Zip It, Lock It, In Your Pocket!

Zip It, Lock It, Put It in Your Pocket

Author's Note:

I recently participated in a forum chat with other authors, 69RoadRunner and Ic69hunter. They had mentioned an interest in a loving wife story where she almost did something, but didn't. I decided to give that a shot. I failed. She just went a little bit further than that. Every time I proof read my narrative, I added more, and it took over a month to complete. I hope I cleared the typos and inconstancies. In this story the MC is the wife, though other characters are prominent and important. Gary, Funster, Buster, I'm looking forward to your insight on this one. We have our differences, but I feel that I've come a long way from my earliest smut stories, and I get better when I hear your opinions, as different as we are. You already know I'm mostly, not a BTB guy and more of an RAAC. For the rest of you? Yeah, I'm cooking up some more smut, but I'm trying to write it better. Hang in there.

Prologue:

While out shopping, one late Saturday afternoon, Cheryl paused at the women's undergarments section. The semi-transparent black bra and panties set, so cleverly showcased on a mannequin just far enough back as to not be immediately seen from the main aisle, caught her attention. She wondered how that would look in her. The semi-transparency would probably show her dark areolas nicely and the dark landing strip she meticulously maintained would be an added tease. Her inward smile came with a slight bit of melancholy, as she thought about her husband's reaction to things like that. He was a simple, panties and midriff t-shirt kind of guy. Lingerie just wasn't a big deal for him. As it was, she was dressed that day, in a daisy yellow t-shirt that did show a little of her flat tummy. The tight, white shorts she was wearing left little to the imagination as they hugged her perfect, married ass. She was just the way her husband, Michael, liked her. She felt a presence behind her and turned to see a tall, athletic blonde-haired guy, standing close.

"That would look amazing on you, and it would definitely get some motors running," he stated. Cheryl looked at him, a little slack jawed and he added as the guy gave her a quick glance up and down, "Just saying."

Cheryl recovered, scowled at him and walked away without a word. How dare he just walk up to a married woman, and say something like that. As she turned onto the next aisle, she glanced back and saw the guy, casually straightening clothes on hangars and realized he was just a store employee, likely trying to make a sale. She smiled inside, at her foolishly premature reaction. As she walked, she realized she was a little wet and a bit horny as she thought about the tall blonde guy, and imagined him seeing her in that lingerie. She shook it off and thought about Her husband, Michael, and how was going to get it, that night. She almost went back to get the undergarment set, but she knew it would be a waste of money. Michael liked the lights down low. That night when she made love to her husband, she saw the tall blonde guy in her visions and pretended it was him, slamming his cock into her tight pussy. She'd never had fantasy sex while enjoying her husband before, but it ended up being the best sex she'd had in a long time.

Chapter 1 -- I Did It, Too, But We Can't Do That Again

Cheryl's life was good. Her job, as a lab technician paid well and she was very good at it, with many years of education, training and experience in that field. Her husband, worked hard and was very stable and predictable as a shop foreman in a large print manufacturing facility. Things were just the way she liked it. She always worked just a little late on Wednesday nights since she had to lock up after reports were in and the machines were cleaned and shut down. The other two girls in the office assumed those duties on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday after closing. The office closed at 5 p. m. and everyone else, except the closer was out by about 5:15 p. m. Other than Wednesday, Cheryl was usually home a little after 6:30 p. m. That was her normal after the forty-five-minute commute, plus added time for picking up the two kids from afterschool activities. Activities that were very rarely ever in the same place. Her husband got off work a few minutes early, and picked the kids up on Wednesdays. On Wednesday, she was usually still home by 7 p. m. or so, give or take a little even on the late nights because it only took an extra half hour or so to do the cleanup and lock up stuff. She only had to worry about locking up the office she worked in, not the entire building, as there were several other medical practices there. John, was the doctor in an office across the hall. A nurse practitioner actually, and he typically locked up around the same time every night, as she did on Wednesdays. As his office was directly across the hall from hers, they saw each other and exchanged pleasantries fairly often as they wandered in at out of their own offices. On Wednesdays, they would talk a bit more, because most other people in the building were long gone with only janitorial and security staff still hanging around. It was all above board. They knew of each other's families. He was a few years older than she was, maybe three years or so and around her husband's age. Her kids were older than his though, since she had been married a little longer than he had and had gotten started a little earlier.

This routine went on, over a couple of years, and they had gotten a little closer and became more friendly. They joked about family duties as if they were chores and necessary evils. It was just friendly banter. Over time, and she really couldn't pinpoint it if you asked her, he began to compliment her a bit. That caused her to notice him a bit more as well. Nothing that could be considered an attraction, let alone a precursor to an affair or anything. That, had never crossed her mind. He was just a good-looking doctor across the hall. That started to change a little when he complimented her a little more boldly one evening when she was locking up. She had closed the door and was preparing to lock it, when she dropped her keys. She bent over to pick them up, still facing the door, backside sticking out into the hall.

"I could look at that all day," she heard from behind her. A voice she knew.

She stood quickly and spun around, looking at John as he stood in his office doorway. "John," she gasped his name in shock. She knelt down, this time bending her knees and keeping her legs closed, lady like and picked up her keys, never breaking eye contact, and definitely not smiling.

As she stood up, he apologized, "Sorry, I couldn't help that. My bad. I'll behave."

She held his gaze for a moment without emotion, then she smiled, softening up, "John, you can't say that to a married woman and you're right, you need to behave." She turned around and locked the door to the lab. When she turned back, he was still there. "Do you need something, John?" she asked, wondering why he hadn't gone back inside.

"No, I just realized I've never seen anyone look so good in scrubs before," he smiled. "Your husband is a lucky man," he finished as he stepped out and closed his office door, locking it up.

"Thank you," she replied, face feeling a little flush, as they both started towards the building's entrance. They were both on the first floor, so they didn't have far to go.

"For the husband compliment, or the scrubs, or the looking all day thing?" he grinned.

"You are being very naughty today," she laughed, feeling a little thrilled, but not answering his question as they walked out of the building. "Goodnight John," she said, then she walked to her car, not looking back.

She was a little lost in thought on the way home, thinking about John and the harmless advances. "Were they advances?" she asked herself, silently. "Were they harmless?" She wondered. "Is he even someone I would do?" She contemplated. "Well, yes, probably," she answered herself with the added thought, "if we were not both married with families."

She thought about what had just happened and if it were appropriate to allow some simple office flirting. "Maybe," she decided, "but only it's look, but don't touch." She had no intentions or desires to do anything untoward and she was pretty sure his intentions were purely platonic as well. At least she hoped they were. She decided she liked the flirting. It was different and new. She also realized she felt a little moist. This wasn't the first time a comment from someone other than her husband had gotten her wet, and she would be taking it out on Michael, her unsuspecting husband, later.

Life went on, as normal and without incident for the next week, and then the next Wednesday rolled around.

"Would you like to get drinks tonight?" John asked, as they were both locking their office doors.

She was caught off guard and fumbled her keys, dropping them. She spun around quickly and stared at him briefly before picking up her keys. She stood back up and said, "I live quite a bit away from here and have a family to take care of, so that's probably not a good idea," she responded. She felt a little flushed and embarrassed, thinking that her face must be turning red. She turned away and finished locking the door.

"Okay," he said, "but it's just drinks, if you decide to change your mind." They walked through the lobby together in silence. Neither knowing what to say, if anything even needed to be said. He was afraid to push it. She was flustered, ashamed and a little frustrated because she felt that wetness betraying her again. They exchanged pleasant goodbyes as always, and parted ways at the entrance. She always parked her Audi Quatro out a little way and to the left. His BMW was off to the right somewhere.

Her thoughts were racing all the way home and her husband, Michael, noticed that she was a little, off, that night. She pulled it together by the time they finished dinner with the kids, and he let it go without asking. Michael fell asleep quickly, and she eventually dozed off frustrated after rubbing herself, through some inappropriate fantasies. She hadn't cum, because she didn't want to bounce the bed and make noise, but the buzz had been there and she easily could have.

Everything was normal again, until the following Wednesday. She couldn't help but think about locking up, and wondering if he would make another advance. She was excited and uncomfortable at the same time. Around noon, she left the office for lunch, and he exited his office right at the same time.

"Where you headed for lunch?" He asked.

"Not sure," she responded, "probably a drive through."

"How 'bout the deli down the strip?" he inquired. "I'm thinking soup and half sandwich. Ever been there?"

"No, but I heard it's pretty good." She answered.

"It is. Lunch date then?" he smiled, "since drinks are off the table?"

"Sure," she smiled back, warmly, "why not?"

She was pretty sure it was platonic, and that maybe the invite for a drink the week before wasn't as scary as she'd thought.

They had a nice lunch. Laughs. Talks about silly kids, and silly spouses. They actually ended up bonding a little more. She got the friend vibe, from him. That feeling where it eventually goes from work associate, to work friend.

"Why the fuck am I getting wet again?" she caught herself thinking as they finished lunch. She rarely used extreme language, even in her own mind. She was using it then.

