Fantasy Football

by LightningSeed

Copyright© 2018 by LightningSeed

Erotica Sex Story: A happily married woman's chance meeting with a younger pro football player moves very quickly.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Cheating   Interracial   Black Male   White Female   Oral Sex   .

My Gladiator

I don’t feel good about this.

I went to go grocery shopping downtown. With our daughters finally back in school I had a little more time for it, and I just like being downtown. A couple niche groceries where you can get better stuff. It’s a little more expensive, but it’s worth it.

I had worked out this morning, too: another opportunity that disappears in the summer when kids are everywhere.

Even though I’m in my late 30’s, I’m still the youngest regular at our club gym. It’s pretty tiny and most of the people available to work out when I do on weekday mid-mornings are either retired or just have too much money to work. So I’m pretty popular to work out next to. I get some people to talk to and even though I know they are stealing a look when they can, no one ever actually comes on to me. I pepper our conversations with references to my husband and our kids and that generally helps keep things on the level.

After the workout I showered and changed into some shorts and a pink cotton shirt. It’s the heart of the summer and for here especially it’s been pretty hot.

I was actually on the way to the nearest store when I thought about shopping downtown instead.

It’s just a little nicer there. More people. Feels like something is going on. As a stay-at-home mom I do sometimes go without much going on, especially when the summer is over and the kids go back. It’s not time for the holidays yet and a we’re a long way from our fall and winter vacations. It’s just a slow time, and though I love my life it can be dull in spots.

So it would be less dull shopping downtown. I made the twenty minute drive and even found a parking space near my favorite grocery.

It’s upscale and healthy; probably a lot people would call it trendy. Lot of food without gluten, everything organic ... pretty much all the catch phrases of the grocery chic these days. But it is healthier and even though I’ve kept my figure, the fight is getting a little meaner.

My husband wouldn’t tell you that, though. He’s very complimentary and if I’m naked in the room he looks up from his phone, slides his glasses back down from his forehead. Fifteen years of marriage haven’t diminished anything. In fact we’ve had sex each of the past two mornings, yesterday we both woke up handsy. I was brushing against the shorts he wears to bed, feeling him hardening against the back of my hand, while he had his up under my t-shirt, his fingers sliding and squeezing my breast.

This morning he was the one getting things going, his fingers dancing around my clit, making circles in the two-days growth of hair down there.

Of course both days the ultimate mechanics were the same, me coming under him, then him a few minutes later with his face buried into my neck. We’ve got a good sex life and he’s happier with my body than I am.

I get a cart and start grabbing a few things. Hummus. A few vegetables.

They’ve got a sale on bottled water, a kind I actually like. Unfortunately, it’s an entire case that’s on sale. I hate lifting those damn things. I’ve strained by back before and that’s no fun at all. Maybe next time.

A few minutes later I’m looking through all the cheeses. This place has an amazing selection. I pick a Manchego, consider something a Bleu for my husband. I can’t stand them but he loves them. I see one his favorites and pick it up.

“What’s that one?” a voice asks me. I glance over and then up. It’s an African-American guy, maybe six-four or six-five. He’s pretty big.

“This? It’s Cambozola.” I look at the sticker on the front. It has a drawing of a wedge of cheese on a cutting board. For some reason I always thought it was a picture of mountains. Guess you have look sometimes.

“Is it good?” he seems genuinely interested.

I laugh.

“Actually I don’t like it,” I say and he looks confused.

“My husband likes it a lot. Puts it on burgers. I don’t like bleu cheeses, so...”

“I like Bleu cheese. I just wasn’t sure if it was one. Looks kind of different.”

“Well, it’s like a mix of a Bleu and a Brie I think. Or a Camembert. I don’t know exactly but he’s told me,” I laugh again, giving expert advice on a cheese I’ve had one bite of once and didn’t like.

“I’ll try some,” he says, picking the biggest chunk they have and putting it in the green plastic basket he’s carrying. It looks like a toy he’s so big. “Thanks. And tell your husband thanks.”

He smiled again and turns to walk away.

“Hey, could I ask you for a favor?”

He turns around, his face looking like a question mark.

“Could I get you to put some water in my cart? They’re only selling it by the case and that’s not so good on my back...”

He says sure and walks next to me back to the aisle the water is on. Along the way a few people we’re passing are ... noticing him. Smiling, turning their heads. He’s kind of cute but not exactly enough to be getting that kind of attention.

He reaches down and snatches a case. I mean he snatched it. Like it weighed a pound. Set it in my cart. I get it now. I start to nod to myself.

“What?” he asks.

“Are you a football player?”

The pro team is back in town, back practicing. I did know many of them live downtown. I guess I should have made the connection earlier but watching him grab the water was kind of the final piece of a very small puzzle. He smiled.

“Yeah, I am.”

He held out his hand.

