I couldn’t believe how easy it was. 8 AM – dropped my husband off at the airport. 10 AM – I was being fucked by a handsome stranger in a hotel room two miles from the airport. Yeah, that’s right, I’m cheating on my husband.
For all you judgment types, this might be a good time to find another story. There’s some good fetish pieces or stories about men convincing their wives to fuck other men. The things I’m going to reveal here may upset some people, especially when I get into the details of my indiscretions. It may interest you to know, most – no, all, of the wives I know have cheated on their husbands at one time or another. The only difference between them and me; I do it on a regular basis and don’t feel guilty in the least.
This morning was a typical scenario, so let’s start there. I prepared to drop my husband, who I’ll simply refer to as Dumbass, off at terminal 6, by dressing in a short leather miniskirt, a form fitting top and 5 inch strappy high heels. Dumbass thinks I dress this way to give him something sexy to remember for his nine month or longer deployments.
“I can’t wait to come back to this,” he said as he kissed me goodbye and grabbed my ass one last time. Dumbass looked good in his service uniform, as he grabbed his on-flight bag and headed out the gate to his flight.
The truth is, in these heels and showing lots of leg, I can find a willing male without having to even having to leave the concourse. I headed to the nearest lounge and ordered a whiskey sour. It’s the kind of drink early in the morning that says the woman sipping it is looking to get laid. I found a table and put my purse by the next chair. The first man by was an older distinguished type in casual slacks and a golf shirt. “Hi, I’m Charley, is this seat taken?”
“Oh, I sorry, I’m holding it for my husband,” I replied. He moved on. I thought I could do better.
Honestly, guys take this as a lesson; don’t start out a pickup session by handing out your name and don’t ask to sit by a woman in a situation like this. If a chick is downing a whiskey sour at 8:15 in an airport bar, it’s because we want to get fucked.
The next one up slid in next to me and said, “Hey, arriving or departing?”
“Oh, I’m departing, but have a few hours on layover. I’m just killing some time. Any suggestion?”
Now you’ll notice his line was direct, but kind of tired delivery that was a bit clumsy. What helped him was that he was devastatingly handsome, well dressed and looked like he could pick up a cue.
“I’m just getting in. You could lay over at my hotel,” he said with a wink. He, winked, he actually fucking winked at me. By he looked like he could sling some pipe, so what the hell.
“Tell you what. I’ll go to your hotel, but as a penalty for the lamest pickup line, you’ll have to buy me another drink first.” We both laughed, but I wasn’t kidding.
Twenty minutes later a taxi dropped us off in front of an upscale downtown hotel. His room was on the fifth floor. I’d already insisted on no names between us; I’ll call him The Beast.
After removing his suit jacket, The Beast, kissed me and ran his hands over my body especially checking out my boobs. A lot of guys do that. I have a fairly large set of breasts considering my frame is fairly slender. They’re all trying to figure out is there are natural, which is the case. “You know, it’s easier to tell if they’re real by sucking them,” I said.
He took the hint and unbuttoned my blouse and short skirt. I hadn’t bothered with a bra, so I let him slide down my tiny black panties as he kissed my navel and worked his way down to my freshly shaved pussy. The Beast used his tongue to stimulate my clit and then stood back to admire me. My long wavy black hair cascaded past my shoulders and I gave him a brief pose to show was he was about to enjoy.