Message-ID: <41950asstr$1050815408@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Originating-Email: [wiseguy35@hotmail.com]
From: "Mark Wiseman" <wiseguy35@hotmail.com>
X-Priority: 3
X-MSMail-Priority: Normal
X-MIMEOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1106
X-Original-Message-ID: <Law11-OE21udzxxfYXF00000634@hotmail.com>
X-OriginalArrivalTime: 20 Apr 2003 01:28:48.0526 (UTC) FILETIME=[313E8AE0:01C306DC]
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sat, 19 Apr 2003 21:28:26 -0400
Subject: {ASSM} Meeting the Need (MF rom cheat) by Wiseguy
Date: Sun, 20 Apr 2003 01:10:08 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/41950>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw
This is the first public posting of "Meeting the Need." This story contains:
MF - Consentual adult sex between a man and woman
ROM - Sex motivated by the characters' love for one another
CHEAT - The characters in question are cheating on their spouses.
The story is (c) Copyright 2002 by Mark Wiseman, which is the name I use on Ruthie's Club,
and may not be reposted anywhere without my written permission.
-wg
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Wiseguy/www
The net's classiest erotic fiction is at Ruthie's Club (http://www.ruthiesclub.com)
<1st attachment, "MeetingtheNeed.txt" begin>
Meeting the Need
(c) Copyright 2002 by Wiseguy,
writing as Mark Wiseman
Originally published on Ruthie's Club
(http://www.ruthiesclub.com), 9/9/2002
He watched covertly as he walked away from the train, his
eyes using every reflective surface he could find, scanning
to see if anyone seemed to be watching him.
There were a half-dozen passengers who'd gotten off the
train with him: a young mom with two small children, an
elderly man in a priest's outfit, and two businessmen who
looked much like himself. He dismissed the mom right away,
figuring the kids would be too much of a burden and make
her too noticeable. The priest and the businessmen,
though... they were possibilities. How much business was
there, really, in Poughkeepsie, New York?
So he lingered a little amidst the ancient oak benches
inside the station. He retied his shoelaces, casually
checked the contents of his computer bag, pulled a few
nondescript-looking papers out of the front pocket, then
put them back. While he did this, he saw the mom run up to
a picture-perfect dad who hugged them all and led them
outside. The priest and the businessmen got into taxis and
left as well, leaving him alone in the lobby.
It means nothing, he reminded himself as he shouldered his
computer bag and headed for the taxi post. They could just
as easily be watching the office or the hotel.
The cab driver, a young Pakistani man with a stubble of
beard on his chin and an engaging smile, popped the trunk
for him. "Where to?"
"Dutchess County Airport," he answered succinctly.
The driver kept up a steady stream of friendly patter as he
drove the six miles from Poughkeepsie to Wappingers Falls.
The man answered politely, thankful for the opportunity to
relax--it didn't matter whether the driver remembered him or
not, he had a legitimate business reason to be in this cab.
Still, he kept an eye on the mirrors.
At the airport, he went directly to the Hertz counter and
rented an emerald green Mazda 626. The suitcase went into
the trunk, and the computer bag onto the front passenger
seat. He pulled a small spiral notebook from the pocket,
turned it to the page where he'd written the directions,
and headed back toward Poughkeepsie.
His first stop was the Courtyard on South Road. He
presented his ID to the desk clerk. "It'll be pretty late
when I get back in tonight," he told the clerk. "If you
don't mind, I'd prefer a room in a less crowded part of the
hotel so I don't disturb too many people."
She smiled her professional smile. "I think we can do that.
How about room 448? It's at the end of the hall, and the
next three rooms are unoccupied. I can't guarantee they'll
stay that way, of course."
"That would be great, thanks."
He lugged his things up to the room, paying attention to
see if anyone followed him down the hall. Nobody did. Once
inside the room, he checked the connecting door to the next
room: locked. He pulled out his laptop, quickly plugged it
into the Internet service box, and brought up the browser.
