My Husband's Boss

The first day I laid eyes on my husband's boss; I knew I would have my first affair.

"Damon, this is Cheryl, my wife," John, my husband, introduced us.

Damon was thick set, with an easy smile. He reached out a hand. It was a thick hand, all his fingers were the same length and as big as sausages. His grip was firm, and involuntarily I leaned forward, and my god did he smell good!

Let my confession be clear. I never cheated before. And I am very happy with my man. Ok that's not true. I was very happy, but now I'm not so sure. I have had lovers, especially in college but since I grew up, and got stable, however, have you ever met someone and thought, "What the Hell!"?

As he ushered us into the house, I glanced around. His house was not the greatest area, there were other areas that were prime, I knew from my real estate days. But here hidden in a little known suburb was this Edwardian gothic mansion. Tinged with a hint of grey the flat faced façade loomed over the green garden. Beautiful pillars guided us through the door into a marbled floor entrance hall. A bronze balustrade curved to the right leading to the bedrooms I guessed. In the center of the stunning entrance hall, a thick round wooden table with luxurious bonsai hiding the walnut table's surface.

Damon stood with the balustrade to his back and grinned, waiting for us to see something. I glanced around the entrance and then I saw it. A fifty foot wall on our left covered in little ornament cases. Little boxes with glass covers, each box of different sizes. Each box contained a pair of ladies shoes. Oh boy and what shoes!

"Are those genuine Christian Louboutin!" I gasped looking at the black pumps displayed at eye level. I genuinely shivered at the beautiful black, high heeled shoes, one of them stood proudly and the other on her side exposing the signature red sole to me!

He laughed and came to stand next to me.

"Those are a pair too," he said pointing at an impossible high heeled red slip on with an ankle strap, which were housed a lot higher up on the chic wall.

"Manolo Blahnik!" I squealed, pointing to a pair of green monsters with butterflies on the heel.

"Jimmy Choo," I whispered.

"And there, and there, and there too," he said, pointing out several more beautiful glass framed boxes.

"Louis Vuitton," he replied to my speechless question.

"Valentino," he whispered too and answered my irreligious finger pointing, "All are a size three!"

"Why?" I demanded.

"You're a six, right?"

"Five!" I lied into his knowing smirk.

"Bottega Veneta," and that one he said drifting from one with a gold heel to a square toed sandal.

"Gianvito Rossi," he whispered as my eye settled on a naked shoe with just a thin ankle strap and toe strap.

"That one," he pointed to one gleaming in the sunlight, "Is an actual glass slipper! Made in Venice from specially toughened glass."

I was aghast.

"The boots are Hermès, Aquazzura, and a couple of Celine too!" he drifted away comfortably assured of my adoration, hubby in tow.

"Join us when you can move again!" he said and laughed and nudged my arm flirtatiously.

"Why do you have them, I mean on the wall?" John asked.

"They are works of art," Damon said, "But unlike works of art, these often get a major reaction, don't you think?"

They laughed as Damon rolled his eyes at me but I suspected Jonny did not get the jib.

I finally found my way to the outside and the BBQ. All the women whispered about his wall of shoes. A wall of porn. There were about eight folks there, husband and wife teams and all from the office.

"They are all size three!" someone said, rolling her obvious size nine feet with disappointment.

A long table spread nearly the length of the back balcony. Damon was loading it with the help of the other men with bread rolls, salads, and tons of meat. He had instructed the women to be treated.

"In Argentina we eat meat!" he warned us while slicing brisket.

"Where's his misses?" I whispered conspiratorially to one of the ladies.

"There is none. Can you believe it!? All this and..." her hand waved towards the mansion and the acre of grounds.

Dear reader, I promise an honest account as I need a hero. A hero to rescue me; but you can only do that if I'm completely honest. So here goes, it was I that made the first move.

During the meal a chair next to him became vacant so I relocated on the pretense of wanting some of the pasta salad. But I made a show of tucking my right foot under me. My denim shorts, riding a little high. He noticed me. I saw his eyes. I laughed encouragingly at all his jokes. He was an uneducated man, who, as a teenager sailed around the world, solo. That experience filled him with such skill he now employed engineers and accountants to manage his international businesses. Yes, more than one.

