Long-awaited satisfaction or the first betrayal

The last days of spring had turned out to be unusually rainy. As wet and windy as this entire strange May had been.

Ksenia sat at the bar counter, pouring her fourth serving of alcohol into herself. Her mood was exceptionally lousy, matching the weather. The fiery liquid coated her throat and at least warmed her from the inside; if it weren't for the alcohol, she would still be shivering, the eternal companion of her tears.

Yesterday (or was it already today?) she had argued with him again (not again, but once more!). With the one she had sworn eternal love, care, and fidelity to just three years ago.

Vadik was the husband of her dreams—kind, caring. He supported her

and despite her flaws, he loved her. She was grateful for his understanding and loved him even more for his ability to tolerate all her quirks. But nevertheless, over the past six months, she could recall few days when they hadn't argued. Lately, their fights had almost no forbidden moves left; they could hurt each other deeply. With words, of course, no blows. But words sometimes hurt more. And most often in recent months, they argued about sex.

Ksenia felt like the sexually obsessed black sheep in their family. She wanted sex more often, much more often than Vadik did. It was hurtful and embarrassing for her to be the initiator every time and not meet reciprocal passion from her husband, at least from her perspective, that's how things were.

She had forgotten what it was like to be desired. Every time before sex, she had to stoke his fire. Long and monotonously, because he didn't accept "deviations from the canon," sex toys (all their conversations about this went nowhere), her numerous negligees and costumes didn't make the proper impression on him. He didn't react to the unambiguous photos she sent him. She tried to diversify their sex life and do it somewhere other than the bedroom, for example, in the clean and spacious restroom of the disco-café where they had recently celebrated a friend's birthday, and it all boiled down to the banal "but think what people will say if they see us going in/coming out together." Even when she gave him a blowjob, if she deviated from "deep throat" and started caressing him with her tongue, playing with his balls, or reaching for the "back" part of his body, he would tense up, express displeasure, and ask her to stop.

He didn't like the belly dance she had learned for him. No, of course he said he liked it. Could a loving husband say otherwise? But he never let go of his damn tablet and even managed to poke at it while she arched her back and shook her hips. She wasn't stupid. She knew that a dance alone wasn't a means of arousal in itself. But she had prepared thoroughly. A beautiful black costume accentuated her most appetizing parts. The jingle of scattered gilded coins accompanied every movement of her hips, breasts, hands, legs. She had learned to dance for a long time and quite successfully. She had watched her movements in the mirror for a long time, honing them. Before showing the dance to him, she had danced for her girlfriends. Olesya was there, a friend and like-minded soul from their student days. She and Olesya shared slightly bisexual inclinations (as Olesya herself once said, "and what woman doesn't have them?"). Of course, it never went further than tipsy kisses, because Vadik would have considered it cheating. He would have considered even kisses as such if he had seen them then. And now Olesya was looking at her with that very expression on her face that only an aroused person has. Ksenia saw desire in her friend's eyes, saw her slightly parted, reddened, moist lips and hoped that if she could ignite Olesya with her dance, she would have no problem igniting her husband.

And kisses. He didn't accept anything other than monotonous kisses with just lips. These bird-like pecks not only didn't arouse her—they extinguished everything to hell. Her attempts to nibble his lips, caress his lips and the inside of his mouth with her tongue, a deep kiss or a French kiss were met with hostility.

She stopped feeling desired. Complexes and tears began. He wouldn't engage. Everything boiled down to figuring out who was right, who was wrong. With each passing day, she felt less desire for her husband and more dissatisfaction.

More and more often, she pleasured herself. Her fingers did what his fingers, lips, and cock didn't want to do. Her imagination painted passionate, sometimes rough hands caressing her breasts, teasing her clit, pressing her butt closer to an erect cock, impaling her on it. She imagined hot lips caressing her down below, a persistent tongue playing with her labia, penetrating her, greedily caressing her from within. She stopped coming with her husband. She only experienced orgasm alone with herself.

That evening, they argued again. Four hours of continuous relationship discussions, tears. It hurt her that her tears evoked no emotions in him other than anger. He seemed to see the world in a different, distorted light from her perspective. He perceived her questions and flirtations as a desire to argue, her resentment as manipulation. As usual, they didn't solve the problem with shouting, only deepened it.

