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Wendy scowled at the screen of her smartphone, the inane smiley-face emoticons fuelling her anger. Her blood boiled. She knew it was a mistake to rely on such a tenuous relationship, but her husband had insisted. The latter part of that thought sent her eyes rolling. Before she could refocus her irritation on him, however, the panic began to set in.

She could feel the thump of her heart as her mouth ran dry. Her mind raced and her eyes welled. She didn’t know what she was going to do.

Leaning forward out of the plush armchair, Wendy reached for the glass of gin and tonic she had been nursing for the last hour and a half. What ice she hadn’t already sucked into her mouth to stall the retreating tide had long since melted. She was down to her last inch. The remaining fourteen dollars she had in her purse wasn’t enough for another. Very carefully, she took the smallest sip: just enough to moisten her tongue and the roof of her mouth.

One possibility stood out in her mind above all others. It was so well practiced from her youth, it was almost a muscle memory.

Paratrooping.

In the gap year Wendy had taken to travel the world between high school and university, she had only paid for accommodation about a third of the time. Throughout Western Europe she hadn’t once seen the inside of a youth hostel. Her cheeks warmed at the memory, the corners of her mouth pulling back in a knowing smirk. ‘What had Emily called it?’ she thought to herself, her brows furrowed in recollection of her English travel companion. ‘That’s right, “banging for roof”.’ Her lips split into a broad grin.

“Oh, I can’t,” Wendy whispered, shaking the smile from her face. She hadn’t cheated on her husband since they had been together. ‘Well, since we’d been married,’ she reminded herself with another impish grin. Her hen’s night had left her being spit-roasted between a pair of Viagra-fuelled strippers well into the small hours.

And there was her best friend’s bachelorette party a few years later. Wendy fought the blush staining her cheeks by rationalising that it was just a blowjob. Two blowjobs, in fact. ‘What is it with me and strippers?’ She took another drink. ‘Well, what Andrew doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.’

Catching herself halfway through the gulp, she tipped the glass forward to save the last splash of her gin and tonic. Licking her lips as she put her drink back down, she pressed two fingers to her mouth. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to do it.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she scanned the velveteen lounge for suitable lodgings. Dismissing the clutches of hipsters in their twenties littering the dimly-lit nooks, her eyes fell on a table of thirty-something businessmen her own age across the roomy cocktail bar. There were other possibilities, and there would be more as the after-work crowd grew, but the well-groomed suits appealed most for now.

Satisfied with her choice, Wendy took off her jacket and laid it over her carry-on. She subtly undid a button on her white blouse, revealing a seductive dip of cleavage. Then, making a show of the tight bun at the back of her head being uncomfortable, she tousled her dark brown hair free and smoothed it down over her shoulders. Her look complete, she sat back into the armchair and crossed her legs, making sure the hem of her grey pencil skirt rose high above her knee.

As she surveyed the decadent basement bar in hopes of attracting the eye of one of the businessmen, Wendy noticed that her wedding and engagement rings shone conspicuously on her left hand. Straightening almost with a start, she wriggled them across to her right ring finger. She tried to massage out the groove they left in her flesh, but it was no use, to say nothing of the tan line.

“Hello,” a man’s voice smiled above her, catching her off-guard. She was immediately struck with the kindness of his piercing blue eyes, the corners warmly wrinkled. “I wonder if I might join you?”

Wendy guessed him to be a good twenty years her senior. Most of his age was in his hair, with the battle between salt and pepper long since lost by the latter. He was attractive, she thought, and his loosened button and tie gave him a roguish quality she quite liked. “Please,” she smiled, gesturing to an empty armchair next to her.

“I’m Michael,” he announced, taking her hand and her name. Sitting down, he claimed the other vacant seat from any potential rivals with his suit coat. “Can I buy you another drink, Wendy?” He summoned a uniformed waitress with a raised finger before she could answer.

‘Confident old bugger,’ Wendy thought, unable to keep herself from smiling. She ordered another gin and tonic, and Michael held up two fingers to the waitress standing over him to order the same.

Leaning forward, he laid the cocktail menu on the table in the centre of their luxurious setting. “I’m a Bacardi man myself,” he explained once the waitress was out of earshot. “But I can hardly come to the Gin Palace and order rum, now can I?”

