, I get 
it. Twenty-one years with the same woman, but I look 
damn good for my age, I work out hard to stay that 
way, and I've always been faithful even though I 
married even younger than you!

I guess my competitive juices were flowing, and all 
the stories did give me another reason to think about 
sex (not that I've usually needed any reason). But 
whether it was thinking I wanted to prove something, 
or what, one Saturday night in what should have been a 
routine (if infrequent) sex session with Alan our sex 
talk went in a new direction. As he was above me, 
stroking away, my mind started to wander and my eyes 
closed while I concentrated on the wonderful feeling 
of his cock sliding in and out of me. 

I was getting into it more and more, my heels sliding 
up the back of his thighs when I heard him mumbling 
something, I couldn't make it out but was sure I heard 
"better than ..." in there. I pushed my head back into 
the pillow and looked at his face – I would have 
looked in his eyes, but they were closed as he stepped 
it up even faster, now pounding like a man possessed. 
"What the hell are you thinking about?!" I demanded. 
His eyes snapped open, shocked back into the present. 
But he only slowed for a couple of seconds, then 
slammed his hips into me as hard as he ever has.

"How I'm fucking you better than Eric is fucking 
Natalie tonight!" he crowed. Now Natalie was Eric's 
latest fling, a 28 year old gorgeous redhead with a 
slim build and a constant bored expression on her 
face. Was Alan telling me the truth, or was he really 
fantasizing about fucking Natalie himself. Instead of 
getting angry, I rose to the challenge.

"I'm so much better than Natalie, you asshole! But 
what makes you think you're better than Eric?"

That made him pause, but only for a split second. Then 
Alan rose up on his hands above me and slammed me for 
all he was worth, panting "Best you've ever had or 
will ever have, admit it Babe!"

Oh yeah? A challenge, this was sexual combat now. I 
reached up and pulled his head down to mine, driving 
my tongue between his lips. He accepted it for only a 
second, then pushed back with his tongue, trying to 
drive mine back inside my mouth. All the time his cock 
was working magic inside me, I was a wet as I'd been 
in a long, long time. Now I was sucking his tongue 
eagerly, my legs wide and kicking in rhythm with his 
pounding. He broke our kiss with "Admit it, I'm the 
best you've ever had!"

Grabbing him around the neck and shoulders with both 
arms, I set my left foot on the mattress and rolled 
right hard, rolling over on top of him. I wanted to 
win this battle, but I also wanted his cock to keep 
doing its wonders to my pussy. I leaned forward, my 
36C breasts swaying above his face. I leaned justly 
slightly to the right, bringing my left nipple to his 
lips. He took the bait and sucked my nipple between 
his lips. "Better tits than Natalie's, I promise you 
that Buddy! Aren't they?"

He didn't answer, just begin to alternate sucking on 
my nipple with scrapping his teeth across it lightly. 
Suck, scrape. Suck, scrape. I pressed my pelvis 
forward, grinding on him, riding his cock (was I 
imagining things, or was it harder than it had been in 
years) when he proved how much he knew me, my body, my 
responses. 

His teeth scraping my nipple became firmer, now 
lightly biting as his right hand pressed between us. 
He worked his middle finger into my pussy along with 
his cock for a few seconds, then pulled it out and 
reached around, his now moistened finger pressing at 
the opening of my ass. He paused there, seeming to 
will me to show him I wanted it. I wasn't going to let 
him win, I thought, but then he bit down harder (but 
not too hard) on my nipple and "YES!" burst from my 
lips. 

Alan pressed his finger into my ass, sucked hard on my 
nipple and slammed his hips up, bridging himself off 
the mattress. I ground my pelvis into his, my pussy 
clinching his cock, my clitoris grinding against his 
lower abdomen, my sphincter clinching and relaxing 
around his finger as my orgasm built. "Fuck yes!" I 
shouted as I came hard, my whole body tensing and 
waves of pleasure rolling through me.
 
As my orgasm was slowing, Alan rolled me to my back, 
put his arms under my legs raising them up and over 
his shoulders and slammed into me for all he was 
worth. He was a mad machine, pounding away into me 
harder and faster, and demanding I tell him he was the 
best. I pressed my lips shut, shaking my head "no" but 
despite my best efforts to show I was in control, 
little whimpers were escaping my lips. 

Again he showed how well he knew what I liked, as his 
left arm reached more around my right leg and he 
pinched my right nipple hard between his finger and 
thumb. "Admit I'm the best, damn you, or I'll stop 
fucking you! Admit it, Dawn!" he shouted.

I threw my head back into the pillow, and as my second 
orgasm erupted from deep within I heard myself shout 
back, "Damn you, Alan, damn you yes – yes you're the 
best. You're the fuckin' best, you're ... you're ... 
ohhhh YESSSSSSSSSSSS!"

"Damn right I AMMMMM!" and with a final slam of his 
pelvis he pressed as deep into me as he could and I 
felt his cum erupt into me. I swear we were quivering 
in sync with each other as our mutual orgasms peaked 
and ran their course.

As good as that night was, it didn't start a renewed 
constant lust between us. We fell back into our 
comfortable lives, with sweet and enjoyable sex once 
or twice a week, usually. The best of that sex always 
seemed to be after we had been around Eric and his 
fling of the month (or week, or night). It was like 
Alan was in competition with Eric, and I was competing 
against the newest fling. This worked for me for a 
while (but never as good as it did that first night). 
But after a few months I was tired of being in 
competition. Did my husband really want me, the real 
me, or was I a stand in for the latest to go through 
Eric's revolving sex door – Natalie, Brenda, Rhonda, 
Ann, Brandi and more?

Then last summer, two things happened that didn't seem 
to be connected, at the time, but eventually led to 
the sex of my life. First, Alan told me a little 
secret about Eric, something that he seemed to 
consider a great confidence. Eric's basement is 
finished out as a den/man cave complete with bar, big 
screen, sound system, a game table and some 
comfortable seating. Eric's TV watching chair is a big 
over stuffed thing with a matching ottoman. 

Alan said that Eric had made some comment one night 
about if only that ottoman could talk, what stories it 
could tell. When Alan asked what he meant, Eric said 
turn it over and tell me what you see that might be 
unusual. There were apparently some markings, "hash 
marks" (you know, four lines, then a 5th slanting 
across them, then start again, like keeping score in a 
game – well, apparently exactly like keeping score) 
twenty-one in total. And there were four silver stars 
drawn in permanent marker. Alan told me that these 
represented just the sexual partners Eric had "done 
right there on the damn footstool." Boys and their 
bragging, jeez.

Second, in addition to golf every weekend, Alan 
started playing poker once a month with Eric and some 
of his friends. One Friday night a month was no big 
deal, and I enjoyed the chance to get together with 
girlfriends, or spend an evening soaking in the tub 
and reading. But after each of those nights Alan would 
come home smelling of beer and cigars and full of 
lust. 

I knew he'd just been with the guys, so it wasn't more 
of the Eric/bimbo competition. As a matter of fact, 
Alan never seemed to mention Eric's latest loves at 
all. But after the poker nights, he was ready for 
action. I didn't like the smell, but I liked the sex 
and didn't ask questions.

But one Friday he was out later than usual and I had 
downed one more glass of wine with girlfriends than I 
should have. I couldn't wait up, and so stripped to my 
panties, pulled on one of Alan's t-shirts and crashed 
into our bed, asleep almost instantly. Sometime in the 
wee hours I was aware of Alan's return, but I didn't 
fully awaken. He said something to me, but I'm sure I 
just mumbled something incoherent in return. Then he 
was beside me in bed, under the covers and spooning up 
behind me. Cuddling was not a big part of our life 
together, and I probably sighed a bit in appreciation 
for his affection. 
 