That night, as they were locking up again, as they always did at nearly the same time, she noticed that John had an umbrella.

"Oh crap!" She exclaimed, "Is it raining?" They couldn't see the entrance from where they were, and would not until they rounded the corner, down the hall.

"Cats and dogs," he answered, "No umbrella?"

"No, I didn't even think about that," she replied. "Oh well," she added in resignation, "it's not the first time I've been wet."

She looked at him and he was smirking. Her face was instantly warm and definitely turning red as she saw his implied look. She felt a flutter. She was not just getting moist this time. She was getting wet. His mischievous look with sexy undertones turning her innocent comment into something else they both understood and shared couldn't be ignored.

"I'll walk you to your car. We'll share my umbrella. Problem solved'" he offered, stepping over to her and taking her arm in his, to escort her to the entrance.

She pulled her arm away, and he looked at her as if to ask, "Are you sure?"

"People will see," she offered, and she realized he may take that wrong, and think it's okay if no one sees. As they walked to the entrance in silence as she wondered silently, if it was okay, as long as no one sees.

They stepped outside, "Dang!" she exclaimed. "You were right, it's pouring."

He popped open the umbrella and stepped inside her space, covering them both. They walked to her car, dodging puddles, not in a hurry as one would normally be when walking in a rainstorm. He made another attempt to lock up her arm, in his. She accepted it that time, as they made their way in close proximity, body to body. She felt the flutter. The one you get when something inappropriate, but exciting, happens. Not a flutter down below, but in her chest and in her heart. They walked in silence. She wondered if it was her imagination, or if he felt it, too. They got to her car and she unlocked the door, opening it. He still had her covered, as he leaned in close partially covering the roof of the car, over the door, preparing to let her duck inside. She hesitated as if deciding something, and stood in the zone between him, and the open door. She turned to thank him, flutter in her chest, weakness in her legs. The wanting for something she shouldn't want.

He picked up on it, leaned in and kissed her lips softly. No penetration. Her heart was beating faster, skipping beats altogether, and she felt like she may pass out, but she didn't resist. He was standing so close. His breath was so nice. He leaned in and did it again, and it lasted a little longer. Again, she didn't resist, so he pushed his luck, and on the third kiss, he softly touched her lips with his tongue. She parted her lips, allowing it. He leaned in and put an arm around her, kissing her a little harder. She leaned in, too, and put a hand on his back, pulling him in a little. The umbrella tilted, and they were getting wet. Neither cared. It was only for a few brief moments, but it felt like forever. It was wonderful. He pulled back and they gazed at each other, then she leaned in a little. He took the que and took her harder and more passionately this time. Her hand on his back, pulling him close. His hands moving down to her ass, pulling her in close. She felt his man muscle against her, and still allowed it.

As it got far too passionate for a public kiss, she panicked and had to put a stop to it. She quickly broke it off, and stepped back. Pushing him away, she gasped, "We cant's do this!"

She dropped back into her car and sat down, umbrella forgotten and the rain slipping though the gap, pummeling her. She looked up at him, with an apologetic look and said, "I'm sorry, but we can't."

He nodded his head, looking disappointed and stepped back allowing her to pull the door shut. Cheryl started her car, put it in reverse and backed out of the parking spot. She put the car in drive, and looked at John one more time through the rain spots on the window, and drove away.

She was flustered the whole way home and made several stupid moves in traffic, getting some horns honking at her. She was oblivious to it all. She realized as she pulled in her driveway, that she was soaking wet and horny. She hadn't been that wet or horny in a long while. She couldn't let whatever was going on with her and John happen, but she could not shake it from her thoughts either. When she stepped into the living room, Michael noticed she was off kilter again.

He asked, "Something on your mind?"

"Just some frustrations with someone from work," she white lied, "no big deal." She smiled at her husband and diverted the subject, "What's for dinner?"

Like any good man, when the thoughts turn to food, he was easily distracted, and answered the question with a question, "Pizza?"

"Perfect," she answered, "you order, and I'll go get it." She needed some more time to think and a short drive would give her that.

She dodged that bullet nicely, but she thought about her actions for the rest of the night. She had allowed a man to kiss her. She had allowed it a second time, and had vigorously kissed him back on the third try. She realized that the fourth kiss had been initiated her, not him. Cheryl, was mortified. How could she have done that? She felt terrible, and was aroused at the same time. She wanted to initiate sex with her husband, the man she loved, but felt guilty and conflicted. She fell asleep wet, flustered, fantasizing and frustrated.

She went to work the following day. It was Thursday, and she took her lunch at a different time than she normally did, trying to avoid John. She failed. As she was headed out, he was just returning from his lunch, and he stopped to chat. She had no choice.

"I was hoping we could have had lunch, to talk about last night," he said, "I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," she answered. "I did it, too, so we're both guilty, but we can't do that again," she responded. As she made eye contact with him, she knew they were both denying something they wanted, and that scared her.

"We do need to talk," he said. "We almost work together, and we see each other pretty much every day." She looked at him and nodded her head in agreement, ever so slightly. It was true. They needed to discuss this. "We give ourselves a little distance tonight, but we get lunch tomorrow and clear the air. Same deli down the way, good?" he suggested, firmly. Asking, but not asking.

"Okay," she whispered, letting him take the lead, knowing that they needed to clean the thing up. They both wanted something that they could not have. She had never even thought about straying in all her years of marriage, but here she was. She wasn't all that sure she could stop herself if it got out of hand, because she was wet again thinking about it, and she could not let it go there. She saw her office receptionist and phlebotomist both giving her sidelong glances the rest of the day, but neither said anything.

That night, Cheryl was a little better at keeping herself controlled at home, and Michael saw no cause for alarm. He was paying a little extra attention to her, and she knew it, but there was nothing there that she was going to let him to see.

"Everything okay at work?" He asked, probing to make sure she was good.

"Yeah, today was better. I think it was just me," she smiled and walked over for a hug. They made passionate love that night after the kids were in bed, and everything was good, again. She knew what had happened would not happen again. She would bury herself into her husband's love, her man, the love of her life. She would give him everything she had, and it would all be back to normal.

Chapter 2 -- So, Who Did You Fantasize About, This Time?

The next day, Cheryl planned on meeting John for lunch. They would put this thing away in freezer bag, and zip it shut. The lab door was open, as it always was during office hours, and she saw him leave. She, waited a minute, before heading out herself, following him at a discrete distance. No need for office gossip. She already suspected that the girls were getting nosey. When she got in line at the deli, she made sure she was a couple of places back from him with a couple of people in the middle, and after ordering she joined him at an inside table.

"So, what is this?" He asked, getting to the point.

She should have told him it was just a momentary error in judgement. She knew should have told him it was a mistake that could never happen again. Instead, her resolve failed and she answered quietly, almost whispering "I don't know." It was the truth. It wasn't the answer she had practiced and intended to say. She had intended to deny it. So much for that.

"Do we pretend like it didn't happen? Or that we don't want it to happen again?" He asked. "Would it be a lie if we did that?"

"I don't know," she answered again, quietly, looking down in conflict.

The waitress arrived with their lunches. That brief pause gave them both a few seconds to reflect and gather their thoughts.

She looked up at him, and put a hand to her mouth, biting on her index finger just a little. She knew what she should say. She knew she should lie, and say it was nothing. She knew she should tell him he was imagining things, but she was silent. She waited for him to say whatever it was he was going to say. She hoped he would be the voice of reason, and end it. She was realizing the she couldn't be.

They ate in silence for several moments, then he suggested, "Look, I don't want to push you into anything that could have negative repercussions, for either of us. We both have too much to lose. Why don't we slow down and think about things over the weekend, then talk again next week." He smiled, then added, "Let's just enjoy lunch for now."

Her mind cleared a little at that. Relieved of the pressure, she smiled back and nodded agreement. She decided that she was starving and began nibbling, relieved, nervous, eating more for comfort than actually needing food. They walked back to their offices fake laughing, fake chatting about anything but the elephant in the room. That night, as she was headed out the door, he was waiting outside. She stopped, heart fluttering.

"I can't stop thinking about you, and the other night," he stated. "I know we said we'd give it time over the weekend, but I already know what I want," he trailed off.

"We can't," she stated, weakly.

"I know," he answered, "but maybe next Wednesday after work we get dinner or just drinks, and talk a little more."

"That's not a good idea," she answered. "I don't know what I'd tell my husband."

"Tell him the truth," he answered. "Tell him you're working late, and getting dinner with co-workers afterwards. We're kinda co-workers, and you always work a little late on Wednesdays."

She was quiet for a minute, wondering if that could work, then she said, "I gotta go," as she started away.

"You didn't say, no," he called softly after her, but she kept walking. He knew she'd heard him.

Those parting words that he had called out reverberated in her head. "You didn't say, no." She thought about it all the way home. She thought about it all weekend. She decided she would tell her husband exactly that. She was working late and getting a drink with a co-worker friend. She would not be out too late. If her husband objected, she would simply respect his wishes, and not do it. Game over.

