A sex story about an affair
"Stripped," erotica by Logan Fisher
Instead of crying, I was delighted today when Scott, my husband, malevolently said, “Move Fat Ass!” as he maneuvered his way to the coffee maker in the claustrophobic kitchen. Instead of apologizing, I felt giddy today when he complained, “Damn it! Can’t you ever cook the fucking bacon the way I like?” as he threw the plate into the sink making a loud crash. Instead of being protective and feeling desperate, I laughed today when trying to change my little sons’ despair as they wailed when startled by the sharp clanking of plate to sink and their father’s yelling.
Just another typical weekend at home, but instead of wallowing in my misery, today I was rejoicing. For once, all of this heartache was useful. That’s right, I said useful. Each punch to the stomach, each cruel comment, each impossibly chaotic moment was a reason for me to take Jeffrey up on his naughty proposition
Mumbling a lame, “I need to do some work in my classroom,” I shut the front door on Scott’s ranting and two crying sons, and sought refuge in the silence of my car. I turned the ignition and began driving towards the middle school where Jeffrey and I were teachers. As I drove, my daydreams had nothing to do with teaching. My hands gripped the wheel with sweet anticipation, and I put my mind upon the miracles that happened on the last day of school before Christmas break.
That day while Jeff‘s students and mine watched the Christmas movie in the auditorium, we sat in the row behind them, and an unspoken heat passed between our elbows pressed together on the shared arm of the chair. To make sure I wasn’t imagining what was happening, I boldly moved my leg over so that it rested against his finely toned thigh. He returned the gesture by deliberately pressing it back against me, sending ripples of heat from my head to my toes. Reliving that scene now sent an electric current so strong through my body that it made my groin ache. On more than one occasion whether in school or out socially together, I longed to trace the line that his boxer briefs made through his khakis along his exquisite legs. Perhaps today would be the day.
The middle school parking lot was empty, as I knew it would be. No teacher in their right mind would be working in their classroom the day after Christmas. But I was not in my right mind, and it felt deliciously naughty. I told myself that it was about time. After all, where had playing it straight gotten me? Although only 27, the weight of my layers made me feel much older. I was an unhappy wife of a verbally abusive husband who couldn’t hold a job. I was the daughter of strict Catholic parents who wouldn’t allow divorce. I was the reluctant mother of two sons who needed me constantly because of the chaos at home. I was the bread winner, the health insurance holder, the dutiful taxi driver.
At work, I was the beloved steady Mrs. Handel, who used joviality and smiles to hide the pain of her home life. I volunteered for every committee and tutoring opportunity to help pay bills that were always late and, if truth be told, to keep me from going home earlier than I had to. At the end of the day I was spent, but that didn’t mean I was finished. It seemed as if nightly I needed to find the energy to pleasure my husband who viewed me as a vessel for sex. When he climbed on top of me at night, grunting like a feeding pig, I felt numb.
The lights were still off in Jeffrey’s classroom, so I tried to busy myself with work. I sat down at my desk and absentmindedly moved the tape dispenser to the stapler’s spot and placed the stapler where the tape dispenser once stood. Much to my dismay, my carefully honed Catholic upbringing and my heavy layers sent guilty messages which began to seep into my thoughts. Which commandment would I be breaking if I had an affair with Jeff? Is extramarital sex a reason to lose your children in divorce proceedings? Speaking of divorce, shouldn’t that be the answer to my woes no matter what my parents think? How would a rendezvous with Jeff help? I waved my hands to wipe away the thoughts, grabbed a paper that I needed for the following week and headed for the teacher’s room to use the copier.
Turning on the fluorescent overhead lights, my mind was flooded with the memory of what took place in this very room three days before. While most teachers bolted out the door on the last day of school before break, I was not eager to get home. So I lingered that day in my classroom relishing the flirting that had taken place between Jeffrey and me, half hoping that he would stay at school as well so that we could continue whatever it was that was starting between us. But the hour grew late and I reluctantly walked to the teacher’s room to collect my coat. Passing Jeffrey’s dark classroom, my heart sunk. He had already left. Perhaps his amorous advances were just imaginings done by a desperately unhappy woman. I chastised myself for thinking that Jeffrey would ever be interested in me. But as I rounded the corner and opened the teacher’s room door, that thought was completely refuted. Jeff stepped out of the shadows of the coatroom and grabbed me by my sweater lapels. Pushing me up against the wall, he forcefully kissed me. He pressed firmly against me, so I could feel his hard cock on my leg.
He whispered, “I have been waiting to do that all day.” I stood in stunned silence, knees weak and my sex instantly wet. He continued, “Meet me here the day after Christmas. Will you do that?” Struck mute by the unfamiliar passion rising in me, I nodded my head. Kissing me again, he said, “See you then.”
So here I was the day after Christmas standing in that very teacher’s room where Jeffrey had made his proposition, wondering if he’d gotten cold feet, wondering if he’d show up at all. All questioning was quieted when Jeffrey swept through the door, locking it behind him. He advanced towards me. With one swift motion, he pressed me against the copier and raked his fingers through my hair.
“Was that the longest Christmas day you’ve ever experienced?” he asked. He pulled my mouth to him fiercely. His tongue moved wildly as if searching for an answer. My arms dangled at my sides for a moment and then found their way to his shirt. But with each button undone, thoughts born from guilt permeated my desire. The first button opened too easily and the pious voice in my head said, “My Catholic upbringing forbids coveting.” Button two revealed a well-groomed hairy clavicle and sternum, but the chastising voice of a wife said, “No matter how unhappily, I was a married woman.” Button three brought out the worried voice of a mother, “Think of what this would do to your children if they found out.” Button four and button five exposed a perfect pair of pecks but the voice of reason screamed, “We are in the teacher’s room at the school in which we work. We could lose our jobs!”
