Mr. Anonymous's Wife

I smiled back, sincere as ever, and took the bottle from her.

"You shouldn't be buying me drinks, you know?" I teased, leaning toward her so she could hear me over the screeching guitar.

"Oh, yeah?" she laughed, playful and coy at the same time. She brushed a lock of hair from her lightly powdered cheek. "Why's that?"

"Because I should be the one buying."

She arched an eyebrow, then shook her head, moving with me now. "Can't have that," she almost yelled over the noise. "Hubby wouldn't like it if he knew I was accepting drinks from strangers."

Again, that playful laugh. It stirred something deep in my loins.

I extended a hand and she took it, her hand soft and warm in mine. "Max. Now we're not strangers."

"Mary," she smiled. She had replaced her Martini with what appeared to be a vodka and tonic, and sipped it through the straw, her soft, full lips pursing around the plastic tube. "But you're still a stranger."

The band ended the tortuous Tangerine only to replace it with Foghat's Slow Ride.

"Oh, yippee!" Mary squealed, grabbing me by the hand and leading me to the interior of the throng crowding the dance floor. "I fuckin' love this song!"

Her language surprised me; I knew she was an adulterous slut but she appeared so wholesome, so pure, that even knowing her proclivities the word "fucking" was a shock. Her dance moves, however, were not shocking, as I had witnessed them before. Neither were they good. Mary did not have rhythm. Or timing. Or even much grace. But she was sexual. Her hips rotated and ground and rocked, even if it was against nothing.

I joined her for the raucously slow ride. As we danced, she shook her body at me, taunting me. She turned and ground her firm bottom against my crotch. I took the opportunity to slide an arm beneath hers, wrap it around her waist, holding her close. She leaned back into me, her body soft and warm and lush. My thick cock stirred in my pants.

"Bet Hubby wouldn't like this, either," I breathed into her ear. I felt her shudder as my hot breath caressed the inner reaches of her ear.

"Probably not," she laughed before slamming her ass against my crotch. She peered at me over her shoulder, amusement evident in her liquid blue orbs. "Or that either."

My arm, planted firmly on her taut stomach, held her tight against me. I could feel the faint musculature of a well-preserved belly and my fingers roamed the soft ridges.

"I love the way your stomach feels," I breathed into her ear again. "No kids, huh?"

I knew the truth, but I was leading up to something.

Still facing away from me, her ass gyrating against my stiff cock, she sucked the straw between her full lips and held up free hand, extending two slender, French-manicured fingers.

"Was it motherhood by contract?" I asked, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the phrase.

She turned her head slowly, her brow furrowed in confusion, obviously not understanding the ridiculous question. Seeing my twisted smile, she turned toward me fully, draping her arms over my shoulders. She cocked her head as though still pondering my question, then responded with a faint smile. "Don't ask stupid questions, okay?"

I shrugged my shoulders as my hands slipped down her rib cage to her pliant thighs. "Sorry. Not sure where that came from."

Slow Ride ended and the band moved right into the opening riffs of Eric Clapton's Cocaine, but then abruptly stopped.

"Nah," the singer announced to the crowd. "Let's try this instead." And so began Wonderful Tonight.

Mary swayed in my arms, her body pressed tight against mine, and I moved with her. My cock throbbed from the scent of her hair and the softness of her hips and I know she felt it squirm against her firm stomach.

As the band tried in vain to replicate Slow Hand, she pressed herself tighter to me and moved to her tippy-toes, her soft lips at my ear. A shiver raced down my spine as she whispered, "Where do you live?"

I smirked and lowered by my face to the crook of her neck. "Chicago."

She didn't miss a beat. "Hotel?"

"Mm-hm."

"Take me there?" she asked, her soft, wet tongue sliding beneath my earlobe, tracing the line of my jaw.

"My pleasure, Mrs. Anonymous," I boldly declared, which garnered me another weird look from her. But it passed and she dragged me from the dance floor, past her friends (to whom she dutifully waived) and into the parking lot.

We stepped through the door, me following her closely, and into the surprisingly warm September evening made bearable by a strong breeze off Lake Michigan.

"Your car or mine?" I inquired, knowing from my previous surveillance her answer.

"Yours," she smiled at me over her shoulder, "as long as you can bring me back here after."

I caught up with her from behind, my strong hands going to her small hips, walking behind her.

