Never Too Late
Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Cheating, Light Bond, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Slow,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - After returning to college in order to qualify for an important promotion, Peter Saunders discovers his wife having an affair with a work colleague. Devastated, but afraid to confront her with the truth, he instead embarks on a relationship with a young student. Torn between both women, he must decide whether to try to salvage his marriage or risk all to pursue a possible future with his new love.

"It's never too late," Sir Paul stated emphatically as I sat across the expanse of his mahogany desk, feeling like a disappointed schoolboy facing an irate parent after failing to achieve the expected results in the end-of-term exams.

Professor Sir Paul Sheridan, proprietor and managing director of Sheridan Consulting, stared me squarely in the eye, almost challenging me not to accept his suggestion.

I was already edgy, having recently had the temerity to apply for the post of technical director, a position vacated several months earlier when the previous occupant of the job had departed to explore alternate avenues of employment.

"I don't know," I confessed, "it's been many years since I was last at school."

After completing 'A' levels, I'd left school at eighteen to pursue a career in the British Army, much to the exasperation of my parents. The Royal Engineers had given me a deep understanding of mechanics, and even provided a fairly comprehensive introduction into the arcane mysteries of the electronics and software that formed a fundamental part of modern warfare systems. Leaving the services in my mid-twenties, I'd joined Sheridan Consulting during its formative years to eventually become one of its chief project engineers.

"Universities are nothing like school, Peter," Sheridan replied. "They're the bastion of the academic establishment; their teaching is the foundation of all good business."

Whilst I respected Sir Paul as a boss, his assertion that three years of study could in any way compensate for fifteen years of relevant experience left me slightly chagrined. Over the past few years, I'd had the dubious honour of interviewing newly graduated applicants and, other than the few notable exceptions, would not have employed any of them in more than a rudimentary capacity. Many possessed tenuous numeracy skills and seemed to have little awareness of anything outside their chosen area of study. Sir Paul however, a renowned academic before his foray into the commercial world, was of a mindset that firmly believed the fallacy that a first class honours degree from a 'red brick' university was an absolute guarantee of suitability, despite all evidence to the contrary. Even several bad experiences had failed to dispel the myth that education surpasses experience.

All the company directors had degrees, mostly masters, in one field or another. Sir Paul had an unwritten rule that a seat at the top table was not awarded without some form of suitable qualification. On his business card the letters after his name needed a line all to themselves; something I'm sure he believed impressed his potential clients. I was on first name terms with most of the people responsible for placing work with the firm, dealing with all matters from contract negotiation to drafting technical specifications. Only the final signing on the dotted line was left to the directors. I felt that I did all the hard graft whilst others took the recognition for my efforts.


"I need to think about it sir," I replied. "It's a pretty big step."

"You can continue to work on projects between terms," he informed me. "We'll meet the cost of all your fees and keep you on full salary for the duration of the course."

"That's very generous, Sir Paul. It's just the workload that worries me the most."

I feared not only the workload, but the prospect of having to learn countless quantities of unfathomable information, competing head-on with those that had spent the last umpteen years soaking up whatever fad syllabus the government last dreamt up.

"Go home, talk about it with Vanessa, and give me an answer as soon as you're ready. I have several contacts within Imperial's engineering faculty. I'm confident I can pull a few strings and get you enrolled for the upcoming academic year."

It was already early August and I suspected it would be no mean feat to circumvent all the red tape and process my application within the six weeks before the term commenced. Sir Paul rarely boasted, so I assumed, by one means or another, it would happen.

We chatted briefly about the progress of ongoing projects, and who would shepherd them to completion in my absence. With that concluded, I left his office, pausing to smile tentatively at Janice Flowers, Sir Paul's personal assistant.

Janice was fifty years old, matronly, and a solid administrator, compensating for Sir Paul's often scatterbrained approach to organisation. Over the years, we'd developed a healthy rapport with both of us firmly believing the company would fall into disarray without us.

"Did he give you a hard time?" she asked sympathetically.

"He wants to send me back to bloody school," I complained. "Twelve years working for the firm in one capacity or another, and I can't advance any further without a meaningless piece of paper to say I can do what I'm already doing."

Janice nodded. "He's a bit of a stickler in that regard. I tried putting in my two-penneth for what it's worth, but he's absolutely adamant."

