Original TWENTY YEARS OF INFIDELITY... Chapter One (3 Viewers)

[campusvamp]

...out of nowhere Jason leaned over quickly and kissed me. If pressing his lips to mine for barely a second counted as a kiss. Jason pulled away slightly, waiting for my reaction. My mind went blank. I froze in place. Jason took my immobility as a green light and leaned in for a longer kiss. It sounds cliche but my surprise was complete and the rational side of my brain simply shut down. When I didn't pull away, he moved to press his lips harder to mine. When my lips softened, his hand went to my waist and pulled my body closer.

Even though I was only five years older than my teenage stepson, I was the adult in the room. I knew this was wrong. I should have pushed Jason away. Told him that we would just pretend nothing had happened. Promised him that I would never tell his dad. I should have done sooo many things except what I did. Instead of all the responsible things I should have done I relaxed against Jason's hard chest. I let the hand on my waist pull me tighter against his young body. My mouth softened more. My lips parted and I began returning his kiss...

Chapter One...

Some years ago, I was in a marriage. Nothing strange or unusual about that. Later I found out that my marriage was based not on love or even desire, but only on business considerations. Let me explain...

A couple of weeks after graduating from high school, I had an interview scheduled with Mr. Carter, in the HR department of a major international corporation for a receptionist position. I'd sit at a small kiosk facing the elevators on our floor of the corporate high rise. I'd answer phones, direct calls and visitors to their intended destinations all while dressing well, being polite and 'pleasant' -i.e. pretty.

When I mentioned this to my aunt, she nodded knowingly and gave me direct and honest advice.

"Vi (short for Violet) you have brains. But this job... Hell, a chimp could be trained to do it. So don't go in and try to impress that Mr. Carter with brains. God gave you more than just brains," Aunt Millie said with a meaningfully, long survey of my body. "A lot more. Use everything to get the job."

Blond and taller than every girl in high school, I've been called pretty since the boys I ran with as a child began to care less about my tree climbing ability and more in what was developing under my t-shirts. I understood what Aunt Millie was saying without words. Slender with long legs, a tight ass and big boobs, I wore a tight, short skirt and a blouse with maybe one unbuttoned button too many to my interview. My D-Cups are larger than average but not HUGE. But there are ways to enhance what nature has endowed a woman with.

Under my blouse I was wearing a push-up, demi cut bra. Strategically placed push-up pads sewn into the bottom of the bra and gel pads tucked out of sight on the sides of my tits did wonders to enhance my D-Cup boobs. Pushed up and together, my D-Cup tits magically became Double-Ds. That morning as I readied my tits for battle in front of my mirror, even I had to admire my cleavage.

When I leaned over his desk to hand Mr. Carter my resumé, I remained bent over long enough to let him have a good down-the-blouse interview with my tits... Large boobs versus a thin work resumé? I knew I had the job barely two questions into my interview.

I didn't care that my position as receptionist was barely three levels above that of an un-paid intern. I had an easy job with excellent benefits and earned a decent wage. I was young, living solo in a tiny, crappy apartment over a kosher butcher shop. I was free from parental oversight for the first time in my life. I dated frequently and screwed often. I was on top of the world!

Anyway, fast-forward about two years and a man was laterally transferred onto our floor from another division. He was supposedly on the fast-track to upper management. Someone had decided that experience in a different sector of the corporation would make his resumé look better. Early forties, Harvard educated, divorced, good looking and loaded with money, Hamilton was basically that older lawyer from the series Suits.

Gossip spreads faster than light in a vacuum. At his former position Hamilton had a reputation among the secretaries as a guy who tested the upward mobility of many of the female employee's skirts. He also had the reputation of stopping at playful banter and never holding a grudge if the skirts refused to rise. Hamilton was categorized as a good-natured horndog and not a chauvinistic cur when females gathered around the coffee pot.

It was inevitable that he would test my skirts soon after occupying his new office. See, it wasn't just the 'pretty' part of my job interview that I aced. I knew men and how to play their game but with my rules. With a dazzling smile I could turn on at the drop of a hat, I could disarm even the most disgruntled corporate drudge with a Napoleonic Complex who believed he'd been kept waiting too long for an appointment. So at first, I didn't give my skirt much upward mobility when Hamilton turned his attention towards me. But I also gave signals that my skirt wasn't stapled to my knees.

For two weeks I kept our back-and-forth banter mixed with innuendoes and invitations interesting before agreeing to go out. Our Friday night date was fun. Hamilton was interesting and charming. After two weeks of stringing him along, cocktails at the bar before dinner and wine during dinner helped me decide there'd been enough verbal foreplay and... Well, let me just say that a suite at a Five-Star hotel with hot and cold running room service isn't the worst place to have a long weekend fuck-fest.