He typed in the URL of her wireless provider and clicked
the tab for text messaging:
Hi, it's me again. Can you call me? We need to talk about
Joanne.
He left the sender ID and subject blank. She'd know what to
do with it.
*****
Her phone beeped a few moments later: Text Message
Received. Keeping most of her attention on the road, she
held up the phone and read the message. Then she cleared
the display and dialed another number.
"Audrey? It's me. No, I'm still about an hour and a half
out, on 84. I just got the message: the room number to ask
for is 446. You're sure you don't mind doing this? I can't
thank you enough. Okay, I'll wait to hear from you.
Thanks."
She smiled thinly and checked the mirrors again for signs
of anyone following. She was going fast enough that anyone
keeping pace with her would be conspicuous, but slow enough
to minimize the risk of getting a ticket. So far everything
looked clear.
It was a three-hour drive from her home east of Hartford,
Connecticut, across Interstate 84 into New York, and then
north to Poughkeepsie. She'd told her husband she was going
to visit overnight with Audrey, her old college friend.
She'd done it before at least once every month or two, so
all he did was grunt and nod. No reason to be suspicious.
That didn't necessarily mean that Donnie wouldn't be
suspicious, she knew. In the five years since they'd
married she'd watched her husband grow increasingly morose,
withdrawn, and apparently resigned to a life of misery. His
career was in the toilet, and he showed no interest
whatsoever in trying to do anything about it. His sex drive
was also non-existent. Hers, on the other hand, was strong,
and the trivial cyber-relationships she'd been using to
satisfy it were becoming less and less fulfilling with
time.
Her lover was a kindred spirit: a successful man in a high-
tech job, weighed down by a controlling, co-dependent wife.
They'd met online about four months before and hit it off
immediately. Friendly public chats led to intimate private
chats, which ultimately served only to sharpen the desire
for a face-to-face meeting. Opportunity was the only thing
lacking--he lived in northern Virginia, she in Connecticut--
but, with the advent of system upgrades to his company's
clients in the New England region, that barrier would be
lifted for a few brief periods.
Her stomach fluttered. Was it the danger or the
anticipation? Both, she decided.
*****
He dumped another load of ice from the plastic bucket into
the gray thermal bag he'd brought with him from home.
Buried in the ice was a magnum of champagne he'd picked up
a few days before and secreted in his suitcase. There was
no telling for sure how long the wine would have to chill,
but the thermal bag would ensure that the ice wouldn't melt
too quickly.
He checked his watch: 20 minutes since he'd checked in.
Time to go to work. He picked up the computer bag, turned
out the lights, and hung the Do Not Disturb sign on his way
out.
*****
"You need to relax, dear."
Audrey's words took her by surprise. "I am relaxed," she
protested.
They had a corner booth at a nondescript seafood restaurant
a few blocks from the Courtyard.
"Are you kidding me" You practically have a neon sign
hanging over you that says, 'I'm Sneaking Around On My
Husband.' Half the trick to getting away with these things
is looking as though you have a perfect right to be where
you are."
"Easy for you to say," she came back, blushing a little.
"I'm pretty new at this."
"You'll do fine, sweetie. Trust me." Audrey's smile became
a bit grimmer as she added, "It gets easier with practice."
"I won't be getting that much practice. Once, maybe twice.
Just to take the edge off."
Her friend nodded. "That's what I told myself, too, the
first time. Take it from me: the edge always comes back."
"We'll see," she replied noncommittally. "How did it go at
the hotel?"
Audrey winked. "Fine. I asked the clerk if they had a room
446 because that's my lucky number, and she gave it to me
just like that." Taking a plastic key card from her purse,
she slid it across the table to her friend.
"Thanks, Audrey. I really owe you for this."
"Eighty-nine dollars plus tax," Audrey replied, winking.
"It's okay. I know you're good for it. Just have an extra
orgasm for me, okay?"
She blushed again and felt that fluttering pick up in her
stomach.