Alan rubbed my neck and shoulders a bit, then his hand 
slid down my arm and over onto my tummy. He hugged me 
back into him a bit as his hand slid under the t-shirt 
and up my body. In my sleepy state I didn't quite 
realize yet it wasn't comfortable cuddling that he had 
on his mind. But at about the same time his hand 
cupped my breast, I felt him slide up tighter behind 
me and his hard cock rode up the outside of my 
panties, right between my ass cheeks. He was rubbing 
against me, hunching is a better term. 

I feigned sleep mainly because I didn't know what else 
to do. Sleep, real or feigned, didn't dissuade Alan 
that night. He continued to rub his cock up and down 
my ass, and now his hand left my breast and pushed 
inside my panties in front, his fingers reaching down 
between my lips, rubbing in rhythm with his humping. 
For some reason I didn't pull away. Part was 
curiosity, what did he have in mind. Part was 
amazement, he'd never done anything like this before. 

He had pressed for sex, many times, but always made 
sure I was also in the mood. And part was a building 
excitement, despite myself. This seemed to be the only 
reaction that registered with Alan as his middle 
finger pushed between my lips and into my pussy. He 
knows how I like him to use the pads of his hands just 
below his fingers to rub against my clit, and he was 
doing that well, warming me to the proposition at hand 
(pun intended).

But then without warning he removed his hand and used 
it to pull my panties to the side, exposing my pussy 
to him from behind. He pushed me to my stomach, 
rolling with me, now searching for my opening with his 
cock. We'd never had sex with so little foreplay, he'd 
never been this aggressive. But he was my husband, and 
I knew he loved me, and I loved him, and what girl 
hasn't had a "forced" fantasy or two in her life? 

His cock found its mark and his first penetration was 
even a bit painful, I wasn't fully ready, but that 
only added somehow to my bit of fantasy fulfillment 
that seemed in store. In a few short strokes Alan was 
fully inside me and was hammering away at me from 
above and behind. Damn if he didn't grab my hair in 
one hand and bring his lips to my ear and growl and 
huff, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine as 
he fucked me for all he was worth. He was grunting and 
I could make out the occasional "Yeah, take it," or 
"Fuckin,' yes," or even "This is how you like it, 
isn't it." 

I tried to work my hand back to caress him, to show 
him it was still all about our love, but he just 
grabbed my wrist and pressed my arm into the bed, 
holding me by that wrist and by the hair as he pounded 
away harder and faster. My willingness to take it like 
this, to even enjoy being used as an object like this, 
was somewhat surprising. This was all new territory, 
but not totally unwelcomed. Nothing I'd want to be 
standard, but ... then my thoughts were interrupted as 
he pressed me hard into the bed with both hands as his 
body stiffened and he slammed his cock all the way 
into me and shouted, "Take that, slu...!"

He collapsed on top of me, panting. But he was only 
there a few seconds before he rolled off of me back 
towards his side of the bed. I lay there waiting to 
see what would happen next when I heard his first 
snore. Asleep!

I laid there bewildered and angry, excited but 
frustrated, unsure of my next move. Did I want to 
shake Alan awake? And do what? Did I want to reach for 
my vibrator and bring myself the relief I wanted? But 
in the end I just went to the bathroom and cleaned up, 
glanced at my reflection in the mirror trying not to 
focus on my flush, put on new panties and my most 
comfy nightshirt and returned to bed beside my snoring 
husband.

The next morning Alan was up early for golf. And he 
was bleary eyed as he headed for the door without a 
word about last night when I called to him, "You going 
to leave without talking about last night?"

All I got was, "Sorry, Babe, I was drunk. You're so 
damn sexy I just couldn't help myself, but to tell the 
truth I don't remember much. Won't happen again. See 
you the usual time. Bye." And he was out the door.

That wasn't really good enough for me, but I tried to 
blow it off and accept his excuse of being drunk. When 
I thought about it, it was such a mix of excitement 
and anger that I was torn. Did I drop it, did I make 
him talk about it – and if we did, what would I say? 
Never again – or again, please again? But one little 
part kept lurking in my brain. What was the last thing 
he said in the throes of his orgasm? Did he call me 
"slut"? Was it "take that, slut"? Take what? And 
"slut"!?

Later that morning while my feet were soaking at the 
nail salon, Amy Brandenburg, a neighbor I know just a 
little from social situations sat down beside me to 
soak toes. She and her husband Carl are members of our 
country club, and Carl and Alan play golf some, and 
Alan mentioned his name as one of the regular Friday 
poker players. We chatted a bit, and then Amy blew me 
away with a little girl-talk comment. She said that 
she didn't know if she loved or hated the Friday night 
poker games, because Carl always came home horny and 
"primed for action." I tried not to react, but 
innocently asked what about poker would make him that 
way.

Amy was taking a sip of Diet Coke when I said that and 
I thought the drink was going to come out her nose as 
she laughed and coughed. "I don't think there is 
anything about poker, that does it," she said, "but 
the lap dances and boobs in his face at the strip club 
later sure get him fired up!"

I tried not to look as shocked and unknowing as I was, 
but she could see through me and found it quite 
amusing. She told me that yes they played poker, but 
by late in the evening some of the guys, especially 
the married ones, always headed out to a local topless 
bar. Amy found it very funny that I didn't seem to 
know anything about it. But she was also very casual 
about her husband being involved and thought it was 
good, innocent adult fun. I wanted to agree with her 
attitude, but why had Alan kept it a secret. 

Did he just think I wouldn't approve, or did he have 
more to hide? And what about that "slut" thing? I was 
now sure that is what he said. Months before I thought 
he might be fantasizing about Eric's woman of the 
moment when he made love to me, but was he imagining 
some young stripper when he took me the night before? 
And how many other times have I taken the place of 
some fantasy of a big titted bimbo from his Friday's 
with the boys?

Well, things were cool between us for a few days, but 
days became weeks and then a couple of months and I 
got over it, mostly. Alan was clueless as to why his 
frequenting a strip club would bother me. 
Embarrassingly he even once said, "Why do you care 
where I get my appetite, just so long as I eat my 
meals at home." 

Really, at 44 this is his thinking? 

Then in late September he came home from golf one 
Saturday raving about Eric's new girlfriend de jour. 
Early 30's, beautiful, great rack (his term, not mine 
for gosh sakes), supposedly one of the best looking 
women ever. Oh boy, back to the virtual competition to 
get my husband's mind off of Eric's sleaze of the 
month and onto me where it belongs. I didn't know if I 
could put up with it again.
 
Vicki was her name, and she apparently didn't intend 
to be just a passing fancy in Eric's life. She made 
herself part of his circle as fast as she could, and 
damn her, she was not only as beautiful and sexy as 
Alan had said, she had the nerve to be nice and 
charming as well. So there was no way to turn down the 
invitation when she called and invited us over for 
cocktails and dinner one Saturday night along with a 
few other couples "from the club."

But she didn't have to wear that "little black dress," 
the one with the low scoop neck that showed off her 
ample cleavage, the one that fit so tight you could 
see how flat her tummy was and how firm her butt was, 
the one with the skirt so short that her tanned, toned 
legs... grrrr, I could build up a real spite for this 
woman if she weren't so polite and well mannered. 

