Fresh filmy underthings were laid out on the bed – a merest whiff of panties, see-through flesh -colored bra, and a lacy French silk camisole. How long had it been since she had dressed so sensuously? Claire Blaylock stood naked after her shower in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom and examined her body with fresh eyes. She was neither aware, nor cared, that it was rapidly approaching the time to pick up her youngest daughter from basketball practice, nor that chicken breasts planned for dinner sat unthawed in the freezer. She was in no hurry. A wave of physical pleasure and contentment (Was the right word euphoria?) swept over her. 

The cause was Charlie McCann. 

Charlie McCann, who had knocked on her door to repair her water heater, then had propositioned her in the bluntest, most unimaginative way possible. Charlie McCann, with the smirking face, the cocky air, the dirty talk; Charlie McCann, who had caught Claire in a barriers-down moment, when she needed a man, and hadn’t hoped for much; Charlie McCann, who had reawakened the wild child of college days slumbering since her marriage to Charles. Charlie McCann, who had proved to be the finest and most exciting lover she had ever known. 

Never, never before had Claire experienced anyone like him. Oh, God! she thought; if ever there was sensual, sexual perfection, she attained it with Charlie. More to the point, now that she had known Charlie McCann, dear Charlie, she wanted him again – often. Fortunately, he felt the same way about her. 

It had all been a misunderstanding, that first time, claimed Charlie. He had mistaken her for one of her neighbors, a legend among his fellow specialists at the plumbing company – which neighbor she’d never found out – a lady that enjoyed dirty sex. Charlie had gallantly called afterwards to apologize, but found to his surprise that Claire wanted more, and soon, and instantly reverted to his cocky self. 

Caressing her body in the mirror, she mentally relived the past two hours. 

They had driven, in Charlie’s old blue Chevy pickup, from their clandestine second meeting at an anonymous Starbucks to Myric Motel, a small, decrepit roadhouse on Highway 72 at the very eastern edge of Huntsville. There was no formality of checking in, and the manager showed them to a room opening directly on the parking lot. Charlie passed him an envelope and after leaving the key, and with a quick “good afternoon,” the manager left. 

The room was so-so; old fashioned, spartan, and with cigarette burns on the furniture, but clean. It had a double bed. Beside the bed, on a table, was an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels, some mixes, and ice.  

They had a drink, and chatted, then another, and during the glow from the second drink he began to kiss her. It was soon after that she became aware of the gentleness of his hands, which he passed through her hair quite a lot to begin with, in a way which she could feel through her entire body; then the hands began exploring slowly, oh, so slowly… and it was then that Claire began to realize this might be something special. 

While he was undressing her, demonstrating a finesse which he had lacked the first time, Charlie whispered, “Don’t let’s hurry, Mrs. Blaylock – either of us.”

But soon after, when they were in bed and wonderfully warm, as he promised in the car they would be, she had wanted to hurry, and cried out, “Yes, Yes!... Oh, please! I can’t wait!”

But he insisted, “Yes, you can, dirty girl. You must.” And she obeyed him, being utterly, deliciously in his control, while he led her,  by the hand like a child, close to the brink, then back a pace or two while they waited with a feeling like floating in air; then near once more, and back, and the same again and again, the bliss of it all near-unendurable; and finally when neither of them could wait longer, Charlie’s thrusts increased in intensity until he was pistoning into her with wild abandon. Claire cried out in sudden pleasure as her orgasm crashed around her, a hymn of heaven and a thousand sweet symphonies; and if she had been able to choose a moment for dying, because nothing afterward could ever be that moment’s equal, she would have chosen then. 

Charlie was right there with her. “I’m coming, Mrs. Blaylock!” he gasped. “I’m going to fill you up. I’m going to come inside your cunt, dirty girl!” 

“No!” Claire gasped, and struggled against him, stopping him in mid-thrust. “You mustn’t! I can’t get pregnant! I can’t!”  She wasn’t on birth control, which was how she’d gotten in the predicament 16 years ago that ended with marriage to Charles.  

Her days at Georgia Tech had been wild and reckless, a reaction, perhaps, to her strict Catholic upbringing. She’d lost her virginity the first week of her Freshman year to Mark, a senior on the swim team, and soon after added Knox, a fellow Architecture classmate, to her circle of intimates. Being pursued by two magnificent males at the same time was a heady experience for a girl who wasn’t popular in high school, and she took full advantage, screwing each boy at least twice a week. Both relationships were a whirlwind of sex at risky times and in chancy places. She’d even fucked Knox in her lower bunk while her roommate noisily entertained her boyfriend in the upper one, and later they had all frolicked in the shower together.  

