Her Secret Past
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Cheating, Slut Wife, Exhibitionism, Slow,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - His mistake opens the door to her secret past.
I was walking down the terminal searching for the gate to my connecting flight at the Atlanta terminal when it all fell apart. I had just turned on my cell phone so that I could check in with my secretary when it rang in my hand. The caller ID showed that it was my wife's cell phone.
"You Son-of-A-Bitch!" My wife's tearful anger radiated from the cell phone I held to my ear. "How could you do that to me?"
The phone clicked in my ear and I was listening to my own heart racing. My guilty conscience filled in the rest.
I work for a large high tech consulting firm, one of the original "Beltway-Bandits." We have a program that brings in college juniors and seniors for 2 month summer internships. The kids get a little real work experience and a summer job. We get slave labor and the chance to try out a lot of would be hires without having to commit to hiring them permanently.
Last Friday we had a going away party at the office for the interns that had been our copy slaves and coffee gofers for us over their summer break. Our group had five interns assigned to us. We were not going to end up hiring any of them. They were bright and hard working, but our firm demands far more than that. These kids would all be fine for most places, but we were looking for the cream of the crop, people with the smarts, personality, and drive to be the best in the business. All of these kids had one or two of those qualities, but no one was a complete package.
Sandy Mathers had the smarts and personality, but her drive was going to ensure that the best she could hope for was to catch a wealthy husband. That way she would be able to live off of his income while spending her time shopping at the exclusive stores and toning herself at the gym. She was a beautiful little dark eyed brunette with a happy personality. She just didn't have the hard charging "I'll work 'til I drop" attitude we look for in our new hires. Her attitude was that work was a social event that took second place to her evening and weekend social whirl.
We combined their going away party with celebrating the win of a new government contract that would keep us feeding at the public trough for years to come. The proposal and award process had been arduous and everyone in my group had put in lots of work on it. After the soft drinks and cookies stage of the party most of us went to the local sports bar for wings and beer.
Without going into too much detail (I'm kinda fuzzy on it anyway... ), I ended up in the parking lot with little Sandy. We were both drunkenly groping and kissing each other. Then, she dropped her head into my lap and proceeded to give me an unskilled blow job. This was my only marital indiscretion — the result of lots of work stress being cut loose, too much beer, and a cute little twenty two year old with her hand on my leg.
Lame excuses aside, I knew I screwed up. I was wracked with guilt from the time it happened. To make matters worse, I had to leave the following Monday for a five day business trip. I spent the weekend trying to be extra nice to my wife to assuage my guilty conscience.
I didn't know if it was one of the wives that came to the sports bar that spotted what happened in that parking lot and told my wife, or if Sandy had done or said something that got back to my wife. Whatever it was, something had happened. Before I even got all the way out of town, someone had said something to my wife. Last night and over the weekend we had chatted and played with no sign of any problems beyond my guilty conscience. Then, just as I was moving through the crowds to get to my connecting flight was the call that changed everything.
I was devastated. I tried calling her back to no avail. The house line just rang. She'd turned off the answering machine. Her cell phone rolled over to voice mail. I couldn't think of anything I could say to the machine that could express my feelings adequately, so I just hung up. The two and a half hour flight was hell. I ran scenarios over and over of what could have happened, and of how to properly beg for forgiveness from the love of my life.
I arrived at my destination and tried calling again. This time she answered her cell phone. Her voice was all but emotionless this time.
She answered the phone with, "Please stop calling me. I need some time."
"I can get a flight back leaving in an hour," I said. " We need to talk."
"No. Stay there. Do your work. I need time. Don't call me. I'll call you in a couple of days." CLICK. The line disconnected.
I went on to my meetings. I was a total zombie there. It was fortunate that I had done enough prep work to fake my way through things on autopilot. My thoughts were definitely not on what was in front of me. Monday and Tuesday nights were hell. I wanted to call Debbie so much, but didn't want to push her. If she needed time to come to grips with my stupid mistake, then I would give it to her. I spent the evening playing scenarios in my head of what I could say or do to make it up to her. I was an emotional wreck. The lack of sleep and not having an appetite was turning me into a physical wreck as well.
Wednesday evening was particularly hard. I was guessing that she would call that night so I left early and grabbed a greaseburger and fries on the way from work to the hotel. I sat on the bed staring at my cell phone from five until eight that evening, checking every five minutes that the battery was fully charged and that I had a strong signal. I almost fainted with relief when she called right at eight.
I held the phone, looking at the caller ID, and took a deep breath. "Hello, Debbie. Thanks for calling," I answered with my planned opening. I paused to let her respond.
"I said I would. I told you I needed time," she said quietly. "We need to talk about things — lot's of things. And I don't think the phone is the best way to do it."
