The Happy Hills Golf and Country Club was THE place to live. Four hundred plus homes on huge sites, together with two eighteen hole golf courses and the Club House and other amenities that go with great wealth, it was populated by those who called themselves Upper Crust, the hoiest of the hoi polloi. Loosely speaking, the people who lived at Happy Hills were the type who truly believed that their shit didn't stink.

Tom Wilson looked like a penguin in his Quarterly Formal Night at the Club, what with his newest tuxedo. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Jane Roberts, blue strapless showing off her creamy tits, two thousand at Saks. But his mind was underneath that dress, remembering the taste and aroma of her dripping twat and the softness of her mouth as it had so expertly serviced his cock that afternoon. Tom was supposed to have been playing golf at the time.

Bob Roberts, similarly dressed, stood next to his wife, but his gaze flitted back and forth between his wife Jane and Audrey Simons, wearing her flaming red outfit, twenty five hundred at Neiman. Bob's thoughts about that afternoon were of Audrey's awesome vaginal muscles and the way they had milked his cock and balls of all their juices. Bob had told his wife that he would be playing tennis.

Audrey's husband Steve Simons searched the ballroom until he saw Colette Green, ravishing as always in her lavender off the shoulder outfit, two thousand Euros in Paris. That afternoon her tight asshole had entertained Steve just the way he had always liked to be entertained, Audrey's rear entrance notwithstanding. Steve's wife thought that his statement about exercising meant that he would be in the Clubhouse gym, and had no clue that his planned exercises would be illegal in some jurisdictions.

And Dave Green, the senior member of the Board, was surreptitiously ogling Nancy Wilson, Tom's wife, in her basic black and white, eighteen hundred Euros in Italy. Dave was still distressed, even ashamed, of the ordeal he had put Nancy through that afternoon – though she always handled it well – at a time when he was allegedly in the Men's Card Room playing five and ten dollar poker.

Together, the closets of these four women were filled with clothing that had cost enough to maintain a small village, but none of the eight cared. The people of that small village lived in a different world. Each of the women was then best described as arm candy. All eight knew each other in their rarified gated enclave, their homes on three acres or larger plots with the two professional golf courses weaving among them, each winding up at the monstrous Clubhouse.

Tom had met Jane quite by accident. He had been walking toward the Men's Locker Room wearing his golf spikes when they caught on a piece of loose carpeting. Of course, the Maintenance Man in charge of that area was terminated that same day, but he's not part of this story. Anyway, the caught spike caused Tom to stumble, bouncing into Jane. Neither was hurt, Tom apologized and Jane smiled. At that point, Tom's nose began to twitch. A long time unrepentant pussy hound, Tom had learned to pick out those subtle clues which told him that a married woman could be had.

Tom bided his time for about a week, during which time he pleasured his cock with other available women in his stable, augmented by the occasional assistance of his strong right hand. Once he learned that Jane's husband Bob would be out of town on business for a few days, he made the call. One might refer to it as a 'fateful' call but to Tom it was merely the investment of a few minutes with the potential return of a nice piece of ass.

"Hi Jane, this is Tom Wilson. I want to apologize again for my clumsiness and make it up to you with a lunch."

"Well thanks," she said guardedly, "but I have someone here now. Could I call you back in a half hour?"

He gave her his office number and sat back in his chair, wondering if she would actually call. What he didn't know, what he would never know, was that the someone at Jane's home was the young man who tended to their swimming pool. That young man had just marinated Jane's pussy in a teaspoon full of sperm and was at the moment using his tongue to clean her out.

And what that young pool boy didn't know was that Jane fully understood the meaning of Tom's call and fully intended to call him back. She knew her talents and, unless she was badly mistaken, that pool boy would have competition for Jane's time. Though she might shut him out totally altogether.

Jane called Tom back, accepted his offer of lunch the following day and smiled herself to sleep that night. Lunch was at an upscale restaurant – neither of them ever patronized anyplace but upscale – near Tom's office. The meal and the coffee afterward were spiced with meaningless chit-chat. Then Tom put on his serious voice.

