A Girl Named Hope Ch 01. Cheating story

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Introduction:

I’ve been working on this story for some time, and I hope that you enjoy it.

By Scott Free

© 2021 Freeman Books

Like most evenings at work, this one was boring. Not just boring in the “I have nothing to do” way, but boring in the “why am I wasting my life in this dump?” kind of way. I think most people feel this way once in a while at their place of employment. My employer gets a bad rap from a lot of people, but to be totally honest, I really like my job. I work at for a certain big-box-retailer, in a smallish city in Minnesota. I won’t name any company names here, because like I said before, I like my job.

The one name that I can tell you is mine. My name is Robert. It seems easy enough. It contains six letters, and those letters are arranged in two syllables; Ro-bert. But no, customers always seem to want to call me Bob, which I hate. Bob is not a name, it is a verb that is defined as: “a short jerky motion,” or “to bounce up and down.” Bob is the motion a woman uses when she is giving head. It is not my fucking name. The only worse scenario is when a customer calls me Rob. Rob is also a verb, and when they address me as such, I want to “Rob” them of their consciousness.

Other than my name, I am an easy going guy. I am a shade over six feet tall, with brown hair, and eyes. I’m not really fat, but then again, I’m not really thin either. I’m not some muscle-bound ox of a man; but then again, I’m not exactly a scrawny fellow. Almost, but not quite, has been the story of my life. I have only one real thing going for me: I know how to talk to women. It doesn’t sound like much when compared with other super powers. I mean, it’s not as cool as being bulletproof, like Superman. It also really doesn’t compare to being able to do magic like Harry Potter. But those guys are pure fiction. Me, I’m the real deal. Before you get the idea that I’m some kind of big time player who fucks a lot of women, let me tell you; I don’t. In fact, there has been only one woman in my bed for the past five and a half years. Yep, that’s right, I’m married. I’ve been married for almost five years now.

I bet you are thinking to yourself, “big fucking deal.” You might be asking yourself, “What good does it do a married man to have a real talent for talking to women?” That is an excellent question, for which I have an excellent answer: it keeps me entertained. It can take the most boring day at work, and turn it into an adventure. A female customer comes to me looking for a widget, and within a few minutes of conversation, I not only sell her a couple more widgets than she was looking for, but I get her whole life story, and usually her phone number too. The conversations, I cherish. The phone numbers, I diligently throw away, always uncalled. After all, I wouldn’t want my wife to get upset after finding some girl’s number in my wallet. It is just a little innocent flirting.

Like I said at the beginning, I was bored. All my aisles were straightened, all of my returned merchandise had been put away, and all of the stocking that the day shift was required to do was done. That left one thing to do: clean. Cleaning is the bane of my existence. Whenever work seems like it can get no more tedious, a manager will come by and tell you to get out the paper towel, and the glass cleaner. My section has about a dozen huge display cabinets, which are always in need of a good polish, thanks to the sticky fingers of grubby little children. Just as I began to dread the prospect of becoming Mr. Clean, the department manager from the next section over cruised by, looking like he wanted somebody to tell off. This was his second time by in less than fifteen minutes, so I knew that this self-important prick was on a mission. I quickly looked for a customer that I could assist, but I had no luck. The only customer in sight was being helped by my section partner, Bailey. Damn!

“When is the last time that you checked for returns, Robert?” The smug bastard asks. At least the bastard didn’t call me Bob.

“I finished them about ten minutes ago, Mitch.” He looked me over closely, like a cop who was trying to tell if I had been drinking, or not. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been drinking. Otherwise, this day probably would have been much more awesome.

“Maybe you should clean the display cases.” He paused to see if I would protest. I didn’t, because I had known from the minute I saw him that I would be buffing some glass in the near future. “It’s not good for the other managers to see you just standing around like that.” What he meant was, “It’s doesn’t make me look good for my boss to see you not sweating, and busting your ass for your measly pay.”

“Sure, Mitch.” I gave him my most winning smile. This smile had got a woman’s panties thrown at me twice, when I was in college. Yes, I went to college. Why am I working here? Well, that’s a long story. But Mitch was unmoved by what my wife calls my “Million Watt Beam.” I was not totally disappointed, because if Mitch did happen to wear panties, I did not want him to throw them at me. In fact, if he did, I would probably have to give him an old fashioned ass whooping. He turned, and walked away, probably thinking of his next intended victim, or more probably of the kittens or puppies that he tortures in his free time. Watching him walk, I wondered for the millionth time, what he could possibly be smuggling up his ass to make him walk that way? With any luck, I will never find out.

