1. Small Words


    Date: 11/8/2014, Categories: Cheating, Author: skinnyandslinky, Rating: 2, Source: LushStories

    had spent the last ten having affairs for the thrill and the sex and was interested in a threesome with a bisexual male. Her husband wasn’t interested and had called her a slut. It made me think of my own situation, more so than some other readers’ questions. The columnist was worried for the reader. She used some words to describe the problems the woman faced. Big, ugly words, three syllables and more and some small words that were put together in a percussion of daunting phrase. Words like denial and separation and consequences and a line I really didn’t like the sound of. She said that long term deception such as this could cause, “violence to your soul, the behaviour spiritually disabling.” Violence? Three syllables. Spiritually disabling? Five and four. Big words in a bigger context. Before we began this when I thought we might pursue each other, when our flirting was tipping over into desire and when I thought that I wanted to take this risk I remember telling myself some small words that I thought were right. Don’t think, I told myself, just do. *************************************** I drive out of there, the cold of the car close on my skin. I drive smooth and slow so as not to draw any attention and I want to linger in this memory as I think of her in the serious dark as I head home. I think all I can of her; tits small and firm in my hands; her empathetic ear; her hips shaking ...
    as I fuck her hard from behind; the way she tips her throat back as she drinks wine, doing the same as she sucks down the full length of my cock; the first time she rested her hand on my forearm, the first time I fucked her on a pallet of boxes at the shop; the generous and sweet nature she has with her mother; her fingers in my arse; her left handedness; the small swell of her belly, evidence of her children; her body bent bucking against my tongue; the way she holds her head proud and high when she walks; her blood rising to the skin from where I have slapped her, the red shape of my hand on the white of her arse; her courteous nature; the way something pops inside her when she laughs; my cum on the flesh of her swollen cunt; the perfect imperfections of her body; her unpredictable passion; her pale reflection in the mirrors of her robe, her smiling, looking at me angled over her, rutting like an animal; the varying tattoos marking the changes in her life; the way she lets me know how she loves to fuck me as much as I love fucking her. Everything about her I try and think of and take with me as I head home. I try not to think too much of home and family and others around us. And with the heat of her body still in mine and the lingering dull ache of her body on my cock I can think of only one word to say as the lights of the car make halos through the descending fog. A small word. "Fuck!"
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