Revenge is a dish best served hot – Part 1
Author’s Note:
This work of fiction is copyrighted to KamalaSutra 2021. No reproduction of this story of any kind, whether in softcopy or hardcopy or any other virtual or printed form is permitted without the express written consent of the author. The characters in this story are not based on any real persons, living or dead, and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
Anniversary as beginning
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a married man, away from his wife, will find himself suddenly in need of a fuck.
It was six o’clock in the morning when I looked at the photo on the screen of my iPhone. It had been sent to me by a friend of mine in London. Clearly visible was a pretty blonde, her happy face tilted upwards as her parted lips accepted a deep kiss. Bestowing the favour was a man whom I thought I knew well. My husband Sanath.
The photograph had been taken in a bar in London at 11.30 PM. Because of the time zone difference with Colombo, I had seen it first thing when I woke up the next morning. Like today. Not the best of ways to start the day.
I had lost count of the number of times I had looked at that picture since that fateful morning. Each time I promised myself I would never look at it again. But I could never bring myself to delete it.
That photograph had been sent to me over a year ago. It was the starter’s gun for my divorce, which had come through faster than expected. Today was the first anniversary of my big D. Special in its own way. I grinned at the thought, and then a second one floated into my brain. You’ve come a long way, baby.
I thought back to the morning the photograph had arrived.
When we had spoken the previous night, just before I had sunk into my bed at around eleven in Colombo, ready to sleep, it was still early evening in London. Sanath had said he had just gotten back to his hotel and had some time to talk to me before he left for an important business dinner along with his boss. He had told me he was lying back on the bed after a tiring day. I told him I was in bed.
There was a moment’s silence.
“Facetime?” he said.
I giggled in delight. It was one of those special private things we did together.
“Sure.” I replied in my best husky throaty voice.
He came into view. I could see he was dressed in one of his best suits and tie. He smiled at me and moved the camera slowly to his crotch, which he was stroking with the fingers of his other hand. I could see the bulge. I smiled at him with parted lips and gave him my best smoky look. He liked that.
“Show me,” he said.
I was wearing satin pyjamas, and I slowly undid the buttons of the top and showed him my breasts. My breasts are not huge at 32C, but they’re firm and perky with small nipples that tend to become very hard when I’m aroused. They were standing straight out now, and I caressed them and squeezed my breasts. He loved watching me do that. My nipples are quite sensitive, and I could feel my juices start to flow in my cunt. His bulge was noticeably larger now.
“Show me” I whispered in turn.
“Not yet.” he grinned. “You know what I like.”
“Damn you.” I responded. I knew what he wanted me to do.
I reached into the side table next to my bed and took out my favourite vibrator from the drawer. It was an Ann Summers Moregasm Rabbit in purple. I was already wet enough to not need any lube. I rubbed the big purple head over my vaginal lips, showing him how wet and slick I already was. Then I inserted it slowly watching his reaction, pushing it in and out, enjoying the sensation even with the vibration off, I couldn’t stop myself starting to pant as his hand stroked his penis through his trousers. Then I turned the switch on.
The rabbit started to flick my clitoris and I gasped with the sudden intense pleasure.
“Show me now” I commanded him pushing the Moregasm as deep as I could into my vagina. I could feel the head hitting my G-spot now, and my body was starting to heave from the sensation of my clitoris getting flicked by the rabbit ears, my vagina opened by the thick shaft and my G-spot losing control.
He unzipped his trousers, and his penis sprang out, fully erect. He grasped the shaft firmly and started masturbating himself. I could hear his gasps also. I could see the precum trickling out. We watched each other, trying to control ourselves to see who would lose. No matter how many times we tried it, I was always the first to come. He had good control, my Sanath. His penis was around six inches long, just the right length, and reasonably thick, shaped almost like a cylinder.
