The Mayor's Wife

The shopping cart rolled smoothly over the walk-off mat at the automatic door, then veered sharply to the left the moment the front wheels hit the linoleum. I wrenched it back into line and pointed the nose toward the frozen food section, shaking my head. How the hell did I manage to pick out the wonky one every single time.

I cruised past the end caps, sneakers squeaking crisply on the freshly mopped floor. The morning was a bit cool, so I'd thrown on a pair of slim fleece joggers and a light full zip jacket over a tee shirt for what I intended would be a quick jaunt to the grocery store to grab something for my brother's birthday cookout that evening. But now that I was here, I realized I had no idea what I wanted to take.

I slowed upon reaching the freezers, peeking through the lightly misted glass at packets of vegetables, boxes of burger patties and oversized bags of drumsticks and wings. All reasonable fodder for a barbeque. But not particularly exciting. Anyone could grill chicken. I needed something more sophisticated. Something everyone would talk about instead of my brother's brisket.

I drifted down the row toward the deli, waffling between smoking salmon and grilling ribeye. Behind the counter the butcher scooped something into a foil tin, snapped a cover on top and passed it to a tired-looking woman with a basket full of packaged snacks and shredded cheese. And suddenly it hit me. Baked lasagna on the grill.

Okay, so my taste in food was... different than that of the rest of my family. But one thing we all agreed on (begrudgingly on my brother's part) was my pasta - my lasagna in particular. Tender noodles topped with fresh mozzarella, San Marzano marinara - perfectly spiced. It was always a hit at family dinners, which is why I suspected my brother opted for an oven-free venue this year. But that was about to backfire. Grab my ingredients and a nice foil pan and I'd be well on my way to king of the cookout.

I snatched up several packets of imported Italian noodles, mozzarella balls in whey, cracked black pepper and San Marzano tomatoes. A foil pan and lid were deposited into the cart as I traversed the baking aisle, then wheeled back toward the front of the store to procure the required herbs and spices. Fighting the wayward wheel I leaned into the corner just past the bread on the endcap and turned smack into the front of an oncoming cart, my tin lid sliding out and clattering to the floor.

"Oh, shit," I gasped, scooping it from the tile, "I'm so sorry."

I was surprised to hear my words echoed back to me almost in unison in a lively and strangely familiar female voice. My head snapped up to a beautiful brunette in her late 30s, with shoulder-length hair and tortoise-shell glasses extending an arm to help me up. Our eyes met as I rose. A memory triggered.

"Olivia?"

She paused. Frowned. Tilted her head. Brightened. "Cole?"

We shared surprise, then a hug and a good hearty laugh. "Oh my god," she gushed, detangling our carts, "It's been what... like... four months? How are you?"

"Good," I replied, buoyed by her energy and flare. She wore a slim hooded jacket over an orange cinch tank top, and sleek blue leggings with orange piping down each leg, terminating at brightly trimmed sneakers. She was tall, with a runner's build; lean, long-legged, and smaller breasted; everything curved, firm and tight. Not much had changed since I last saw her in person. "Glad to see you're still able to go shopping in your sweats," I added.

She laughed, amused that I remembered our inside joke. "It's the glasses," she said, pointing. "Completely incognito."

"Well you look great. How's life in the Mayor's Mansion?"

She smiled sheepishly, tucking hair behind her ear and glancing at the floor. "Quiet, actually. Mason's always at the office and the kids are in school now most of the day, so it's really just me and my Zoom calls."

I shrugged. "I told you you should have run instead." She blushed a little. "You would have had at least my vote."

"What's going on with you," she asked, quickly changing the subject. "Did you get your studio up and running?"

"I did! Actually, your workshop on building business through relationships got me hooked up with the space and the money to get it renovated. Sooo... I owe you a huge thank you."

Her face lit up with that bright white smile I remembered so fondly. "That's fantastic!" She wrapped me in another quick but warm embrace. "I'm so happy for you. You'd been working on that for a long time."

I had forgotten she was a hugger. I liked that.

"Thank you," I nodded. "Hey, why don't you come by sometime and we'll get some promo shots for your new consulting group!"

"Oh that's very generous, but - "

"It's the least I can do. Really. Bring the whole office, we'll make a morning out of it."

She hesitated before nodding ascent. "I would really appreciate that, thank you."

