Adultery "Doing" Mrs. Pierce

She rubbed the back of my neck and tousled my hair for several minutes after I collapsed on top of her. When she finally extricated herself, she pulled her panties up and smoothed her skirt down her legs.

"Bring my drink upstairs before you go," she said.

As I watched Mrs. Pierce walk to the house, I realized hadn't even taken the time to undo her blouse. I hadn't seen her tits and the way she carried herself away from me, I felt I never would.
​

******​

I knocked tentatively on the bedroom door.

"Come in. You don't need to knock for God's sake."

I pushed the door open and carried the glass and pitcher of gin and tonic into Mrs. Pierce's room. She was standing in front of her dresser, fixing her make-up. She pointed to the bedside table on the far side of the bed from her. I put the glass down and refilled the glass.

"Would you like a drink before you go?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Well, then drink."

I lifted the glass to my lips and tipped it up enough for a small trickle to stream into my mouth. Mrs. Pierce's hands reached to the side of her hip and the pleated skirt slipped down her legs. Her hands were already unbuttoning the blouse when the glass pulled away from my lips. Mrs. Pierce smiled.

"Drink all of it," she said.

I drank the gin while Mrs. Pierce unbuttoned the rest of her blouse and shucked it off. She was wearing a lacy, black bra that covered her nipples but allowed the skin of her breasts to show through. The matching panties had magically disappeared. Her pussy looked well-exercised from our recent exertions. The bra came off and Mrs. Pierce's tits bounced free, a little low slung but not too much. They were a nice size for such an athletic woman and jutted off her chest, angled slightly to the side with nipples that stabbed upwards.

"You forgot to look at these in your haste. Do they meet your approval?" she smiled.

I nodded intensely.

"Well, then," she laughed. "Drink up."

Mrs. Pierce crawled onto the bed and lay prone on her back. She curled her left arm under her head and fluffed her red hair onto the pillow with her right. She seemed amused.

"Well, I know you can fuck. Let's see if you know how to make love."

The rapidity with which I shed my clothes intensified the amused expression on Mrs. Pierce's face. As she watched me, she opened her legs and beckoned me with a cock-stiffening come-on look but when I climbed onto the bed her legs clothes and she turned on her side to face me.

"Slow down, baby," she said in a throaty voice.

When I tried to pull her toward me she resisted, pushing on my chest. I lowered my face and tried to lift her tit to my mouth but she swept me my hand away and pulled back. I looked at her, perplexed, but she only smiled back at me. I tried to capture her nipple in my mouth but was again pushed away. She appeared quite amused now but I was getting frustrated. When she pouted her lips in an exaggerated fashion, I got the idea. Of course, she wanted to make love, and that meant kissing. Well, I could do that for a few minutes.

I kissed her, and kept kissing her for what seemed an eternity. I tried to fondle her breasts but was denied. When I tried to palm her pussy, my hand was pushed away. Grasping her leg behind the knee and lifting it over my hip so I could rub my cock on her pussy was a no-no too. Resigned, I stopped trying and continued kissing her.

Later, much later, Mrs. Pierce grasped a handful of my hair and pulled my head away from her face. She whispered, "Kiss me everywhere."

Finally! I trailed kisses down her cheek to her neck, then quickly made a beeline for her tits. Shit! She pushed my face away again.

"Not there. Not yet," she whispered hoarsely. "Kiss me everywhere but there and here," she grabbed my hand and briefly covered her pussy with it, then flung it away. "I'll let you know when I want you there."

So I did what she said. I kissed and sucked and nibbled Mrs. Pierce's entire body: shoulders, neck, arms, underarms, sides, legs, feet, toes, and yes, even her ass. In fact, eventually I even tried to beat her at her own game. At first, whenever I came near her tits or pussy I kept approaching until her body signaled me away but now I refrained from getting as close as she had allowed me to before. It pleased me to detect a faint disappointment in the soft murmurs emitted in response to my caresses and I felt a transfer of power, from one being denied to one deciding when to give. I began to enjoy this 'love-making' thing.

I loved the way Mrs. Pierce's body reacted to my touch. The way she shuddered when my tongue trailed alongside her pussy but not on it, indicating the sheer need underlying her anticipation brought rings of teasing tingles up and down my cock, culminating in a shower of needle-pricking delight that covered my entire helmet. My own anticipation was almost overwhelming and I nearly came when I finally decided that enough was enough and rolled Mrs. Pierce onto her back.