"After what?" I whispered into her ear, my arms wrapping around her slight waist as we walked somewhat awkwardly.

She remained silent as we stumbled toward my car. As we neared it, I pulled the key fob from my pocket and clicked the doors open. On reaching the passenger door, I spun her around and gently eased her against it. My head dipped to her neck and I kissed her softly, relishing her fresh scent, soft skin and the way she shuddered as my wet tongue traced a line at the nape of her neck.

"After what?" I repeated, her arms rising and folding around my neck, holding me tight.

"After we have sex," she breathed, pulling me tighter to her unfaithful body.

My lips found hers urgently and my tongue slipped into her hot mouth, dueling with hers. I pressed myself closer to her, feeling her full breasts compress against my chest. She involuntarily spread her legs, planting her covered vagina firmly against my thigh.

"You can have sex with your husband," I informed her, my voice soft, lips softly gliding across her cheek to her ear again. "With me, you're going to FUCK!"

She involuntarily humped herself against me. Through my pant leg, I could feel the heat of her vagina spread and she moaned into my ear. "Take . . . me."

I quickly spun her back around so that she was facing the car. She braced herself with her arms on the roof of it and I ground my crotch into her firm ass, my hands circling her waist and floating up to her breasts. My fingers strummed across her blood-engorged nipples and she quivered at my touch. I dropped one hand down the front of her blouse, toward her waist, and tugged gently at the soft leather belt she had donned.

"Right here?" I questioned, the fingers of my other hand closing softly around her erect nipple, tweaking it. "You want me to take you right here?"

"Oh, shit," she groaned as the tight little bud pulsed between my thumb and forefinger.

Behind her I was smiling. I enjoyed taunting her. What I enjoyed even more was the knowledge that, in very short order, my fat cock was going to be splitting Mr. Anonymous's wife in two.

To speed that eventuality along, I released my grasp on her belt and found the door handle to the car. Pulling her back, I opened the door, and Mrs. Anonymous turned and tucked herself in. As I shut the door, her lust-tinged eyes turned up to me and she smiled at what was to come.

I casually circled the car and slid in beside her, turning the ignition over and maneuvering it out of the parking lot and onto the road that led back toward the bay. And my hotel.

Beside me, Mary slid her spread fingers down her torso, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse. She appeared to be trying to regain an appearance of propriety, as futile as that might have seemed. She was, after all, in a car with a stranger while her husband sat at home with their children.

As we passed between a series of strip malls with chain restaurants and tobacco shops and big box stores, she turned slightly toward me and cleared her throat. "So, where are you staying?"

I checked my side-view mirror before changing lanes and then slowed for a red light. When the car came to a stop, I crooked my finger at her, beckoning her closer. I kissed her lightly on her succulent lips.

"I'm staying at the Beach Harbor."

Her wet, pink tongue delved into my mouth. I took her response as a sign of approval and reached over to again tweak her anxious nipples.

"Ever been there?" I groaned into her mouth, my fat cock thickening in my pants.

"Mm-hm," she moaned back, twisting in her seat to face me more directly.

"Ever been . . . fucked . . . there?" I managed when she dropped a soft hand into my lap, a manicured finger tracing the outlines of my now bulging cock.

"Mm-hm."

"With . . . your . . . husband?"

Mrs. Anonymous almost laughed into my mouth and a horn honked behind us. She disengaged from me when I nudged the shifter into first gear and accelerated through the intersection, trying to catch my breath.

She tucked an errant lock of dirty blonde hair behind her ear and then answered me. "No, not with my husband." I heard the smile in her voice and looked over to see it replicated in her bright blue eyes.

A few minutes later, I turned onto Duluth Avenue and then into the Beach Harbor's parking lot. I easily found a space and switched off the ignition. Before I could reach for my door handle, Mary nearly climbed across the center console, her right hand closing behind my head, pulling me into her. Her soft tongue again slithered into my mouth; I could taste the vodka on her breath as she panted into me.

'What a fuckin' slut,' I thought to myself, almost laughing at the woman's actions, so clearly indicating desperation. But of course that wasn't really a judgment of her. It was, though, precisely what I was looking for in this little angel.

I reached around and planted my big hand on her ass, pulling her even further over the armrest; she lost her balance and nearly toppled onto my lap. While her agile tongue continued its military style invasion of my mouth, I gave a quick but sharp spank on her ass and a moan escaped her slender throat.