There was a tone in her voice I couldn't quite place. A resonant weight that altered the gravity of her words. Something starkly at odds with her effervescent personality.

I gave her my number and suggested a few days the following week when I'd be available. We apologized profusely for the cart collision and with too many smiles and waves, said our goodbyes and wheeled away.

I stopped at the end of the aisle to gather my oregano and thyme and stole a glance over my shoulder. Her jacket cut just above her ass, revealing two firm, perky hemispheres switching side to side as she strolled away. I smiled to myself, kicked away a dirty thought and returned to sourcing my ingredients.

....

It took longer than I expected to ring everything up and get out the door. It was warmer now, but the sky was dark; storm clouds rolling in from the west. I frowned to myself. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Arriving at the car I popped the trunk, brushed aside the small box of clothes I'd been meaning to donate forever, and set my groceries in the cargo net. Setting off to return the cart a frustrated sigh broadsided me from the far side of the adjacent SUV.

I ignored it at first, nesting the cart in the corral and heading back. But as I approached this time a growl greeted my return, followed by the thud of a flat palm on a sheet metal surface. Now curious, I detoured slightly, peeking around the taillights of the late model Mercedes. There I found myself surprised for the second time that morning.

"Hey," I said softly, "are you okay?"

Olivia turned toward me, her face sour, thumbs banging away at her phone. Her mouth opened like she was about to speak. But when she recognized me she covered the scowl with a half-smile before lowering her head, chagrined.

"Yeah," she replied, unconvincingly. "My um... my car won't start."

I took a quick look at the vehicle and frowned. "Really? I mean... it looks new."

"It is," she sighed. "I know what the problem is, it's... the ignition switch. There's a recall out on it. I planned to take it in later this week but... I guess I should have done it today instead."

She glanced down at her phone as it chimed and moments later, obviously frustrated, shoved it into her pocket.

"I texted Mason but he's in meetings all morning and can't come and get me." She slumped against the door and folded her arms. "I guess I'll have to get it towed." Her head drooped again. "All I wanted to do was to get the friggin' grocery shopping done and now I'll be friggin' stuck here waiting for the friggin' tow truck."

Her pseudo-cursing was adorable. She'd been so proper and professional in her seminars I assumed she'd be the same off the clock - or even the polar opposite, swearing like a drunken sailor. This limbo state was amusing.

I looked at her cart still filled with grocery bags. In the distance the sky groaned and rumbled through the dense gray clouds. The air was thick with the coming storm. I couldn't just leave her to wait in the rain.

"I can um...." I stuttered slightly, confused as to why. "I can... drive you home, if you want."

She smiled - fully this time, turning to me before looking away. "It's okay," she said, "I'll handle it. I'm sure you have more important things to do than chauffeur me around."

"Actually," I replied, I don't."

She laughed. Muffled thunder covered her tailing off.

"Seriously," I continued, "It's no trouble. It's the least I can do."

Her lips pursed, eyes closed. Head nodded just a little. "Thank you...," she said, "... so much."

There it was again. That tone I couldn't quite place. An honesty unintended for acquaintance. A rain drop pinged the back of my neck, derailing my train of thought. "Let's go," I said, nodding toward my car, "before we get wet."

She flashed a smile to herself, but said nothing.

....

By the time we pulled into the driveway it was pouring. Sheets of rain lashed the windshield, drowning out the stereo inside the car. We sat quietly, the coupe still running, staring awkwardly at the sidewalk from the garage to the back of the house.

'Mayoral Mansion' was a bit of an exaggeration. It was a large mid-century modern on the edge of the historical district of our mid-sized midwestern city, with a driveway and detached garage accessed off the alley behind. It had been endowed to the city by its longest serving mayor on the condition that it be routinely maintained and available for use by the current mayor as his or her residence during their term. At this point it was tradition - our own little version of the White House, or Downing Street. And now that I was here I kinda wanted to see it.

"We might have to make a run for it," I said, trying not to shout over the noise. She checked the radar map and nodded, tucking her phone away and flipping her hood up over her head.

"Let's do it," she said, her words tinged with mischief. I hit the trunk release on the key fob and zipped up my jacket. Coiled and ready, I shut off the engine, counted us down from three and flung open the door.

We were drenched before we left our seats.