"You know what I wanted to ask you," he began rhetorically.

"Of course I do," she interrupted him. "That's why I'm not wearing any panties today. The question is where?"

It took Tom a moment to recover his aplomb. "Well, the firm has an apartment for out-of-town clients..."

Again she interrupted. Standing up, she said, "Finish your coffee and let's go."

And so began three months of Tom cuckolding his friend Bob.

On the afternoon in question, the day of the Formal Night at the Club, Tom and Jane met at the apartment. Though used to each other by then, they were still in serious heat and lust. Nevertheless, by then each was comfortable in confining their thrice weekly get-togethers to oral sex, soixante neuf, a six and a nine determined to please each other. Tom loved best of all having his cock sucked, a practice his wife Nancy considered to be slutty – at least with him. In return, Tom was willing, nay, thrilled, to eat Jane's pussy for as long as she could hold out. For her part, Jane felt that making a man eat her out was one of the most degrading thing she could impose upon him, and that's why she loved it so much, enough so that she was willing to blow him as compensation.

They were so hot for each other that they didn't bother with the old seduction ritual of undressing one another. Each quickly went to one side of the bed and disrobed quickly, throwing clothing one way and their bodies into the middle of the bed. Jane was there first and Tom connected first, his hands rough in spreading her legs and his head into her welcoming vee instantly. The aroma drifting upward from her pinkness was like nectar to his nostrils. His lips softly kissed her damp slit. It took Jane longer to twist her head under and between his legs, her eyes and then her mouth searching for the hardness she had come to love ever since that first night with her Dad. But that's for a different story.

Tom licked up and down her slit for a short while. Then, as she had long since trained him, he stretched his neck further, running his tongue down along her 'taint' to her perfect circle of a rear entrance. It was to Jane the absolutely worst thing she could ask of him, the most degrading, and yet to Tom it was the slightest of prices for him to pay for the pleasing talents of her tongue. But then it was back to her pussy, to drive his tongue inside her folds, and finally to take her clit into his lips for that awesome trip to Paradise.

For her part, Jane used lips and tongue to arouse what was already aroused, to excite, to tease. She licked his purple crown, scooping with her tongue the tiny droplet of clear fluid that for some reason always oozes out of the male slit. She puffed with warm air, reminding Tom that her work was for some silly reason known to all the world as a blow job. She licked along his hard shaft, a claimed seven inches that she had never bothered to measure. She fondled his sac with fingers, then tongue and ultimately lips, letting those two little guys know that they weren't forgotten.

And then she latched on, sucking to Tom's heart's desires, her head bobbing as for apples at a Halloween party, all the while feeling Tom's lips sucking her clit as a lamb at the teat. With all their practice, they exploded as one, exchanging fluids that they would soon return to each other when they began their post-orgasmic kissing.

To the untrained fly on the wall, it looked as if they were two lovers pleasing each other. In fact, they were two lustful people using each other to obtain their own pleasures. They showed that themselves by never exchanging a single word on the ride back.

Bob and Audrey alas were truly in love. Their fucking began in lust and slowly turned into love. If only they had met earlier in life. Bob had started out as an ordinary faithful husband, given to the occasional fantasy but never having the nerve to try. Then one evening he was working late at the small office where he had started out, the place that had given him the start to his current great wealth. Hearing unexpected noises from a supposedly vacant office, he had opened the door. Lo and behold, there was his co-worker pronging the company receptionist doggy style.

"Want to join us?" asked the nubile nymphet. Bob hadn't the slightest idea whether either of them was encumbered by spouse, nor did he have any morality problems if they were. But the sudden opportunity to satisfy his simple fantasy – which was for any different piece of ass – manifested itself in an instant hard-on. Quickly deciding that his co-worker would be the perfect alibi if Jane questioned his whereabouts – how could he know that Jane herself was putting out for anyone with a cock – he gladly joined in. The girl took Bob orally while the co-worker finished her off vaginally. After he filled her mouth with his concoction of sperm mixed in semen, she let him know that she was available at any time.

