Six Degrees Pt. 02

At thirty-nine years old, Samantha – Sam was a dozen years older than Burt, nonetheless, she felt a sort of kindred spirit. It had occurred to Burt, already, that she would have made a great mother, but, she, sadly, had no kids. After years of trying, without success, she and her husband had just given up. Instead, Sam had focused her attention on starting a small home-business; which flourished. Nowadays she was running a going concern – lots of shipments, both sent and received – products and supplies – comings and goings.

Burt worked for Apex Custom Couriers – Dependable Delivery, and Sam was a regular client on his route. As her regular driver, he visited her several times a week, making pick-ups, and deliveries from suppliers. He was a quiet-spoken, good, moral sort of guy, and after many deliveries, he and Sam had gradually become familiar with each other – forming more than just a passing acquaintance, as it were.

Eventually, as their animated chats at the door became longer and longer, Sam had invited Burt in to sit a bit, for coffee and cake. From there, they quickly developed an easy friendship. They found one another easy to talk to, easy to get to know. Furthermore, Burt found Sam very easy on the eyes. She was, he felt, a very attractive, mature woman, with an understated elegance that needed no cosmetic support; she was naturally attractive – unlike his wife, whose liberal use of make-up emphasized her sassiness, indeed, painted her as a cute, if voluptuous, temptress.

And, as friends, Sam and Burt had rapidly become confidantes. They regularly engaged in deep, sincere, open conversations, baring more intimate details than they were used to sharing. Who knew why – perhaps due to the specific, focused nature of their relationship. In any case, Burt's situation, his tale of woe, had awakened in Sam a strong empathy for his suffering. She felt, if not exactly a maternal instinct, then a sort of familial or sisterly protectiveness, and her compassion glistened in her eyes as she gazed at his wounded, albeit handsome, visage.

At the same time, Burt felt an empathetic bond with Sam. Earlier, she had vaguely confided – implied more than stated – that her own marriage was troubled. Her husband was out of work, and she had alluded to growing misgivings about him and his recent behavior. She'd lamented that she thought she may have already lost him.

Burt thought about how her concerns were familiar and recognizable. "My dear hubby seems to be getting increasingly distant," she'd complained. "He never even asks, any more, how my day has been; in fact, he often seems resentful – of me – of my business – of my successful self-employment. He never shows even the slightest interest in my successes, or even the troubles of my business." She'd sighed and put her head in her hands, as if it were all too much. "The fact is," she concluded, "he seems bitter about my supporting him." Indeed, Sam admitted that she felt more than a little abandoned by her husband, who increasingly frequented the bar after a day, allegedly, at the employment office. Recently, he'd been staying out boozing most evenings. And only came home to hole-up in the den on the computer.

Burt felt a little guilty about the familiarity – the relationship – that was developing between him and his client, Sam. "After all," he thought, weighing the propriety, "Am I not as guilty as Cindy?" He was, he realized, accepting his unfounded assumption that she was guilty of something more than just flirting. "For aren't I, in fact, already cheating on her?" However, as Sam's vague, amorphous suspicions began to mirror his own, he didn't feel quite so bad. Commiseration was a balm – a little innocent, mutual comforting never went amiss. "We're just being good listeners," he was quick to rationalize, assuaging his niggling feelings of guilt. Notwithstanding, as they each felt a little lost and lonely, their conversations grew deeper, more intimate, more conspiratorial, until, one day, many coffees into their friendship, their hands touched as they reach for a piece of cake. Electricity sparked between them!

Then, one day in the following week, when Burt had, once again, conveniently timed Samantha's delivery / pick-up with his lunch break, Sam accidentally / on purpose answered the door in her robe – "Just out of the shower. Running a little late," she explained, sheepishly, as she invited him in.

"Was that sheepish, or coy?" Burt pondered in the instant she reached around to closed the door behind him. As he gazed over her, assessing – she looking wildly attractive with her tousled hair, and naturally glowing cheeks, Sam took his hand and stammered, "No, that's not true." She lowered her eyes and her voice before continuing. "I had intended to seduce you – but I've suddenly realized I don't know how." Looking pleadingly into his eyes – gone wide with this unexpected revelation – she gave his hand a meaningful squeeze.

Burt took her other hand and held it, drinking deeply from her eyes, the wells of her soul. "You don't need to worry about any old seduction," he whispered, "I was seduced weeks ago!" And with that, he pulled her in to kiss her fully and passionately on the lips.

