Trophies Part 2 free porn video

I didn't mention it earlier: Carl practiced law mostly in Charleston SC, one of the more romantic cities in the South, and it's also home to MUSC -- the Medical University of South Carolina. One of my research grants includes a provision requiring me to offer seminars and training sessions at other universities. About two months after the ‘Show and Tell” I just told you about in part 1, I was scheduled to spend several days at MUSC.

Women who travel for professional reasons know something that men who read these stories might not appreciate. Even in these more enlightened days, it's uncomfortable for some of us to go alone to a nice restaurant. We often have room service dinners or drive-by ones from McDonald's. I HATE sitting alone at a restaurant or a lounge in a hotel.

One of the seminars I was giving -- it was about over-medicating kids with ADD --  was open to the public and Carl noticed the announcement in a local Coming Events guide. Well, that is only partly true; he also had my name on the Google app that reports a finding whenever the name comes up online. He said he would be attending and asked if he could take me, as a visiting scholar, to dinner. He promised there would be no erotic presumptions even though we met on Lush.

My husband was all in favor of the idea; to him, it was another step down a dangerous path he and I had pillow talked about. And for me, it would save me from a room service dinner.

I agreed.

I’d be away for three days and two nights. My agenda had a busy afternoon that first day; the next day would be full of meetings and seminars with still more academic stuff the following morning before I returned home.

It’s a bit more than a five-hour drive to Charleston and I and got there in time for my afternoon seminars. So, that first evening, after a busy day of driving and seminars, I did what my husband insisted on (does this lady protest too much?) and drove to Trattoria Lucca, the little restaurant Carl suggested. No, I did not let him pick me up at my hotel; that would make it more like a date.  I was still wearing my travel and on-campus ‘business casual' slacks, blouse and jacket. I in no way wanted to project myself as anything other than a visiting scholar. It was just a shared dinner, nothing more.

Yeah, right.

It was our first real-life meeting. Carl was an inch over six feet tall, lean, handsome in his way, and as charming in person as he was online. He had been divorced for three years and I am sure he was the target of every woman in the county! The dinner and the company were wonderful, and totally G-rated, as he promised. Carl did comment on their presentation of a Caesar salad though. “The one our chef makes at my club is much better,” he joked.  It was supposed to be dinner between casual friends, professional peers, with each of us paying for our own, but Carl was a Southern gentleman and wouldn’t allow me to pay my share.

It was dark when we left the restaurant. He offered his arm as he walked me to my car. The Lexus sang its ‘I’m unlocked’ sound when I was beside it, and Carl -- not a surprise -- opened the door for me. I turned to thank him for a wonderful evening but somehow that turn toward him turned into an embrace. I felt a kiss on my cheek -- well, I air kissed his too -- but then our heads turned, and our lips met. That kiss became more than a simple goodbye kiss. Somehow the hug deepened and I felt his lips part; his tongue touched my lips.

Some kisses are questions, aren’t they? It could have been the long day, it could have been the wine, it could have been… but no excuses -- my lips opened too, answering his unspoken question. His hug became a caress and I was sure I felt him hardening, too.

“May I come back with you to your hotel?  Or, come with me to my house?" He put words to the question his kiss asked. I shook my head no, reluctantly broke the hug, and got into my car. As he closed the door he said,  "I will be attending that lecture that's open to the public that you’re giving tomorrow at lunchtime. And maybe I can take you to my club for its Caesar salad tomorrow evening."

It was a distracted drive back to the hotel. Calling home on a cell phone while driving is dangerous enough; talking when one’s emotions are all over the place makes it worse.

"I expected him to try to seduce you,' my husband told me, "and I hope you liked that he did."

I told him Carl would be at the public lecture and wanted to take me to his club in the evening. My husband said I should accept.

"But things may happen," I protested.

"If you're enjoying him, they should, honey," he said. "You have a permission slip from me. If the mood is right, let yourself go."