Although Bob took advantage of the offer about once a week, the more important result was that he came to realize first, that he liked the idea of fucking someone other than Jane, hot though she was, and second, that he could get away with it. And so Bob joined the world of the philanderer, hitting on different women whenever he thought that he might score. Sometimes he struck out, but often enough he got his pipes cleaned and went home happy.

Audrey too had always stayed within the bounds of her marital vows. Yes, she was a flirt, might even have been deemed a coquette – whatever that means – but most of the men at the Club knew that her actions were merely friendly teasing. Once in a while, a man might make an actual pass at her, but Audrey was talented enough to turn them away without offending them. They always remained friends.

Sexually, her husband Steve could be rough at times. He often wanted – and got – from Audrey things that she didn't care for in bed. Among other things, she never liked it when Steve slid a finger inside her ass, and liked it even less when that finger was replaced by the one he used to count up to eleven. Oh shit, did that hurt! But it was her marital duty, so her mother had taught her, and Audrey never fought back.

Steve also had another problem. He enjoyed the fruit of the vine – by which euphemism I mean to include hard liquor. One or more martinis at a long lunch, something harder before the drive home, and merlot always on the table at dinner, all these affected his inhibitions beyond what they might do to his liver. And sometimes Audrey thought that she notices the faint aroma of an unfamiliar scent on her husband.

All these things weighed on her mind, daily, and so it was when Bob, by then a Club resident, casually suggested a lunch date, she accepted without hesitation. In the back of her mind, she knew that Bob's intentions were not so admirable, and she wondered how she would react. So she was quite surprised when nothing happened at lunch beyond the most innocent of touches to her hand. She actually wondered if she should have been offended, but decided against it. Yet she couldn't get Bob out of her mind.

Two weeks later, they met for another lunch. The discussion then went beyond the Club politics that had been the subject previously. Audrey mentioned her husband's drinking, though she kept his sexual preferences and possible adultery to herself. Bob was more open in discussing his business affairs and the growth of wealth that moved him into the elite community. Still, there was tension in the air, tension so thick that one could cut it with a knife. Yet nothing progressed beyond more open touching of her hand and an air kiss as they parted.

Audrey had no choice but to go home and masturbate fiercely. She couldn't understand why she was so hot for Bob; not necessarily for his body but at least for him to ask for her body. Perhaps because he was so casual about their meetings? He was certainly no Adonis, but there was something about him, some je ne sais quoi. Outwardly he was just Clark Kent. Underneath, maybe he was Superman. Not that she needed a man of steel for her loins, but definitely for her psyche.

"Why do you keep asking me out for lunch?" She had been torn between asking that question or remaining silent.

Bob too was torn, though he had no doubt about the real answer. "Because I'd like to make love with you."

Audrey melted. Her pussy gushed. She feared that her skirt would show a huge wet spot. And as much as she had been wanting to hear that question from Bob, and as much as she had thought that she knew what her answer would be, she couldn't help but hesitate. But not for too long. Finally she spoke, actually whispered.

"That would be nice."

She spoke so softly that Bob couldn't really hear her. However, the words were few enough that he could read her lips. And he saw her shy smile.

The Happy Hills Motel was two exits down the Interstate. The six day (never on Sunday) afternoon desk clerk was a woman named Liz. A woman of the world, Liz could spot a cheating husband a mile away. She collected cash only, no receipt, and generated a single use key card, such as what clerks give when a potential customer wishes to see the room before deciding to take it. When the couple had completed their fucking, usually within two hours, Liz changed the cum stained sheets herself. She took them home and washed and ironed them, so that they never were counted by the Laundry service and thus never made management suspicious.