Wendy smiled politely at his joke. “You don’t come here often?”

“Of all the gin joints in all the world?” he teased, his eyebrow arched. “No. I’m from Canberra; I’m just passing through. I’m doing a lap of the country, briefing tenderers on a competitive grants round we’re running.”

‘So he’ll have a hotel then,’ she guessed. ‘And judging by the look of him, it’ll be a nice one.’ But what she wasn’t quite sure of, was whether the gold band on his left hand was going to waste her time or not.

Despite her agenda, Wendy was genuinely interested in his work. There were plenty of smiles and nods as they spoke. She leaned in, resting her chin on her thumb and forefinger. Subconsciously, she crossed her legs towards him.

“What about you? What brings you to Melbourne?” Michael enquired, his eyes discreetly brushing over Wendy’s tanned legs before falling on her small suitcase.

“Agriculture conference,” she replied, her eyebrows lifting as she did. “I’m with the Queensland Department of Primary Industries.”

“Ah, a fellow bureaucrat,” Michael beamed. He reciprocated her interest in his job, probing for details on how the Queensland public service was faring after the recent change of government.

“Yeah, actually,” she sang, nodding a silent thank you to the waitress delivering their drinks. “The travel allowance is really good now.” Wendy leaned in even closer, conspiratorially whispering above the smooth and lively background music, “So good in fact, I actually cashed it out to help pay for our renovations.”

Michael threw his head back and barked a boisterous laugh. “Oh, yes. I’ve been there.” Holding his glass up, he chuckled knowingly, “To travel allowance.”

Wendy clinked his glass with hers as she repeated the toast. She took a sip, smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary.

They chatted about her renovations as the bar slowly filled. The enthusiasm for the beauty of Queenslander architecture soon waned as Wendy explained the trials and tribulations of restoring a nineteenth-century weatherboard house. She remained light, but the frustration behind her sarcastic quips was evident. They had blown the budget and maxed out their credit cards, stalling the project until brief opportunities, such as her business trip, could nudge them a little further along.

“So this trip finishes off the bathroom with a claw-foot bath.” She waved her glass in bitter triumph, the clear liquid inside swirling smoothly around the middle of the tumbler.

“All for the discomfort of a night on some distant relative’s couch,” Michael observed dryly.

“An old friend from uni, actually.” Wendy lifted her gin and tonic to her lips, carefully choosing her next words. She sighed, “But unfortunately something’s come up, as usual. She just text me to say she can’t put me up tonight.”

Michael smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and winced in sympathetic disappointment. “Best laid plans, huh?” He was giving nothing away.

“Hmmm,” Wendy agreed sorely. She pressed herself back into her opulent armchair and tilted her head slightly as she fixed her gaze on his.

Michael seemed to delight in the silence that followed. Eventually he went on, “We used to be the same: the nice house; the fancy cars; generally trying to keep up with the sharp-elbows crowd. You know, taking advantage, exploiting every opportunity?” Not expecting an answer, he drained the last of his drink. “It all became too much in the end, chasing one shiny thing after another. At the end of the day, it’s just stuff.”

She was drawn in, his words striking a chord with her. It was a realisation she had been coming to for some time now, much faster than her husband, with no small amount of frustration on her part.

“So I took a job a couple of levels down, we bought a smaller house, and we pulled the girls out of private school,” he continued, describing his family’s new anti-materialistic philosophy. “We spend more time together now – quality time. It’s all about experiences for us these days.”

“Experience?” Wendy was intrigued. Leaning forward, she placed her empty glass on the table.

“Yeah,” Michael smiled, mirroring Wendy’s lean. “Stuff: you get used to. Experience: enriches your life.” He flashed Wendy a smouldering look, his bright blue eyes twinkling mischievously in the dimly lit bar. “I could save money and be on the train to Frankston right now, hoping I don’t get murdered, and dreading a miserable night on my sister’s couch, smothered in cats.” He laughed along with Wendy, before smoothing his tone. “Or I could top up my travel allowance for a fancy hotel I couldn’t otherwise afford, and be here, in a cocktail lounge far too cool for me, talking to a beautiful woman far too young for me.”