In a few minutes, my control evaporated, and I threw my head back and let the orgasm overtake me. Both of us had placed our phones on the side table for a good view – we’d had lots of practice in this and could do it anywhere – and my back arched and my hips bucked as the orgasm surged through me. I could hear myself moaning in short sharp gasps. Then slowly I came down off the high and realised that his phone was off. I couldn’t see anything. Moments later, the message notification beeped. The first idiotic thought that came to my mind was that the blonde’s mouth was wide enough to take his penis comfortably.
“Sorry babe. call from boss. Talk to you later. Stay wet.”
And that was it. The next morning at six o’clock, my phone had beeped, and I had seen the pic. We’d had a great thing going, or so I’d thought.
What made it worse was that everyone had thought it was a perfect match. We had met while classmates in MBA school, and quickly made the move into a relationship on campus. I chose him because he had so much energy and a great smile. He was good looking in a rugged kind of way and had a yen for wild times. Maybe that should have warned me. But he was going to be very successful, there was no doubt about it. He was acceptable to my family, besides, although perhaps more to my mother than my father. As for me, I was quite a standout in my class, maybe not a bluestocking like some of the other girls, but all the guys liked my looks! I am tall, around 5 feet 10, athletically built, with smallish breasts as I said, but with an ass and legs that even I would describe as gorgeous. As for my face, I was once a teen pageant finalist in my school days in Colombo. I wear my wavy hair to just below the shoulder to frame my heart shaped face, have big eyes that are invariably described as big and beautiful, and a mouth that has just the right amount of smile and just the right amount of plumpness on the lower lip to get a rise, in more ways than one, from the guys. I was a “burgher” in origin, so my skin was somewhat fairer than the average Sri Lankan.
Still, we took five years before we finally tied the knot. As expected, Sanath was immediately grabbed by one of the world’s best known American corporations and started his career rise in quite an impressive way. As for me, my family was very prominent in Colombo political and business circles, so I got a comfortable job with one of the major banks. For the most part, I stayed in Colombo while Sanath started to jet around the world. Not that I missed travel; because our family was quite affluent, I had already seen a good deal of the world. Marriage and job taken care of, I slid comfortably into the life of a prominent Colombo socialite.
The only flaw in the painting was the absence of a child. Sanath was very keen, but I ended up having an unfortunate miscarriage, and after that I kind of lost interest. Besides, we both liked to claim we were very egalitarian, and so would be willing to forego a child because the world was already overpopulated. If we had to, we might adopt a child later. As for our sex life, we had spent so much time fucking before we had gotten married that the other things in life started to gain more importance as the years went by. I liked to affect a slightly superior air at socialite soirees, asking archly, to shock or simply irritate people: “Is sex really all that important?”. It was the kind of attitude that went well with the personal image and brand I was slowly building up, eyeing my future in Colombo society.
Well, apparently sex was important to Sanath, I thought to myself as I looked at the pic on my phone screen that crazy morning. We had blown a good thing sky high. Or rather, he had. Because when I started asking around, I found that the London babe was not the first. Not by a long shot. Like the cliche, I was the wife that found out last.
I also realized something else. It was the kinky taboo stuff that turned him on. Like our Facetime sessions, for example. Or the lingerie he brought back for me. Or the Moregasm itself. That had been a present from him. I had made a scene when he brought it out of his suitcase, but he had persuaded me to try it, just one time. That had certainly not been the last time. He had moved on from vanilla and I hadn’t spotted it.
When he returned from his London trip a week later, he found I had filed for divorce. With my family connections, the divorce went through tout de suite, as the French like to say.
I looked at the photograph again and thought back about the past year. A lot had happened. My life had taken on an entirely different trajectory. For one, I had quit my bank job and had launched my own designer apparel and accessories brand. I loved fashion and knew I had a talent for design. My family had gone all out to support me, and I had managed to turn a profit within the first year itself. I had also launched an NGO that worked with deprived and disabled children, and that was adding to my brand image. The elders in my family had indicated, as they approvingly watched my bounce back from the post-divorce blues, that they felt I had a future in politics. Professionally, my future was suddenly brighter than when I had been Sanath’s wife.
