My Secret Love

My Secret Lover

Darcy Meyer

My Secret Lover – Darcy Meyer – Copyright – April 10
th
2015

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“My Secret Lover. I knew his name and he knew mine, but he was an odd man, a thoroughly strange person. He insisted that we use code names when referring to one another. He'd assigned both names, and when he did, I thought he was joking at first, but the look in his eyes told me that he was utterly serious. I didn’t mind though, as long as I could have him inside me as much as possible.”

WARNING: This story contains graphic depictions of hot, steamy sex. Reader discretion is advised.

Dedicated to Kyle.

I suppose somewhere in my mind, I knew that I must have been a bad person. But even that felt like it might have been an understatement.

I guess if you really analyzed what I’d made myself a part of, I could be seen as downright evil to some people.

I don’t know, what do you think?

I'm not gonna say I never felt guilty, but I can't pretend I regret it either. There was nothing particularly wrong with my relationship, or with my boyfriend, but I'd begun to feel a longing for something more, something I couldn't easily explain. I couldn't talk to any of my friends about it. They all thought I had the perfect relationship. It would have shattered them to learn how monotonous my whole life was becoming. 

We still slept together, but there was no passion to it. He came inside me and then rolled off of me and fell asleep, not even bothering to learn if I'd cum yet, or checking if it had been good for me. We fucked because it's what we were supposed to do, here in our nice house, with all the things we were supposed to want all our lives.

All we needed to do now was get pregnant and start a family.

The thought of it was like a casket closing me into my grave. 

And none of the people in my life understood the anxiety that I was experiencing. I didn’t have a single friend who didn’t want all the things I had, or who didn’t already have them and love them herself. And forget about having male friends, my husband was far too suspicious for that.

Although I suppose all things considered, he was right to be suspicious. But the point I’m getting at is that I felt trapped and alone. I felt like I’d gotten myself in a place where I would never escape. Never feel really alive again.

But that all changed the day I met my lover. I knew his name and he knew mine, but he was an odd man, a thoroughly strange person. He insisted that we use code names when referring to one another. He'd assigned both names, and when he did, I thought he was joking at first, but the look in his eyes told me that he was utterly serious. 

I stepped outside and was greeted by the bright, humid day, stark sunlight shining down on green lawns and white houses. An idyllic suburban morning. My husband was off at work, and wouldn't be home until late. Which meant that this was the ideal opportunity for me to slip away and be with my other man. 

The beauty of the day I was stepping into dampened my desire a little. That guilt I mentioned earlier. I remember being a teenager, stealing money from my parents wallets while they were passed out drunk in the living room, so that I could go out and buy some booze for myself. I had an older guy that I knew who would boot for me, Dennis, I think his name was. He would only do it for me on certain conditions, after I'd done him a particular favour, which I don't care to discuss any further. 

It was always easiest for me to go through with this on days where the sun was gone, when it was raining, or just dark out. If the sun was shining, it would make me feel like I should be doing the right thing, and not relying on something outside of myself to make me happy. Often I would simply abandon my plans for the day if the sun was shining bright enough. Return home and wait for my parents to awaken from their hangovers.

And that man I'd mentioned before would call me angrily on my phone, asking about me. And I'd have nothing to say except that I'd developed a conscience just long enough to get out of sucking his dick and then getting wasted with him. 

What we had wasn't particularly romantic, is what I'm saying. 

But things were better now. My current lover respected me, at least before we were in the bedroom, and by then, I wasn't concerned with respect. I just wanted him to do whatever it took to make me orgasm. 

As I walked down the street toward the intersection, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn't have my purse, he'd been quite clear that I wouldn't need it. I took my phone out of my pocket and looked at the screen. It was still illuminated from when the message was received, but I had to hold my hand over the screen slightly to cut off some of the heavy glare coming from the sun behind me. When at last I could read the message on the screen, I saw that it had indeed come from my rendezvous. The name attached to the number wasn't his real name, but the code name he'd selected for himself.

The message read:

SECRET

Are you going to be on time?

I typed back as I walked toward the intersection.

LOVER

Is your driver?

