I didn’t think it would ever happen to me. In fact, my mind had never even strayed towards the idea. My married life had been no less than spectacular for all of its fifteen years. We were both about forty and were awash with a deep respect and love for each other. We had marvellously uninhibited sex, common interests, stimulating conversations, and, equally important for both of us, no kids to impede our lifestyle. We seemed to have, as far as we were concerned, the perfect marriage.

Sure there were ups and downs and things like money issues, just like everyone else that we knew, but they weren’t beyond dealing with, and they never created any stress or tension between us to the extent that it threatened our marriage. In short, there was nothing that was impeding the quality of our marriage, and absolutely no reason to think that I might ever want to do anything that might jeopardise it in any way.

And then...

I was on a short business trip, business trips being most unusual for me to have to undertake, and this one in particular as it was just a few days before Christmas. I had managed to do some on-the-road shopping for Christmas gifts, and they were wrapped and ready for the flight home. I was flying home the following day, Christmas Eve, as soon as the morning meeting was finished, and was looking forward immensely to it.

I had just finished an after-work drink with a couple of colleagues after a long day of meetings and was heading towards the hotel elevator to go to my room, when this guy came charging down the hall heading towards the lobby. He was carrying two suitcases, had a wild look on his face, his clothes were dishevelled, his tie was draped over his shoulder, and he was muttering, “Jesus! Oh Jesus Christ!”

God knows what his problem was but it certainly wasn’t mine, and I stepped well to the side as he careened past me towards the hotel exit. I glanced back at him over my shoulder just in time to see a woman emerge from a side corridor directly into his path.

It was inevitable. He smashed straight into her, sending her sprawling, and he tumbled ass-over-teakettle over her, his two suitcases flying, one of which burst open scattering its contents of dirty clothes and underwear across the lobby floor. He picked himself up, swearing heartily, raced around scooping his clothes up and stuffing them back into the suitcase, and ran out the door, yelling for a taxi.

The whole incident had taken only a few seconds. The few people in the lobby were stunned by what had happened and stood where they were, uncertain as to what to do, or what was going to happen next.

The unfortunate woman had hit the wall hard and was lying at its base with her eyes closed, not moving. Her head was lying at what looked to me like an awkward angle. Her long winter coat, which she had been carrying over her arm, lay splayed out on the floor beside her.

I rushed to her and found, to my relief, that she was breathing. I gently felt behind her neck for any swelling and found no sign of injury. A moment later she opened her eyes, blinking a little incomprehensibly at her situation.

“Don’t move for a bit, okay?” I told her and placed my hand on her shoulder, gently holding her down.

It was only then that I noticed that her skirt had been pushed well up her legs from her fall, exposing her stocking tops to which were fastened the straps of a garter belt. In addition, I could see that she wasn’t wearing any panties. Her pussy wasn’t visible because of the partially crossed position of her legs, but the neatly trimmed and shaped patch of pubic hair on her mound was.

A couple of men had come over and were standing watching, and, no sooner than I had noticed her exposed situation, I looked up and I saw one of them leering down at her. I glared at him and immediately tugged her skirt down over her legs as far as I could. It was bunched beneath her, but I managed to cover her down to mid thigh.

She groaned a bit then and weakly said, “Let me up,”

I removed my hand and helped her into a sitting position against the wall. As she sat there, she drew her feet closer to herself, bending her knees, and, placing her elbows on them, she buried her face in her hands.

Bending her knees had, of course, the unintentional result of her skirt sliding well up her thighs, once again exposing her stocking tops.

“Are you alright? Do you have any pain? How do you feel?”

A little unsteadily she replied, “Yes. Yes I think I’m okay.”

She then became aware of the position of her skirt and she started tugging at it to cover herself.

“Come on then. Let’s get you to your feet.”

I helped her up and, holding her arm, I led her into the lobby and sat her down in a large easy chair. The desk clerk brought her a glass of water from which she gratefully had a few sips.

“Should I get you to a doctor?”

“No. I’m going to be fine thanks. I’m just shaken up a bit, that’s all. I just... I want to go to my room now.”

I walked her to the elevator, holding her arm again, and we headed up to her room, which happened to be on the same floor as mine. As we approached her room she stumbled a little and I gripped her arm tighter, thinking that she might fall.

She opened her room door and we both walked in. I took her over to the bed and she sat down on the edge of it. I knelt before her and slipped off her shoes to make her more comfortable.

“You should lie down and rest.”

With a little shakiness in her voice she said, “You’ve been so kind. Thanks so much for your help.”

“You’re sure you’re okay? Is there anything I can get you?”

“Yes I’m alright. I think I’m just going to have a hot bath to relax me.”