Drinks were plentiful and hors d'eouvres delightful, 
both distributed by some of the Country Club wait 
staff they had hired for the night. As Eric 
entertained from his spot at the grill on the patio, 
Vicki held court in the living room. Everyone chatted 
and nibbled and drank and circulated. But often I 
spotted Alan either talking with Vicki, straining to 
look her in the eyes. A couple of other times I saw 
him openly gawking at her across the room. I tried to 
ignore his teenage actions and enjoy the party, but 
the longer it went the more it bothered me. And the 
more I remembered everything else in our love life 
that had bothered me the past few months. Dinner was 
delicious and diverted my attention to our friends and 
good conversation. 

But after dinner as the staff cleared everything away 
and the group separated into those who wanted to drink 
and talk outside by the pool and those who preferred 
the indoors for the same activities, what did I spy 
through the sliding glass door but Alan outside 
talking with Vicki again, his eyes darting down 
frequently, which she had to see but ignored. As she 
laughed at something Alan had said, her head turned 
towards the glass door and we were looking at each 
other eye to eye. 

She held her head still for a few seconds, the two of 
us silently looking at the other, as Alan carried on 
his monologue, trying to impress her I'm sure. A 
little smirk crossed her lips and she turned back to 
Alan, again laughing at something he said, this time 
reaching out and touching his arm. It could have been 
innocent, or it could have been predatory, but to me 
mostly it said that she thought she was the alpha 
female at the party and I better understand it.

I wanted to go out there and knock that smirk off her 
face. I wanted to go out there and slap my husband's 
foolish face. But what I did was go to the bar set up 
in their kitchen and get a drink and go wandering the 
house to get my mind off the two of them. Nothing was 
going to happen between them, but I told myself that 
Alan better not be expecting to get any when we got 
home – if he got anything it would be a piece of my 
mind.

As I strolled around, exchanging a few words with a 
guest here and there, I found myself in the breakfast 
room at the top of the stairs that obviously led down 
to Eric's infamous man cave. The door was open, and a 
light on down there so I strolled down. The TV was on 
a cable music channel, but the room was deserted. I 
strolled around, sipping my drink, looking at the 
magazines on a coffee table, the artwork on the walls, 
but slowly zeroing in on the ottoman Alan had told me 
about. I couldn't resist, so I dropped to my knees and 
was in the process of lifting one side of the ottoman 
to look underneath when I heard, "Did you lose 
something, or has our Alan been talking out of 
school?"

I jumped and looked up to see Eric standing there at 
the base of the stairs, drink in hand and a big grin 
on his face. I was embarrassed and mumbled something 
as I stood, wanting to run but my path to the stairs 
blocked. He chuckled and told me I was blushing. 
Damnit, I'm sure I was. He said he should have known 
that Alan couldn't keep a secret from me. And then he 
said, "Alan can't help himself when he's around a 
beautiful woman, can he? He just blabs and fawns and 
drools, that is quite a horn dog you married, but I'm 
sure you know better than me."

I had no idea what to respond to first, if anything. 
Was I snooping, trying to know something about Eric's 
conquests? What does he know about Alan that I don't, 
what has he seen Alan do around other women? And did 
he say I was beautiful?

He told me to go ahead and look, but he hoped I could 
keep a secret better than Alan could. He crossed the 
room to where I was and reached down and lifted the 
ottoman, turning its underside to me. There in silver 
paint or marker of some kind was just what Alan hand 
told me. Twenty-one hash marks and four silver stars. 
No, that's twenty-two marks, was Alan wrong or had the 
list expanded?

As he put the ottoman back down, he grinned and said 
to go ahead and ask my questions, but he didn't "kiss 
and tell." So I started asking, and he very matter-of-
factly answered each question.

Were the four starts part of the twenty-two? No, 
different women. So twenty-six partners in how long? 
Well, that was a bit personal, but twenty-six 
involving the ottoman over more than twenty years. So 
just over one a year? With the ottoman involved, yes. 
There were others that didn't find their way to den 
and the ottoman? That just brought a grin as he took a 
sip of his drink. So the big question. What earns a 
star instead of just a mark? Don't ask a question if 
you may not like the answer. Well I'm asking, why the 
stars? Those are married women. Married women! Any I 
know? Don't kiss and tell, remember, but yes. One of 
them is here at the party. Oh my gawd! Now I knew I 
was blushing again.

"But I'll never tell you who, I mean it when I say I 
don't kiss and tell," he stated firmly. "I believe 
strongly in discretion. But I also believe strongly in 
fun between consenting adults." That last part brought 
a smile and a twinkle to his eyes. I began to 
understand how he earned his reputation, and how women 
became marks on his furniture. "You know," he 
continued, "I meant it when I said you are a beautiful 
woman. Alan is so very lucky to have you, I hope he 
treats you as you deserve."

I blushed more and looked down, avoiding his eyes, not 
knowing how to respond. With a finger under my chin he 
raised my face up until we were looking at each other 
and he whispered, "Very beautiful." I thought he was 
going to kiss me, and if he had tried I don't know 
what I would have done, but instead he stepped back, 
grinned and said he hoped he hadn't embarrassed me too 
badly. Did I have any more questions?

I don't know where it came from, but I looked at him, 
looked down at the ottoman, back at Eric and asked, 
"What would a woman have to do to earn a gold star?"

He laughed out loud, reached out and pulled me to him, 
giving me a big hug. It felt good in his arms, but 
Eric released me and took a couple of steps back and 
sat on his big chair, gesturing to me to take a seat 
on the ottoman. I sat, and then begin the strangest 
conversation of my life. Eric told me this was all 
hypothetical, but would I play the part of the 
hypothetical woman wanting to earn the gold star. 
After a big gulp of my drink I told him I would, go 
on.

Well, she would have to qualify for a silver star, so 
she would have to be married, of course. Of course, 
and this hypothetical woman is married. She would have 
to be married to someone I know, someone who loves 
this hypothetical wife. OK, no problem there. Earning 
the gold star would have to be something she wants to 
do, she would have to be clear that it is her choice. 
OK, so it has to be her desire, but wouldn't you at 
least tempt her a bit? I said her choice, but desire 
is probably a better word. And of course I'd tempt 
her, I have to want this as much as she does. And if 
she isn't sure? 

Then she should wait until she is sure, very sure, but 
she should know that when I am with a woman I desire, 
I commit everything to our mutual pleasure, I don't do 
half way. Ummm, uhhh, back to the gold star, what 
would it take for a gold star? Good focus, Dawn. So 
far I've just described the hypothetical next silver 
star recipient. Except I didn't mention the incredible 
sex, at least part of it involving that ottoman under 
your most attractive bottom. 

For gold I think that during our very intense sexual 
activities she would want to do a couple of things 
with me that she's never done, or at least never done 
with her husband. So it's at least a bit about 
outdoing her husband, proving you're a better man or a 
better lover? No, making a cuckold of some poor guy 
has nothing to do with it. The husband has nothing to 
do with it. 

When a single woman has sex with me, I always wonder 
what else she wants from me. With a married woman, I'm 
pretty sure it's only the sex she wants, and that's 
when sex is best, don't you think? Well, I don't know 
what the hypothetical woman would think about that, 
but I guess she would be glad it wasn't about a male 
contest somehow, but was more about her. Oh, it will – 
err, would – be all a whole lot about her and her 
pleasure. But for a gold star she has to commit even 
more to it than she has committed to her husband. 