"Thanks for trying, Janice."

"You'd think he'd be open to change, particularly after what happened with Richard."

Until last February, Doctor Richard Penrose was technical director, until he left to set up his own consultancy in direct competition. Sir Paul was rumoured to be furious at what he saw as an outright betrayal; however, lax contractual arrangements had denied him the possibility of seeking redress using the law to prevent the man appropriating a number of choice clients.

A few members of our engineering staff departed to join him, but fortunately nobody that, in my honest opinion, was crucial to our operation. Of those that left, one man came crawling back two months later, and I graciously allowed him to return to the fold. The horror stories that he brought back supported my own decision to reject Richard's offer of employment, despite the increase in salary involved. I suspected that even his competitive rates would not save him from extinction in the long term.

I synchronised my laptop with the server and prepared to return home to discuss the matter with Vanessa, my wife of almost nine years. Vanessa taught full time at the local primary school, concentrating on reception and early school years. She had recently been appointed deputy head of the lower school and also represented the school on the board of the local education authority. It kept her busy; too busy she said to consider the possibility of starting our own family. This was a subject of disagreement between the two of us.

Coming from a relatively large family, three sisters and a brother, it was a source of great disappointment to all that I had yet to produce offspring. All my siblings had well developed families that brought the combined count of nephews and nieces well into double figures. Friendly jibes as to when I would be adding to the tally produced profound unhappiness on my part but only indifference from my wife, who feared taking a career break would hamper her ultimate goal of attaining headship.

Vanessa was already at home when I arrived. A large pile of paperwork was strewn out on a side table for later in the evening. Delicious cooking aromas fanned through from the kitchen, aromatic spices hinting at the curry to come.

"How did it go?" she asked with concern as she noted my sullen expression.

"He wants me to go back to college, probably in the city."

"It seems silly. You've been with them for nearly a dozen years. You'd think he could compromise, particularly when you could probably move somewhere else and put fifty percent on your salary."

I edged up behind Vanessa and slipped my hands around her waist, burying my face in the light brown tresses of her shoulder length hair and inhaling the scent of her shampoo. I rubbed up against her, grinding my cock into the crease of her backside. Vanessa giggled and slipped free, bending down to retrieve a packet from a low storage cupboard. I slapped her playfully on the rump and then quickly retreated to extract a bottled beer from the fridge as she tipped a carefully measured quantity of rice into a saucepan.

Flicking off the bottle top with an opener, I poured the contents into a tall glass. I smacked my lips around the first mouthful of the chilled German lager and then sat down at the breakfast bar to savour it while my wife flitted around with final dinner preparations.

We'd met whilst I was visiting a client and she was staying at the same hotel to attend a teaching conference. We'd shared a table and pleasant conversation, leading to a two-year courtship and then marriage. Our joint earnings provided us with enough equity to put down the deposit on a large five-bedroom detached house. It was far too big for just the pair of us but I viewed the empty bedrooms as placeholders for the children that would one day occupy them.

"I don't know what to do for the best," I admitted. "I don't particularly want to look around for a new job but on the other hand, I certainly don't relish the prospect of spending three years trying to learn all manner of nonsense that I'll probably never use again."

"You could always carry on as you were. We're not hurting financially, unlike a lot of people."

"I'd like to provide better for us. The time will come when we want to start a family and we'll lose your wage. Keeping up the mortgage payments on just my salary alone would be tough."

"We don't have to have children," Vanessa replied. "Many professional couples decide not to bother with them these days."

I kept quiet, not wishing to fan the flames of another heated discussions on the subject.

"When does he want to know by?" she queried.

"I've got a couple of weeks to decide. He's talking about slipping me into his old college in time for the upcoming term."

"Can he do that?"

"He lunches regularly with the Vice Chancellor. I have little doubt. How was your day?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Preparing for the new batch of little monsters plus we're still behind schedule on the canteen renovation work. The way things are going, we'll be lucky if we have any means to feed the kids at the start of next term."

"I'm surprised you didn't use the same building firm as last time."

"Apparently we had to put it out to tender. This lot came in a lot cheaper and now we know why ... they're a disorganised bunch of useless layabouts."

My stomach rumbled and I enquired how long before dinner appeared.