“You’re sure a bath is a good idea? I’m a little concerned that you might black out again.”

“Black out again? You mean I was unconscious?” she said incredulously.

“Briefly. You really hit the wall hard. I saw the whole thing.”

Still sounding a little shaky she said, “Oh god. I had no idea.”

She paused to collect her thoughts after the revelation, then continued.

“Well, I think I’d still like to soak in a bath for a bit. You sound like you know what you’re talking about, so if you’re really concerned, and if you wouldn’t mind, then perhaps you’d wait here. Just for a few minutes. Would you do that for me? If you’re okay with it just look in occasionally on me please.”

“Of course I will,” and I sat down on the couch.

There were a few magazines on the coffee table, and as I picked one up I watched as she went into the bathroom. She appeared steady on her feet so my concerns were lessened.

After she closed the door and started running the bath water I heard her moving around, and I couldn’t help but think back on the incident downstairs and how she had been exposed before my eyes.

She was a very attractive woman, and I could imagine how sexy she must look without her skirt, blouse and jacket, just as she must be at that very moment on the other side of the door, perhaps moving around in just her bra, garter belt and stockings. I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused back on the magazine.

After about fifteen minutes I realised that I hadn’t heard any noise from the bathroom for quite some time, and got up and went to the door.

I knocked on it lightly and asked, “Are you okay in there?”

There was no answer and I became a little alarmed. Opening the door I poked my head inside and there she was, standing by the bath tub, nude, rubbing her hair vigorously with a towel.

At that moment she looked up, a startled look in her eyes.

I pulled back and closed the door immediately.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” I said loudly through the door. “I knocked to see if you were okay, and when there was no answer I became worried. I guess you didn’t hear me.”

There was a small laugh in response. “That’s alright. I’ll be right out.”

A minute later the door opened and she stepped into the room, wrapped in a bath towel and looking quite refreshed.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated. “I really am.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “You’re not the first man to see me drying my hair.”

That immediately put me at ease, and we both laughed.

“I’m really glad you’re alright. That bath seems to have done you the world of good. You were looking pretty shaky earlier.”

There was a short silence between us, then I continued. “Well, I’d better get going now. It was nice to have met you. And please, if there’s anything I can help you with I’m just down the hall in 423. Take care.”

As she walked towards the door with me she said, “There is one thing. I don’t suppose you’d care to have dinner with me, would you? I hate eating alone. I’m famished and would really like some company.”

Turning back towards her I said, “You know, I think I’d enjoy that. I don’t have any plans for dinner. Could you give me maybe fifteen minutes though? I’d like to freshen up and change.”

It was an Italian restaurant, just down the street from the hotel. When we entered she spoke Italian to the man who greeted us. He appeared to be the owner and he beamed at hearing her speak his native tongue, and perhaps as a result, the service was as superb as the food.

We had a drink before dinner and shared a litre carafe of exceptional wine during dinner, which the owner proudly told us came from his home village in Italy. Before we had finished it, he graciously topped us up with another half litre of the same, saying something to her in Italian that I could only presume to mean that he enjoyed our being there.

We both hit it off really well, and our conversation flowed as if we had known one another for years. She was in town, like me, on business. She had been married for eight years. Both her and her husband had professional careers, and no kids. There were a lot of parallels in our lives.

When dinner was finished the owner served us a shot of an Italian liqueur, which he said would help with the digestion and our sleep. I protested when he gave her the bill, but he said that the ‘signora’ had insisted to him earlier that she would pay the bill.

She looked at me and said, “Please, let me pay. I really do owe you a big thanks for being so kind today,” and she followed it up with, “even if you saw me drying my hair.”

When we left the restaurant and hit the cold night air we could both feel the effects of the alcohol, so we linked arms as we walked back to the hotel.

When we got to her room we thanked each other for the lovely evening, wished each other good luck with our business efforts, and said our good-byes.

Back in my room I undressed, pulled back the covers on the bed, and lay comfortably naked on the sheets as I phoned home.

When my wife answered she seemed to be kind of remote, and when I asked her if anything was wrong, she assured me that everything was alright. We spoke for awhile about our respective days, and I asked her what she was eating as I could hear a slight smacking of her lips.

“Oh it’s just a little Christmas cake from the office,” was her hesitant reply, and when she asked what I had done for dinner I told her that I had eaten with some of the guys I had spent my day with.

I have no idea why I said that. I had no reason to not tell her the truth as my evening out had been totally innocent. Nonetheless, I harboured a nagging little feeling of guilt about it. I suppose it was because I had had such a wonderful time alone with another woman, something which, not surprisingly, I hadn’t experienced since before I was married. It might have been compounded by the fact that it was only two days before Christmas. I’m not in the least bit religious but the season does have its values to me, beyond the religious ones held by so many, and I think it played upon me.