I was exhausted when I got to my hotel; just got some essentials unpacked, and undressed. I don’t often sleep nude -- well, except after sex, anyhow -- but did that night.  I found myself stretching out, going through the same poses I did during the Show and Tell, and can admit to thinking about Carl's kiss.  I remembered after we did the webcam thing, my husband telling me he was sure Carl was masturbating thinking about me. Maybe he was doing that now, too. Maybe my husband was, too. My own imagination was going wild. My husband often joked that when a woman masturbates she's doing a man's job. There was no man in the room to do that job, just my own imagination and fantasy, but my own fingers brought me to an orgasm, too.

And then there was my morning phone call home.

“I want to ask you,” my husband asked, “if you were just looking for an erotic break from your marriage, would you accept a date from Carl?”

That was a different way of thinking about it. “Well, honey, Carl is a really nice guy -- I don’t think I’d ever think of him as a long-term prospect or anything, but sure, I’d date him.”

“Good. Then this is what I want you to do.  Be single for the day, unless it's more exciting for you to think of yourself dating while married. What do you think of that?"

My husband is a devil!

I got on campus early. The team leader I was working with told me he and some of the other members of the team would like to take me to dinner that evening. It was an unexpected invitation, but I somehow reflexively lied. "That sounds really nice, but I am sorry; I am meeting an old friend tonight," I said (I had my fingers crossed in that old childhood tradition which makes a lie, not a lie).

Noon came, the lecture hall held about a hundred fifty and it was about two thirds full. Most there were from MUSC but there was a newspaper reporter, and there was Carl. The good news is the presentation was one I had given a number of times before, having to do with too many kids getting drugs for ADD; otherwise, watching him watch me would have had me stuttering.

During the little reception after the lecture, Carl approached me. "I'd like to invite you to my club for its version of a Caesar salad," he said. "Around seven would be perfect. Will you come?"

I knew the invitation was coming.

And I knew how that evening might end.

So did my husband.

And for sure, so did Carl.

Although my knees felt weak, I accepted the date.

“May I pick you up, say six fifteen or so?”

“No,” I said, “I’d rather drive there.”

"Okay. Felix, our gateman" -- Carl lived in a gated country club community -- "will be expecting you. Meet me at my house. I’ll take us to the clubhouse.”

This was a date, a real date,  and my business casual outfit was not the best date-night clothing. I had asked one of the women at MUSC about ‘recreational shopping' opportunities in Charleston and she recommended Hampton's. The attendant there recommended a layered look for a country club date: a blouse long enough to reach to just below my hips, intended to be worn outside a darker skirt. I chose one that reached just below my knees and a pair of sandals that were just a step up in class from the common ones. All that I needed was a strapless bra to satisfy the demands of the blouse and the look would be perfect. Of course, Hampton's had that too.  It was $330 worth of casual-date stuff.

I took a shower at my hotel, then a quick dry off -- no, I did not let my hair get wet ---  then dabs of perfume here and there (did I really put a dab between my breasts?). The mirror told me my new outfit was, if not sexy, at least sensual.  

It was time to call home. “I’m conflicted; I’m all dressed up, but the wise thing would be for me to cancel and stay here in my room. Things could get complicated.”

“I want you to enjoy yourself and just let things flow,” he said. “I was thinking about that when I went to bed last night,” he continued, “and do you remember me telling you I was sure Carl was masturbating after that photo session?”

"Yes."

“Well, my dear, thinking about you and him is exquisite agony, and I masturbated last night and again this morning, and I think I will again when you say you’re actually going to his house.

"So," he continued, "this is a chance for a different man to tell you what I had been telling you ever since you went through menopause. You are a beautiful sexy woman. Act like one. Enjoy the attention of an attractive man. You're far from home, at a place you probably won't be going back to anytime soon. If you want to feel sexy, let the evening unfold. I am sure Carl likes that you are married and have permission for this date."

"Like?"

"Trust me, honey, seducing another man's wife is sexier than seducing a single woman and he knows you're not out to find a long-term relationship but that you and I are testing  some boundaries."

"You make it sound like a fling," I said, almost complaining.

"No, I want it to be a seduction, to have things just happen; there's no script, no plan. Just let that erotic dark corner of your mind go free. I want you to do it. What happens there will only make our own marriage better.  Do I have to say it? Do I have to say if that means his cock is going to erupt in your vagina that would be wonderful?"

He said it out loud! He said it was okay with him if Carl fucked me!

"That would be okay with you?"