"Ten minutes," Vanessa replied. "Go and lay the table. By the time you've done that, I'll be ready to serve up."

We chatted amiably over food after which I loaded the dirty plates into the dishwasher whilst Vanessa made a start on her homework. I read through the university prospectus, trying to conjure up enthusiasm.

Imperial College was situated deep in the centre of London, a two-hour commute at best from my home on the outskirts of Newbury. The possibility of being in any receptive mood to learn after a daily encounter with the M4 motorway seemed an unlikely prospect. The train provided an exorbitantly expensive, unreliable and uncomfortable alternative whilst still consuming nearly as much time. I dwelled on the problem but unlike my work projects, a viable solution eluded me.

We turned into bed early and cuddled up together. As usual, Vanessa wore a long conservative nightgown that really did nothing to encourage my attention. Nevertheless, I ventured an exploratory hand into the garment's folds and cupped her bare breast.

Vanessa smiled and kissed me back. We progressed through the various stages of foreplay before finally making love in our usual manner. She lay on her back whilst I fumbled myself between her thighs and slowly stroked within her to climax. Vanessa produced suitable sounds of enjoyment until I gasped and came. We kissed for a short time afterwards, and then turned over onto our side to go to sleep.

Sex between us was infrequent and lacked any real sense of excitement. Even after marriage, my attempts to enliven our love life fizzled into nothing and, apathetically, I settled for what I had. I laid the blame for Vanessa's passivity squarely on the shoulders of her puritanical and domineering mother.

Vanessa was an only child that spent the majority of her formative years in the company of adults and a few equally repressed female friends. Attending an exclusive academy for girls, her first contact with men her own age only happened when she attended university. Even then, living with her parents and travelling to and from college each day restricted her social development to the point that when we first met, she was extremely shy and reserved. Over time, she'd emerged from her shell but the legacy of her closeted upbringing remained with her.

Three years ago, the irony of the situation was not lost on me when her mother split up from her husband and moved in with the builder employed to construct their home extension. Since then, the pair had moved abroad to set up home on the Costa Brava whilst her former husband, a tax inspector, carried on regardless, devoting most of his spare time to the cultivation of his roses.

Despite her mother's blatant hypocrisy, my wife adamantly refused to make love in any other manner than the standard missionary position with the lights extinguished. Sex in the morning was unheard of and any mention of the usual side dishes brought blushes of embarrassment and a total unwillingness to participate. Oral sex aside, I considered us a relatively happy couple with the lack of children being the only outstanding area of contention.

My mind returned to the current dilemma and I tossed and turned into the early hours as I weighed the pros and cons of every possibility. Whichever way I looked at it, Sir Paul's wishes echoed through my mind and I slowly began to accept the inevitable.

After a brisk breakfast, I kissed Vanessa goodbye and made my way out to the car, a well-equipped but underpowered Vauxhall Insignia. It was just a step above the more basic model that the engineers received as part of their standard remuneration package, but nothing like the five series BMW or C Class Mercedes that the company directors enjoyed. Sir Paul drove a white Bentley Continental that was priced at around half what I paid for the house.

Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I drove the eight miles into work and reviewed the day's schedule of meetings and project reviews. An email from Janice invited me to lunch with Sir Paul that I felt obliged to accept.

The morning passed quickly and by lunchtime, the succession of black coffees and digestive biscuits sat heavily in my stomach. I made my way to Sir Paul's office where he surprised me by ushering me out of the building into his car. I sank into the plush leather upholstery and enjoyed a leisurely drive around the outer ring road to the exclusive French restaurant where we regularly entertained important clients.

"I've had a word with the Vice Chancellor," Sir Paul remarked casually as we ate. "They have vacancies on their Systems Engineering course and would have no problem accommodating you. You've already more than met their pre-entry requirements. All I need now is your tentative agreement so that I can set the wheels in motion."

I paused with a beautifully browned scallop poised halfway to my mouth and tried to comprehend the import of his words. I completed the action and chewed the soft morsel for nearly a minute whilst formulating my answer.

"Travel will be a problem," I replied, my defences slowly crumbling.

"My suggestion would be to rent temporary accommodation in the city and return home for the weekend. The course has no lectures on a Wednesday morning, so you could come in to work and remain up to date with what's going on here. I'd also require you to work between term times but of course you'd still keep your six weeks annual leave."