For another, I had found out that I needed sex much more than I had realized.
This hit home to me when I suddenly woke up in the middle of the night just two days after the divorce. For a second, I felt a little disoriented. Then it dawned on me that my vagina was wet and tingling and that my nipples were really hard. Maybe I had had a dream. Whatever it was, I needed to pay some attention to my lady parts. Like right now! I fished out my trusty Moregasm and got to work. As I was woozily reaching an orgasm, an image suddenly flashed in my mind of a West Indian cricketer whom I had met during a party the previous evening. He had a nice stubble on his chin and upper lip, and I suddenly imagined that stubble between my thighs as he licked me. The I imagined us in a 69 and me taking his long thick tool – he was 6 feet 2 or so and I was quite sure he was hung enough – in my mouth, and then his tool fucking my brains out. I came so explosively that the bed shook. When I got my breath back, I downloaded Tinder and a couple of other apps onto my phone.
During the next year I fucked ten men in all. Three were one-night stands, five were potential partners (or so I had thought) and two were married. When I hit double figures, I had to admit something that I had been in denial of for some time.
None of them had made the grade as a potential long-term partner for my future. None of them were anywhere in the same class as Sanath. There was no longer any denying that truth.
This was a problem I knew most divorced women faced, especially those around the age of forty. My girlfriends and I had discussed it a lot. One of them, who spoke German had put it pithily:
Alles Manner sind Toiletten. Die Gute sind besetz, die Schade sind frei.
(All men are like toilets. The good are taken, the bad are free).
I had to reluctantly admit the truth of what she had said. Reluctantly because I had an ego. I was proud of my looks and personality, and I had vainly assumed that “the streets would be strewn with the bodies of men, shooting themselves for my sake”, to quote a famous line from My Fair Lady; while Sanath writhed, absolutely writhed, in jealousy. Well, the bodies and penises of ten men, yes, but no shots so far. Not good.
Even more reluctantly, I had begun to consider questions that I had dismissed as impossible earlier. Had we, or I specifically, made a mistake? Had we/I been too hasty? Like I said, we had had a great thing going and we/he had blown it up.
The more I thought about it, the more I knew I was circling round the real questions. Did I want Sanath back? Would I be able to get him back?
I thought about that as I lay there in bed on the anniversary of my divorce. The simple answer was yes. I wanted him back. Despite what had happened, I thought I probably had a shot at getting him back because I knew he wasn’t having much luck with finding a partner either. Being married and having one night stands on the side is one thing; to be divorced and lonely – all divorced people are lonely for some time at least – quite another. I was confident none of his liaisons would have compared with me, and I was sure he would have come to that realization also.
I thanked the Almighty that I had taken one correct decision in all that mess. Against the shocked horror of both our families, Sanath and I had discussed it out and decided we would remain friends after and in spite of our divorce. We would put the bitterness behind us. So, I was still in frequent touch with him. Yes. He still called me whenever he felt a little ill with a cold or a fever — in this and in a few other ways, he was still psychologically dependent on me. One of his girl friends had even become a friend of mine, calling me for advice on how to handle his moods!
But – I decided that morning – there would be a new set of conditions when I had him back. He may have moved on from vanilla sex, but I had moved on too. What I wanted now was control. No more surprises at six in the morning. My success over the past year had changed me. I loved the sensation of being in charge of my own present and future. And I knew I wouldn’t give that up when Sanath and I got back together.
Then I looked at my phone again and a smile came onto my face.