Cheryl, and her husband Michael, made love three times that weekend. Friday night, her imagination took her elsewhere, and she rocked Michael's world while imagining that John was rocking hers. She felt guilty about it the next morning and it put into a bit of a funk for a while, hiding it from an oblivious and happy Michael. Eventually, later that day, she went shopping, including a quick stop in the lingerie section of the department store she frequented. She remembered the tall, blonde salesperson that had embarrassed her in that store, one time before. Fortunately, he wasn't there this time.

Saturday night, while making love to her husband, it happened again. The fantasy felt very real this time, as she closed her eyes and went with it, not trying to push it away. Both she and her husband had mind blowing sex like they hadn't in years. She came twice and made sure he did, too. It had been a very long time since either of them had done that. The fantasy sex was just so good, she thought. They were both in a great mood the next day. She got to wondering if fantasies were a good thing for their relationship. It certainly had been great for her, those past two nights. She briefly thought about the one other night a while back after that blonde hunk of a store clerk had embarrassed her. She knew she wanted that kind of sex again, with Michael, but how would she bring up fantasy sex, to him? Should she? Her thoughts ran between fantasy sex with her husband, to next week's potential meetup for most of the day. Why should she even be thinking about doing that with John? Her husband was a wonderful man, and a wonderful father and provider, even if she did make as much money as he did. Sex with him right now, was better than ever. Could having fantasy sex with her husband be taking her marriage to a fantastic new level? She decided she wanted to try. She would tell John, no, and instead, take things to another level with her husband.

Sunday night, Cheryl was softly rubbing Michael's chest softly, and letting her hand barely brush against the tip of his cock every so often on the down strokes. She smiled as she felt him getting just a little harder, each time she teased it.

"Have you ever thought about sex with someone else?" Cheryl took the plunge.

"What?" Michael responded, surprised. "You're gonna need to clarify, that," He stated, alarmed, going soft instantly.

"No! Not like that," she forced a giggle, trying to keep things light, "I mean, fantasizing about it, not doing it." She continued before it could get out of hand. "I heard that some people have fantasies with their spouses, during sex and that it gets pretty wild, but it's only ever fantasies and only with their spouses." She waited for his response.

"I gotta tell ya, I never have," he said. He was thinking about the great sex they'd been having, and that maybe she had something she needed to say, so he waited in silence.

"So, you've never looked at one of the soccer moms, or a girl at the beach and thought she was hot?" Cheryl probed.

"Of course I have, but I've never fantasized about having sex with them." Michael replied.

"Hmm," Cheryl voiced, "Just curious." She thought maybe she shouldn't have brought it up.

"Need to come clean about something?" Michael asked, forcing the issue.

"Yes," Cheryl gasped, blurting it out, "I tried it, and it was actually pretty good. All I wanted was to screw your brains out, the whole time, though." They were both quiet, then she said quietly, "I want you to try it, tonight."

"I'm not gonna lie and say I'm thrilled about you wanting to fuck other guys," he responded, "and I don't think I can fantasize about other women while I'm having sex you." More silence followed as he processed it all. "Who were you fantasizing about?" He asked, legitimately concerned.

"It doesn't have to be a real person, Michael," she said, diverting things just a touch, "It's just imaginary. It's about getting your spouse to take you to another level. It's about keeping things raging and alive. I don't want anyone else, Michael, and you've been so good lately." She was rubbing his belly again, and brushing against his soft cock, trying to get him to make love to her. "Just try it, tonight. Let me be a fantasy for you. I'll be whoever you want." She said, taking his cock into her hand. It was rising nicely, so she went down and took him. She gave him the best blow job she could, and it worked. He tried to warn her, but she let him blow his load, and she drank every drop. That didn't happen often, but she wanted it all, that time.

"So, what did you fantasize about?" she asked, when she came up for air.

"I'd rather not say," he answered, still a little unsure.

"It will make me hot, knowing," she said as he hesitated. "Don't kill me with suspense, Michael," she smiled, teasing his cock again. She was dripping wet, but knew he couldn't cum again. Not for a long while anyway.

"You might not like it. I don't even know if I like it," he answered.

"I need to know, Michael. You're driving me crazy. That's part of it." The suspense was killing her, and she needed to cum.

"Okay, but don't say I never warned you," he said, thinking this might not end well.

"I'm waiting," she whispered, squeezing his cock again and sliding down, putting it in her mouth, hoping to get him hard.

"I thought about you, getting fucked," he said, almost a whisper, afraid of what came next.

"What?" she gasped coming off of his cock. "I certainly didn't expect that!"

"You started it," he defended, "and it was just your fantasy I was thinking about."

"No, that's okay," she stammered, "you're right." She laughed, "I expected to hear you fantasizing about some twenty year old, bimbo." She took a couple of licks of his cock. "I didn't expect you would be fantasizing about me, that way. I'm so hot for you right now and I need Mr. Biggie to get hard for me again."

"I don't know if I can for a bit. Why don't you roll over and let me take you back to your little fantasy land for a while?" He suggested, rolling her onto her back.

Michael took that first lick of her soaked pussy, and proceeded to give her the best tongue lashing he could muster. She came twice. Bucking and jerking both times.

"So, who did you fantasize about this time?" Michael asked, amused.

"Just you this time," she answered. It was true. "You are all I need."

"Just, me? Are you sure?" He asked, with a smile.

"Okay, I was fantasizing about you, fantasizing about me," she admitted.

Michael was awake for a little while, contemplating this new twist, but they both slept well that night.

Chapter 3 -- Yes, But Just Dinner

She went to work Monday when they saw each other in passing, and John whispered to her, "Did you tell him?"

"No, and we shouldn't," she answered, feeling her resolve beginning to melt, instantly. "Damn it!" she thought to herself, and her next words were clearly forced "We shouldn't do it," she repeated.

He looked at her like a sad puppy. Her resolve melted the rest of the way and she heard herself changing her mind, "I'll tell him tonight, and say it just came up." She knew she was fucking up, but couldn't help it.

"Really?" He gawked. "We're doing it?"

She wasn't completely sure what he meant by, 'doing it' but she was sure she knew what her fantasy wanted, and simply answered in a low voice, "Yes."

She made fantastic love with her husband again that night. But in her fantasies, she was making love to John. She didn't try to stop the fantasies. She wanted it. She caught herself, almost whispering John's name in her husband's ear. That was a close call, but it made the sex with Michael, even better. Could her fantasies about infidelity and getting caught, really be making sex with her husband that good? Could the flirting and the planning actually be doing helping her make better love to her husband? She wondered how close could she get with John, and not really do it? Her husband was giving her the best sex of her life. How could she even consider doing it with anyone else, for real?

As she lay there in bed she said, afterwards, she was in conflict. Should she go through with drinks? Could she get close, but not do it? Sex with Michael would be so good, if she could pull it off. She figured it was now, or never and as nonchalant as she could muster, she stated, "Oh! I forgot. I need to work just a little later this Wednesday night. Not too late, but you may want to do dinner without me."

"Pizza for the kids it is," her husband laughed. "We'll save you some."

"Naw, I'll probably get something with one of the girls before coming home, and the kids will likely be in bed. Don't worry though, I'll probably only be an hour later normal. Maybe a little longer if we get dinner," she said. She realized that the lie about who she was getting dinner with came out far too easy, and that bugged her.

"Okay, but don't drink too much," he said, "It's a long drive home." He snuggled in and dozed off quickly, completely worn out from the session they had just completed.

It took her awhile to drift off. Guilt, anticipation, fantasies and more guilt went through her mind.

Tuesday came and went without incident. She switched up her lunch break again, not to avoid John, but because she simply had no words for him that wouldn't end in failure. One her way back from lunch he approached her in the parking lot. She held up a hand to warn him off and he paused, a worried look on his face. Then she held one finger to her lips and gave him a "shhh." He raised his eyebrows in question and she nodded her head and said, "Yes," trying to maintain a poker face. She failed so she smiled at him briefly, turned and walked away, back to the building. Her head was in fantasy land, knowing he was behind her, watching. She wondered if he still liked her ass in scrubs, and resisted wiggling it at him. She wasn't nervous this time. Her spirit was high. The decision was made and this fantasy was going to a new level. Knowing where it should, but not knowing where it would stop was part of the thrill.

She left work on time and went home. Business as usual. She made love with her husband that night, but her fantasies took her elsewhere. The lovemaking was hot, heavy and passionate as she made love to her husband. But it was John she felt inside her, in her imagination. It was John's face she saw in her imagination. It was John she heard telling her, how good she felt. It was John that took her over the top. It was John's hot streams she felt filling her as he climaxed.

Cheryl was in a blissful aftermath, and she and her husband, Michael both slept like logs afterward until the alarm went off. She held him tight that morning, not letting him get up for a few moments. It's just dinner and a drink or two, she thought as she held her husband, thinking about later, after work. Could she go through with it? She should call it off.

