The Devil's Pact, Tales from the Best Buy Incident: Obsession - Sex Stories

The Devil's Pact, Tales from the Best Buy Incident: Obsession

... urgently to her. As seven o'clock drew near, more people arrived. I wasn't even the most over-dressed. One blonde with huge tits wore a black party dress that she was almost falling out of, and immediately started chatting with a few guys in the corner, who were all drooling over her like a pack of dogs. The other woman wore a slinky red dress; like me she was a bleached blonde, and was escorted in by a rather fit-looking man. The woman kissed her escort, and then walked off and started flirting outrageously with a black guy. The fit man just grinned as he watched her. “Is that your wife?” I asked him. He nodded. “Yeah.” He held out his hand. “I'm Bill, and that's Erin.” “She's, um, very friendly,” Marshal added. Bill grinned, “You have no idea.” I didn't hear what was said next because the stranger walked in. My pussy instantly became drenched at the sight of my obsession; I must be soaking through my panties. I ignored his squat, ugly face; my eyes fixed on his crotch. His cock was in there, trapped beneath his pants and underwear. I needed to go to him, kneel, and worship his glorious dick with my mouth; then with my cunt. I was about to walk to him when Marshal nudged me and I snapped out of my daze. I turned to my husband. “Let's sit down,” he suggested. I nodded, my cheeks burning with lust. “You okay, Veronica?” he asked. “Yeah, just thirsty.” “Be right back.” He kissed me on the cheek. What a sweet husband I had. The guilt rose up; the lust battered it down. The ...

... punch was too sweet, but it was cold, and helped to cool the desire burning inside me. A man named Oscar started the meeting; he was the manager of the Best Buy, and he began by telling his story. It was like one of those AA meetings, confessing what we did to the only people that could understand how unnaturally we all acted that day. I was too focused on staring at him to pay much attention. Next, Jessie Smith spoke. It really was just a pitch for her “escort” business. She was followed by a brunette named Lucy McKay, who gave a passionate speech about how special to her a certain Muslim girl was, how she felt this connection with her as they made love that day. She didn't get to finish; the Muslim girl fled the room and the brunette followed after. My husband was listening with rapt attention, I realized, and a nasty thought formed in my mind. My obsession had gotten up, presumably to use the restroom. I knew my husband; he might not notice that I was missing for a while. I bit my lip; my pussy ached to feel that cock again. Walking back to the men's room, part of me protested—throwing up memories of the last seven years. How Marshal and I met in college, how sweet and romantic he was, the time he drove twelve hours straight to San Francisco when I broke my leg attending a business conference, our five wonderful years of marriage. That damned itch in my pussy drowned out all of that; getting fucked by my obsession was the only thing that mattered to me anymore. I reached for ...