French Connection
I smiled because I had a message that had arrived overnight from Jacques. Jacques was Sanath’s boss. He was a Frenchman, and every woman who had ever met him described him immediately as drop dead gorgeous. When he was in the gym, you could practically see the women wet themselves inside their tights. Sanath had told me that Jacques had had sex with over a hundred women, none of them paid for. In fact, it was Jacques’s lifestyle that had led Sanath to stray, I had realized. Jacques had become a hero to Sanath, a role model whom he had tried to imitate. Except in one respect – Sanath had once told me there were rumours that Jacques was bisexual. Sanath was as aggressively heteronormative as could be imagined. Jacques was based in Dubai, looking after the entire South Asian region, including India and Sri Lanka.
At a party at a London club once, after the annual offsite, when I was slightly drunk, Jacques had propositioned me straight out. We were dancing close in a dark corner. Sanath had almost passed out with drinking too much. Sometimes he behaved as though he was still a student.
“You are so very beautiful. I want to make love to you.” Jacques had whispered in my ear.
I tried to disengage myself, but he was very strong and very quick. He had already moved in closer. I could feel my breasts against his chest and the hard bulge in his trousers pressing into me. Despite myself, I could feel myself getting aroused.
“I’m married, you know” I whispered back. “And you’re my husband’s boss.”
“In France everyone does it.” he said. “It is normal.”
I had to laugh at that.
“But not everywhere else.” I said, now successfully putting a couple of inches between his body and mine. “There are so many beautiful single women around. Why don’t you try them?”
And that was that. Until this morning when Jacques’s message appeared on my screen.
“It’s been one year since you’ve been single. I’ve waited patiently. Will you have dinner with me next time I’m in Colombo?”
All of a sudden, I knew what I was going to do. I was going to get Sanath back. And I was going to have a lot of fun in the process. And Jacques was going to be the key to it all.
I quickly tapped out on my screen:
“Good things come to those who wait”.
About a fortnight later, I sat across Jacques in a corner of the bar in his hotel. I was in a stylish dress with a calf length skirt, the kind I favoured because of my height and figure. Opposite me, I saw an extremely handsome man with dark blonde hair cut very stylishly, piercing green eyes with the most mischievous look I had ever seen, and a goatee and moustache above the just visible stubble on his cheek. I liked that he had invited me over the phone for a glass of wine at seven, without any indication that he would have the time for us to progress to the bed in his room. That was classy of him. He spoke as I remembered with a pronounced French accent that I had always found rather endearing. His conversation was light and assured, with only the barest hint of flirting. I liked that also. I realized this was the classiest man I had been with in a long time, perhaps ever. On the drive to the hotel, I had had time to think things over, and I was amazed and a little unsure at how easily everything was starting to fall in into place. What were the odds? Someone who seemed to be just what I was looking for had literally fallen into my lap. He was going to change everything for me, and the nicest part was, he didn’t know he was doing it.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question” he said, with that mischievous smile. “Why did you reply to me?”
“I wanted to see if both of us would still want to meet after a year” I replied.
“Well, glad you did, glad I’m here to meet you” he said. Then he raised his glass in my direction, “Here’s to my good luck.”
I raised my glass and tapped it against his lightly, and at that moment the deal was sealed. Up until then I had thought about having sex with him. After that brief toast, I knew I now wanted to have sex with him. I suddenly wanted him badly, wanted him passionately, wanted him in my belly all night. When I toasted to his luck, it was because, unless something went horribly wrong, he was going to get real lucky tonight and I was going to get laid in style; a win-win for both of us. Now there was a special kind of excitement, I was about to follow a gorgeous hunk to his room where we were going to fuck our brains out.
Even my underthings were right, delicate lace- edged pieces which was as insubstantial as wisps of cloud. I had chosen them really carefully. I generally didn’t wear sexy lingerie to titillate men, but for my own benefit. Wearing a slutty bra and panty set under a conservative dress always make me feel sexy in a deliciously naughty way. But tonight, I had chosen them carefully to not just feel but also look as sexy as possible. Now that I was sure I was going to be out of my dress pretty soon, it was nice to know I was going to look hot and enticing.