As his shirt fell open, I was overwhelmed by both the sight of his athletic torso and the shame that plagued me. I buried my face in his chest, and whispered, “I am not sure I can do this.” Jeffrey took a hold of my shoulders. He kissed my nose gently and traced my lips lightly with his fingers.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” The kindness of that statement and the worry in his eyes touched me deeply. I wrapped my arms around him and nuzzled my nose into his neck. The scent of his skin was fresh, sweet and earthy and it stoked my desire making me ache with want. I nuzzled closer and he moaned in my ear.
“I have wanted you for so long, Logan.” His longing was enough to strip me of doubt and my Catholic mores. I coveted Jeffrey and it felt too good for restraint. I took his face in my hands and kissed him gently at first. His round lips responded and his tongue flicked mine in muted passion. I hungered for more. Kissing him with urgency, I backed him up against the newly washed chalkboard and pushed my hips into his, grinding on his hard cock. Understanding this cue as his go ahead, Jeff removed my glasses and with it he began to strip me of my teacher persona. He undid my barrette meant to keep my hair from getting in my eyes while grading papers and layers of brunette fell to my shoulders releasing me of tension. Furiously, he undid my cardigan. Each opened button quieted the voice of reason. The setting faded into the background and no longer mattered. I wanted Jeff to possess me; I didn’t care where. When he tossed the sweater to the white industrial tile, he left me uncovered, but emboldened. No longer Mrs. Wright, the respected teacher, I was a wanted woman.
Trained by my husband to please, I took off Jeff’s belt, shimmied down his khakis and his bulging boxer briefs. His long throbbing cock burst forward. I was startled by the sheer size: so much bigger than Scott’s, which until now, was the only cock I had ever seen. I placed both of my hands around it and began to stroke. Jeff gutturally moaned making me want to please him more. I pressed my breasts into his torso and slid down his body. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, I opened my mouth wide taking in his entire shaft, swirling my tongue as he moved inside me. Groaning, he grabbed the back of my head and thrust his hips with fervor. The tip of his cock hit the back of my throat over and over, faster and faster. His breathing became rapid until I was sure he was about to explode. Instead, he grabbed my hair, tugging gently. I reluctantly stopped and he pulled me up to kiss me fiercely once more.
Grabbing me around my middle, he laid me down on the planning table where days before my sons had sat coloring while I talked on the phone with a parent. Now, with my peanut butter stained turtle neck being pulled over my head, I became less and less the mother of two boys. With my layers loosening, I arched my back to indicate my pleasure as his tongue traced wet paths on my stomach and in between my breasts. He deftly pulled down my worn weekend jeans and with them went the contrite voice of the mother in me. I was no longer thinking of my children as I scratched my nails down Jeffrey’s back. All that was left of my protective layers was the sensible bra and panties that only my husband had seen me wear. The care that Jeffrey took with those as he stripped them away was more responsive than any love making experience I had ever had with my husband. Jeff’s attention to my pleasure stripped away all the guilt about the vows I had taken. I felt exhilarated, exposed both physically and mentally. I was a new student just learning about the give and take of sex.
He cupped my large breasts and buried his face in between them. He found my nipples with his teeth. He nibbled and pulled and suckled until I was delirious with want. Sensing my growing desire, he placed both his hands on each side of my torso and slid them down. He looked me over. I shuddered with pent up yearning. Using his thumbs, he opened me wide and slipped two of his fingers into my pussy. He slowly slid them back and forth driving me to the brink. I rocked and bucked and humped his fingers until the table began to sway and squeak under the assault. Grabbing my hips he pulled me toward him so that my ass hung off its edge and with one swift move, he entered me. My breath was sucked away at the sudden fullness. Jeffrey moved his cock in and out of my pussy. Deliberately pulling it slowly and then thrusting it back in quickly as if impaling me. I pushed back against his rhythm, wanting, needing to be fucked hard and fast.
Made maniacal with lust, I managed to breathlessly beg. “Give it to me. Please! Give it to me hard.” Jeff smiled fervidly and drove his cock hard and fast. He reached for my clit and rubbed it wildly as he thrust. Instantly, the convulsions came in waves starting in my thighs. I grabbed his hips and pressed his cock inside me as far as it would go. Grinding against him, my clit pulsed and vibrated. I came like I never had with Scott. I bit down on Jeff’s shoulder to contain an orgasmic scream that I wanted to release but couldn’t, worried that someone may hear. Jeff continued thrusting furiously. His breathing became more urgent, and delicious throaty grunts beat in time with the rhythm of his orgasm. Spent, he collapsed on top of me. I felt alive under his weight.
With our clothes back on, Jeff pulled me to him and said, “We should do that more often.”
“I couldn’t agree more. When?” I asked.
“Well let’s see, we can ‘work’ in our classrooms every weekend and if we really get desperate during the week, we do have a common planning time.” I smiled a devilish smile savoring the thought of more sex with Jeff.
Standing in the parking lot, I realized that this was the first time I’d get in my car to go home without those blasted layers weighing me down. I had hope, and it made me feel light and airy. I wasn’t sure what would happen with this affair or where it would take me, but I didn’t care because like the cliché says, I was a new woman. And this new woman wanted to start fresh. So instead of turning toward home, I drove toward the mall. The teacher in me wanted contacts instead of stodgy glasses. The mom in me wanted tight new jeans and new low cut tops that accentuated my large breasts. The woman in me wanted to buy sexy bras and panties, ones that Jeff would be pleased to find when he stripped me again.
Originally published June 2010