I slotted my key into our apartment door, took a breath, went inside and found Carl, my husband, waiting in his robe. He was gazing at me with an inquisitive look on his face.

He studied me silently for a full minute, while I tried not to fidget. It was late. I’d been out. But I hadn’t told him exactly where I was going.

Finally, he shook his head, then broke into a laugh before admitting, “God, Fiona — I just can’t tell!”

I laughed, too. This was the little contest we had at the end of these nights, when I returned home and my darling husband tried to guess whether or not I’d had sex with another man.

Our laughter was the ultimate indicator that we played this game without jealousy. No marriage fouls were committed. This was our agreed-upon fun. Once every few months or so I would tell Carl I was going out, but I wouldn’t say where. He knew what was up. That meant I was in the mood for some extramarital romping.

Whenever I came home after such a night, I always played it straight, trying not to give him a clue as to whether or not I’d hooked up with some hot stud. I loved keeping him guessing.

He finally went to pour himself a drink and asked, “Well, honey, did you?”

“I did,” I confessed. My body was still buzzing, my pussy tingling.

He sat on the couch, saluted me with his cocktail and said, “Then tell me all about it.”

So I sat down and did just that, which was part of our deal. Carl liked my stories because they were true — and because he got off on the idea of his wife fucking another man. If he couldn’t be there in the room, then he wanted me to relate everything in detail. I couldn’t say no to him. I didn’t want to. I enjoyed telling my tales, too.

My night had started with me aimlessly driving through the streets in a state of unfocused excitement. Everything was possible on evenings like these. It was also possible that it would all fizzle. I might find the pickings slim or nonexistent. But what fun is a game if you can’t lose?

I finally settled on a club. Carl and I had been married for four years, but when we first met we were still hitting places just like it — loud flashy dance palaces, full of sweating gyrating bodies and airborne pheromones.

Nonetheless, I felt the tiniest bit self-conscious as I went inside. I was over the median age. Moreover, I was a married woman in a cavernous space full of college-age dancers probably all looking for a quick hookup.

I was wearing my wedding ring. I didn’t take it off for these nights away from my husband. I never pretended I wasn’t married. No way was I looking for a new relationship. Carl is damn sexy, and I love him to pieces. That he was OK with my occasional extracurricular antics just deepened my affection for him.

I circled the dance floor. The place was lively as hell. The industrial music pounded the air like electrified mayhem. I tried to get into the groove. But the heavy beats only tickled the extremities of my nerves. My feet weren’t moving; my hips weren’t swaying.

My self-consciousness got worse. I was still just circling, not stepping into the mass of bopping bodies. Maybe I should try another place, I thought. Somewhere quieter. But that just made me feel old, like I should seek out a drowsy jazz club or a sewing circle.

I was actually heading for the exit when someone turned away from the dance floor and stumbled right into my path. He flinched, backed up quickly and nearly lost his balance. I bumped into him anyway, and we both teetered.

At the same time, we grabbed one another to keep the other from falling. He started shouting an apology: “So sorry. Should’ve looked where I was going.”

“It’s OK,” I said. I’d seized his strong forearms. I held them a second longer than necessary, feeling how nicely muscled he was.

Even in the strobing kaleidoscopic light, I could tell he was handsome. He also seemed set apart from the other club-goers, unsure of his place.

“I was just getting out of here,” I said. “Want to tag along?”

As I recounted that last part, Carl sighed in anticipation, knowing how my stories usually unfolded.

The club’s exit was down a dark corridor that terminated in a swinging door. Halfway down, I brushed up deliberately against the hunky stranger. He paused, and we faced each other in the dimness. I grabbed him again and pushed my body to his, once more feeling an appreciation for his muscles.

My mouth hovered near his. When our lips met, the contact was electric. He hesitated only a second, then he met my tongue with his. My constantly moving body was grinding against his, and I was gratified to feel his cock swelling to a ripe hardness within his jeans.

I pressed my mound firmly against his crotch. My pussy was streaming wetness, and my excitement was mounting. His hands moved under my shirt. I groaned encouragement, and he slid his palms up over my breasts, finding my stiff nipples. I reached around and groped his tight ass.

Our mouths stayed glued together the whole time. He tweaked my perky nipples, and desire was like a runaway train inside me. I wanted him so badly. I was actually reaching for his fly, aiming to suck him off right there, but two other people started down the exit corridor.