So what couple of things that she hasn't done with her 
husband? Well, let's see, does she ever talk really 
dirty with her husband, graphically describe what she 
wants? Oh, yes, I, uh, I think she probably has been 
known to do that when she is really turned on. OK, 
maybe, has she ever had anal sex with her husband? No, 
not with, I mean, well, no. OK, has he ever presented 
her with a pearl necklace? Like a string of – no, oh 
that pearl necklace. No I'm sure he hasn't, speaking 
hypothetically. 

Then speaking hypothetically I'd say we have it. The 
gold star standard would be a married woman, of her 
own free will and own desire, on that ottoman your 
gracing so beautifully, taking it willing where she 
never has and finishing by wearing the evidence of my 
excitement. Yep, sounds like a gold star performance 
to me!

I had more questions, but he seemed done. Part of me 
wanted to tell him that I hope he finds his gold star 
woman someday if it was important to him, but don't be 
expecting me back in his den. But another part of me 
wanted to earn that star then and there. 
 
"Here you two are!" brought me out of my moral and 
sexual quandary and into the present. It was Vicki 
quickly descending the stairs, and she strode right up 
to Eric, leaned over pressing her ample bosom against 
the side of his neck and face as she hugged his 
shoulders and asked, "What are you two up to? Solving 
world problems or plotting to run off to Tahiti 
together? Come on Eric, time to rejoin all of our 
guests, some are about to leave."

He stood, offered me his hand to help me stand up from 
the ottoman, and the three of us headed upstairs. Once 
back on the main floor, Eric headed towards the living 
room to intercept any guests who were leaving and I 
turned towards the sliding doors to see if Alan was 
still out by the pool. But Vicki stopped me by 
grabbing my arm tightly and pulling me back, bringing 
her mouth to within a couple of inches of my ear. 
"Don't even think about it, bitch! I'll win, and then 
I'll take something, or someone, of yours!" she 
growled in my ear. Releasing me she headed off the 
same direction as Eric had gone. My, my, what an 
interesting evening. So much for the charming, polite 
Miss Vicki.

I found Alan soon after and suggested we leave. Eric 
and Vicki were the perfect polite hosts as they said 
their good byes at the door. Despite my earlier 
resolve, Alan and I made love that night, but I'm sure 
in his mind he was screwing Vicki, I know I couldn't 
keep Eric out of mine.

On the next Monday morning I was checking emails on my 
personal email account I use for my event planning 
business when I saw I had an something from Eric. The 
subject was "Hypotheticals." The message had no 
salutation nor signature, it simply read, "My private 
cell is 469-xxx-xxxx, that is where I would 
hypothetically receive a private text, hypothetically 
speaking." (Of course, the real number was in his 
email). His meaning was clear. If I was serious, he 
was serious. We both knew the ground rules. The next 
move was mine.

For the next few weeks I alternately thought about 
sending Eric a text and told myself I was crazy. The 
I'm crazy side was winning, it was fun to fantasize 
and fun to exchange sexy talk with Eric, but I am a 
married woman, a happily married woman, and Eric is a 
friend of my husband's, and a million other reasons it 
was a stupid idea. But there were also three things I 
couldn't dismiss. I was attracted to Eric physically, 
the "naughtiness" of earning that gold star was 
intoxicating, and who the hell did that bimbo Vicki 
think she was talking to me like that! Still, as I 
said, the angel on right shoulder was beating out the 
devil on my left.

Then three things happened over the course of about 24 
hours that combined to turn my mental tide. First I 
saw Vicki at the grocery store and she didn't speak, 
just glared at me, proving she considered us rivals. 
Second, Alan was leaving for a business trip, a couple 
of days to take some depositions, and he had a stack 
of files and papers for his trip on our dresser prior 
to packing his suitcase and briefcase. I accidentally 
knocked part of the stack on to the floor, and in 
gathering them up I found a print out from a website, 
a description of the best topless clubs in the city 
where Alan was travelling. 

He'd even highlighted some of the key passages on a 
couple of the descriptions. The trip wasn't going to 
be all work and grind, more like part bump and grind. 
Then the next morning while shopping for some office 
supplies for an event planning job pitch I was making 
that week I spotted something called a Pen-Touch Gold 
Paint Pen – perfect for putting a gold star on the 
bottom frame of an ottoman! I bought the pen.

As soon as Alan was out the door I started the battle 
of conscience. Was I going to send a text to Eric? And 
say what? No, I wasn't going to, I didn't do that kind 
of thing. Get over yourself, Dawn, I mean would Eric 
even really want me after all, or was it just a tease?  
Well, yes he seemed like he would. But I don't cheat. 
But my husband can't wait to throw his money at young 
naked women as soon as he gets out of town. And what 
about Vicki, calling me a bitch? 

That gold digging whore, she didn't scare me and she 
didn't intimidate me (much). So if I did send a text 
what would I say? What if Eric did just think it was 
all a tease and turned me down? Was it just a tease, a 
joke among friends? In the end I thought I had the 
perfect solution. I pulled out my cell phone and took 
a picture of the Pen-Touch Gold Paint Pen and sent it 
as a MMS text message to Eric. I didn't add any 
wording. I wasn't really suggesting anything, just 
continuing the tease/joke with a friend.
 
Within minutes I got a text back. It took my breath 
away. There on the screen of my cell phone was, "If 
you're sure, not just hypothetically sure, 8:00 
tonight. The garage door will be open, close it after 
you park. You know where I'll be."

The rest of the day was a nervous blur, the clock 
alternating between crawling along and then an hour 
zipping by. I didn't know if I should send another 
text. What would I say? Was I really going to show up 
at 8:00? Or was I going to back out? Should I text if 
it's one way and not the other? Oh damn, what do you 
wear to your first affair?

I did what I like to do when I have a big decision, I 
took a nice bubble bath. But instead of thinking about 
what would be the right thing for me to do, I started 
fantasizing about Eric nude and what might happen? And 
for the first time it really hit me –anal?! Jeez, yes 
I liked it when Alan put a finger there, especially in 
concert with his tongue or his cock pleasuring my 
pussy. But to take it in the ...

That made me more than nervous, now I was scared. So 
after I dried off from the bath I did what I like to 
do when I'm nervous or scared. I had a nice glass of 
wine. And then another. I didn't dare eat anything, I 
didn't know if I could keep it down.

Back to the what to wear problem. Even if I don't go, 
it won't hurt to get ready, maybe after I'm dressed 
I'll just call a girlfriend and go out for a drink. 
First my favorite little black dress, but no, that 
reminded me of Vicki. At least her threat hadn't 
scared me off, if I didn't go it wouldn't be because 
of that tramp. Maybe I should work from the inside 
out. Rifling through my lingerie drawer, deciding this 
was silly, pick out something Dawn. OK, keep it 
simple, black lace demi bra and matching bikini 
panties. Now the dress – ummm, ok the red crisscross 
dress, I like the way I look in it. Simple but pretty, 
but is red too slutty? For an affair, get serious, 
Dawn. 

The red crisscross it is, but that doesn't work with 
the bra. Change to matching blush multi-way bra and 
bikini panties. That almost wouldn't work because my 
hands were shaking so badly I had hell getting the 
straps off of the bra to wear it strapless. Finally, 
that decision made, now about makeup. What time is it 
anyways? Oh no, 7:40, to the vanity, keep the makeup 
simple. But red dress, should be red lipstick, right? 
Shoes, shoes! Usually shoes were almost the first 
decision I made. 