I went behind the checkout counter, and got the gigantic, industrial-sized roll of paper towel and a spray bottle of window cleaner. I walked over to the iPod display, and sprayed a generous amount of the blue liquid across the clear surface. Yes, I forgot to tell you before, I am probably the asshole who sold you that television that you watch fourteen hours a day. I finished the top case, bundled up my used towels, and crouched down to spray the lower half of the case. I put the spray bottle down, and began to unroll some more paper when I caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of my eye. I hate to admit it, but my very first thought was of Mitch throwing his lacey undergarments at me while I was otherwise occupied. Thankfully, this was not the case, and although it was a pair of panties that had caught my eye, they definitely did not belong to Mitch “the Bitch.”

They were very small, and lacey, and red, and hanging from a hanger that was held by the woman standing next to me. The term woman was probably stretching it a little. Girl, would probably be more accurate, or at least, young lady. She was a pretty little thing. She stood maybe 5’1”, and if she weighed over a hundred pounds, I would gladly eat that lacey red thong. After a full twenty seconds of looking, I decided that I would have no problem eating that miniscule article of clothing, provided that she was wearing it at the time. She was absolutely stunning. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a pony tail. I try not to actively fantasize about other women, but I couldn’t help but wonder what that hair would look like flowing free… down her back… her naked back… and maybe a little damp with sweat from our lovemaking.

I tried to pull myself together, and stop my mind from wandering. Unfortunately, that is when she pivoted about a quarter turn, and I caught sight of her best asset. No pun intended. I have always been a butt man, but I had never seen one in person to match hers. It was unnaturally large, perfectly heart-shaped, and it was stuffed into the smallest possible pair of lime green soccer shorts. The color of the shorts only highlighted the thin strip of cloth, that was obviously from a thong, exactly like the one she held in her hands, except for the color. It was peeking out of the top of her ridiculously small shorts, beneath her too small tank top, that left a full three inches of her flat belly bare.

I was almost afraid to stand up, because in all my not-so-secret gawking, I felt my cock start to stir. Unfortunately, my slightly baggy khaki pants leave nothing to the imagination when it comes to erections; and if things continued to develop this way, mine would be in undeniable evidence. I stood up anyway, though. I had to talk to this stunning creature. This is the entertainment that I had craved all afternoon, and I wasn’t going to let it pass by unexplored because I was afraid of getting a woody, like some fourteen-year-old boy.

“Hi,” I said smoothly, “Can I help you find anything today?” Her blue eyes darted towards me, and she smiled. I have no idea why, because the almost, but not quite also extends to my looks. I have never let my lack of ruggedly handsome appeal stop me from talking to women. After all, girls don’t always want some bad boy that will treat them shitty, sometimes they want a guy that they can take home to meet mom. And very occasionally women just want a guy who can bang them until they forget their own name. This is probably how I got my wife, who is also ridiculously out of my league.

“Yeah, maybe you can. Do you know anything about laptops? Mine died yesterday, and I’m thinking about buying a new one.” A scenario ran through my mind where I offered to fix her laptop, and afterward, I grudgingly accepted sex in lieu of payment. Even for me, this fantasy sounded farfetched.

“I happen to be the resident laptop expert. What exactly are you looking for, and about how much were you wanting to spend?” I wasn’t lying about my expertise in the field of computers. I have been building my own machines since I was twelve years old.

“Well…” she started, tilting her head sideways, and unconsciously twisting her hair around her index finger. It was adorable. “I’m just mainly looking to get online, and get on Facebook, and do some word processing, you know, for school.”

“Oh,” I said, and gave her another glimpse of my pearly whites, “what college do you go to?” Rule number one, women always like to talk about themselves. Most guys always want to monopolize the conversation, that way they can tell the woman repeatedly how great they are. Women see through this in an instant. But a woman is usually always flattered when a guy asks her about herself, and actually pays attention to what she says.

“I go to North Central University.” She smiled devastatingly at me again. She was surprised at my interest. This was going just as planned. “It’s in Minneapolis.” It was probably about a forty minute drive to North Central from our store. Bummer, she probably didn’t even live around here. “I’m majoring in accounting.”

Most guys would give her a compliment here. They would tell her how smart she is, or how good looking that she is. In comes rule number two: never give a woman a sincere compliment. Once you compliment them, they know that you are putty in their pretty little fingers. The only compliments that I ever give are veiled insults. If a woman is perfectly fit, and trim; tell her that you don’t mind a woman with a little junk-in-the-trunk. This may sound like a compliment, but au contraire. The fact is, the better looking that a woman is, the poorer her self-esteem usually is. She will interpret this comment as, “he thinks that I am fat.” So her self-esteem will take a small blow. Enough of these small blows and that chick will blow you just to prove to herself that she is good enough to do it. It sounds crazy, and it totally is, but the majority of women have a fucked up psyche; and this especially applies to good looking women. Why, you might ask? I’m no certified expert. Try it for yourself. Think of it as a social experiment, and see if you don’t catch more flies with vinegar than honey.

