Sandie's First Swing - Part 2 - Sex Stories

Sandie's First Swing - Part 2

... understand and said he felt guilty about it himself. Had that all just been a lie? Were there other lies too? Tears of hurt mixed with anger began to run down my cheeks as if burning my flesh. I felt paralysed, then wanted to hit something – no, somebody. I wanted to scream; to smash things, to hurt myself; to hurt my husband; to hurt Lisa; to hurt Paul... Paul... I had to let him know what was going on under his eyes. Paul… the only man to have fucked me since my marriage. Paul… the father of my aborted baby. I had to let him know what kind of wife he had and I had to do it now! *** The journey across town with a car full of complaining children was unpleasant but I closed my ears to their moaning, my mind focussed on the task ahead. Still in their pyjamas, I had almost dragged them from in front of the TV and marched them to the car, the same idea running over and over in my mind. ‘Tell Paul... let him know what a slut his wife is... hurt Lisa... hurt Tom... hurt Paul...’ My hands were shaking as I turned the car into his driveway, shuddered to a halt then violently pulled on the handbrake. “Wait here!” I yelled at the kids who had immediately recognised the house and were getting excited at the prospect of seeing their friends for the first time in months. “Are we staying? Please can we stay? Why can’t we stay?” “Just wait here quietly,” I snapped angrily. Before they could assail my ears with more pleading I slammed the car door and strode up to the house where I leaned ...

... on the bell, letting it ring for a long time, my feet stamping impatiently on the mat as I waited. “Sandie! What a surprise!” The door was suddenly opened and there was Paul on the threshold. It was the first time in months I had been this close to him and for a moment I was taken aback. Clearly just out of the shower, his hair was still wet and, although he had hastily pulled on a pair of close-fitting jeans and a tight white T-shirt, he had not dried himself properly first and there were damp patches all over him. Even in my anger I was rendered half speechless by how amazingly good he looked. “It’s great to see you,” he continued. I have to say he did look genuinely pleased which annoyed me a little. “Come in! What’s brought you here?” “I can’t come in; the children are in the car.” “Then bring them in too. Please! Our kids will be over the moon to see them. It’s been so long!” His calm tone of voice was disarming me rapidly and I didn’t want to be disarmed; I wanted to be angry. “Please Paul!” I stopped him cold, “I don’t want to come in. I need to tell you something and I need to tell you now.” His face became immediately serious. “Ok, if it’s that important, you have my full attention.” Now that the time had come, my nerves began to fail and for the life of me I couldn’t recall the words I had carefully chosen to break this terrible news. Paul’s extraordinarily good looks and his warm greeting had fuddled my mind, making me angry with myself for my weakness. “Is Lisa ...