"Honey, come on, we talked about that a lot. Don't let it just be our foreplay fantasy. I hope the next time you are in your room will be tomorrow morning and that your bed will not have been slept in. I want you to have a glorious night and remember every detail because you're going to have to tell me everything,"

I called home again just before pulling up to the gatehouse at the country club. "This is your last chance to tell me to be sensible," I told my husband.

He replied, "I would rather imagine what will be happening in the next couple of hours. Remember, you're my wife and I'm willing to lend you to Carl so long as you're willing to be lent."

"Hi, Professor Baker," the gatekeeper at Carl's country club said. "Carl told me to call him when you arrived. I guess your GPS is telling you to take the first left and follow Shore Road; his house is the third one on the left after the clubhouse. You can't miss it, and he'll be waiting for you."

It was the longest half mile I had ever driven.

Carl was waiting in the driveway of an impressive McMansion; he was clearly very successful at his trade.

"The clubhouse is right over there; let's walk to it," he said, taking my hand. Taking my hand? That was a presumed intimacy, far different than yesterday's dinner with its promise of ‘no presumptions'. We walked, looking every bit like lovers if anyone was watching, the few hundred yards to the clubhouse. Here's a confession: I liked being with him, looking like that, wanted to be seen, wanted people to assume we were lovers.

The dining room was, well, 'posh' comes close to describing it. Henry, our waiter, brought a bottle of wine. Carl approved the aroma of the cork and sample taste. Alex, the chef, brought over a small cart and went through the ceremony of shredding Roman lettuce, then mixing the ingredients for the dressing. There was an added elegant touch: the salad cart had a burner and Alex sautéed bread cubes in butter and garlic, turning them into croutons then added them, still sizzling, to our salads. We were then left to our wine and salad.

It was wonderful, but I didn't eat much. Two of Carl's friends stopped at our table, and being introduced as "My guest, Tina Baker, she's a visiting scholar…" I am sure left them with the impression something was going on between us. Well, during dinner he caressed my leg -- it was a maybe a light R-rated caress, but it was very much a confident and possessive touch. Yes, something was going on.

The wine was gone, the salad dishes empty. Carl helped move my chair back, and embraced me from behind, in full view of his friends. He whispered in my ear that "You know this wasn't just about dinner, don't you?"

I was not sure my knees would keep me upright and his kiss on my neck did not help.

He took my hand and led me from the dining room. I am sure the people who saw us had no doubt about what was ahead.

He had wine on ice at his house and with a glass of it in hand, he took me on a house tour. It was a large house for a single man.  We stopped in his den. "Hey, kick off your shoes; this rug does magic things to your feet," he said.  I did, and it was; it had the deepest pile I had ever walked on.

There were four bedrooms on the upper floor and three baths.

One of the bedrooms was set up as a home office with lots of electronics with blinking LEDs and a wall of law books.  He just offered a wave at it but I wanted to go inside. It was of course very masculine, but what interested me most were some certificates on the wall.

"You've donated blood one hundred times?"

"Well, more than that, that's a few years old," he said. "I go every six weeks."

He already knew from our online chats the blood drives I attend are on campus but they are at eight-week intervals.

"So you like knowing,  like I do, that there is some of you circulating in a half dozen or more people right now, don't you?"

I agreed.

There was another little card in a frame; it looked like a thank-you card.

"Why do you keep that there?"

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said. "I look at it when things aren't going well; it's a mood booster."

"You'll have to explain that."

He took a deep sigh and pulled up his golf shirt to reveal a  four-inch scar just below his ribcage.  "I was a very good tissue match for a kid in kidney failure so now he has one of mine.  That's a thank-you note from his parents.  Let's move on; I want to show you the rest of my house."

He took my hand and led me out of the room, but that little room and its secrets told me more about the character of this man than I would otherwise have ever known.

The master bedroom had French doors opening to a balcony and a view of the moon and its reflection on the ocean and the waves breaking on the beach.

Carl was standing behind me, enjoying watching me enjoy the view, and yes, it was almost overwhelmingly romantic.

This was why I was here.  I felt his arms encircle me, then his breath on my neck, and finally his lips were there too.