“That is a pretty decent school,” I allowed, with a smug grin. “It is in a really shitty part of town, though. Be careful of all the sick-pervert-rapists around there, and those are just the people on the city council.” She giggled softly. It was a musical and adorable sound. “So what exactly is wrong with your laptop?”

“Well, it turns on, then the screen lights up, and I get all of these error messages. It won’t do anything, it won’t even reboot. I have to hold the power button down for it to go off. It really sucks, because the warrantee just ran out a couple of weeks ago, and it is a nice computer. I think my dad paid like nine hundred dollars for it.”

“It sounds like a software problem to me. I don’t think that there is actually anything wrong with the laptop itself. Maybe you got a virus, or something. Do you use antivirus?” I saw a guilty look on her pretty face.

“I had a year free, but it ran out with the warrantee.” She blushed deeply. “I’ve wanted to get something else, but money is tight. I work part time, but they recently cut my hours down to almost nothing.”

“I can understand that. Do you have the disks that came with it? The system reboot disks?” Her face fell at this question.

“No…” she paused, and looked like she was feeling stupid. “It didn’t actually come with any. I was supposed to make a set of backup disks, but I never got around to it.” She looked like she was about to cry. I genuinely felt bad for her, which is honestly not my usual reaction. Maybe it was just because she was so damn good looking. “Is there anything that you could do to help me out? I don’t want to have to put a new laptop on my credit card, because my dad will find out; and I don’t want to take it to a shop where they will rip me off. Maybe you could take a look at it?” Her beautiful blue eyes were pleading with me, and I found my resolve weakening. Why shouldn’t I help this poor girl out? I realized that I was rationalizing. I could do just as good of a job as a shop, and would charge a few bucks, or a few beers, or…

“If you give me your number, I’ll call you tomorrow, and come by and take a look at it. Where do you live?” She flashed a gorgeous smile at my positive response.

“I live in Bloomington, right off of I-35. Do you have a piece of paper, so I can write my number?” I went to the register, and ejected three inches of register tape, and handed it to her along with my pen. She wrote on it, and handed it back to me. It was a phone number, and her name printed in a *** that looked almost like calligraphy. Her name was Hope. She jumped, and grabbed me around my neck in a tight hug. It was comical because of the extreme difference in our heights. “Thank you so much! You don’t know how much this will help me out. I’ll be at home all day tomorrow, just call, and I will give you directions.” Her hair smelled delicious, like strawberries, and she had some kind of light perfume on that complimented it perfectly. She held the hug, and I eased her back down to the floor.

“I’ll call tomorrow around eleven.” She flashed me another smile, and thanked me again, and turned to leave. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her while she walked away. Her hips swayed enticingly in those little green shorts. I did something that I had never done before. I tucked her number in the inside fold of my wallet, where no one but the most thorough snoop, or a C.I.A. operative would be likely to find it. My wife was neither. I guess that I was tucking the number into my wallet when Mitch “the Bitch” saw me.

“I need to talk to you in the manager’s office immediately.” His pissy demeanor left me no choice to follow him into the back room. He was on his walkie-talkie calling Jerry, the assistant manager over my area to come back to the office, so we could have a “meeting.”

We waited outside the office for ten minutes on Jerry, since “the Bitch” wasn’t important enough to have keys to the office. We all three got in the office, and Jerry invited us to have a seat, and sat down himself.

“What seems to be the problem, Mitch?” Jerry had a vague expression on his face, which seemed to mean that he only nominally tolerated Mitch’s bullshit, and that he felt a little bit sorry that I was stuck in his sights at the moment.

“The problem is Robert’s continuing pattern of fraternization with women while on the clock; it really seems to be getting out of hand. I just watched him talk to a girl for at least ten minutes, he got her phone number, and I’m almost positive that she is under age.” Jerry sighed. He wasn’t really the manager over my department, but he worked opposite shifts of my boss, and he was in charge when my boss wasn’t working.

“Mitch, those are serious allegations to make. Robert, can you tell me what happened out there?”

“Sure, Jerry. No problem. I was approached by a customer about a laptop. She is a student at North Central, and she is not under age. She said she was having problems with her laptop, she described what was wrong with it, and asked if in my professional opinion if she needed a new one. I told her that it sounded like a software problem, or a virus, and that she should have it looked at…” Mitch cut me off.

“—See he is costing us sales! He should have recommended that she buy a new…” It was Jerry’s turn to do the interrupting, and it seemed like he genuinely enjoyed it.

“Mitch, Robert has sold a higher dollar amount than any other electronics employee since he was hired, and nobody else has come even close to him over the last six months. We have had a half dozen letters to corporate commending him for his excellent customer service. If he told this young lady that she didn’t need a new laptop, then she probably doesn’t; and she will probably remember his customer service, and will return to purchase other items from our store. That, Mitch, is the big picture.”