"I can get a flight out first thing in the morning," I leapt in. I wanted to get face to face with her and explain what happened and that I realized how I had hurt her and us with my stupidity. "I know you are hurt and I want to make it right. I love you dearly and have made an awful mistake. You are so important to me. I never wanted to hurt you. I can make it up..." I was babbling. Bits and pieces of all the little preplanned speeches were trying to gush out.
"No," she cut me off. "I still need this time. I need to put things in perspective. I love you. I don't want to be without you. But I need to handle my own feelings on this before I will know how to forgive you. You shattered the world I built. I need time to find a place to start rebuilding again."
I wasn't sure what she was talking about. Rebuilding? It sounded like something from Oprah or Cosmo to me. It was the kind of woman talk that never made sense to men. All I got from what she said was that she wasn't cutting me out of her life and that forgiveness was in the works. I should have listened better.
"OK, honey. I'll give you all the time and space you need. Like I said, I know I've done wrong and want to make things right again," I said. "But, can I call in the evenings?"
"I'd rather not," she replied. " I don't want to try to deal with things on the phone. Lets use this as some cooling off time. I'll see you at the airport on Friday evening, OK?"
"Well ... alright. But don't hesitate to call anytime you need anything. I'll be happy to drop everything and come home right away."
"I'll call if I need. Otherwise, I'll see you on Friday."
"I love you," I said. But she had already hung up.
Patience was never a virtue that I possessed in measure. The next day at lunch I wrapped things up and headed to the airport a day early. I debated calling her to tell her I was on the way, but decided that she would try to get me to hold off for another day. I couldn't do that.
I took a taxi home from the airport. It was about 9:00 in the evening by the time the cab found it's way out to our little piece of suburbia. The house was dark and empty. Debbie was nowhere to be found.
I tried her phone once I got in and settled a little. No luck, so I called a couple of her friends. I told them I got in early and was looking for Debbie to let her know I was in — no luck. My next step was to open the liquor cabinet and commune with Jack Daniels.
It was much, much later when I was shaken awake by my wife. I had put away more alcohol in a few hours than I normally drink in a year. As I blearily came back to a semi-conscious state, I realized that she was dressed to kill. She had on a short black skirt that showed her sexy legs to great advantage. Her athletic build was displayed beautifully. The white knit top hugged her small firm breasts tightly enough to demonstrate to all that she didn't need a bra. I was too fuzzy to tell if the smudged makeup and less than crisp look was due to my blurry eyes or real. She led me to the bedroom, got my shoes and belt off and let me crash without a word being spoken.
I woke late the next morning. The sunshine peeking through a crack in the curtains was blinding. It took me the better part of an hour to shower, dress, and start operating in a non-zombie mode. I tried to understand the fuzzy memories of being led to bed by my sexily dressed wife. I saw no evidence of her having been in the bedroom or the bath.
The smell of a big breakfast hit me as I entered the kitchen. I knew she was home. Debbie pointed me to the table and set a plate in front of me. "Eat up," she said, "Then we have some talking to do."
Breakfast was almost normal — except for the tension in my gut. Debbie caught me up on the domestic goings on; one of the sprinkler heads was stuck and not working, her car had been named in a recall for a new airbag, I needed to fill out some information for the new health insurance program that my company had switched to. Very normal day-to-day stuff.
After we ate and cleaned up, Debbie led me into the dining room and we sat across the table from each other.
"Why did you come home last night?" she asked me.
"I couldn't work for the worry. I wanted to sit with you and try to make things right. I wanted to apologize for what I did and try to start getting us past it." I looked at her across the table, "Let's go sit on the couch together. It'll be more comfortable."
"No. A little discomfort is better right now," she stated. "What do you remember of last night?"
"Not much. Just that you helped me upstairs and put me to bed. I waited for you for hours," I complained. Then I kicked myself. I didn't need to attack. I needed to be contrite and start working to build her trust. Damn!
"You seem to have occupied yourself quite well," she said. "You were pretty wasted."
"I've been very upset..." I began.
"So have I," she said calmly. "More upset than you may realize. You don't have any idea how your actions have upset my world."
I had been ready for tears and anger like that first phone call. This deliberate calmness from her was unsettling. This discussion was not going anywhere near the way I had envisioned it.
"You really don't know. You don't know me. You don't know what this has done to me," she said. "If we are going to work things out ... going to stay together, then you have to understand. You have to know all about me."
I was stunned into silence. How could my wife of ten years be saying this. I knew her better than anyone on the planet. Her father died before she was born. Then, her mother was killed in a car wreck when Debbie was 13 and raised by foster parents that had taken care of her until she finished high school. We met in college and married two weeks after we both graduated.
I reflected back on our first months together. I had just finished my undergraduate degree and had started an MBA program at UT in Austin. Debbie was an incoming junior transferring to UT from the branch campus down in San Antonio.