That morning she prepped herself for work a little more seriously than usual, including a fresh pubic shave. She put on the new black panties and bra she'd bought over the weekend, to go with her dark and flowing hair. She wondered if she should do something about the random gray streaks in her hair, but decided that John wanted her the way she was, gray and all. She smiled at the thought of turning John on, even at her age. Her spirits were high. Then she started having reservations again, and thought, "Why am I putting sexy underwear on? It's not going that far. It's just dinner. I'm just adding to the fantasies I have with my husband, and I'll make him take these off of me himself, when I get home." She said all that to herself, but she still felt her pussy flutter with anticipation. The fantasies she'd been having while making love to her husband were so vivid. She thought again, to herself, "But what if it does happen?" She tried to deny that it would, but she kept preparing. She fantasized about John seeing her in the lingerie.

The day went by without incident, much as the day before. She poked her head out the door when she thought John would be heading to lunch, since he typically ran his schedule like clockwork, due to his clients. He looked at her as he came into the hall and gave her the quizzical look. She held her finger to her lips again, nodded "yes" for reassurance, smiled and went back inside, skipping lunch.

"What are you grinning about?" A coworker asked, smiling.

"Oh, just thinking about the kids," she answered. The lie came out far too easily.

"Sure, that's what it is," the coworker prodded with a chuckle, and the other girl in the lab chimed in. Had they seen her and John flirting? Did they know something?

She went back to the centrifuge and spun it up, processing some bloodwork. She kept her back turned to the girls, avoiding eye contact as much as possible for the rest of the day. There were a few knowing looks that couldn't be avoided.

"Have a nice evening," one of the girls said to her as she was leaving eliciting another giggle from the other girl, who was leaving as well. The eye contact was unavoidable and both girls had mischievous looks on their faces. She couldn't help but break into a slight grin back at them, eliciting more giggles as they door closed behind them. They knew something, and it seemed to be okay with them. They were both married, but it had never stopped a little office banter. She was fluttering in anticipation again. Fifteen minutes later, the lab was clean and she was ready to head out. She opened the door, propped it open with a wedge and waited for John to come out. It took another five minutes, but his assistant, Vickie, finally left, giving Cheryl a somewhat cold look as she turned and walked off. Did she know something, too? She didn't seem happy about something. John, was right behind her. She closed and locked her door, and he did the same, held a finger up, and they waited a discrete amount of time until his assistant must be long gone.

"So, this is on?" he asked, needing confirmation.

"Yes, but just dinner. We need to talk," she lied to herself. She wanted more, but would maintain the illusion of, "just dinner", in case that's all it was. She was sure it wasn't.

"I have reservations at the Cosmos," he said. She seemed unfamiliar, so he added, "It's a nice restaurant with a wonderful bar." He didn't add the part about the attached hotel. He didn't want to scare her off. He wasn't sure it would go that far, but he had a suite booked, just in case.

"Okay," she answered, "a drink sounds like, just what the doctor ordered." She laughed at her own pun and John laughed, too. "I'll take my own car though. No one needs to see us leaving together."

"Good call," he responded. He gave her directions, and she walked, taking a left towards her car, and he walked off to the right. Same as normal. Neither of them saw the three women, one of them a short and curvy blonde, one of them a tall, slender dark haired woman, and Vickie, John's assistant, They, were few rows away from John's car, standing behind a white Tundra. John may have recognized it, if her were looking.

Chapter 4 -- Looks Like a Pretty Special Friend, To Me

Cheryl arrived, got lucky and found a place to park a block away. As she walked up, he was waiting. "You could have used valet service, "he smiled," I did." He took her arm in arm, and they walked in. They were greeted and the very proper looking hostess, who walked them to their table. It was in a small two person table, somewhat secluded in a corner. Cheryl looked at John, wondering if the dim, corner booth was on purpose.

"Yes, I asked for something a little private," he answered her quizzical look, "so we can talk openly and honestly."

He gentlemanly, slid her chair out for her as she sat. They both chatted about the menu, and had a glass of red, while looking it over. She ordered a barbeque, bacon, chicken ranch salad and he chose the grilled buffalo chicken wrap. They engaged in some light small talk about the old turn of the century, vibe of the restaurant, the wall fixtures, the antique wooden bar and other random things as they ate, tiptoeing into why they were really there.

"So, what is this?" He asked, finally laying it out there.

"Something we shouldn't be doing," she answered, wondering if she should back out, while she could.

"But we're doing it," he responded, not quite a question, not quite a statement.

"Yes," she said, gazing at him, having finally made the decision for them. The second glass was mostly gone and may have had a small part in that decision, but she was not drunk.

"Another glass?" he asked.

"I shouldn't. It's a long drive home," she answered, "but I think maybe I do need one." She looked him in the eyes and she added, "for tonight."

He smiled, and ordered up, as she went to the lady's room. There was a tall, slender, dark-haired woman sitting alone at the last table, near the hallway where the restrooms were. The woman got up and followed Cheryl in.

"Enjoying the evening?" The woman asked, pretending to be washing up.

"Immensely," Cheryl beamed.

"Staying here tonight?" She asked.

"No," Cheryl answered, matter of fact, the thought only then entering her mind. She hadn't considered the fact, the implications, that they were actually at a hotel, and not simply a nice restaurant. "Just dinner and drinks with a friend."

"Looks like a pretty special friend to me," the woman smiled.

"Maybe, a little special," Cheryl returned, still beaming.

"Be careful," the woman smiled. She looked down, reaching over and brushing her own right hand across Cheryl's right hand, and across the wedding ring that was on it. Cheryl's smile wavered just a little. The woman leaned in, and gave Cheryl a little kiss on the cheek, stood back and followed the kiss up with a soft pat on the same cheek, then she walked out of the rest room. Cheryl was a little confused and taken aback by that, but with her sprits soaring, and a little wine in her system, her thoughts quickly re-centered on the great time she was having with John, as she walked back down the hall.

When she returned, John had slipped their chairs a little closer together, and standing he held hers out, placing a hand on her back as she sat. She felt the warmth filling her at his touch.

He sat next to her and they chatted happily for another twenty minutes. They promised each other that no one could ever know, and their families became less and less relevant during the conversation. Their private thoughts, desires and fantasies became more and more real. They both agreed that it would only be "just this once." He had a hand on her thigh, and she responded by leaning in a little more, opening her legs a little, relaxing and allowing his caress.

"I can't believe we're in a place like this, and wearing scrubs," she laughed lightly, as she looked at him. Thoughts of secrecy had flown out the window as they leaned into each other, like lovers. The sense of good humor, trust and the building blocks of passion yet to come, had taken over completely.

"Maybe we should go somewhere else?" he smiled, leaning in, kissing her on the lips.

She responded, heart racing as she parted her lips, allowing tongue access. She pulled up for air, "Where?" she asked.

"Leave that to me," he smiled, waiving the waiter down to settle up. The kissing that followed while waiting for the waiter to return was incredibly sexually charged and very romantic.

After signing the check, John stood and held out his hand. She took it, and he gave her another soft kiss, as their eyes locked. Then he guided her to the elevator. She realized what he was up to and smiled as she leaned into him. Partially buzzed, partially smitten and definitely hot for this to happen.

The tall, dark-haired woman in the corner watched them enter the elevator together. "So much for being careful," she said out loud, dryly. She got up, walked out of the restaurant and down the street to a waiting white Tundra, with two other women sitting inside it. She got in the back seat, and closed the door.

Chapter 5 -- That Has the Look of Something, Final

In the elevator, Cheryl didn't wait for John's lead. She leaned in and kissed him passionately and fully. She had her hands on his back, slowly moving to his ass and pulling his hardening cock up against her. He responded with one hand on her ass, pulling her in tight, and his other hand on her breast, twiddling her nipple through her clothes until the bell dinged and the elevator door opened. They stepped out of the elevator, gazing at each other. There was a loving familiarity in that gaze. It was as if this was meant to happen, long ago. They kissed again like lovers, standing just outside the elevator and leaning against the wall, losing all reference to time. It must have gone on like that for a bit, because shortly they heard the elevator door opening again, and a couple of guys in business suits stepped out, having to sidestep to get around them.

"Someone is getting lucky tonight," one of them chuckled, drawing a laugh form the other one. As they walked off.

That comment caused the lovers to pause, gaze at each other and smile. John, took Cheryl's hand, guiding her to the room he'd booked for the night. They wouldn't be there that long. Both had loving spouses to go home to. Neither were thinking about spouses in that in the moment.

The two of them entered the room, and John immediately pulled Cheryl's scrub top off, up and over her head. She allowed it as if it were a natural thing, and even assisted. She was wearing a see though, lacy black bra, underneath the scrubs. Her husband had never seen it. She had bought it for this night, while she was still unsure if this night was even going to happen. John, pulled her into another long kiss. They couldn't seem to get enough kissing. The kisses were sweet, they were passionate, they were romantic and they were needed. The two of them were hungry for each other. Heart pounding, she reached under his shirt and placed both hands on his well-shaped athletic pecs, massaging them as they kissed and occasionally lightly twisting his nipples. He pulled her tight with his hands on her ass. She felt his cock against her, hard and strong. In that moment, it felt harder and stronger than anything she'd ever had. In reality, it was no more than what her husband packed, but it was fresh and new, and she wanted it.