She raised her legs and opened them wide as I nestled between them, cocking her hips up to ease my entry, but I paused to suck her nipple into my mouth at the exact instant that I slipped inside her. I didn't ram my cock home as it and her pussy urged me to do. Instead, I slid my shaft inside Mrs. Pierce's love tunnel as slowly as I could, even pulling up when she tried to impale her slippery cunt on my cock. I let her nipple slide from my lips and brought my mouth to her ear, chuckling in triumph at her need, now even greater than mine if only marginally so.

"Make love to me, Paul," she gasped.

"I will," I groaned in response.

We moved slowly, straining constantly, writhing together, striving to keep as much skin contact as possible. Mrs. Pierce had lowered her legs soon after my entry and we were now aligned, my feet on hers, my legs pressing her thighs, our torsos twisting together and my arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her head, kissing her feverishly.

I loved the feel of her, inside and out, loved her intensity, her sounds, her smell. I simply loved, and tried with every motion and sound to convey my feeling. When it came, it was the longest orgasm I ever experienced. It sounds funny, but it lasted well beyond the point where my cock stop spurting inside her womb, even after it had no more to even seep inside her. When it was finally over, I rolled off her onto my back. We both sighed loudly, gasping for the breath we so desperately needed, more from the intensity of our acts than the exertion of it all.

"Wow," I gasped.

"Wow," she echoed my sentiment.

Mrs. Pierce rolled on top of me and kissed me quickly on the mouth.

"Which did you like better, the lounge or the bed. Tell me the truth."

"Um... the lounge."

She shrieked like a girl. "Oh, you brat," she cried, pummeling my the chest.

We stayed in bed for almost an hour after before getting a shower. Though I started to get hard watching her dress, I didn't try to start anything because anything that day would have been anticlimactic. We kissed tenderly before exiting the bedroom and Mrs. Pierce walked me to the patio door, her arm around my waist and mine around her shoulder, where we kissed and made plans to meet again.
​

******​

Mrs. Pierce's injury healed by Christmas in time for her to take charge of spring training and both teams won again. Coach was ecstatic with the 'exceptional service' Mrs. Pierce told him I had provided. I was in his good books.

The following fall I moved to attend college where I maintained a small, crappy apartment that I stayed in when my mother came to visit me. The rest of the year, I lived with Mrs. Pierce who had followed me to take a new job after she left her husband, as we had planned that summer. The second year, I didn't bother with the apartment, and by the next summer, Mrs. Pierce and I married, secretly, without my parents knowing. We moved to the opposite coast after I finished college. I didn't mind signing a prenuptial agreement. After all, I had nothing. Mrs. Pierce evidently had a fair amount of money from an inheritance. She didn't need to work. We were quite happy and lived to be together.

Sex was mostly making love but on special occasions, Mrs. Pierce allowed me anything I wanted. On my birthday, she let me take her mouth and even tied her own hands behind her back to prevent them from interfering with my control of her face. I wished I could do her like that more often but it was all the more enjoyable knowing the act was special. She even adopted a haughty expression, knowing it would please me even more to splash my spend all over it. As long as pain and debasement weren't involved, Mrs. Pierce was game, for that day, New Year's Day, and one day a year that always came to me as a complete surprise.

The rest of the year, we make love the way Mrs. Pierce wanted to. Oh yeah, and that was a real quirk of hers too. I had to call her Mrs. Pierce. I never used or even knew her first name. On those special days, when I fucked her hard, squatting over her haunches and literally plunging my cock into her cunt, she would laugh at me, crying, "Don't you just love fucking Mrs. Pierce?"

Yes, I did. Indeed, I did.

There was one thing Mrs. Pierce would simply not do. Anal sex. It was four years before I even tried. It was an emphatic NO! Not then, not ever. I didn't broach the subject again.

Our sex had perhaps peeked by the sixth year but it was still pretty good, at least from my perspective. I was twenty-five years old and she had to be about forty-five, though I never knew her exact age. That's why it came as a complete surprise to me when I arrived home to find Mrs. Pierce waiting for me in the front hallway with the door open, coat on, purse slung over her shoulder.