I met her at the student union one day in September. It was smoking hot like only Texas can get in September. I had found a cool dark hidden corner in the building that suited me well for studying. I was lost in reading when I was interrupted by someone tapping my shoulder.
"Uhm ... is it ok ... I mean do you mind if I share your table?" a soft female voice asked.
I looked up and my heart skipped a beat. Here was this petite little blue eyed blonde asking if she could sit at my table. She was wearing athletic shorts and a dark t-shirt. Her legs looked tan and strong. She looked like she had been built out of my dream idea of what a woman should look like.
By the end of that first meeting I realized that I liked much more than her looks. We really clicked. We were both new to the school and had not had a lot of social contact with anyone there. We both liked that quiet corner for study. And, most important of all, we really liked each other.
We dated for a couple of months before we went beyond light petting. I'll never forget the first time I saw her naked. She had come back with me to my little apartment after we had seen some movie together. We were sitting on the couch kissing and cuddling when she suddenly pulled back from me. I was taken aback. I hadn't had "wandering hands" or done anything.
Her words explained it to me. "Please, make love to me," she said shyly. Then she stood up and began undressing.
I sat and watched hungrily as she removed her clothes. She didn't dance or perform a strip tease, she simply removed her clothing until she stood naked before me. God! She was breathtaking. I could see the curves of her body. Her breasts were beautiful little handfuls topped with crinkled aureoles and hard pink nipples. She had shaved her self down to what I have always called a "racing stripe". Even better, I could see the shape of that sexy little triangle gap formed where her thighs met her pudenda. Her pussy lips were pink, verging on red with excitement.
I fell to my knees in front of her and began nuzzling and licking at her pussy. It wasn't long before she was on her back on the floor pushing her hips up to meet my face and fingers. She was sweet tasting and incredibly responsive. I also found that she was multi-orgasmic. Once she started coming, she seemed to stay there and peak to a mini-orgasm over and over.
Finally, after about ten minutes of constant orgasm she pushed my hand away and rolled to her side moaning, "Oh God. I want more but I'm way to sensitive to go on."
I pulled my clothes off, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom. I laid her carefully on the bed and gave her a long slow backrub. I was straddling her and my very hard cock was nestled in the crease of her tight little butt. Before long I noticed that Debbie was moving her hips against me. I pulled back a little and placed the head of my cock against her beautiful pussy lips. With a groan of delayed ecstasy, I slid myself into her dripping hot canal.
She continued grinding her hips under me while I slid in and out of her. My balls were dragging against her legs and providing me extra stimulation that was driving me wild. Debbie pulled one of my hands to her face and began giving "head" to one of my fingers. I didn't last long.
Once I came, Debbie rolled over and took me in her hand and stroked and massaged my cock and balls until I was fully hard again. Then she pushed me on my back and straddled me. We spent the next thirty minutes in that position moving against each other. Sometimes she would sit up and I would reach up and massage her little breasts and pull on her nipples. Other times she would hug me tight and hump hard against me. Finally she leaned down and kissed me as I felt her start coming over and over while she ground against me. Her tongue and mine dueled and explored each others mouths until I felt my nuts tighten and then I exploded into her. It was some of the most intense sex I had ever had.
We continued dating, and having hot sex, through graduation. The wedding followed shortly after that. I had been recruited by a top notch consulting firm in the DC area, and Debbie picked up a nice job as an office manager for a defense contractor. Life fell into the standard yuppie routine — long hours and a diminishing, but still satisfying, sex life. That is where we were when all of this happened.
"What do you know about me?" Debbie asked me. "I mean from before we met."
"Well ... the Johnsons took you in when your parents died in the wreck. You went to Churchill High School down in San Antonio. You started college at UTSA..." I groped along. I wasn't really sure what she wanted.
"That's all true, but what do you know about me from back then?" She asked.
"I uhh ... well, the Johnsons were nice enough, you had a fairly normal life outside of losing your folks..."
"You really don't know much about me from then. Haven't you ever been curious about why I don't seem to have a lot of friends from back then? Didn't you wonder why I wanted a simple civil ceremony instead of a big wedding with family and friends from everywhere?"
"Not really. We were happy together, that is what mattered." I replied lamely.
"You are a bright guy, but sometimes you can be pretty blind." She said, quietly. There was a pause. She seemed to be gathering herself. "What I need to tell you is pretty involved. There is a whole side to me that you don't know — have never known."
My jaw moved, but no sounds came from my mouth. This was so far from anything I expected that I had no response. I had no clue what she was talking about.
She clasped her hands in front of her at the table. "Your little dalliance was the straw that broke the camel's back. It caused me to revisit some things about myself ... decisions I made before we met."
I was lost. I didn't know where she was going, but I thought I'd at least try to throw myself on her mercy again. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I had too much to drink and..."