I nodded absently, having come to the same conclusion myself. The long commute would have made the whole affair insufferable. Only by living close to campus during term time would I be able to cope. Vanessa would be deeply unhappy. The only time we'd spent significant amounts of time away from each other was during the occasional overseas business trip and the one time she was in the hospital for a few days to remedy a serious kidney infection. Spending part of each week apart would be a major test of our endurance, but hopefully one we'd be able to withstand.

Playing the repercussions through my mind, I tucked into the main course of fillet steak topped with truffles and beetroot rösti. By the end of the meal, I'd quietly conceded and received a beam of delight in response.

"In a few years you'll look back on this moment and wonder why you ever gave it a second thought," he gushed. "Enjoy every moment of your time there and look forward to a bright future."

The afternoon passed in a blur. Unable to concentrate, I left early and arrived home before Vanessa for the first time since I could remember. Forgoing the beer, I poured a large scotch and sat down in the conservatory, sipping it slowly and skimming absently through the day's copy of the Times.

The front door slammed shut and Vanessa paused at the doorway.

"I agreed to do it," I informed her flatly.

"I see," she replied sitting down opposite me in quiet contemplation.

I explained the plan to stay away from home from Sunday to Thursday nights and her expression changed to one of distant melancholy.

"Can't you commute?" she asked half-heartedly even as she realised the unfeasibility of such a proposition. "No, I suppose not."

We ate a quiet meal and afterwards talked the subject to death. She didn't relish the road ahead but at least had the good sense to appreciate that it was my decision to make.

The preparations proceeded quickly once I gave the final go ahead. I spent a day on campus reviewing the facilities and exploring various course options. The accommodation office provided a list of suitable apartments and I chose a shared let with two other men: a post-graduate studying solid-state physics and a business student embarking on his second year.

The house was a large Victorian semi situated in a respectable suburb. The owners were currently residing in Hong Kong but had kept the property for such time as when they decided to return to the UK. With London house prices spiralling out of control, this was probably a very wise decision.

Inside was tastefully decorated. Each of the tenants maintained an individual room plus the use of a shared lounge, utility room, two bathrooms and a kitchen. The rear door opened onto a paved patio and a modest lawned garden that ended with a rockery populated with hardy alpines. It was a nice family home and I admired the owner's bravery in abandoning it to a succession of unruly students. As a future base for the best part of the week, it was comforting to realise it would not be the den of squalor that I'd first feared.

In a moment of sheer defiance, I'd even persuaded Sir Paul to fund the rent although he advised me that I'd be liable for taxation on the amount as it would be viewed as payment in kind by Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs. Nevertheless, I would still be one hundred and fifty pounds a week better off as a result.

The final weeks until the start of term passed quickly and I struggled to update two junior associates on the intricacies of each of my projects, such that they could take over the day-to-day running. I treated Vanessa to a pampered weekend at an expensive hotel in the Cotswolds. We walked a few miles each day, swam in the hotel pool, feasted on internationally acclaimed cuisine and, surprisingly, made love on more than one occasion.

I took several days off work before departure, ensuring a number of jobs received attention. I painted the garden fences before winter and booked the wife's Ford Focus in for its annual service. I regrouted the bathroom tiles and renewed the sealant around the bath and washbasin; tasks I'd been intending to do for nearly a year.

On the final Sunday morning, we drove out to a country gastro-pub and enjoyed the last meal together for what seemed an eternity, but in actuality would only be a few days. With tearful goodbyes, I loaded up the back of the car and set off for London.

The journey was quiet, much more so than it would have been the following morning during the hectic rush hour. The only holdups were from a steady stream of caravans, their owners doubtless returning from a late summer holiday in time to start work the following morning.

There was a parking space for just one car on the drive in front of the house and it appeared neither of my fellow residents had taken possession of it, if indeed they even owned a vehicle. I hoped that they'd be amiable enough as I'd be sharing with them for the best part of a year, perhaps even longer if we renewed the lease for the following year. The house was quiet, but as I manhandled my luggage inside, the first of my future companions emerged from the kitchen. He held a bowl of noodles balanced in one hand whilst eating continuously from it with a pair of chopsticks.

