A Married Woman’s Midnight Run

I’m Jessica, 27 years old, married, with a curvy figure and a flair for turning heads. I’ve always been a bit of a tease – dressing in tight skirts and low-cut tops, thriving on the whistles and compliments from guys as I strut by. It’s not just vanity; those looks and words make me feel alive, wanted. My husband, Ryan, and I used to have an electric sex life – at least four nights a week, sometimes more. We’d spice things up with adult videos, losing ourselves in the fantasy that we were the ones on screen, wild and uninhibited.

Ryan had a solid job as a mechanic until five months ago when the garage downsized, and he was one of the unlucky ones let go. After weeks of dead-end applications, he landed a gig as a traveling sales rep for an auto parts company. Now he’s on the road more than he’s home. We’ve always been open-minded – before he lost his job, we’d hit the clubs every weekend. I’d slip into something slinky, and he loved watching me dance with other guys, though it never went further than that. It was our little game.

But these days, I’m alone most nights, and my body isn’t used to this drought. I’ve been getting by with a vibrator and too many glasses of cheap rosé. One Friday night, after a long week, I poured myself a drink – then another – stripped down, and fired up a steamy video. The scenes were intense: a gorgeous woman with a chiseled guy who knew exactly what he was doing. I couldn’t stop imagining myself in her place, feeling every thrust, every touch. The wine, the pent-up desire, it all hit me hard. I passed out dreaming of it.

The next morning, I stumbled into a cold shower, trying to shake off the hangover and the lingering ache between my legs. I spent the day in a daze, doing chores in a tiny tank top and cutoff shorts, no bra, just because I could. By evening, I was restless. I cracked open the rosé again, sank into the couch, and replayed the same video. Big mistake – or maybe not. It lit me up all over again, and this time, I wasn’t settling for a toy. I decided to go out and find someone to scratch this itch.

I showered, then dolled myself up – a black leather miniskirt that hugged every curve, a plunging red top with no bra or panties underneath, and stilettos that screamed trouble. I teased my hair into wild waves, layered on the makeup, and kept sipping wine until I was buzzed. Around 11 p.m., I grabbed my purse, half-drunk, and hailed a cab. “Take me somewhere fun,” I told the driver, a scruffy guy with a sly grin.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Looking for a good time, huh, sweetheart?” I smirked and nodded. “I know a spot,” he said. “Lots of girls go there to party – and make some cash on the side. I drop ‘em off, pick ‘em up at closing. I could introduce you to one if you’re shy. Trust me, you’ll have a blast. You in?” Intrigued, and too tipsy to overthink it, I agreed. “Fine, but pick me up at 3 a.m. sharp,” I said.

We pulled up to a sleek, neon-lit club downtown. He told me to wait in the cab, then came back with a girl – Tara, he called her. She was all legs and confidence, with a warm smile. “Hey, this is the newbie I mentioned,” the driver said to her. “Show her the ropes, alright? I’ll be back later.” Tara winked at me, and we headed inside.

The place was dim, pulsing with music, bodies grinding on the dance floor. We grabbed a table, and Tara broke it down for me – this wasn’t just a club, it was a high-end escort spot. She explained the rates: dancing, drinks with clients, full-on hookups at the hotel next door. A waiter dropped off free shots, and I downed mine, the buzz mixing with a thrill I hadn’t expected. I was already wound up, and this? This was gasoline on the fire.

Two guys approached us – tall, sharp-dressed, and dripping charm. Tara negotiated a dance fee, and we hit the floor. My guy, Jake, pulled me close, his hands firm on my hips, his breath hot on my neck. “You’re smoking hot,” he murmured, sliding his hands lower, cupping my ass. I didn’t pull away – I leaned into it, heat pooling inside me. We danced through a few songs, then rejoined Tara and her guy at the table. More drinks, more flirting, Jake’s fingers grazing my thighs, his lips brushing my ear. I was gone.

“Wanna take this to the hotel?” Tara’s guy asked, eyeing us both. She glanced at me – I nodded, heart pounding. She named a price, they paid up, settled our tab at the bar, and we were out the door. The hotel was steps away. Tara booked a room for four, grabbed condoms and lube, and we piled in. Jake didn’t waste time – he tugged off my top, shed his clothes, and led me to the bed. Tara and her guy sprawled on the couch, sipping drinks, watching us.

Jake peeled off his boxers, revealing a thick, impressive cock that made my eyes widen. He rolled on a condom, squeezed lube onto himself, then grinned. “Spread ‘em, babe.” I obeyed, lifting my legs as he slicked me up, his fingers sending shocks through me. He climbed on top, teasing my entrance with the tip, kissing my neck, my chest. Then he pushed in – slow at first, stretching me wide. I gasped, gripping the sheets as he filled me, inch by inch.