Before we said goodnight with our usual “Love you”, I told her that I was looking forward to getting home.

I asked her again if she was alright, and when she told me to please hurry home there was an odd tone to it. Just the same, hearing her voice was, as always, stimulating to me and I was hard afterwards and was considering turning on a blue movie to help satisfy myself.

The next one wasn’t due to start for another half hour so I watched the news to pass the time, which more or less took care of my erection.

Just when I was set to start watching the movie there was a knock on the door. I got a towel from the bathroom, wrapped it around my waist, and opened the door as far as the security chain allowed.

And there she was, the woman from down the hall.

“I hope you weren’t asleep.”

I unhooked the chain and opened the door. She was dressed in a terry-towel bathrobe which covered her down to her knees..

I looked down at myself wearing a bath towel and, looking back up at her said, “Well I was just about to dry my hair.”

She laughed and said, “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about being knocked down today and that I was actually unconscious.”

She paused before continuing. “I’ve ordered something to drink from room service and as there will be enough for two I was wondering... would you care to join me for a nightcap?”

I’m sure my surprise showed.

“Well... sure. That... that sounds fine. Just let me get dressed in something else though, okay?”

She smiled and said, “I found this bathrobe in the closet in my room. Maybe you’ve got one in yours too. Just be comfortable okay?” and she turned and headed down the hallway back to her room.

Sure enough, I found a complimentary bathrobe and slipped it on over my nakedness, which somehow didn’t seem to be inappropriate in spite of my not having known this woman any longer than a few hours.

And then that nagging little feeling of guilt entered my mind again.

“What was I doing?” I thought. “I really don’t need to sit in a strange woman’s hotel room, having a drink and wearing just a bathrobe. I don’t need to get involved in some kind of fling, if that’s where it might lead.”

And then I rationalised it.

“This was totally innocent. This would only be an extension of our pleasant dinner together.”

When I arrived at her room the door was half open, so I knocked and walked in. She was sitting on the couch and smiled when she saw me.

“Thanks for coming. Please sit down. Our wine should be here any moment now.”

As I sat down she drew her legs up and sat sideways on the couch facing me, one arm draped over the back of the couch. We had spoken only a few words when there was a knock on the door.

“Oh, our nightcap’s here.”

As she turned in her seat and swung her feet to the floor to answer the door, her bathrobe, whether by accident or design I couldn’t guess, spread open revealing for the briefest of moments her bare legs almost to her pussy. It was a view not unlike what I had seen of her earlier in the day, but this time I found it stimulating.

She returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses, placed them on the coffee table and resumed her position on the couch beside me, legs drawn up and facing me. I reached over and filled her glass and handed it to her, then filled my own and sat back on the couch half turned towards her.

“To an unusual day with a pleasant ending. New friends,” she toasted, and we clinked our glasses together, both of us seemingly oblivious to our manner of dress.

Just as at dinner our conversation flowed easily, but now with more of a personal focus on our individual likes and dislikes and what made each other tick.

At one point she surprised me by asking, with a wide smile and a kind of teasing tone to her voice, “I’d like to know how old you were when you lost your virginity.”

“Well, okay... Uh, I was a bit slow in getting going I guess. Twenty, to answer your question, and oddly enough it was to a friend of my mother. She turned up one day when I was alone at home, pretending that my mother was expecting her. It was a ruse of course, as all she wanted to do was deflower me, and this was her opportunity. I have to admit she did a really good job of it too. I guess I was lucky to start off that way. What about you?”

“A little younger. Nineteen, and to a friend of my older brother. Unfortunately,” and she laughed a bit before continuing, “it was in the back seat of a car, and he didn’t do a very good job of it. I knew though that there was a lot more to having sex than what he provided, and I was determined that I wasn’t going to let my learning about it plateau-out with that lousy experience.”

“Did you move on quickly?”

“Yes, I guess you could say I did. I stupidly married a guy only a year later, because I thought I was in love. The marriage was over in two years. It had been a huge mistake but at least I expanded my sexual horizons because of it. I met my new husband two years later and we were married a year afterwards. It’s been a wonderful relationship.”

She paused for a moment, then asked me, in a tone no longer casual, “Tell me, if you don’t mind me asking, after fifteen years how is your sex life? I worry that after that amount of time it might just become routine and boring.”

“Is yours showing signs of that?” I asked.

Her glass was now empty so I refilled it and topped up mine. It appeared to me that she was starting to become a little drunk for the second time that evening, but she was obviously enjoying talking with me and turning the conversation towards sex. And it was mutual. I was enjoying it and, likely it had something to do with the wine as well, I was becoming a little aroused by it.