Hanging on tightly, holding their shared lip-lock, Samantha backed down the hall, towing Burt into the downstairs bedroom – a guest room, of sorts – then pulling him on top of her as she flopped backwards onto the bed. She held him down, tightly against her chest, reluctant to let him go. Their mouths worked at each other, fencing and stabbing with their tongues. Then suddenly they were still.

Burt pushed back, tearing his mouth from Sam's, rearing up, locking eyes. And just as suddenly, they were both pulling wildly at his uniform – Sam concentrating on his top, Burt struggling with his bottoms – boots, pants, and briefs. After wrestling his shirt from his arms, Sam pulled her robe open and shrugged it off beneath her.

Again, they pulled tightly together – skin to skin, breast to breast – and took a moment to contemplate. Burt's erection quivered and bounced. He was harder than he could ever remember being! Rolling his hips, he pulled back, allowing his straining cockhead – vivid plum-coloured, and firmly flanged – to search Sam's gateway. Her hips were also rolling and flexing, trying to facilitate their juncture. Her labia were fully blossomed – puffy and pink, pulsing and slick. After long moments searching, the connection was finally made; as Burt drew his firmness down into the moist furrow of her hungry pussy.

Pushing steadily, with a gentle authority, he was amazed at how smoothly he glided in, but what amazed him more – them more – was the duration of the entrance. He felt that he kept pushing in more and more of himself, until, at last, their pubic hair entwined and he nudged against her cervix.

She almost swooned as his rigid maleness seated itself entirely within her slick sheath. Stopping, once more, they luxuriated in the sensations – she in a sense of complete fullness – he in an odd sense of fulfillment.

A tiny part of Sam's brain had remained conflicted, torn between the joy of feeling desired and the shame of infidelity, but, shoving those unwanted thoughts aside, she chided herself, "I'll deal with that all later."

Then the stillness was done! They went after each other with an unbridled urgency. Sam squealed as she rocked and lifted her hips, meeting Burt's pounding thrusts with wild abandon. The noisy creaking of the bed was almost drowned out by the sounds of slapping flesh, the ragged, gasping breaths, and the desperate mewling. Then, of course, there was the inevitable crescendo of Oh! Oh! Ohs! and Ah! Ah! Ahs! Unable to hold back, their first orgasms came quickly. Muscles locked, fusing them together, the heat of compression detonating deep within them a liquid oneness. Arcs of colour and energy flashed between them, running rampant along nerves they never knew they had. Gradually their gasping breath slowed to panting, and they collapsed, lying sweaty and entwined. Their initial hunger temporarily sated, they continued, luxuriating in the warmth they'd generated.

But Sam could feel that vitality had not yet deserted Burt's vanquishing sword. Much to their shared delight, it quivered once more and began stiffening within her velvet grasp. Practicing her Kagel exercises, Sam gave Burt's growing woodie a few encouraging squeezes. Gone was the urgency. They, now, began a gentle, passionate love. Enveloping her in his embrace Burt rolled onto his back, pulling her astride him, keeping their connection. Hands on his shoulders, she lifted her torso, settling her pussy fully onto his erection, then gazing into his eyes she began to rock her hips. On and off, shallow and deep, slowly, gently at first, then gradually accelerating. Burt's hands dropped from around Sam's neck to her breast, catching her nipples and hanging on – twisting and pinching – in an inexorable manipulation.

As her movements became increasingly wild, increasingly urgent, Sam closed her eyes and threw her head back, quietly wailing as another orgasm swept over her. Burt bucked his hips against her as she bounced, his own climax imminent, and as she began to come down off her peak, he slid his hands to either side of her chest and flung her over onto her back, pulling himself over and onto her. Hardly missing a beat, he resumed pounding himself into her until, unable to hold off any longer, he came. His twitching cock spewed volleys of cum, and the liquid heat of it, splashing against her cervix, ignited, in her, another wave of orgasmic pleasure.

In the afterglow, tears welled in Sam's eyes. Burt lifted off and gave her a questioning look. "It's been a very long time," Sam whispered, "since I've felt loved." Burt leant into her and licked the tears from her cheeks. Dropping to cover her once again, he observed, in a buzzing whisper in her ear, "It's a crime that someone hasn't made you feel cherished every single day of your life!"