OK, the golden tan open toed buckle straps, 2 ½ inch 
heel. Nice, but not – were they too nice? Too bad, no 
time, they have to do. Bottom line, I was so rushed I 
had no chance at the end to even stop and think about 
what I was doing, to even reconsider backing out. 
Luckily just before I left and after putting driver's 
license, a twenty dollar bill, lipstick, compact and a 
brush in a red and gold clutch, I remembered the gold 
paint pen, adding it to the clutch.

At 8:01 (according to the digital clock in the car) I 
was backing out of my garage for the one block drive. 
My heart was racing as I turned the corner and 
approached Eric's house. I turned in and the driveway 
curved beside his house to the garage in back. As 
promised, the garage door was up on one side to an 
empty space. I drove in, put the car in park and 
turned off the key. Then it hit me, what I was really 
doing. I didn't know if I could walk. But I was also 
so nervous that I didn't really have any higher brain 
activity, such as you're a married woman who is about 
to cheat on her husband for the first time, what are 
you doing? 

I just made one limb move at a time, got out of the 
car, walked to the door and entered the house, barely 
registering the little hand lettered sign that said 
"Garage Door Close" above what looked like a doorbell. 
I think I pushed it, I think I remember hearing the 
garage door go down. I was in Eric's kitchen, just 
across the breakfast room from there was the stairs 
down to the basement den, where the ottoman was, and 
where, I assumed, Eric was waiting. What was he 
expecting? What was he wearing? God, I hope he's 
wearing something. Somehow I made it to the steps and 
started down.

He was standing by the bar, khakis, blue Oxford cloth 
button-down dress shirt, cordovan loafers and matching 
belt, very classic and very much a man in his castle. 
"Wow, you look even more beautiful than the last time 
I saw you," was his opening line. Hey, compliments are 
never a bad way to start. "Can I get you a drink, a 
glass of wine perhaps, or something else? I have 
margaritas made."

I took a seat on one of the barstools and accepted the 
margarita he offered. It was very good, and sipping it 
kept me from having to talk, or even look at Eric 
directly. He carried the conversation, talking about 
local events, a little scandal that had hit the 
country club recently, I almost expected him to 
comment on the weather, he was being so casual and 
nonchalant. I only had to answer a time or two with 
brief comments, or simply nod my understanding. I 
wasn't going to look over at the ottoman at all costs, 
but I was also having a hard time looking him in the 
eyes, so it didn't really register that he had moved 
around the bar and was standing right next to me. 

As we continued our conversation he ran his little 
finger up the outside of my arm and I almost jumped 
off the barstool.  I don't remember what we talked 
about, but I do remember him nonchalantly touching not 
only my arm, but my thigh, my hair, my cheek and even 
reaching around to lightly stroke the back of my neck. 
Noticing my glass was empty, he stepped away and 
poured me another. When he brought it back around the 
bar he handed it to me and watched me take a sip (or 
gulp). 

Then he took the glass from my hand, set it on the bar 
and with one finger of his right hand raised chin 
until I was looking straight up at him. As he leaned 
in closer, he whispered, "Are you sure?" I nodded yes 
and his lips moved to mine, a soft, brief kiss.

My lips followed his as he moved away, then a small 
whimper passed them as it was obvious that first kiss 
wasn't to be followed up immediately. But he did reach 
out and the back of the fingers of his right hand up 
and down across my left breast, bumping his fingers 
across my nipple. "Where's the gold pen?" he asked. 
"In my purse" I responded, a quiver to my voice.

"Grab your purse and go home and call your husband and 
tell him you love him. Or get your purse and pull out 
the gold pen and put it on the bar to show me you're 
positive. Positive you're ready for an unbelievable 
night. I'm really looking forward to this," he told me 
and then leaned in and gave me a real kiss. I mean a 
REAL kiss. I remember my first thought (and maybe last 
conscious thought of the night) was if he can kiss 
like this, how well does he fuck?

After we broke the kiss, I only hesitated a second 
before opening my clutch, just a brief reassessment of 
what I wanted, and I still didn't know exactly, but 
that didn't matter, I pulled the pen out and dropped 
it on the bar. I stared at it briefly, then turned up 
to look Eric in the eyes. His smile was sweet, he 
seemed like he was genuinely happy, and he didn't move 
or say a word as we just looked at each other. Then he 
moved around me where I was between him and the bar, 
swung me around on the stool with his hand on my 
thigh, and stepped up close, his legs pushing in 
between mine and leaned in and kissed me for real the 
second time, this time with more urgency. His tongue 
did its magic with mine as his left hand grabbed the 
back of my head, his fingers in my hair, and his right 
hand cupped my left breast, this thumb flicking across 
my nipple he could obviously feel through the fabric 
of my dress and my bra. I know I could feel it 
pressing against its confinement.

We continued to kiss for a few minutes as our hands 
roamed each other's bodies. Mine across his back and 
neck and chest, I remember thinking briefly that his 
body was as firm as Alan's had been twenty years 
earlier. That was the last thought I had of Alan for 
some time. Because about then Eric started a hand 
running up and down my thigh, from my knee to mid-
thigh, then knee to upper thigh, then ... the first 
time his thumb hit my pussy through the material of my 
panties, I literally jumped on the stool. His broke 
our kiss and moved his hips and tongue to my neck and 
ears, hitting all my spots one right after another. 

Both hands worked up my thighs, pushing the bottom of 
my dress up with them until with both hands on my 
waist he lifted me a couple of inches off the stool 
and continued to raise my dress at the same time, 
apparently using his little fingers hooked under the 
hem. Instead of thinking that my god, a man other than 
my husband is undressing me, I remember just being 
amazed that he was so strong and coordinated and he 
must have really big hands, I hadn't really noticed, 
and if his hands are that big does that mean that... 
then he continued to lift my dress and pulled it all 
the way off over my head and for the first time this 
stopped being fantasy for me and I realized I was 
going to have sex with Eric. Eric, not Alan. 

Eric, the biggest cad in the neighborhood. Eric, this 
incredibly sexy man who seemed to want me. Eric with 
the big hands. Any last doubt left me, at that time I 
didn't want anything other than to be with him. Give 
myself to him. Be taken by him. Fuck him.

We kissed more as he reached around me and unhooked my 
bra. His hands were warm on my breasts and as he 
caressed and flicked and cupped and pinched waves of 
pleasure ran through me. When he lowered his head and 
first took my left nipple into his mouth, I moaned. It 
was my turn to run my fingers through his hair, pull 
him into me. His left hand was on my thigh again, and 
then the side of his hand was pressing between my 
legs, rubbing me through my panties. 

I don't remember wanting myself to, or willing myself 
to, but I pushed my hips forward, meeting the pressure 
from his hand with my own. I moaned louder. Suddenly 
both of his hands were on my hips, fingers under the 
waist band of my panties and one slight but firm 
motion he lifted me slightly and pushed down on my 
panties at the same time. Just like that he was 
sliding them down my legs and over my shoes, they were 
the last bit of my clothing not on his floor.

Eric kissed his way back up my chest and neck and ears 
and then back to my lips as his right hand this time 
ran up my thigh, now his fingers stroking my entrance, 
his fingers rotating and rubbing and probing a little 
until I felt his thumb and finger part my lips, his 
middle finger start to push its way into me, and I 
moaned loudly into his mouth. For the first time in 
twenty-one years someone other than my husband (or 
myself) was entering my pussy. Damn it felt good.