They finished dinner and lingered over coffee until all of
the diners around them had left, then sauntered out to the
parking lot. They each got into their own cars for the ride
to Audrey's house. Audrey lived on a cul-de-sac in one of
the quieter suburbs, so it was easy to tell if anyone
followed.
No one did.
She waited a few minutes in her car to see if any strange
vehicles came up the street after them. When none did, she
waved at Audrey and drove back to the Courtyard. She parked
in the back lot, near the rear entrance. Audrey's key card
opened the back door and allowed her to slip up the
stairway, overnight bag on her shoulder, to the fourth
floor.
He would be in 448, she deduced from the placement of the
doorways. There was no light under that door--it was still
early, though. She fed the card into the slot on the door
marked 446 and pushed it open.
The room was tastefully decorated in beige and olive green.
The furniture was an elegant light cherry with graceful
lines--not too ornate, but classy nonetheless. Aside from
the king-size bed there was a love seat, an armoire housing
the television, with empty drawers for clothing, and a
simple desk and chair.
Her reflection looked back at her as she slid open the
mirrored closet door and set her overnight bag on the
suitcase stand inside. Working deliberately, she hung up
the skirt and blouse that would be her outfit the next day
and the outfit she'd chosen for the evening: a long, sheer
gown, dusty rose in color, with spaghetti straps and just
enough lace to hint at, rather than reveal, the delights
inside. A matching G-string panty hung inside it. She
smiled as she fingered the sheer, translucent fabric. How
long would she really be wearing it?
With her mind on the evening ahead, she stripped down and
started running water for a bath. There were enough mirrors
in the vicinity that she kept catching unexpected glances
of a naked woman moving about the room. It was an unusual
sight for her--there weren't many mirrors at home,
especially not full length ones. She posed for a few
minutes, examining herself, evaluating. The weight she'd
lost definitely made a difference, she judged. Not that
Donnie had ever remarked on it. She'd gone down two dress
sizes in three months, but the only comment from Donnie had
been a complaint about her spending money on new clothes
when the old ones "look fine."
She shook off the well-worn memory and lost herself in the
luxurious warmth of the expansive tub. Every muscle in her
body relaxed, letting the water take and cradle her, and
she sighed a contented sigh. She imagined him beside her,
lovingly washing her back, kissing her on the neck as he
ran his soft hand down her spine. Soon she was feeling a
different kind of warmth, in a very specific region--one
that Donnie had been woefully neglecting for far too long.
She imagined her lover with her, his skillful touch taking
her to new heights of pleasure, until her body tingled and
ached for it. His hands were not there yet, but a few quick
movements of her own completed the fantasy for her.
She felt pleasantly flushed as she dried off and treated
her skin to a generous splash of moisturizing lotion. She
removed the gown and its matching G-string from the closet
and put them on. Just a touch of perfume, applied with
pinpoint accuracy to the places she wanted his nose to
linger, completed the ensemble. Feeling wonderfully relaxed
and sexy, she curled up on the love seat and settled in to
wait.
*****
It was a little after 11:30 at night when he pulled into
the parking lot at the Courtyard, feeling spent from the
day's travel and work. The sight of her white Kia in the
lot did wonders for his spirits. Taking care not to look at
it a second time, he shouldered his computer bag and headed
into the hotel. Noting the line of light under the door of
446, he allowed himself a brief smile before opening his
own door.
Inside, he set to work quickly. The TV went on first, the
volume perhaps a bit louder than necessary. He looked out
the window at the parking lot below as he stripped off his
shirt, checking the parked cars for signs of a figure
sitting inside or the gleam of a parabolic mic. Then he
laughed at himself. There's careful, he chided himself as
he pulled the heavy curtains, and there's paranoid.
He allowed himself a quick shower, a shave, and a splash of
cologne to freshen up. Slipping on a bathrobe, he quickly
set up the laptop and booted it up, the screen facing away
from the window. He removed a pair of small speakers from
his suitcase and plugged them in, using the cord's full
length to place the speakers on the bed near the pillows.