He fell asleep around three in the morning. She opened her swollen eyes, quietly slipped out of bed. Tiptoed out of the bedroom, without turning on the light, fumbled for her coat on the hanger. Threw it over her shoulders, absently wrote him a message that she needed to "clear her head." Went out into the dark hallway, barely aware of where she was going.

Now, in the half-empty bar, alone with her glass and sad thoughts, she was barely holding back from bursting into tears again. Long-held resentment and dissatisfaction were choking her. It became even worse from the understanding that they still loved each other. Loved each other deeply. But why, why then didn't he hear her? Where was the passion? Why did she feel not like the attractive twenty-five-year-old brunette she was, but like an old and ugly seventy-year-old woman?

These reflections were interrupted by someone's voice. With difficulty, snapping out of her heavy thoughts and focusing on reality, she realized the bartender was addressing her. The bartender looked about thirty, and she involuntarily assessed him as a very attractive man with light brown hair styled in one of those fashionable hairstyles her husband spoke of with such distaste.

— Miss, we're closing soon. Please pay the bill.

She blinked, struggling to grasp the meaning of the words. The bill… Damn!

Widening her eyes and awkwardly smiling at the bartender (Kirill, according to his badge, his name was Kirill), she nervously rummaged through her pockets. Of course. She had forgotten her wallet. She hadn't even thought about her wallet when leaving the house. And her phone, even it was left in the hallway. What to do… It was very awkward. She felt her cheeks burning. The bartender tactfully stepped away to the computer, giving the girl a chance to pay without fuss.

Chaos reigned in her head. What to do? Leave something as collateral? God, she had no jewelry, no phone, no passport, nothing with her. The worst part was that trying to find at least something in the inner pocket of her coat, she realized there was nothing under it except a revealing red negligee. Ksenia frantically wrapped her coat tighter, praying to all the gods that no one would notice.

— Young man!

Green-eyed. That's what she saw in him first. Such bright emerald eyes simply didn't exist. These eyes were so attractively beautiful that she even forgot about her awkward situation for a moment. He caught her gaze. And smiled. Ksenia became embarrassed and turned away as quickly as she had turned.

Kirill was standing opposite her again.

— Sorry, we're already closed, — he said with a polite smile to the stranger who had unexpectedly appeared. And with an equally polite smile, he shifted his gaze to Ksenia, as if asking: "can I take the payment?"

Ksenia squeezed her eyes shut. She had already opened her mouth to mutter something incoherent, already imagined how the polite expression on the bartender's face would twist with anger, already replayed in her head all the shame she would experience now and all those millions of payment options from the police to several hours of work in the kitchen…

— Then allow me to treat the lady.

Ksenia opened her eyes wide. From surprise, she went numb and silently watched as a brand-new bill slid across the counter, as it disappeared into Kirill's hands, as if in a dream she heard "— No change needed."

When the numbness subsided, she tried to object somehow, to respond. But there was no one left in the bar, only the entrance door softly clicked shut. Quickly nodding to Kirill, she walked out from behind the counter on wobbly legs with the firm intention of catching up with the stranger and discussing how and when she could return the money to him.

The rain was pouring down, she got wet almost immediately. Twenty steps away from her, in the parking area, a tall figure under an umbrella was reaching for a car door.

— Wait, sir!

He turned around.

Ksenia walked quickly towards him.

— You're completely soaked!

He gallantly extended his arm with the umbrella so that the rain wouldn't fall on her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he himself was left half exposed to the fierce, lashing raindrops at that moment.

She opened her mouth to object for the second time, but instead let out a deafening (it was hard to choose another word) sneeze.

— You'll catch a cold. He gently took her hand. — Let me give you a ride before you really get sick?

Ksenia shook her head in embarrassment.

— No, sorry… , I, You… Anyway… , thank you very much for paying for me, but you shouldn't have. I…

— Sorry, but I thought you had a bit of a… hiccup with that. In any case, I would have spent that money on some nonsense, but this way—at least… I helped a beautiful girl.

— I… thank you, it's nice to hear such words, but I don't want to be in debt. Could you give me your number, I'll contact you and bring the money wherever is convenient for you?

He tilted his head to the side, looked at her carefully.

— That's not necessary at all.

Ksenia swallowed. He was looking at her appraisingly.

— Let's do this. I'll give you a ride. We'll talk on the way. If you want to take my number to return the money—you can just top up my mobile account. If you want to take it for something else—I'll be glad.