“But Jerry, I caught him putting her phone number into his wallet.” Mitch’s voice was getting whiney. What a fucking bitch! I could tell that Jerry was in total agreement with me.

“Did you put her phone number into your wallet, Robert?” I could have fessed up, and vindicated Mitch, but instead I voted to play the system.

“No, I don’t know what Mitch is talking about.” Mitch looked like he was about to bust with indignation. “It was all coincidence. I was checking to make sure that I had the cash to buy what I needed after my shift was over, and Mitch pulled me into the office. I think that he is just harassing me.” Jerry had clearly had enough of Mitch for one day.

“I think we are done here, Mitch. Thank you for your diligence in protecting the company’s bottom line from our best salesman. I want to talk about these charges of harassment against you with Robert. Alone.” I never thought it was possible, but Mitch paled at this statement. I had thought that pasty was at the bottom of the range of human complexions, but he surpassed it somehow. Mitch got up, left the office, and closed the door. Jerry visibly relaxed.

“Thank you for sticking up for me, Jerry.” He smiled.

“So, if I ran those cameras back, I wouldn’t see that sweet little blonde writing down her number, and you putting it in your wallet?” Jerry knew he had me. He had even scoped out the tiny blonde.

“Of course you would,” I said. He laughed out loud.

“I thought that you might be losing your touch, Robert. You know that you have quite the reputation around here. I’m not the only one who notices the way female customers hang on your every word.”

“It is a totally undeserved reputation, Jerry. I’m one hundred percent faithful to my wife.” Jerry grimaced.

“After seeing that blonde up close, I would say that’s a damn shame.”

Eleven o’clock the next day rolled around and I picked up my cell phone to call Hope; as promised. Thankfully, my wife was at work, so I wouldn’t have to explain the call. I punched in the number, and hit send on my cell. She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello.” Her voice had a musical quality to it. It was perfectly pitched, and it almost sounded like she sang every word that she spoke. I knew it was her, but I played it cool.

“Can I speak to Hope, please?”

“This is Hope. Is this my computer expert, Robert?”

“It is.”

“Yay!” Her little cheer was so cute that it brought a smile to my lips. “Can you come over and take a look at my laptop today?”

“Sure, I’m off today, and I’m sure that I can fit you in.” I’ve always wanted to say that to a beautiful woman. I was sure that she could hear my smile in my voice, but if she understood the tiny bit of teasing, she overlooked it. She proceeded to give me instructions to her house, which I wrote down, even though I just really needed the address. I loaded a few software DVDs, and a USB flash drive into my Jeep, programmed her address into Google maps on my phone, and headed to her house.

It wasn’t a long drive from my house, and before I knew it, I pulled into her apartment complex, and easily found her building; mostly thanks to her giving good initial directions, rather than instructions from the GPS on my phone. She buzzed me in after the first ring, and I walked up to her second floor apartment. I kept trying to push fantasies of her answering the door in the buff to the back of my mind. She answered the door with a smile, wearing a pair of black leggings, and a smallish t-shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a pony tail, and her feet were bare, revealing immaculately painted toenails the same shade of blue as her eyes. She showed me into a neat apartment that was modestly furnished in what appeared to be thrift store purchases, or gifts from friends, or relatives. Nothing really matched, but it had a funky, eclectic vibe that somehow meshed everything together. It made me long a little bit for the four years that I spent in college in dorms, and apartments just like this.

“You have a nice place here. Do you have a roommate?”

“No, thank god. I live alone. It helps keep me sane. It is hard to live with other people sometimes, plus I use the extra bedroom for my studio.” I wondered how she afforded such a large apartment by herself. No wonder she said that her money situation was tight. I had to ask the obvious question.

“You have a studio?”

“Yes, would you like to see it?” I nodded, and she grabbed me by the hand, and led me into the bedroom to the right. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if she led me by the hand to the bedroom on the left. Down boy! Those are dangerous thoughts. She opened the door into a large bedroom that had been converted into a work space.

“I do mosaic art. I take mostly tiles, but occasionally some other things, and make images, and patterns out of them.” There indeed were stacks and piles of all different kinds of tile all around the room, and two massive shelving units that had tile arranged by type and color. There was a flat work surface that held an unfinished work that I couldn’t quite identify. Propped up against the far wall was a completed mosaic that was easily four feet by six. It was clearly the stylized image of the late rap artist Tupac Shakur. It was a brilliantly done piece. I could picture the right person easily paying five grand for something like this.

“You said that you are an accounting major, is this just your hobby?” If this was her hobby, it was a hell of a waste of talent. She giggled, and again I caught hints of musical notes. She appeared to be impressed that I remembered her major.

“Yes, I am an accounting major; but no, it’s not just a hobby. This is how I make the bulk of my living. I am minoring in art, and plan to pursue doing mosaics full time. Accounting is sort of my back up plan. It’s always good to have a solid option if your dream doesn’t pan out.”