He turned off the lights, starting with the one by the door
and finishing with the one by the bed, just as one might do
when going to bed. Only instead, he sat by the laptop and
counted off twelve minutes, the average time by his own
estimates that it normally took him to go to sleep.
When the time expired, he turned to the laptop and inserted
a pocket CDRW. The CD drive churned. WinAmp came up, loaded
the default play list from the CDRW, and began to play.
From the speakers came the sounds of digitally-recorded
snoring--his own, recorded surreptitiously several nights
before and divided into varying-length MP3 files, which
WinAmp would play in random order until he came back to
stop it.
Moving quietly, he retrieved the cold champagne from the
bathroom and tiptoed to the connecting door. He reached for
the doorknob, felt it turn smoothly, and froze. Are you
sure you want to do this?
The old arguments ran in circles through his mind once
again. Would she look the way her pictures looked? Was she
the same person in real life that she was on instant
messenger? And even if she was, was it worth the risk?
Only one way to find out, he told himself. And he thought
of his wife, sitting at home, no doubt amusing herself by
making lists of new things to complain about when he got
home--all of which would, of course, be his fault. Just as
her perpetual nighttime headaches, which defied all medical
explanation, were his fault. He that is down fears no fall.
The door opened with no resistance. He crept into 446,
easing the door closed behind him. He stood there for a few
moments, drinking in the sight of her. Her body, relaxed in
sleep, looked even more lovely than he had imagined from
the photos they'd shared. The gown seemed to give an extra
bit of glow to her skin. The straps hung loosely on her,
one having slipped off the shoulder completely. He admired
the rise and fall of her breasts, nipples hinted at but not
visible, and longed to touch them, to kiss them.
He set the bottle down on the nearest end table and
approached her silently. He hovered over her for a second,
letting her scent fill his lungs and send a tingle down
into his groin. Where to plant the first kiss, he
considered... the shoulder? The lips? That bit of upper
thigh peeking out from the gown's high slit?
Brushing a few stray hairs out of her face, he went for the
lips. He started by teasing, just barely touching his lips
to hers. Soon she awoke for him and her lips responded,
reaching up to find his, opening to taste him for herself.
Soft hands reached up for him, pulling him closer. He let
them, putting his hands out on the love seat to support his
weight.
Finally, they were ready to come up for air. He rose up and
sat on the other end of the love seat, his body turned
toward hers, hands touching along the back. Now he could
see, for the first time, the passion in her deep brown
eyes.
They sighed together, staring into each other's eyes.
"Alone at last," she quipped.
"So we are. And you're even more beautiful than I imagined
you'd be."
She blushed, every nerve ending tingling in anticipation of
what was to come. "And you're a much better kisser than my
..." No! her inner voice screamed. "... than I imagined you
would be."
With a lover's intuition, he knew what she'd been about to
say. Better to ignore those things. "I brought champagne,"
he said, reaching behind him to heft the still-cold bottle.
"Shall we?"
Smiling, she rose and walked to the vanity, where the hotel
had kindly left four tumblers and an empty ice bucket. She
picked up two glasses and brought them back. He watched
every movement of her body as she did it, memorizing her,
appreciating the way the gown caressed her curves. "These
will have to do," she said, "unless you snuck in some
flutes as well."
"Too hard to explain," he told her, accepting the glasses.
"These will be fine." He uncorked the bottle with expert
hands, using a cloth napkin to both muffle the sound and
capture the cork. He poured two glasses, handed her one,
and held his aloft. "What shall we drink to?"
She held the glass near her face and let the fragrance of
it waft up into her nose. Meeting his gaze over the rim,
she came up with a suggestion. "To opportunity?"
He nodded, smiling. "To opportunity, then." They clinked
glasses. He drained his in one smooth motion.
She took a long pull of hers, letting the taste play over
her tongue, savoring it. Donnie didn't do champagne--beer
was good enough for him, so it should be good enough for
anybody, he always said. She felt that first little tingle
in her mouth, the slight rush of giddiness. When he offered
to top off her glass, she held it out for him.
