How long had he been following me for? Was it due to my outfit, was anything too revealing about it? Maybe I was being paranoid, and he was walking towards the bus station like I was. Sure, I had my moments when I thought the world revolved around me, but those were quickly snapped when reality sneaked its way into my illusory realm.

It's my skirt, it has to be, I thought, glancing back at my mysterious follower. No, he must've seen my lace-top stockings when I was sitting at the table.

I picked up my pace and changed my route, trying to lose him, but sure enough, he followed attentively and kept his distance. He was either a creep or someone on to me. The feeling he knew more about me than a typical stranger would, made me anxious.

Bold, are we? Okay then, I thought, turning into an empty alley, forcing him to make a decision.

"You're clever, but I'm on to you," he said, opting to confront me instead of nonchalantly walking down the sidewalk to preserve his cover.

"W-who are you and what do you want?" I asked, motioning him to stop and keep his distancing with my hand.

"Your husband, Grant, hired me to follow you," he began, walking slowly towards me. "Let's, uh, say he's suspicious that you are being unfaithful."

"But...I don't understand why you're telling me this," I said, trying to piece the multiple perspectives together while my reddening face betrayed me.

He pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and raised it in front of him, about head-height. "Been following you for several weeks. I know you have a lover who, well, matches your libido," he revealed.

He was right. I couldn't lie to him, so my options were limited at this point. "Have, er, you told my husband?" I asked, confused as to why he had continued following me after confirming my husband's suspicions.

"No, I must admit I've enjoyed being your shadow a bit too much," he said, flashing a confident smile that terrorized me.

He appeared to be good at his job, perhaps too good, and it seemed he often took it beyond his outlined responsibilities. "What do you mean, like, what're you after?" I asked.

His calmness contrasted with my panic. He wasn't phased at all by approaching me and telling me everything he knew. That uncanny level of control struck fear in me. "I can tell your husband everything right now or we can understand each other," he said.

His words added much needed clarity to his intentions. Most things revolved around money or sex, and this was no different for him. He continued following me to get extra money out of my husband and now wanted to play his cards directly into my panties.

"Y-you fucking scumbag," I said, incredulously shaking my head. "You want to blackmail me into sex."

"That's not what I said, but if that's what you propose, well, I wouldn't oppose," he said, stacking even more of an argument against me.

"I don't, I don't fucking know," I said, more so thinking out loud than towards him.

"Look, just a one-time thing," he said, pausing to contain his smile. "I'm not even lasting five minutes with that body."

He was proposing a wicked game, knowing that I was a player fit for it, but I wasn't going to let him dictate everything. I had to find some leverage and ensure my position in the game.

"And then what? You leave me the fuck alone?" I asked.

"Well, first off, I'm not even from here. Second, I will be leaving once my assignment ends," he explained.

He had me against the wall. There was no escape, so my last resort was to spiral down with him. "You absolutely fucking promise to leave me alone and clear my husband's suspicions?"

"You have my word. It's not like you can't report me, so this is entirely mutual," he said, showing me his ID and handing me his contact card as he walked me out the alley.

We clarified several other things on our way to a motel a few blocks away and hurried inside once he got the key to the room. Luckily, in the middle of the day, the place was empty and about as discreet as it could be.

As I sat on the bed to take off my heels, I asked, "Wait, so you know my meeting with my lover today didn't go as planned, right?"

"Oh, yeah, that's why I approached you today," he replied with a grin that told me more than his words.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" I asked, continuing to get as much information out of him as possible.

"Of course, no better way of confirming a husband's suspicions than by fucking his wife," he answered, smiling as he undressed to reveal his dad bod.

Shaking my head and smiling in disbelief, I said, "Sure hope you know you're a son of a bitch."

He laughed, with no intent of rebuking my comment, and got in bed wearing only his boxers.

"Oh, and I'm only giving you one position, so choose wisely," I said, much to his dismay.

"Ah, c'mon, you're no fun," he said, watching attentively as I stripped down to the matching bra and panty set and stockings I was wearing underneath to surprise my lover.

I could feel his eyes taking mental images of my body, as if collecting a file in his mind for future reference. "Well, you're not exactly my type and you're blackmailing me, so there's that," I said, giving him a forced smile.

He freed the bulge tenting his boxers and began stroking it to get it hard enough to fit the condom over it, all while looking at me expectantly, "Sorry that I'm not your stud college football player that you fuck regularly."

I let out a deep sigh. It was all I could do. The consequences of my actions had caught up to me, and it was time to face them. "Certainly not, but what's it gonna be?" I asked.

Doubling down on his arousal, he said, "Get on top. Ride me so I can grab your ass and suck on those titties."

I rolled my eyes but did as he wanted, positioning myself on top of him with my moist labia mere centimeters from his throbbing member. This will be worth it in the end, I thought, finding solace in the fact that I would continue my regular life after this unusual experience.

He unhooked my bra and let my bare breasts fall closer to his face. Doing exactly what he'd said, he took my right nipple into his mouth to entertain himself while he moved my thong aside to give himself access. It wasn't the intense and passionate scenario I was used to with my virile lover, but a nymphomaniac like myself could never pass up sex, no matter the circumstances.

"You have the body of a porn star," he said, before giving the same attention to my other breast.

I dropped my weight on him, effortlessly taking his length inside of me, and began moving my hips to create friction by rubbing my clitoris against him. Sex was my specialty, and even in this case, I wanted to prove my prowess to him. My body was built for pleasuring others. Just like he had said, it was the body of a porn star.

His hands caressed my thighs, running over the lace-top detail of the stockings and down to the semi-opaque fabric encasing my legs. My lover enjoyed seeing me in lingerie and being the pleasing slut that I was. I always made sure to wear the finest pieces that encouraged the ravaging of my flesh. This time, a sleazy detective was the one reaping the benefits.