Noticing the time, Burt frantically scrambled back into his uniform. "I want to be that person! But, right now, I need to motor!" He smiled lovingly and leaned down to give her a kiss. "See you in two days," he promised, as he hurried out the door. Sam lay glassy-eyed for a long time after; a puzzled smile playing across her lips. "Next time," she purred to herself, staring at the closed door, and inexplicably confident that that would be in two days' time, "I want to taste you." She blushed, embarrassed at herself. But, in her mind, she was already going down on him. "Oh, my!" she whispered.

Two days later Sam found herself pacing her workspace restlessly, wearing only her dressing gown and slippers, fresh showered and eagerly waiting for the clock to strike noon. She opened the door to greet Burt – her robe loosely tied, her hair tousled – before he had finished knocking. After impatiently signing for, and exchanging, parcels she took his hand and led him, wordlessly, but with meaning-laden glances, into spare bedroom – a room she was already thinking of as 'theirs'. Sam turned, and, surprising herself with her boldness, she reached for his zipper as she held his gaze. Still staring, mesmerized into her eyes, Burt peremptorily reached up and peeled open her robe, revealed her perfect tits. Cupping them in his hands, he leaned in and began to suck and nibble voraciously on her nipples.

Without releasing her buds, he sat her on bed beside him, and continued to munch and maul her boobs, inciting in her a burgeoning arousal. Burt subtly dropped one hand and walked his exploring fingers onto her exposed pussy. Twiddling, at first, her pubes among his fingers, he gently insinuated one then two fingers into her box, leaving his thumb to massage her clitoris. Sam was climbing precariously close to orgasm when she, abruptly, squirmed out from under his manipulations, and dropped to her knees next to him.

With a brief, knowing smile, she set to releasing his cock from his fly, and without further hesitation, when it bounced free, she plunged her mouth over it, pushing until her lips were ticked by his pubic hair. Sam was impressed with the 'blow-job' expertise Sam demonstrated. Very soon he found himself beyond the point of no return. "I'm gonna cum!" he warned in a growl. Sam surprised him by screwing her mouth onto him with an increased intensity, sucking in her cheeks and sealing her lips around his root. It was all too much. As his orgasm detonated, flashing light and sensation ricocheting around his head, he felt his cock twitch and jerk within the warm confines of her mouth, and spew what felt like gallons of semen down her gullet. Sam hardly sputtered, taking it all, and swallowing without losing a drop. In all his, albeit limited, experience he had never before experienced felatio taken to its full conclusion. "Oh, God, that was good!"

Sam smiled as she let go of his softening prick, allowing it to drop from her mouth, connected still by stringers of saliva and cum. Still muttering words of praise and astonishment, Burt lifted a pliant Sam onto the bed, then dropped to his knees, between hers. Sam laid back on the bed, letting her legs hang over the side, and Burt, swept her robe aside to expose her pussy – its lips glistening as they spread and opened. After a moment taken to fully appreciate the sight of her naked sex, Burt pushed his face into her moistened bush and stabbed his tongue into her opening. He found his rhythm quickly, stroking his tongue from her ass to her clit and back again, sometimes tickling her love bud, sometimes circling it. Holding her thighs at his cheeks, he could feel her arousal vibrating through her legs, through her pussy, and up her spine. He resisted the temptation to rush, allowing the full body shuddering to grow at its own pace, until her legs went stiff and squeezed at his ears. Thrusting her hips violently against his cheeks, mashing her pussy into his face, she twined her fingers into his hair and forced his head into her genital vee – a keening, carnal wail rising from deep in her chest.

As she slowly, reluctantly, descended from her peak, Sam observed, still breathless, "I have never, in my whole life, ever experienced such an intense orgasm." She let the silence cover them again, before whispering, "Thank you!"

Rising from his knees, Burt lay down beside her on the bed, and felt her hand fall, naturally, onto his semi-turgid dick. It slowly quivered again, and, at a leisurely pace, rose to full attention. Unhurriedly, Sam undressed Burt, and when he was as naked as she was, she rolled him onto her, and into her. They relished a slow, loving fuck, both attaining another orgasm, before Burt had to dress and leave. His lunch break had been eminently satisfying, if not particularly nourishing.