“How much would something like this sell for?”

“Well,” she hesitated a second, as if embarrassed. “This has been commissioned by a friend of someone that I did a mosaic for. This, of course, is Tupac. That,” she pointed to the unfinished work on the table, “will be Biggie when it’s done. I’ve quoted them a price of two thousand for the pair.” Wow. This girl was beautiful, intelligent, and artistically talented; sometimes life just wasn’t fair.

“You do impressive work. I bet that you will never have to work full time crunching numbers.” I was breaking my rule on compliments, but her work really was extraordinary.

“I hope that you are right.” She took my hand in her tiny hand again, and led me into the combination kitchen and dining room. Her laptop was sitting on the table. It was plugged in and open, but it was powered down. She motioned for me to have a seat. “Would you like a beer, Robert?”

“Sure. That would be great.” She gave me a smile as I sat down, and I watched her spectacular ass as it swayed enticingly across the kitchen to the refrigerator. The leggings that she wore were not quite opaque. You could see through them a tiny bit, and get a shadowy glimpse of the pale flesh underneath. It was also readily apparent that she wore no panties underneath; lacey thong, or otherwise. The leggings were skin tight, and there were no lines, or break in color anywhere.

“Is a Bud Light ok?”

“Sure. Whatever you have is fine. I’m easy.” She grinned back at me, clearly understanding the double entendre. She bent over with her back, and not with her knees to reach the beer in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. This not only gave me a spectacular view of her almost naked ass, but it gave me a clearly defined look at her very puffy pussy. She held the position for much too long to just be getting a couple of beers. The leggings were so tight, and thin that I could clearly differentiate between the outer, and inner lips of her love kitty. I felt myself start to quickly get erect under the table. I pushed the power button on her laptop to try and take my mind off of her body. She returned with the beers unexpectedly fast; as if she had sensed that my gaze no longer lingered, and she wished to once again be in sight. She sat the beer down, and stood right where my downcast eyes would immediately be on her when I looked back. It was just as I had thought. She wore no panties, because I could clearly make out the small landing strip that she had shaved her pubic hair into.

“Do you mind if I watch you work? I don’t want to make you nervous.” She wasn’t making me nervous. She was making me horny as hell; she was making me want to run screaming from her apartment, but nervous was one thing that I wasn’t.

“Sure. It will be pretty boring though.”

“I don’t mind. Sometimes I learn interesting things while doing boring things. You never can tell.” Her kitchen chairs were captain style, they had high backs, and arm rests. She scooted one close, so that she could see what I was doing, and promptly threw one leg over the arm; giving me another glimpse of her pretty feet, and an even better look at her snatch.

I had thought that before I might have just been mistaking completely innocent acts for seductive ones, just because I would like to imagine that such an incredibly attractive woman would try to seduce me. This act was so incredibly blatant that there was no way that it could be imagined, she was sitting there with her pussy exposed, and her bare foot was wiggling on my thigh.

I tried to play it cool. Powering her computer up did just what she said. I got an error message, and it froze. I inserted a boot cd, and powered down. Then I powered back up. I could feel those baby blue toenails scraping against my jeans that suddenly felt way too tight in the crotch area. I changed the boot device to cd, popped out of bios, and got the boot disk’s menu.

“Have you ever thought of doing this full time? You really seem like you know what you are doing.” She smiled, and her foot brushed an inch closer to where my rock hard cock stained at the denim of my jeans, begging to be released. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. I would concentrate on what I was doing for a few seconds, and then my eyes would wander back to her goddess-like form. I got a good look at her t-shirt, and didn’t think she was wearing a bra. Her nipples were clearly aroused. They were poking into the thin yellow fabric, as large and hard as pencil erasers.

“No. I’m really just a talented amateur. I’m not sure how great that I would be at this full time.” As hard as her nipples were, I wondered how aroused she was downstairs. I tried not to look at her blatant, wanton display; but my curiosity got the better of me. Not only could I see every crease and fold of her pretty little pussy, I could see that it was puffy, engorged, and excited. The little nub of her clit poked clearly between the lips at the top, and below was a large damp spot that clearly evidenced her high state of arousal. I must have stared too hard, or too long, because she shifted her slowly circling foot the last few inches over my jeans to my steel hard shaft.

“Yes,” she said slowly, “I can see that you are very talented.” Her voice almost purred with seduction. She shifted her leg back to the floor, and slid onto the floor, like a giant sexy snake. She pushed my chair back on its rollers so that I was no longer under the table. All thoughts of her laptop were gone as her tiny hands massaged my erect cock, and began to work my zipper down. She worked me through the hole in my boxer briefs, and exposed my eight inches of throbbing thickness. “Yes,” she said again, “you are very talented indeed.”