With his arm behind my back, his hand on my hip, we walked silently out of the elevator towards his room. He had made no attempt to grab me on the way; as I may have mentioned, he was classy! When we went into his room, my breath caught at the spectacular view of the city laid out before us. He sat down next to me on the couch and I kind of leaned against him as he put his arm around my shoulders. He leaned over towards me to give me a kiss and I turned slightly towards him and slid one arm around his back while one hand rested on the crook of his neck; the beginnings of a welcoming embrace. I tipped my head a little awaiting his kiss.
The moment our lips met, wasting no time, I slid my tongue forward into his mouth, seeking his. I held him tightly as our tongues made love to each other, stroking, probing, and sliding across each other. I could feel my heartbeat speeding up, and a taut sensation in my breasts as my nipples began hardening. And then there was that peculiar slightly quivery feeling in my abdomen that I get during arousal. I knew I was ready, everything that would happen from here was going to be pure gold.
When our lips separated, I felt his fingertips brush softly across my cheek and up to my forehead, lightly sweeping hair aside before kissing my on the neck. He started at my jawline, then moved to the base of my neck, finally pressing his lips into the hollow of my throat, sending chills through me every step of the way. Then he began gently nibbling on my earlobe, I heard myself moan out loud at that. I started involuntarily squirming my hips and legs slightly in response to this stimulation.
I felt his hand, first rubbing my knee, then slowly making its way up my inner thigh caressing me as it went. I squirmed some more in sheer anticipation. His hand moved my dress above the knee and up my thigh. I felt my stomach tighten when it touched my bare soft flesh. His hand lingered there, caressing the sensitive flesh of my upper inner thigh before moving on. I inhaled sharply when he began rubbing my pussy through the fabric of the crotch of my panties. I was so aroused at that point that alone was almost enough to bring on my first orgasm of the evening.
Removing his hand from my crotch, he reached around me and unhooked the top of my dress. I leaned forward to make it easier for him as he unzipped me. He slowly pushed the dress back off of my shoulders, then helped me pull my arms out of the sleeves. I raised myself up slightly, sliding it down to my knees. Then sitting back down, raised first one leg, then the other out of it. He took the dress from my hands and walked over to the closet to hang it up. I thought it was classy again, that even at a time like this he made the effort to be respectful of my clothes.
When he turned around, I knew he liked what he saw on the bed. Reaching over my shoulder, I unhooked my bra, pushed the straps off, and let it fall to my lap. I brushed it off onto the floor. As planned, it had landed down there before the night had barely begun.
He slid his arm back around me again and kissed me. While our tongues sensuously stroked each other, his free hand cupped my breast, gently massaging and jiggling it with his palm pressed against my erect nipple. I was slowly, blissfully, engulfed by a wave of erotic sensations. He kissed his way downward in a trail; my lower lip, chin, upper throat, lower throat, finally reaching my breasts.
His tongue began deliciously tantalizing my nipples one at a time, circling them, flicking back and forth across them, and just plain licking them. He then started kissing them and sucking on them, his tongue still highly active. One of his hands slipped into my panties caressing my pussy, slipped between the lips, finding my clitoris and gently pressing down on it. I slumped back on the couch, moaning softly, virtually helpless under his ministrations. I was rubbing my hand on his back, over his shirt. Somewhere in my mind I was wondering why he was still wearing his shirt, but as his finger continued to manipulate my clitoris I stopped worrying about it as I became even more aroused losing myself in the sensual delights I was experiencing.
He began kissing his way back up, retracing his earlier downward trail; cleavage, throat, chin, lips.
