She was as wet as any woman I’d ever been with. She was as tight as a virgin around my member, her vaginal walls gripping at me like a sweet, satin vise. Her hands were gripping at the edge of my desk for anchorage as I pounded her while holding her legs in the air to allow me free entry into her drenched love tunnel.
“Harder!” she pleaded.
Gayle Davies was certainly a sight to behold with her skirt bunched up around her waist, exposing creamy white skin and a cleanly shaven mound with those full, pink lips that clung to my meat as I drove in and out of her. She remained fully dressed from the waist-up, her mane of un-dyed, prematurely silver hair spread like a fan around her head as she lay back on my desk while I fucked her.
“Jesus, I’ve needed this for so long,” she panted. “I feel like such a whore! Fuck me like a whore!”
I’d done just that with women like Mrs. Davies before, women driven by their need for revenge and self-assurance after seeing pictures of their cheating husbands. Pictures that confirmed their suspicions of infidelity. Pictures that they’d hired me to take as evidence that would surely lead to a subsequent divorce.
“God, that feels good,” she sighed. “God, you’re gonna make me cum! I need to cum!”
Truth was, we both needed to cum because I couldn’t hold out much longer.
“You feel incredible, Mrs. Davies,” I said with a heavy voice. “You have me on the edge, too.”
“I want to feel you cum in me,” she panted. “I need you to... ohh... ohhh... now! Please cum in me now!”
Her words turned into a squeal of pleasure as the first waves of an obviously long-needed orgasm swept through her. A squeal that mercifully invited me to join her in climax. My knees were trembling as my own orgasm struck me, my guts convulsing tightly just as my first ejaculations rifled through my cock and into the waiting, needing woman so hot for the feel of a man’s seed within her.
“Jesus, that feels so good!” she groaned as my semen filled her and made her tunnel even slicker as I continued to pound myself into her until I was unable to go on.
“You’re amazing,” I said honestly, even if primarily for her ego.
I slowed my thrusts to a stop but remained inside of Mrs. Davies’ drenched pussy, reveling in the warmth of her love nest. I gently eased her legs down until they were at my waist, and she responded by wrapping them around me and pulling me hard against her.
And that’s when she started to softly cry.
“Was I really that good?” she said in a soft sob. “Then why did my husband stop making love to me? Why have I had to do so long without? Did he just want someone so much younger? So, so... different? Why...?”
Her questions were generally rhetorical but quite valid. I’d heard them many times after proving a husband unfaithful. Yeah, and usually after I’d fucked the victimized woman good and hard on my desk. It was kind of a common practice and a perk in my line of work, and the primary reason why I tended not to keep things on my desk that might get in the way of a good revenge fuck. Be prepared, my old scoutmaster would say.
“Mrs. Davies,” I said softly as I gently eased myself from the clutches of her warm thighs, “I can honestly say that your husband was an ass for ignoring a woman as hot as you.” I opened the top right drawer of my desk and withdrew a small terry towel from the top of the short stack I kept there for moments like this, only it wasn’t intended for tears. “He likely got into something by accident and just ended up in over his head.”
I wiped our mutual juices from my spent dick and handed the towel to Mrs. Davies so she could mop up some of the mess I’d left in her from our little romp. As she did so, I bent over and pulled up my pants.
“I could understand maybe once... maybe even a second time,” she said, handing back the now-damp towel. “But eight months? For that skinny, titless, little tramp?”
Mrs. Davies wasn’t well blessed in the tit department herself, but she did have the “other woman” beat. I had the naked images to prove it. Only, the “other woman” wasn’t a woman at all. It was a nineteen year-old male student of Professor Earl Davies. And that kind of transgression will really eat at a woman’s self-esteem. Left for a younger woman? Even if hurt by the idea, a woman can generally come to grips with that. But to lose the affection of your husband to another man?
Those were the women whose revenge fuck was also a means of proving to themselves that they were still womanly and attractive. In my job as a private investigator, I was first the bearer of bad news, and then often the first source of validation and therapy.
“It’s a little more common than you think, Mrs. Davies,” I said as she sat up, smoothing out her blouse and then her hair. She truly was quite lovely, in her late forties, her face devoid of wrinkles. Only the sad, puffy eyes gave her away. “You’re not the first; you certainly won’t be the last woman to endure this kind of violation to her marriage.”
Mrs. Davies remained on the edge of my desk, not yet bothering to rearrange the woolen skirt still wadded around her waist. I sat back down in my chair. Her puffy, swollen labia glistened, still begging for my attention. I had an obligation to be a gentleman, though, so I drew from my years of experience and trained my gaze at the woman’s face. She wasn’t about to make it easy for me, though.
“You know,” she said, resting a foot on each of my thighs and spreading her legs just as she had done 15 minutes earlier when she ignited our little fuck fest, “a month ago I shaved myself for my husband, hoping he might find me more... enticing.” She spread her thighs wider as she unashamedly reached down with her hands and spread her still-gooey labia for my benefit.
“I assure you, it is quite enticing, Mrs. Davies.”
“I was hoping you’d think that,” she said with a warm smile. “I’d never done that before. When I shaved myself for the second time – this morning – it was for you.”
“I feel honored,” I said. “You are, truly, as much a visual treat as you are a sensual treat.”
A single tear wound its way down her right cheek. She casually wiped it away and nodded, lifting her feet off of my thighs and standing up.
“One last look,” she said, teasingly childlike, before she let her skirt down from its perch on her full hips and smoothed it out, returning to the prim and proper wife of a college professor. Well, soon to be ex-wife of a college professor that was about to lose a rather sexy wife and a lot of financial assets. Then she laughed.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I needed to be made love to so badly that I never stopped to think about protection.”
“I got fixed a long time ago,” I told her.
“So, you fuck a lot of your clients, then?” she asked, her expression turning a bit blank before a twinge of regret washed over her face.
“No,” I lied. “I get a lot of opportunities, but I tend to turn them down.”
“That’s a shame,” she replied, her face once again beaming like she’d just been fucked good and hard. Which, you know, she had. “You’re certainly no slouch in bed.”
“You’re making assumptions, Mrs. Davies. We had sex on my desk, not my bed.”
“So it gets better?” she asked, looking interested again. “Why don’t you fuck more of your clients?”
“A lot of my clients are men. I do have my standards.”
Mrs. Davies burst out laughing. She slipped her feet into her flat-heeled shoes and bent over to give me one more soft, wet kiss that I gladly returned. She stood upright once more and let out a heavy sigh before walking around my desk to my office door.
“Mrs. Davies?” I called out. I held up her pink panties. “Forgetting something?”
“You keep them,” she said, looking a little more self-assured. “You definitely earned them.”
Once the door was closed behind her, I opened the bottom left drawer of my desk and dropped Mrs. Davies’ thank-you gift onto the dozen other pairs of women’s underthings I’d also “earned” over the last few months.
Just a little perk of my job…