God, I can’t believe that I did it! And anyone who reads this I want to be the first to caution you against doing what I did. It will really screw you up at work, and even if you do have a moment of nastily wonderful excitement, what comes after probably isn’t worth it.

It happened one Saturday afternoon when my boss Phil and I were doing some overtime trying to finish up the cycle counts on the inventory at work. We’d had nothing but computer problems all week and had fallen way behind with the cycle count updates. By working all Saturday we would be able to catch up so that the inventory would be totally caught up on Monday.

I had been working since 8 o’clock that morning and for some reason my thoughts kept going back to the weekend before when my boyfriend Rob and I had spent the whole Saturday in bed having great sex. He’s such a stud and he always makes me crazy with lust when we decide to spend the day under the covers.

Rob had been away all week on a trip back east to visit his ailing father. And I couldn’t get the memory of his big stiff weenie out of my mind. I could envision it in all its glory; the way it looked when we’d start out, so huge and thick. Then after his first orgasm how slick it was, almost like it was made out of plastic. The way it looked when I got on top of him and started riding him like a rodeo cowgirl.

(…)
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We’d had a long lunch with plenty to drink before Lisa dropped me at the front door, and headed off toward the bar a mile down the road. I’d told her to give me half an hour before she came back, and to wait in the parking lot. “Drive carefully” I said to her as I closed the door and entered the dimly lit strip club.

I stepped inside and waited a second, letting my eyes adjust from the brilliant Canadian sunshine to the dark interior of the strip club. It was two-thirty in the afternoon and predictably the place was virtually empty, with maybe twenty men sprinkled about the bar. Ten or so strippers casually sauntered around and two waitresses lounged at the bar, mostly killing time before the late afternoon rush. Once I could see clearly, I made my way to a far corner and took a seat beside the wall and noticed for the first time the girl up on stage, gyrating to a slow song.

As I took my seat, I looked around the place. It was large, capable of holding 400 or 500 people and was tastefully decorated, with plush carpet and comfortable tables and chairs sprinkled around the seating area. The black lighting coupled with the black walls and ceilings provided a very dim atmosphere, similar to that of a planetarium or dark movie theatre. The stage, however, was well lit and set against one wall as the focal point of the bar. The dancers entered down a flight of marble stairs at the side, and performed three songs around the large spacious stage. As the three dances progressed, the woman would gradually shed her clothes and become more suggestive. From dancing around the stage clothed in a tight skirt and top in the first song, she would eventually progress by the third song to being fully naked and rolling around on a silk sheet, simulating torrid sex and masturbating herself for the audience.

(…)
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The following story is true and although I do feel a twinge of guilt about the whole thing I would not trade the memory of this experience for anything.

Let me begin by informing you that my favorite hobby is massage. I started giving my wife massages many years ago and about two years ago started doing massage for some of my co-workers, just neck and shoulder of course, and soon the word was out that Rob gives great massage! It has been a lot of fun and although I am told I am great at it I don’t charge people because I am not a licensed massage practitioner. Besides that would take some of the fun out of it and for me it is just a hobby.

Over time many of my massage recipients have requested I do a full body massage and I have always been happy to comply. On a few of these occasions things went past the norm of massage and entered into the intimate zone. I have always allowed this so long as the female seems to coax me along. Up until last week I had never done more than finger these ladies to climax and on one occasion I actually performed oral for a lady. All three of these ladies were married and all were a little bit ashamed after the experience however two of them came back for repeat performances! All three were also friends of my wife who knows nothing about the fact that sexual play has become a part of my massage work with certain customers.

Anyway now to the story at hand. My wife and I are both in our 30s and she is captain of a church softball team. We had a mutual friend at the church, Sally Morris, who my wife got to know through a bible study she was teaching. Sally is 22 years old and a very curvy yet very conservative young lady. She is about 5’5″, has brown hair and eyes and her measurements are 36-24-38.

Her narrow waist blossoms into a very pronounced full bottom and her thighs are soft and creamy with not a blemish or flaw to be found. While my wife was teaching the bible study a couple of years ago she got to know Sally very well because Sally was having some difficulties with balancing the needs of her boyfriend and living a pure life in the name of god. Sally had confided in her that although she had never let her boyfriend do more than kiss her, a couple of weeks ago they were laying side by side on the couch watching a movie and while kissing her he had placed his hand on her breast outside of her sweater.

(…)
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That fateful Sunday started off with the same old routine. We’d been married for just under three years, Michelle and I, but that was enough for us to settle into that comfortable routine. Work was routine, play was routine, life was routine. Worst of all our sex life was routine.

So, following the old Sunday morning routine, I pecked my wife’s cheek and drove off to the golf course. This Sunday, however, did not live up to its namesake. That worthy was hiding behind a mass of low lying clouds. Nothing to stop an afternoon of golfing fun, however. But after an hour of whacking a ball around the fairways those clouds had turned ominous and soon the heavens opened up. The more sensible among us broke for the shelter of the clubhouse while a few diehards squinted into the storm, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge its presence.

The rain wouldn’t go away. It didn’t look like it was ever going away. It just, continued to fall hard, determined no doubt to drown the world and all its creatures. So I cursed Nature and the rotten luck she had dumped on me and decided to go home. Not too long after that momentous decision I found myself pulling into our driveway. A lot earlier than I had planned to. All I had to look forward to was the rest of the day, spent with my loving but routine wife. Cursing the weather one more time I let myself in the front door.

And I heard voices.

(…)
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