For an old guy in his forties Hamilton's energy and stamina was incredible! The bed, the floor, against a wall: different positions. That Monday I sat behind my kiosk on a very used, abused and sore pussy: with a broad smile on my face.

Over the next several weeks we didn't date, we fucked. Quicky fucks at a nearby hotel during lunch hours. After work we'd often rendezvous in the same room on the same bed where we'd fucked during lunch. There were partial and full weekends where the sex was unhurried and very satisfying. On a night when Hamilton had to work late on some final nit-picking clauses in a contract, I returned to the empty office. Instead of a 'nooner', we had a 'midnighter' after I pushed the contract aside, sat on the edge of his desk and spread my legs to show that I wasn't wearing panties under my skirt.

Hamilton never asked to visit my tiny apartment, we never went to his house because of his teenage son. We always went to very posh hotels. Hamilton had loads more money than anyone I'd dated before. I won't insult anyone's intelligence by denying I was enjoying being wined and dined like never before. I was having great sex. I was having fun!

I wasn't an idiot. I fully expected Hamilton to break up with me at some point and move on to pursue other skirts. On my part it would be, 'Thanks for the memories and no hard feelings', when that happened.

One evening after three months of having fun, when Hamilton took me to a very exclusive restaurant, I assumed he was going to break off our long sexual marathon. I was ready to be understanding. I wasn't ready to be astonished when, while waiting for dessert, out-of-the-blue he asked me to marry him! I could only stare at him in astonishment over the table as he extended a five-carat diamond ring to me.

"You're kidding, right," was my first reaction. "Are you drunk?"

"Not even a little," Hamilton answered, still holding out the ring to me. "I'm not the kind of guy who hesitates. We are perfect for one another. You'll have to sign a pre-nup but I guarantee it will be generous."

Hamilton put the ring box down on the tablecloth and put three envelopes next to it. He'd come prepared. He'd actually brought three copies of the same pre-nup. One copy for me, one for Hamilton and one for his lawyer. I read all three copies carefully.

I won't deny it. The money listed in the pre-nup was the deciding factor. Like I mentioned, Hamilton had money. Loads of money. He'd inherited old-family money. A he-never-had-to-work amount of money. But he did work. He'd risen up the corporate ladder to a position where he made boat loads of more money. Even a not so generous pre-nup would be more money than I ever thought to have.

But true to his word the pre-nup I read carefully was very generous with only a few stipulations. If Hamilton filed for divorce and I'd been faithful, I'd receive the full amount of the pre-nup. If I filed for divorce for any reason within the first five years, I'd receive a much, much smaller settlement. If I had an affair at any time while married, I'd receive nothing.

"I caught my ex-wife having an affair. I never want to go through that again," Hamilton explained.

Basically? If I stay married and faithful for five years I could file for divorce and receive the full amount listed in the pre-nup. I'd be twenty-five and financially set for life if I invested well. Not yacht and private plane 'set' but not far off either.

I thought Hamilton was crazy and I told him so again. He just shrugged. I quickly weighed the pros-and-cons. He was a nice guy. He was pleasant company. He was a good fuck. He was offering me a shit-ton of money for limiting my pussy to only him for five years... I sure as fuck wasn't going to turn down life altering amounts of money when it was offered! Hell yea, I said YES.

I quit my job at Hamilton's insistence and that weekend we flew to Las Vegas and got married. We had a three-day honeymoon. Back in the city, for the first time I went to Hamilton's house and met my new stepson, Jason.

The house turned out to be a huge estate. There was a large pool and patio in the back. Inside the house every type of room was represented. A laundry room... A huge kitchen... A study for my new husband... A large living room for company... A den/entertainment room for family... Even a library. It was also very apparent that it was a house where two males lived. Not a single feminine touch.

Jason was sixteen and was a younger version of my husband. His muscles were still catching up to his frame after his last growth spurt. At a respectful 5'11", he was at that awkward stage where his boy-body was still morphing into a man-body. You could already tell that Jason would have the mature good looks of his dad.

Later, my husband turned out to be many things but stingy with money was never one of those. I hadn't needed a car while living in the city. I was now in a gated suburb and Hamilton bought me a BMW.

I mentioned that I'd like to add some touches to my new house to make it more like a home and less like a hotel. Hamilton handed me a credit card and told me to knock myself out.

"Make it nice but not gaudy. Someplace where guests will feel comfortable. I've never hosted a party for my co-workers. I think we should." Translation: Make it a place where we can shmooze my bosses.