When he kissed my lips, I came back to life, throwing my arms around him, aggressively hugging him briefly. Then, still joined at the lips with our tongues engaged in erotic play, I pulled my arms back and slid them between us. Tugging at his belt, I unbuckled it, undid the front of his pants and yanked them open as far as I could. His penis sprang into sight. It was the loveliest I had ever seen, over seven inches long by my estimate with a thick, muscular, veiny shaft that curved up ever so lightly, and a shiny pink head that tapered just a little at the end. I understood now why a French friend of mine, whom he had fucked, had described it as le grande charrue. Now it was his turn to lean back as I began moving my hand slowly up and down his beautiful organ. It was like some sort of magnet, attracting me, drawing me towards it. I shifted back on the bed, then wordlessly pushed on his hip, indicating for him to move over, to give me room. Once he did this, I turned sideways and bent down and kissed the object of my desire.
Once my lips touched the head, I couldn’t stop. Tipping my head sideways, I began running my lips up and down the shaft, kissing and licking as I went, occasionally rubbing my cheek against it the way a cat does around something it likes. When I heard him groan, I knew it was time to get serious.
I paused long enough to kiss the head one more time, then took his cock into my mouth as deep as I could without gagging and began bobbing my head up and down slowly. All the while my tongue was running insanely wild, caressing the length of his hard-on as my mouth moved up and down. I felt his hand on my back, then it moved upwards over my neck to the back of my head. I thought for a moment he was either going to grab a fistful of my hair or try jamming my head down on his cock. I hate both these things because I feel the one doing the sucking should be in charge. He fooled me however, merely running his hand through my hair tenderly, occasionally moving down to stroke my cheek.
He turned on the bedside lamp, then turned off all the other lights. The dim glow presented an erotic atmosphere. He started to undress, and I helped him out of his shirt and underwear and trousers. He eased me back to the side of the bed and I kicked off my pumps. Then he kind of swung around off the bed and onto his knees in front of me. I could guess what was about to happen next.
He put his hands on my hips and kissed my navel, the tip of his tongue tickling me exquisitely. My stomach tightened as I tried to suppress a giggle. Then he started to pull down the waistband of my panties. I leaned back on my elbows and raised my hips so he could get them off me. When they were down to my knees I settled back down and raised my legs. Once the underwear was gone, before I could lower my legs, he bent down, kissing me lightly on my bare inner thighs, then his tongue traced a path up to my waiting pussy. He kissed each outer lip before slipping his tongue into the gap between them, where it moved upwards to my clitoris. When it made contact, I inhaled in a short series of shallow, sudden, jerking gasps. I came down off my elbows, my hands now grabbing the bedsheets and clutching them tightly.
I lay there on my back, my knees pulled back as far as I could, breathing irregularly, being deliciously tortured by his tongue. While his tongue swirled and stroked me, he would periodically push a finger into me, wriggling it and moving in circular motions, then withdrawing it. But all the time, either tongue or finger attended to my clitoris, driving me erotically forward. I could feel something build up inside me, something that needed release, and that release came in the form of a spine rattling, hip jerking, ass clenching, crushingly intense orgasm.
My mouth opened, and I moaned like a wounded animal, before emitting a series of gasping sob-like groans as my lower torso seemed wracked by a wave of spasms. I reached down and grabbed one of his hands, pulled it upwards, grabbing it tightly against my belly. It was almost as if I wanted him to share in this beautiful orgasm he’d created. When it all began to subside, I was lying there limply, breathing heavily, momentarily in a state of exhaustion, still clutching his hand. I felt his hand moving in my grip, raised my head, and opened my eyes. He was standing in front of me, his cock was fully erect now, sticking out and up like the bowsprit on a sailing ship. I swung myself around on the bed and slid over to the centre of the mattress. I held my arms out to him.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, running his hands over my breasts and then bent over and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips and tongue. I slipped a hand over and began stroking his cock and balls. He responded by moving down to kiss my breasts. The same tongue that had so adeptly worked on my clitoris was now doing the same for my nipples, pressuring them and flicking its way back and forth across them reawakening the fading orgasmic feelings that had just begun to fade. One of his hands was rubbing my pussy; I was ripe for the taking.