“Perhaps a little,” she said. “That’s what scares me a bit. So what about yours? How do you keep it alive, if you do?”

“We experienced the same concerns about it diminishing at about the same period in our marriage as you have with yours, and we decided that we weren’t going to let what we had just slip away. We became inventive, even did some role playing, planned weekend getaways to romantic locations. That sort of thing. We still do it and it’s working for us.”

“What do you mean by becoming inventive?”

“Well she has a drawer full of toys and movies, and scarves and exotic lingerie, all of which we use on a regular basis.”

“Scarves?”

“Yes. We use them for restraint. We’ve both discovered we have a liking for mild bondage. It’s been a huge turn-on for us. What about you and your husband? Do you do anything to make it special for you?”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “We really do have a strong relationship and our sex life is... well, if I was honest, I would say it’s only okay. But there’s nothing we do to try to make it exceptional, I’m afraid. What I mean is that we don’t really go out of our way to help things along. And that’s what I was getting at when I asked you. I’m worried that things have become kind of routine and boring between us. I’ve tried a couple of things to try to spice things up. I like to wear special things for him but I’m not sure it really does a lot for him.”

“Yes, I know.”

“How do you mean ‘you know’?”

“Well, what I mean is that... well, when you had your accident earlier on and you ended up on the floor, your skirt was bunched up almost to your waist.”

“Oh god!” she giggled and blushed deeply. “Then my little secret’s out.”

“Yes, I guess it is, but not very far. Don’t worry. I covered you up very quickly. But if you don’t mind me saying, I can’t understand how your husband doesn’t find your little secret stimulating. The little I saw of you was very elegant and sexy. And what about for you? You obviously enjoy being dressed, or kind of undressed, like that even when you’re away from home.”

Now that I had broached the subject of what I had seen of her I could feel my cock starting to get hard beneath the loose bathrobe. Glancing down I could see that its presence was becoming more than a little noticeable, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

Now the guilt really jumped at me.

“This isn’t what I wanted was it?” I though. “I’ve too much to lose. I should call it a night and get out of here. My wife has everything I need and we love each other.”

And then the rationalisation kicked in once again. “But then, of course, this is leading nowhere. It’s just friendly, innocent conversation and I’m enjoying it. I can control it.”

She answered my question by saying, “It’s really the only naughty kind of thing that I do, and to tell you the truth I love dressing that way. And just in case you were wondering; no, my husband doesn’t know I dress this way when I’m away from home. It’s my way of secretly giving myself some freedom from the daily grind. It adds a little spice to my life but, you know, that’s as far as it’s gone.”

“So you enjoy being forbidden and untouchable and, in your own way, something of an exhibitionist?” I said.

“Well, I guess I’m not really an exhibitionist. At least not in the true sense. Sure, there have been a number of times in my life that I’ve realised I’ve unintentionally exposed some part of me, but when it happened I didn’t mind that it had. So to answer your question; yes, very much. It excites me.”

“So, from what you’re saying, I’m guessing that you have some unfulfilled fantasies.”

“I suppose you’re right. There’s something about creating that feeling of want in men and, this may sound a little odd, knowing they’re suffering a little just because I’m not letting them have what they know I have. I’m in control with it. It’s not that I dislike men. On the contrary. For the most part I really love them, but they do have their shortcomings at times, and sometimes it doesn’t hurt to sort of put them in their place. I hope that doesn’t sound too bitchy.”

The tone of her voice was changing noticeably as we spoke. It was becoming more sultry. Sexier. Was it the wine, or was our talk having the same effect on her that it was having on my cock?

I continued, quite unintentionally believe it or not, pushing the conversation along. It just flowed that way.

“Do you ever really wish you could fulfill your fantasies?” I asked her.

“Isn’t that what fantasies are for? To tantalise yourself? For instance, today I had to give a talk before a group of about twenty men. Standing before them in a relatively short skirt and wearing just my garter belt and no panties was extremely exciting for me. There was a huge satisfaction seeing the way some of the men looked at me. It was as if they knew. Almost as if they could see. And there I was right before them and completely unattainable. Forbidden, untouchable fruit.

“And here’s the fantasy. I had the feeling that I wanted to step forward, cross the floor and offer to let a couple of them sample the forbidden and untouchable.

It was a very strong feeling and I actually stumbled a little in my presentation because of it. And then a funny thing happened. I realised that they then had become the forbidden and untouchable for me because I can’t have it.”

She had drained her glass again, and as I picked up the bottle I noticed that her outstretched hand holding the glass was trembling slightly. I placed my free hand on her hand to steady it and I refilled her glass. The touch was electrifying to me. When I finished pouring her wine I took my hand away.

