C1 Horny words of a sex starved wife (1)

“Did you cheat on me, Judith?” He had asked the umpteenth time, but my response was still the same.

“No, Peter. I didn't cheat on you. I swear with my life. I swear with everything in me and everything I have, I didn't cheat on you. Why would you even think that I will do that? Break our marital vow?”

I had allowed the tears to gather in my eyes. Maybe that would be able to convince him that I wasn't lying. Whereas, in reality, I couldn't afford to lose my marriage. I didn't lose it when I had cheated on him with my ex boyfriend, Andrew and I definitely wouldn't lose it now, over just a night stand which wasn't really my intention. It was the alcohol that made me do it.

But I knew Peter. I have been married to him for ten years and my husband wasn't the type one could easily manipulate with crocodile tears.

“You're lying, Judith.”

His face has turned red. In vexation, I knew he was trying so hard to control his emotions.

“You're lying, and you know it.”

He had the evidence.

He grabbed my phone and opened my WhatsApp message, and there it was, glaring right in front of me. I didn't wish for the ground to open and swallow me, but I just wished I had cleaned my track.

“I miss your dick, I wish I could have more of it” this was the content of the message and he had replied with a naughty emoji.

How was I dumb enough not to delete that message?

“Babe, it's not what you think.” I approached him, but he had pushed me away lightly from him, heading to his room.

I was still bent on denying the accusations Vehemently, even though I was remorseful of my actions, but then it was worth it.

Ironically, Micheal's dick was the sweetest penis I'd ever tasted since I got married.

He never knew I was married, as I was careful enough to hide my marital status.

Maybe I wouldn't have experienced those mind-blowing orgasms in his car if he knew that I was a mother of two and happily married to a man who was never at home to sexually satisfy me because of his busy schedules.

I have tried to be loyal, understanding, and silently wishing that things would change, but I kept on being denied sex.

I kept on missing the affectionate touch of a man.

Things kept on going from worse to worse.

My ex and I got talking one day, and I ended up on his bed, though I had regretted it and now again, I have had another sexcapade with someone new.

Someone good. Someone better than my ex and husband combined.

Micheal. Micheal, who had intercepted my desires of getting sex toys.

I shut my eyes in euphoria as I reminisced about the past.

The thought of Michael made my panties drenched as I recalled how it had all started.

-

-

“Hi, do you mind if I join you at the table?"

I looked up to the owner of the deep and baritone voice and within a second, I ran my eyes from his head to his sole and when I was satisfied with what I saw, I then nodded my head in affirmation and reluctantly offered the vacant seat to him.

He wasn't looking bad at all. Only God knows how long he has been looking at me from whichever place he was.

I returned my focus to my phone and gently sipped the drink that was in my left hand.

"Thank you," he muttered indistinctly before settling into the offered seat.

He had beckoned to the waitress who came just immediately to take his order.

"Do you care for a drink, my lady?" He brought his head closer and whispered into my hearing, not as if he had said that from his previous position I wouldn't hear it, but I had feigned ignorance of the question, pretending I wasn't the one he was talking to, but he had called my attention by hitting his fist lightly on the table.

I turned to look at him, my face void of any emotions. "Sorry?" My timbre was low but relatively audible enough for him to comprehend that I didn't know what he meant or, rather, that I was lying that I didn't get to hear what he had asked the first time. Poor me.

"Uhm, I'm curious to know if you would like to have a bottle of wine?” He asked, keeping his gaze at me and grinning sheepishly, exposing his perfectly carved dentition.

His smile was what I guessed to be his seductive aura, special thanks to his teeth. His creator did a great job, and he had a pass in oral self-hygiene.

"Oh, thank you, but I'm not sure if I would love to have another cup of drink.

“ I'm satisfied with this already, except if you plan to carry me back home." I politely turned down his offer.

He smiled at the joke, nodded his head in affirmation, and told the waitress to get him a bottle of a particular brand of Spanish red wine.

“I don't mind carrying you home, though,” he replied. Staring at me directly into my eyes. Still maintaining the witty smile hovering over his face.

“What makes you think you can carry me?” I replied nonchalantly, my gaze still fixed on my phone.

He chuckled. Probably thinking I wasn't interested in whichever conversation he was bringing up. Well, I wasn't. My husband and I had a fight earlier over the phone in the early hours of the day.

I took my daughters to stay with my sister and then came here to drink away my frustration. My sexual frustration.

I had complained bitterly that I wanted to be touched by him, fucked by him, and made love to by him, but his business always comes first.

“Get yourself a dildo, vibrator or whichever thing you can use to satisfy your horny self and leave me the fuck alone!”

These were his last texts.

An awkward silence fell on the table. I was more intrigued by what I was surfing on my phone, and I prayed silently that he wouldn't get to interrupt me again, but maybe, just maybe, my prayers didn't get to cross the overhead closure of the restaurant.

I was trying to get a dildo and other sex toys from an online shop.

"Sorry for not acting like a gentleman," he began again. I raised my eyebrows and chuckled, oblivious to what he meant or what he was trying to say.

"My name is Micheal. Micheal Newman, but I will prefer being called Mike," he smiled as he continued; maybe he had read the puzzled expression on my face and was quick to satisfy my curiosity.

“Welcome, Mr. Mike." I smiled back, lightly as I could, and without saying a word, obviously unhappy with the fact that he had broken the jinx of silence that was in the atmosphere, save for the clinking of the cutleries emanating from various parts of the restaurant and the voice of a couple suspected to be two new high school lovebirds laughing and talking loudly at the left end of the room.

A Celine Dion's song was playing mildly from the loudspeaker in the restaurant and the aura was serene. It was one of my favorite tracks from her “Let's Talk About Love” album. A nostalgic feeling it came with.

I was enjoying the atmosphere.

If I wasn't locked up in my room trying to read an erotic story, I was hanging out with my sister or I was alone, masturdating and unfortunately for me and fortunately for my new seat mate, he met me on one of those lonely days, I sit secluded, drink alone and think about my life which was going well for a married lady of my age with a booming career but an awful sex life.

I didn't go to the beach.

The beach was on the verge of making me get addicted to it but I was doing anything and everything within my power to overcome such an addiction and one of those means was choosing the restaurant over the beach.

Tonight was my first time coming here; little did I also know that it'd be the last of my loyalty to my husband and last of my sexual hunger.

"You don't tell strangers your name?"