We scrambled to the back, each retrieving two bags, and made a beeline up the walk to the back door. She fumbled with her keys in the lock, dropping them once before finally getting the deadbolt retracted and the door opened. Together we spilled inside, slipping and laughing and soaked through our clothes.

"We should not have made a run for it," Olivia giggled, peeling her hair away from her lenses.

I set my bags on the counter just as they disintegrated. A jar of spaghetti sauce broke free and rolled to the edge of the sink. I snagged it and set it back with the others, then flicked water off my forehead. "I feel like someone pushed me into a swimming pool."

She turned to me, then took a good long look at the storm through the trapezoidal windows. "Maybe you should stay for a bit. See if this blows over."

Weighted and chilled, I looked at the groceries now strewn about the white marbled quartz. Lightning split the darkness in my periphery. Anything was better than returning to that. Smiling, I peeled off my jacket and laid it carefully over the back of the nearest chair. "Tell me where everything goes."

I set about placing packages in the pantry as directed, while she toweled up our tracks to the door. Returning to the counter for more items I peeked around the corner to the for a view of the living and dining space. The house was vast. Tall windows at the opposite end of the room bathing the hardwood floor in gloomy gray light. The furniture looked comfortable, and the rooms were tidy. But it felt somehow... barren.

"You know," she said softly, meeting me at the freezer with bags of frozen vegetables, "this is the most excitement I've had here in a while."

I laughed - louder than I'd intended. "Oh I doubt that. You have school-aged kids, nothing's wilder than that."

She smiled and shrugged. "Fair. But most of the time, it's just me." She paused for a moment, staring at the floor. "Gets awfully quiet."

She shut the drawer and crossed behind me toward the counter. I felt her hand catch the top of my hip, give a gentle squeeze, then trail lightly across back. My eyes darted left as my head remained still, but she never appeared in my periphery. I placed the box of ice cream sandwiches next to the ice trays and shut the door. Turning around I found her shelving boxes of spaghetti, like nothing happened.

Maybe that was true. Maybe the wet jacket snagged when I reached for the freezer. Or, maybe I just felt what I wanted to feel. Not like the thought hadn't crossed my mind all three days of the workshop. Her bright hazel eyes, confident smile, the ease with which she flowed from consummate professional to casual conversationalist to smiling social butterfly and back again. And that figure. It was a minor miracle I retained any information at all. I returned to the frozen food.

"Sometimes," she continued, "you just want to talk to an adult, you know? And not online. A real live person. With texture. And heat."

"I suppose that is nice," I chuckled. "Once in a while."

Her voice drifted closer. "Sometimes you just want to...."

This time there was no mistaking it. She slipped her hands around my waist, cinching the layers of cold, heavy fabric against my skin. My arms raised instinctively and I whirled around, bumping the drawer shut as I flattened against the fridge.

"Whooooa!"

She snapped her hands away, her coy smile flipping to startled concern. "Shoot, I'm sorry, I didn't even think to ask. Is there a... do you have a...."

"What? No!" I replied, the shock of the moment plastered across my face. "No, I don't... have... but you... you do?"

Her expression eased, confusing me further. She replaced her hands and tugged just a little. "Why don't you let me worry about that."

I continued my protest. Part of me below my waist rose to question why.

"Wait wait wait. I don't want to get between you and your family. You're happily married, with adorable children and a lovely home. And I don't want to ruin any of that."

She bowed her head. "I'm married," she countered, her voice low and flat. "The kids are in school and the house is empty. Not a whole lot here to ruin." She lifted her chin to look me in the eye.

"Do you know the last time we had sex?"

My forehead wrinkled on its own, bewildered as to how or why I would know the answer to that question. She smiled.

"Yeah, neither do I. At least eight months. Maybe twelve - I don't know. I stopped counting, it was pissing me off."

I shook my head sharply, disbelieving my ears. Who could abstain from this woman for eight days, let alone eight months?

"I don't... understand," I stammered. "I mean, any time I see you together you seem -"

"- Politics," she interrupted, laden with frustration. "Smoke and mirrors."

She sighed staring at the floor. "Look, I love my husband," she continued softly. "He's a kind man, a good father, and a great mayor. He loves his job and I want him to succeed. So I do what I need to do to support him. If that means smiling and swooning sometimes when I don't feel it, then I'll do it. But it also means that now and then, I need to do something for myself." She leaned in, pressing her cold clothes and warm body into mine. "Today, this is that thing."