He turned away from me to regale his team on an adventure he had, and in the position, half away from me, he reached under the table and touched my knee. His thick hand rested just there. I did not move. I did not pull away. As his story grew to a punchline he dragged his trick fingers down my leg towards my pussy.

He touched me.

Those rough fingers crushed me, rolling against my pussy. I deliberately raised a glass to my lips to hide my guilt and complicity. His story, however, reached its point and folks laughed. He stood up and left his seat. For the rest of the day he never acknowledged me!

Days dragged by. Suddenly, I took an inordinate interest in hubby's work. Of course my questions slanted over to Damon. I asked almost anything I could think of except the one I really wanted to ask; 'Why has he not called!'

That night I let hubby fall on top of me but his pointless poking's could not eradicate those hands, his smell, his rough, tanned smile from my memory.

So I called. Hubby was at work of course. The bitch at reception recognized my voice.

"No. No," I protested, "I just wanted to thank Damon for the party!"

She put me through, grudgingly and I imagined her snapping on the phone's buttons.

"I wanted to say thanks..." I said meekly.

"Right," he said and an awkward silence followed.

"I'm Cheryl..." I added miserably.

"Right," more silence.

"You remember me," I was getting frustrated.

"Right," he delivered more silence.

"You touched my pussy!" I went on frustrated.

"Cunt!"

"What?" I asked, shocked.

"Cunt!" he repeated, "Rubbed your wet cunt!"

"What!" I was mildly shocked.

"And I loved it. So wet. So hungry. Don't you feed it?"

"My..." I couldn't say, "I do, okay! We do okay. My. My. Pussy."

"You win," he laughed, "I'll call her a Pussy too. But when I fuck her, I'm calling her A Cunt!"

I was shocked into an embarrassed giggle.

"No," he continued, "I'm going to call her My Cunt!"

He gave me his cell number with the instruction that I should set it up. And just like that, he was gone.

I threw myself on the bed and masturbated to the brisk, harshness that was Damon. Cunt indeed!

"Hubby's away on business Thursday," was my opening gambit.

"I know," he replied, "I sent him away."

"I can come to you..." I said, unsure of how this all worked.

"I will send a car for you," he said.

I overprepared. Nails, hair, the day before. Careful makeup on the day. At eight in the morning a demand at the door. Delivery. Anonymous, but addressed to me. I tore it open and in the large box. Square toed white sandals with red weave straps. White matching bra and panties with red stitching! Very sexy. And a soft white wrap around dress. So, Damon liked to play games!

I tried them on immediately and checked myself in the mirror repeatedly. I added a red belt and red earrings. That should do it.

I looked fucking hot!

Yeah. I could be A Cunt for a day. Why the hell not?

Then I had to wait for ten. My god.

The car was late.

"You're late!" I chastised the man who did not take the bait.

There was the house. Imposing. Exciting. Frightening. Damon bound out, collected me in his arms and kissed me driving my head back and deep into his arms. I was overwhelmed by all of it.

"Get up into my bed, woman!" he demanded, "Let me tip this guy!"

I was halfway up the stairs when he closed the door behind us. I remember his thick laugh as he followed me up.

"Where am I going?" I know I was too shrill, too loud, check yourself Cheryl, check yourself.

Still he laughed. I went to the last door on the top floor and threw it open. It was the main bedroom. Just as impressive as the rest of the house. High ceilings and a massive room made the four-poster king size bed look diminutive. Two leather wingback chairs looked out the window of the room over the garden. Glass doors opened to a private balcony. There was a walk-in wardrobe as well as a bathroom off to one side with a high stylish tub and shower with a massive head.

I barely had time to take it all in when he was behind me. He lifted me off my feet with ease.

"You really want this?" he asked in a whisper.

"0h. Yes," I whispered in return, "I want!"

We were naked in a heart beat and he fell onto me. He kissed me urgently. His tongue in my mouth, his cock looking to get inside me. And with the gentlest lunge for a man that big, he was inside me. His thrusts were tender but insistent. He cradled my head pulling me to his neck. He sucked on my nipples and bit them when he wanted. He made me squeal with pleasure and pain. And looking back I never knew which I wanted more. One trick he did was to pull into me as deep as he could, and then not move. He held me without moving. He did this often and one time he whispered in my ear.

"Cum now!"

To my surprise my eyes opened looking at him, I came hard. I had lost control over my body.

"Don't stop you beautiful bitch," he ordered, "Don't stop!"