"You are," he whispered, "more beautiful than the view. You're going to love seeing the sunrise -- at this time of year it floods the bedroom and the bed just as it breaks the horizon."

Did he have to say that, make the presumption I'd be here then? But I've never seen any trace of pretense about Carl. I was in his arms, in his bedroom. and pretending to be coy about it just did not work between two intelligent adults. Carl expected me to surrender to him, my husband wanted me to surrender too, and. . .

. . .and so did I.

I just backed into his embrace, covered his hands with my own, and enjoyed the sensation of his breath on my neck, of his kiss there, the tingling sensation of his lips and tongue on my ear.

He turned me around, and I was in his arms again, and this kiss was the first serious kiss of the evening. It was not asking last night's question.  No, this was a kiss by a confident and somewhat intimidating man, a kiss that was the start of foreplay, a kiss by a man who expected to bed me.

But kisses are not one-sided. Why not be truthful?  I was kissing back, kissing a man I wanted to bed me, surrendering to him.

His right hand was caressing my back, down my side, over my hip, and up again. It was a possessive touch. He was holding me close and made the warmth and hardness around his groin obvious too.

"I have to tell you," he whispered, "that ever since that show and tell you and your husband teased me with I imagined you here on my bed.  I am sure he and you imagined that too."

I nodded yes.

"It takes a very secure man to let his wife live out that kind of fantasy and I like knowing he's that kind of man," he whispered. "I am honored to be part of it."

The hand that was on my hip started up again, this time under my blouse, and soon I was being hugged again with both of his hands on my back, on my skin. I was melting in his arms.

"I had imagined kissing you but last night's kiss was so much better than I imagined, and feeling you in my arms last night was so much better than I imagined, and having you here, in my bedroom, in my arms, is better than any fantasy."

I was, I thought, totally in his control. My knees were feeling weak. A part of me I did not know exist emerged, a submissive part. "It is living out a fantasy for me, too," I told him, while both of his hands were under my blouse, caressing my back until they converged on my bra strap.

I felt his fingers exploring the strap and its clasp and then felt what had to be his thumbs under it...felt its tension increase as he seemed to be grasping it.

He kissed my neck, then my cheek, and I heard him whisper, "May I?"

I turned my head, my lips met his, my mouth opened wide. I guess I moaned into his mouth, all of which he took to be my answer. The tension in the strap went away; my breasts were holding my strapless bra in place because of the intensity of his hug. Of our hug.

I guess my kiss was hungry enough because his hands went down and found the button and zipper on the back of my skirt -- my new skirt.

I felt his thumbs reach under its waistband, working the zipper. "This too?"

Me sighing was his answer, and I felt my skirt's waistband go slack too.

I was probably whimpering in his arms; I am not sure, but he put his hands on my waist under my blouse and slowly pushed us apart. I felt my bra fall from my breasts; it had to be draped on his arms until he moved them so it and my skirt puddled around my feet.

I was wearing only my blouse and panties, and I was feeling every kind of emotion.  Passion. Guilt. Young. Sexy. Wicked.

"Tina, honey,"  he whispered as he drew me close again, and I could feel the bulge of his erection behind his slacks, pushing at my belly, "Tina, honey. I love that you are wearing that beautiful blouse, but you shouldn't have panties on."

A new kiss, gentle yet insistent. "Maybe," he muttered, "you should do something about that; maybe you should prove you like what's going on."

During the next kiss, I let my hands drop from around him, let them fall to my waist, hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, and pushed. Pushed down. I was too close to him, my panties wouldn't move, and I think I whimpered a little but moved away from that tight embrace and pushed once again.  Once past my hips, they fell away, too.  My blouse reached just below my hips, my  'essentials' were still covered and somehow I knew that pleased Carl. He was not some horny kid; he was a man who wanted to take his time enjoying me.

There was another long, long, kiss, full of promise and passion. "Yes, like that," he said, as his one of his hands moved from my back and down, over my waist, my hip, my thigh, and back up; his hand moved over my pubic hair. It was a possessive caress, and I wanted to be possessed, to break all of those conventions, too, for a little while at least. I wanted to be one of those loving wives we read about on Lush, one of those wives that my husband wanted me to be tonight.

