3 Fucks and Out

Any last vestige of resistance I may have had was now vanishing rapidly. The tiny bit that was left, for it still hadn't occurred to me that we might fuck right there and then, rushed out of the window when he took my hand, pulled on it and placed it right on his bare cock, which somehow he'd exposed. That was the last barrier removed. I was his now; I was putty in his hands.

His cock was awesomely big and welcomingly hard.

My panties were pushed down, maybe off, I didn't know. He lifted the hem of my short skirt and made me whimper as he pressed the end of his cock right against my clit. He was holding and squeezing both cheeks of my bum as his mouth ravaged my breasts and nipples. He lifted me up. I couldn't believe what was happening, my legs were wrapped round his waist, my back was pressed against the wall as his cock slid effortlessly into me. As we started to fuck with our mouths clamped together that scene from Basic Instinct where Michael Douglas shags the psychiatrist against a wall came into my mind. And that was how I was fucked by a man other than my husband for the first time for so many years.

*

Fuck two - the co-worker.

I suppose it was inevitable. Maybe it was what I was looking for? Perhaps I saw work as a means to an end? Possibly deep down I imagined I would meet men in no strings situations? I really don't know, but it was and I did. I swear, though, I never looked for it or promoted it, things like Patrick and me just happen, I don't think they can be planned.

In some ways I guess it was a classic work place romance, a predictable work colleagues' affair.

Patrick was one of the directors and he was my boss. He was just older than me, nearly fifty and lived in an upscale North London suburb which was just about ten miles from where I lived. He too was married with two children. His wife was known in the office and didn't seem to be liked. She was heavily into politics and was a local Tory party councillor, but was trying to get adopted for a parliamentary seat in Kent so she was away from home quite a lot. As we got to know each other better, that became very usefu!

I suppose it developed and followed a fairly predictable path.

We worked closely together, probably closer than was really necessary.

We had to attend meetings together, both in the office, at the regional head office, at various agencies we used and at the national HQ. Most of the agencies were close by or in London, but both the Regional and National Head Offices were some way away so we had to travel to them usually travelling together in his top of the range Merc.

We got to know each other pretty well, we talked of many things including our personal lives, which I soon learned were dangerous discussion topics.

We started to work late and have lunches together sometimes with agencies or consultancies, but now and then just the two of us, ostensibly to discuss work.

We had drinks after work, just the two of us, he gave me lifts to the station and then.

"Maybe we could have dinner one night Cat, perhaps when we are both at a loose end having been partner dumped?"

I wondered whether that was that just a plutonic gesture, the intimacy trail or, the road to a fuck?

Staying late at the office, mild flirting, lifts to the station, the odd drinks after work even lunch are all part of work. Yes they may be extensions of it and they may bring the participants closer together, but they can always be viewed as work; they are usually in work time so they can be justified as that. Dinner is different. It is out of work hours, it isn't part of the working day, it intrudes on one's personal time and cannot really be justified. I could no more say to Richard that I was going to dinner with Patrick, my boss than he could say to his shrew of a wife that he was taking me out. You can wrap it how you will but dinner, even between work colleagues is a date, it's as simple as that. But rather than say 'come on a date' we use the euphemism 'let's have dinner.' We both knew, though, exactly what it is and what was going on; after all we were both grown-ups!. Patrick was trying to extend our relationship, take it beyond work mould it into friendship or more, he was extending a guarded invitation to me to go out with him. Yes, Patrick was inviting me to take another step along the intimacy trail. I strode out with little hesitation on that road to be fucked.

"Yes that would be nice" was my hesitant reply.

It didn't go anywhere. We got on well, we chatted easily, we found out lots about each other, but it ended when he dropped me at the station and I got the train home. I think we were both too nervous and concerned that we would do something to upset the other. I certainly, and I suspect Patrick as well, was also relieved; starting an affair is a big step and a huge responsibility.

