The Other Woman - Sex Stories

The Other Woman

The warm water splashes across my skin as I carefully lather every square inch of my body. Savoring the feeling, I close my eyes and imagine him waiting for me in his large suburban home. My pussy tingles at the thought of him – his fit body, his beautiful cock. My cock. I run my hands across my modest breasts and feel my nipples harden as my fingers brush them. The sensation goes directly to my clit, and I selfishly begin to circle two fingers around it, closing my eyes and whispering his name softly to the air as I bring myself to my first orgasm of the evening.

I step away from the stream of water and shave myself close, taking care to groom the edges of my landing strip neatly, just the way he likes. It makes me happy to please him in this way. Rinsing off one last time, I step out and towel myself dry.

My outfit is laid out on the bed. My body tingles once more as I pull on the skimpy thong and slowly pull the fishnets up over my slender thighs. The slightly rumpled white blouse and skirt that’s just a little too short for polite company almost complete the look. No panties. I stand back and appraise myself in the mirror hanging from the closet door. The dark areolas and my still-erect nipples are faintly visible if you look closely. The neckline of the blouse shows the top of the body art that travels down my front.

I apply my makeup in the cracked bathroom mirror. I opt for a dark look this evening. I take stock once again. I look like a slut. Perfect.

I ...

... pull on my heels, grab my purse, and head out the door.

It started when he came into the coffee shop. I was on the other side of the counter. The first few times, I didn’t notice anything. Oh, he was pleasant enough, I might even say courteous. Certainly not like most of the self-absorbed and entitled types that tend to frequent this establishment. As time went on, we became more familiar with one another, to the limited extent that a brief but regular barista-customer interaction enables. Smiles led to eye contact, which lingered longer with each visit. Small talk ensued when there wasn’t a line.

One day, I found him lingering at a table when I took my break. He invited me to sit. This became a regular occurrence. It couldn’t have been coincidence that his visits came when they did. A steady attraction blossomed and grew. The ring on his finger didn’t bother me, nor did the roughly fifteen years he had on my tender twenty-five. To the contrary, it rather turned me on.

It was inevitable, I suppose, that we would end up at my apartment. We attacked one another with hunger. He brought condoms. Ever the gentleman. His cock, so incredibly erect, was a perfect fit. He showered before heading home, making sure to wash off all traces of his sin, while I jerked him off from behind, whispering naughty things in his ear.

It grew to be a habit, and gradually an obsession. Early morning, midday and late-night texts served as evidence of our inability to rid our minds of one ...