Due to Burt's schedule most of their liaisons were quickies; nonetheless, they made love whenever they could, and it was always sweet and poignant. They talked about arranging a weekend tryst, at a motel, maybe, in a neighbouring town, perhaps. It was just talk, so far, so they enjoyed what they had, whenever they could.

Sam loved Burt's young virility and sensitive touch; he loved her mature experience and nurturing nature. And although they had never really discussed the situation, they both felt that the love that was not being reciprocated by their respective spouses, was better directed at each other. So, for the time being, they would continue the affair, as it was.

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Six

Meanwhile, Samantha's husband, Derwin was at the bar, after another fruitless day of, allegedly, looking for work. More and more he felt a futility creeping into his hunt for a job; more and more he found himself drinking at some watering-hole instead of going home. And, more and more, he was, puzzlingly, resentful of being supported by Samantha's business. Although he knew it was unreasonable and irrational, he felt emasculated by Sam's modest success, which he has translated into his own failure. He felt threatened; his ego was being rubbed the wrong way – rubbed raw. He told himself he didn't want her pity or sympathy, or even her understanding, yet he felt neglected. So, he contrived to make himself unhappy, and consequently, became neglectful; hence, he had become disillusioned with marriage, and, for no logical reason, dissatisfied with Samantha.

A little while earlier, after a frustrating search on the 'net, Derwin discovered on-line erotica, and had begun to frequent the Literotica site. His current favorites were stories from the Becoming a Slut Wife series by Just Plain Bob. Try as he might, though, he couldn't picture Samantha in the role of slut.

He could, however, just imagine the woman who'd just allowed him to share her table – who glumly accepted another beer – in that role.

"Hey," Derwin asked lightly, his whole evening having just gotten a little brighter, "Why so glum?" The woman just shrugged and snorted. "You here alone?"

"Sorta." She shrugged again. "With some friends," she said, gesturing out into the crowd, "but they're all off dancing." She paused before adding, "or screwing!"

"And your boyfriend's letting you down?"

"More like hubby not doing his duty." Pam Girrard had had just enough to drink to let her get started. She complained that she was tired of her husband Bobby's erratic shifts and irregular hours. "Got tired of staying at home watching the tube alone." So, she'd finally gone to bar – in a different part of town – with girlfriends; although her girlfriends had quickly gotten distracted by guys and left her alone. Derwin could be, if nothing else, a good listener, and he nodded and responded sympathetically, as she revealed her inner angst.

She was sad and feeling sorry for herself. It became obvious that she was getting a little bit beyond tipsy, and, with only somewhat contrived sincerity, Derwin offered an understanding ear.

Eventually, Derwin introduced himself. With facetious formality, Pam offerd her hand. "Pam," she said, with a firm shake, "Pam Girrard." Hanging onto his hand for a moment, her smile fading, she added, "Sorry I'm such a bore – just, sometimes you need to vent!"

"S'alright." Derwin smiled benignly, thinking to himself that she was certainly easy to look at. Then he just let her go on, and after a bit more unloading, just as she was at risk of getting maudlin, she morosely confided that she thought her husband was screwing around on her. "You know, he stays out late – unreasonably long hours – says he's working." She had a puzzled, desperate look, as she raised her eyes to meet Derwin's. "I mean, just how many overtime shifts can he work?"

Derwin reached across the table and took her hand in both of his, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. Heaving an empathetic sigh, he spoke, sage-like, imparting his wisdom – some bullshit he'd read once somewhere. But he made it sound good. "It is an oft-proven truth that it is better to get even than get mad."

Pam replied dolefully, "Yeah, I s'pose so."

"I can help you with that!" Derwin offered, surprising himself with his sudden decisiveness – striking while the iron is hot! Without another word, he stood, took her hand, and gently led her out of the bar and into the lobby. It was a rather tatty hotel – rooms available by the hour. Pam was more tiddly than she'd thought, so, when he'd put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, she'd snuggled into his shoulder and closed her eyes. Derwin registered – quickly – before she could change her mind – as Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

He was amazed at how easy it was – how smoothly it went – just like he'd done it before. And while he was filling in the registration, and paying, he marveled that he'd only actually been unfaithful to his wife once, maybe twice before. The first time he remembered leaving the bar with some faceless chick, and wrestling in the back seat of a car – his? Hers? Then he remembered straightening his clothes and leaving, but what actually happened was a bit fuzzy.