We rushed out, desperate now to see this thing through. We got into my car, and I raced us to his apartment. At his place, we practically sprinted to the bedroom, hastily dropping clothes as we went, so we arrived totally naked and eager at the foot of his bed.

Carl moaned upon hearing that last detail. His cock was already tenting the front of his robe.

The stranger pulled me into his arms. The feel of his bare flesh against mine enflamed my lust and lit up my nerves. He picked me up and placed me on his bed, where he joined me.

He gently held my left hand and gazed at my wedding ring. He asked, “Is this a problem?”

I liked that he’d asked, but I honestly told him, “It means I have a wonderful husband, who’s going to hear about everything we do later on.”

He was OK with that. We kissed again ravenously, his tongue tangling with mine. His hard cock pressed against my belly, and I pushed my tits against his chest. My nips were as hard as diamonds, and pleasure crackled through me. Our hands moved hungrily over each other.

I took his dick in my hand. He was velvet smooth and granite hard at the same time. His rod dribbled pre-come, and I rubbed the moisture over his swollen cockhead with my thumb.

His hand slipped between my thighs. I gasped as he grazed my outer lips, which were already slick with needy wetness. My hips jerked, and my pleasure mounted as he worked two fingers into me. I pumped his shaft, which throbbed in my fist.

I told Carl about how I just had to have a taste of him.

My husband opened his robe. He was naked beneath it. I let my eyes admire his hard cock as I continued my tale.

My lover had the same idea as me. He was moving to go down on me at the same time I’d started to shift my mouth toward his cock. Fortunately, there was an easy solution for our problem.

We moved into a 69 position. I got on top, while he was below. He pulled my crotch to his mouth, and I felt his warm breath on my wet slit as I opened my legs. Meanwhile, his knob bobbed before my face. I was desperate for his flavor.

The man’s tongue lashed my quivering slit, and I wrapped my lips around his crown. Instantly, the salty taste of his pre-come stung my tongue, egging me on. Then I sucked his whole cockhead into my mouth. I slid the ring of my lips down his staff. I traced every vein my tongue tip could reach on his rod. I kept my lips sealed around him and applied a generous amount of suction. He wriggled beneath me, his muscles tensing in anticipation of even more pleasure. When I’d sucked my way right down to his base, he pressed his lips hard against my flowing pussy. I relaxed my throat muscles, so I could take him as deep as possible.

My clit pulsed with need, and he lavished attention on it, batting, licking and teasing it. I bobbed on his cock, taking his knob into my throat with every downward plunge.

Pleasurable sensations built and built within me until I was thoroughly overwhelmed by the entire experience. With his hard cock still ensconced in my mouth, I came with a shudder.

Gently, he rolled me off him, and he moved to mount me. I scooted into position and pulled him down onto my body. His spit-slick cock easily entered my waiting pussy. I groaned as he filled me. I moved my hips, letting him feel the grip of me.

As I spoke, I continued to stare at Carl, who was pumping his cock.

The stranger stroked into me, and it all felt so good. Bliss radiated throughout my body. My limbs and muscles felt loose, and I squirmed beneath him. Every thrust of his hips came harder than the last. Our flesh smacked together, the sounds seeming to grow progressively louder.

I had my wrists crossed over the back of his neck. My legs were wrapped around his waist. He plowed me deep, his cock repeatedly hitting my core. Orgasmic ecstasy swelled within me, and then I was coming. It was a prolonged climax that lifted me to the heavens.

My lover was heaving and growling, and I felt him approaching his orgasmic release. His handsome face was etched with ecstasy. Droplets of sweat fell from him onto me, and that gave me one last great idea. When he was about to blow, I dropped my legs from around him and said, “Shoot your jizz all over me!”

He pulled out, and a heartbeat later, he was spewing his spunk in gooey jets. His cream rained down on my pussy, my belly and my tits. I rubbed his load languidly into my skin.

As I concluded my story, Carl was jerking himself furiously next to me on the couch. Just before he exploded, I put my mouth over his knob and he came down my throat.

Afterward, my thoroughly satisfied husband reclined against the cushions.

I nudged Carl and said, “Isn’t it about time you had a night out yourself?”

Our game went both ways. Next time, I would be the one listening and playing with myself. I couldn’t wait!