Wendy blushed at the compliment, the grin involuntarily spreading across her face. While she had set out upon this errand as the hunter, his self-deprecating charm had her feeling very much like the prey.

“Can I get you another drink, Wendy?” he breathed.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Wendy flirted, unable to keep the giggle from her voice.

“I assure you,” Michael smiled warmly. “It’s merely my conscience I’m trying to take advantage of.”

Wendy laughed, her brown eyes ablaze with excitement. His intentions finally clear, her entire body flushed with an intense heat. Her nose and lips surprisingly bore the brunt, along with her nipples and a very pleasant ache between her legs.

Certain no morsel of her exposed skin was not glowing red, Wendy swallowed the lump in her throat. “Well, mine could definitely do with another kick while she’s down.”

Michael revelled in her admission for a second before turning his attention towards one of the busy waitresses. A flurry of hand signals and dancing fingers soon produced two fresh gin and tonics to their table. “To experience,” he toasted smugly.

“To experience indeed,” she conceded with a broad smile, touching is proffered glass with the rim of her own.

*

Bleary-eyed, Wendy hobbles through the darkness towards the bathroom. Her senses are slow in returning to her drowsy consciousness. The expensive carpet feels soft underfoot, and she can’t help but curl her toes into the luxurious pile as she walks. Her thighs ache like they haven’t in years, the insides ludely glazed with her infidelity.

Carefully closing the door behind her, she leans against it a moment before turning on the lights. The spacious bathroom gently comes to life in tasteful earthy tones under the soft lighting. Wendy spies her naked reflection in the mirror over the twin basins and winks at the smeared mess smirking back at her. “You slut!” she giggles under her breath.

Not waiting for the retort, she pads over to the enormous shower and lays a fluffy white bathmat on the floor in front of its clear glass door. It takes her a minute to figure out The Westin’s taps. Three chrome knobs in a vertical line stare back at her: one controlling the temperature; another the pressure; and the small one in the middle adjusting the flow between the hand-held rose mounted on the wall and the rain shower in the ceiling.

Plunging herself under the torrential downpour, Wendy luxuriates in the warmth that soothes her aching muscles. The water envelops her in a cocoon of white noise, and she huffs another laugh to herself in its solitude. ‘The whole point of this was to find a place to stay and get a good night’s sleep.’

But that scoundrel had kept her up all night.

She fights the giggle, but she is powerless to keep it from escaping in delighted little bursts as she ponders the events of the previous night.

Leaving the bar, Michael had carried her suitcase up the stairs onto Russell Place. His chivalry continued to impress her as he helped her into her coat and fastened the buttons in the chill of the laneway. He brushed a few wayward strands from her gin-warmed cheeks, returning her smile in the muted glow from the street lights, the tingle of his fingertips behind her ear travelling straight to her nipples.

She loved the way he stared into her eyes the entire time. She loved the way he looked after her. It had been far too long since she had been cared for like that.

‘He was so suave,’ she recalls with a hum. As they turned onto Collins Street he had taken her hand in his. It felt so completely natural. Even the way he fucked her with his eyes as they strolled down The Westin’s long drive had been charming.

His smouldering gaze had only intensified in the lift on the way up to his room. Wendy had bitten her bottom lip to try and contain her smile as she looked up at him. The faintest growl caught in his throat. Her chest heaved in response, her cleavage stealing his attention from her blazing brown eyes.

Wendy plucks the tiny tube of shampoo from the shelf and tilts her head with another broad grin. Squeezing a large dollop into her palm, she massages it into her scalp, piling up her hair as she goes. Foamy trickles of bubbles snake their way down her neck and between her breasts as she rinses it from her mane. She repeats the process, then again with the conditioner.

Smirking with amusement, she relishes the memory of Michael’s sudden change in demeanour as they entered his room. His confidence had evaporated in an instant, reducing him to a stammering mess. A sheen of sweat had polished his forehead, seemingly draining all the moisture from his mouth. He had repeatedly licked his teeth and tried to swallow down his nervousness.

She found it adorable. It was obvious that cheating on his wife with a younger woman was not an experience he was used to. It was sweet somehow, and his innocence helped settle her own nerves.

