1. Dirty Little Secrets 2: One Step Leads To Another


    Date: 9/3/2015, Categories: Wife Lovers, Author: PervyStoryteller, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    shopping. I buy the clothes I might have bought yesterday. I find a thigh length red dress that buttons down the front. I go for red underwear too, except for a pair of black, crotchless tights with a lattice pattern. All the while I’m on edge, having received a text from my secret admirer the moment I switched on my secret phone. “Looking forward to watching you.” I can’t resist replying. “Performance starts at nine, in the bedroom.” I don’t need to tell him that. It’s the normal routine, unless I’ve managed to convey something different, but I want to give him a sign that I’m as excited by this as he is, as if he doesn’t know. It’s useless trying to do anything useful at home. It feels as if my entire life revolves around my coming performance. I change into my new clothes at once. The bra fits tight and forces my breasts to reach new heights of voluptuousness, even though I’m not exactly challenged in that department to begin with. The knickers fit tight enough to reveal the minutest detail of the shape of my vulva. When I add the tights, the dress and a pair of high heels… If I was a man, I’d want to fuck me. The thought sends a new rush of heat through me as I regard myself in the mirror. This is, after all, the effect I wanted. I want to make my secret admirer want to fuck me, as if he doesn’t already. Tonight’s performance will be for him, inspired by him. Oh dear, this sounds very bad, doesn’t it? I’m a married woman, and I don’t want to cheat on John. Yet here I am, ...
    dressing to make my secret admirer want to fuck me. But then, John, with his clothing and underwear fetish will love what I have in mind, so it’s all good, isn’t it? No. It’s bad, it’s wrong, and I can’t help myself. With time on my hands, I do a spot of detective work. Armed with my secret admirer’s telephone number, I’m almost surprised that finding out his identity is no trouble whatsoever. I discover that his name’s Mark, which feels reassuringly solid and stable and dependable. It certainly doesn’t sound thuggish. The only trouble is that whereas I used to think of him as Algernon, because I could never get physical with a man called Algernon, I’d have no trouble at all giving myself to a man whose name is Mark. This is how it is. One step leads to another more dangerous step. Knowing my secret admirer’s name is Mark inches me closer to doing something I mustn’t do. A few mouse clicks later and I begin to discover all kinds of things about my secret admirer. He’s heavily into music, as young men of his age sometimes are, and a big fan of the local football club. More importantly perhaps, he has a job; a proper job, which reflects well on him. To my surprise, most of his online friends appear to be young women, of roughly his age. Some of them are very pretty. I feel flattered. Not that I look bad. Nor am I old – I’ve just turned 30. But these girls are definitely younger and prettier, some of them, and yet rather than spend time with them, assuming they live round here, ...
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