They paused for a moment, and she tugged at his blue scrubs top. Being much taller, he had to help her get it over his head. She dropped to her knees after that, pulling down his scrub pants and letting them drop to the floor. She stared at his cock as it tried to spring from out from his thin black, see through underwear. He'd bought those just for the occasion as well. She tugged them down just enough for his cock to spring out, then she took a lick and sat back to look at it in wonder, again. A drop of pre-cum beaded up at the tip. She licked it off. He couldn't allow a blow job. Not yet. He was afraid he'd ejaculate prematurely and blow the whole night. He lifted her up to her feet, then he dropped to his knees, doing the same as she'd done to him. He pulled her scrubs down and let them drop at her feet. She stepped out and let him gaze at her black, see though, panties. He smiled up at her, and stood.

"Looks like we were thinking the same thing," he smiled, acknowledging their mutual choice in undies.

"I guess so, she smiled back," pulling him into another of what seemed like a million kisses.

He reached back and unclasped her bra, letting it drop. Her puppies were not huge and not small. They were definitely what he, and most men, would consider to be perfect with absolutely no sag. He bent down and kissed, sucked and caressed her breasts. After a few moments, he picked her up, letting her straddle him from a standing position. His cock still hanging out, but now pressed against her mons, as he waddled her over to the bed, holding her like that, trying to kiss along the way. It seemed that they had become as one. He sat her on the bed, then let his underwear drop to the floor. She gazed at his nakedness, ready for what was next. He knelt, pulled her panties off, spread her legs and moved his head up, between her thighs. It was good. His tongue was slowly lapping at her, softly. There was no rush at first, but soon she needed more and pulled his head tighter against her as she thrust her pelvis up, hinting that it was time to rev it up a little. He did. He slipped a finger in, and she shuddered as he slipped in another. He didn't bring her off that way, but he had her soaking wet and primed. He stood and pulled her into a sitting position, and she took him into her mouth. It was slow, but didn't last long. As he started to pump, he again realized he would blow way too soon, so he pulled back. He gazed at her. She gazed at him. They knew what was next. They hadn't spent a lot of time with bedroom foreplay. They knew they didn't have time for that. It was one or the other before, both of them had to go home.

She moved further up on to the bed, and he joined her. They kissed again, and he began to position her. She rolled onto her back and spread her legs, inviting him in. He rolled on top, still kissing. She felt his cock against her, just where it needed to be. She felt the tip, just starting to slide in. Just a little. Then he pulled back out, and in again, a little deeper. He did this a couple more times, and then she knew he was all the way in. It felt amazing and she wanted it deep and hard. The thought of fantasy sex with Michael briefly, but clearly flashed through her thoughts.

"No," she gasped, "we can't," and she struggled to get out from under John. He allowed it, bewildered as he rolled onto his side.

She placed a hand on his chest and said, "This is a bad idea, and we both know it," she looked at him, eye to eye in a moment of clarity. He stared back, and knew she was right. That one thought of her husband, Michael, as John was about to make love to her, was all it took.

"I can't end my marriage like this, no matter how bad I want you. I... I need to go home. We can't do this again," she instructed, fully sober in the moment and in control. He just looked back and nodded, not saying a thing. They both lay there for several more moments, collecting their thoughts, not really trying to cover their nakedness. They were comfortable with each other and it was far too late to start acting modest.

John rolled over first, and sat on the edge of the bed. Cheryl rolled over and sat next to him. Both still naked. She leaned into him and said, "We almost did something wonderful, but it would have been the end of something else. We can't throw that away. I love and need my husband, and I can't let anything happen to that." She looked at him then, and said, "My husband is the only man I've ever loved, John. My kids are everything to me. I really, really want you. I really want to do this with you, John, but I can't ruin our lives and everyone else's lives over it. Above all, I can't ruin my husband. I could never live with that," She put a hand on his naked thigh, mid-was up, partially towards the inside, "I know you understand." She realized where her hand was and pulled it back, just a little, but didn't fully remove it.

John, looked at her, eyes locked, both still longing, but both knowing. She leaned in for a warm kiss on the lips, with no penetration. Then she sat back and said calmly and firmly, but with the warmth that comes from being with someone you trust. She looked at him, then at her hand on his thigh, as if possibly changing her mind, then she smiled at him, removed her hand and said, "Let's get dressed and go back downstairs."

They dressed quietly and Cheryl helped John tug the wrinkles form his scrubs, the way you would help a friend, and they left the room together. As they walked to the elevator, they were silent, but she made it less awkward by holding his hand as they walked.

"Let's have one last drink together," she offered and they went to the bar, ordered and talked about what they almost did, about how they had both wanted it. About what they had almost risked over fantasies. They decided neither were to blame, and at the same time, both were.

"I do feel something deep for you, John," she said, "I'm not sure what we are, but we can never be lovers." She, stood up, took a sip of her drink, "Goodnight, John," she kissed him on the cheek, turned and walked away, the drink unfinished. He watched her as she walked out. She still looked great, even in scrubs.

The bar tender walked up and said, "That has the look of something, final. You, okay?"

"Yeah," he returned, and stood to go. "I just need to go home, and save my marriage." He also walked away, drink unfinished. The bartender watched him go with approval. It didn't matter that the drinks were unfinished and that they hadn't paid. He poured himself a shot of Crown, and thought about what he'd lost once, long ago, and of the things he regretted. There was no one left at the bar, so he had a second shot., and started cleaning the place up.

The three women in the Tundra were parked just a few spots away from Cheryl's car. They watched her get in, and drive away.

"That was quick," Margie, the driver, John's wife said. She was a gorgeous, full-figured, short blond.

"It doesn't take long, for a quickie," the venomous woman, John's receptionist, Vickie, said from the passenger seat.

The dark-haired woman in the back seat offered her opinion, too, "I don't think they did it. They were way too into each other for a quickie." After a moment of silence she added, "I bet she chickened out."

"I think they did it," said John's, Vickie, as she looked at Margie. "Are you going to confront him?"

"Maybe," Margie answered. "He sure as hell ain't getting any of this any time soon," she added, rubbing her tummy briefly for effect. She started her truck and they drove off. The conversation far from over.

Chapter 6 -- How Many Strikes Do You Get?

When Cheryl got home the kids were in bed, sleeping. Her husband was in bed as well, but awake, reading.

"Can we talk?" she asked. Her husband looked up at her and saw that it wasn't a request.

"Sure," he said with a frown, "what's up?" He sat his book down.

"Not in here, the kids might hear. Let's go outside," she said, turning and walking out of the bedroom. She waited in the kitchen as he followed her out in his boxers. She opened the door to the backyard and walked out, expecting him to follow as she walked across the lawn to sit on the railroad ties that shored up the terracing, keeping the hillside from eroding. She sat there expectantly and he sat next to her, he in his boxers and she in her scrubs. She had his full attention as that aberration of behavior was very much unlike her. Thankfully it wasn't raining.

"What's up?" he asked, again.

"I'm a fucking idiot. I'm sorry. I almost ruined everything," she dove right in with that firm, matter of fact tone, that she always maintained. The two of them rarely ever beat around the bush, and had a relationship built on speaking their minds. He looked at her, waiting. The strong posture she started with as she had sat down, back straight, shoulders squared, looking him straight in the eyes immediately started to crumble. Her shoulders sagged a little, she leaned forward a little folding her hands together in her lap, and looked down at nothing. "Hear me out for a moment, okay?" She added softly as she looked back at him with a weakness in her eyes. He hadn't remembered ever seeing that particular look. Something was wrong.

He nodded, knowing this was not going to be good, and she continued, "I fell for another man and almost let something happen. It didn't, but I can't work at the lab anymore." He stared at her without emotion, waiting to see what was next. She continued, "I stayed late tonight, prepared to do something that could have ruined everything, but we stopped." She was going to tell him everything, but she needed to go slow. "It didn't happen. It almost did, but it didn't," she trailed off.

"How long?" He asked.

"Huh?" Then she caught what he meant, "A few weeks," she answered. "Just lunch, a few times. Then a kiss in the parking lot when he walked me to the car. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let it happen, but I did. That's when it started to escalate. I don't know why. It wasn't just him doing it to me, though. I let it happen and kissed him back. I think I was having a fantasy and I let it start becoming real, and it won't happen again."

"That was it?" he asked, "A kiss in the parking lot?"

"No, the parking lot was last week. Then, there was tonight. We had drinks and kissed some more." She looked at him in the semi-darkness as clouds had covered the moonlight. He couldn't see her tears, but he knew they were there.

"Where?" He asked, with that feeling you get in your stomach, when riding over a bump too fast and the bottom drops out.

"Hotel bar," she answered and he knew what must be coming, next.

"You went to a room with him?" he asked, a slow boil coming on.

"Yes," she answered.

"And that's what you wanted?" He asked, pressure building.

"Yes," she answered, "but we stopped it before it could go, too far."

"What was, too far?" He asked, in a dangerously neutral voice.