Tung-Yen Hu spoke with a heavy Asian accent that was very difficult to understand. Dressed in a drab two-piece outfit that had the outward appearance of pyjamas, he walked around in a pair of sturdy leather sandals that he wore without socks. He giggled nervously whilst attempting to show me around. I realised almost at once that any conversation would be a decidedly time consuming affair and most probably an exercise in futility. My one remaining hope was that the remaining tenant would be more personable, otherwise the evenings would become tedious in the extreme.

Having unpacked, I made myself a light snack of cheese on toast. I was drinking tea when the front door opened and a lanky youth staggered into the hallway. He wheeled a green mountain bike inside and stored it in the utility room alongside the washing machine, tumble drier and fridge freezer. Spotting me sitting at the kitchen table, he smiled and introduced himself.

"Toby Myers," he announced, stretching out his hand. I returned his greeting.

"Peter Sanders."

"You're the new mature student guy?"

"I guess so."

"It's not a bad place this," he opined, "much better than home."

"Where's that?" I asked, struggling to place his origins.

"Leeds," he informed me, allowing me to finally identify the broad Yorkshire accent. "You?"


"Another southern Jessie," he teased.

"Born and bred."

"I'm surprised you haven't got a wife and big fancy house by now."

"Actually I have both."

"Ah," he gasped, a little embarrassed.

"The commute would have driven me mad so I opted to stay here during the week and return home for the weekend."

"Gotcha," he nodded, dismissing his earlier faux pas. "I live here pretty much all the time. Not much to go back home for."

"You've been here awhile?"

"All last year. I applied to the course late and couldn't get into student accommodation. It's turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I've been into my mates' rooms in halls and you can't even swing a cat in them."

"So it's just you and the Chinese guy then?"

"You've met Fu Manchu then? He's a laugh a minute that bloke," Toby stated sarcastically. "There was another guy in your room last year but he flunked his exams and couldn't be bothered resitting them. I got an email from him the other day. He's hitchhiking across Thailand at the moment and enjoying himself enormously by all accounts, the randy little bugger. I'll bet it's only a matter of time before he gets himself a dose of something or other."

I smiled at the image of some faceless student screwing himself across the Far East, and Toby's casual acceptance of it.

"Is your missus going to come over here from time to time?" Toby asked.

"I sincerely doubt it," I replied.

"You're not scared she'll be getting a fancy fellah in?"

I bristled at his implication and assured him that there was little chance of her being unfaithful in my absence.

"You can never tell these days," he related. "You get lots of middle aged totty in the pub, begging for it whilst their hubbies are away on business."

It transpired Toby worked several nights per week behind the bar at the local pub as a means to ease the cost of his accommodation and offset the escalating level of student debt. I formed the opinion that he was a harmless lad, many miles away from home for the first time, enjoying the varied opportunities that the capital had to offer.

"Is that your car on the drive?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Would it be too much to ask for a lift in from time to time?" he asked cheekily.

I willingly offered him a free ride into the university whenever our times converged and he beamed in delight.

"I'll give you something towards the petrol."

"Forget about it," I told him, "my firm picks up all the bills."

"Jammy devil," he retorted jealously. "I have to make do with the bike and it's a right pain when it's pissing down outside."

I promised to let him know when I was leaving so that he could choose whether or not to accompany me. Sir Paul had pulled some strings and arranged for a university parking permit to be allocated to me for the duration of the term, a benefit very few students enjoyed. I gave my employer his due, he'd gone as far out of his way as possible to make my ordeal as painless as possible.

Leaving Toby to prepare a basic meal, I returned to my room and finished unpacking. I phoned Vanessa to let her know I'd arrived safely and we spent half an hour exchanging mundane chatter, helping alleviate her already growing loneliness.

The accommodation office had provided the connection details for the wireless router that provided the tenants' broadband access to the internet. I configured the laptop and checked both my personal email and that from my work through the office VPN link. Two emails from Vanessa each rambled on for several pages without saying anything whilst one of my junior colleagues wanted to confirm the location of various project files on the main server. I answered my subordinate with the information he required and then sent a brief reply to Vanessa, telling her that I loved her and would see her soon.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Fa/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Cheating / Light Bond / Oral Sex / Anal Sex / Slow /