Bob had been there often enough that Liz knew to give him the room farthest away from any foot traffic or prying eyes. Heck, she had even spent some quality time with him in that room, but as before, that's for a different story. As it happened that first day, Bob and Audrey were out of there in under an hour. Audrey Simons, if she lived to be one hundred, would never forget that hour. Yet she was so bedazzled by the concept of sharing a bed with someone other than her husband Steve that she couldn't remember even one single moment of that hour. Except for the fact that Bob had taken the trouble to make her cum.

On their second visit to the Happy Hills Motel, Audrey told Bob that she was in love with him. Bob had previously heard that from other women du jour but never on a second fuck; it made him nervous, and he never returned the compliment. On their third date, with Liz the desk clerk beginning to envision a lifetime annuity of stolen room rent, Bob surprised himself by telling Audrey that he loved her. What terrified Bob was that he was telling the truth.

On the afternoon of Formal Night at the Club, with Liz realizing that they were starting to take more than the standard two hours each time, Bob and Audrey were kissing deeply the moment that they closed the door to their love nest. To say that their hands were all over each other would be misleading, because both of Audrey's hands were on the back of Bob's neck and his were on the small of her back. Hugging tightly, he could feel the press of her breasts on his chest while she could feel his arousal against her loins. Yet the touches were not sexual; rather they were affectionate.

But no matter how much they loved each other, their touches could not remain chaste for very long. They parted and slowly began to undress one another. Audrey opened Bob's shirt buttons and her hands reached to tweak his nipples, useless as the proverbial tits on a bull but actually effective for his arousal. Bob pulled her sweater over her head and reached behind her to unhook her bra. It dropped to the ground as he gently kneaded the soft orbs with which women nurse their children – and sometimes their lovers.

She opened his belt and zipper, watching as his slacks dropped to the floor. Her hands quickly pulled down his shorts. As his hard manhood popped into view, Audrey bent and gave his crown the slightest of kisses, smiling broadly.

Bob opened her skirt in the same manner, and it too hit the floor. Audrey wore lace panties, but not for much longer, when they revealed her damp pubic hair hiding her vaginal opening. She had so wanted to shave herself bald down there but was sure that her husband would guess the truth.

Bob dropped to one knee and bent to give her pubes a kiss. To Audrey, imagining her lover as in a fairy tale, it seemed as though her was kneeling before Her Royal Highness to receive a knighthood. For Audrey knew that she would gladly give to Bob everything that it was in her power to give.

But as he kissed her womanhood, Bob's hands were on her ass cheeks, pulling her toward his face. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from flinching, to keep from tightening her butt cheeks as his touch reminded her of the vile, painful, degrading anal assaults from her husband.

Bob led his lover to their adulterous bed. They lay quietly, facing each other, hugging. But nothing else. Though their mouths were closed and quiet, their eyes spoke volumes about a love that neither had ever expected. They had all the time in the world. The desk clerk never rang the phone to rush them; she could tell from the look on Bob's face when she gave him the keycard that they were in love.

When the lovers did speak to each other in bed, it was about fantasies, about never having to go home to someone else, about their dreams and desires, about vacations to Tahiti or other South Pacific islands that they knew they would never get to see, not with each other anyway.

But then it was time, time to do that beautiful thing that couldn't be done over the telephone, not properly anyway. They kissed, tongues negotiating for position inside each others' mouths. Bob reached down to touch her, to feel between her legs, to her soaking secret place. She rolled onto her back, her legs parting, making it easier for him to touch. She reached out to her lover's tumescent maleness, his member, his tool, his beautiful cock. Bob levered himself over her as she led him into her wetness.

He slid into her loins right up to the hilt. The hilt, such a bellicose word for a coupling so tender. Their parts might separate once his sperm spewed out to lubricate those parts but the coupling would be forever in their hearts. He stroked into her vagina, then raised up for another stroke. She lifted her hips to keep him contained, then allowed his cock to press her down as he lunged again.