My name is Emily Pritchett. I'm forty-five years old, married, and until recently I was a typical suburban housewife.
A modest dresser. I've gained a lot of weight in middle age and wore baggy clothes to disguise my plump, curvy figure. A loyal wife. I never considered straying from my husband, despite the lack of passion in our marriage and my suspicions that he is having an affair. Sexually conservative. On those rare occasions when Philip and I have sex it's always been missionary, always with the lights off.
All of that began to change when I met Tom, a young lawyer at the firm where I work as an admin.
At Tom's suggestion, I dye my hair a more obvious shade of red, get my nails done in a French manicure and wear dark eye shadow and glossy lipstick. I overhaul my wardrobe. Sheer blouses and snug pencil skirts at the office. Leggings and tight sweaters with plunging necklines at home. My simple underwear is replaced by push-up bras, g-strings and thongs, thigh-high stockings. I trim my pubic bush into a tightly coiled strip and shave my legs each morning without fail.
My coworkers take note. The men stare. A few make flirtatious comments. The women gossip and give me dirty looks. I'm mortified, but I have no choice. Tom has amassed a large cache of pornographic pictures and video. He threatens to send them to my husband and, even worse, son at college if I don't do what he says. The idea makes me physically ill. I'll do anything to keep that from happening.
At first, my husband is thrilled with the changes in the way I dress and carry myself. Before, Philip would hardly glance in my direction when I undressed. Now he tries to initiate sex several times per week. His excitement turns to frustration when I repeatedly shoot him down.
"You're wearing that tonight?" he asks one Friday night. I'm wearing a hot pink mini-dress that zips straight down the front and a matching set of shiny pink pumps. The dress is so tight that I can't get the zipper fully closed. My breasts bulge lewdly at the neckline and my hips strain against the polyester fabric.
I tell Philip I'm meeting my girlfriends for a few drinks. He sits there staring stony faced at the floor while I wait for my Uber to arrive. I can't help but take a little satisfaction in his misery, because of the years of neglect. When the car arrives I give him a peck on the cheek.
"Don't wait up."
***
Usually my trysts with Tom take place in the file room at work his parked car. Tonight he's "invited" me to his house for the first time.
He lives in a sprawling Spanish colonial a few miles from my neighborhood. He takes my coat and I follow him through the house to a flagstone patio out back with a swimming pool and mini-bar in back. I'm shocked that someone in his mid-twenties can afford such an opulent home, even on an attorney's salary. I get an inkling that Tom may have another source of income when he takes a dropper bottle out of his breast pocket and puts a single drop in my drink.
"What is it?" I ask.
"The street name is the Juice," he says. "It reduces inhibitions and increases sexual pleasure. I gave you a little taste before. Tonight we're going to try the full dose. Bottoms up."
He pushes the glass toward me. The cocktail fizzes and turns an electric blue.
"Don't worry, Em." He gives me a wink. "I have a few pharmaceutical enhancements of my own."
We chat for a while as I sip the cocktail. It hits me immediately. A slow warmth spreads from my inner thighs. Within minutes, I'm glistening with sweat and my whole body is on fire. My nipples are stiff. The crotch of my panties feels warm and moist. When Tom senses that I'm ready, he leads me up to his bedroom.
***
That night, I do things with Tom that I've never done with my husband or any other man. I deep throat his cock, rim his ass, take his load on my tits and face. I ride him hard. My heavy tits slap together with each thrust. Tom pulls my hair and pushes his thumb up my ass when he fucks me from behind.