"Tell me, why do you cheat on your husband?" he asked, looking up at me while squeezing my thighs.

I momentarily ignored him in favor of focusing my attention on making him finish quickly to put an end to this nightmare. My pride didn't want to take too much of a bruising, so I had to choose my words carefully and ensure my leverage over him.

"Just between us, right?" I asked, returning the squeezing sensation by tightening my walls around his shaft.

"Of course, I think's it's hot," he said, confessing his fetish.

"You said I have the body of a porn star, well, so does he," I began, placing my hands on his chest to gain better control for my riding. "And he does things to me that...make me feel alive."

"Oh, I fucking know. I've heard the way you moan with him," he said, reaching behind my back to grab handfuls of my ass.

"You're a fucking piece of shit," I said, moving my left hand up to his neck to dig my fingertips into it the same way his were digging into my flesh.

"I don't...deny that," he said, letting go of my ass cheeks but only to spank them. "But I love...bad bitches like you."

I relented on his neck, but took a moment to look at my wedding ring and realize how far I had gone in my hedonist ventures. I hadn't envisioned this type of life for myself, but my insatiable urges mixed with my nymphomania had unhinged my inner slut.

I took it out on him, slapping his face repeatedly while I picked up the rhythm of my hips and brought us closer to our climaxes. Before he could say anything, I placed my hand over his mouth and looked directly into his eyes.

He liked bad bitches, and I wanted to show him just how bad I was. "You can't handle me, you can't fucking handle me," I said, forcing muffled moans out of him.

I felt an euphoric feeling of power rushing through me. Being in control was arguably a greater desire than sex for me, even if I did enjoy submitting to my lover. I simply wanted things to be my way. I couldn't handle rejection or anyone getting in the way of my plans. Throughout my youth, my tantrums had been accompanied by cries, and it wasn't much different now, except for the cries being of pleasure.

When I removed my hand, he asked, "Is he...bigger than your husband?"

I got closer to him, making him think I was going to kiss him, but spit into his mouth as punishment for asking me such questions. I angrily moved my hips back and forth, rubbing my engorged clit against his upper pubic area, while striking fear into him that he could erupt at any second.

"Yes, he is, bigger than you, too," I answered, taking note of his facial expressions as he swallowed my spit.

His reddened face reflected his level of horniness, the same which made his words nearly inaudible, "That's so fucking hot," he said.

I pushed off his chest, positioning myself with my torso upright. I cupped and fondled my breasts, hiding them from his view, much like I did when masturbating at home. I closed my eyes and threw my head back, doing what I did best, leaving the realm of reality in favor of my fantasies. My mind's eye was ready with a compilation of the hottest moments I had experienced with my lover, enhancing my lubrication and rendering the investigator a toy for my pleasure.

"Nobody, not you or anyone else is going to stop me," I said, letting my juices run down his shaft and add to the wet spot under us.

"You're depraved, I've never felt a pussy like this," he complimented, in a way fit for our wickedness.

I was burning hot. I couldn't help it as a sex addict. He noticed what my lover did practically every time we fucked, and it satisfied my vanity to be told my pussy was unforgettable.

"I'm thinking of him, that's why," I revealed, dropping my weight down on him and feeling my core tighten to brace for my orgasm. "And it gets even hotter...and wetter for him."

I bit my lower lip, fast approaching the edge. I turned my hips slightly to the left to make his head rub against my G-spot the way I liked it. The idea was to fuck and give him what he wanted, but I wasn't the type to ever pass up the opportunity to orgasm.

My uninhibited admissions and wanton flesh overwhelmed him, making him surrender his orgasm control to my climaxing grip and deliver repeated shots of warmth into my unfaithful pussy in exchange for my own orgasm. We were strangers, but our bodies and moans blended in unison to consummate the intimate, immoral and kinky crossing of our unlikely paths.

My pussy collapsed on his spurting cock, showing off its strength from the routine pelvic floor exercises. His load coated my walls and trailed down his pulsing shaft until it pooled around the tightness of my lips. A pussy full of a man's reward was the mark of a job well done, and more importantly, it provided a level of assurance that he would be thankful and willing to uphold his end.

"You're a wonderful slut. I can see why your husband married you," he said, smiling in his short post-orgasmic bliss.

However, I stayed motionless beside the spasming grip of my pussy. Waves of ecstasy crashed over me, doing their routinary job of washing away the guilt of my actions. I refused to even give him the greater bliss of the moment. My vanity was only matched by the selfishness instilled in me since I had learned to wield my power as a woman in transactional bodily affairs.

Our bodies were pumped full of endorphins while our minds were frantically urging us to go our separate ways, but not before I made sure to not leave any loose ends. "Now that you mention him, call him and tell him I'm not cheating," I said, feeling his eyes snapping a few more mental images of my body as i got dressed.

He showed my husband's number on the phone screen and dialed it, holding up his end of the deal and giving me a triumph that would see my appearance as a loyal housewife remain intact while removing the suspicions my husband had of my escapades.

There weren't many rewards I wanted that involved no risks. It was innate to the game I was playing, but I was good at it, and could control the field of play to my liking. I had turned a dire situation on its head, from being caught to getting my husband's eyes away from me. It felt like hitting the open road. There was nothing but promising passages and destinations ahead.

I had won, once again gotten my way, and after clearing such a hurdle, I had nothing to lose by aiming higher and pushing my limits as a cheating slut. The price I had paid seemed insignificant compared to the fantasies that I wanted to live out. Maybe a threesome, my first lesbian experience, or a gangbang with my lover's teammates. Whatever it was, I would approach it with the same nymphomaniac drive that had gotten me this far.