He was ordering my pussy to do his bidding. I have never been with a man like that before. I was swamped with feelings of ecstasy and joy. Orgasms overtook my need to let this man explore my body to wanting to simply do his bidding. I surrendered.

This long, long missionary fucking gave me no hint of what was to follow. The weight of this man controlled me and as he shivered and spasmed, still inside me, I resigned to him. But he withdrew and came over my sweat drenched belly.

After a blissful pause he lifted me off the bed as though I were as light as a feather, and headed to the bathroom. I clung to him, mostly because I did not trust my legs. The shuddering from the orgasms had travelled down my legs and I'm not sure they could work yet. His damn hands were all over my body. My back, my butt, legs, breasts, and this urgency just started my motor up again. As I slipped off his thick wet body I found the tiled ledge in the shower and sat there. This brought me at cock height with him. I caressed the little guy with my face. It was a sense of pure luxury and control. As his cock got hard I sucked on him hard.

"Open your eyes," he demanded.

Our eyes locked.

I tried to control his pace and demand but soon he took my hair and drew me with violence onto his cock. He pounded my face and I had to break free to breathe, but he was too strong and drove me back to his cock. Again, and again.

I did not mind giving him this pleasure as he had given me so much more. The water bounced off him and that vision would haunt my dreams. He snatched me up and pushed me against the glass and fucked me from behind. I was happy to have him inside me again. As much as I pushed against him he took from me.

I don't remember how we got to the bed and there he finished with me. He fell into dreamland and I curled into him, exhausted and exhilarated.

We lunched, wined, and he dressed, jeans and a tee shirt. But he kept me naked. I say "kept" he just asked, and I agreed. In fact, I loved it. Loved him touching me, smacking my butt as we passed each other. He pulled me on his lap and we chatted. He wanted to talk mostly about sex. What did I like, how did I like it? When was my first time, when was he best? Such was his confidence, not, was he good, but when was he good. This man of international reputation wound himself around my pussy and my desires.

I think he fucked me a couple of times more before he let me go. That night the memory of him caused me to masturbate before I dropped into sleep.

...

I was wearing a white satin wrap around dress with a single gold button holding it tightly in place. I had gold high heels on, because I knew Damon would look there. The soft folds of the dress accented my breasts and the fabric doubled over my legs but split high on my thigh.

"If I were to tear off that dress, what would I find underneath it, you hot Bitch!" Damon whispered the desperate demand in my ear.

"Nothing!" I whispered back, "I am completely naked under this dress Damon darling!"

We were at the company's Christmas party. I refused to let hubby go alone. I said there were women there that I wanted to watch and I wanted to watch hubby too. But what I really wanted was to see Damon. It would be our first visit since our sexual adventure.

"No bra?"

"None," I said, "And if you stand so close to me, my nipples will get hard."

"What about your panties?"

"Just free air down there," I said as I moved my leg close to him, daring him to check.

"Is My Cunt wet?"

It was a challenging question. He was testing my sex, my language, my decency and my resolve with just one question.

"You'll have to check," I answered, giving him permission to abuse me both verbally and physically.

"On the second floor," he said pointing with his eyes to a staircase, "There's a men's bathroom. Go in there, take off your dress and wait for me."

With that demand he was gone, mingling as a host should.

I chatted to a few, eyed my hubby, and when no one would notice, I quickly slipped up the stairs. I had never been in a men's room before. I had seen urinals in movies, but here was one in real life. Two stalls and a single urinal. This was the executives floor and no one was around. I did hear giggling from the first floor but that evaporated when they heard my shoes.

Would I dare undress? The door to the men's room was a simple swing door, no lock. I decided to hide in the stall. Now take off the dress? No wait for him first. Oh god it was a long wait. I was excited, wanting his hands over me, so the time dragged.

The door crashed open. I was standing on the toilet and peered over the stall. Damon! I slipped off the dress and as quietly as possible and at the same time Damon rattled the door. I unlocked it.

He pushed it open but stepped back. He crooked his finger at me. Nervously I stepped forward and looked toward the swing door. He grabbed my arm and yanked me towards him. He kissed me. His hands roamed my naked body. Grabbing and squeezing my tits. Then he fingered my pussy.

"Hello you Wet Cunt!" he said with a friendly smile, "As advertised!"

"Take my cock out!" he ordered.