She leaned in, and I felt the hot wetness of her little mouth engulf the head of my cock. I wanted to say, “STOP! I’M MARRIED!” But the only sound my lips uttered was the pent up groan of longing, as she began to work more and more of my saliva lubricated shaft into her mouth. Her hand found mine, and lifted it to her pony tail. I took the hint, and then gripped it tightly. She moaned in appreciation, all the while sliding more and more of my cock in her mouth, until I began bumping the back of her throat. I have to say, the girl was a champ. I hit the back of her throat a half dozen times, and she never gagged once. I felt her small hand wrap around the wrist of my hand that was gripping her ponytail, and push down. I felt the delicious feeling of my cock entering her throat for a brief moment, and then it was gone along with the hand on my wrist. I took the hint quickly. On her next down stroke, I pushed slowly, but firmly down on the back of her head. I felt her throat tense for a second, and then my thick cock slid into the incredible tightness. I worked her up and down a few times, and then I slid myself out of her throat to let her breathe. She gulped air greedily.

“Goddamn, you are big!” This comment was kind of muffled, as she was sliding my pole back into her greedy pie hole. She bobbed a few times (see the perfect use of the word Bob), and I forced her back down, and fucked her throat fiercely. I both worked her head up and down, and humped my hips in time. After about thirty seconds or so, I let her back up for air. “You seem to be getting close. You can cum in my mouth, just please don’t do it in my throat.” Her big blue eyes locked with mine, and I nodded in agreement.

“I’ll let you know before I cum, Hope.” This got another flash of blue eyes, and then she leaned up farther toward my navel so that it would facilitate my dick going down her throat more naturally. She sucked me for a few seconds, and then I pushed her head back down onto my dick. I was a little rougher this time, but she didn’t seem to mind, and she didn’t hesitate or choke. She was right, I was really close, and being enclosed in the impossibly tight space of her throat was the reason. I intended to make this the last push before my orgasm. I pushed deeper than I ever had before. Her nose bumped my closely trimmed pubic hair on the down stroke, and my up-stroke took me to the verge of popping out of her snug channel. I fucked faster and harder, trying to achieve orgasm, but also trying not to overdo it and hurt this tiny girl. Almost without warning I felt my balls begin to spasm, and I knew that it would be only a split second before I blew my load. I pulled up hard on her ponytail, accidentally pulling her mouth off my johnson. She took my first strong blast on the chin, and across her cheek; and then she grabbed my shaft, and slid it back into her mouth, sucking at the mouthfuls of sperm that I was giving greedily. When I was totally spent, she stopped bobbing on my knob, and let it slip from her lips with a loud slurp. She scooped the semen off her chin and cheek, and popped the finger into her mouth. I had never seen a woman who seemed to enjoy sucking cock more, and I had definitely never met a woman that seemed to enjoy swallowing my seed half as much as her. It was like she wanted to make sure that not a single drop escaped.

She sat on my lap, across the chair, and kissed me deeply on the lips. I had never kissed a woman so quickly after cumming in her mouth. It kind of grossed me out, but kind of turned me on at the same time. It’s not like it was some other dude’s jizz. Her tongue probed my mouth, and I could taste my saltiness on it. She was a great kisser, with incredible lips. Our mouths entwined, our tongues slid through each other’s mouths. My hand found its way up her t-shirt to cup her smallish, but impossibly perky breasts. They were probably a large B cup, but they were definitely more than a mouthful. I found this out for sure after I pulled her shirt over her head. She cradled my head as I licked and sucked first one, then the other; then switching my attention between the two.

My hand found the damp spot in the crotch of her leggings. I rubbed her damp pussy lips, and brushed my fingers over her sensitive clit, which elicited a hungry moan from her. I tried to get my hand under the waistband, but that didn’t work, so I just went back to rubbing her clit through the fabric.

“Tear it, Robert. Please, rip these so I can feel you directly on my skin.” I picked her up in my arms. She weighed almost nothing in my strong arms. I carried her to the living room, and laid her gently on the couch. I slid down between her legs, and kissed her pussy through the leggings. She moaned aloud, like a bitch in heat that can’t control herself. I reached forward, grabbed the gossamer fabric with both hands, and I tore the crotch. It split from almost the waistband, all the way down to the top of her ass crack. She just had one strip of dark blonde hair that stopped just above her pussy. The outer lips were completely shaven, and they glistened with moisture. I slid my middle finger a tiny bit inside of her, and she raised her hips to give me a better entrance angle. I slid it in slowly, all the way to the third knuckle. She was surprisingly tight inside, clinging to my single finger. I tried to imagine what it would feel like on my very thick eight inches, but I couldn’t concentrate that hard about it right that second. Her clit had swollen out of its hood, and peeked at me enticingly, like a tiny pink pearl. I leaned up, and sucked it into my mouth, while finger fucking her slowly with my middle finger. She moaned louder still, and wrapped her thighs around my head. This is exactly what she wanted. I began to rhythmically lick her clit in time with my finger banging. It started slowly, but as she got closer and closer to orgasm; I licked faster and faster, and fingered harder and harder.

