Donna Allen: Eager naughty wife

She confided in one of her girlfriends and found out that most of her friends had been cheating for years. They hadn't talked to her about it because she seemed so happy with Charlie, but now that she was cheating too they gave her tips on how to meet men and what to tell Charlie when she wanted to stay out late. They made her feel less guilty too.

One day she went shopping and decided to drop into a downtown coffee shop for lunch. Her friend Cindy had told her that she'd met lots of men in restaurants. Bars really. Cheryl wasn't ready to go to a bar alone, but it wasn't too difficult having lunch alone.

She'd dressed carefully that day, wearing a tight skirt and sweater and high-heeled sandals. She'd worn no stockings and had piled her hair on top of her head.

Every man in the place stared at her tits as she walked across the room and took a seat at the counter. Several women stared too, and she could see a look of envy in their eyes.

She was used to having women envy her. It was usually the ones who had ironing board figures who were the most envious. She didn't care. Let them look.

She ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee and before the waitress had a chance to bring it the hostess dropped a note on her table. She told her it was from a gentleman in a corner booth.

Cheryl turned around and caught the eye of a good-looking man dressed in a business suit. He lifted his water glass and cocked one eyebrow.

She glanced down at the note. "Please join me," he said.

She met the man's eyes again and made a quick decision. Why not? she thought as she rose up. She waited for the waitress to appear and told her to bring her sandwich to the corner booth. Then she sashayed over to his table.

"Well, hello," he said, getting to his feet and extending his hand.

"Hi," she said breathlessly, her knees shaking and her voice soft.

He held out a chair for her and she sat down. Just then the waitress brought her food, but she no longer felt hungry.

"I'm Lance Turner," the man said. "What's your name?"

She thought fast and decided to give him a false last name. "Cheryl Smith," she said.

"Smith? Ah, yes, Smith," he smiled. "Why don't we go somewhere where we can get a drink, Cheryl Smith?"

"Okay," she said.

He snapped his fingers and the waitress quickly brought a check. He pulled out a thick wad of bills and left a generous tip before guiding her out of the restaurant.

He hustled her into a taxi and before she knew what was happening they were pulling up in front of a high-rise building and he was paying the driver.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"My place," he said.

"I thought we were going someplace to drink?" she said.

"I've got a great supply of booze," he said. They were in the elevator and on the twentieth floor before she had a chance to catch her breath. It was all so exciting! The ritzy apartment building and the plush carpeting in the hallway.

When they walked into the apartment, her eyes widened. She'd never been in an apartment like it. The view of the city was exquisite and the furnishings, though simple, were expensive.

"I guess no one's at home," she said.

"No one's ever here," he said. "It's my little hideaway."

He placed his hand on her neck and toyed with a few tendrils of hair before moving to a huge bar and mixing a pitcher of martinis.

"To us," he said, handing her a glass and taking her hand. "Let's sit here," he said, leading her to an oversized white sofa.

They sat close together and sipped their drinks. "Are you from around here?" he said.

"Well, yes," she said, puzzled by the question.

"I thought maybe you were here working the convention."

"I don't know what you mean?"

He laughed then. "You mean you're not a hooker?"

Cheryl blushed and moved away from him. She put her glass down on the coffee table and rose up. "I think I'd better go."

"No, don't go!" he said, rising up and grabbing her hand.

She let him push her down on the sofa, but this time she sat at the edge, ready to run out at any time.

"We can pretend you're a hooker," he smiled, putting her glass in her hand. "Come on, drink up and I'll give you a refill."

"Pretend I'm a hooker?" she said. "What are you talking about?"

"Surely you've heard of men who only get off if they're paying for it?" he said.

"To tell you the truth," she said, "no, I haven't."

"You're refreshingly honest," be chuckled. "Don't go."

He held tightly to her hand and she gulped her martini and began on her second. "What do you want of me?" she said.

"Pretend you're a hooker and let me pay you…"

"You're crazy!"

"Only a tiny bit kinky," he said. "Not crazy."

"Jesus Christ!" she said. "I don't know."

"Please," he said softly, stroking her hand. "Please say you'll do it."

"Well, okay," she murmured. "But, no rough stuff."

He kissed her on the cheek and switched on the stereo player. "Start by stripping to the music," he said.

She was beginning to think he was crazy, but there was something strangely exciting about the whole thing. She got to her feet and began swaying to the beat of the music.

"Start with your sweater," he said and she unbuttoned the top button on her sweater and let him see her cleavage.

"Lovely!" he said, loosening his tie and leaning back on the sofa.

She slowly unbuttoned the rest of her sweater, but kept her tits covered. The booze had relaxed her inhibitions and soon she slid her arms out of the sweater and bent over to show him her bra-covered tits.

His eyes glittered when she unzipped her skirt and let it drop to her feet. She kicked it aside and stood in front of him wearing only a bra and bikini panties.

"Beautiful!" he hissed, his eyes darting from her tits to her cunt mound and back to her tits. "Now the rest!"

She reached around her back and unhooked her bra. It was a crazy scene, but she felt herself turning on. She realized she felt like one of the girls in the fuck-films. In fact recently one of them had stripped just this way for a man.

Her bra slipped off her arms and in a moment her massive melon-shaped tits bounced free from the confines of the flimsy cups. Lance placed his glass on the coffee table and leaned forward to get a better look at her jiggling tits.

"They look good enough to eat, my dear," he smiled.

She swayed her hips and let her tits wobble around. She stood with her feet planted wide apart and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties.

"Wonderful!" he pinned. "You're as good as any professional!"

She didn't know whether to be flattered or not. Well, here goes, she thought as she began lowering her panties. I'll never get to heaven now!

He chuckled gleefully as her bristly black cunt-muff came into view. She closed her eyes and let the music invade her body. She turned around and let him have a good look at her lush butt. She continued sliding her panties down her legs and soon they landed at her feet and she stepped out of them.

She turned around again and faced him. His checks were flushed and his nostrils flared. Six months ago she was a faithful wife and now she was pretending to be a hooker. Life was so crazy!

"Come here," he said, holding his arms out.

She wiggled over to the sofa and let him pull her down onto his lap. He quickly placed his hand over one creamy-skinned tit and she felt her cunt respond.

"Nice, an innocent slut!" he said.

"That's not exactly a compliment," she said as he pushed her off his lap.

"Come into the bedroom," he said.

She followed him down the hall and into the plush furnished bedroom. He quickly stripped his clothes off and she was pleased at the shape he was in. He had to be at least as old as Charlie, but his belly was flat and hard looking and he didn't have an extra ounce of fat on him.