She closed her hands around my waist and stretched up on her toes to touch her soft red lips to my cheek. Drenched as we were her perfume lingered in her hair; light and floral and reeling me in 'till my lips touched her skin and felt the strong, steady beat of her heart pulsing through her neck.

She sighed against my chest. Her arms slipped round behind my back and pulled me in tight, stepping us back against the edge of the counter and pressing the thickening bulge in my joggers against her abdomen.

Her chest heaved, smushing her breasts between us. She kissed me hard on the mouth, breathing hard and deep. It felt like the first kiss of teenagers in lust, eager to discover for themselves what everyone older refused to tell them. Still, I dithered. Kissing married women was not a habit I cultivated.

My eyes drifted toward the windows, looking to see if someone was watching. Of course no one was out in this deluge. And even if they were all they would see would be shadows and blurs. Smooth, cold fingers slid across my cheek, recapturing my focus. Subtly she shifted her feet to shimmy her pelvis across my groin. A twinge shot up my spine. She pulled away, the corners of her mouth creased upward. Tilting her head she whispered to my ear. "I want this."

One time did not make a habit. Right?

Gripping her around the waist I hoisted her up and set her on the counter, leveling us eye to eye. Her knees parted and she reeled me in. Lips pressed together. Tongues tangled. Fingers clawed at backs and shoulders, wringing water from our clothes. She grabbed like she wanted to pull me through her - to make one desperate lover out of two.

The zipper of her jacket jabbed me in the chest. I wormed a hand between us and yanked it down to her waist. With a shake the shiny spandex blend sluffed from her shoulders and bunched around her elbows. She squirmed to free her arms. I worked down the nape of her neck and across the flare of her collar. Her chest heaved just below, and her thighs squeezed my waist like a vice.

The jacket flashed across my periphery, pooling on the floor. I paused and pulled back. Her hands crossed in front, scrunched the hem of her tank top, and in one fluid motion, hauled it off over her head. Two beautiful, natural B-cup breasts settled over her ribs. Immediately my attention shifted, dimpling the firm yet spongy tissue with my fingers and swabbing the pert, dark nipples under my thumbs.

She drew in a breath through clenched teeth, arching toward me while bracing against the counter. I cupped each teardrop orb in a palm, feeling the weight and the buoyancy together. I squeezed and she sighed. I tweaked and she gasped. I leaned down and nibbled one gently. She growled in my ear and hooked her heels round my legs.

I drifted purposely across her chest, circling each areola with the tip of my tongue before kissing and suckling them into my mouth. An arm draped round my neck, nimble fingers raking and clutching at my hair. There was a stutter to her breath. A hitch in her composure. She was trying to slow down, to savor each sensation. But her body was restless and rearing to go.

"God that feels so good," she whispered to the ceiling. "It's been so fucking long."

There it was. The drunken sailor I suspected lived in there all along. I shushed her with a thumb to her lips. Our eyes met and I smiled. She stared like a hunter tracking prey. Gently I pushed up on her chin, reclining her onto the cold quartz slab as I traced my way down her swelling chest and trembling stomach toward the prize concealed between her thighs.

She barely seemed to notice the chill on her back. Her abdomen undulated under my touch. I lingered around her navel, drifting out to each side before returning to center just above her waist. Her hands settled near the top of my head, nudging me gently downward. I glanced up to catch her eyes burning with anticipation through the lenses of her glasses. I flashed an impish grin. Hooked my fingers over her waistband.

I pulled. She shimmied her hips and the stretchy blue fabric rolled and bunched around her knees. The gentle curves at the top of her tightly toned thighs pointed me down to their convergence at a smoothly waxed mound with just a glimpse of soft pink lips tucked in between. Pressing my lips against it I sighed to myself. Who could wake up next to this every morning and not find himself in this same position?

Before she could wiggle free I hoisted her legs up and pushed her knees to her breasts. My tongue dove through her slit, piercing the veil with a single lap from the base to her clit. She gasped above me, muscles freezing like she'd fallen into freezing water. But I continued gently probing and moments later her limbs turned to jelly and the moans of a woman too long denied spilled from her throat through the cavernous empty house.