Taking control, Wendy shrugged out of her coat and dropped it on the foot of the bed as she stepped over to him, another button on her blouse popping open to reveal a glimpse of her bra. She brushed his navy suit coat from his shoulders and pulled his face down by his tie to meet hers in a tension-breaking kiss. It was soft and wet, both of them breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. Her fingers nimbly undid his buttons as their tongues danced, his tentatively finding the sweep of her hips.

Wendy hooked her fingers into his belt and lowered herself to her knees in front of him. She deftly got his pants undone, taking his erection into her mouth as she pushed them down his thighs. The forbidden thrill of sucking another man’s cock flushed her entire body with an immense heat she hadn’t felt since her best friend’s bachelorette party. It was more than just the taboo of infidelity Wendy knew, it was the sexual power she held over that man. She was in total control of his pleasure in that moment, and she loved it. The intense eye contact they shared confirmed Michael understood it too.

She squeezes her breasts with the memory, rolling her nipples in a tight pinch. The aroma of aloe and white tea from the body wash that slicks her palms flavours the steam in the shower cubicle. It’s a relaxing scent, and Wendy drifts back into deep thought as she massages the expensive lotion into her stomach.

Michael hadn’t lasted long under her ministrations. He slipped himself from her mouth and awkwardly collapsed to his knees in front of her. His face twisted in concentration, he valiantly held back the tide. “Sorry,” he gasped, “I’d hate for things to be over so quickly.” Half laughing, “Hey, there’s only so much water in the fountain.”

Wendy grinned at him, her lipstick smudged, a tiny smear on her teeth. She was tickled by the compliment. Even more so when Michael kissed her again, undressing her and lifting her up onto the bed as he did. She was momentarily struck by pangs of self-consciousness. The lights were low, but they were on, exposing every silly little insecurity. She knew she looked good for her age – for any age – but it wasn’t until she took in Michael’s reaction to her nudity that she was convinced.

He was in complete awe of her. He made her feel so incredibly sexy as he kissed and fondled his way down her naked body. Her soft breasts were worshipped in turn before his lips and tongue followed the faint marks on her belly past the caesarean scar just above her thatch of dark curls.

Michael had taken his time, thoroughly savouring her. His mission was to make her come, and he achieved his objective many times over. Wendy loved his patience. It was such a pleasant change from the twice-weekly orgasm race she routinely ran with her husband.

Wendy finds her fingers gently stroking the swollen folds of her pussy under the cascade of warm water as her consciousness returns to the present. She is a lot slipperier down there than the body wash accounts for. Burrowing deep to scoop what she can of Michael’s semen from her vagina, the corners of her mouth pull back in a wicked smirk.

The unfamiliar ache of another man’s cock inside her thrilled her like little else had since the night before her wedding. Her heart thundered. Her skin seared. She felt so completely free.

There was a real intimacy in the way he made love to her: the closeness; the desire. Michael had been so gentle, but so very firm. He held her tightly beneath him as he ground himself into her, feverishly writhing in time with her to ensure as much of his body as possible kept in contact with hers. But more than that, it was the way he kissed her.

He wanted to taste her. He wanted to connect with her. He was present in the moment with her, experiencing everything she did – everything she was. She was so completely spoiled by his sincerity.

The other times they made love were equally beautiful. His warm embrace, her drowsy caress, and their quickening breath repeatedly led to the inevitable. Neither of them minded the sleeplessness. Neither of them could get enough.

Her soapy hands fondle the well-handled flesh of her hips on the way around to her backside. She imagines Michael’s fingerprints all over her ass and she giggles. Catching sight of the tub across the spacious bathroom, Wendy’s grin turns wolfish in a combination of guilt and wickedness. She can’t help but wonder whether she’ll ever soak in her new claw-foot bath without reliving her night with Michael. As her middle finger sinks through her cleft, the sting of her knot startles the smile from her face.

It had been years since Wendy had allowed anyone in her ass. Even her own husband had never had the privilege. The experience had been ruined by countless boys at school and university inconsiderately staking their claim as some sort of sexual rite of passage. But Michael had been different. He had properly seduced her.

