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!