Out of Order

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Wife cheats on husband with waiter while they dine.
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rogue01
rogue01
102 Followers

My husband and I do not have a wonderful sex life. While I like him because he is kind and considerate, and relatively well off - he takes care of me financially - he is not very good in the sack. So I sleep with other men. But because he is particular about fidelity, I constantly have to sneak around behind his back - not that this represents a moral concern for me, you understand, just a logistical one. The type of bloke I go for, moreover, is the diametrical opposite to my husband: good looking for sure (not that my husband isn't, especially), and not brutish as such, but definitely macho; arrogant and conceited, the kind of guy who wants me only for his momentary pleasure and isn't too bothered if we never see each other again after the act. My husband, on the other hand, obviously loves me deeply, and, if I am honest, I confess there is something that really turns me on about giving myself away so cheaply to strangers, whilst he must pay dearly for the smallest scrap of my affection.

To give you some idea of the lengths I have to go to in order to preserve appearances, however, while at the same time get the satisfaction I crave, let me describe the events that took place the other night while we were out at a restaurant.

It was during one of his business trips, which I never normally accompany him on, but on which this time he had invited me, in some sunny European clime. I had to hide my slight disappointment when I was forced into accepting, however, as although I would normally enjoy a brief sojourn abroad - I often use the ruse of a girly city-break with my friends as an excuse for a rampant weekend of debauchery - this time I was particularly looking forward to reaping the fruit of a certain tryst I had been cultivating with a gentlemen in our Barbican apartment block. But he had whinged on that it would be great for me to accompany him, how he always missed me so much, and how the firm would be paying the expenses so he would personally stump up the extra for a posher suite, which made it impossible for me to decline.

So I agreed, reluctantly, with a pout and a flutter, how I would deign to join him as long as he made it worth my while by taking me out in the evenings and giving me shopping money for during the day. He agreed readily, with a twinkle in his eye, and I knew then (with an internal grimace of boredom) that I would thus be expected to sleep with him as part of the bargain; it was inevitably he would consider it 'romantic', wherever we were. This I was prepared to put up with, however, in the presumption that while he was out at his conference I would be able to search out some real talent and satisfy my desire in absentia.

As bad luck would have it, however, there was no talent to speak of; at least none that readily presented itself. Most of the good-looking men seemed to be hiding somewhere sunnier, or the ones I did spy about were either taken, ignoring my advances, or both. What was more it rained for most of each daytime, only drying up a little in the evenings which we were then condemned to spend together, chatting aimlessly about his day at work over wine and a dinner in some local low-market bistro. By the end of the third day I was fed up to tears, and frustrated with only his limp ministrations in the bedroom to pleasure me by; which never seemed to last long enough or go hard enough to really do the job. His penis was just the wrong side of average to really hit the spot, and where we didn't have sex all that often he too was frustrated and always came too soon, just as I was starting to get going. On our fourth and final night, however, I did finally find my man.

We had gone out to dinner and I was moody and coquettish, spurning his attempts to cheer or amuse me in his usual idiotic way - which occasionally has its charm, I admit, but which this day was no substitute for what I really needed. But when we got to the restaurant I was pleasantly surprised by the presence of a handsome and broad-shouldered waiter, who would tend to us during the dinner service. I determined from the start that this was the mark I had been looking for, and one way or another to have my way with him (or more accurately to let him have his way with me!). Even as we walked in, therefore, I was casting him my most blatant and lustrous glances.

As dinner progressed, whenever my husband's eyes were averted, I would throw our waiter a sultry stare, or brush the back of his thigh with my hand as he poured the wine beside me, motioning to my husband with the other to apprehend the charming décor in the window, or the town lights glistening on the sea surface outside. I did everything but pinch the guy's backside in front of my husband, but the latter never noticed and the former, to his credit, reacted with utmost proficiency and never once responded overtly to my advances. I knew well, however, that he had received my message loud and clear.

As the evening pressed on my husband began to yawn and play tired. I thus perked up a bit and begged that I was only just enjoying myself for the first time of the holiday, and couldn't we please order another bottle and another dessert to share. He agreed, somewhat reluctantly, looking at me a little suspiciously and eying the waiter every now and then as if he had somehow cottoned on to our exchange of glances whenever his back was turned. But he didn't let the notion take him, and instead condescended to patronise my entreaties.

Basically, my plan was to dwell him up a bit till the restaurant started to thin out - I could already see our waiter nursing a beer by the bar between bussing tables - then I would make some excuse to use the ladies' room and bribe a waitress to distract him while I was away; looking about, the pickings were slim, but I spotted one of the girls who was not too plain or flat-chested and figured she would be enough to do the job. Then I would take the waiter off into the bathroom and have him fuck me the way I wanted.