They sat on the love seat, staring into each other's eyes,
drinking and talking, holding hands, until the buzz started
to take hold. "Why don't you turn the TV up a little?" he
suggested.
Smiling, she rose and walked over to the television.
Something in his smile, reflected in the vanity mirror,
made her stop. "You're not worried about people
overhearing, are you?"
"No," he confessed, grinning sheepishly. "I just love to
watch you walk in that gown."
The champagne, and the thrill of being once again the focus
of a man's desire, emboldened her. "Oh really?" she teased,
easing the straps off her shoulders. The gown fell to the
floor, leaving her standing in front of the TV in just the
G-string. "Oops," she said. "Guess they don't make 'em like
they used to."
He stared longingly at her back and bottom, then at the
reflection of her front in the mirror. "I'm not
complaining," he assured her.
A sly smile crept over her face as she saw the obvious lust
in his. Covering her breasts with an arm, she turned up the
TV and then took her time coming back to him. She toyed
with the items on the dresser, turned down the bed,
rearranged things on the night stand, all the while swaying
her hips and tantalizing him with sensuous movements of her
body. Finally she approached him again. She let the
covering arm fall and picked up her champagne glass,
draining it slowly while she let him take a long look at
her erect nipples. "Enjoying the view?" she asked, putting
the empty glass down.
"Absolutely." He refilled his glass and, with an index
finger, motioned her to come hither. She leaned over him
and their lips met for another kiss. As she tasted the
champagne on his tongue and her own, she felt a cool, wet,
tickly sensation all around her nipple. She rose up
slightly.
He took the opportunity and filled his mouth with her
nipple, lovingly licking it clean of the champagne he'd
just dipped it into. The feel of his tongue circling her
nipple made her knees go weak. When he brought up his
champagne glass to the other nipple she made no attempt to
avoid it. Instead, she let it soak in the champagne until
he removed the glass and switched his attention to that
side, again using his tongue in ways that dampened her G-
string.
His fingers probed inside the G-string and found her slick
center. "Somebody's enjoying this," he remarked. Setting
the champagne glass aside, he peeled the G-string down
below her knees and let it drop, then placed a finger in
the center of her sweet spot and began to probe.
She felt his finger creep inside her and had just enough
time to think oh, God! before he found the button and
pushed her that last little bit into orgasm. Her body
collapsed onto his, trusting him to hold her, while she let
the pleasure spasms course through her. Her arms went
around his neck and she moaned into his ear, her body
rubbing against his while he held her. Finally, she became
still.
"Feeling more relaxed now?" he asked.
"MMMMmmmmmmm," she purred. "I needed that." Her hand snaked
down to find the long, hard lump just barely contained by
his robe. "Now I think I need this." She flipped the robe
open and grasped him firmly, listening to his involuntary
moan.
Then she had an idea. Reaching for the champagne bottle,
she took a long swig and held the liquid in her mouth.
Dropping to her knees, she pressed her lips against the
head of his cock and slid them tightly over it.
He felt the warmth of her lips, the tickling action of the
champagne still in her mouth, and soon the motion of her
tongue as she swished it along his shaft. Then an exquisite
pressure came as she swallowed the champagne, sucking hard
around him at the same time. "Wow," he sighed.
"Ooooh," she teased. "Somebody's enjoying this." She took
another mouthful of champagne and plunged her mouth over
him again, this time just teasing the head by swishing
champagne around it.
By the time she finished her third mouthful, he was
delirious. "Stop," he begged weakly, "I'm going to come if
you do that again."
"That's the idea," she told him, and did it again. This
time she took him as deep as she could, using her tongue to
full advantage, and she felt him pumping into her mouth.
The champagne's taste became mixed with those of salt and
sea water as she sucked him dry. Then she took one more
swig from the bottle to wash it all down. "Oops," she said,
looking down at her recovering lover. "I used it all up."
She set the empty champagne bottle aside and snuggled
against him.