But partying and sex were not compatible with good grades and Claire struggled in mathematics. Meeting Charles was a God send.  He was a senior engineering major who volunteered to tutor her in the complexities of Calculus. In the course of their sessions together she discovered that Charles had never been on a date, had never kissed a girl, and was in danger of leaving college still a virgin.  The naughty thrill of being his first led her to seduce him.  

Six weeks later she was a girl in trouble and at the age of twenty her dreams of becoming an architect designing beautiful buildings and welcoming spaces was put on hold. With three candidates for fatherhood, she chose the partner most likely to be a good provider. Her wedding day came soon enough that she was barely showing, and if Charles noticed that her son bore an uncanny resemblance to Knox, he never mentioned it 

Marriage to Charles had been a slow, sixteen-year suffocation.  Predictable routine and ritual were what Charles prized, and risk was to be avoided at all costs. He was methodical, organized, and ambitious. He regarded it the duty of a husband to be attentive to his wife in bed, but sex-on-a-schedule, ever following a tried-and-true formula, had her ready to scream. She longed for spontaneity, for adventure, for the excitement of anticipation. 

Forty-eight hours ago, she had resolved something had to change. Forty-eight hours ago, she had decided, that, regardless of the personal cost, or the pain it would cause her family, or Charles’ ambitions, she simply could no longer stay in her current situation. Forty-eight hours ago, she was seriously contemplating divorce. Forty-eight hours ago, Charlie knocked on her door, and suddenly, unexpectedly, there was a third alternative. 

“I’m going to come inside you one way or another, dirty girl,” Charlie gritted in her ear, his swollen cock throbbing deep inside. If you don’t want my juice in your cunt, then that leaves two more places to choose from. I've always wanted to spurt my spunk in a girl’s mouth while she sucked me dry.” 

Just once had Claire tasted sperm and found it acrid and salty and disgusting. It would be utter debasement to allow him to ejaculate in her mouth.  She just couldn’t! Her hands flew to cover her lips. 

Charlie leered. “Then you’ve made your choice, Mrs. Blaylock.” He kissed her ear, as he said, “I don’t want either of us to ever forget this afternoon.” 

His hands found her breasts, and his fingers coaxed her nipples to hard little nubs again, and they ached with desire at every pinch. Claire’s clit began to throb and she began to make little thrusts of her hips with the arousal that was building again in anticipation of what was to come. 

Charlie pushed her knees apart until she was splayed open before him. He smiled and licked his lips as her swollen, red labia parted and the glistening interior of her most secret place was revealed. Her clit was so engorged that it peeked out above the folds of her pussy. Claire gasped when he exhaled a hot breath on it. 

And then his hot breath was replaced by a warm, wet tongue. He swirled it in little circles down one side of her pussy and up the other, never quite dipping it inside but hard enough that the pressure of every swirl made its way right to her clit. 

Claire moaned and ground her pussy against his mouth. She wanted to feel his soft, wet lips encircle her clit. She wanted him to suck it into his mouth while he flicked at it with the tip of his tongue. She wanted to feel the wetness of another orgasm drenching his mouth and chin. And then she wanted to feel his pulsing erection buried deep inside her bottom. 

Claire had only tried anal sex once before, with Mark, but the tearing pain was so great that she had pushed him away before he’d even pushed the head of his penis in. Still, in her deepest, most secret fantasies she sometimes imagined what it would be like. The depravity and lewdness of the act drew her like a moth to a flame. It was sick, perverted, degenerate. Everything about that dark orifice was disgusting. And perhaps it was the forbidden nature of the act that caused her to want to experience it.  

Claire pleaded with her eyes for him to make her come. He looked right at her as he plunged his tongue deep inside the mouth of her vagina to lap her copiously flowing juices, then slid his tongue up to flick again at her clit. She squirmed as she rode the edge of another orgasm. Her legs tingled and twitched as Charlie took her close, then backed away. He was teasing her, and the frustration was driving her insane! Each tiny flick of his pointed tongue sent a blissful jolt of ecstasy through every cell of her body, filling her to overflowing. 

Charlie replace his mouth with one of his fingers, sliding it slowly inside Claire while her pussy clenched. He curled the finger upwards and found her G-spot, followed quickly by a second finger. Claire spread her legs wide and wider, stuck between wanting this to last forever and the need to release the pleasure Charlie was storing in her. 

