My chest felt like my abdomen had dropped away and my heart had fallen to the floor. All I could do was reread that message again and again.

“I never stopped desiring you. I want you still. I always have.”

“Are you serious?” I typed back, hands trembling, heart palpitating. She had to be joking. There was no way she was going to say-

“Yes.”

My eyes went wide and my breath left my lungs. I crept to the threshold of the bedroom. My wife lie asleep, unsuspecting. I closed the door quietly and went to my study, locking the door behind me. “We should talk,” I messaged her.

“Are you alone right now?”

“Yes.”

My phone jingled as a video call request arrived. Shit ... what happened to just a regular phone call? I brushed my hair with my hand as best as I could, straightened my clothes, and answered. And there she was, the same woman as ten years ago. More mature, for sure. Perhaps a line or two had appeared in her cheeks, but the same beautiful, brown, doe eyes, the same ravishing, chestnut hair, the same elfish smile. “H-hey...” I managed to choke out.

“Hey, Peter,” she answered, smooth as silk and cool as a cucumber. The phone drifted downwards an inch or two, revealing her bare, toned shoulders and her beautiful collarbones emerging from her body, elegant and strong. Not a stitch of fabric was visible. Very interesting ... Just how much was she wearing?

“Are you serious, Michelle?”

“I said I was...”

“It’s been ten years.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. Feels like a lifetime.”

“And all that time, you’ve...” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. Luckily, she could.

“I’ve always craved you.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me you feel the same way,” she said, her eyes suddenly hungry. Again, the angle lowered. The top of her chest was visible, the swell of her breasts apparent at the bottom of the screen. She was almost certainly topless. I couldn’t help but remember her perfect breasts, still the frequent object of my daydreams, round and full and breath-takingly firm.

“I’m married...” I began. She simply stared back, her eyes piercing me. I knew that was just an excuse. It wasn’t false, but I was avoiding the truth. “But I ... I feel the same,” I confessed.

She beamed. “What if you had the chance to do something about it?”

I looked up at the door, confirming I was alone, before returning my gaze to her. “I’d take it.”

A cock suddenly appeared in front of her chest. No, not a cock, a dildo. She glanced down to it and back at me. “I’m going to be in town next week,” she told me, kissing its head, her lips hugging its curves. She caressed it with her lips, softly massaging its tip with her mouth. My cock throbbed to life, instantly hard and ready. I knew just how skilled she was at that particular talent. She opened her mouth wide and engulfed the shaft, inch after inch vanishing between her lips. My hand lowered to my pants. I just had to stroke myself. I needed to relieve some tension. How badly I wanted that to be me, to feel her hot, warm, tight mouth around my cock. My fingers moved deftly up and down my shaft, just enough to make my pleasure simmer.

She slid the toy out of her mouth and began to bob her head up and down, focusing on that glistening shaft. Her eyes locked onto mine as she performed. She let it come out her mouth with a wet sigh. “I’ll be staying at the Marriott on Third. Room 216. Thursday. Arrive at nine o’clock, Peter, and I’ll make sure you won’t regret it.”

I swallowed deeply. This felt unreal. Just a few minutes ago we had been reconnecting as old friends. She had messaged me, we had talked a bit, and now? Had this been why she had reached out to me? “I want this,” she told me, resting her dildo against her lower lip. “I want yours. I want to give you the night of your life.”

“I don’t know if I can make it...” Could I do this? My feelings were a confused tempest. I had meant it. She had always been my one that got away. And suddenly I learned not only was I hers, too, but she craved me? Was this really happening?

“I’ll wait for you. And Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t cum until then. I want all of it for myself.” And before I could reply, the call ended. I quickly typed out the details of next week. I feared I already knew what I was going to do. Could I really do this? Could I live with myself if I did? Could I forgive myself if I threw away this opportunity? I rested my face in my hand and sighed.

It was Thursday. I stood outside of Room 216. It was only 8:47 but I couldn’t wait any longer. I knocked on the door. Already, my cock stiffened against my pants, simply from the cavalcade of fantasies passing through my mind. The wait felt interminable. Yet blessedly, it ended as the door swung inwards.

There she stood, her legs clad in sleek, black stockings, a vibrant, lilac robe covering the rest of her, loosely-tied and open wide enough to make it obvious she wore no bra. Her chestnut hair was tied up in a bun, but a few loose strands hung in front of her face. Her pink lips smiled at the sight of me. “You’re early, Peter,” she observed, her eyes unhurriedly looking me up and down.

“I couldn’t wait, Michelle.”

“Come in,” she beckoned, opening the door all the way. I stepped in. My heart raced. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her long legs, striding in front of me. She reached the bed and turned around. “Did you do as I asked?” she questioned, nodding towards my crotch with a mischievous smirk. I nodded. “Good. I’m famished.” A shudder went through me as she said it. She held out a hand and beckoned me towards her. I gladly obliged.

She grabbed my shirt and pulled me in close, her soft lips meeting mine. I closed my eyes and let myself fall on top of her as she lay back onto the bed, my hardness pressing between her legs. She moaned in delight and wrapped her legs around me. She took my wrist in her hand and guided me to her full, firm breast. I squeezed hard, passionately, her nipple pressing eagerly against my palm. I caressed and rubbed her breast as we kissed, my cock throbbing against her, already threatening to explode after a week of denial and frustration.

Her hand pushed against my chest, breaking our contact. But her coy smile assured me that nothing was wrong. Her robe had been totally opened by our movements. She wore nothing beneath it above the waist. Only a lacey pair of black panties, accompanied by matching garters and stockings, all decorated with tiny roses along the hems, hid her body from my sight. I groaned at the sight, and my hands lowered to her waist of their own accord, gripping her hips, my fingertips on her fabric, ready to tear her delicates off in an instant.

“Wait,” she gasped, her breasts heaving as she panted, catching her breath. “Tonight’s about you. Just trust me.” I nodded. Whatever she asked of me at this moment, I couldn’t imagine denying her request. She gently pushed me off of her until I was standing between her legs. She stood up, her body gliding up mine, her bare breasts grazing against my shirt before she spun aside and away from me. Her soft, delicate hand took mine and led me to the wall. “Stand here,” she requested.