A Tale Of Immorality
Copyright© 2007 by angiquesophie
Chapter 1: A Pinch Of Infidelity
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 1: A Pinch Of Infidelity - A tale of an un-repenting cheating wife. Will her shenanigans be found out?
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Cheating Slut Wife Oral Sex
I am Anne. I am married, and I let other men fuck me.
No, that's not true. I should be honest with you — I enjoy fucking men other than my husband. I enjoy it tremendously.
My husband doesn't know. And I hope he never will. But please don't get me wrong — I feel no guilt about what I do. I even think I am doing him a favor.
One day he will discover my infidelity, of course. Someone may see me. Someone will talk. I may slip. A detail may give me away.
I fear that day.
I fear it partly because it would hurt him. I love him too much to see him hurt and lose him. But let me remain honest, at least to myself — I mostly fear discovery because it would put an end to my adventures.
I'd have to choose, and I hate choosing.
I love my husband. I love how we make love. But I also very much love to fuck around. I can't live with the one and not have the other. It would render me incomplete. And highly frustrated. For him I would become impossible to live with. Assuming he'd still want me, of course.
Yes, you frown.
I can see how you need to dismiss this as totally immoral. You really feel you have to boo me, don't you? I understand. You have no alternative. You have to reassure the world that you at least are morally pure. I can see how you would want to dump your indignation on me.
If only to save yourself.
Don't worry, go ahead. I do understand you. In your position I might even do the same. But please, if only for a few minutes: jump over your shadow. Unplug your ears and listen.
Things aren't always as Sunday school taught you, you know. Maybe they ought to be. But they just aren't. There's always some small thing that prevents righteousness from happening.
It's called "reality."
As I said, my name is Anne. No further name is needed.
My husband's name is George. We met at college, eleven years ago. He was tall and blonde. The tall part is still true, the blonde is getting thinner. I fell for him the first moment we met. He needed more time. We weren't even dating exclusively for the first year.
I was. He wasn't. Isn't that ironic?
At a party into our second year he saw the light. And I guess after that he never felt the urge to retire into the shadows again.
The first time we had sex was right after that party. I was drinking, so was he. It was just enough to get us past embarrassment, but not nearly enough to hamper our performance.
I was no virgin to sex. But I discovered that I was a virgin to good sex. To be quite accurate, on the narrow bed in my shared apartment I had my first real orgasm with a man.
George was great. Correction — he is great. He has this body you want to crawl into for sheer comfort and safety. And his mind won't ever allow things to turn everyday-dull. I love his voice. His eyes. The hard muscles of his tight butt.
And his cock.
What I did not know then — but know now of course — is that he has an average-sized cock. What I also know now is that with it he can bring me pleasures many larger men can only dream of in their machoest fantasies.
Sneer if you have to. But being with other men a lot doesn't always have to diminish a wife's respect for her husband. It doesn't for me.
George's secret is patience.
Patience is the rarest commodity in lovemaking, you know. I might even say that it is the crucial difference between love and sex. Patience to put your lover's needs first. To train your own stamina so that your lover may enjoy all the pleasures there are to be found.
George loves me very much.
In fact, he worships me with his love., but he also shames me with it. For although my love for him is immense, there will always be the love I have for myself as well.
I guess by now you have to reach over to a new box of judgments. Let me help you. It is under the S for selfishness.
As I said, I'll be honest with you — if you're looking for a perfect person, look elsewhere.
George and I were married for two years when it happened for the first time.
We had both found good jobs. He was working with an insurance company. They obviously appreciated him — he received substantial raises twice a year.
I worked at a fast growing string of delicatessen and catering shops. I did their marketing and PR. It wasn't just for the money. I liked the job. I liked being surrounded by people with great taste and adventurous spirits.
One of those spirits belonged to Antoine.
He was French Canadian and had been schooled in Lyon, France, by the famous Paul Bocuse. He was great fun to be with. He also became very passionate when it came to food and cooking.
Antoine lived alone and I guess it was his accent and his flamboyant style that made many people think he might be gay. I suppose that was why I had no qualms to say "yes" when he invited me to have dinner at his place. He said I was a woman with taste and he wanted to try out a new recipe.
George was out of town; my alternative was staying home alone — and being bored.
So I dressed nicely.
I was sure Antoine would set an almost professional table and I did not want to spoil the atmosphere by turning up in a casual outfit.
He met me at the door wearing a very stylish Italian suit over a simple white t-shirt. It looked great on him, yet very relaxed. I was glad I had decided at the last minute to wear my little black number. We matched admirably.
One look into his eyes told me Antoine wasn't gay. One more look showed me I was in trouble.
He took my wrap-around shawl and the bottle of wine I had brought with me. He asked me to turn around for him. I giggled and made a slow pirouette on my sling-back pumps. He whistled. Then he immediately apologized for being so bold. He took my hand. He breathed a kiss on it that felt like the wings of a bird. It made me shiver and giggle some more.
His apartment looked stylish, yet warm. It had the casual feeling of a bachelor's lair, but all the furniture, rugs and decorations had been selected with good taste. The dinner table was set in his large, open kitchen. It had spotless white linen on it, crystal glasses and a lot of soft glowing candles.
