"I can't do this," I gasped.

The lips came away from the tingling nipple of my left breast long enough to say, "Yes, you can." Then they immediately returned to creating the low hum of electricity that stretched through my breast, down my belly and straight to my clitoris.

"No, no," I moaned, only half meaning it. "My husband."

The lips ceased teasing once again. "What about him?"

"I shouldn't," I whispered.

"Ahh," my partner replied, his tongue deliciously snaking out to keep the electrical charge in my nipple energized. "That's different from 'I can't, '" he smiled.

His hands worked their way under my loosened garment to brush against my sex as his lips returned to assault the screaming tissue of my nipple.

What was an imaginary connection between nipple and clitoris became reality as his fingers split the outer labia and brushed delicately across the engorged flesh of the hardened bead, all the while, his tongue, teeth and lips assaulted the ultra-sensitive tissue of my left nipple. I knew then that I had to have this man, this stranger, really, as his fingers manipulated the throbbing nub of my love button, pushing me nearer and nearer to my climax.

"I don't want to cheat on him," I moaned, my hands gripping the tabletop to give me support as I half stood, half sat under the onslaught of my lover.

He paused, his fingers still stroking and probing as he looked into my eyes. "Then you must confess. If he loves you as much as you apparently love him, he will forgive you."

I knew it was true. I knew he was right. I would be forgiven. In fact, my infidelity would be celebrated. I knew it.

We had talked about it enough in the past. He always encouraged me. "Explore your sexuality," he urged. "Go and do it, enjoy, have a good time. I will be here when you come home." I just wasn't sure it was real. We would find out now, to be certain, for I was going to let this man have me. I knew that, too.

"Stand up," he directed, his hand ceasing to tantalize me.

I stood. The remains of my shift drifted to the floor, looking much like a discarded rag. I stood naked before this stranger in his tuxedo, awaiting his next move.

He shucked his jacket, shoes and tie. I reached for him to assist with his shirt studs. He pushed my hands away.

"Soon enough, my dear," he chuckled, tugging the shirt from his trousers.

In no time, he stood naked before me. Then he suddenly dropped to his knees. He pushed me backward slightly until my ass rested against the table once again. Then he pried my knees apart, sticking his face between my thighs. I felt the tip of his tongue tingle the area his fingers had so expertly manipulated mere seconds ago. I groaned as the lightning bolt shot through me from down there as his teeth, tongue and lips played recklessly in my sex.

I was getting beyond the point of no return. I could feel my resolve melting within me as if the heat generated from between my legs was dissolving it. I needed it. I didn't want it anymore. I was way beyond that. I needed the feel of fullness only a hard cock can make inside me.

"Please," I moaned.

My tormentor paused in his ministrations. "Please?" he asked.

"I need it," I whispered.

He stood up and faced me. I couldn't look at him.

"What exactly do you need, my dear?" he asked, smiling broadly.

"Cock," I murmured, unable to look him in the eyes.

"You want me to fuck you?" he grinned with self-satisfaction.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Then tell me. Ask me for it."

I knew I had to. I plugged up my courage. "Please," I murmured. "Please fuck me."

My lover grabbed my legs behind the knees and levered me onto the table. "A perfect fit," he murmured, approaching me with his cock aimed straight at my pussy.

I felt the soft tissue of the head bump against my sex. Then, he rubbed it up and down the slit, lubricating it with his saliva and my own juices. He slid it partway inside me, withdrew, and pushed again, this time sliding further. I locked my ankles behind his naked butt and pulled him toward me. He sank his manhood deep inside me and I groaned with the satisfaction of being filled with pulsing, throbbing, glorious cock.

I thought fleetingly of my husband, somewhere out there, at the party, drink in hand, engaged in earnest conversation while his wife lay on this boardroom table, naked, knees spread, with the cock of a strange man buried in her needy pussy. Then the sensation overwhelmed me and I thought only of my own needs and desires.

The event was a Christmas party for clients and suppliers, friends and neighbors, among which we numbered, for a local businessman. There was plenty of food, booze and, my downfall, dancing to a live band. I'd worn a simple shift, modest, actually, considering it fell just below my knees. The fact that I'd chosen to leave underwear behind had sealed my fate. I danced with energy and abandon. The effect, I was to discover, was to have all the gentlemen quite aroused by my performance. Their arousal approached my own, as I shimmied and swayed with the flow of the music and the awareness of my impact on the men.

One of them, a supplier, I later learned, had pulled me into this boardroom as I passed on a return trip from the ladies. Our conversation had been brief.

"You are incredibly hot," he murmured, his lips pressing across my own, his tongue plunging into my mouth. "I'll bet you're an amazing fuck, too."

"No, wait!" I protested weakly. "I'm married."

"I don't care," he growled, his hands wrapped around me. "Married women fuck."

His mouth covered mine again, and I didn't protest very strongly.

"My husband is just outside," I warned him, as his hands slid up my shift, caressing my breasts through the fabric.

"Is that the only thing keeping you from getting laid?" he asked.

"No," I said. "No, I just can't do this. It's not right."

"What's not right is the way you've been flaunting your body all night," he moaned as he slid the straps of my shift off my shoulders and bared my breasts. He attacked the left one with his lips, tonguing the nipple until fire shot through my body.

"No, please," I whimpered. "You don't understand."

He loosed his grip on me. "Don't you find me attractive?" he asked.

"Yes," I admitted. He was attractive. He was obviously strong, but gentle enough. He certainly hadn't forced me to do anything to this point. "It's just that my husband..."