Ksenia raised an eyebrow.

— Miss, come on. Do I look like a maniac?

"No," flashed through her head, — "You look just like the most beautiful man I've ever met."

This was partly true, because besides the bright emerald eyes that made her heart race like crazy, he had beautiful hollow cheekbones, a nose with a slight bump, and such mischievous, sexy lips that she almost bit her own.

— Okay.

"What are you doing? What are you doing?", pounded in her head. "You don't even know him, who knows what…"

"So what?", echoed another voice, much more confident. "What's the difference? He's just a gallant man. Why not? Walk home? I can't even figure out where I am. And even if something happens… , — her eyes ran over his lips again, — who cares? Certainly not Vadik…"

From these last thoughts, it became so bitter that everything else ceased to matter. Let whatever happens, happen. Or let nothing happen. Because there's no point anymore.

He offered her his hand and seated her in the car. Got behind the wheel, started the engine, and the car slid smoothly over the gravel.

— Where are we going?

— N Square.

He looked at her in surprise.

— That's quite far. I hope you didn't walk from there.

Ksenia chose to remain silent. They drove in silence for a while.

— What's your name?

She looked at him and realized she shouldn't look anymore. Every glance at him made something clench in her stomach, caused a burning sensation on her lips and nipples, her fingers grew cold, and her panties became wet.

"My God, I want him," pounded in her head. She couldn't look away, no matter how hard she tried, her gaze slid over his lips, his light stubble, his broad shoulders, his slightly open shirt collar. She felt how passionately she wanted to touch that skin with her lips, her tongue, to feel its taste..

— Ksenia. And you?

— Andrey…

She didn't notice how quickly they started talking. He turned out to be a pleasant conversationalist, he laughed cheerfully, joked. She looked at the cheerful wrinkles around his eyes, at his white teeth revealed during laughter, and wanted him more and more.

It seemed that desire was awakening in her not only because his appearance and voice drove her crazy, but anger and resentment towards Vadik fueled her desire no less. And the alcohol, it blurred thoughts and feelings, leaving room only for passion.

She didn't notice how his hand slid towards hers. She looked at him and parted her moist lips. No objection escaped them, only a quiet sigh. He understood everything without words. He sharply pulled over to the side of the road. And stopped the car. He didn't give her a second to come to her senses, sharply pulled her to him and greedily covered her mouth with a kiss.

Electric discharges seemed to race through her body. His tongue demandingly and roughly caressed her mouth. She closed her eyes, dissolving in this kiss. He captured her lips with his, released them for a second, captured them again. He sucked them into himself, passionately caressed the inside of her lips, her tongue. She didn't know how long this kiss lasted, only that she never wanted it to end. She felt that after years of thirst, she was finally allowed to drink from the source, and she responded to him with double passion, drinking his kiss to the last drop.

His hands sharply opened her coat. He tore himself away from her mouth, and she almost went crazy from the momentary separation from his lips, but he greedily buried himself in her nipple, peeking out from the disheveled negligee, and she threw her head back and moaned from the sweet pleasure washing over her in waves.

His hands slid over her body, kneading her breasts, her ass. She frantically tried to pull off his jacket, his shirt. Having managed them, she enjoyed stroking his broad chest and shoulders, his muscular back.

Andrey didn't waste time pulling off her panties, and tore the thin fabric with his hands. Pushing her seatback almost horizontal, he laid her on her back.

She moaned feeling his lips on her pussy. He kissed her no less fiercely than he had just ravaged her mouth. He so thoroughly and passionately caressed her labia, clit, and slit that her vision darkened with pleasure. He fucked her with his tongue not for a minute or two, but much longer, and she realized she was coming. Arching, she felt the fountain of her pleasure gushing right into his parted lips.

"Damn, I squirted in his mouth… " She squeezed her eyes shut, she thought she had ruined everything.

— Ye-e-e-s…

He groaned hoarsely, with pleasure covered her slit with his mouth and began greedily drinking her juices, helping himself with his tongue so as not to miss a drop.

She lifted her head and saw how he frantically gathered her fluid and from the sight, she came again. He groaned and began to fiercely lick her, swallowing appetizingly. At the same time, his fingers found and began to caress the hole of her anus.

She clenched the upholstery fabric with her hands.

"Just don't stop"