This story is of adult nature. If you are too young, too prudish or just plain unlucky to live in a place where people feel offended by erotic literature, you should stop reading now.
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It's Sunday night, 1 am.
I just fucked my poor husband silly for two solid hours, and right now he's sleeping like a log, while I'm sitting here, totally confused and at all doubts about myself.
I really thought I had life laid out: Job, family, my future and myself. And then, suddenly, I really don't know.
A few words about myself: I'm Gerd, 42 years old, quite a successful teacher, married for 20 years to Claus, who is now 45, two children who have both left home to study in Copenhagen. I'm fairly good looking, though nothing spectacular, whereas Claus is a very handsome man, and I'd say that I really love him. For all these years he has been a kind, considerate and generous husband and father, as well as a skilled lover who almost every time manages to give me the most delicious orgasms when we make love. He always convinced me, that he finds me pretty in spite of my small tits and skinny frame. Of course our marriage has had its ups and downs like everybody else's, but those were only tiny ripples on a smooth surface. I was always immune to the advances I received from other men, though I have to admit they have not been that many.
And here I am. Came home four hours ago from a weekend of supplementary education, which our school board had ordered (and paid for) where I spent two wonderful nights doing things I had never even dreamed about, and that secret knowledge made me so horny again, the moment I saw Claus, that I practically raped him and fucked him raw. What the... has come into my head? And my body?
It all started Friday at noon. School closed early and we were all bussed to a rather posh hotel. By three o'clock we had been dealt our rooms and met for afternoon coffee and the first lectures, which by the way were very interesting and inspiring. After a delicious dinner another hour was scheduled for a lecture which was more entertaining than really educational, and then the rest of the evening was for 'socialising'. Through dinner and the last lecture I had been sitting with a colleague of many years, a man I have always admired for being such an excellent teacher. Ten years older than me he is, but his mind is so open and young that our youngest teachers seem old-fashioned and stale compared to him. The kids love him, and his classes invariably score the highest grades. At the same time he is always a pillar of calm, spreads a feeling of security around himself - and never have I heard another teacher ask him for help and not get it. Those are the reasons for my admiration - and definitely not his looks or his macho charm. Peter is only a few inches taller than me, he weighs about 10 kilos too much, and actually the only really charming thing about him are his eyes, changing between blue and green and with many wrinkles of laughter around them.
The 'socialising' was not really that posh. A nice lounge, a CD-player and a dancefloor, a waiter at the bar - and the rest was up to ourselves. Peter had asked me for the first dance during dinner, but it seemed he was in no real hurry when we adjourned in the lounge. He fetched us some drinks and snacks, and we sat in the sofa talking shop, laughing a little at some of the younger colleagues who were already smooching on the dancefloor - people we knew were all married, but not to each other.
"Seems like a few of them are rather in a hurry to take advantage of the opportunity," Peter laughed.
"Perhaps they don't have that many opportunities," I said. "Better make use of them, if that's your wish."
"OK", he said with a smile, "and as that is my wish I'd better ask you: Shall we dance?"
His elegant advance was so unexpected, that I blushed a little, and without a word I got up and said:"OK, let's dance."
And so we did. Peter is an excellent dancer, guiding you around without letting you feel you are guided, and then for a few seconds he takes a firm hold of you, just to let you know who is in command. We had danced a few when a slow one came up. I always loved the slow dances, and this was no exception. I leaned a little into Peter and felt his arms around me and actually enjoyed it. Just before the dance finished he gave me the first chock of the evening. With his deep and firm voice he said:
"I think you should go to the restroom and take off your bra and panties so we can enjoy the next slow dance better." At that point he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me a little off him so he could look me firmly into my eyes. Like a little nitwit I felt time had stopped, and a little later the music did too.
"Thanks for the dance," he said. "It was lovely, apart from a few impediments."