My own hands found their way under his golf shirt and lifted it. He helped, pulled it over his head and draped it over a chair while I stepped out of the puddle of clothing at my feet.

His upper body was hairless. I had never been with a man who did that. "I shaved my body to be clean for you," he said. "Now, Tina darling, I want you to pose for me now the same way you did for me on camera."

I was standing next to the bed, feeling so alive, so sexy, so turned on.  I wanted to please him; pleasing him would be pleasing me.

But first. . .

. . .but first I remembered the thank-you note in his office. Why was his generosity such a turn on?  I wanted to indulge in that turn on and sat on the bed and drew him close, drew him between my bare legs.

I kissed at his nipple, then let my lips move down to that scar.

"I love what you did for that kid," I told him, and kissed that old wound, buried my face a little into it.

Oh, he loved that; he had one hand on the back of my head, the other was stroking my back, and I kissed my way down to the waistband of his slacks.

This was a different me, one I did not know existed.

I looked up at him and brought my hands to the snap on his slacks. He bent over and kissed me.

"May I?" I asked but didn't wait for an answer.  I pulled at the snap, then lowered his zipper.

I think it's called going cowboy when a man doesn't wear briefs, but whatever it's called, when I pushed at his slacks during that kiss all that was left was him.

He stood tall again, breaking the kiss and guided my head to his body, to his scar.

I was being a devil. I kissed at it again and kissed lower again, but there was no waistband in the way this time, and I kissed my way down the side of his pelvis. I could feel his erection aside my cheek. I knew what he wanted. I wanted it too.  With a little turn of my head, my lips found the side of that very smooth, very hard, very hot cock.

I hoped he was watching -- I looked up to see and he was -- as my lips and tongue moved out along its length, and then closed my eyes and opened my mouth, took him into me, and drew him closer embracing his torso.

He was, well, the word 'delicious' comes to mind, but maybe it was just that I was being a 'loving wife' to satisfy the kink my husband and I, and maybe Carl, shared.

It wasn't like the porn videos we see, where it goes on for a long time. Instead, Carl stepped back, gloriously nude, gloriously erect, and said, "It's not fair that I am the only one undressed now. I remember during the show and tell your husband said he wanted me to see his playground, all of you.

"Now I want to see you all of you, here on my bed and I am sure he wants me to see you, and maybe you do, too. Pose for me."

I stood, turned away, unbuttoned my blouse, shrugged it from my shoulders, felt it slide down my arms, and held it there, a last tease.

I sat on his bed, then lay back, posing, much like the photo that is the cover for this story, and dropped my blouse to the floor.

I was looking at Carl; he had one hand on his cock, stroking, but I didn't think it needed stimulation to be hard. "You are an incredibly beautiful woman, and that is a very sensual pose, but reserved in its way.  Let that inner hot wife come out."

I remembered what I did when I posed on-camera and remembered what I did when I was in my hotel room last night after having dinner with him.

Was that only twenty-four hours ago?

I lowered my leg, rolled a little toward him, and all vestiges of modesty were gone.  Breasts and vagina were all on display.

"Perfect," he said and came nearer, bent over the bed, kissed my lips. I could feel my hips moving, making small thrusting movements as I held him and embraced him, holding him close, being devoured by his kiss, his hungry lips, feeling passion, desire, feeling wanting to be taken, to be made love to, to be fucked.

His lips moved to my neck.

And lower, to my left breast.

  And then to my belly.

"I want you to feel totally wanton, totally selfish, totally sexy,"  he said as he nuzzled into my belly, and then took one of my arms, moved it down to my groin, and did the same thing with the other one.

He lifted his head, kissed at my fingers on one hand, moved them to the edge of my lips, then did the same thing with my other hand.

"The greatest gift you can give me," he said, "is yourself. I feel how warm you are, and see how moist you are, how ready you are. Do you know you're like that?"

I somehow made a yes sound.

"Hold yourself open, spread yourself for me, let me see and taste you, let me go down on you the way you deserve."

I did.

And he did.

And, just like that, that quickly, the wave broke. I had a shuddering orgasm.

"And that is the greatest reward you could have given to me," he said, before bending over my center and continuing to explore me with his tongue.

I pulled my own arms away, leaned toward the side of the bed where he was still standing, and pulled him closer.