I was leaning back against the bar, Eric's left arm 
around me to keep me from falling, his lips on mine, 
our tongues dancing together, and his right hand 
finger fucking me faster and harder with each few 
strokes. I spread my legs even wider, my feet running 
up the backs of his legs until my legs were around his 
waist. I opened myself to him, so hungry for more and 
more of the incredible feelings that he was causing to 
course through my body. I had to break our kiss, my 
head back, my legs wide and locked around him. I was 
so filled with desire and lust, so damn hot and horny, 
so much his to use, please keep using. I felt a 
tightness deep inside, felt my pleasure welling up. It 
sounded like someone else making the noises I know 
were mine.

Then in a flash his hand was away from my pussy and 
about as soon as the "Nooo" of disappointment escaped 
my lips, he had lifted me by the hips and set me on 
top of the bar. I had to throw my hands out behind me 
to hold myself as his hands grabbed my thighs and 
moved them apart, his mouth replacing his fingers as 
he drove his head between my legs. First his tongue 
entered me just like his fingers had, and for a few 
seconds it worked in and out of me, his tongue firm 
yet soft, so good. Then he was licking up and down the 
length of my sex, parting my lips with his tongue, 
slurping my wetness, his tongue wide and firm as it 
went up and back over my clit with each of the 
movement s of his head. 

The man gave incredible head (or I was so hot it just 
seemed incredible, hard to know which, though I think 
both were true). Now his finger was entering me again, 
finger fucking me in rhythm with his tongue that was 
now concentrated over my clit, firm but not too hard, 
short rubs timed with the long finger strokes. Somehow 
my legs had moved over his shoulders, my feet dangling 
down his back. I realized I still had my shoes on like 
some porn actress, but that thought only made me 
hotter. 

Now I was hearing words, words from my mouth if not 
really from my conscious brain, and I got louder and 
louder in telling him how wonderfully he was working 
me. He reached around me, one large had pushing under 
my ass, I rocked one way, then the other to help him 
his hand under my ass. With his one hand lifted my ass 
off the bar, his shoulders held my legs and he pushed 
his face tighter against my pussy, his finger fucking 
me faster and faster, his tongue faster and harder 
against my clit until AHHHHHH FUCK YES – my whole body 
spasmed, tightened and spasmed again, then the process 
again, and again, as my first orgasm rocked me. 

I was mumbling incoherently I'm sure, trying to 
express to Eric my pleasure, my thanks, my total 
surrender to him, but I think it just came out as a 
series of dirty words and meaningless sounds.

Somehow (I think after when I grabbed his hair and 
pulled his face tight between my legs but before he 
lifted me up off the bar and proved he was a master at 
giving head) Eric had removed his shirt. As I 
recovered a bit we went back to kissing and fondling. 
I grabbed his shoulders and wrapped my legs around his 
waist again and scooted off into his arms. He turned 
and carried me across the room to a couch. 

I expected the ottoman, but as soon as he sat me down 
gently on the couch, I pushed off to my knees and 
kissed his stomach as my hands explored the front of 
his slacks. For the first time I felt his cock, and 
knew immediately I wanted more than just to feel it 
through his pants. It was running down his right leg, 
and it was much longer than my hand was wide. I could 
feel that he was circumcised, the head prominent when 
my hand reached it. I added my second hand, just to 
check it again. I can just about cover Alan's cock 
with my two hands, and I've measured that before to be 
about 6 ½ inches. Eric was longer, though not a lot, 
but felt thicker – and hell, he wasn't fully hard yet.

I worked at his belt and closure and button and then 
finally the zipper, all the time rubbing that cock I 
couldn't wait to see, even kissing it and sucking it a 
bit through his pants. As his pants dropped, he 
stepped back away from me a bit to bend and take off 
his shoes and socks and step out his pants. I can best 
describe the sound of my reaction at his temporary 
absence as the whining of a hungry kitten. He stood 
there a couple of feet from me, hands on the waistband 
of his boxers and asked, with a grin, "Shall I?"

"Oh no," I blurted out, "my job." I crawled forward on 
my knees to again explore his cock with my eyes, 
hands, mouth and tongue, this time just through his 
boxers. I reached up one pants leg and for the first 
time felt Eric with my hand. I could feel its heat, 
almost feeling the blood flowing with each of his 
heartbeats, and after only a few strokes I grabbed for 
his shorts and pulled them down. His cock bounced up 
before me and I almost giggled. It was beautiful. 

I have seen larger ones, in porno and this one guy in 
college (never even told Alan that story), but Eric's 
cock was perfection. I just stared at it for a few 
seconds. It was large, it was full and thick, it was a 
nice pinkish tan, the veins were prominent but not 
freakishly so, it arched up and away from his body 
nicely, with a slight upward curve, and the head was 
large and slightly purple and in proper proportion – 
and I never wanted a cock more.

I put both hands on it and grasped it lightly but 
firmly. Someone once told me to hold it like a little 
bird, not so tight that you hurt it but not so loose 
that it can get away. I began to stroke, with both 
hands at first, just short movements up and down. Then 
I ran both hands all the way up the shaft and over the 
head until Eric's cock slid out and I watched as it 
dropped a fraction and bounced back. I repeated in 
reverse, one hand after the other starting at the head 
and running down the length of his beautiful manhood. 

Then I lifted it up against his stomach, and leaning 
forward I first ran my tongue up and down the 
underside. Then I ran my lips up and down it, sucking 
a bit as I did. My other cupped his balls, large and 
heavy and full, I could feel them constrict against 
pulling against his body some and at the same time I 
could feel his cock expand even more, filling and 
thickening and lengthening. What a great dick!

I lifted up on my knees a bit higher, my right hand 
holding his cock, my left around his waist cupping his 
ass cheek and I positioned his cock and my mouth, 
kissing the head first, then parting my lips and for 
the first time in many, many years felt another man's 
cock on my lips, entering my mouth, sliding over my 
tongue, filling my mouth completely – yummy! Slowly I 
lowered my mouth around my prize, sucking a bit, 
running my tongue up under it. Then back up, repeating 
the process in reverse, very slowly, savoring the 
feel, the taste, the moment. 

I started to bob up and down on Eric's cock, lost in 
the fun of giving a man pleasure, of enjoying a 
wonderful cock, of being naughty and sexy and hot and 
lustful and a cocksucker. I started moaning, the sound 
muffled with my mouth mostly full. I was rewarded with 
Eric's answering moan, and a slight wobble in his 
legs. I quickened and shortened my mouth strokes, 
concentrating on the end of his cock and the head, 
increasing my suction, my hand pumping his shaft in 
unison with my mouth. It had been so long since I had 
given a blowjob to a man. 

Oh yes, I'd sucked Alan's cock many times, but that 
was only briefly as part of foreplay. Sucking a cock 
for the sheer joy of sucking a cock – giving a blowjob 
because you want his dick – going down on a man to 
make him putty in your hands – I hadn't done that in 
years. I was enjoying it as much as I hope Eric was. I 
was getting more and more into it, really working his 
beautiful organ, trying to show him how much I wanted 
it, how much I loved it, returning the favor for what 
his mouth had done to me.

I was lost in these thoughts, wantonly and lustily 
sucking Eric's cock when pushed me away by my forehead 
and pulled back his hips, taking my prize away from my 
happy mouth. He grabbed me under my arms and lifted me 
a bit, and stepping forward he half pushed and half 
laid me onto my back on the carpet. He dropped to his 
knees between my legs, grabbed me behind my calves and 
raised my legs up and placed them against his 
shoulders. He then leaned forward, his hands on the 
carpet beside my head, his upper body hovering 
supported above mine. 