And it worked. After a little while longer a big party that had been dining on the other side of the restaurant departed, and that left only a few sparsely populated tables which the other staff could handle. The lights were low, candles shimmering in their cut glass containers on the table tops, and I made my excuses and got up. On my way past the bar I stopped to talk to the waitress, ostensibly to ask her which way the bathroom was but really to slip her a twenty and tell her to look after my husband. She played dumb at first, looking at me in puzzlement, but I upped the anti with another twenty and nodded discreetly in the direction of the waiter. He caught my gaze and took his cue, abdicating his bar stool and moving off into the back. She nodded in understanding and wiggled off as best she could to a table just beyond his, making sure to knock my husband 'accidentally' with her rear on the way by and then follow up with a bit of flirty chit-chat. Meanwhile, I followed the waiter into the back.

When I got round the corner he was standing by the bathroom door, holding it open for me like a gentleman, and signifying the 'out of order' sign he'd cleverly hung on the front of it. I giggled quietly and let him shepherd me into the tiny cubicle which he locked behind us.

As soon as I turned to face him he ripped the front of by blouse down roughly, popping off the top few buttons which rattled and pinged on the floor. Then he began groping my chest coarsely, squeezing my two generous tits together and pointing my nipples upwards provocatively. I tussled my hair and threw my head back for him, moaning loudly, at which motion he dived his head downwards and enveloped my mounds in his mouth, curling his tongue round each nipple and sucking them hungrily. Already I was wild with sexual appetite, and knowing we didn't have long pulled his face up to mine and kissed him passionately upon the mouth. He groped his hands up the sides of my legs, pushing my flouncy little skirt up and pulling my moist panties to one side efficiently. The man exuded experience.

With one hand on my arse and the other between my legs, he slipped a hot finger deep into my aching wet pussy and began stroking it in and out. I continued to kiss him and smother his face with my lips, licking his neck and biting his ears and shoulders playfully. I was really beginning to enjoy myself and squeaked and giggled ecstatically.

When I felt myself nearing orgasm, I pulled away and sat down on the dark wooden toilet seat. Spreading my legs, I unzipped his trousers and unbuckled his belt impatiently. I slid his boxers down around his ankles. His long fat cock sprang to attention. It was not yet fully erect, but very clean and of the same Latin complexion as the rest of his tanned skin. It smelt lightly fragranced, too, as though it had been thoroughly and recently washed with scented soap. I took it in my mouth hungrily and sucked on it, soon coaxing it to its full size and strength with the flat of my eager tongue.

Just as my head was beginning to bob up and down his shaft with nice momentum, however, moaning quietly with delight as I worked, there was a knock at the door.

'Darling, are you ok in there?' Came the hesitant voice of my husband.

I extracted the large dick from my chops for just long enough to stammer between mouthfuls,

'Yes dear. Just got a bit of a funny tummy. I won't be long,'

Then I burrowed my mouth again around the bulging member. My husband persisted.

'Are you sure, is there anything I can get you?' He said with concern.

Slightly annoyed this time, from again having to abandon my ministrations, I retorted with impatience,

'I said I'll be fine, just go and wait at the table and I'll be out as soon as I'm able.'

As I spoke I flicked the tip of the waiter's thick shaft with my tongue, and kissed the bell-end affectionately while grinning up at him. He just smiled down at me and ruffled his hands through my hair gently, pulling me towards him playfully even as I was uttering my last words. As his cock thrust deep into my orifice I heard my husband walking away hesitantly from behind the door, back to his seat at the lonesome table.

After another few minutes I raised myself up again and kissed my lover greedily, sloshing my tongue around fervently in his mouth and affording him the delicious taste of his own cock and pre-cum. He gripped my buttocks firmly with both hands, and pulled me roughly towards him, returning my kisses with vigour. As I pulled away to flick my hair back, I caught sight of the slutty figure I cut in the tarnished wall mirror. My blonde wavey hair was dishevelled atop my head, my cheeks flushed and my lipstick smudged to a lustful sneer. My two tanned tits were tumbled out of my ruined blouse, and my skirt was hitched up about my waste. The waiter cocked my leg in the crook of his arm and raised it up, before slipping my wet panties efficiently to the side again and sticking his long hard dick straight into my pussy. A tidal wave of pleasure tumbled me in its spume.

He started pounding me rigorously. His motions were rhythmical and relentless, not too fast and not too slow, while with his other hand he cupped my buttocks and guided me firmly back and forth, back and forth in tandem with his steady thrusts. I lolled my head back, closing my eyes and hanging my arms around his neck for support, while he bent periodically to bury his head in my bosom. I willed him to take me where he would.

Just as I was approaching my climax, tossing my head about deliriously in the first splashes of orgasm, again a knock came at the door. The waiter didn't stop but continued his motions, bucking my derriere firmly to and fro and sliding his penis in and out of my pussy as quietly as he could without breaking stride, in deep, passionate thrusts.