"We made out, and we touched each other, and we almost made love." She answered. "But we didn't." She kept coming back to that, the fact that they didn't. Something plucked a nerve with her husband though. She, hadn't said, "have sex." She had said, "made love." Almost having sex meant one thing. Almost making love had a completely different meaning.

"How far did it go?" He asked, "You made out. That means he got in your pants?"

"Yes," she answered.

"And you got into his?" He asked.

"Yes," she answered.

Silence. She waited for his next question. She would answer truthfully.

"Did he lick you?" He asked.

"Yes," she answered, "a little."

"A little? And, if he did that, I'm guessing you sucked his cock, a little?" He asked sarcastically, getting pretty riled up, but determined not to blow a gasket.

"Yes," she answered, "a little," trying to convey that it had not gone far.

"How do you suck a guy's cock, a little? Did he cum in your mouth? Did you lick his sack? Did you rim his fucking ass?" He asked, fury barely contained.

"No," she answered truthfully, getting desperate, "None of that other stuff, and neither of us came at all. Not at all! Please, Michael, please believe me. We... we put a stop to it, because we knew it was wrong, and we couldn't let it happen. We both knew that," Then she whispered, "I can't do that to you, Michael. Or to the kids, but mainly you."

He simmered down ever so slightly at that.

"You fucked him, didn't you?" He stated and asked at the same time, resigned to the loss of fidelity.

She was silent for a moment, and she felt his rage growing again. "No, but almost," she said. "I let him put it in, but that's when we stopped. We both knew we couldn't. So, we stopped."

"You had another man's cock in you, and you think that's, almost?" He asked, definitely enraged again. Barely in control. He wanted to punch something. Someone.

"I'm sorry," she said and answered, "Yes, though. He had it all the way in, but we never started going at it. We stopped right then." After a short pause, "Michael, that's when we knew it had gone too far. We stopped,"

"Who is he?" He finally asked.

"A doctor in the office complex," she answered, leaving out the part about him being across the hall. "His name is John. He's married, too, and knows it's ended between us. It's over Michael." She hoped that would be enough, but she knew it wasn't.

"Let me put this together," he stated, "You started this thing weeks ago. Then you start making out in the parking lot, where people can see. Then you arrange a hook up. You lie and say you have to work late. You make out and suck and fuck each other in a hotel. Then you tell me it's over and you want me to be okay with it?" he finished in anger.

"It wasn't like that," she said, "I'm trying to tell you the truth, and we didn't fuck," she answered, choking back tears and he could tell she was fully crying, now. He didn't really care. He got up and walked away. Not knowing what else to do, he went to bed, not bothering to clean the grunge from the railroad ties off his underwear as he lay on top of the blankets. She came in several minutes later.

She undressed and he saw the bra and panties he'd never seen before and how sexy she had made herself for someone else. His cock unwittingly betrayed him as it wanted to take back what was his, but he rolled to his side so she couldn't see his two heads in conflict with each other.

She climbed in, still wearing the new underwear and tried to snuggle up. She was hurting, and she knew he was, too. She needed to feel him, but he rejected her.

"You just had another guy's cock in you tonight. You're wearing new underwear I have never seen, that you obviously bought for him, and you think it's okay to touch me?" He said with forced venom. In reality he was gut punched, and all he wanted to do was hold her, cry and take her back, but that was not going to happen. Not then, not there, maybe never. She would never see him cry. He was too strong for that. He didn't want to lose her, and at the same time, he wanted to kick her to the curb. He was trying hard not to love her, but he did love her, and he hated her for it. His thoughts were a mess.

"I'm sorry," she said, "it was a fantasy that got out of control. When it started to happen, I saw you in my mind, and I stopped it. He stopped, too. He never tried to make me do anything I didn't want to." They were both quiet for a few agonizing minutes. "It was you I saw, Michael," and after another short pause, "I'm not in love another man, Michael.

"Are you able asleep?" she asked quietly, after a long silence. She knew he had to be wide awake.

"No," he answered, matter of fact. No venom for the moment. Just, loss and confusion.

"Can we talk some more, if we stay quiet?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think we need too," he answered, rolling over to face her, taking over the conversation.

"Okay," he started, anger creeping back in, "just keep your fucking mouth shut, and listen. You'll have your turn. You say, that you don't know why. I think I can understand that. We all have our little things that we can't explain, but here is what I do think. I think it's important for you to see this through my eyes." He started ticking off on his fingers. "Strike one is when you started looking at someone else to begin with. Okay, it's pre-season at that point, and we can toss it away as frivolous. Strike two, was a public display of affection with another man. And I don't even know what led up to that. Between looking, then kissing. But that's strike two, making out in public!"

"P... public display?" she interrupted, "I don't..."

He cut her off, hissing dangerously. He would have been shouting if not for the kids, sleeping just down the hall. "You, will fucking listen to me! You were fucking making out, in a fucking parking lot, and that is a fucking public display," he countered with controlled anger. He was having a serious battle with control.

"We didn't make out," she defended, "it was just a kiss."

"Okay, fine, just a kiss," he responded, "But what kind of kiss? On the cheek?" He watched her expressions as he questioned, "No? So, on the lips? Yes? Full on grinding kiss? Yes? Ready to tear each other apart, kiss? You already said, you kissed him back! Fuck you! That is exactly what I'm talking about. If that's not a fucking public display of affection, I don't know what the fuck is!" He glared at her now, wanting to punch her in the face. He wasn't the kind of guy to do that, but it crossed his mind. He settled down almost instantly when he caught his mind going there. He was losing himself, and he wasn't going to allow that. "I could have probably forgiven even that, if you had come clean and ended it then. I don't know," he said softly as his emotions when hot and cold like flipping a switch.

After a little silence and no response from her, he started back up. It all had to be on the table, no matter what happened. "That was strike two. I'm over it. Let's talk about strike three. You knew you were going to do it. When did you decide?" She was silent.

"Okay, by not saying anything, that tells me you planed this for a while. When did you know, you were going to do it?" He asked, expecting that she would be honest. In his mind, and to her credit, she always was.

"Last week," she answered, "sorta, but I wasn't sure, yet. But it was last week that I started thinking about it." She realized, unable to look at him, that even when she was in denial with herself that past week, that she had really decided back then.

"So, you work late every Wednesday night. I'm guessing that's when you decided. You knew a full week in advance that you were going to fuck someone else." He stated calmly, but they both knew the rage and danger he was going through, so she kept her mouth shut. "That's strike three. You planned in advance to be a fucking slut and fuck someone else. It was no fucking accident. Did you think you could just run around and fuck other guys, and leave me in the dark? Am I supposed to be your fucking cuck?"

"It's not like that. Please, keep your voice down for the kids. I'm sorry. And it was not other men. It was one, and it's over," she pleaded. "We never committed. I realized I was being a fool, and I came home. I will quit my job and find something else. It's over. I need your help now, more than ever in my life. Michael, I love you, and only you. Knowing I hurt you is killing me, too. Michael...." She trailed off, placing hand on his arm.

He was silent, realizing what she was saying was true. She needed help. They both did. He was still kicked in the nuts, and not ready to cave to her needs. Not yet. Maybe he never would. He went back to scrutinizing her actions.

"That was strike three," he continued, pretending on the surface that he hadn't heard her plea for help, "Planning to fuck someone else, Cheryl. That was strike three.

"Stike four was the lingerie. Actually, purchasing sexy underwear for another man. When was the last time you did that for me? Don't try to answer that, because if I don't know, neither do you. When was the last time you went the extra mile like that, for me? I'm starting to think it was all for you and your goddamned fantasies and I was just the little man helping to get you off. That's strike four, Cheryl... that's strike four. How many fucking strikes do you get?"

She had no response, so he added, "When did you buy the fuck me lingerie, Cheryl? When did you buy it?"

"Saturday," she answered, "It was last Saturday."

"That was strike four Cheryl. You decided another man was going to fuck you, and you bought him something that would make it hard to say, no," he finished, "Strike four."

After more silence from her, he continued, "And strike five? You lied to me! You fucking lied to me! You said you were working late and getting dinner with a co-worker, but you went to a hotel with 'Doctor John', wearing sexy underwear that you bought, just for him. It didn't just happen; you planned on getting fucked! Pre-fucking-planned! You, lied to me so you could fuck another man. Stike fucking five!" He was getting loud.

"That's not completely true," she defended, but as soon as she said it, she realized it was true. It was all true. The full gravity of it all just setting in, "Oh my god! I'm so fucking stupid!" she cried, softly, burying her face in a pillow.

"Strike six," he finished, quietly, venom all but washed away, be he wasn't done. There was one more strike. "You fucked another man, while pretending not to. You let another man bury his cock in you."

She unburied her face and looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry. You're right. We never let it finish, but we almost did. It's over between him and I though." After a pause, "I won't ask you to forgive and forget. I can't even do that. Now that I can think clearly, from your side, I can see what I did."

He said, with finalization, "It's up to you, Cheryl, whether we stay together or not, but if we do, it's only for the kids. I can't trust you anymore. I don't even know if I can stay under the same roof, but I'll try."

