Wife pays for husband’s mistake

I enjoy other men’s wives. I enjoy single women too but there’s something special about a married one. Of course, it’s that taste of forbidden fruit, knowing that when she opens her arms — and legs — to you she is breaking those sacred vows and you are taking something that was promised to another man alone.

The only thing I can’t decide is whether it’s better if the husband knows or not. I remember a wedding last summer when some loud-mouth was bragging about a big deal he’d pulled off in the City, blissfully unaware that as his wife stood dutifully beside him my seed was trickling down her leg into the lacy tops of her stockings. It was there because fifteen minutes earlier she had been bent over the bed in my room upstairs, her red dress flipped up over her back as I emptied my balls into her. And I knew it was seeping down because her matching red thong was still in my pocket.

Or is it better if the poor guy knows you’re bedding his wife and you can see the look of defeat in his eyes that comes from knowing his wife has picked you as a superior male. And knowing his last thought every day must be to wonder if the lips he’s kissing good night were wrapped around your cock just a few hours earlier.

But the sweetest — though the very rarest – is when the husband gets to watch his wife give herself to you. Which is why I was walking up the drive of a smart house in North London. I make my money in what you might call the credit control arm of the leisure sector and this was the home of Maurice Ross. He was quite a successful businessman, hence the house, but he was also a card player. As it happens he was quite a good card player, just not quite as good as he though he was, which explains why he owed us just over fifty grand. Normally we would not let a punter run up a tab like that but Maurie’s game was import/export and there had been a time when we were trying to put together a little deal that we thought he might be able to help us with and a bit of extra leverage would not go amiss. But the deal fell through and now we wanted our money and Maurie was behind with the payments so I had come for a quiet word.

When Maurie answered the door his first reaction was shock and a quick glance over his shoulder. “Er, Steve,” he said. “Um, it’s not really conveni……” I ignored him, shot him a crocodile smile and said: “Evening, Maurie. Mind if I come in?” and gave the door a firm, steady push. That forced Maurie back into the hallway and I brushed past him just as Mrs Ross came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel and asking “Who is it, darling?” She was wearing a white blouse, black trousers and flat shoes. Her blonde hair was held back with an Alice band. She looked every inch the posh suburban wife.

I first met Sally Ross when we had a charity night at the club. All the regulars were there and most brought their wives or girlfriends. I noticed Maurie and his wife as soon as they came through the door. She was wearing a plain floor length blue dress, cut high at the throat and a simple pendant. In a room awash with fake tan cleavage and bling she was an island of sophistication and elegance. And I wanted her.

As she stepped into the hallway she said good evening and I replied: “Good evening, Mrs Ross. I just dropped by to have a word with Maurie. A small business matter.”

She looked puzzled. “Business? On a Sunday evening? Wouldn’t it wait until tomorrow?” then she looked a little more closely and added: “Haven’t we met somewhere?”

By :LoneCoyote

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