I dropped to my knees. Hubby was just downstairs, any number of people could discover us, but I didn't care. It was so wrong but somehow this made it more desirable. Why is that? Why is cheating so much better? Why?

I locked my hands onto his pants and sucked him with vengeance. After enjoying me, he pulled me up by my hair, bent me over the wash basin and fucked me from behind. I came on his first thrust. That was a first for me. He pulled my head up and we looked at each other in the mirror over the wash basin.

"You wet Bitch!" he admonished.

"You cunt!" he continued.

"SLUT!" he grunted as he came inside of me.

And I loved it. It was quick, rough, and he dominated my body and my mind. I was happy to surrender. I slipped to the floor, overwhelmed. And that was just our third rendezvous.

He was gone. I scrambled to dress and straightened my dress, hair. Damn I was in the men's room! I bolted to a perplexed hubby. I did not even believe I was just exploring excuses. But thankfully hubby did not push it.

Damon sent hubby away a few weeks later. He would be gone for four days. On day one I received a package, red thigh high boots with silver steel heels and a steel tip, sparkling black shorts and no belt. Very short shorts. The curve in my butt was obvious and exposed. The tee shirt was just a few inches of where my tits ended. I looked like a hooker.

Strangely this offended me. Dressing like this in my house, a house where Johnny lived, seemed offensive. I covered this with a white rain coat and waited for his call.

The car arrived at ten that night!

I was furious, but travelled with my passions. I would show him. He held open the door of the car and I raged out. Slapping his chest as I stormed into the house, my coat billowing behind. He paid the driver and caught me in that magnificent entrance hall. He grabbed my coat and pulled me towards the door. His thick hands closed around my throat and lifted me off the floor. Suspended for a moment I looked down at him in astonishment that turned to panic.

Damon stripped off my coat and tossed it out the front door. He closed the door and locked us in. Only then did he lower me and took his hand off my astonished throat.

"Hello Darling!" he admonished.

"When I dress you, you wear only what I give you."

"I look like a hooker!" I was still spoiling for that fight.

"I want you to look like a whore!" his voice soft to a whisper now.

"And you were so late!" I growled.

"You know the way. Why did you not come over?"

That stopped me cold. There was no instruction, so why did I not come over?

"Well I didn't know if you had other whores here. Maybe you need to finish with them!" I was shouting.

He walked away and I stormed after. He threw himself into a lounge chair.

"Go home," he said.

"What!?"

"Go home. If you want to be here, be here. If you want to yell, go home," he said, "Besides you are the only one that looks like a whore in this house."

"You treat me like shit!" I was still mad.

"You are the only whore here. That's how I want you. And treating you like shit makes my dick hard."

My frustration almost took me to tears. Being thrown out now may be the end of this. Whatever this was. To prove to me his need for me he exposed his cock, and he was rock hard. I went up to him and grabbed his shirt and straddled him. I rubbed his cock against my shorts. Both my hands around his neck. His thick short fingers tugged away the hem of the short shorts. On my next caress of his cock I felt this hardness against my exposed pussy. A gasp escaped even as I was trying to control him. A couple of caresses later he was inside me. I gasped in shock, pleasure and strangely my anger slipped away with that simple movement. His hands in the belt line of my shorts controlled my motions. My hate fuck of this man, this monster, this beast made me come again and again. By the time he was ready to lay me down and take from my body what he needed, my rage was gone but his had just begun.

The weight of him crushed me down and his thrusts were rough and almost violent. He showed no respect for my feelings or my body and, yes dear reader, I loved him for it.

Here dear reader I must confess Jonny, the husband, always treated me with respect and like I was a princess. It was exactly what I needed when we met. I wanted to be the center of someone's life, but I had stopped wanting that now. I had changed, but my heart had not caught up with my head yet. Dressed like a whore in my house, no, our house was an eye opener. It exposed me in a way that surprised me. But dressed like a whore in this house, being called a whore, just filled me with desire, yes dear reader, it made me wet. Why would a woman be like that? Why would a woman change so much? Why was I like that? Why had I changed?

Damon was ready to cum. I recognized the signals now. He got up off me, twisted my tee shirt in his hand, yanked me off the floor, drove his relentless cock into my mouth, pinned me there and after being locked so, he came in my mouth. I swallowed desperately trying to get him all down. Trying to give him the best pleasure, and the best of me.