“Can’t have it, or won’t have it?” I asked. “There’s a difference. You must find it frustrating.”

Her voice was becoming more intense now.

“Yes I do find it frustrating. When something is denied it becomes more desirable, doesn’t it? That’s one of the awful truths about life.”

“Do you think there would ever be a time when you would actually cross the floor, figuratively speaking of course, and fulfill your fantasy?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m brave enough. I suppose it would depend on who is on the other side; who’s in the audience.”

And then I pushed the conversation to the edge.

“Earlier today I saw the forbidden and untouchable. I guess I was on the other side.”

I immediately thought, “Oh god! Why the Hell did I say that? Is my cock getting the better of my brain? I’m just digging myself in deeper. Jesus, I’ve got to get myself out of this!”

She didn’t answer immediately, but finally said, “Then perhaps it would be possible for me.”

There was a long silence between us then she continued.

“And what about you? Have you ever felt the need to have something forbidden?”

I suddenly knew that this had now really gone too far and that, stupidly, I had pushed us there. Damn it! That feeling of guilt was there again, and it was compounded by feeling a little scared. This was rapidly leading to something I just didn’t really need and I had to deflect it.

“No,” I answered after a pause. “There are a lot of things I can’t have, but I can make do without them.”

“But I know you do find it frustrating, don’t you.”

She said it more as a statement than a question.

“Why do you say that?”

She leaned over and put her glass on the coffee table.

“I can tell.”

And with that she leaned way over towards me, slipped her hand under my bathrobe, ran it up my thigh and wrapped her fingers lightly around my very hard cock. The movement of her hand had pushed my bathrobe open to my waist, and when I looked down at what she was doing my cock was standing fully exposed, its head a dark pink indicating its desire for satisfaction.

She slowly moved her fingers up and down my cock, holding it just tightly enough to pull its loose covering of skin along with them, and as she did a drop of glistening precum quickly appeared at its tip. And to add to the flood of sensations that I was experiencing, as she was leaning over her bathrobe had fallen partly open and one of her breasts had become almost fully exposed.

I knew at that instant that I was lost and I would be unable to turn back. All I wanted now was to fuck her.

She suddenly withdrew her hand from the object of its caress, leaving it exposed, and sat back away from me. She looked at me intently, her robe still partly open and her breast mostly exposed.

“Tell me, I want to hear more about your role playing. It sounds like it could be something that I might enjoy. Explain to me what it is about it that appeals to you.”

She had just had her hand on my cock and now she wanted to talk some more! She was teasing me, and at that very moment had me fully under her control.

Gathering my thoughts, I said, “Its just an extension of our fantasies. It’s an exercise of the imagination.”

The thought suddenly entered my mind that perhaps I could do something about satisfying the fantasy she had revealed to me.

“You’ve got fantasies,” I said. “Let’s do something about them. Do you think you’re able to?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve got exhibitionist tendencies and you’re going to exercise them for me. You’re going to make a presentation to me, as if I was the audience you had today, and what’s more, you’re going to cross the floor.”

I said it in a way that made no doubt that it was a command. It was something I wanted and that she was going to do.

“There’s something else too,” I continued. “You’re going to be dressed for your presentation just as you were today, with one difference. Your audience is going to watch you get dressed in your hotel room in preparation for your presentation. I want you to exercise your imagination.”

She sat there silently for what seemed forever.

“Oh my god,” she finally whispered in a dream-like manner. “Yes, I’m going to do it.”

“Yes, you are. Now’s the time. Get on with it.”

She got up immediately and crossed the room to the closet where she had hung some clothes. She returned to her bed with a short, light-yellow skirt and a cream coloured sleeveless blouse, and lay them on it. Then she opened her suitcase and removed a black lacy bra, a matching black garter belt and a pair of dark stockings, and returned to the bed, sitting on its edge.

In the meantime I got up, crossed the room and pulled out a chair from the desk. Placing it across the room from her I sat down on it to watch.

It was a masterfully teasing show. I certainly wasn’t under the impression that modesty was at the root of it but for the longest time she continued wearing her bathrobe as she dressed.

While still wearing her bathrobe she started by putting on the garter belt. She was partly turned away from me as she bent over, stepped into the garment and slid it up over her legs. As she stood up and pulled it up to her waist she carefully parted the robe, pulling it around to her side, exposing the length of her bare leg, one cheek of her finely curved ass, and the lower side of her torso.

That’s all I could see of her nakedness. The garter belt was in position around her waist and two of the straps hung loosely down along her upper thigh. She stood there for a moment, looking down her side, the robe still partly open but exposing nothing further.