Then as Charlie once more pulled her clit inside his mouth and sucked on it, she lost control as wave after wave of pure bliss pulsed up her legs and through her body. She wantonly thrust her pussy against his mouth with each suck on her clit. The sweet music of her orgasm filled the motel room.  

When it was over, Charlie lifted his head, lips and chin, wet from her juices, and said, “And now it’s time. Are you ready, Mrs. Blaylock? Tell me you’re ready for my hard cock to be buried in your asshole. Tell me!” 

Claire was still coming down from her orgasm, but managed to croak the vile words he had taught her, “Fuck me, Charlie, fuck me in my ass.” 

Charlie’s erection suddenly jerked and grew rapidly larger. He put his hands on either side of her on the bed as she laid on her back and slid his swollen prong along the wetness of her furrow, slipping through her folds until the soft underside of his penis rubbed against her engorged clit. 

“Please, Charlie. Don’t tease. Please fuck me. I want to feel you deep inside my darkest place. Then I want you to come in me, fill me with your hot sperm.” 

“Then let the finale begin, dirty girl. Once you’ve had anal, you’ll have crossed that line once and for all. Never again will you get to think of yourself as a good girl. Anal sex isn’t for good girls. Good girls don’t play with their bottoms or beg men to put their cocks there.” 

And then he was at the portal, sliding the tip of his well-lubricated glans inside her tightly clenched sphincter. Claire gasped at the sudden sharp pain as her opening stretched to accommodate the rubbery, bulbous head. He held his cock there for a moment, until she relaxed her anus allowing him to slowly push further inside. Inch by excruciating inch he pushed his manhood through the tight opening, pausing as Claire involuntarily squeezed her anal muscles around him, then relaxed.  

The sharp pain she had endured at the first thrust was already a fading memory, and nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, felt as good as the sensation of him slowly sliding into her. 

“Are you all right?” Charlie asked. He sounded as if he was holding himself in check, as if it took all of his will to do so. 

Claire arched and stretched beneath him. Her movements sent him deeper, causing him to gasp with pleasure. “I’ve never been better,” she purred. She felt alive, animated. The stifling constraints of the past sixteen years fell away as the head of Charlie’s cock popped through the final barrier and plunged suddenly into her rectum. 

“Oh, God!” Claire hissed. “Yes!” 

Charlie pushed hard and his cock steadily filled her passage until his balls slapped against her butt cheeks. He held it there and ground hard against her to make sure he was all the way inside before he pulled back. He thrust deep a second time, a third, and then he hit a rhythm. His thumb again found Claire’s clit and circled it as he thrust into her bottom with his thick, hard cock. Claire wantonly rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger and felt herself again climbing the mountain, but this time someone was going to reach the summit with her. 

She felt empowered and vulnerable at the same time.  Never had she felt closer to a partner, like she was sucking him into her, engulfing him. The feelings were not only strangely pleasurable, but incredibly intense, like she was going into sensory overload.  Every movement, every flick of her clit felt ten times stronger. She could feel every inch of him sliding in and out. The movement stimulated her bowels and suddenly she was afraid that she might lose control and have an accident, but as Charlies thrust deeper and harder that feeling was replaced by a delicious glow and a satisfying fullness. 

Charlie was in heaven. He’d found a place deep inside Claire’s bowel that squeezed his head like a velvet vice with every thrust. It felt so good that he knew he would not be able to hold back for long. Already, he could feel sperm boiling up from his balls, gathering at the base of his shaft, building pressure... building... 

“I’m coming, Mrs. Blaylock!” he announced, and come he did. He cried aloud at the intensity of his ejaculations, long spurts of sperm pulsing deep into Claire’s bottom. And as she felt the hot juices squirting into her, her own orgasm was triggered and together they rode the bucking waves of pleasure until, exhausted, they collapsed into each other’s arms and slowly, slowly came back to reality. 

Charlie seemed very pleased with himself as he drove her back into town to get her car. “We were great, Mrs. Blaylock. God, we were great.” 

Claire smiled. They had been great together. And she appreciated Charlie’s complete lack of humbug – there was no talk of leaving their spouses, of divorcing and remarrying. Their relationship was purely sexual. And if they were careful, they could enjoy each other’s company for a long time to come. 

o-o-o-o-o

Charles was certain it was his wife in the battered blue pickup that wheezed through the intersection right past his nose while he waited at the red light. He wondered briefly why Claire was riding with the stranger, but quickly dismissed it from his mind. He had more important concerns at the moment, and no doubt he’d hear all about it at the dinner table that evening.