"I'm leaving, Paul. I wanted to tell you in person, rather than in a note, how wonderful it's been and that, in my own way, I'll always love you... but now our time is over."

With that, she stepped close to me and stretched up to kiss me quickly on my stunned lips, then slipped around me and walked briskly out the door and down the cement stairs to the taxi I hadn't noticed waiting outside with the motor running. I guess her bags were already in the trunk because she wasn't carrying any luggage with her, nor did she come back for any. She was in the car by the time I ran down the stairs and it whisked away before I could reach it to pull the door open. I never saw her again. Everything was handled through a lawyer. She had left me a small sum to get through the year even if I quit my job.

To say I was bewildered would be an enormous understatement. I mean, wouldn't you be? I moped around feeling sorry for myself for almost a year, running through all the stages of catastrophic loss. I searched my mind for every memory, every scrap of sensation, the way she moved, laughed, and smelled. I dredged my cortex for missed indications of what was to come but could find no such previews. For hours each day I brooded, sitting in the over-stuffed chair in front of the fireplace or languishing in bed, eyes closed, dreaming, trying to recapture the fading sense of her skin which was always so amazingly soft and warm. The memory of her standing in front of the tall, old-fashioned bedroom window, the morning light streaming past her nude body, one hand combing out her red hair, turning toward with a seductive smile and saying, 'Let's stay home and make love all day?' Funny, but now that I thought about it, with all that intense focus on making love, Mrs. Pierce never told me she loved me, not even once, despite the thousands of times she heard it from me.

I was in the midst of deep depression one miserable fall day when I answered a persistent knock at the door. Whoever it was ignored my repeated calls to 'go away'. A man in a uniform stood on the doorstep holding an envelope. It wasn't a summons or anything ominous; it was too square-like for that. It looked more like an invitation and it was, an invitation to a funeral for one of Mrs. Pierce's friends. After the man returned to the black limo waiting at the curb, I shut the door and threw it into the fireplace but changed my mind and barely managed to retrieve it before it burst into flames.

Would she be there? The funeral was for the only close friend of hers that I knew of, the only one that had known her before we moved here, and who had evidently known her before she came to teach at my school. I had to go.
​

******​

The funeral was very formal, kind of like large funerals I had seen in movies. Mr. Pearson was evidently a wealthy man. Mrs. Pierce wasn't there and I didn't recognize anyone else. I tagged along to the gathering held afterwards at his home mostly out of curiosity. I would have liked to talk to his widow to see if she knew Mrs. Pierce but I knew it wasn't appropriate. I was surprised by Mrs. Pearson. I had only seen Mr. Pearson once a few years before and he had been about fifty then. Mrs. Pearson appeared to be about thirty-five at most. Even in her long, black funeral dress it was apparent she had a lovely figure, enough of one anyway to cause a reaction in me for which I immediately berated myself. When she lifted her veil briefly after the ceremony, I was struck by her beauty, a younger, brunette version of Mrs. Pierce.

I was standing at the edge of one of the large rooms in the house, mansion really, near the doorway when Mrs. Pearson entered from the far end. She greeted several people as she passed through the room, exchanging a few solemn words with each. As she approached, I backed into the hallway so as not to impede her exit. She walked past me with her head down, then turned after a few steps just as she was about to go up the stairs.

"It's Paul, isn't it?" she said through the veil.

"Why, yes," I stammered, surprised that she knew me.

"Thank you for coming. I didn't know you knew Peter... Mr. Pearson," she added in response to my confused expression. "Actually, I'm surprised Carol introduced you."

"I only met him briefly, by accident. I don't think we were meant to be introduced," I said.

Mrs. Pearson nodded, then turned to continue up the stairs.

"Did you say Carol?" I asked.

Mrs. Pearson turned back to me. "Yes. You were living together, weren't you?"

"Of course," I said. "Forgive me. I thought you meant someone else."

Mrs. Pearson regarded me carefully, one hand on the banister. It was impossible to imagine what she was thinking since her face was still hidden by the black veil.

"Would you join me for a few minutes? Upstairs?"