I watched as she turned away from me and picked up one of the stockings, sat down on the edge of the bed, her side towards me. Holding the top of the stocking she started loosely rolling it up, forming a ring until only the toe of it showed, then, bending her knee, she placed her foot into the stocking and rolled it up her leg. When it reached her knee she straightened her leg, lifting it upwards for me to see its entire shapely length, and finished pulling it up her thigh.

She repeated the same procedure with the other stocking, then, almost as an afterthought, she ran her hands up the length of each leg to ensure the stockings were smoothly in place.

Standing up she parted her bathrobe once again to the side, and I watched as she clipped the straps to the stocking top. She turned and teased me with the sight of her fastening the other leg’s stocking to its straps.

The sight of her dressing in such an erotic, teasing manner had driven my cock to a hardness and an ache I couldn’t remember ever having had before.

She turned her back to me and slipped the bathrobe off, letting it fall to the floor. I was treated to the sight of her nakedness from behind, her finely shaped bare ass accentuated by her garter belt and stockings. She looked magnificent!

Keeping her back to me she put on her bra and stepped into her skirt. Then, turning mostly towards me, she put on her blouse, but before buttoning it up she allowed me the sight of her breasts held up in her fairly skimpy bra.

She walked around the room before me, combing her hair and touching up her make-up, getting ready to face her audience and make her presentation. And as a final touch she put on a pair of high heeled shoes.

She went into the bathroom for a few seconds, then emerged and stood across the room from me and said, “Good evening gentlemen.”

She launched into her prepared talk, and oddly enough I found it fairly interesting. I sat there watching her intensely, but it wasn’t because of what she was saying. It was because she was ravishingly sexy to look at.

As she spoke she paced slowly back and forth, her cream coloured blouse being of a light enough material that her black bra was visible through it. Her breasts were highlighted beautifully.

My eyes bored into her, casting up and down her beautiful stocking-clad legs, and I could envision what was beneath her skirt: her naked pussy, framed by her garter belt, its straps, and her stocking tops.

It was time to help her progress with the realisation of her fantasy. As I stared at her I opened my bathrobe, exposing my very hard cock.

Her eyes focused on it immediately and there was a pause in her presentation; more like a stumble. I took my cock in my hand and slowly started stroking it as she resumed her talk.

The huskiness had returned to her voice and she started moving slowly closer to me. At one point she placed her hands on her thighs, and as she walked she ran them up to her waist then back down, moving them closer together, past her pussy and partly along the inside of her thighs.

“That concludes this part of my presentation gentlemen. Do you have any questions? Is there anything you would like to know?”

“I would like to know,” I said, “if a presentation like this is giving you the exposure you need?”

“Thank you. That’s a good question. I find exposure on any scale to be very satisfying to me. What I’ve enjoyed about this particular presentation is how stimulating the audience has been for me and how attentive it’s been.”

As she spoke she stepped beside me, her hand on the back of my chair and her eyes looking down at my cock, which I was still slowly stroking.

She turned, and as she slowly moved back around me, she was unbuttoning her blouse. I took the opportunity to reach out with my free hand and stroke her ass.

By the time she was in front of me again she had unbuttoned her blouse down to her skirt, and as she turned to face me she pulled it partly open. Her breathing was deeper and I watched her breasts, cupped in her bra, rise and fall.

She pulled her blouse from the waistband of her skirt and then slipped it back off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. With her eyes fixed on mine, she lifted her foot and placed it on my chair between my legs, the pointed toe of her high-heeled shoe pressed against my balls.

Her skirt had risen up her thigh, exposing the stocking top and some soft white flesh above it. Placing her hands on her knee she proceeded to slowly slide them sensuously up her stocking-covered thigh, and when she reached the stocking top she gripped the top edge of it with her fingers and tugged provocatively at it.

I looked up at her and as I did she ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip from one corner of her mouth to the other.

Removing her foot from between my legs she stepped back slightly and turned around, her back towards me.

“Unzip my skirt!” she commanded in her sultry voice, and I did so without hesitation.

Stepping away she turned sideways to me and pushed the skirt down off her waist and let it drop to the floor. She stepped backwards out of it, bent over, picked it up and threw it on the bed.

And there she stood, her side turned to me, in her bra, garter belt and stockings. Placing her hands on her hips she turned her head towards me.

“To answer your question; yes, this is the type of exposure I crave. I saw you watching me as I talked. Your eyes told me that you were trying to see more than what was presented to you. Is this what you expected to see if you could have?”

