Choices - Cheating Wife Amy


Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Drunk/Drugged, Lesbian, Cheating, Slut Wife, Gang Bang, Group Sex, Orgy, Interracial, White Couple, Black Male, White Male, White Female, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: A selfish and scheming wife Amy thinks she has the perfect plan to get her lucrative divorce and then live a life of pampered luxury. Life is indeed full of choices. My first (and poorest) SOL story intended as a non-serious pastiche of a 'cheating wife' story

Thanks to my editor Gandolf4217 for his exceptionally careful job, and whose work much improved this minor work!

We had worked out the plan together to every detail and it was flawlessly in its simplicity. With any luck at all tonight, I would finally be able to catch my darling husband of over 8 years in one of his little lies and expose him for the cheat I knew him to be. Dave Stewart, the Downstream Marketing and Sales VP had been coming on to me all week and telling me all about Michael's little lies, the constant little "emergency trips" fix this or that production problem somewhere. Lies, all of it. I knew he was banging his new hot young secretary, some niece of one of the Company Division Presidents of O'Malley Oil that had been thrust onto him, Mike had said. Hah! I knew just what kind of "thrusting" they were really up to.

I hadn't been able to prove anything back at home, and the worthless window peeper PI that I had hired kept demanding more money than I wanted to spend to produce his worthless little reports of nothingness. I bet Mike found out about him and paid him off, but that would be a real change for my cheap ass husband. He kept me on such a tight financial leash that it was nearly impossible for me to keep my head held high in society, let alone be one of its fashion leaders. I know I'm a laughing stock because my Jag is now nearly 3 years old and I only get two shopping trips a year to the designer shops in New York. Cheap bastard! There was also Mike's puerile insistence that I stop "partying" and start to consider "having a family"! The nerve! Ruining my perfect figure to push out his brats! I don't think so! But now he's going to get his, thanks to Dave.

We had flown down to Houston from our back-ass-water town in West Virginia where Mike was head of some stupid R&D research group that was always finding new ways to get more oil out the ground from old tapped out wells. Oh, that he would find a way to pump more money into my purse! This trip was for a big annual corporate pow-wow held at the same time as a big annual international oil exploration trade show. "Two birds with one stone" the bosses said. Yeah, right. Banging two different "birds" all right, his secretary made the trip with us and had the unmitigated gall to have the seat right in front of me for the entire flight. I guess it could have been worse; she could have been seated in back of me and smirking at me behind my back the entire flight. Her constant nonsense chattering about "groundwater insertions into the wellhead" I was sure was just one of their sex talk codes. Imagine their nerve, flaunting their sordid affair in front of everyone, but everyone knows that redheads are utterly shameless anyway, so I guess it isn't entirely her fault, she just can't help being ill-bred.

It was to my great surprise to discover after arrival that Mike's corporate office did contain at least one proper gentleman, Dave Stewart. Dave was tall, dark, very handsome, and well educated - and like me, a graduate of the University of South Carolina, but from 5 years before my time. I could tell immediately that he was a man of proper breeding and character, and he drove a 'proper' car suitable for taking a lady out in style, a bright red Porsche convertible, not a nasty 6 six year old Toyota sedan like Mike drove back home.

As Mike was soon to be sequestered into a non-stop series of never ending corporate meetings for the next week, Dave took it upon himself to make me welcome and "entertain" me for the next few days until his own services would be needed at the trade show, and entertain me he did! He showed me all of the sights, and especially made a point of taking me to where the very best designer shops could be found. We had our luncheons and dinners at quite 'suitable' places and 'allowed' him to take me to tres' fashionable nightspots for good champagne and dancing, never wasting an opportunity to compliment me on my appearance. Sensing that my gentleman host was quite taken with me, I told him of all of my woes and pumped him for every bit of corporate gossip and information that I could get and Dave, horrified at the ill-treatment that a "lady of obvious quality" had suffered at the hands of her uncouth and obviously inconsiderate husband, could not have made himself more helpful to me and seemed eager of be of any assistance to me.

