Her Husband's Boss - Sex Stories

Her Husband's Boss

... the boy had seen. The room was dark enough that he probably hadn’t seen much. Note to self: always lock the fucking door. The boy informed his mother that he had heard a lot of noise and could not sleep now. After finally finding the top sheet and pulling it over them, she told her son that he could sleep now, beside her, if he just closed his eyes. She could soon hear the deep, steady breathing of two asleep males, one on each side of her. V. But Jessica herself could not sleep. She lay in bed between her husband and son and stared upward in the darkness toward the ceiling. The thought again engulfed her that the chances for her husband’s promotion had been dashed, and this kept her eyes open as wide as dollars. After perhaps twenty minutes, she decided to get up and go downstairs to fix some tea. Crawling over her sleeping son, she left the bed and walked toward the bathroom. She felt her husband’s cum trickling from her pussy and run down the inside of her thigh as she walked, and idly dabbed at it with the hem of her long night shirt. Downstairs, sipping her tea at the table, Jessica, lost in thought, stared out the kitchen window unseeingly at the street lamp that bathed their cul-de-sac in an eerie light. She still could not believe that Michael Slater had propositioned her, and in such a crude and unsubtle manner. As she was leaving the party that night with her husband, Slater had whispered in her ear that his offer was still on the table, but only until Tuesday, as a ...

... final decision on the Vice Presidency had to be made soon. Jessica had wanted to flash him a look that would kill if looks could kill, but she knew that her husband was watching them and, instead, smiled demurely at the man whose face she had slapped an hour earlier. What nerve! she thought, sipping her tea. Not that she was a prude—quite the contrary. In fact, in college she had fucked not one but two of her major professors when they had made it clear that that was what it would take for her to earn A’s, which she desperately needed in order to keep her scholarship. Was she proud of that? No. But had she ever felt any remorse? Not at all. She would not have had the money to graduate, otherwise. But that had been nine years ago, when she was twenty, and was something she assumed was in her past, something she would never be compelled to do again, especially after she became a “respectable married woman”. But now that she contemplated the current situation in the stillness of her kitchen—a kitchen she desperately wished was twice as large and much more modern—a light began to come on inside her head. She was not naïve. She knew how the world worked. Those two college professors had taught her that. A voice deep within her—the voice of a devil’s advocate, with the emphasis on devil—told her that there would certainly be many positive results that could be accrued by her accepting the proposition—regardless of how rudely it had been offered. But another voice told her that she ...