Holding on to the back of her thighs I buried my face in her pussy. Her nectar was light and a little bit sweet, pooling in the corners of my mouth and drooling down to my chin. I devoured her, nipping gently at her plump, tender labia, flicking the delicate hood of her clitoris and pinching it between my lips. She writhed beneath me, cooing and gushing like this was her first time receiving from a nimble willing tongue.

She snatched frantically at her leggings, clawing them off and chucking them against the fridge. Clutching her calves she spread her legs wide and rocked her sex against my mouth. I peeked up between her breasts to a face warped by sensory input. Eyes rolling behind her glasses, gaping maw collapsing to gritted teeth with perfect pressure on her clit.

I offered reprieve now and then, teasing her with soft touches and light brushes of the sensitive skin. In response her spine relaxed, head lolled back with a dampened thud on the countertop. She panted and moaned, pulse pounding beneath my palms. I wanted her to speak. To tell me what she desired. To pull me in when my touch was too light. To back me off if I nibbled too hard. But she could offer no nuance. No direction beyond squirming hips and curling toes. No instruction beyond begging to probe deeper and rub harder. To give her something her husband would not.

"Oh god," she whispered, "Oh god. Fuck. Oh god."

The billow of her abdomen became erratic. Her legs began to shiver. I slipped off her thighs and skimmed up to her breasts, feeling around until they filled each hand, thumbs curled around each nipple. Her back arched acutely. Her palms slapped the quartz, fingers curling round the chamfered edge. I pressed my mouth to her labia and braced myself for the climax.

It started small, a flutter in her gut. But moments later it ravaged her body, racking her limbs and halting her breath. She screamed her release, cursing the ether again and again. Her pussy flooded with cream, spilling past my seal and trickling down her ass. She bucked against my face, scrubbing my tongue over her clit, which only worked to amplify the current coursing through her.

I let go of her breasts and grabbed her ass, dimpling the flesh with my fingertips to hold her in place. The din of the storm faded as her thighs closed over my ears. I raised my eyes and witnessed the agony of ecstasy consume her. And for the first time in my life I understood the reference to these moments as "the little death."

In time the shaking subsided. Her legs fell away and her body lay limp on the counter. Her ragged breath drowned out the rain pelting the windows around us. I straightened up. She followed suit, propping up first on wobbly elbows, then the heels of her hands. She tried to smile but was panting too hard to close her mouth.

"You okay," I asked softly.

She clutched a handful of my shirt in her fist and pulled herself closer. Face to face our foreheads touched. Short of breath she said nothing. But I knew the answer. I felt a hand on my hip. Fingers hooked over my waistband. Two sharp tugs and my erection sprang free. She lowered her head, and paused, like she'd discovered something... fascinating. Hands trembling she stretched down and wrapped them both around my cock.

I flinched at the chill of her fingers. She held firm and squeezed, soaking the heat from the firm, swollen shaft. She tried twice to close her fists, laughing to herself when she admitted defeat. I grazed my hands along her thighs, up her back and over her shoulders, coming to rest on her flush rosy cheeks.

She pulled until the tip of my penis touched the top of her mound. She uttered no words, but her eyes pleaded. She wished to go further. I nodded ascent. She let go and braced against the counter. I pushed my cock down to her lips, dragging the head along the slit, glazing it with slippery grool. One hand on her waist I looked her in the eyes and eased in just the tip.

Olivia's eyes rounded. Her jaw dropped. She sucked air into her lungs and held it there, waiting for more. I plowed forward another inch or so. Her whole body quivered as the breath left her chest. She was creaming all over my shaft. But she was so tight I was unsure how much further I should go.

I began to ease out. Her arms flew up from the counter and looped around my neck, ankles crossed behind my legs. She glared at me, huffing shallow, reeling me toward her. A smile creased my lips. Reversing course I pushed once more - slow and steady, until my balls rested against her ass. Her head rolled back and her legs spread wider, silent words forming on her lips.

She was a vice around my dick. I held still, waiting. She squirmed to edge of the counter. A few deep breaths and her head pitched forward, touching her chin to her chest before levelling out and locking eyes. She was ready.

Long and slow I thrust inside; each stroke first filling, then voiding her completely. Her arms trembled on my shoulders, legs quaked around my waist. Her body seemed tense and primed to resist. She must have felt my apprehension. Squashing her breasts between us she touched her cheek to mine. "Fuck me," she ordered between gasps. "Fuck me up."