Whether I was trying to justify my feelings for Patrick and the potential affair or whether all the signs from Richard were adding up to him being 'at it' I'm not sure. But he was away and out more often, he had more 'urgent' trips and he fucked me less and less often A couple of times I thought I smelt the 'cheap' perfume that bimbos wear on him, but I wasn't sure. As I became ever more convinced, or as I worked hard to convince myself that he was seeing another or even other women, I felt remarkably relaxed about it. And as I had been having my fling with Craig and was getting ever nearer to consummating the flirting with Patrick, the act that my husband was fucking another woman, or more was in a way a relief!

Again, whether it was me 'knowing' that Richard was up to something I don't know, but I started feeling differently about Patrick. There was almost, or so it seemed, a correlation between the strength of my suspicions that my husband was shagging some little tart and the strength of those feelings for Patrick.

I looked for him from my cubby hole as he walked round the large open plan office or I glanced into his glass walled office through the vertical blinds as I passed by, which I seemed to do more frequently. I looked forward to our daily meetings and to presenting stuff to him as just the two of us sat in his office with the door closed, sometimes our arms or legs touching. When he touched me, perhaps guiding me through a doorway before him, they were now more than mere touches, they felt like caresses. When he looked at me his stare became more than a glance in my direction it became a look of affectionate lust, I felt as if he was undressing me as, increasingly I was mentally doing to him.

We had dinner again. This time when he dropped me at the station he got out of the car, came round opened the door and stood there as I got out. He stared at me, put his hand on my shoulder and said.

"I have really enjoyed tonight Cat, thanks so much."

He kissed me on my cheek. It was like an electric shock. We both just stood there a moment or two. Involuntarily I touched where he had kissed me with my fingertips, his hand was still resting on my shoulder. I whispered.

"So have I Patrick, thank you."

Still neither of us moved. Then I felt his hand on my shoulder as he applied some pressure. Slowly we closed the gap between us. He pulled my body against his and buried his face in my, what some would say was too long for my age, light browny, blondish hair.

"Maybe Cat, I have enjoyed it a little too much, if you know what I mean?" he said quietly, his hand running down my arm and resting on my hip.

I felt surprisingly calm. Although my heart was pounding and a heat was oozing through my body from the pit of my tummy to my breasts and nipples, I managed to hold on.

"Yes Patrick I do" I sighed as his hand found mine and held it.

"So what would Missus Cat say if I gave her a proper kiss goodnight?" He surprisingly, but very welcomingly asked.

I didn't reply, but instead I inclined my head slightly so we were looking at each other and let the expression in my eyes say what I was thinking as a reply. Well not exactly for right then my reply would have been, 'Yes kiss me, shove your tongue in my mouth and rip my clothes off.'

Instead, I moulded into his arms and we kissed. It was long, loving and wonderful.

That night for the first time it was Patrick who fucked me, well in my mind at least as I masturbated.

A week later, no less than that, neither of us could have waited a week.

We were in the office and found ourselves alone in the coffee room.

He blurted out. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about the other evening Cat."

"I know" I quickly replied.

"Was it ok?"

"Yes."

"I wasn't out of order then?"

"No."

Then someone else came in.

'We need to talk' the email from Patrick said.

'Yes' I typed back.

'Soon.'

'Yes, I agree.'

'I'm at meetings all afternoon, sod it.'

'Hmmmmm"' I sent.

'I'm in the car today, how about I give you a lift home?'

'It's so out of your way,' I replied my heart pumping at the thought of the best part of an hour or so alone with him.

We talked a lot as we crawled through the London traffic. St Albans is almost due north of London and Pinner is to the north west, but both are about the same distance from Covent Garden. The route from St Albans to Pinner is along the M25 and can take ages so I had insisted he drop me at a train station on my way home, making it easier for him to get home. We agreed on a convenient station where it was easy for me to get home and didn't take him too far out of his way. In any case, he and Marcia, the shrew, were entertaining that evening and Richard was home, so we didn't have too much time.

He pulled away from the station entrance into the semi darkness of the car park.

At that time of evening the trains are every few minutes and it only takes twenty minutes or so to St Albans so there was no rush, well at least on my part.

Patrick drove past the station and found a quiet, dark side road where he parked the large Merc.