He held her and stroked her until the feel of her skin, and
the scent of her perfume and exertion, brought his soldier
back to attention. She felt his rising cock brush the side
of her thigh and moved against it. "Somebody's timer popped
up," she giggled with a thick tongue. "Muss be done."
He chuckled softly. "Not a moment too soon, from the sound
of you. You too sleepy for another round?"
She rose up and looked down at him, her eyes taking just a
shade longer than normal to focus. "No way," she said
emphatically, shaking her head from side to side. "I juss
may need a little extra st ... shtimlation, is all."
With another hearty laugh, he swept the naked lady up in
his arms and carried her to the bed, where he laid her
gently down. "Just relax and let me do the work," he
instructed.
Her head was swimming, and her body felt like it didn't
want to move much anyway. "Okee-dokee." Inwardly, she made
a mental note not to do that champagne trick quite so many
times next time. Then she felt his tongue licking its way
along her inner thigh, and she lost herself in the
sensations.
He enjoyed himself for a good twenty minutes applying extra
stimulation with his lips and tongue. Her juices flowed
freely, and she came at least twice by his count (which was
made easier by her tendency to groan, "Holy shit, I'm
coming!"). His cock ached to be inside her, so he brought
her to the brink one more time and then crept forward,
kissing his way up her body to her breasts. She reached
down to find his rigid cock and helped guide it inside her,
locking her legs around him and pulling him tighter. They
rocked together in rhythm, easing him in and out. He knelt
up and pulled her up with him, feeling the upper side of
his shaft pressing against the raised spot on her inner
wall. He had just reached down to knead one breast when he
felt her muscles contract against him and her body shudder.
"Holy shit, I'm coming," he moaned, and felt his cock burst
inside her.
"That's... my... line..." she retorted, panting and moaning
in between the words.
He laughed softly despite himself, then quietly slid down
beside her, taking her into his arms for loving, peaceful
sleep.
*****
At 4:30am, the phone rang. He woke first, but found it hard
to move with her body mostly on top of him. She stirred and
murmured, "What the..."
"It's our wake-up call," he reminded her. "Time for me to
go back to my own room."
She picked up the phone and dropped the handset back down
again. "What if I don't want to let you go?" she asked,
rubbing her lower pelt against his.
He felt the erection rising and had no desire to object.
"Then I guess I'm helpless," he replied.
"Just the way I want you," she said. She teased his cock
into full attack mode, then rode him until they both
climaxed. They held each other until almost five o'clock,
then she reluctantly allowed him to return to his room.
He slid between his own sheets and rolled over a few times.
The best way to make it appear that something happened, he
reminded himself, is to actually do it--so he'd spend the
last hour of the night lying quietly in his own bed. His
thoughts were still in room 446, though, picturing the
naked form of his lover as she slept.
At 6:30, he slipped back into room 446 for a final kiss.
Her eyes opened as he leaned over her and she pulled him to
her, making the kiss a lasting one. "Time for me to go," he
told her. "My train leaves at 7:45, and I still have to
return the rental car."
She nodded. "I'll stay for a bit." That was the plan: he
was to leave early, and she to stay later.
He placed two folded 50-dollar bills on the night stand.
"These are for your friend," he said. "To cover the room.
Tell her I owe her one."
"We both do."
They looked at each other silently. "I've got another
upgrade to do on the 17th," he told her. "In Hartford."
Hartford! Her ears perked up. In a little under three
weeks, he'd be within a twenty-minute drive of her. An
opportunity not to be missed. From somewhere in the back of
her mind, she heard Audrey's voice: the edge always comes
back.
"I can get free," she told him.
They kissed. "Until then."
*****
Two hours later he sat on the train, staring out the window
at the passing scenery. They'd been careful, he told
himself, so there was no reason to suspect anyone was the
wiser. No reason not to go ahead and do it again. And
again, and again, if need be.
Eventually, he knew, he was going to have to stand up to
his wife. And she to her husband. Until then, though, they
would do what was necessary to keep the edge off--just
enough to meet the immediate need.
Meeting the Need
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Wiseguy/www
<1st attachment end>
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format. The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+