I loved the look of his hairless pelvis, of his penis fully erect, bobbing with every one of his heartbeats. I had never seen a cock and groin that smooth in real life. I touched that cock again -- it was still damp from my saliva -- and felt that silk-like skin, that hardness, that heat.

I had been married before and had a few lovers before marrying my (forever, for now, we like to say) present husband. But I had not seen an erect penis other than my husband's, or in occasional porn since we had been married.

He moved, sitting on the side of the bed, then lay beside me, smothering me with another kiss, his mouth wet with my own secretions, while the fingers on his left hand found their way to my vagina and replaced the sensations his tongue had been providing with their own caresses.

His left leg reached over me, and then he was on top of me, straddling me, holding himself off of me, allowing me the sensation of only his lips on mine, and of his cock on my belly.

I had my arms around him, pressing his pelvis against me. It was delicious.

He moved, upward.

 His torso was now almost erect; I could feel the heat of his groin against my belly.

"They call this soft sex," he whispered, "but it's not soft at all. I want to see you be as sexy as you can be. Or, as sexy as you think your husband wants you to be."

I had my hands on his waist now, moved them to his hips, then stroked him.

"Show me what your husband would want you to do."

I pushed it and him, a little lower on my body, towards my own pelvis.

"There is nothing so erotic for me," he said, in what was now a husky, very masculine voice, "as seeing a woman's hand around my cock. I like the way you are holding me, but..."

I began stroking it -- him, but he changed the rules. "...but your left hand, the hand with your wedding ring."

I could feel my own hips making those motions that are part of sex, but they were more urgent now.

All the time while he was watching every move. "You are better than any fantasy," he said.

He began sliding down my body, his cock leaving a saliva trail until he could bend down and kiss me and the kiss continued as he straightened, straightening his back,  moving his cock until it was close to my center. I tilted my hips, could feel his shaft along my vagina, maybe even encompassing it a little bit, until I could feel his cockhead there.

"When is it intercourse?" he mused, "when is a man really fucking a woman?" He moved a little and I knew that bulb of a head was poised over me, perhaps even in me a little bit. I knew I was wide open for him; there would be no needed force to enter me.

"Is it now?" he asked.

And there was a little push. I knew his cock head was in me.

"Or now?"

My hands were on his hips, pulling him into me.

"Or..."

And I could feel him moving, feel him penetrating, spreading me, and in a moment could feel his pelvis pushing against me.

"For sure, now it's fucking."

He started to pull out. "Look at me! Look at my cock."

I did; it was glistening with wetness, my wetness. "You can see how much your body welcomed me into it!"

He became a machine, with long slow deep strokes, from fully in to almost out, again and again.

"Reach down, touch me," he commanded.

I did; his shaft was between my thumb and forefinger; my palm was flat against my pelvis.

Every time he pushed in he drove the knuckle of my thumb into my G-spot; it was intercourse and forced masturbation at the same time.

I love sex with my husband, but this was a different man with different experiences and different motions and different ideas.

And there came another breaking wave, an unexpected orgasm.

His machine ran on and on. I had a sudden bout of insecurity. "You can maintain an erection for a long time," I whispered, "or is it that I am just not sexy enough for you to cum?"

"You are more than sexy enough, Tina, and I am going to stop worrying about pleasing you and be a little selfish now."

He took both my hands, held them above my head on the bed, kissed me with even more intensity, and what had been long slow strokes became more forceful, more powerful.

 I could feel him getting harder; he was reaching a little deeper into me as he lengthened a little the way all men do just before they explode.

He lifted his head. I could see his face, could enjoy him enjoying me, and watched his expression change. His face became intense, almost savage;  he was not making love now, he was fucking me, and fucking me hard. I loved it!

I could feel the pace change, and the pulse of his cock changed too; it was now a pump, each pulse of his cock matched with a thrust, delivering semen deep into me.

It's silly, but with his ejaculation, I was the one who felt more complete.

 Finally, he collapsed, exhausted.  I was too. We had to have been at this for an hour or more. We cuddled, spooned, and sleep came to both of us.

At some point, maybe at 2 or 3 AM, I felt him harden again, and somehow his cock found my center from behind.