"Okay, but," she started and he cut her off.

"We're done talking for tonight. Maybe tomorrow when my head is a little more, clear" He rolled away to ignore her, and try to sleep.

She didn't know what else to do, so she rolled over, placing a hand on his waist, and spooned a little. He let her. He didn't want it, but he needed it. They eventually both dozed off.

"I called out, today," she said as he walked into the kitchen, coffee already sitting at his spot, waiting for him. "I'm not going back." She added. "No matter what happens, I'm not going back." They were quiet for a bit. "Can you call out today, too, so we can talk?"

"No," he answered. "There are some things I need to get done. Maybe I can get home early though. Before we need to go get the kids."

"Okay, I just think we need to keep talking about this."

They did. He got home and they talked. What she did. How she felt. How he felt. He believed her when she said it was over. He believed her when she said she needed him, not as a father, but as a husband. He believed it all. He just couldn't get over the fact that she had almost done it all. She had had her mouth on another man's cock. She had let another man fill her pussy. That she had bought sexy things, for another man. He didn't believe her about not finishing the act. He didn't think he would ever know the truth about that. It didn't matter. Once the cock was in, she was fucked.

"I don't think you need to quit your job, "he announced, after some thought.

"What?" She looked horrified.

"If we are going to fix this, we can't hide from it. Is it over? You say it is, but is it?" He looked at her, and she looked back, understanding. She questioned it, too. "Prove it! I want you to look at the man that fucked you, every day, and I want you to prove it." He finished with finality. Was it playing with fire? It didn't matter.

They were silent for a while. She eventually realized that he was suffering, too. That his mechanism for making her prove it, was also punishment in a sense. He was going to make sure the temptation was up front and in her face every day.

"Okay," she said, "I get it, but if it gets too weird, I'm quitting on the spot. It's gonna be awkward," she finished, uncomfortably.

"You deserve that," he answered, trying unsuccessfully to completely hide his smile. It wasn't a loving smile.

"So, just like that, you're going to fuck with me, and test me?" She demanded, a little riled up ad his audacity. She added softly, looking him in the eye, when he didn't respond, "I guess I deserve that."

"Yes," he answered, "you do." The smile was gone.

Chapter 7 -- Do You Know How Far They Got?

Cheryl went back to work that Friday, after only calling out for the one day. She tried to ignore the glances from her co-workers. The ones that thought they knew what she was up to. They had no idea that she had come clean with her husband and was in the middle of reparations. It wasn't their business. She began keeping them all at arm's length. She saw John, at lunch though. They talked about marriage and their mutual regrets.

"He wants to talk to you," she told her husband that night, after the kids were in bed. "We had lunch and talked about both of our marriages. He wants you to know that he is trying to save his, too. That what he and I... got lost in, is over. He thinks he owes you that."

"Does his wife know?" He asked.

"Yes," she answered. "I'm not sure how much."

"I'll meet with him," he answered, "but you will be there, and so will his wife."

After a flicker of panic, she said, "Okay, that's fair. I'll let him know." She knew it was for the best, if they were truly going to heal. She also knew it could end everything. It had to be done. No secrets. All questions answered.

They held each other that weekend, but they didn't make love. He still wasn't ready to give himself to her again. He still didn't know if he ever could.

It took another week before they all got together. The four of them. It was a simple get together at a casual wine bar that served real people food, like wings and flatbreads, instead of the typical charcuterie board stuff. The guys both had wings and beer, and the women had wine and flatbread pizza. It was weird. They actually all got along, even with the elephant sitting in the corner, that no one had talked about, yet. The girls were just talking about the hassles of juggling work and kids and sports, and the husbands were talking about guns and shooting and hunting. It was like they could all be friends, if there wasn't that glaring omission none of them wanted to be the first to bring up.

After the food was dwindling and round three was coming up, Michael finally said, looking at John directly, "So, do we get it all out and on the table? Or what?" Silence followed as the server dropped off two more beers. The women had both begged off after the second glass of wine, neither wanting to get tipsy and stupid.

"You mean about my husband fucking your wife?" Margie, John's wife said, taking control and looking straight at Michael. Cheryl and John looked at each other as well, waiting for the hammer to fall. It didn't.

"I see it now," Margie said, still looking at Michael. "Your wife is hot, and that's not her fault. My husband has a cock, and that's not his fault. He's just a dumbass. They are both stupid as fuck to think they could do something like that without repercussions. I don't know about you two, but John hasn't touched my pussy since he stuck his cock in your wife, and maybe he never will. He hasn't been forgiven, but I don't blame your wife. She's the one that stopped it." She reached across the table and put her hand on Cheryl's. "Thank you, for that," she said. Then she looked back and said, "Do you know how far they got? Did she tell you everything? Let's find out."

Michael nodded his head, and said, "I'm pretty sure, I know."

"Just in case you don't, he buried his cock all the way into your wife's pussy, ready to hammer her into oblivion. That's when shit got real and she panicked and called it off. Is that what you heard?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I heard." He answered, a soft smile he couldn't hold back starting to form on his face. Warming up the honesty his wife had shared a week earlier.

"Looks like we're all on the same page." Then Margie looked over at Cheryl and said, "I understand you were planning to quit your job and leave it behind you. Good call. Are you going to?"

"I told her not to," Michael chimed in first, "they made a mess of things, so let them suffer a bit. If they fuck it up again, they can both go fuck themselves."

"I like that," Margie said. The other two were still keeping very quiet.

"Maybe the two of us should fuck, and let them both see what's it's like?" she leered at her husband and Cheryl. She added, still looking at the other two, "That's not going to happen, by the way, but you do deserve it." Then she dropped it altogether and said, "Bottoms up, you two," looking at the men, "time to go." She looked back at Cheryl, without blinking, "If we run into each other, I won't think less of you. We'll be fine. Stay strong Cheryl and remember, this belongs to me." She grabbed John by the crotch, not caring who in the restaurant saw, then she stood and walked off, forcing John to catch up.

Chapter 8 -- Zip It, Lock It, And Put It in Your Pocket

It was a year later, and much of the infidelity issues that had come so close to wrecking their life were set aside for the sake of the family. Life went on for Cheryl and Michael. The friendship and love were both there. The household was run as efficiently as ever and the kids were none the wiser. It was the intimacy in Cheryl's marriage hadn't come back. It was Michael that still couldn't hold his wife the way he once had. When they did have sex, it was just that, sex. Michael had stopped trying to satisfy his wife's needs. If she couldn't get it done within his timeline, she had to make do on her own. It sucked for Cheryl. It had been like that for a year now. She did eventually leave her job. It was too awkward for her, seeing John too often, compounded with no substantial sex life at home. Being in the same room as the co-workers that had reveled in what little they had known of her budding affair was tough, since those same two women had gone from giggles, to sidelong derisive glances in the aftermath. The temptation of hooking up with John was not there any longer, but the memory was, and she wanted that left far behind. Life went on for the family, but Cheryl was unhappy. She suffered through it, knowing she'd made the bed and had to sleep in it.

After a couple more months, fourteen months after her stupidity, Cheryl was growing weary. She was trying to make things work, but felt that maybe she'd blown up her marriage beyond repair, and she was close to giving up. Maybe a divorce was the only solution. She knew that Michael didn't want that, for the sake of the kids. She simply wasn't as strong as her husband and thought that being alone and apart, and trying to have a life might be better than simply existing, together. A little more time, she kept telling herself. Just a little longer.

Michael, on the other hand, had been keeping his thoughts to himself. The thoughts he used to share with his wife, had become personal demons. He'd been wanting to forgive, but he couldn't forget. It wasn't that easy, for him. She had taken another man, deep into a place where no one else should ever have been. It hadn't been an accident. It was something she had wanted and planned for. He couldn't see past it. He knew that he should have the talk with his wife. He wanted her back in his life, completely, but he couldn't see past what she'd done.

It was around that time, fourteen months after his personal doom's day, that Michael got a call one evening. It was the Margie, John's wife. She wanted to meet for drinks, alone, and talk. Her marriage wasn't fixed yet either. Why not take her up on it, he thought. He had nothing more to lose. Maybe she had something important to say that he hadn't already heard. He wasn't sure who she'd gotten his number from. He'd never given it to her or to her husband, John. He programmed her into his phone.

Michael told Cheryl that he was going out to talk to someone. He didn't offer who, and she was reluctant to ask. He didn't go out, ever, so she was concerned. Was this it? She thought.

A short time later, after about a forty-minute drive, John, walked in and sat down at the bar, Margie had chosen. It was the very place his wife had sat over a year ago, with this woman's husband. He didn't know that as he'd never asked Cheryl where exactly it had happened, but Margie, the woman he was sitting next to, knew. She had grilled her husband for every little detail.

"So, what brings us together, this fine evening," Michael asked, tongue in cheek, as he sat at the bar next to her. It was raining like crazy out and was anything but, fine.

"I'm not over it," she answered, without small talk, "are you?"