He moved into position, pausing for one last kiss. Then supporting himself on one elbow, holding his cock in one hand, he directed it towards the right spot. Feeling the head of his dick rubbing and probing my cunt sent a thrill through me. When it hit its mark, he moved his hips forward pushing his cock into me. I find penetration to be an exquisite feeling, and this one seemed even more so.
Once in, he slid his arms under my back, supporting himself on his elbows while embracing me. He began taking me in long, slow, easy thrusts. I raised my legs up and around him, crossing my ankles behind him. He was strong and beautifully muscled, and his whole body felt like an extension of his lovely penis. The sensation of his skin on mine was incredibly erotic. I twisted my hips from side to side, meeting his every forward move with a grinding motion of my own, putting an ever-changing pressure on my pussy and stress on my swollen clitoris. My revived orgasm was resurging rapidly, building up in me, ready to break free.
As he continued drilling into me, I felt myself shiver then a kind of slithery, queasy feeling in my insides. Then there was a rush of indefinable ecstasy-laced sensations as my second orgasm of the evening swept through me. My arms and legs tightened around him out of reflex as I threw my head back. I heard myself whine out something unintelligible but definitely profanity laden. As it subsided, I was so turned on that I decided to take charge.
I pushed him off me and onto his back on the bed. I swung over and guided his cock into my pussy. I started to ride him first slowly then harder and harder for all I was worth. I bent down until my breasts mashed into his chest. His hand came round and gripped my waist. As we moved, I could feel my buttocks jiggle and vibrate with the movement. It was an indescribable sensation because my pussy felt so full and tight and yet so slippery and hot. Again, I felt an orgasm building up. It came faster than expected and I rose above him and flung my head and hair back as I wailed in ecstasy. Now he was pumping his hips up and down and I was helplessly getting pummelled by his beautiful cock. It was going all the way in now, deep into my cunt and past my cervix. I thought my G-spot was the place to test if a stud really knew his stuff, but his cock was touching me and rubbing me so deep and so intensely that my entire vagina felt as though it was on fire. Another orgasm ripped through me, then another, then yet another. He had such incredible stamina and strength. I couldn’t believe the sounds that were coming out of my mouth by now.
The all of a sudden, he slowed down, pulled his cock out and flipped me forward on my knees. He had obviously decided to take back charge and I was more than happy to let him. I rested myself on my elbows and raised my ass for his taking. I felt his cock at the entrance to my pussy, rubbing up and down.
“God, your ass is so beautiful” he gasped. “I’ve dreamt for a year of this moment.”
With that, he pushed his cock into me in a single thrust. I gasped at the sensation as his cock scraped past my G-spot to home beyond my cervix. then he started to fuck me very fast, his balls and muscled belly slapping against my ass. I had never been bitch-fucked like this before and I could feel another orgasm rising rapidly again in me. Then it exploded and I pushed my face onto the bed to keep from screaming, but I needn’t have worried. The sound of the headboard banging against the wall would have drowned out anything. He kept up the tempo, with sweat now pouring off both our bodies, until yet another orgasm tore through my body, with my screams no longer held back. Then he slowed down, withdrew, and gently flipped me over once again on my back, and started fucking me slowly and sweetly, kissing me repeatedly as he did so. Tongues intertwined, I wrapped my legs around his back and let pure sensation take hold again. In a short while, I came again, gasping with the intensity of it and digging my nails deep into his back.
Reacting to my orgasm, he sped up his trusts, humping furiously. Even through the blissful fog that was clouding my brain, I knew he was going for the grand finale, trying desperately to join me in my climax. I pushed him off my body. He was totally taken aback.
“I want to suck you” I gasped.