He took my arm and we walked back to 'our' sofa and sat down. My stomach was in turmoil because of the unexpected and rather rude advance he had made on me - and also, I had to admit, the chock of it made me tinkle all over. If you had asked me 2 hours ago how I would have reacted to such rude words I should have laughed and said: - I think I'd refrain from slapping him, but I'd definitely go my way. And now I was just sitting in the sofa continuing our talk while my subconscious mind was figuring out if I should go to the restrooms or not !
I'm not going to put numbers on all the times it happened during these days, but this was the first time I did something which is still inexplicable to myself: After a while I went to the restroom and discarded my bra and my panties, put them in my purse and returned to the sofa, Peter and the colleagues.
A few others had joined us at the table and talk was flowing, the course, our school, being away from home etc. Peter fetched us some wine from the bar, and when a slow tune came up on the CD-player he asked me: "Would you care to dance this one with me?"
"Of course, Peter."
On the floor I had halfway expected him to feel me up to see if I had complied with his proposal, but nothing of the kind happened. On the contrary he maintained a small distance which only added to my excitement. Why the... did he want me to take off my underwear if he wasn't going to feel it? Well, I think the sly bastard knew how to whet my appetite, for when he finally brushed the back of his hand against my small tits it was more like an electric chock. His right hand slid down to rest on my hip while he maintained a light pressure on my right breast, and suddenly I was painfully aware of my naked pussy, and I felt the air blowing up upon it every time Peter swirled me around and my skirt flared out.
"It's very delicious to touch your breast," he whispered into my ear, "and it's lovely to know that your pussy is bare if I should feel like touching it."
I could feel my cheeks blush as if I was a young girl, and for a short while I rested my forehead on his shoulder. Suddenly he lifted his left arm and pushed my hip to make me turn round and round while he was walking slowly forward, and his right hand stayed down where it was, trailing from my hip across my belly, round to my arse and with every turn he lowered that hand, and with the last turn he quickly put a slight pressure on my pussy as it passed his hand.
"Feels like you are gifted with an abundant bush," he whispered into my ear, "I really like that. So many girls shave today, and it just makes them look like babies." He followed this up with a quick jab of his tongue. At that moment the slow tune stopped, and thank goodness he held my arm like an old-fashioned gentleman, because I was quite dizzy as we walked back to the sofa.
People were telling jokes as we sat down, but honestly I didn't get many of the points. I just laughed a little when the others did, while my head was reeling with questions, the most important of them being: - Why all of a sudden did my pussy get so wet? And when I looked down on my white shirt I could see my nipples as easily as I could feel them poke against the soft silk. I started to get up because I wanted to get out into the cool air and get my head sorted out, but the cheeky guy said out loud: "Would you please bring a gin and tonic for me too?" I didn't want to give long explanations in the presence of my colleagues, so I did the easy thing and went to the bar. Just as I returned with the drinks a new slow tune started, and Peter got up and said: "Can I have this one too?"
"Yes, of course you can, but then it's the last one. It's past midnight, and I don't want to be too tired tomorrow."
"Fine with me."
He put his arms round me, and held my body rather close to his, and I was excitingly aware of my nakedness under my shirt and skirt. For the first time he put his hand on my arse with a purpose. He squeezed my buttocks rather hard and pressed my pelvis close to his, or rather he let me feel his stiff cock against my belly. And then he brought up his hand so he could take my right nipple between his fingers and pinch and twist it, hard, but not too hard. He had his right hand on my shoulderblades and he pressed my head close to his and said in his deep voice:
"I want you to say goodnight when we finish this dance. Go to your room and leave your door unlocked. I'll come up to you in ten minutes so as not to make any of them suspicious. And I want you to keep your clothes on, just as you are now. Got it?"
"Yes, I got it, but what makes you so sure I'll leave my door unlocked?"
"If you don't, I shall have to knock on it and make a terrible noise, shan't I? I think it's more discrete if you leave it as I told you."
.... There is more of this story ...