“OH MY GOD! I’M GONNA CUM!!!” Her thighs redoubled their vise-like grip on my head, and a hot jet of girl cum came squirting out of her pussy, around my finger, and splashed my entire face and head. I kept fingering, and licking, and I didn’t know if she would ever stop. Finally she went limp, and the leg lock on my head relaxed. I was drenched in her cum. She lay dazed on the couch, and I flopped down beside her, tired both from my exertions, and the prolonged lack of oxygen. I pulled her into my arms, and she sighed.

“Oh my god. No guy has ever made me cum like that, Rob.” Strangely enough, when she said it, it didn’t piss me off. It actually sounded cute. “Damn. I can’t even make myself squirt, and you did it on the first try. Sorry about soaking you.”

“It’s ok, Hope. It was worth every drop just to see you enjoy cumming like that.”

“You know, I thought you were cute, but I really just planned on you fixing my computer. I figured that maybe I would flirt, and give you a free show with my see-thru leggings, but there is something about you. OMG! I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there.”

“If you give me a few more minutes, we can have sex. I just need to catch my breath a bit more.”

“Why don’t we save that for another day? I’m not sure what is going on down there in my va-jay-jay. I’ve never done that before, and I’m not sure that I can even walk right now. I want to be able to fully participate in sex. Why don’t you take my laptop home, and fix what’s wrong with it, and we can have sex when you bring it back; if you are still interested.”

“…If I’m still interested?” I chuckled at the sheer absurdity of that statement. I would probably think of nothing else between now and then.

“Look, I know that you are married, and this might have just been something spontaneous between two people that are incredibly attracted to each other. You might regret this as soon as you leave here. All I ask is that you give it some thought; in the meantime, fix my laptop, and you can give me your answer when you bring it back.”

“That sounds fair enough.” I glanced at my watch. “Holy shit! I’ve been over here quite a while.” My wife should still be at work, but it would be just like karma to let her get off work early today.

“You need to clean up a bit.” I saw the logic in her argument. She stood on wobbly legs, stripped my shirt off, and threw it in her dryer. It would probably just make it smell like pussy even worse, but at least it wouldn’t have giant wet spots. I washed my face and short hair with a wash cloth, and brushed my teeth with an extra toothbrush that she had in her cupboard. I felt as presentable as I could get. I kissed her briefly, then more insistently. She pushed me back, not in a mean way, but as a reminder that the longer I stayed the better chance that I would get caught by my wife. I headed out with her laptop under my arm and a new bounce in my step.

Dear Brooke,

I know that I don’t call you enough, and I’m sorry. It is hard to talk about all the shit that is going on with mom and dad. They are the reason that I left Michigan, and they are the reason that you and I are apart. I’m sorry to put you in the middle of it, but until you smarten up, and decide to leave, that is where we are. Sorry to start this email out on such a shitty note. I miss you every day, and I wish that you would reconsider moving to Minneapolis. You can’t imagine how hard it is to be in a completely new place without your twin sister. Damn, I hate typing long emails on my phone. I guess that maybe it has been worth being without my computer for a few days though.

I met this new guy yesterday, and OMG! He works as a salesman at a local store. Yeah, that part doesn’t sound exciting, but trust me; there is more to this guy than just his job. I went in looking for a new laptop, because mine won’t do a damn thing, and this really cute sales guy greets me, and starts asking me what I’m looking for. He is a little older. Well, maybe more than a little. I guess he’s about thirty; but what the hell? Aren’t older guys supposed to be attracted to nineteen year old hotties? Hello?

So this guy is asking me about my laptop, and I can’t take my eyes off of his smile. He has these really dark brown eyes, and when he smiles, they sparkle. It is really strange, and a bit hypnotic. So I manage to stammer out the problems that I’m having with my laptop, without looking like too much of a dumb blonde (I hope). So he tells me that it’s probably just a virus, and that getting it fixed would be a lot cheaper than getting a new one. I am really strapped for cash, and I can’t imagine having to crawl back to dad, and ask him for the money. I’d rather prostitute myself out first. Well, you can already see where this is going. Brooke, I haven’t had sex in almost eight months, and the way that he was smiling at me, laptop or no; I was thinking that he would be the next name on my pitifully short list. He’s good looking enough, but there is just something about this guy, Brooke. I just wanted him. As silly as it sounds, fucking this guy seemed like it would be an achievement, like he was Brad fucking Pitt, or something. I know that you are laughing so hard that you are peeing on yourself, but it is true. He just has this magnetic personality.