Debbie cut me off. "I know what happened. You've been focused on that contract. You were the one responsible for much of the proposal development. The stress, the drinks, and the little bimbo fluttering her eyes at you came together in a 'perfect storm'. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I know. I'm pretty much past all of that at this point," she said, startling me. "This isn't just about your monumental stupidity the other day. That was just the precipitating incident. All the factors that led me to reconsider myself were building anyway."
Honesty. Sheer open honesty, I decided. That would be my only saving grace here. "I have no idea what we are talking about. I'm sorry babe, but I'm lost. I did something stupid that I have regretted since I did it. I hate that it hurt you and hurt your trust in me. But I'm confused and don't have a clue about what you are telling me."
Debbie looked at me for a long time. Finally she took a deep breath and said, "Okay. I want you to listen to me. No interruptions, no questions, nothing unless I ask a specific question of you. You can ask all you want when I'm done. Will you do that for me?"
"Sure, honey. Anything you say." Where was she going with this?
"Moving to Austin was a big change for me. It was a lot more than going from the small school to the big time university and moving from the mostly conservative city I grew up in to the home of every hippy dippy fruitcake in the state of Texas." she paused a moment before continuing. "I was turning over a new leaf. I remade myself when I moved to Austin. The girl you met in the student union that fall wasn't the same one that had been in San Antonio the previous summer. Not by a long ways."
"Honey, everyone changes during those years, whether they are in college or not. There is usually a lot of maturing that goes on at that age."
She looked at me and shook her head. "You don't get it. You have always seen me as a 'good girl' — a modern version of of ... I don't know. Maybe June Cleaver and Carol Brady combined with Gidget or something. That wasn't me. Not from the start of high school until I left San Antonio."
"But ... but what does that have to do with..." I fumbled.
"No interruptions!" she said. "Just listen to me."
I nodded in confused response. Her next words froze me in place.
"I was a slut," she said looking me in the eye. "I fucked hundreds of men and women between the end of middle school and when I moved to Austin. I loved anonymous sex. I couldn't get enough. I would fuck just about anyone — young, old, fat, nasty. In fact, the nastier the better most times. I liked hot nasty sex. I loved doing the taboo, breaking the rules. Once I got going, I'd have evening long orgasms. Some nights I'd fuck six or eight guys in a row. I'd go to a club and drag them around back or into the parking lot one at a time. Other times, I'd take them on in groups. Over those years, I fucked my teachers, I fucked the neighbors, and I fucked most of my high school class. I also fucked the Johnsons — a lot."
I remained frozen. The activities she was describing were so ... so not my wife. I couldn't process it. It was a massive case of cognitive dissonance. It is fair to say that I was in shock as well as plain shocked. I felt my face go numb. My breathing was shallow and I broke out in a cold sweat.
Debbie continued without mercy. "The Johnsons were ... different. When I first moved in with them I was mostly lost in my own grief and didn't notice anything. After being there for about six months, I started paying more attention. Turns out they were very active swingers, or rather Linda was very promiscuous. Larry played around some. Linda seduced me when I started asking questions about her "nights out". Then she encouraged me to start having sex with classmates. I took to it like a Democrat to tax dollars. My junior year in high school, I tripped Larry. The rest of the time I lived with them, I slept in bed with the two of them."
I still had no response. What could I say? Maybe a disinterested bystander could come up with a reasonable response to this, but my brain and body were stunned into paralysis.
"I got into some pretty damn kinky stuff my freshman year at UTSA. I played with a bunch of folk into BDSM. I was tied up and whipped. I was spanked with a switch in front of an audience. I also tried the other side of the game — I topped men and women. I was good at it, too. Come to think about it, I was a pretty good bottom as well." She paused with a far away look in her eye. Then she shook her head as if forcing herself back on target. "I had a lot of fun with all of that kinky stuff, but it paled after a while. By the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, I was looking for something more. I had a few regular lovers that I started playing in public with. I loved the sneaky sex in dressing rooms or bathrooms. The thought of getting caught was a real thrill ... almost as big as the thrill of actually getting caught." Again, she drifted away in her private memories.
"Uhm ... Debbie." I said. "I don't know what to say. How did you ... what happened? I mean ... I never saw any hint of that in you." I wasn't up to eloquence at that point, but my brain was starting to come back on line a little.
"I think you've had enough for the moment. You look pretty rough. I'll give you a little time to absorb things. There is a lot more for me to tell you if you want to hear it." She looked at her watch, "I'm going to the store. I'll be back in two or three hours. When I get back I'll tell you more if you want to hear it. If, while I'm gone, you decide you can't live with who I was ... who I am, then I'll pack a bag and get out of your life."
I was recovered enough to realize that I did need some time to process things a bit. "Okay. I'll be here, but you won't need to pack a bag. I love you and that isn't going to change."
She smiled sadly. "You need to hear the rest before you decide anything."
With that she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.