My fears were well grounded, it seems, and rumors among the Marketing and Sales staff suggested that my husband and his hussy lover would be making regular use of the company hospitality suite during the trade show, which was due to start the next day. Also there were good rumors that Mike was about to receive a big promotion with a substantial pay raise and a very fat bonus! The timing seemed prefect! With Dave assisting me in getting a little evidence, and swearing he would be standing by my side throughout the entire affair (and afterwards), I could take Mike to the cleaners in the divorce trial and have plenty to set myself up with here in style (and perhaps with Dave afterwards), Houston didn't seem to be nearly the barbaric cow- town that I thought it would be, and that fat bonus should pay my new Country Club lifetime membership fees quite nicely!

Dave deserved a nice little reward for his efforts, but like a lady I teased him along but allowed him eventually a few kisses for his reward, hinted that my 'favors' would be much more forthcoming after Mike was trapped and my lucrative divorce proceedings started. Mother always said that men were "filthy minded pigs" (even alas the ones of supposed 'good breeding') and warned me often that even a 'good wife' never lets her husband see her naked, and that "relations" should be strictly rationed, and at most only once a month. Sage advice indeed, and it looked like delightful Dave might need a little managing later on, just like Mike did. Well, like Mike, he will soon learn who rules the roost!

Dave concocted a simple but very effective plan for me; I would meet him at the huge hotel bar where the trade show was occurring just before Noon. He would get me inside the show and get me access to all of the private events, included the 'infamous' party afterwards at the hospitality suite where Mike was "certain to be cavorting with his mistress". Most excellent! I permitted Dave a final goodbye kiss in the car in front of mine and Mike's hotel, and pretended not to notice when Dave briefly caressed and squeezed my right breast before I took my leave for the night. Entering our hotel room, I was not surprised to see my husband reading his trade journals in his bed (he knows how much I hate that, and this one of the many reasons I make him sleep in a separate bed!) With my victory so close at hand, I decided to forgo this evenings "fight" (as Mike would call it, I prefer the term "gentle corrections" of his seeming endless faults), and put the light out immediately.

Mike left early as usual in the morning without waking me, and he certainly knew better than to do so anyway (a lady requires her beauty sleep!) and getting up around 10AM I began to dress for my day of triumph, and met Dave downstairs at the bar precisely at 11:45 - I love it when a man is punctual!

Dave had a startling slight change of plans, however. One of the models ("booth babes" is their actual term) had to cancel at the last moment and he needed another 'very attractive woman' just to stand in one of the companies booths (for a new variety of motor oil, ick), smile and pass out flyers. This would offer the "perfect opportunity", Dave insisted, of getting complete 100% access to everything and everywhere at the trade show. I had some severe reservations, but allowed Dave to take me "backstage" to a nearby private room the Marketing and Sales staff was using as a break and preparation area. The area was well stocked with wine and liquor also, and I immediately fixed myself a few good morning glasses of champagne.

When I saw the dress I was to wear (if it fact that skimpy amount of material was enough to constitute a dress) I began to refuse to do this part of the plan entirely. "There had to be another way!" But Dave was gently assistive and told me that this was really the "only way", and at long last he reached into his pocket and handed me a small glass vial and suggest that I "take a moment in the ladies room to get myself composed", and seeing the contents of the vial, I did so at once.

It was cocaine, and I hadn't been able to 'indulge' in years, do you know how expensive and hard to find the stuff is in West Virginia? Mike had once found my pitiful little stash a few years after we were married, and threatened immediate divorce if I did not quit, especially, he reminded me "with my history". I couldn't afford for him to divorce me then, and I did have to promise to behave and resolved to hide my usage better. Cocaine and fine champagne are the only two acceptable drugs at the top of society and a necessary accessory to establish one's place as being among the privileged rich, and being above their lesser rivals.

"History" indeed. Ok, I admit that I enjoyed using it while at University perhaps 'just a bit too much' and I had quite the reputation at my elite Sorority (Sigma Lamda Tau, aka "Slut House") as being the wildest party girl on campus, until someone spilled the beans to Daddy and he cut my allowance to virtually nothing and threatened to pull me from school. After graduation I was married off indecently fast to a rising young Petrochemical Engineer, my now husband Mike, in an effort to keep me out of further trouble.

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