Cheating After Ten Years Of Marriage (Ch 4) - Sex Stories

Cheating After Ten Years Of Marriage (Ch 4)

I felt like a skank after letting Sean use me in the stable and then toss me aside like a piece of trailer trash. I had gone far out of my way to find lust (yes, lust not love); so I suppose I got what I deserved. On one hand, I didn't want to feel cheap after every orgasm; but I still wanted, no needed, physical contact and sexual gratification.

I decided to put my whoring around (let's be honest, that's what it was) on the back burner.

I resumed spending Sundays at Paul’s church and Paul continued to mount me every couple of weeks, shoot after ninety seconds and fall asleep.

It wasn't as if I weren't having orgasms; but diddling myself in front of the full-length mirror or in the shower, just wasn't enough.

I decided to get a vibrator to hopefully heighten my climaxes to a level commensurate with what I experienced by fucking random men.

I first surfed the internet. I was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of penis substitutes and battery-operated stimulation devices. I really liked the concept of a vibrator, but in the shape of a penis. I selected a silicone, water-proof device powered by two AAA batteries. Eight inches seemed about right. I wanted to be stuffed, but not over-stuffed.

Unfortunately, a monkey wrench was tossed into the works. I would need to use a credit card.

There was absolutely no way I’d risk Paul finding out I had ordered something from “Pricks R Us” for $49.99, plus shipping & handling.

I moved on to Plan B.

I had seen ...

... at least two possible adult stores out near the airport when I had my fling with Kurt. As one might anticipate, they were located in a mile-long span of pawn shops, liquor stores, and vape emporiums.

I decided to shop incognito. I searched my closet for a boring grade school teacher skirt and my chest of drawers for a church lady sweater. I selected some old brown flats. Contrary to my then practice of naturalism, I even donned a bra and granny panties. I fashioned a small prairie dog-sized ponytail and threaded it out the back of an NYPD ball cap. I opted for no makeup.

I hopped into the minivan and headed to the other side of the tracks.

I don't know why, but somehow I figured an adult “merchandise” store would be nearly empty at 10:30 in the morning. I was wrong.

I cruised past the first establishment, simply called “EROS” in pink neon. Mannequins sporting black or red lingerie resided behind large plate-glass windows. Only two SUVs were parked in the front; but a side parking lot, seemingly shared with the adjacent vape shop, was two-thirds full.

I drove on by and decided to scope out the second possibility.

A half mile down the road was a dilapidated mobile sign with removable letters spelling out “KIPS”, the “S” falling downward by forty-five degrees. I drove past, not knowing if I had remembered correctly.

I pulled into a Circle K and parked at the pumps. The minivan was running on fumes. This was no neighborhood in which to run out of gas. While ...