“Donte.”

I took his hand in mine. Kind of. I’m a fairly tall person (for a woman) but I do have small hands. And mine disappears into his.

“Karen,” I said. “What position do you play?”

“Tight end,” he said.

“I’ll have to tell my husband I met someone famous. Thank you again, Donte.”

He fake-bowed as I walked by.

I only had a few more things that interested me. Some Buffalo Mozzarella, a couple bottles of wine. I was ready to go home and open one of them up maybe, sit on the backyard porch and wait until time to go get the girls.

I got in line to check out. Maybe a minute later I heard Donte behind me.

“We meet again,” he said. His green basket was filled.

“That thing’s overflowing,” I said. “Maybe you needed a cart.”He smiled and shook his head.

“Nah, I just shop for today,” he said. I frowned, but also noticed how soft his voice was.

“That has to get old,” I said. “A lot of trips.”

“I live right next door, though.” He points and I know he means the skyscraper. It’s a hotel that also has a bunch of floors of condos.

“Ok, that makes more sense then. For me it’s a drive.”

“Where you live?”

I tell him which suburb.

“They have grocery stores out there, right?”

Again I smile.

“They do. Just like to be in the city sometime.”

He gives me a little bit of an up-and-down look. I think he’s actually checking me out.

“It’s good to have you in the city.”

The person two people up gets their receipt.

I’m now next in line. I think about thanking him for the compliment, but decide to stay silent. I’m actually a little turned on from the attention. I’ll probably leave that part out when I tell my husband this story.

I actually look at him a little more. He’s very muscular (what I can see) wearing a tight designer white T-shirt and some jeans.

My husband is many things. He’s funny and very sexy. He’s not muscular.

Donte looks me up and down again and leans a close to me.

“Would you like to see my apartment?”

I pull back, no doubt a look of shock on my face. He can tell I’m caught off-guard. His cologne smelled nice.

“Sorry if that was inappropriate,” he says.

“No, it’s just. I don’t do that. I don’t cheat on my husband.”

He nods.

“Plus, I’m a lot older than you. A lot older, Donte.”

“That part doesn’t matter,” he says, moving a little closer again.

I step back a bit but almost step into the guy checking out in front of me.

“I’m sure you get all sorts of girls your own age,” I say.

He reluctantly nods his head a little.

“I guess I do. But not as many as you might think.”

He leans into my ear.

“No one has to know.”

The cashier hands a receipt to the guy in front of me and looks to me. I’ve been ... distracted and haven’t unloaded my cart.

“How are you today, ma’am?” He’s gently trying to focus me on unpacking my cart.

Donte cocks his head, making his offer for the third time, this time silently.

“Ma’am?”

I honestly feel woozy. Scared. Jelly legs. And yes, a little wet. I’ve been one hundred percent faithful to everyone I’ve ever dated. And totally faithful to my husband, who I truly believe has been faithful to me.

Donte whispers one more thing in my ear.

I turn back to the cashier.

“Can you hold these groceries for me?”

We walk out of the store and right into the building next to it. Maybe twenty seconds. I don’t say anything.

We turn into the lobby, and now I have no choice to follow him since I have no idea where I’m going. We don’t get on the main elevators, but keep walking deeper into the building until I see just one lonely elevator. He pushes the button, we exchange smiles. Then we wait.

When the elevator opens I’m a little freaked to see an attendant, maybe mid-fifties guy balding with a mustache. He greets Donte and smiles at me as we get on.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

I’m blushing. I mean it’s just so fucking obvious what’s going on. We’re not talking as the elevator is going up – all the way to the top – and I’m looking straight ahead, blushing even more because my original blushing obviously gave it all away.

Finally we’re at the top. We step off and the attendant waves to us.

“You two have a delightful afternoon.”

The doors close and I mutter “Jesus” as Donte laughs.

He presses a few buttons and his door unlocks. He pushes into the condo and I follow. He closes the door and locks it behind us. I set my purse down on the first chair in the living room. As I turn around to see where he is, he’s right in front of me. He leans down and runs his hand down my face, then the back of his hand across the front of my top.

“Nice,” he whispers.

I’m a little shocked by how forward he is, but why? He asked me to come up here. I followed him into the elevator, into his condo. Now I’m here. I’m here to let him fuck me.

I step back from him, holding his gaze. I touch the front of my shirt, run my hand down to the bottom of it, then with both hands I pull it off, leaving me in a very ordinary nude bra. Clearly I wasn’t dressing for this this morning.

I wonder if he’s going to step towards me again but he doesn’t. He looks patient, waiting for me to do more.

I reach back and unhook my bra. Part of me feels like this is the point of no return. I could still leave, maybe without a little dignity but still faithful. But deep down I know I’m not leaving yet. The metal of my bra clasp hits the hardwood floor, making the only sound in the room.

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