He pushed his hips forward and I felt his hard cock 
slide up my wetness. I instinctively arched my hips to 
give him a better angle, but he just started rubbing 
his cock up and down my sopping pussy. Damn him for 
teasing me, I thought, and reached down and grabbed 
his cock, pulling it down and trying to position it 
against me.

He froze there. I looked up and he was looking at me 
with a self-satisfied grin. "I've wanted this since I 
first saw you years ago, Dawn, "he said.  "I want to 
remember this minute. I want to be sure you want this 
as much as I do."

This was not the time for tenderness, though I 
appreciated his gentlemanly ways. "Fuck me, Eric. Fuck 
me damn you, don't tease me, fuck me now!" was my 
response.

With only a slight hesitation, he began to push his 
beautiful cock into me, my hand still guiding him. As 
he parted my lips and I felt myself begin to dilate to 
accept him, felt the fullness, my hand fell away, I 
bit on my bottom lip as my head rolled back, and I 
screamed out a silent, "YESSSS!" He pushed and though 
I was willing myself to remember every sensation I was 
also lost in a fog of desire, my higher brain 
functions were shut down, the primal urges front and 
center. I do remember our bodies pressed together, 
Eric all the way inside me for the first time, not 
moving but just holding our position, completely 
coupled. 

I looked into his eyes and he looked back down into 
mine. I wondered if he was just savoring the moment of 
victory, another woman, another married woman, and 
another clueless husband, conquered. Or if he really 
had wanted me so long that he was just reflecting on 
that that. I didn't care, I needed to be fucked, and 
fucked well.

Or was it him just enjoying the moment, because as he 
slowly pulled most of the way out I heard a sigh of 
contentment pass his lips just before he started to 
push back in, and then back out, and ... he picked up 
his pace, long slow, rhythmic strokes. I rotated my 
hips to accept more of his wonderful, long cock 
strokes. For the second time that night, my legs were 
over his shoulders, this time it was his cock that he 
drove into me with his full force now. We both were 
uttering sounds that were half words (dirty words, 
mostly) and half animal sounds. 

I was lost in total sexual bliss for at least eight or 
ten minutes of heavenly fucking when he suddenly 
pulled out and rising to his knees rolled me over (I 
kicked him in the head as my leg went over, but he 
didn't seem to care) and lifting me under the arms as 
he rose to his feet carried me a few steps to the 
ottoman – THE ottoman – and laid me chest down on top 
of it. If I had been honest with myself that night, 
this is probably the vision I had the first time I 
came into this room and tried to peek under the 
ottoman.

Eric was on his knees behind me, obviously he had 
discovered long ago that this particular piece of his 
furniture was just the right height for him to repeat 
this act, repeat it tonight for what I assumed was the 
twenty-seventh time. I could feel him behind me and 
didn't want any more time to pass before he was back 
inside me. I reached back between my legs to help 
guide him, but I didn't need to as I felt his cock 
find my entrance, ease in just a bit, and then with 
his hands on my hips, slam into me. He held my hips 
and fucked me fast and hard, no lovemaking now, this 
was fucking.
 
I reached out and grabbed the sides of the ottoman and 
held on for the ride, the incredible, sexy, hot, 
noisy, wet, wonderful ride. I had no other thought 
than the pleasure I was feeling, my entire universe 
reduced to the sensations in my pussy, in my soul. But 
suddenly he stopped, and as I tried to come in from 
the fog I felt myself being lifted again, then Eric 
was on his back across the ottoman. I wasn't thinking 
but I was aware of this incredible hard cock 
glistening against his stomach as I put my knees onto 
the ottoman on both sides of his legs and scooted up 
until I was over it – IT. 

I reached down and grasped his cock and positioned it 
and myself as I slid it in and me down and I almost 
passed out from the pleasure and joy of feeling it 
spread me open, sliding against the walls of my... 
sighs, whimpers, moans, dirty talk all combined as I 
rode him. I leaned forward, leaned back, ground 
against him, bounced on him, alternating from one 
movement to another, enjoying all the possibilities of 
our position. All were equally wonderful. But as I 
felt my muscles tightening and my mind cloud over, I 
sat straight above him and pressed into him with all 
my strength. 

His cock was as deep as I've ever felt any and I 
didn't want it to move as I made the smallest 
movements I could, my clit pressing against his tight 
lower abdominals. He reached up and pinched both of my 
nipples, lightly at first, and then harder as my mouth 
opened silently and my second orgasm of the night 
ripped through my body. I know my mouth was wide open, 
but for the next few seconds not a sound escaped my 
mouth. Then as my orgasm built and rolled through me, 
it was a moan, then a louder moan and then a scream.

Just as I was sliding down the backside of my release, 
my eyes opening and head lowering to look down at 
Eric, he grabbed my hips and lifted me off, and in a 
move that seemed seamless and instantaneous, had me on 
my front across the ottoman. He was behind me again, 
this time his hand on the back of my neck holding me 
against the cushioned top of the ottoman as he entered 
me from behind again, no easing into me this time. 

He fucked me fast, hard and deep in that position for 
either a second, a minute or an hour, I don't know, I 
just remember his guttural sounds as he slammed into 
me one last time, holding himself there and cumming in 
an almost violent climax. I grinned, for even in my 
sexual fog I was proud that I had done that to him.

He collapsed on my back and we lay there for a couple 
of minutes, him stroking my neck and shoulders some, 
me reaching back to run my hand up and down the 
outside of his thigh. He rolled off of me and reaching 
over grabbed a couple of pillows and a throw off of 
the couch and pulled me to him on the floor. We lay 
there wordlessly spooning in the afterglow. I begin to 
feel a bit self-conscious, not for where I was, who I 
was with or what we'd done, but because I still had my 
damn shoes on. I pulled up one leg then the other to 
unbuckle them and kick them off when Eric spoke the 
first full sentence of the last half hour. 
"Incredible, you know that don't you? You are 
incredible."

I blushed a bit I'm sure, but said something about 
team work and we teased a bit back and forth, as if we 
were long experience lovers who knew each other well. 
I rolled over to face him and he kissed me on the nose 
and on the forehead and I stroked his chest. Then he 
kissed me lightly on the mouth, but when neither of us 
broke the kiss it intensified. I ran my hand down this 
body until I grasped his cock in my hand. It was 
neither completely soft nor as hard as it had been, 
but it felt wonderful to me and I couldn't resist 
stroking and pumping it some. It begin to grow as our 
breathing quickened, Eric now returning the favor with 
his hand between my legs, rubbing me with the side of 
his thumb and hand.

We kissed more and his hand turned, his middle finger 
entering me as he fingered me and rubbed me just as I 
liked it. His cock was back to its full glory in my 
hand. He kissed his way down my neck to my breasts and 
whispered "Such beautiful tits." This just made me 
pump him faster. He kissed his way back up my chest 
and neck to my ear when I heard him whisper, "Ready to 
earn the gold star now?"

I froze. There was no doubt I had wanted everything 
that had happened up to now, had loved everything that 
had happened up to now. But I was wondering if I was 
really ready for what my big mouth had gotten me into. 
Eric rolled to his hands and knees and crawled over to 
the end table between the couch and his chair. His 
butt was so damn cute from that angle, but when he 
opened the drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube and 
a condom, and turned back to me with his wonderful 
cock at full staff, cute was the last thing on my 
mind.

