Decided to cheat

I had many interesting encounters, but one is remembered for a lifetime. Well, I was a rather convenient mistress—I demanded nothing in return for intimate relations. Once, I placed an ad in a dating newspaper. From the mass of responses, I chose those who lived in my city and replied to some by letter, to others by phone. I am not an adventure seeker; it was just that circumstances in my family were such that I needed a man, at least once a month. But some candidates fell through after initial conversations; some themselves did not dare to meet me. In short, three people remained, from whom I had to choose one. I won't describe the meetings

with them; they are uninteresting. In the end, I was left disappointed because I was unsatisfied with either their intellect, or their appearance, or... In short, it didn't work out. Soon, the letters stopped coming, and I began to forget about my desire to find a lover through the magazine.

And then, before the New Year, a postcard arrived, where after the greetings there was an invitation to come to a restaurant (an inexpensive one). I decided to go and, sitting at a separate table, tried to identify the man who had written to me. Along with the coffee, the waiter brought a note inviting me to join some company and escorted me to the table. A middle-aged man stood up to meet us and, with a charming host's smile, took my hand and introduced me to the company as his old acquaintance from correspondence. "How could he recognize me?" flashed through my mind. I was seeing the man for the first time. His appearance was quite attractive; there was nothing off-putting about his looks.

I am a person without complexes in communication and therefore very quickly joined in the collective fun. The company was celebrating the departure of a group on an expedition (half of those present were ichthyologists). The host of the table (I'll call him Anton) courted me, joked around, constantly invited me to dance, playfully refusing other partners the pleasure of taking me to the dance floor. In general, everything was very fun, but I kept catching myself thinking about what would follow next, as there were no advances or hints at closer intimacy. Then I forgot to even think about the consequences.

And then everything was quite banal: after the restaurant, naturally, "I'll walk you home" (and we had been on informal "you" terms from the very beginning), a taxi, an invitation to have a cup of coffee at Anton's place. And I banally didn't refuse anything, as everything at home was in perfect order and there was nothing to worry about. And so we're drinking coffee with cognac in a cozy room, recalling funny moments from the restaurant. I didn't even think about whether we would be intimate or not; I was calm, happy—I was relaxing. There was no conversation about my letter in the magazine or his postcard; I simply forgot why we had met. And again—no hints or advances towards intimacy.

Continuing to chat, Anton took something out of the closet and placed it on my lap—it turned out to be a bright terrycloth robe. Then he headed to the kitchen to brew another pot of coffee, saying the towel was in the bathroom. That's when it "hit me like a ton of bricks"; I remembered why I was at the restaurant, why I had come here, what would follow next. And I suddenly didn't want to stay in this house anymore, but it was already around two in the morning, and, who knows, I thought, maybe nothing will happen at all, since all this time no one had even hinted at anything.

And so I'm standing under the stream of water and frantically starting to figure out how to behave next. Nothing came to mind except "come what may." When I came out of the bathroom, the bed was already made, two cups of coffee were on the table, and my gentleman was sitting in an armchair. Well, I had asked for such a meeting once upon a time, now get the full program.

And the sex began. Yes, yes, precisely sex—I can't call it anything else. Upon my appearance, Anton, without any exclamations of delight, rose from the armchair, approached, and kissed me firmly on the lips. I felt nothing. I know, next he will undress me, then throw me on the bed, then... and so on. This is very familiar to me, after all, I am married. But Anton did not undress me. He pulled me towards the armchair and, sitting down, seated me on his lap. Continuing to kiss my neck, parting the robe on my chest with his head, Anton said nothing, breathing very evenly, as if doing everything automatically. I also still had no emotions; I was also on autopilot. Even my nipples didn't tense up when Anton began to suck and nibble on them. For me, this was very strange; usually nipples react immediately to touch, but here there was no reaction. I sat on his lap as if I had swallowed a crowbar, and he, bending without strain, was already kissing my stomach, while his hands caressed my back. God, how long will this go on, because I need to get aroused! But I didn't feel his arousal either; his equipment was in a calm state, not protruding, not pressing anywhere. What is this?

Suddenly Anton stood up sharply, holding me in his arms, and carried me to the bathroom. Well, hello, what's this for now? There, he placed me in the bathtub (in the robe!), turned on the shower, and himself, still in his clothes, stepped into the bathtub under the stream of water. Now that's a move! Didn't expect that! Water poured down on our heads from above, Anton was already kissing me like crazy, and I began to melt, colorful circles swam before my eyes, something stirred and ached in my lower abdomen, announcing the unexpected approach of an orgasm. And when Anton merely touched my vagina with his hand, I erupted with such a violent orgasm that I think I had never experienced before. Me—who needed a live penis—came without even seeing it. Something, huh? Then there were mutual caresses, and an amazing penis that I didn't want to let go of from my mouth; I sucked his cock like I never sucked my husband's, until he came in my mouth, and I swallowed his sperm with pleasure). There was everything a woman could dream of. But the funniest thing is that Anton turned out not to be the person who sent me the New Year's greeting and invitation to the restaurant.