The soft kisses on her skin that accompanied his post-coital massage gradually made their way down her spine. Every advance respectfully waited for her signal to proceed, whether a hum, a purr or a gasp. The shock of his tongue on her asshole soon gave way to the enormous pleasure of the sensation. Before long, he was completely devouring her.

Much like the Greek and Italian men she had encountered on her travels, Michael had transformed anal sex into a real art form. It had been sixteen years and nearly as many thousand kilometres since she had delighted so much in ass-play. It wasn’t about emulating crass pornography, like it had been for her former classmates back home. For him, it was about an incredibly intimate and forbidden delectation.

Breathless from his weight on top of her, and from his width within her, Wendy was enraptured by the invasion. The physical burn melted into the realisation that no one had been inside her like that in years. She strummed her clit, bringing her orgasm to release in time with his, the searing wet flush deep in her ass causing her to cry out in ecstasy.

“Do you need a hand there?” Michael teases from the other side of the shower screen.

Startled yet again by his impeccable timing, Wendy slips her soapy digits from her asshole and bites her bottom lip to try and keep the blush from spreading across her face. “Oh, I think I’d end up more of a mess than when I started,” she flirts back.

“Hmmm,” he growls as he steps into the shower with her, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What’s life without a little mess?” she breathes in surrender, powerless to resist him. Reaching her arms up around his neck, Wendy kisses him deeply.

Their tongues dance as he pulls her tight against him, his engorged cock pressing against her tummy. She revels in the passion of the kiss. Loving the feeling of him sucking her tongue, she coaxes his out to return the favour.

The excitement of a new lover still washes over her like the sparkling downpour from the rain shower above. Cocooned in the warmth of the water and Michael’s embrace, Wendy marvels at the firm softness of his touch. Only the playful nips of her teeth on his lower lip, and of course his rigid erection stabbing into her belly, punctuate the sensation.

Wendy’s eyes dart open in a flash of devilry as she reaches between them to grab his shaft. Michael keeps his closed, but snorts his amusement into her mouth as he lets her pull him towards the wall. She lifts her left leg and caresses her inner thigh against his hip, her slick flesh gliding effortlessly across his skin. With seamless choreography, he cradles her ass to take some of her weight and help her get him inside her.

However, the mechanics of their height difference thwart their efforts. Wendy is almost pained by the frustration of her clumsiness. Forced to break the kiss, she looks down for a moment before reaching around his neck and pulling herself up off the floor.

Michael scrambles to get his other hand under her right buttock. He groans under her weight, his eyes popping open with the effort.

Seeing her indignantly wrinkled nose, he pants, “Oh, I assure you, it’s more my age than your –“

“Don’t you dare,” she scolds him.

He laughs off her mock admonishment and bounces her into a manageable position. Shuffling half a step forward to use the wall to help him, Michael presses her into the taupe marble tile. The squeeze takes some of her weight, and now out of the main flow of the rain shower, Michael’s grip obtains more traction on her nakedness.

The tiles are cold on Wendy’s back, and the sudden absence of the warm water cascading down over her is chilling. Together with the pressure of Michael squashing her against the wall, she is momentarily breathless. But the warmth of his body and the heat of the encounter soon focuses her attention.

Her lips find his once again as she lets go of his neck with one hand and catches his shaft beneath her. Wendy feeds the bulbous head of Michael’s cock into her greedy cunt, the ache of it flushing her with even more warmth. She relaxes her grip with the other arm and allows herself to fall half a foot down his length.

Michael falters with the shift in the load. The sensation, too, of Wendy fully impaling herself on his cock causes him to buckle slightly. But instinctively he drives up into her, making both of them grunt in a mixture of exertion and pleasure.

He pumps her again, eliciting another harmonised grunt. And again. Unable to throw her head back, Wendy is forced to hold the kiss as Michael pounds her into the marble. Each thrust seems to drive deeper and deeper.

Uncomfortably so.

His cock rams her cervix and she cries out. He stops his gyrations in response, but there’s no respite from the discomfort. She’s slipping, and Michael’s fingers dig painfully into the soft flesh of her ass.

“Oh, shit,” he groans, losing his grip on her.