I almost put the phone back in my pocket before it buzzed again, and I noted with pleasure that he must have been sitting with his phone, awaiting my response; another piece of attention that had long since vanished from my relationship with my husband. I looked back at the phone and read the message that awaited me there.

SECRET

You tell me ...

I looked up from the screen, realizing that I had nearly walked into the street by accident. It wasn't a big deal though, because the only car in the street was a long black limousine that sat poised at the curb, engine idling, waiting to pick me up.

I grinned at the sight of the vehicle and reached out to open the door. Sitting down in the spacious backseat, I shut the door and felt the vehicle smoothly move away from the curb. It was as if the windows were screen depicting a movie in which we passed through the neighbourhood, rather than actually happening all around me. The driver was too experienced, the limousine too luxurious and intelligently designed for that. The driver himself was simply the back of a head, operating the vehicle, but making no special effort whatsoever to make his presence felt or recognized. 

My man, Secret, was a self-confessed billionaire, which he had told me with some hesitation. Of course, by the time this was revealed, we were already back at his country estate, in the centre of his massive bed in his massive room. So it's not as if Secret could have kept that a Secret. I had assumed as much for myself by that point. 

I sat back in my seat and enjoyed the ride, feeling as if I were in the middle of a great black bullet soaring through the bright green and white light of the suburban neighbourhood in which I had made my home. Now I would be going to a different home, the home of the man I'd encountered weeks earlier, and who would deliver me, at least for today, away from the boredom and monotony and dispassionate home that I had known for years. Using his flesh and his dick and his tongue, he would transport me into ecstasy.

And I simply could not wait.

The limousine took me out of the suburban neighborhoods and out onto the highway. If you think of the metropolitan area near where I live as a gradient, then on the left is a giant, nasty city, and on the right is farmland stretching up toward the mountains. My little neighbourhood exists in the middle, and that's how he and I first met. 

We were both parked at the same gas station. He was having troubles with the machine, and I knew what the problem was. I would later realize that this must have been the first time he'd pumped his own gas in years. I didn't realize yet that I would soon be the one tasked with pumping his gas from now on. 

He was driving in an old fashioned nineteen seventy five Cutlass Supreme, that he'd recently won at auction, and was going to drive it to his estate in the country. I wasn't much of a car person, and I'm still not, but I liked the look of this particular car. He asked me if I'd like to go for a ride with him, and I hesitated at first. But even that brief encounter with him had been more excitement than I'd experienced in months. 

So he followed me home and I left the car behind, getting into his instead. He explained to me that we were going out toward the mountains, and I experienced a sudden rush of concern. I asked if he would give me the address, so I could look it up on my phone. My logic was that if he didn't want me to do that, then it was because he intended to harm me somehow. But he gave me an address right away and I plugged away at my phone for a moment, preparing to send the address to my husband, with the caption:

"Out visiting a friend. I'll be home later."

But after I'd typed out the address and the caption, I hesitated. Something told me I could trust this strange man I was with, even though all the logical thought in the world should have told me not to. There should have been alarms going off in my head and I should have been terrified. But instead, all I wanted to do was spend the night with him. 

I guess it was pretty crazy of me. But maybe I wanted something a little crazy in my life.

I deleted the address from the text and sent just the caption, before putting my phone away.

"So how long will it take to get there?" I asked.

"Not too long," he said, "not in this thing."

"How long have you had this thing?"

"A few hours," he said, "just got it in the city today."

"Wow," I said, "how do you know it'll work all the way there?"

"I don't," he said, "there's a chance that it could fall apart on the highway and leave us stranded, or worse. I'm taking a chance with this thing. If you're not comfortable with that, I can take you back, if you like."

"No, that's okay," I said, "I'm not afraid of a little risk."

I tried to make myself believe it as I said it.

The wind rushed by, whipping at our hair as we let the windows down and sailed down the highway to our mutual destination. 

The limousine took me right up to the front doors of the massive house in the field, coming to a stop at the end of a long, wide driveway. The entire estate was like a scene from a movie. It was so broad and impressive that you almost swore you were looking at a scene from a James Bond film, or something like that. Something where the villain would step out of the mansion to greet the captured protagonist.