When I said I needed clothes for a party we'd been invited to, Hamilton handed me another credit card without hesitation and told me to look pretty. Dresses for various occasions... Gowns for formal occasions... Heels to match the clothes... Sensible jewelry that I didn't splurge on still still added zeros to the totals... Hamilton didn't even blink at the amount.

"I just want you to look pretty."

We attended opera with co-workers. There were garden parties at partner estates. Pool parties and yacht parties... In addition to all the other occasions to gather, there was always another company party to celebrate promotions and retirements. And Hamilton wanted me to never wear the same outfit or dress twice.

I do love shopping and since Hamilton wanted me to never wear the same outfit twice, I went shopping almost every week. Hamilton shook his head at the first outfit I picked out. It was a simple sweater and, 'Next time pick something that shows some cleavage. That shows off your figure and some tit.' I guessed I couldn't be good arm candy unless I showed off my thin waist and D-Cups. Anything that showed lots of cleavage for his bosses to salivate over was fine with Hamilton.

Between showing off my assets to Hamilton's co-workers and bosses, I became responsible for handling the monthly bills. Hamilton made arrangements that ten-thousand dollars a month was deposited into my checking account. Sure, I had to pay for pool upkeep, yard service and the utilities of a large house but really? Ten thousand! A month! I always had several thousand dollars left over that Hamilton never asked about.

Sorry about going on-and-on about money but I was raised in a lower middle-class household. I'd graduated to a small apartment and now I was living in a huge estate. I felt like Ellie May from The Beverly Hillbillies.

My first couple of weeks were occupied with moving in and adjusting to my new life. The next several months was pre-occupied by redecorating the house into a more welcoming home. At first, I thought Jason might give me trouble. After all I was barely five years older than him and someone he'd never met. Now I was in his home as his new stepmother. I wouldn't have blamed him if he saw me as an invader. Instead, he was perfectly nice. Helping me paint walls something other than the generic white that was on every wall. Jason went with me to pick out new furniture. I let him have the final say in picking out the new furniture for our den/family room. Everything seemed perfect. At least for the first nine or ten months.

Because I was busy getting adjusted to my new living conditions and redecorating, it took me awhile to realize just how much relations with my husband had begun to deteriorate. Hamilton was still a great guy and really nice but... Yea, but... But sex with my husband had steadily decreased from three or four times a week to once or twice. Then to once a week. Then to a quicky on Saturday mornings before Hamilton left for golf at the club. The month we celebrated our One-Year Anniversary there'd been nothing...

I'm a healthy young woman who likes, loves, sex. Just as important as the missing sex was the missing passion when we did have sex. Hamilton seemed to act as if fucking me was just something to do and to do quickly. Oral sex became non-existent. Doggy position stopped. Sex became straight missionary while... Honestly, it felt like my husband was just using me as a masturbatory toy. He became completely uncaring for my satisfaction.

At least the sex was easy. All I had to do was lie on my back, spread my legs and fake noises as if I was enjoying every thrust. Hamilton could have fucked me in my sleep for all the sexual satisfaction I received. After he would come in me, I'd do a quick cleanup in the bathroom before going to make breakfast while he showered before leaving for his golf date.

What the fuck was going on? Hamilton began having to work late more-and-more often. Thinking Hamilton might be having trouble at work I finally called a friend I'd made at work and asked. He didn't, but...

"Look, he's been screwing every female he can convince to drop her panties. Lately he's been disappearing from work with a new hire like he did with you."

I didn't like the news but I did appreciate my friend's honesty. All became clear. That explained all the evenings he was 'working late'. It also explained the 'why' he wasn't having sex with me while we should still be in the honeymoon stage of sex, sex and more sex. He was wearing out his cock in another woman's pussy. Everything became even clearer as I talked more with my brutally honest friend who'd known Hamilton for years.

"Honestly, Vi. I have no idea why he married you. He always dropped out of a relationship within a couple of months before moving on to chase after a new skirt."

Damn, now I really began to understand. My husband had a 'kink'. I'd even read about this in a book which explained BDSM and other lesser-known kinks like toe sucking and foot worship. Hamilton's kink was to need the excitement of 'the chase' to get his motor running. I'd been chased and for some reason he'd married me. He no longer had to chase me. My pussy was safe at home. I no longer gave Hamilton the excitement he wanted. No chase required, therefore no excitement. No passion. Dammit! Why the fuck couldn't my husband have a normal perversion? Something like toe-sucking. I'd let him suck my toes for days if he wanted.