“No,” I replied. “While I had undressed you mentally while you spoke, what I see before me far exceeds my expectations. I’ve never seen a more desirable woman. I have a passion for black, sexy lingerie on a woman. It makes me want to fuck her. You’re not wearing any panties, and yet I still haven’t seen your pussy. You’re a cock teaser aren’t you!”

She said nothing, and I continued.

“Now you tell me something. I saw you watching my cock while you talked. Is this what you expected to see? When you started talking did you think that you would be having such an effect on your audience that his cock would become hard?”

“It’s what I hoped I would see,” she answered. “I hoped you would know, while I stood before you, that I wasn’t wearing any panties. That my pussy was naked and it was becoming wet. That I wanted you to see me naked as I spoke. And I wanted to think that your cock was hard because of it. I’m more than happy to see the result.”

She turned her back to me again and took a step backwards, close to me.

“Unhook my bra,” she commanded once again in her sultry way, and once again I did so without hesitation.

She stepped away, still with her back to me, and slipped the straps of her bra down off her shoulders and threw the garment on the bed on top of her skirt. Then, with her hands spread open on the outsides of her thighs, she slowly turned fully towards me, her legs together, one knee slightly in front of the other. She slid her hands up her thighs and, placing them on her hips, she moved her feet apart and stood before me in an almost aggressive, yet extremely sexual stance.

I took it all in. Her near nakedness was accentuated by the garter belt and stockings, and finally I was now allowed to see her pussy. Not surprisingly, below her neatly trimmed patch of hair her cunt was shaved bare. The smooth, naked lips pouted with the need to receive what was expected. Intimate attention.

Once again she put her hands on her thighs and moved them up to her tummy, then, closer together, she slid them down so they framed her patch of hair. With her hands still in place she squatted part way down, spreading her knees, and slipped her fingers down on either side of her cunt and briefly massaged its lips.

Standing again she stepped up to me and straddled my legs. Placing her hands on my chest she pushed the robe back and off my shoulders and down my arms. I sat naked before her, my cock standing fully erect and twitching slightly.

She moved forward, reached past my shoulders, and gripping the top of the back of the chair with both hands, slowly pushed her breasts against my face.

I placed my hands on her hips, feeling the garter belt beneath them as she slowly lowered herself until the tip of my cock touched her pussy. And now she started to groan, moving her hips back and forth over the tip of my cock as she increased her downward pressure.

My hands were now on her legs, caressing them, and revelling in the feel of the transition of the silky taughtness of her nylons to the soft flesh of her upper thighs.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” she groaned as she lowered herself further and the head of my cock spread the lips of her pussy open.

“Oh yes. Oh fuck,” she groaned as I felt the warm wetness of her cunt envelop my aching cock.

“Ahhhhh fuck. Oh yessss,” as she finally sat down on me, my cock buried deep within her dripping wet cunt.

We were both immobile for a few long moments, savouring the feeling of completeness between us.

She broke the silence by uttering in a whispering hiss, “I want you to fuck me. Don’t love me. Just fuck me!”, and she started to rock back and forth, her crotch grinding against me.

She came quickly and I followed soon after.

When we had come down off our rush she climbed off me, took me by the hand and led me to the bed, where she got on her hands and knees.

“I need you to fuck me from behind.”

And that was the start. She seemed insatiable, cumming time after time in the numerous positions we found ourselves taking. She even took me up her ass, which drove her wild.

I left her asleep in her room at 2:30 in the morning and went immediately to my bed and fell asleep, totally exhausted.

I got my wake up call five hours later and my day lurched into its planned activities. I struggled through my morning meeting, and when it was done I caught a taxi straight to the airport. During the taxi ride guilt over the previous night’s affair overwhelmed me and my mind went into a state of turmoil.

I tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve, at least as far as my wife is concerned, and all too often she can read me like a book. On the flight, and the drive home from the airport, I agonised whether or not I should just come clean with her rather than have her somehow knowingly drag it out of me. By the time I got home it was dark and I still hadn’t come to a decision.

When I walked in the house was dimly lit, the Christmas tree providing most of the lighting in the living room. My wife was sitting there and when I entered she got up and slowly came to me. She stopped a few steps from me and I could see she had been crying. I immediately thought “Oh god, she’s found out somehow!”

In an attempt at staving off what I felt was inevitable I asked, “Darling, what’s wrong?”

She threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck, and burst into tears.

“I can’t keep this from you,” she sobbed. “Something happened yesterday. Something that you must know about. Something that I’m so ashamed of.”

If I was in turmoil before, now it was magnified tenfold.

“Tell me. Tell me please! What is it?” I said as I walked her to the couch where we sat down.