"I have never felt like this Cat" he said half turning towards me and holding my hand. "Do you know what I mean?"

Do I know what he means? He'd only shagged me about six times so far and I had sucked his cock twice in my dreams.

"Yes" I replied quietly and demurely, putting my masturbatory fantasies out of my mind.

Another clue I had learned to Richard's straying was how often he fucked me. Most would think that if he was getting it elsewhere he wouldn't need it at home. Where he was clever, or thought he was, was that he made sure I got enough, well about once a week. It was a bit like a husband suddenly bringing the wife flowers; obvious when you know!

As my train had rattled through north London, my mobile bleeped.

'Sorry Cat, I'll be late, urgent client thing. Keep it warm for me. R.'

So as Richard rolled on top of me later that evening and I opened my legs, in my mind it was Patrick. As my husband entered me and kissed me it was the memory of Patrick's lips on mine in that side road that so aroused me. And as my husband fucked me, quite nicely as he always does, it was the recall of Patrick touching my breast that sent me over the top. I have often wondered what might have happened in that dark road after Patrick stroked and squeezed my breast if he and his wife hadn't been entertaining an important local politician that evening.

A few days later we had been to a client meeting and had to return to the office to collect stuff, Patrick for a trip he was making to Dublin the next day, me to collect my laptop for I wasn't working in the office the next few days.

I was wearing a black, lightweight wool, Donna Karan suit with a skirt. The jacket had four buttons up the front so there was no need to wear anything, other than a bra under it.

We were standing in his office, he pulled me to him. We kissed, very strongly. My mouth was wide open, our lips were squirming together and his tongue was plunging and delving. I was gasping and sighing with pleasure and delight. He found my breast and squeezed it with just the right amount of pressure. Our kissing became more furious. I was ruffling his hair and running my hand up and down his back as he thrust himself at me. He was stunningly hard. One hand was inside my jacket, on my breast, outside my bra, the other was squeezing and cupping my bum. That hand ran up my legs taking the skirt with it. He bunched it round my hips at the back and stroked and rubbed my bum through my black tights. My jacket had come undone and he had eased one of my boobs from my bra. He was slipping his fingers inside my tights at the back, touching the top of my bare bum It was very much mutual. I was playing my part. His shirt was undone, he'd removed his jacket earlier. As the sensations he was giving me from stroking the bare flesh of my boobs, pinching my nipples and now cupping the naked cheeks of my bum inside my tights increased, I was pressing, rubbing and holding his erection outside his trousers.

It was the act of him starting to push my tights down that got to me. I broke away.

"No, Patrick."

"I'm sorry, I went too far."

"It's not that?"

"What is it?"

"Not here, not where we work, it's too, I don't know, sordid."

"Yes, yes I understand," he said cradling me in his arms again.

"It was ok then, I wasn't out of line."

"No," I whispered, adding without really thinking "But somewhere else," as I pulled my skirt down, and straightened that and the jacket.

"Yes of course, I understand."

A week or so later, during which time we hadn't been together hardly at all for Patrick was involved in board meetings and the annual budgets, Richard was home and I was busy with open evenings at the children's schools, Patrick called me into his office.

"Crichton needs us to go through our marketing budget" he said mentioning the group MD.

"When? Has he sent an email?"

"No I have to do it face to face. But you will have to come with me," he said smiling as I stood in his office a few evenings later.

"To Edinburgh?"

"Yes."

"OK no problem."

He went serious and looked me in the eyes as he fiddled with the report I'd produced.

"Er, um, it could mean an overnight stay."

I realised what he probably meant and I too became serious as the decision he was asking to make hit me.

"I see, really."

"Well maybe we could get there and back in a day, but it might be a rush and that can be tiring, I've done it several times."

"Will it just be you and me?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm."

"What?"

"Won't that er, make things a little awkward?"

"Yes it could, but would you come?"

That made me smile. "Well that would be telling wouldn't it?"

Patrick laughed, "Sorry poor phrasing. Will you er, accompany me to Edinburgh."

We both laughed.

