The Rubicon

[HowardRoarke]

Me, her, Vegas. A decade ago.I lived there at the time.

She was in Los Angeles for a work conference and had a "free day," wanted to come see me, everything up-and-up, no drama. She was in a complicated "partially open" marriage, where she and her husband had swung with friends a few times, but with most of the outside sex taking the form of him banging a series of his secretaries.

She and I met online (back before it became a cliche), had some history, but aside from some blistering phonesex, had never crossed any lines. Her husband knew about me.

She looked hot as hell getting off the plane- waist-length dark auburn hair, moss-green eyes, that fair, fair complexion that so many Scots have, curves in all the right places, including a phenomenal set of mouth-watering tits. The perfunctory hug we exchanged at the gate crackled along my neural net.

I showed her around the Strip, she tripped on a crack in the pavement in front of Treasure Island. I tried to catch her, we both went down. Those pleasure zeppelins pressed against my arm nearly made me forget my name. We straightened up, had a good laugh, P.F. Chang's for lunch, and then, trouble...

She wanted to see my place. I didn't think it was all that great-an-idea. She had sent me a present the previous Christmas (armchair). She wanted to see it in my place. We had five hours till her flight back to LA. I took her home, conflicted all the way.

She liked the house, didn't try anything when I showed her the master bedroom. I breathed a bit easier, asked her whether she wanted to head back to the Strip and see jousting at the Excalibur (she had a medieval thing- I'd only ever driven past the Excalibur, no idea what the cheese factor on their "tourneys" might be). She said sure, but before we went, she wanted to see me sitting in the chair she'd given me, get a picture.

I sat.

She snapped.

She advanced upon me, still seated in the chair, stood next to it, and showed me the pic. Red eye. Needed another.

She snapped again and again came over to show me.

Only this time, she sat on the arm of the chair as she handed me the camera.

I immediately noticed the pressure of her left hip against my right arm. I'll never forget the expression on her face when I looked up at her in response to that pressure.

Pure hunger.

First our eyes locked. Then our mouths met. Tongues entwined. Her need was heady, the most potent drug ever.

Without a word she broke the kiss, pinned me to the chair with that stare of hers, reached for my belt buckle, and then my zipper, and then, just like that, her hand was wrapped around a cock that had never, ever been harder than at that exact moment.

I remembered her boasting about her oral skills, how all of her previous lovers, including her husband, claimed she possessed the most talented mouth in the western hemisphere. And from somewhere in the depths of my id came the words, "Stroke it with your left hand."

I wanted to watch the diamond on her engagement ring glint as it glided up and down my shaft. She obliged. Hotwronghotwronghothothot...

Jeezus.

And then I was in her mouth. I've got around six inches, with a wide, fat head on it, and she handled it all with neither any trouble, nor any discernible evidence of a gag reflex. I think it was Will Rogers who said, "It ain't braggin' if you can do it." Turns out all of her talk wasn't braggin'.

Her mouth warm and wet, her tongue alive along my shaft, the darting into the slit on my cockhead, then down slavering along the underside of my balls... ecstasy!

And all the while that diamond, symbol of her fidelity, continued to sparkle while she blew me.

That got to me. It felt so primal to be in this position with a married woman, this married woman. Now I was keenly aware of my own need...

It was the work of about ten seconds to pull her off my cock, my fingers tangled in those wild auburn tresses, push her backward onto my couch, yank her jeans down far enough to expose the panties I quickly ripped completely off her. She rolled onto her knees, sighed as I exposed an incredible, round ass to view and the grasp of both palms, we hadn't even bothered to take shoes/jeans off, just down, and then I was inside her.

Double Jeezus. Hot, molten, slick, and her doing kegels almost as soon as I bottomed out in her, thrusting back to meet me, growling low in her throat, gasping as we coupled.

I'l never forget the moment when she looked back over her shoulder at me, her growl converting into a moan, followed by the words, "Jesus... so much deeper than my husband..."

That fired me up, and in a trice my pistoning in and out of that amazing pussy had ratcheted up to jackhammering.

A couple of minutes later, when I slowed down and leaned over to bite her earlobe she gasped, "Can you tell? I shaved... for you..."

And then she came for the first time, and told me so.

That statement just spurred me on (as it was intended to). I just had to see for myself. Rolled her over onto her back, re-mounted her, and sank back in, balls-deep, pressing down on top her. She came again, louder. If I'd had any shred of attention to pay to my surroundings or anything other than the vixen currently clasping me like a Grim Death in a velvet glove, I'd have wondered what my neighbors might think.

Her nipples so hard they dug grooves in my chest while we fucked. Her kisses continued to be electric. Her tongue was a wonder. She clung to me and I dove into her.

Finally, covered in sweat, not slowing down, aching, close, I hissed, "Where do you want it?" She'd talked about how she loved that sort of question, it really fed her submissive/pleaser streak. "In you or on you?" My balls were bunched tight up against my scrotum by that point. I started thinking of batting averages and crop reports, anything to keep me from popping before I got an answer.

Usually I would have just slowed down to stave off my orgasm. That wasn't an option here, now. I didn't want to slow down. I wasn't going to stop. I didn't want to ever stop feeling this way.

So when the end came, it would come full-speed, balls out.

She moaned. I repeated the question.

"My face! My face! Oh Goddddd..." and she came again.

I had never done that, but in the moment I didn't hesitate (I'd thought she was to to ask for my load on those rockin' tits of hers. We laughed about that later. After I did, in fact, cum all over them.).

The expression on her face while I gave her everything within me is burned in to my memory as few things are.

Later, after we showered (pausing for more head and another round under the hot water), she'd dragged me to bed, called and changed her flight to the first one the next morning, and before we settled in for another round of fucking, we talked about our personal Rubicon, and how we'd crossed it.

"We were kidding ourselves to think it wouldn't happen," she said then. I didn't agree at the time. In retrospect, I can see pretty clearly that the only way to have avoided it all would have been to avoid ever actually seeing each other in person. The most palpable physical chemistry I'd felt in my life up to that moment...

That was just the beginning. There were lots of other times. It eventually ended, and not without some damage all 'round.

I'm not proud of my own part in the whole thing, but that doesn't stop me thinking about it, and enjoying the memory.

Even if I sometimes don't like myself very much when I do.

[RickInPhilly]

Excellent!!!

[HowardRoarke]

Thanks Rick. There's more to the story if anyone is interested.

HR

[bewareoflizzy]

Oh yes, please...more.