She looked at me directly in the eyes, and with tears running down her face, said, “I’ll just tell you straight. Yesterday we had an informal Christmas party after work. There were perhaps ten of us, and we went to a bar a couple of blocks away. I ended up having too much to drink, and one of the guys offered to drive me home. I was grateful for his offer, but he didn’t drive me home though. He drove to his place and I was stupid enough to go inside to have another drink with him. One thing led to another and I ended up in his bed.”

I was stunned. My mind was spinning as I tried to make sense of all that was going on, with myself and now with her.

“My god, what’s happening to us?” I finally said.

“Oh please.” She was sounding panicky. “I don’t want anything to happen to us. What we have is too good and I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to it. I need you to forgive me, but I don’t know how to ask you.”

I gripped her shoulders.

“No, you don’t understand what I meant. It’s so totally bizarre! Listen to me. Something happened to me yesterday too, and the guilt has been tearing me apart, just as it’s doing to you. Yesterday evening, not long after we spoke on the phone, I had sex with a woman who was staying in the same hotel as me. This whole thing is unbelievable. What happened just isn’t me. And what happened just isn’t you. That’s what I meant when I asked what’s happening to us.”

We stared at each other with uncomprehending looks and then held each other tighter than we ever had. After awhile we talked about us and our relationship, and we both had to agree that it couldn’t be stronger. Relief swept over us but neither of us could explain the same bizarre occurrence that had overtaken both of us on the same day.

We had a late dinner and went to bed.

We lay silently in the darkness of the bedroom holding each other, our thoughts trying to make some sense of things, when she said to me, “Would you be willing to tell me the details of what you did?”

“Of course I would, but I want the same from you, okay?”

When I was finished, she said in an almost breathless voice, “My god! That’s an incredible story.”

We were both quiet for what seemed like an eternity. She finally broke the silence and spoke in the same soft, breathless way.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course. What is it? I want you to tell me.”

“After hearing about what happened to you I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on! Until now I could never have imagined you with another woman, but now I’m just dripping wet because of it!”

She cuddled close to me, her hot breath on my neck.

“And I’ve got something to tell you,” I whispered to her. “Telling you my story, reliving it, has got me in the same state. I’m hard as hell. The whole thing was so intense. But I have to hear your story now. Please! I have to hear about you getting fucked by another man.”

As she started speaking I placed my hand on her soaking wet pussy and slowly finger-fucked her.

She told me everything; of how the alcohol had clouded her judgement when she went up to the guy’s apartment, and of her initial feelings of guilt over just being there. She told me that she had two more drinks and then they had started to dance, and when the music slowed and he held her close she had melted into his arms. It wasn’t long before he had his hands on her breasts, and suddenly all feelings of guilt and reluctance of the situation developing into something she didn’t want were swept aside. She could feel his erection pressed against her leg and before she knew it she was on her knees in front of him, pulling open his pants and freeing his big, hard cock from its confines.

She spoke intensely, describing in vivid detail the size and shape of his cock, and the feel of it in her mouth when she sucked him off. She was amazed at the exceptional amount of cum he shot into her mouth and how she revelled in its taste and how smooth and warm it felt as she gulped it down.

She told me how she felt like a whore being fucked by another man, and how excited it made her feel to have a strange cock in her cunt. She related in detail how she talked dirty to him in a constant stream, telling him to fuck her hard, and how she screamed when she came.

They had fucked for an hour or more and then the alcohol had started to wear off. Her feelings of guilt suddenly returned, overwhelming her, and she leapt from his bed and asked him to drive her home.

She went on to tell me that when I had called her from my hotel she had just gotten home a few minutes before and was about to take a shower. She was naked when she answered the phone and sat down on the edge of the bed.

While we were speaking, the guy’s cum started running from her cunt onto the bed sheets. Not wanting it to defile our bed she started to wipe it up with her fingers, but before she knew it she found herself licking them clean. Even though she was appalled by what she had just done she couldn’t resist catching more of it on her fingers as it oozed out of her, then tasting and swallowing the mixture of his cum and her juices while we continued speaking on the phone. That was the noise I had heard and had asked her about.

After we had hung up she got out one of her toys, and with tears running down her face, she lay back on our bed and fucked herself with it, cumming intensely and eventually falling deeply asleep with it still deep inside her.

When she was finished telling me about getting fucked by another man, without uttering a word I climbed on top of her and we fucked like minks until the small hours of the morning. When we woke up late on Christmas morning we went at it again and didn’t get out of bed until after noon.

Later we exchanged presents, and afterwards we reaffirmed how our biggest gift was each of us to the other.

That night as we lay in bed and worked ourselves up by relating parts of our stories again, we agreed that there must have been a reason for it to have happened to both of us on the same day.

Was the hand of fate telling us that perhaps it would be a good idea for it to happen again? And we thought it would.