I rocked forward, rocked back. Snapped forward, rocked back. Our hips tapping, then bumping, then crashing together. Setting the rhythm - the percussion for the rising melody of moans. She clawed at my shoulders and the back of my neck. My skin crawled white hot. I slapped my hands to her hips and channeled the energy down my back and through my groin deep into her sex.

The storm raged outside. But I couldn't hear it. Thunder rattled the bones of the old house but I barely felt it. I was lost in Olivia's embrace. Smothered by her glistening flesh and bound up in shivering limbs. We made no attempt to speak, passing only grunts and growls and groans between us. We were barely human. Animals mating on a savannah of quartz, melamine and stainless steel.

I hooked my arms under her knees and hoisted her off the counter, fucking her suspended in the air. She clung to me like a tee shirt drenched with rain. Her head nestled in the crook of my neck, chuffing and whimpering into my chest. Writhing in my arms, she ground her clit against me as I bounced her on my cock. She rode with a wild, reckless abandon, like high school seniors alone on prom night. She needed this. She craved it.

My biceps burned from curling her weight at the rate her body demanded. But the longer she rode me the stronger she got, squirming and rocking faster, working her legs until she was impaling herself on my dick. I dug my fingers into the meat of her ass, which offered delightful resistance, forcing me to adjust again and again, kneading her buttocks in my hands.

"God that's deep," she panted. "So fucking deep. So thick."

Her heels dented the back of my thighs. Nipples jabbed and scraped my chest. My warmth was hers, her breath was mine. It felt like we were melding two bodies into one.

"Harder," she pleaded in gasping whispers. "Gimme me that cock. Give me that fucking cock."

I hilted inside her, straining for her cervix. She squeezed her pussy around me. The friction rippled outward as vibrations in my limbs and the moans in my ears spurred each probing thrust. She was hot and slick, and so fucking tight. I wanted to give her more. Push her harder and farther than she'd ever gone before. For that I needed more leverage.

I stepped forward and set her down hard on the island. Her legs unraveled and dangled loose over the edge. She seemed surprised when I pushed her away, freeing my shoulders from the grip of her arms. But before she could form a question, I lifted her by the waist and stood her up on the floor. One hand on a shoulder and one on a hip I twisted her round to face away. Taking her by the nape of the neck I folded her over the counter and shoved my cock back inside.

She squealed, head up, arching her spine. Both hands on her back I leaned in hard, flattening her breasts to the cold quartz. Clawing at the polished surface she shuffled her feet wider apart and settled her abdomen on the edge. It dug into her hip each time I crashed against her ass. But she didn't seem to care and made no attempt to wriggle away.

She whipped her head around and moaned my name. Her eyes were big and bright through her glasses. Her mouth agape and torqued in the agony of a germinating orgasm. She flung an arm back toward me, waving her hand in search of mine. I laced our fingers together. She pulled me awkwardly forward, doubling me over, my chest flat to her back.

"You - " she whispered between abbreviated breaths, "- you feel so... so fffffucking good."

She tucked our tangled hands up under her chin. The contrast of her smooth ivory skin with the creamy milk chocolate tone of my own seemed to mesmerize her. "Ffffuck me - " she pleaded, "- don't fucking stop."

I chuckled at her potty mouth. I loved it. So different from how everyone else experienced her. I knew something no one else did, which made it even more arousing. Slowing my thrusts I kissed her gently on the cheek and pinched her ear lobe between my teeth.

"What was that?" I teased in a baritone growl. "Tell me again. Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me," she repeated, louder this time, the waiver in her voice replaced with a cock-drunken confidence. "Make me fucking scream!"

I drove in deep and held it; feeling her ass squirm against my thighs, her mouth contorted in anticipation of another orgasm. Slowly I resumed thrusting, marking the pitch of pleasure in her moans. Each stroke was a slight touch harder. A skosh faster.

I planted my palms in the small of her back, pinning her down to straighten me up. She wiggled beneath my weight, lifting her ass while her breasts squished beneath her. Her tendons pulled taut, snapping her legs straight and pushing her up on her toes, presenting her pussy at the perfect angle for plunder. I aimed to take full advantage of what was offered.

We were part of the storm. The thunder was our bodies crashing together on the cold stone slab. The howling wind; Olivia's squeals and guttural groans reverberating through the desolate mansion. And the driving rain; the sweat beading on our skin and her juices seeping out around my cock and splattering our thighs as we fucked.