It occurred to me for a moment if that was a more apt analogy than I’d intended, if maybe I was the captured protagonist in all of this? After all, here was this man leading me down a path of sin and betrayal, turning me into something I’d never expected to become.

Transforming me into his mistress.

But I brushed the thought aside as the vehicle came to a halt in front of the steps that led to the door. I knew what I wanted, and I’d chosen to be this way. I’d chosen to come here, to get into the limo, all of it.

I stepped out of the vehicle and was greeted immediately by my Secret, who came down the steps from the front door to greet me. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and a pair of dark pants, as if he’d just come home from work and was in the process of undressing. At least I hoped that was the case.

“Hello there,” he said, “Did everything go well?”

“Yes, we just drove straight here. No worries.”

“That’s good.,” he said, before turning to address the rolled down window of the limousine driver, “that’ll be all.”

The window rolled back up and the limousine pulled away from the steps as smoothly and quietly as it had pulled away from the curb.

“What do you want to do now?” I asked, jokingly. I knew exactly what he wanted, and I wanted it as well. He smiled down at me and gestured toward the front door.

“Come inside,” he said, “I need to get those clothes off of you immediately.”

My tongue began in his mouth, but soon he pressed forward and invaded my mouth as well. We opened our lips wider as we sucked and licked at each other, and suddenly I felt a great need swelling inside me. I took hold of his cock with one hand and felt him jump a little from the shock of it. I guess he wasn’t expecting me to be so confident after the picture I’d painted for him of my life had been so shrewd. I didn’t blame him; I wasn’t expecting it any more than he was. But I never regretted the decision, least of all as I pulled his pants down around his legs and lowered myself to his crotch.

I took hold of his large, throbbing cock and pressed my lips against the tip. I tasted it almost chastely with my tongue, tip to tip, teasing him. But he was having none of this; he placed a hand on my head to hold me in place and slowly pushed his cock inside my mouth, sliding between my lips until I had most of the shaft resting on my tongue. With his dick in place, I went to work on it hungrily with my tongue, the same hunger with which I had licked at his tongue, only moments ago.

He would pet my head while I worked on his cock, but not in a possessive way. It never felt as if he were trying to dictate the rhythm of the job I was doing for him, like he was the backseat driver of the blowjob. His hand seemed as if it were only there to show affection, his fingers moving gently through my hair on their way to my neck, before pulling free carefully and then starting again at my hairline. I had the distinct impression that if he had been able to reach my pussy from where he stood, then it would be that that he was petting.

This idea was too inviting for me to ignore, and I slowed my work on his cock. I took it out of my mouth altogether, a thin line of saliva hanging from my lips to the tip of his dick. His cock bounced in my hand from the throbbing pressure I had built up inside it; I felt a measure of pride in that moment, knowing I had been able to get him so excited with no direction at all from him. But now he must have been  wondering why I stopped, and so I turned my face up to look at him, to explain myself.

He offered me his hand and I took it, allowing him to lift me up off of my knees. We kissed again once I was standing, just on the lips this time; he wasn’t there to stay. He moved down to my neck, licking from the side to my collarbone, until the fabric of my shirt got in the way. He reached down to grab the bottom of my shirt and then started to pull it up off me. I raised my arms to allow him to, and once it was off he tossed it on the kitchen table.

He grabbed hold of my breasts and felt for my nipples, finding them almost instantly, hard and ready for his touch, even through my bra. His lips trailed down to my cleavage, and his hands migrated from my breasts to my back, feeling for the clasp in my bra. I didn’t think he’d be able to do it on his own, but before I knew it my bra was off and had joined my shirt on the kitchen table, knocking some miscellaneous items to the floor. I felt a moment of shyness, but his confidence gave me confidence, and my desire wouldn’t allow me to stop him anyway. He grabbed my breasts again, this time wrapping his lips around each nipple, one at a time. He only did this for a moment, however, before moving down again.

Gentle kisses lined a path down my stomach until they reached my pajamas. He pulled them down so that they lay around my ankles, and my pussy lay before him just as his cock had lain before me. He glanced up at me once, as if to make sure that I was ready, and then leaned in.