"Like that?" I grunted around our tangled tongues, my hand sliding over the firm globes of her ass, finding the waistline of her wool pants.

"Uh-uh," Mrs. Anonymous groaned back. She adjusted herself to regain some semblance of balance, but not of decorum. She brought her knees beneath her on the seat and draped her right arm around my neck; her free hand quickly and easily located what was now a slab of meat in my pants. She wasn't delicate about it either. She didn't trace the outline of my cock against my pants, or gently tweak my cockhead. Instead, she palmed it. She opened her hand wide, pressed the palm of her hand against my fat shaft, and pushed down, the bony heel of her hand compressing against the sensitive underside of my shaft.

I wanted this woman in the worst way. And, oddly for me, not simply because she was married. No. I wanted Mrs. Anonymous precisely because she was Mrs. Anonymous. Because she was married specifically to Mr. Anonymous.

My hips arched off the leather seat as she continued to massage the base of my throbbing cock. My free hand traced a light line around the waist band of her pants before it slid beneath the fabric. The cheeks of her ass were cool to my touch and I allowed my fingers to squeeze into the pliant flesh. I gripped one cheek and gently pulled it to the side, opening her up, and I felt her quake in my arms. My fingers wandered around her backside, edging closer to what I imagined was a tight, puckered asshole. I was waiting for her to object and when she didn't, my fingers continued their quest.

I eased one down the crevice formed by her asscheeks, stopped it when I felt the ridges surrounding her anal opening. Still no objection.

"Want me to stop?"

"Nooooo," she mewled softly, her sweet tongue withdrawing from my mouth, her bright white teeth nipping at my lips.

I pushed her away from me, back toward the passenger side of the car. "Let's go, then."

I opened my door and, seeing Mrs. Anonymous do the same, began walking toward the entrance to the hotel, an anxious and apparently very immoral housewife trailing in my wake. She caught up with me by the time I reached the main door and we walked, side-by-side, down the hall to the quaint room I had rented for the evening.

I stopped at the door and fished the key card from my pocket. I slid it into the reader and, waiting to hear the click, glanced over to her. Her small hands were tucked demurely in her front pockets and she bounced slightly on the balls of her dainty feet. Her eyes met mine and she bit her lip, from nervousness or anticipation I couldn't discern. I smiled at her and pushed the door open, holding it for her.

The door swung shut automatically behind us and Mrs. Anonymous began to lead the way into my room. But I had other ideas. From behind, I grabbed the waistband at the rear of her pants and pulled her back toward me. She yelped in surprise and then laughed.

When I pushed her up against the door and shoved my stiff tongue into her mouth, she stopped laughing. She instead became frantic. Her hands flew to the back of my head, pulling my mouth tight against hers, her tongue stabbing into me, forcing her to breathe only through her nose. I nudged her legs apart with my knee and then planted my thigh at the apex of her legs, right up against her cunt, and pressed my body firmly against hers.

Her hips reacted violently to the pressure that was being applied, even through her thong and the fabric of her pants, to her clit. They rotated around and around, and then jerked and jerked and jerked, repeatedly crushing that little clit against the silk of her thong and my muscular thigh.

Our tongues still intertwined, my hands found the front of her blouse and made quick work of the top two or three buttons. I couldn't get a good grasp on the next one so I simply yanked the sides of the blouse apart. I wasn't intent on popping the buttons off -- I just wanted to get to her bra -- but that is what happened, and I heard the last two buttons as they clattered on the tile floor of the bathroom just to my right.

"Yessssss," she hissed into me.

Apparently, Mrs. Anonymous likes her sex a little on the rough side. I was, of course, happy to oblige. Rather than deal with what appeared to be a B-cup bra trying to conceal C-cup tits, I simply slid my fingers beneath the underwire portion of the bra and pushed it up and over the soft, pillowy flesh, my hands instantly filled. The thumbs and forefingers of each hand easily found her turgid nipples and I squeezed lightly.

"Uugghh," Mrs. Anonymous moaned into my mouth, one lithe leg wrapping itself around my ass, pulling her cunt tighter against my straining thigh. "Feels . . . soooo . . . good."

I tightened my grip on her thickening nipples and twisted them slightly. Her head jerked and her soft lips smashed into mine with an "Mmph."