I was thumping her pussy now, each impact weakening her knees and turning her legs to jelly. Still she screamed for more. Leaning in I gathered a fist full of hair and yanked it toward me. Her head snapped back, mouth wide open, her back obscenely bent toward me, breasts swinging freely from her chest.

Her palms and tummy squeaked over the counter as her ass rippled from relentless pounding. Her pussy intoxicated me. And I hit it like an alcoholic knocking back beer after beer, ignoring the empties collecting in piles on the floor beside me. She shivered and shook and screamed my name, soaking my cock and sputtering obscenities over the sink. It seemed she had all but abandoned the fact she was a wedded woman.

I had not.

The diamond ring on her left hand assaulted my eyes with sparkling white light, a stark reminder that I was balls deep in something I should not have been. A twinge of shame plucked the pit of my stomach. But there was also something else competing. Something darker and more intense. A satisfaction - a thrill, in breaking the rules.

I twisted her head so she could see me. Pleasure contorted her face in ecstasy. My id brushed aside my ego and lodged itself on the tip of my tongue. I swiped her slit and scooped up a dollop of slick, gooey cream, then poked my fingers between her lips onto her tongue. As she licked them clean I bowed over her, punctuating every thrust, and whispered in her ear.

"Does your husband's dick do this to you?"

She wailed as she came, strangling my cock in her vagina. The flush of her climax reddened the tint of her complexion. Her limbs fell limp while her hands smacked the counter to the beat of her pelvic contractions. I hilted inside and held on tight as she shuddered and shook beneath me. The cursing and cooing continued until the crippling orgasm faded just enough for her to catch her breath.

....

We rested together, doubled over the glittering stone, wallowing in our sin. Each perhaps waiting for the other to repent. But the silence was cool and sweet. And we left it alone to challenge the din of the storm invading our space. I opened my fist. Her hair sluffed over the crown of her shoulders and the back of her neck. She craned it to find me, then motioned me closer.

I squeezed her body between my arms and touched my face to her cheek. I swear I could feel the crackle of static leaping back and forth across our skin. Her glasses listed slightly on the bridge of her nose. She nuzzled my chin and the crook of my neck before finally breathing in my ear.

"I want to suck your cock," she said, barely audible through the rain.

I smiled to myself. Still rock hard I pulled out of her pussy, then plunged back in, slow and deliberate, until I could not push any deeper.

"You want to do what?" I teased, knowing full well what she'd said.

"Please," she pleaded, crossing her calves to squeeze me tighter. "Let me suck your cock."

Her quim was so warm and snug I didn't want to abandon it for alternate anatomy. A little while longer and reflex would take over. I would penetrate deep and fill her with seed. But there was something in her voice I couldn't resist. And breeding a married woman did not seem an intelligent endeavor. Reluctantly I peeled away, leaving her pussy empty and drooling down the back of her thighs.

I rolled to the side along the edge of the counter, stopping just beside her, facing the room. My dick pointed straight out, lathered in her cum, twitching subtly to the pace of my pulse. Olivia slunk off the slab to the floor, sitting first on her heels, then tipping forward to her knees. Her skin was damp from water and sweat. Locks of hair matted to her face. Her tits were a deep roseate from polishing the quartz, and her tummy creased from its thin beveled edge.

She wrapped both hands around my cock, siphoning heat to her delicate fingers. It flexed in her grip and her face lit up. She glanced over the rim of her glasses, just long enough to catch my eyes. Then sucked the tip into her mouth.

A long deep sigh flattened my chest. She swabbed her cream away with her tongue, then tightened the seal of her lips to my glans and pushed forward to meet her index finger. A chill rippled through my groin. It thickened to a fizzing knot of pleasure inflating slowly outward with each bob of her head.

Her strokes were cautious. Apprehensive. Like she wasn't quite sure of how she should move. I eased my hips forward, wanting to probe deeper. She slipped down the shaft and bumped the head against her soft palate. She gagged and lurched away, eyes bulging and breath ragged. A giggle spilled from her throat. "Sorry," she whispered, "it's been a while."

I chuckled as she returned to work, expecting restraint from that point on. But she quickly remembered how to ride that bike, and barely minutes later was suckling and slurping and sloppily gliding up and down on my cock. I curled my fingers round the edge of the counter, bracing myself for what was coming.