She turned and ascended the stairs without waiting for my answer. I followed, admonishing myself again as my eyes found her shapely bottom which simply couldn't be ignored as it swished from side to side, its contours revealing themselves with each step. Well, now I would have the opportunity to ask about Mrs. Pierce's whereabouts. Or Carol, if that really was her first name. Almost seven years we lived together and I didn't even know her name until today. Mrs. Pearson led me into a large room that turned out to be her bedroom which was surprising, given its size. She walked to a large dresser and removed her veil and headdress, then shook her head, freeing a thick, luxuriant mass of chocolate brown hair until it spilled evenly over her shoulders. She was truly beautiful.

"So, you didn't really know my husband, then, even though you lived with his sister for seven years?"

His sister! Mr. Pearson was Mrs. Pierce's sister? I was speechless.

Mrs. Pearson chuckled. "I see you didn't know she had a brother. Their penchant for secrecy was a tad overboard."

"I didn't even know her name was Carol," I mumbled, distracted, still struggling to get my mind around what I'd just heard.

"What did you call her?" Mrs. Pearson asked, pulling her long dress up to her knee and leaning over to one side to remove a high heel. Her hair tumbled into the air as her face leaned to the side, making her beauty even more apparent.

"I called her Mrs. Pierce," I said.

"Mrs. Pierce," Mrs. Pearson laughed out loud, leaning the other way to remove the other shoe. She stepped toward me. "You're serious?"

"Yes," I shrugged. "For seven years, I called her Mrs. Pierce. I never knew her first name until you said it downstairs."

"Incredible," she said. "I hate to tell you, but her real name is Miss Pearson. She never married."

"No, that can't be. She was married to Mr. Pierce and then to me."

"Did you see the Marriage Certificate?"

"No. We were married in a private, civil ceremony in our home."

"Paul, you were never married, believe me, and she never married this Mr. Pierce either."

I scrutinized her face, looking for doubt, but I knew she was telling me the truth. This was unbelievable.

"But how do you know my name? If you didn't even know I had met your husband. Please forgive me for asking on this day, but how did you know my name?"

"I've heard her say it many times."

"So you knew her well? She came here often?"

"Almost never. I only met her two or three times, accidently, like you met Peter."

"Then how did you hear her speak my name so many times."

Mrs. Pearson nodded to the door behind me. "Lock the door and I'll show you."

I locked the door and turned back to get my answers. I was angry, though I knew I had no reason to be angry with her. Mrs. Pearson was standing in front of an overstuffed couch, pointing a remote at a large screen mounted on the wall.

"Tell me, Mrs. Pearson. Why have you heard my name so often?" I said in a loud, demanding voice, unable to keep my frustration and anger hidden.

"Shhhh," she whispered. "Just wait and I'll show you. And my name is Karen, not Mrs. Pearson."

The screen sprang to life, mid-movie, as if it had been paused and was waiting to be started again where it had been left, or at the start of a favorite segment. Mrs. Pierce was kneeling with her hands tied behind her back, her bare bottom resting on her heels. A man was holding the top of her head with one hand and feeding his cock into her mouth with the other. He was thrusting his meat into her face, pulling her head forward with a handful of hair. After a minute he withdrew, allowing her to gulp for air, saliva dripping from her chin. Mrs. Pierce looked up at the man dominating her.

"Happy Birthday, Paul."

Mrs. Pearson... Karen... turned and smiled at me. Behind her, on the screen, I was thrusting my cock vigorously in and out of Mrs. Pierce's mouth.

"We have hours and hours of this, mostly boring, romantic love-making, but I love these scenes and the ones with the real hard fucking. I've been an admirer of yours for years, Paul."

For not the first time that day, my mouth dropped open. I looked blankly at Karen, then at the scene unfolding behind her. Karen's hands reached up behind her head and I knew she was undoing the clasp at the back of her neck, that her hands, now lowering, were unzipping her funeral dress.

"Can you imagine what it would be like if every day was like that, Paul?"

I was still too stunned to react.

"Can you imagine dominating your woman like that, every day of the year?"

Karen reached down to grasp the sides of her long, black dress and pulled it up until the hem was by her knees. She turned and knelt on the overstuffed couch, then leaned forward until her head fell over its rounded top. Her hands, still grasping the sides of her dress, pulled it up to her hips, exposing a small triangular pair of panties covering a luscious ass, deliciously emphasized by the dark stockings that ended six inches below it.

"My husband is dead," she whispered. "I need a strong man to look after me, Paul."

She looked back at the screen where I was still pumping Mrs. Pierce's face with full strokes of my very hard cock.​