I gasped as his tongue made contact with my clit, and then smiled when I realized what he was doing. He was playing with my clit the same way I had played with his cock, teasing it with the tongue instead of going all the way. I laughed at the joke and pressed both my hands on the back of his head. I wasn’t being as gentle as he had been, but I felt that he didn’t mind. I pushed him into my pussy, and he lapped at my clit like a hungry animal.

His hands grasped my thighs and he lifted me up onto the kitchen counter, knocking salt and peppershakers aside as my bare ass slid into place. My back against the cupboards, I reached my hands up, searching for something to cling to. When I found nothing, I put my hands to his head again, though he didn’t need any encouragement at this point.

As I sat up on the counter, I felt him put his fingers inside me, while still stimulating my clit with his tongue. I was shocked to feel how easily his fingers drifted past the lips and into my body; I hadn’t realized how wet I had become while he worked on my clit.

I leaned my head back on the cupboards, eyes squeezed shut, a soft cry escaping my lips as I felt the first call of an orgasm approaching, the first I’d ever experienced without generating on my own. I held onto his head and found my pelvis slowly rising and falling in time with my breathing.

I could feel it as he worked, this great big explosion of pleasure creeping toward me, and I urged him to continue by pressing down on his head with my hands. But suddenly, against my commands, he pulled his head out of my crotch. I looked down at him, far less composed than he had been when I had done this to him. But before I could voice a single complaint, he had lifted me up off the counter and was taking me down on the ground.

I gasped at the cool touch of the linoleum floor, but he rolled onto his back and positioned me on top of him, so that only my knees and lower were touching the ground. He lay back on the ground and took hold of his cock, holding it up so that it pointed at the ceiling, just in front of me.

I had seen this position in videos before, so I knew what to do.

I positioned myself over his cock, somewhat awkwardly, since I was still new to this, and then placed one hand on his stomach to steady myself.

I grabbed onto his cock with my other hand and held it in place as I lowered my torso toward it. His cock bumped into my clit and then started to turn away from my pussy, so I lifted myself up and tried again.

I went slower this time, placing the tip of his cock directly into my pussy, before finally sliding the rest of the way down. I came to rest on top of him with his cock all the way inside me. I smiled at him and he grabbed onto my hips, urging me to ride him in that position. I started to grind my crotch against his, feeling the presence of his cock inside me as I did so.

Already, I could feel the orgasm approaching again. I spent some time looking down at him as I rode his cock, but then I looked ahead instead, out the back door of the kitchen. Through a small window I could see the bushes in the backyard, and I began to imagine my orgasm as a great wave coming up over those bushes toward me. I rode him harder, and faster, rising and sliding back down a little each time, my pussy rubbing against his dick faster and faster. I rode him as if my climax were a destination on the horizon, my water in the desert.

His hands gripped my ass and spread my cheeks, and I didn’t mind at all.

“Come on,” I said, humping him faster and harder each second, “come on.”

He didn’t speak. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be chasing his own goal. He had begun thrusting his dick into me each time I slid toward him, so that my tits bounced each time I bucked against him. I squeezed my clit with one hand, and then started rubbing it furiously as I came closer, and closer, and I fucked him harder and harder and faster and faster.

“Almost there,” I breathed.

And then I felt it, like the moment a rollercoaster climbs the summit of it’s track and begins to rush down the other side. I felt the great wave of ecstasy wash over me, as the bundle of nerves in my crotch exploded with pleasure. My pussy dripped my own fluids as well as his, as he shot great bursts of cum inside me. We kept on grinding against each other, growing slower and gentler as we each descended to a place of contentedness.

My orgasm achieved, I bent down to kiss him again, and his lips were waiting for me. Just like the first time, our tongues played around with each other while he tasted each other’s saliva and writhed with our genitals connected and our fluids mingling inside me.

I suppose somewhere in my mind, I knew that I must have been a bad person. But even that felt like it might have been an understatement.

I guess if you really analyzed what I’d made myself a part of, I could be seen as downright evil to some people.

I don’t know, what do you think?