Her lips were strong and soft. Her tongue a smooth and dexterous appendage cupping and lashing and darting about, frothing the familiar vibe radiating through my abdomen. Confused as I was before, I was now completely baffled by the idea someone could have this woman every morning and not want this all day long.

I was close now, doing everything I could to delay the inevitable. An exercise in futility. I reached for her hair, intending to trap my dick inside while the milk drained from my balls. But the magic of her mouth overwhelmed me, insisting I trust her to finish what she started. My hand fell instead to her shoulder, kneading it gently as I barreled toward my peak.

She looked at me with her cool hazel eyes dancing behind the lightly tinted lenses. My mouth fell open and I nodded slightly - my way of confirming what I'm sure she knew. Muscles taut and pelvis quaking I slammed back hard against the island. The ball of crackling static surged through my body. My head threw back, and a primal growl rattled my throat. Cool air suddenly swirled round my cock and triggered the rapturous explosion.

Ropes of warm cum spewed from my dick, arcing sharply in the air and splashing down across Olivia's face. One after the next they launched, streaking her forehead, sploshing her cheeks, smearing her glasses and soaking her lips and chin. She gasped each time one landed, reflexively scrunching my shaft, marking her glee. The room blurred and spun around me, whiting out everything beyond my reach.

Weeks of pent-up pleasure poured over her. She did not shy away. Her tongue flicked out, lapping up stray rivulets of semen and stuffing me into her mouth to savor the waning pulses of my orgasm. I stared down, breathing hard. She gazed up, glowing, milking the last drops to the back of her throat. I had cum hundreds of times before. None more blindingly blissful than this.

....

I don't know how long it took to come down from that high. But the room seemed brighter and the storm a little further away. I rested my chin on my chest. Olivia sat on her heels looking up at me, smiling. Her left hand still held my penis. The right was wedged between her thighs. A monochromatic Jackson Pollock masterpiece adorned her face.

Twisting round I snapped the dish towel from the bar on the face of the sink behind me. I wet it with hot water and wrung it out. She rose slowly from her knees, wobbling as she straightened up. I slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in, pinning my hot, slippery erection between us.

I plucked her glasses by the bridge and set them carefully beside us. A fire burned in her eyes that had not been there when we'd met at the supermarket. Watching it dance I gently wiped away the beads of sweat and pools of spunk, tossing the soiled cloth into the basin when I was finished. Her mouth drooped to a subtle pout.

"I wanted to wear that for while," she said.

My cock flexed against her belly. "I'm sorry," I replied, unprepared for that revelation. "We can... go again if you want."

She locked her lips to mine in a tender embrace. "I'm going to need a minute," she whispered. "A really long minute."

We laughed.

Eased apart.

I remained near the island, gathering my clothes and dressing piece by piece. Olivia retreated to a dining chair, slouching in the seat and grazing her fingers over her pussy. Out of the moment in the now quiet house my conscience pierced the fog, pricking me as I straightened the sleeves of my jacket.

"We probably shouldn't do this again," I offered, less convincing in tone than I'd intended.

Olivia lifted her hand up in front of her face, gliding her cum between her thumb and forefinger. The look on her face told me the moment was still very much in her.

"Or," she countered in a sweet, airy voice, "maybe we should."

Her confidence staggered me. I was a freelance photographer. She was the Mayor's wife. She had far more to lose from an exposed affair than I did - especially considering the politics of our town. But she seemed unconcerned. To the point where I wondered if maybe there was an... understanding... between her and her husband. He wouldn't ask questions if she would be... discreet?

The rain now only spattered the windows, and the sky had softened from black to warm gray. Fully dressed I stepped toward her. She rose from the chair and draped her arms around my neck. My hands curled round her waist, dipping to circle her bare buttocks before setting themselves squarely on her hips.

"Okay," I nodded. "Bring your staff to the studio next Tuesday and we'll do the promo shots. Then, if you want, maybe you stick around for a... private session?"

She smiled, tracing my ear with a cum-slickened finger. "I'll skip my morning workout," she said, bumping her mound against my bulge. "You can fuck me as long as you want."

She laid a tender kiss on my lips. Then slipped her glasses loosely on her face and walked me to the door.