He crawled back over and joined me under the throw, 
back to kissing and fondling and stroking. My hand 
made its way back to his cock and we kissed deeply and 
passionately. While we were kissing I could feel him 
moving about, his hands doing something. I heard the 
condom wrapper and knew what was happening (I would 
have done that for him). Then I heard the squeeze of 
the plastic bottle and his hand was back between my 
legs, his palm rubbing me wonderfully, but his finger 
didn't take its former place. His hand ran down my 
more and I felt his finger probing at my anal opening, 
finding its mark and pushing firmly but slowly. 

No panic. Alan's fingers have been up my ass many 
times, almost always a welcome experience. But this 
was different, but I didn't resist. He begin to push 
ever deeper into me, until most of his lubricated 
middle finger was inside me. Out it came slowly, then 
back. Kissing me all the while.

Eric rolled me to my back and broke our kiss to grab 
for the lube with his free hand. His head lowered to 
my chest and he begin to administer to my breasts 
again, his mouth, lips, tongue and teeth alternating 
between pleasure-giving actions. I felt him squirt 
more lube onto his hand and my ass while he was 
fingering me back there. Then I felt a second finger 
pushing in with the first and OHHHHH I had to will 
myself not to tense up. His mouth brought my focus 
back on the sensations exciting my nipples. I put 
myself in his hands, literally and figuratively, as my 
head rolled back, lost in lust again
.
He worked my ass with both fingers as one larger 
intruder, and the feeling was even better than one 
finger had been. I realized for the first time that I 
was right to think I might enjoy what I was sure was 
about to happen. Losing my anal virginity was going to 
be better and more exciting than losing my virginity 
had been so many years before.

He lifted me and placed me on my back on the ottoman. 
I had to kick the throw off my left foot where it had 
hung up. His fingers returned briefly to re-enter my 
ass while he squirted more lube. He also squirted the 
lube on his now condom covered cock. Removing his 
fingers Eric moved above me, his cock probing where 
his fingers had been just seconds before. He reached 
his arms under my legs, lifting, as his hips pushed 
forward. "Put me in you, put me in your ass, Dawn. 
Earn that gold star Baby."

I reached down and grasped him and helped line him up. 
He pressed and at first it was just a pressure I felt, 
then a fullness, then the first bit of pain. I 
squealed a bit and he hesitated, then pressed into me 
more, then paused again. I was fighting the mixed 
feeling, trying to make myself relax but my heart was 
pumping. An image flashed in my brain, Susan George in 
the original "Straw Dogs." So fitting, wanting 
something you know you shouldn't want, but giving into 
your desires with a strong man above you. So in my 
best imitation, I looked up and Eric and whispered, 
"Easy, eeeeasy." He pushed forward slowly and I was 
able to relax and accept him and before I knew I had 
taken his whole beautiful cock in my ass.

He began a slow in and out pumping. Straight in and 
straight out, slowly at first, then speeding up.  He 
pushed my legs further back and up until for the third 
time that night I had them on his shoulders. Now his 
movements quickened and there was no doubt, I was 
being fucked in the ass – and I loved it. Eric moved 
one hand around my leg until he could use his thumb to 
flick my clitoris in timing with his thrusts. My hand 
went to his, unconsciously guiding him to give me 
maximum pleasure. He pulled his hand out from under 
mine and put it back on top of mine, reversing our 
positions. He guided my hand over my pussy and I took 
the suggestions, my fingers replacing his thumb as I 
masturbated myself for him – who am I kidding, I did 
it for me.

Several delightful minutes later I was rapidly 
building to my third orgasm of the night. I have never 
been very demure, but all semblance of conservative 
lady-like demeanor left me. I was in heat, in lust, 
being ass fucked and masturbating and loving it all. 
"Fuck me, fuck my ass, do it to me. Damn yes, fuckin' 
do it so good Baby, do me..." and more. Eric matched 
me dirty word for dirty word, command for command, 
until I raised my head and chest off the ottoman and 
with one final "Fuuuccckkkk!" felt my third orgasm of 
the night explode within me. I fell back, my legs 
kicking and quivering as the sensations peaked and 
rolled over the top, only to quickly rise to the peak 
again and roll over, and then rise ... and for at 
least forty-five seconds one of the most intense 
orgasms of my life took over every part of me.

As I finally went limp beneath him, Eric let go of my 
legs. He pulled out quickly, yanked the condom off of 
his cock and moved up to straddle my chest on the 
ottoman. He grabbed both my breasts and pulled them 
together, capturing his cock between them. He began to 
pump, and I was fascinated by my view of his cock 
working between my breasts, almost hitting my chin and 
then almost disappearing from view. 

I was so spent I couldn't do much, thought about 
trying to open my mouth and catch his cock with each 
thrust. Thought about taking over for his hands, 
holding my breasts together for him. Thought about 
several things, but before doing any of them, Eric 
released my breasts and stopped his thrusts. Kneeling 
upright above me he grabbed his own cock and working 
it with his own fist he leaned forward a little bit 
and cum exploded out of his cock, hitting me in the 
chest, on my neck, on my chin, on my breasts, some 
onto my face. 

He groaned and made a noise like a movie pirate as 
stream after stream of his ejaculate shot from his 
cock, splashing over me. Then it was done, and like 
the immediate aftermath of a car accident, there was 
total silence for a split second.

Then with a single "Goddamn," Eric collapsed on the 
ottoman beside me, his hand over my waist. We lay 
there panting and not talking for at least a minute 
before I turned my head towards him. We both tried to 
speak at once, and both laughed at the situation. I 
spoke next, and I don't know why this was what I said, 
but I knew I meant it. "Don't say a word, Lover. Yes 
it was wonderful. Yes it was all I expected. Just get 
the pen, will you." And I rolled off of the ottoman 
and headed towards the basement half-bath. 

I had trouble walking at first, and had trouble 
walking later as well. But I washed my face, and 
cleaned my chin, neck and breasts as best I could. 
Luckily there were a couple of washcloths and hand 
towels, I had several parts of my body that needed 
attention.  I wasn't embarrassed or regretful, but I 
also knew I didn't really want to be there much 
longer. As I came out of the bath, Eric had turned the 
ottoman up on its side and had the gold paint pen. 
"Want to do the honors?" he asked. I told him no, it 
was his ottoman, I didn't have to put the star there 
to know I'd put the star there.

He went to work quickly with the pen, and as I was 
bending over to pick up my bra and panties I felt his 
arm go around my thighs and something on my left ass 
cheek. I jumped, but not before he had drawn an 
outline 5-point star on my ass with gold paint pen. I 
didn't know whether to slap him, to laugh, to ignore 
him, or to throw him down and try to get that cock of 
his hard one more time. In the end I just laughed and 
gathered my clothes, only putting on my dress and 
carrying the rest toward the stairs.

"I was hoping you'd spend the night, Dawn," he said. " 
I'd love to wake up in the middle of the night and 
find you beside me."

"Tempting, but not going to happen, Eric. I loved 
every minute of this, but it is a onetime deal, Lover. 
No encores. Besides, my Daddy always told me to quit 
when you're ahead, and I'm ahead three to two." The 
sound of his laughter waned in my ears as I climbed 
the stairs and found the garage, the door opener 
button and my car and headed home. Dawn, Gold Star 
Winner!

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