'What is it now?' I snapped, panting heavily and unable to control my temper. I had to bite my lip to stop from squealing out. My husband came back meekly,

'I just thought I'd check on you again, you seemed to be taking so long.'

I tried not to let my voice waver too much, as another violent shudder of orgasm gripped me,

'I told you I'm not feeling too good,' I stammered, 'Stop being such a grandmother and go back to our seats,'

I faded a little as I went on, as the waiter was planting little delicate kisses upon my neck and chin and working his way up surely towards my mouth, all the while continuing to fuck me with sure, steady strokes.

'Why don't you get our coats and pay the bill, and we can leave when I'm out in a second. I'll want to go home when I'm done,' I blurted out tersely, just as the waiter enveloped my mouth with his own, entwining his strong tongue around mine and shaking the very core of my body with his long, powerful lunges.

My husband sounded unsure - perhaps he perceived our frantic motions through the door; surely he must have heard something? But he voiced his assent and retreated once more to our table.

As he departed my orgasm subsided, and just as the last waves were leaving me I felt the waiter tense and jerk a little, pulling me to him tightly as he shot his hot load deep into my ready pussy. I felt the eruption explode between my legs, and a little cum squelch out the sides of my cunt with the force of it, as I kissed his neck and ears tenderly and squeezed his buttocks with my hands, as if milking the juices out of him. He gave a few more shudders and his penis spasmed, filling my pussy with his warm spunk, and then collapsed a little in my arms, flopping his head onto my bosom. I brought a nipple to his mouth for a quick suck, before raising it to my own for a long final kiss.

He extracted himself and bent to retrieve his trousers and pants from his ankles. My panties snapped back where they should have been all along, and I felt his cum begin to slowly drip out of me into the gusset; I only hoped it would soak up the massive load, as my tiny knickers were already pretty sopping and it would be difficult to explain to my husband the origin of a long glistening trail down my inner thighs as we walked home in the moonlight!

The waiter slipped out the door and I did my best to straighten my appearance in the mirror, removing my lipstick as best I could with a tissue and putting my boobs back into my ripped blouse. I looked exactly like a girl who had just received the ride of her life. The top few buttons of my blouse were missing, of course, but the garment just about held together, and if I clasped my coat with my folded arms as we walked (it, too, had no buttons by design) I might just about keep my modesty intact. Lastly, I straightened my skirt and hitched it down to an appropriate height around my midriff - it was really quite short and low-ride anyway - and made my way back to the table.

I must have cut a sorry figure, as my husband stood when I approached him and a look of surprise and concern washed over his features.

'Oh my God!' He exclaimed, 'Have you been sick?'

I nodded meekly, still a little shaky from the power of the orgasm I had just enjoyed, and averted my gaze. He went to put his arm around me, but I evaded him with the excuse of putting on my jacket. He caught site of my blouse as I did so, and looked up at me, a hint of suspicion suddenly clouding his eyes.

'What happened to your shirt?' He enquired almost forcefully.

I scrambled for an answer and mumbled something unconvincing about ripping it on my bracelet as I bent my head over the toilet bowl. Luckily, my waiter came to the rescue again by asking,

'Did you enjoy the service?' He spoke from behind my husband's back as he helped him into his jacket, winking at me boldly at the double entendre. My husband responded in the affirmative, while I only murmured demurely, casting a look at the ground and stifling a grin as I did so.

'Come on!' I blurted impatiently, 'I told you don't feel well, I want to go home.'

As we walked along the beach front, illuminated spectacularly by the silver light of the moon, a fresh breeze flowed in from the sea. It slipped its fingers beneath my pleated floral skirt, whispering between my legs and turning my sodden panties quite cool with its midnight touch. I could feel the waiter's spunk still oozing out of me, and I clenched my legs together as I walked to stop it dripping too far down my legs before we got home. My husband took me for being cold and hugged an arm around my shoulders, which I actually accepted quite gratefully, and used my hands to hold my coat together across my otherwise exposed breasts; the shirt having simply ceased to fulfill its function by now. When I caught him glancing down between them, however, I admonished him gently, saying I was too ill for any 'rumpy-pumpy' tonight, and just wanted to be cuddled. He kissed me gently on the hand and promised to do whatever I wanted, and we walked back like that to the hotel.

rogue01
rogue01
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AnonymousAnonymous4 months ago

I think it would do you good to read "Separation And Anxiety" by TCct.

RodzzzRodzzz4 months ago

This falls under the "STUPID STORIES" category.

RodzzzRodzzz4 months ago

Half a star for stupidity, idiocy and ignorance for even entertaining the thought that husbands are unaware of what goes on around them. You would do well to study your subject before concocting a BS story.

AnonymousAnonymous4 months ago

Come on men cant really be that stupid.

Schwanze1Schwanze1over 3 years ago
LW scores

Anything much below a four is shit. Just so you know.

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