I almost bit my tongue when she did that and so I pulled slightly away from her. Still holding Mrs. Anonymous pinned to the hotel door, I dipped my head, planting wet kisses along her jawbone, down her neck and across her clavicle.

"Lick . . . my . . . nipples," she begged, her hands still fast on the back of my head, her manicured nails digging almost painfully into my scalp, pushing me down.

Like a newborn searching for its next meal, my lips easily found a rigid nipple just after it grazed my shaved cheek. My right hand still squeezing and tugging and twisting her left nipple, I sucked the right one between my lips, holding it there deep in my mouth, my tongue washing over it, and Mrs. Anonymous whimpered as an electric jolt coursed through her adulterous bones.

Her knees nearly buckled when my teeth clamped down on the rubbery teat. But so did mine; it was like biting into a gummy bear. My hands on her soft tits held her up and when she was steady again -- her nipple still buried in the dark recesses of my sucking mouth -- I slid my hands down the soft ridges of her rib cage to her waist. I pulled the blouse, now hanging from her waistband, loose and away, and then pulled the tongue of her belt from the buckle.

When I began to push her pants over her soft hips, I pulled my thigh out from between her quivering legs and she whimpered at the lost sensation. But her thong came down with the pants and I made sure to quickly run a finger along the damp crease of her engorged labia.

"Uuuggghhh," she groaned as the soft pad of my index finger slid across her slick, pulsing clit. My finger came away wet in her fluids and I traced it down her inner thigh, bending at the knees so that I was squatting in front of her. I tapped the inside of her right ankle and she lifted that foot so that I could pull off her shoe and then her pants and thong. We followed the same routine with her other foot while she placed her slender fingers on my shoulders, balancing herself, her breath slowing.

I didn't allow her breath to slow for long. Instead of standing back up, I went to my knees, at the same time pushing her back upright. I planted soft kisses around her belly button before sliding my tongue along the tender flesh that joins a woman's crotch to her legs.

"Ohmigod," I heard her whisper above me. Pressing against her, I lifted her left leg over my shoulder, opening her up, and dipped my head, licking deeper into that soft crease, careful to keep my tongue away from her dripping cunt lips. I tilted my head the other way, moving toward the crease at her right leg, blowing hot breath against her clit on my way. Mrs. Anonymous's knees -- well, knee -- buckled this time, but I caught her again, pinning her ass against the hotel door.

Her slender hands dropped to the top of my head, her long nails again against my scalp. At first, I was intent on not allowing her to guide my actions. I wanted instead to lick all around her dripping hole, teasing her clit. But when I tried to glide my tongue up and down her inner right thigh, she was insistent that my tongue be elsewhere.

She tugged lightly at my short-cropped hair and guided my mouth to her glistening cunt. My tongue darted from my lips and against hers, burrowing between her slippery labia.

"Oh, fuck," she moaned, making fists in my scalp.

I flattened my tongue and slowly slid it along her cunt lips. My head tilted backward as I did so and I gazed up this woman's fabulous body: from the soft, trimmed patch of dirty blonde pubic hair, to her taut, tanned belly, between the full, natural tits that were now bunched up between arms that stretched down her lithe body to my head. Her bright eyes were screwed shut, her head resting against the door, and her soft, pink tongue wetting her full lips.

Those wonderful lips abruptly formed a wide oval on her classically beautiful face when my flattened and stiffened tongue pressed firmly against her aching clit.

"Aaaaagggghhhh!!!!" she screamed, her slender fingers threatening to pull the hair from my head, the flesh from my skull. I winced in pain but didn't let up, twirling my tongue around and around her excited clit. I brought one hand up between her legs and slid first one and then another finger between her saturated cunt lips, then slid them in further, to the second knuckle. Mrs. Anonymous's left leg was still perched atop my right shoulder and the quaking of her luscious body could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was: her first orgasm of the evening.

Her slim hips jerked away from the door and crashed against my face, crushing my nose in the process. My eyes watered. I reacted by placing my strong hands on her pelvis and shoving her hips against the door, holding her there. But my tongue assaulted her again, dancing and sliding and beating over and around her fiery clit.

Her orgasm continued and she nearly lost balance again. Her left leg slid off my shoulder and her soft foot found purchase on the ground while her hands again found my shoulders. Mrs. Anonymous's feminine juices poured from her cunt, soaking her inner thighs, as her adulterous body lurched against the door, her orgasm subsiding.