“You are still hard.”
“Yeah, it does that. Mainly when I’m really…excited.”
That hung in the air for a little while. I was excited. I wanted more. What a bastard I am, I thought, but I want more.
I sat up, perhaps intending to pull my pants up and get out, but that just brought our faces together as we sat side by side, still half naked. She looked at me. I looked at her. I’m such a bastard.
I kissed her gently and touched her cheek with my fingertips. She responded with soft lips and a shy tongue and a hand on my arm. It was lovely, slow and sexy, and even less defensible that what we had done a few minutes earlier I reached up to push her bra out of the way , then cupped her swollen breast in my hand.
We rolled over onto the bed and I lay on top of her, still kissing her gently. Her belly was a little bit of an impediment, but in a few moments I slipped inside her again. Where before we fucked, now we made love. We took our time and stayed in that position, kissing while I moved in and out in long, graceful strokes. She was still very snug, in fact a little more so than before with her extra weight settling on top of me like that, but the lubrication I had left in there earlier did the job nicely.
As her noises became louder and more insistent I picked up the pace a bit, trying to meet her needs. Once she started it happened quickly, and in a few minutes she was gasping her orgasm into my face, still trying to kiss me while she came. I moved to her neck and kissed and nibbled her there as her body thrashed and shook below me.
My own orgasm was still brewing when she relaxed and released from her powerful ordeal, but still I kept working her. I sped up to my own preferred speed and gently slapped my balls into her ass for a while. Her kiss returned, more needy and full now, and soon I was the one struggling to keep our lips together as my cock boiled over and filled her to overflowing again. I stayed inside her and rested, sweaty and exhausted, fulfilled like I had not felt before.
The feelings running through me were powerful. Of course the first time with a new partner is always exciting, but there was the element of taboo and the incredible intensity of that first collision, and the slow tenderness of the second, plus the feel of her tight passage…I enjoyed it far, far too much.
I cleaned up and headed home. The drive was difficult. Each mile took me further from the joy of having sex with Callie and closer to the crushing guilt for having cheated on my wife. I felt like I was wearing a big neon ‘A’ on my chest. When I got home I felt like my guilt was glaringly obvious, but Chelsea was light and easy and everything was fine. That almost made it worse. I’m normally a good boy so carrying this guilt and shame was foreign to me.
After that it was common. Every appointment or Lamaze class or call for ‘help’ ended with me fucking Callie’s tight little hole like a wild man, and maybe half the time we would come back around for a second pass like we did the first time. We didn’t talk about it. I’m not sure I could have talked about it. It seemed like if we just kept quiet then somehow it wasn’t real or didn’t count. The lies we tell ourselves are truly astonishing.
That lasted about a month. Then Byron showed up. I guess I should be thankful he didn’t show up while I had my cock in his wife, but it would certainly serve him right to get such a shock after the shit he pulled. I was driving Callie home from one of her last appointments before the big day and Byron’s Toyota was in the driveway. Callie asked me to stay with her for moral support…and perhaps to kick that little fucker’s ass if he needed it. How could I refuse?
Byron was appropriately shamed, groveling and pleading for her to take him back. He did a good job and I was honestly surprised. Not every man can grovel like that. Callie started off all stoic and hard but you know how stupid people get when they are in love. She melted for him. It didn’t take long before my services were obviously no longer required. I left quietly and drove home in a different kind of haze than usual. I was relieved to have Callie not my problem anymore, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sad to end our undercover relationship. Obviously it was a mistake, and a bad one at that, but while I was inside her it sure felt right.
That was all about three years ago. Byron is still around and seems to be a decent father and husband. There are no more signs of his little breakdown, though I still don’t trust him much. Serena, their little girl, is as cute as can be. My wife has gotten over her aversion to a family and is knocked up right now with twins due in about six weeks. And my secret is still a secret. Life is good and I can’t complain, but every now and then, when Callie and I find ourselves alone, we share a brief glance, a knowing look, a silent thrill of memory. Some mistakes you wish you could forget. I hope I always remember that one. And I pray to God it never comes out.