This was getting serious. I had a big decision to make. If I went I knew I'd sleep with him and that would take me along the unfaithfulness path – again! Did I want that? Could I handle the guilt, the lies and the excuses? It was bad enough lying about my times with Craig, but adding yet another affair seemed so difficult. I began to wonder whether this 'goose and gander stuff was worth it?

The presentation went well and Ken, the group MD invited us to an early dinner in the head office dining room, they were quite mean buggers, but then they are Scots! After saying goodbye to Ken we got a cab from the head office in the Old Town to Princes Street. We had a drink at one of the cafes looking out onto the wide, busy main road and chatted.

"Was it ok with Richard you coming up here?"

"Yes, he's so wrapped up in his business he doesn't pay much attention to such trivia as my work."

"So it wasn't a problem you staying overnight."

"No, but I did imply there would be more than just you and me."

Smiling he held my hand. That seemed odd. It also seemed very erotic. So far, Patrick had touched me very intimately, but only my breasts and that was when we were alone, naturally. Such a demonstration of affection in public was not only a rare pleasure and very welcome, but was also just right for the occasion. We were going to sleep together, we were going to make love and have sex, we both knew that and this show of tenderness and affection positioned this assignation perfectly; it said most clearly to both of us 'It's a lot more than merely sex.'

As we sat there in silence watching the world go by holding hands, memories of my crazy, older woman/younger man fling with Craig came into my mind. Being with him in public was unlikely, holding hands would have been unthinkable; after all forty something women don't do that with twenty something guys. With him, I simply wanted the excitement, thrills and pleasures of no strings attached sex. I wanted adventure and anything new. I didn't want affection, endearment or love, just simple, straightforward sex. I wanted Craig to fuck me as often as I wanted him to, where and when I wanted him. Nothing more and nothing less. And Craig bought into that completely.

That's why I eventually let him have me in the changing rooms and the showers at the club, in both his and my cars, in his narrow bed in his small bedsit and in my marital bed at home.

It wasn't like that with Patrick. I didn't want to be fucked by Patrick, I wanted us to make love. Whereas I had let, maybe even encouraged, Craig to screw me up against the wall in the pavilion, I couldn't bring myself to have sex with Patrick in the office. This was different again, this was affection, this was new to me as a mature woman for I was beginning to think that I was falling in love with Patrick.

We walked to the hotel pulling our overnight trolleys just like business colleagues, which of course we were, in fact so far that's all we were. Soon though, that was going to change, we were going to become lovers.

We were staying at the Rocco Forte, Balmoral, which is at number one Princes Street. It was exquisite. I had stayed there before with Richard, when it was simply The Balmoral. Then it was elegantly old- fashioned, now it was super elegantly modern. It was wonderful.

"I booked two rooms," Patrick said as we strolled through the stylish, mainly black and white reception. "What do you want to do?" He asked after we had both checked in.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind, what now?"

"Well I have a few calls to make and a need a shower so how about a drink in the bar in what, an hour?"

"Fantastic, where would you like to eat?"

"Quite frankly Patrick I am happy to eat in the hotel."

"Good idea, why have the hassle of finding somewhere."

I called home and spoke to Sara who had found the whole idea of mum going away on business a real hoot. She was actually quite interested, or said she was in what I was doing. I chatted to her for the best part of half an hour undressing as I did. I then chatted to Mary who was one half of the amazing couple who did so much for us, from her babysitting and looking after the children to the point they looked on her as a surrogate granny, to her housekeeping and sheer friendship. On top of that her partner Roy was a handyman plus; he just knew everything there was to know about anything to do with building, decorating, plumbing and simply houses in general and he kept out house in order.

Everything was cool at home, and yes she would call me on my mobile, I'd avoided saying where I was staying when she asked by saying that it was a wonderful hotel looking up to Edinburgh Castle. I called Richard, quite aware that it was only early afternoon in New York and left a voice mail explaining that I was at a 'thing' with Head Office, I had previously told him I was going to Scotland, and probably wouldn't be able to answer if he called. Us not talking for a few days was nothing unusual as generally we lived in two different time as well as, increasingly, lifetime zones.