So, Rob, that’s his name, tells me that he could probably fix it cheap. He said that it depended exactly how bad the damage was. So he pulls out a pen, and a slip of paper, and hands it to me; and that’s when I see it, his wedding band. I hesitated, because I had been thinking about banging this guy the whole time that he was talking to me. So I was in a predicament; should I give him my number, or not? I still needed my computer fixed; after all, that’s why I had gone in there to begin with. So I gave him my number. I figured that he probably wouldn’t call, and even if he did, I wouldn’t have to sleep with him.

So the next day, I had just got out of the shower, and he called. Not only did he call, but he called exactly when he said that he would call. It was none of that bullshit that guys our age pull. He was all business on the phone, so maybe all the sexual tension had been in my head. I gave him directions to my apartment, and he said that he would be right over. I took stock of what I had at the house. I had twenty dollars in cash, four beers, and half a case of ramen noodles. So basically, if Rob wanted money for fixing it, I was screwed; and not in the way that I wanted.

I figured that maybe if I dressed sexy that maybe he would give me a break on the price. I know that you are laughing again. You are always calling me a skanky little hoe-bag because of the way that I dress, how can I make that even sexier without answering the door naked? I put on this pair of really, really sheer black leggings. I hesitate to even call them that, they are more like opaque tights. I bought them a size too small, so they fit like a second skin. I wore a tiny t-shirt, and oh yeah; I didn’t wear any panties. It was as casually sexy as I could manage in twenty minutes. I wanted him to get a good look, but to maybe think that it was an accident. That way he wouldn’t get any bright ideas about having sex with me.

Things went fine. I let him in, and he was very casually checking me out. I love that about older guys, they won’t drool over you, even if you are as smoking hot as we are. I showed him around my apartment, and even showed him the studio. He seemed impressed by my work. He kept smiling that smile at me. His teeth are so white. God, Brooke, he was being a total gentleman, and I was creaming on myself just by looking at his smile and eyes, and hearing that rich baritone voice that he has.

I’ll make a long story short. He was working on my computer, and I just got down in the floor, took out his dick, and started blowing him. Yeah, I felt like the slut that you are always making me out to be. Here this nice, MARRIED man comes over to do me a genuine favor, and I can’t help myself. I pulled his cock out, and he was huge! Like porn actor huge! You know that I am proud of my blowjob skills, but Rob stretched my talents to the limit in every way imaginable.

After I was done, he picked me up in his big strong arms. He held me like I was a little girl, and weighed nothing. I know that neither of us are big, and this feat isn’t really impressive on its own; but when he held me in his arms, I felt safer than I have ever felt in my life. He laid me down of the couch, and physically ripped those leggings off. OMG! I had a little orgasm right then! Then he went down on me. You know that I haven’t been with a ton of guys, but I never actually imagined that a guy licking me could ever feel that good. He was the first guy that I’ve ever been with that really seemed to understand what I needed.

Remember when I told you that Zack Posner went down on me, and couldn’t find my clit? This was the exact opposite of that. I never had to direct him in any way. He just made me feel good, and then it felt better, and then it felt like my head was going to explode. Remember that big debate that we had over that porn movie that we watched where the woman squirted cum out of her pussy? You said that it was possible, and I said that she was just peeing? Well, I was wrong. It happened to me for the very first time with him. How can a guy that I’ve known for a total of one day make me cum better than I can make myself? It just doesn’t seem possible. My orgasm was so powerful that I was literally “weak in the knees.”

He offered sex after, but to be honest, I didn’t know if I could take a fucking by him after that. My emotions were all a jumble and I kept thinking about his wife. I know that sometimes people just get carried away, and fucking him would make this a much bigger mistake on my part than just oral. I told him to take my computer home, and fix it, and if he still wanted to have sex with me after he thought about it, then we could. He cleaned up a little, and left; telling me that he would call me sometime tomorrow.

I have been able to think of nothing else since. I keep kicking myself for keeping us from fucking. I keep kicking myself for blowing a married guy in the first place. I am so fucking confused. Give me your honest opinion, Brooke. What should I do? Should I deny myself a chance… at what really? Can I even gain anything more than a really good fuck out of this? If that is all, would it really be worth it? The sad part about it is that it has already become more than just about the sex to me. I really like this guy. Should I kick him to the curb just because he found some other girl first? I was probably like eleven at the time. That doesn’t seem fair to me. I know that this is all bullshit rationalization. I think that no matter what I do, someone is going to be hurt.

I’m sorry for rambling. It is 3:30am, and I am not thinking clearly. I have picked up my phone to text him a half dozen times, and stopped myself. I know that he will call tomorrow. What should I do? I know that you will check your email as soon as you wake up. I would have called, but there is absolutely no way that I could ever have said all of this to you on the phone, or made you understand the situation. Call me when you get this, I don’t care how early that it is. I need someone to talk about this with, and nobody is closer to me than you.

Love,

Hope

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