Sex can be so different, and being taken from behind like that -- being hugged, being fucked, being kissed on the back of my neck all at the same time -- was something I've experienced only a few times. I could not tell where I ended and he began; it was a complete 'oneness' sensation, and it was only enhanced when he said, "I won't let myself fall in love with you, but I could, as totally as I ever did with any woman."

It wasn't that long a session, and the lovely thing is we fell asleep again, still softly coupled.

At 6:15 I was awakened by kisses on my neck. "It's nearly sunrise; you have to be awake for this," he said.

 The sky was getting brighter.

"The sun is a Peeping Tom," he said, "and it looks right at my bed this time of year. It's going to tell the world what it sees us doing."

He rolled on his back, his head toward the window, his erection pointing skyward.

"I want the sun to see you riding me and I want you to think about the sun shining on your own bed at home, the way it did that Saturday morning, and I want it to tell the man sleeping there what it sees here."

He had me straddle him, my knees almost at his shoulders, and he put his hands on my waist, almost lifting me up, suspending me above his cock head.

"Now, my wonderful lover, I want you to settle on me; this time, you're going to fuck me. I want the sun to see that."

The sun was half over the horizon, the bedroom was ablaze with its light, and I moved as I was told, letting myself down until we were pelvis on pelvis, his cock deep inside me.

He started to lift me up. "Look down, look at us. Look at my cock sliding in your cunt, look at how wet it is. That is your wetness, your passion!"

It was.

"Show me what happened after your husband turned off the camera."

He stayed hard but not for too long, and let himself cum again, this time with me looking down at him. It was the opposite of last night; I was fucking him, not him, me. Was I a lover or a slut?

Maybe sometimes there's no difference.

His bedside clock said it was 7 AM.

"Carl, lover, I have to go."

"I know," he said. "I'll make you a cup of coffee to travel with."

We both got up, both still nude. Well, he was nude; I was naked. At some point last night he told me the difference. "Nude," he said, "is being without clothing on. Naked is when you're only wearing a wedding ring."

I started to pull on my clothes, but he said, "Please, leave your panties and bra here. I can't sleep with you tonight but I can, with them."

I left them off, got dressed -- blouse, skirt, sandals from the den-- and with coffee in hand and a tender goodbye kiss on my lips, I left.

As I drove out I passed one of the men I met at the club; was that only twelve hours ago? He smiled and waved at me and somehow I was sure when he was talking with his friends he'd assure them Carl had me as an overnight guest.

I called home, of course.

"Honey, can I come home? Are we okay?"

My husband heard the fear and uncertainty in my voice and said, "I can't wait to have you in my arms. Drive safely but hurry home."

I got back to the hotel in time to shower, pack, and check out. I finished up at MUSC and was homeward bound before 11:00.

And got home by 5:00, and into my husband's arms thirty seconds later, and in bed just a moment or two after that.

I was reclaimed; all was well.

I told him about Carl wanting my bra and panties, and the word he used is the title of this story: they were trophies for Carl.

There are a couple of postscripts I want to add.  This is kind of an autobiography but enough has been altered so you can't Google your way to my ID, or to Carl's.  For example, there may be attorneys in Charleston named Carl; my 'Carl' is not one of them.

There may be lectures on treating ADD at MUSC but mine was not one of them.

There are a couple of other things worth noting. This was all more than four years ago. Carl had since dropped his Lush membership and had gotten married. I am happy for him, and her.

One last thing. I found out some woman accused Carl of sexually assaulting her in his bedroom. Carl's attorney demanded specifics as to time and date and indeed he had a date with her at the claimed time of the assault.

The charge was dropped long before it ever got to trial because Carl had videos of them in his bedroom, and it appears they pretty conclusively proved everything that happened was between consenting adults. It also means some of those blinking LEDs in his office were associated with hidden cameras in his bedroom.

"Yes," he said, "there are tapes, but if ever I should show them you'd have every right to sue and destroy me and my career and my marriage. I've trusted you and you have to trust me."

I do.

But every so often I do Google search for 'porn videos' or 'cougar'.

"Carl', I hope you still sign onto Lush sometimes and visit my profile.

And thanks for making a fantasy come true.