"No," he answered, matter of fact and without hesitation, "not even close, really. I want to be, but knowing how close they came to destroying everything... I just can't set it aside."

"Same," she said. "I was thinking that if maybe we made them a bit jealous, if they knew we met for drinks, we could let them see a little of what they've done to us."

"By letting them find out we had drinks?" he asked, looking at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Well, maybe not exactly, just drinks" she said, and put a hand over his.

"I see," he answered, "but I don't think revenge is a good idea. Not like that, anyway." Michael's personal integrity, the thing he measured all others against, had never even allowed him to think about getting even, by having revenge sex.

"I think for me, it's about closure, not revenge," she began, "It's about seeing for myself, what it was like for them. I don't know how to explain it, but I don't want anyone else, but my husband. I think you're the only one I can trust to help me see it though, and help me level the playing field. Maybe that's what you need, too?"

"So, just to be clear, you want me to fuck you, and even the score?" He asked, bluntly, but smiling with amusement, not in a demeaning manner.

"I want to feel your passion," she answered, her hand still covering his, smiling back. He hadn't tried to pull away. "I don't want fucked" she continued, "I can get that anywhere. I want to see if I can... If I can... make love, to someone else. We both got pissed on by those two, and I still love John, dearly, but maybe they both need pissed on too, in order to get this whole thing done and over with."

"Let's finish our drinks and talk about something else, for a bit" he offered, "We don't really even know each other."

One drink became two, then a third. They tried talking about something else, but it kept coming back to the common thing. They grew a little closer as the drinks went down, and somehow, they found themselves laughing at the discomfort they had caused their so deserving spouses. They laughed at how they were both so obsessed with their own grief, and knowing their spouses were grieving, too, that they had completely forgotten to try and fix things. The conversation they were having bonded them. They made a pact with each other, and convinced themselves, that they were both going to fix their marriages, after tonight.

"I'm starting to see why Cheryl doesn't want to lose you," Margie said, leaning into Michael a little drunkenly, "I'm feeling that passion I was hoping for," she admitted, looking at him honestly, with her hand still gently resting on his, offering herself up. Michael realized that her hand had not left his, all night.

"What I can't see, is how John could ever have wanted to stray from you," Michael responded.

"Men are so silly," Margie laughed, "Have you seen your wife?"

Michael smiled at that. "Now what, Margie?" he asked, feeling something for her as well, "I mean..." he trailed off, looking around at their surroundings, really taking in, for the first time, that they were at a hotel.

"I... Um... I may have already got a room," she said sheepishly, "just in case."

Michael smiled, "We start fixing things tomorrow, then?" And, after some hesitation, made a decision he would not have made an hour earlier. "Lead on."

Just like fourteen months prior with Cheryl and John, Margie and Michael were kissing like mad in that same elevator. When the doors opened, Margie pulled Michael down the hall in to the room she'd booked and soon they were on the bed, making out like teenagers that were sneaking out for the first time. It was amazing for both of them. Neither had felt any real passion for well over a year. They were feeling it now. Margie had her hand on Michael's cock, and he had his hand in her pants, twiddling her clit as best he could, with her wearing those tight jeans. The clothes started coming off in a hurry. Margie was nothing like Cheryl. Short, soft and curvy with big, white, bouncy tits. Her soft blue bra and panties complimented her blonde hair and blue eyes nicely. Her mouth was on Michael's cock quickly. Unlike John, when Cheryl had sucked him, Michael had staying power for Margie, and it went on for a while. Eventually, he rolled Margie her onto her back, went down on her, and brought her close. Very close. He stopped, and looked at her, as if asking permission.

"I'm ready," she said, pulling him up so that he was in position. He slid the tip of his cock in, and moved in and out a few times. When he was in all the way, he started pumping slowly. Then a little faster. He was getting her close again, but he rolled off panting and said, "I think we've done what we came for, Margie. We found the passion, but we're both still married. I feel something for you, but maybe we need to end it, just like our spouses did." It was more of a question, than a statement, as if he were still asking permission.

"The fuck if we do," she demanded, rolling him onto his back and climbing on top. He actually laughed at that. She rode him hard, and he let her. This was for her, not him. He never came close to blowing his load, but she went off the rails and kept going after that, and went off again. Michael loved every second of it, making a woman cum again, after so long. She collapsed on him, panting and planting her tongue firmly into his mouth. He enjoyed that part, too, and let it happen for as long as she wanted. It was likely five minutes when she finally said, "Okay, I think I can take him back now. God that was amazing, Michael," then softly, "You, okay?"

"Yeah, better than okay," Michael answered, "You are an amazing woman, Margie. Thank you for bringing me back to life. I think it's time to go home and heal." He held her close for a little longer, and they softly kissed a little more.

After those few extra minutes, they got showered quickly, but not together. Margie went first and was dressed by the time Michael got out. He dressed as she fixed her makeup with what few cosmetics she kept in her purse, and then they walked out together, arm in arm. Not like lovers, but like very fond friends. They didn't know it yet, but they would feel that way about each other, for each other for the rest of their lives.

As Michael opened Margie's car door for her, she gave him a light kiss on the lips. "Thank you for helping me vent, and find my way, Michael. John is still the only man I have ever loved, and I need to take him back. What we just did, wasn't love. You know that though, right?"

"Yes, I do Margie," Michael answered. "You opened my eyes, too. Kind of a fucked-up way to do it, though. So, what do we tell them?"

"Nothing," Margie answered. "I realize now, it wasn't for them, it was for us. They never need to know how we healed, just that we did." She was quiet for a second, then added, "I know it will never happen again, at least I hope it doesn't, but if you ever need me again, I'm here for you, Michael." She smirked, then added, "Any way you want me."

Michael grinned, "Zip it, lock it, and put it in your pocket, Margie, goodnight." He kissed her cheek, and closed her car door, and stood there as she drove away. Then he went home.

Michael, needed his wife that night. He took an expired Viagra, hoping it would work. It did. Either that, or maybe he never needed the Viagra at all. Cheryl, never saw it coming. One minute she was contemplating giving up, and the next she was getting her pussy lapped up by a raging animal. She blew her mind almost instantly, more due to mental ecstasy of having her husband where she wanted him, than the physical sensation of his tongue. Her orgasm lasted just long enough for her to get spun around like a rag doll and hammered from behind, harder than she ever remembered her husband giving it to her. She didn't know what had gotten into him, but she was taking as much of him as she could get. She blew again, and he didn't stop. He rolled over and pulled her on top, pushing his pelvis up, and grinding up into her as far as he could get. She blew her mind again, and he wasn't done. He roller her over, missionary, and went at it a little more slowly. He kissed her. It was passionate. For the first time on over a year, her husband was making love to her. Then, he was fucking her. Then, he was making love, to her. It was all of the above. Her tears were flowing freely as she took everything he could give her.

After he had given her his juices, and was still hard, she looked at him, and pleaded, "Make love to me some more, Michael. Oh, god," she sobbed, "Please just love me. Just love me."

They didn't talk after that. They just went at it for another hour, with her cumming more times than she could count, and him cumming once more that she was aware of, but she wasn't counting. He finally rolled onto on his back, pulling her close.

"I need you, baby," he said. "I'm sorry it took so long... for me to tell you."

She cried until she had a headache, and he held her the whole time. The next morning, the only reason they got out of bed, was to take care of the kids and get them off to school. Cheryl and Michael both called out from work, and went back and forth between fucking, and making love, all day. This was not just the start, of healing. They were healed, just like that. They were healed.

Epilogue:

Cheryl eventually went back to work at the office where she had met John, after some begging up the corporate ladder to get her to oversee that location, and two others. She and John had lunch together often, and both reveled in the fact that their marriages were both thriving again. They became very good friends, but they were never lovers, again. Their spouses got along famously at holiday get togethers. It seemed that Margie and Michael, really enjoyed each other. Nothing below decks ever happened with any of them again. Margie did take advantage of the mistletoe with Michael every year, but it stopped right there, with no one the wiser as to the reason. The bond with Margie and Michael, was close. They had rescued each other and would still talk discretely on rare occasions when one needed help, and advice from a friend. They loved each other like that, but like their trusting spouses, they were never lovers, again. John and Cheryl, never did partake of even the mistletoe. A kiss on the hand in greeting during formal get togethers, such as graduations, was the closest they ever got to intimacy again. The friendship between John and Cheryl was much more like really close work associates, than anything else. It was a bit crazy to all of them, that they could be close friends as couples, after what they had gone though. They all vacationed together in Maui, once, and got to see each other in sexy swimwear, with the girls laughing when the guys had shrinkage issues, but there was never a hard on for anyone else's wife. A semi hard on here and there, maybe, but not for that. The girls joked about that, too. Maybe that's what kept them all grounded. It truly was a happily ever after story.

"You know what, Cheryl?" Margie, laughed joking after a few drinks, as they watched their husband's playing volleyball in the pool with other vacationers, "If you two ever fuck up again, I'm stealing your husband." They laughed and clanked their glasses together.

"Cheers, to that, Margie, but dream on," Cheryl laughed with her.