I slithered down and took him again in my mouth. His cock was hotter and harder than before, a sign he was close to cumming, I took his cock in as deep as I could and started pumping my mouth up and down, rubbing his shaft at the same time with my fingers. In a short time, his cock started jerking in my mouth, the head becoming even larger and harder, and with a long gasping groan Jacques came in great ropes of cum that never seemed to end. I swallowed it all. It had a pleasant taste because of the wine, so it was really rather nice. I know a lot of women don’t like to swallow, but I had never understood that. If you take a dick into your mouth, you might as well let him cum into it, and if he cums in your mouth you might as well swallow it – it makes the act complete. I never got any great thrill out of it other than knowing most guys like it when you do, and since I’m not going to blow someone unless I like him, why would I not make it as thrilling for him as I can?
We lay there like that, still holding onto each other, kissing each other, tasting his cum in both our mouths, trying to catch our breath. I still had my arms and legs wrapped around him, one hand rubbing his back. He kissed my neck, then moved to my lips and we kissed each other. It was a hard, wet, sloppy kiss, deep and probing that held the promise of an encore in the future, but it was over for the moment. It was the kind of a kiss that let me know that he didn’t think of me as just another piece of ass; that he thought of me as something special. It had been a perfect evening for me.
When he shifted off of me, I rolled onto my side, pulling his arm around me. His front was up tight against my back, my hand clutching his. He leaned over and kissed my cheek, then settled back down.
“And to think all I wanted to do was dance with you back in London and that led to all this,” he murmured.
“Are you disappointed?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Oh, God no,” he quickly responded, then after a pause, “I was just wondering, will we be seeing each other again?”
Awkwardly, I shifted over on my back. Still holding his hand, I raised it up to my lips and kissed it then smiled over at him.
“Of course. Try and stop me. I’m going to make sure you make up for lost time.”
That was the beginning of a whirlwind three-month affair with Jacques, during which we travelled together in secret to Thailand and Singapore and Bali. We had the greatest of understandings. I had let him know I had no problems with his seeing other women, so long as he told me about them. He would message me every time he scored with a new girl, with a number. It had reached 110 one evening when he arrived again in Colombo. By then, he had revealed his bisexual leanings to me, claiming he enjoyed the best of both worlds. He also told me that as far as possible, he had become careful about female colleagues in the corporation, because of the increasing publicity given to sexual harassment cases.
It was a lovely time in my life. The fantastic sex was having its effect on my life and work. I was blooming as a person and as a businessperson. People said that I had become somehow fuller of energy and vibrancy and yet somehow fuller of warmth. Despite pestering from my female friends, who wanted to know the secret of my suddenly younger complexion (I told them it was an obscure, exotic, organic, high protein and personally distributed French face pack formulation called l’essence, but unfortunately available only by invitation from a French woman who visited Colombo occasionally!! So, no sharing possible, sorry, ladies!!), I successfully kept Jacques a secret. I knew it would devastate Sanath if he found out.
It was sometime during those three months that I understood my opportunity in its finer details and worked out my plan. I started to question Jacques carefully and indirectly about Sanath’s colleagues. I learnt that apart from Jacques himself, who was obviously higher than Sanath in the hierarchy, the person Sanath had to work with the most was a lady called Rowena, who was a product sales manager based in London. Rowena was at a lower level in the management hierarchy than Sanath, so her rise up the ladder would depend to some extent on Sanath’s feedback on her. The other important person, apparently, was a man named Atul Sharma, one of Sanath’s counterparts in India. The reason why Atul was important, Jacques said with a wink, was that both Sanath and Atul had become eligible for a promotion to a slot in the Dubai zonal office. They were competitors in a race which only one could win. Jacques told me with a grin that he suspected that Atul might not be entirely innocent of men, since he was a graduate of one of India’s elite residential schools, one of the so-called Princes Schools. I remembered Sanath telling me something similar but had put it down to professional jealousy.
Two days later, after sleeping late in the morning post a weekend of nonstop fucking by Jacques at one of the seaside resorts close to Colombo, I thought about what he had told me. My plan seemed to be figuring itself out on its own. The question was now clear in my mind. Who would be the next piece I would move on my chessboard? Rowena or Atul? I decided it would have to be Rowena.
To be continued……