So now I understood Hamilton's disinterest in fucking me. For Hamilton, familiarity bred boredom. Just because I understood it didn't mean I accepted it. I tried many ways to keep our sex life spicy. Sexy lingerie? That's nice... Moving under the bed covers to wake him up by sucking his cock? Sorry, I've got early meetings I just have to get to. Maybe tomorrow night? Anal sex... Bondage... Mock rape... I offered everything except inviting his current girlfriend to join us. Nothing worked! I finally gave up trying. For my satisfaction I turned to buying vibrators in various sizes.

I still couldn't figure out the 'why he married me' though. Why the hell had Hamilton asked me to marry him? That, I would discover later...

I gave serious thought to my situation. I didn't love Hamilton with the overwhelming, 'If I can't have him, no one can!' kind of passion. I could live with Hamilton having affairs as long as he didn't bring home a STD. Why? Honestly? I'd grown accustomed to my lifestyle and didn't want to lose it. I lived in a large, beautiful house. I had a new car every year. I went shopping almost every week for new clothes because Hamilton didn't want me to wear the same clothes to the next party or event. So I decided, 'Screw it!' I had less than four more years before I could file for divorce and get what I began to consider as my severance pension. As if I was retiring from a job. Which is what my marriage had become.

Plus, I'd already invested over a year of my life into this charade. 'Surely I can live with anything for another four years,' I thought. I was wrong...

It was a week before my second wedding anniversary when, while I was changing the sheets on Jason's bed, I discovered a nudie magazine under the mattress. I thought nothing about it. What straight teenage boy doesn't jerk off to fantasies inspired by pictures of beautiful women?

I sat on the bed and began leafing through the pages. I could admire beautiful women, too. It was while I was looking at the fold-out centerfold that Jason walked in, sweaty and still out of breath in a t-shirt and athletic shorts. Jogging around the neighborhood had become a regular thing since he'd joined his school's track team. I hadn't heard him arrive back home. I didn't know who was more embarrassed. Me caught looking through a nudie magazine or Jason caught having a nudie magazine.

I got over my embarrassment first and patted the bed and told Jason to sit. I shifted to put more distance between us.

"Look," I said reasonably. "We can't get any more embarrassed than we already are, so if you have any questions about sex, just ask me. Believe me, I was just as confused about sex when I was about your age. I promise I'll answer everything honestly and without judgement."

I never in my life believed that I'd be the one explaining the finer points of sex to a boy almost my age, but I tried my best. I should explain that this was in the early, early 2000s before the internet with porn channels became readily available. Back then boys and girls were left with magazines like the one I was holding, DVDs from Blockbuster, stories from more experienced friends and 'the talk' by responsible parents.

The next few minutes proved that Hamilton hadn't done his duty by having 'the talk' with his son. I skipped the 'birds-and-the-bees' and instead went straight to the IKEA way. You know, 'Peg A fits into Slot B this way and then...' I tried my best to answer each bashful question and gradually we got more open with each other. And, boy-oh-boy did Jason have questions. Sex... Oral sex... Different positions... How to check if a girl is wet and ready... The importance of taking your time at first and don't just ram it home...What excited a woman...

To wrap things up I said that I would respect the privacy of his room from now on, but it would be his responsibility to clean his room, bring his dirty laundry to the hamper in the laundry room and make up his own bed after today. I even promised to buy condoms for him if he promised to use them when the opportunity presented itself. We both laughed when I told him I was way too young to be a grandmother. I wrapped up my Sex 101 tutorial by folding out the centerfold to show Jason...

"...And don't expect all women to look as perfect as these airbrushed models," I said as I held up the picture.

"Oh, I don't know," Jason said hesitantly. "You're not airbrushed and you're pretty perfect."

The next couple of minutes changed both our lives significantly. I sat motionless, blushing at the unexpected compliment. I'd just opened my mouth to stammer out a thank you when out of nowhere Jason leaned over quickly and kissed me. If pressing his lips to mine for barely a second counted as a kiss. Jason pulled away slightly, waiting for my reaction. My mind went blank. I froze in place. Jason took my immobility as a green light and leaned in for a longer kiss. It sounds cliche but my surprise was complete. The rational side of my brain simply shut down. When I didn't pull away, he moved to press his lips harder to mine. When my lips softened, his hand went around my waist and pulled my body closer.

Even though I was only five years older than my teenage stepson, I was the adult in the room. I should have pushed Jason away. Told him that we would just pretend nothing had happened. Promised him that I would never tell his dad. I should have done sooo many things except what I did. Instead of all the responsible things I should have done I relaxed against Jason's hard chest. I let the hand on my waist pull me tighter against his young body. My mouth softened more. My lips parted and I began returning his kiss.