“No,” she breathes through gritted teeth. “Hang on. Wait a minute.” Wendy tightens her hold around Michael’s neck and takes some of the weight off her pussy. She lifts her left leg up and directs Michael to get his arm in under her knee. He does, with considerable effort, getting his hand back under her ass.

“Okay, one more,” she laughs, lifting her other leg. The change in position mercifully alleviates the pressure on her uterus.

“Just a second,” he puffs. Then with an impish smirk, he grinds his cock into Wendy’s snatch.

Wendy’s foot falls to the floor, her toes barely touching the tile. She’s split in a makeshift scissor position. She narrows her eyes at him, blushing deeply from the wave of pleasure radiating from her core. “You dirty old man.”

“What?” Michael’s voice is high, feigning innocence.

“Uh-ha,” Wendy sarcastically responds before kissing him.

They continue to fuck like that for a minute or two, Michael rotating his hips to stir his cock in Wendy’s pussy as she half-dangles from between him and the wall. The pressure of his pubic bone on her clit soon pushes her over the edge. Her world behind closed lids becomes a kaleidoscope of stars as she is swept away in a glorious orgasm. The toes on her hanging limb curl up off the pale tile, leaving her once again suspended.

He kisses her back to the present, eventually releasing her drooling mouth to purr in her ear, “Mmm. That looked like it felt good.”

She slowly opens her eyes, still glazed over with ecstasy. “Uh-ha,” she moans, this time genuinely.

“Mmm.” He kisses her again, gently licking her lips and tongue. Whispering into her mouth, barely audible above the deluge, “Are you okay?”

Wendy nods in the kiss, closing her eyes to try and conceal the tears that well in them. She struggles to come to terms with how sweet he is to her; how unfamiliar she is to the experience. She knows this is just a fleeting encounter; an exciting dalliance.

Still, she can’t stop her heart running away with the possibilities.

Michael waits a moment, sensing she needs a second to gather herself. Then he hooks his hand under the inside of her right thigh and shuffles her up into position in a few sloshing bounces. Sitting in his hands with her tanned legs draped over his forearms, they’re ready to continue in earnest.

“Oh, God!” she breathes as Michael hammers her horny cunt into the marble.

Tightly clutching her ass, he pulls her down into him with every thrust. There’s nothing sweet or tender now. He fucks her like a man possessed, grunting wildly in time with their slapping flesh.

“Oh, yeah,” moans Wendy, “Fuck me. Just like that. I need it so fuckin’ bad!”

Michael redoubles his efforts, eliciting even more enthusiastic cries from Wendy. He pounds her pussy harder. She tightens her grip around his neck and crosses her ankles over his backside in response. Losing himself, he licks the side of her face from her chin to her temple.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, shuddering as she feels herself drawing towards another climax. She can’t ever remember feeling so desired.

He licks her again, then bucks in heaving spasms. Burying his face in her sodden chocolate mane, Michael roars as his orgasm seizes him. He has little semen left to give after the previous night, but two solid jets hose the inside of Wendy’s pussy, the rest oozing into her with his euphoria.

She loves the feeling of his ejaculation: not so much the risk of an unprotected stranger, but the taboo of allowing another man to mark her so intimately. It’s so deliciously naughty. And it’s the last straw she needs.

Wendy sobs loudly as her release claims her. She unabashedly wails, overcome with pleasure. Her muscles give way and she goes limp in his arms, her ankles uncrossing behind him.

She is completely spent.

Michael holds her up against the shower wall as long as he’s able, but the burn in his arms eventually spreads to his back. Thoroughly exhausted, he carefully lowers her to the floor. He slides her down the wet marble, Wendy passive in the afterglow. Her legs loosely fold up beneath her until he gently sets her ass down on the tiles.

Spinning in the crouch out from between her legs, Michael sits down against the tiles next to her. He drapes his arm around her shoulders, and she leans in to snuggle him. Neither of them speak. They just sit there together on the floor of the shower, letting the water wash over them.

Wendy holds Michael’s hand between her own, their fingers interlocking. She considers the previous twelve hours of her life and what it means.

There’s no regret; no threat. There’s just a wonderful memory of a brief frolic in Melbourne.

“Experience,” she whispers to herself with a contented grin.

“Huh?” Michael breathes into the top of her head.

*

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