We made love again the next morning and it was good. So good in fact, we decided to tell our respective spouses we had to stay over another night. The decision was easy; the reality hard. By contacting my ‘other world’, I was reminded that soon I would have to face it. I already knew that was gonna hurt. To make it easier on myself, I sent Dave a text at a time I knew he couldn’t answer the phone. I then turned my cell off so if he responded it wouldn’t interrupt John’s and my session that afternoon. I would tell Dave I’d turned it off for a meeting and forgotten to turn it on again.
We finished client calls about 1:00p.m., then collected some food from a deli and went to one of the local reserves for a picnic. We ate, we walked, and we held hands; pretending to be young lovers on a first date again. Finding a copse of trees, we made out like teenagers, before making love among the pine needles. It was wonderful. After showering and getting changed, we went down for a romantic dinner. Then we made love again.
It was about midnight, I suppose, when I got off the bed I was sharing with a snoring John. Cum was leaking out of me and I needed a towel. Modern hotel rooms don’t always have clocks, this one certainly didn’t, so I turned my phone on to check the time. I was about to turn it off again, when a message came through. I debated leaving it till the morning. I really wished I had. It was Dave’s response to my news of the delayed return. “Too bad. Going out for my birthday with friends. Ring me any time after 6. Dave.” The guilt hit me like a sledgehammer. Not only had I been unfaithful, but I’d been so distracted with my plotting and scheming, that I’d forgotten Dave’s big day. I wrote him a long text, apologising profusely but didn’t send it. I didn’t want uncomfortable questions on why I’d been up so late. I ended up in the shower, scrubbing and scouring, before returning to bed and sobbing for the rest of the night. John didn’t stir once.
I was a real mess in the morning and angrily turned John down for what he proposed. The pendulum had swung again and all the pleasure was forgotten while guilt reigned supreme. We didn’t talk on the trip home. I thought I’d be able to sleep, but worry robbed me of that. I did, however, lie back with my eyes closed to avoid the inevitable conversation with John. Internally and externally, I knew I was a mess. I could only hope Dave wouldn’t be at home when I arrived.
No such luck. Dave met me at the door. It was Saturday, after all. I was so terrified, I almost fainted when I saw him. I just knew he’d see what I’d done instantly. The darling man thought I was sick. Well, I knew I looked it. He hustled me to bed, where I stayed all weekend, pretending to sleep. My husband even made me chicken soup Saturday night and breakfast Sunday. When he came up to clear away the plates, I pretended to be asleep again. Dave whispered to me he was going out. He thought I was asleep so he didn’t say where or when he’d be back.
I’m ashamed to say it now, but am forcing myself to be brutally honest, but sometime that day, alone in bed, an evil thought invaded my mind. I knew, deep down, I felt proud of myself for concealing my guilt but that wasn’t the evil part. That was the moistening between my legs when I thought of coming back from three nights with my lover and having my husband serve me. I’d read cuckolding stories before and never seen the point. Now, parts of my anatomy did. Before I realised it, I was masturbating, and, let’s just say, I didn’t hate it.