The Line

It stems from 'shouldn't' and 'mustn't'. 'I can't, I won't'. 'Please don't do this to me'. It's a lie because every muscle in my body, wants him to touch me and my skin is burning to taste him.

I'm going to say he's my opposite and everything I shouldn't want and can't have. I can stand there in front of him and just looking makes the blood rush through me and makes me throb. And I've fucking no idea why. Well I do, of course I do. He's rough, and stocky and if I ran into him, I'd bounce right off him. He's course, heavy set and everything about him is bigger and stronger and uglier. He's my opposite and I want him to defile my femininity. But he mustn't. I won't let him because I belong to my husband.

But what if I did...?

What if I didn't look away when I felt his eyes inching over my body. What if I leaned across the desk, allowing him a closer look at the cleavage I know he's spent many a night thinking about fucking. What if I whispered into his ear all the filthy things I think about him doing do me at night.

It'd be so easy, to touch his chest as I did it, make him wonder if I'd lost my mind or if he'd finally broken my resolve. I'd not give that away too soon- I'd play the coquette, whisper a little 'no, I can't' as he went in to kiss me.

He brushes his lips across mine as I pull back. I can smell him; the oil from the machines he works with, the prickling of new sweat, his breath and his body. I want the smell of him on me like he's marking me. He can see the conflict in my eyes.

I can't- I mustn't. But haven't I already crossed the line? Our lips met so if I'm already doomed to guilt, then I should take my fill.

In a split second of weakness, I press my lips to his. I can feel the roughness of his beard and his tongue feels foreign as it invades my mouth. I'm not used to being kissed like this by someone else. I shouldn't be doing this. But as I cross this boundary, again I realise I'm already ruined. All I can think of is the feel of his large rough fingers inside me.

I love that, and I tell him so. Nothing can save me now as he hurriedly pushes his hand up my skirt and I open my legs to allow him access, like I'm giving up or resigning myself to his will. My mind drifts to the fact that we could be caught and there would be no covering it up. There I am, legs spread, sat on his lap as he pushes aside my sodden underwear and the tips of his rough thick fingers probe the pink folds of my cunt. I feel invaded as he sinks his fingers inside me as if he was taking my second virginity. My innocence is gone; I'm a cheat. It is beyond ecstasy. He knows what he's doing as he wiggles his fingers inside me. The pressure on my g-spot makes me squirm and whimper like a frightened animal out of control. I've thought about this so many nights.

I see his face is consumed by lust and I realise that although he's frankly, thrilled to be finger fucking me, I really want to give back too. His cock is hard through his trousers and if there's one thing I've thought of more than him finger fucking me, it's the thought of sucking him off. On my knees at his whim; the ultimate submission.

I already know he loves this. I've worked it out from the subtle things he's said and the way he watches my lips. I recall I once guiltily sent him a photo of my face at his request. His delight at such an inexplicit image made me wonder...

So I'm on my knees, unzipping him, revealing the cock I've spent so long imagining stretching out every fuck hole I can offer. I want to show him what I can do. I've spent years honing this skill on my husband. His cock is modest and for this I am grateful because it's easier to handle. I start with his balls, savouring the taste him and that unmistakable male smell. I like to gently lick and suck while making a show of my self, occasionally making eye contact with him. The brazenness of my eye contact highlights my fall from grace. I want to be his slut.

I lick and kiss up the veins of his shaft. I look at the head of his cock which glistens with pre-come. I like to play with it as if it is a lipstick by trailing the tip of his dick across my open lips. I can taste him. It's salty and warm and I savour it as if it were some delicacy. I know he's watching me so I make sure he can see me willingly debase myself and my morals.

I suck gently on the tip using my lips more than anything, guiding him inside my mouth with my hand. He becomes more urgent so I allow him to fuck my mouth. The feel of him in my mouth is satisfyingly uncomfortable. It's almost a sadomasochistic kick I'm getting. The high of it takes my mind to bliss. I'm wet and throbbing between my legs. I'll want him to lick and fuck me to orgasm but as his cock head pushes into the back of my throat, it brings my orgasm mentally closer. I try to open my throat to him but it makes me gag. He ignores this and I enjoy the rush that comes with him flouting my rights to be comfortable.

My orgasm becomes more pronounced and I doubt it would take much to push me over the edge. As he begins to masturbate onto my face, I rub myself, edging the orgasm to the tickly climax where 'before' meets with 'after' and 'I mustn't' becomes 'I did'. That rush to my head leaves my muscles weak and for those few seconds I ride my orgasm and nothing else exists. My body contracts rhythmically and I cry out. I feel his semen hitting my skin, hot at first and then cooling rapidly.

And then it dawns on me- I'm a cheat and he's made me his little whore.