A Covid Affair

I suspect I’m one of your typical wives. On paper, I’m unremarkable. I’ve been married for over fifteen years now. I’m average on most levels: height, weight, looks, house in suburbia, career I enjoy.

But my sexual appetite is incredible. Like my body missed the memo about routine and decided instead to stage a quiet, hormonal rebellion. A very persistent one.

I can’t help myself. As women get older, their sex drive increases. It’s about hormones or something. I usually end up satisfying myself in the shower every morning. Why? Let’s just say that although my husband is a great guy and father, he’s been a little lax in the bedroom lately. All my attempts to add a little spice have virtually gone “unrewarded” if you know what I mean. He’s apparently just lost interest in sex and it is driving me crazy. A lot of women in committed relationships go through this and know exactly what I’m taking about.

I used to be timid.

Now?

I’m one of those women who love the feel of a man touching me and driving me hard like a wild bull who can’t contain himself. I love a man that takes what he wants.

Maybe it’s because I want someone to do that to me. I know a lot of married women who want that actually. But they won’t say anything.

Go on. Speak up ladies – you know who you are.

See… they’re too shy.

So yes, mornings in the shower have become less about hygiene and more about morale maintenance. Don’t judge. Or do. I won’t hear you over the sound of my frustration.

Anyway, with the current Covid situation, I got stuck in quarantine with a coworker after coming back from an overseas business trip. Here we had to be put up in a hotel for 14 days! He’s 6’0″, broad shoulders, and a great smile. He’s been working at our office for several years now. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing obvious.

Just moments.

A look that lingered half a second too long.
Standing slightly too close.
That cologne—honestly, it should be regulated.

Don’t “screw the crew” as they say.But I’m not the type.

I don’t cheat.
I don’t almost cheat.
I barely even jaywalk.

Probably like you, I have never, ever, EVER considered cheating on my husband – especially with a coworker! So whatever that tension was, I filed it away under “Things That Will Never Happen” and got on with my life.

I must admit though, it’s exciting reading such erotic stories isn’t it?! That’s why you’re here. 🙂 Even now, you’re hooked to see if I succumb to temptation and how.

I never thought I would actually have a story to tell. Reading then? Yes, of course. 50 Shades all the way. But actually being in a situation?

Here’s what happened

A few days ago we were at a business conference. We’ve returned and had to self-quarantine for 14 days as you already know. Thankfully, this hotel is one where we can go to an outdoor area on our floor to get some fresh air. The whole floor is under quarantine, so we’re all in this together.

And that’s when everything went wrong.

Or right, depending on how you like your life-altering decisions.

By day three, I had reorganized my emails, rewritten my notes, and contemplated a dramatic escape involving bedsheets and poor decision-making. While contemplating those decisions, I had reorganized my suitcase twice and started rating the hotel’s complimentary tea selection like a deranged critic.

By day four, I was talking to the mirror.

Not full conversations. Just commentary, which is still concerning.

I poured myself a glass of hotel wine—which tasted like regret with a hint of berries. I sat by the window, looking out at a city I wasn’t allowed to touch, and told myself I was fine. I was going to order room service as that’s the only way we’re allowed to eat.

Then there was a knock at my door. Of course there was. Because the universe, apparently, enjoys irony. I hadn’t ordered yet, so honestly having no idea who it could be, I looked through the peep hole and saw it was my coworker. He was bored. I let him in and we started chatting.

He stood there, hands in pockets, casual.

“Hey,” he said, offering that easy smile. “You going crazy yet?”

I exhaled a small laugh. “I reorganized my emails by emotional significance.”

He nodded solemnly. “Day four. That tracks.”

And just like that, it felt normal. Comfortable. Safe.

“Come in,” I said.

That was the first mistake.

Letting him actually come in was the second.

We talked.

At first, safe topics. Work. Travel. Complaints about quarantine food that somehow managed to be both overcooked and underwhelming.

Then the conversation drifted.

Not abruptly. Not obviously. Just enough.

Don’t shake your head. What are we going to do? Talk about nothing else except work?

It was a joke that landed a little softer.
A pause that stretched a little longer.
Eye contact that didn’t break.

I could feel it building.

That charged, invisible thing in the room that says: You should stop this.
Followed immediately by: But you won’t.

“You ever think,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass, “that this is the longest pause life has ever given us?”

I tilted my head. “Pause?”

“Yeah. No commuting. No social obligations. No noise.” He glanced at me. “Just space.”

There was something in the way he said it. Something quieter. More intentional.

I thought the tension in the room was incredible. I had to get up and move around. I was getting rather turned on and thought it best to put a little distance between us.

“I should order food,” I said, like a responsible adult.

I walked toward the bedroom.

Naturally, he followed. Because of course he did.

We sat on the edge of the bed with the menu between us. A completely innocent situation.

Except I couldn’t read a single word.

I was very aware of him.

Too aware.

The warmth of him beside me.
The scent of that cologne.
The way the air felt heavier.

I told myself to focus even though our heads seemed to have drifted a bit closer. Gravity is both quiet and dangerous.

“Hmmm… what to order… chicken? Pasta?” I tried to say coherently without giving my body’s reactions away. I was looking for something normal. Something safe.

“You ever get tired,” he said softly, “of being the responsible one?”

I glanced up at him. “I am the responsible one.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

There was a pause.

Then, quieter, “But is that all you are?”

I looked at him. But because of how our heds had drifted, it was too close.

Definitely too close.

“I should —” I started, looking at his lips.

That must have been the dead give away of my body betraying me.

He reached out.

Not suddenly. Not aggressively.

Just enough to brush a strand of hair away from my face.

And everything stopped.

There are moments in life where time doesn’t slow down – it just sharpens.

Every detail becomes clearer.

Every thought louder.

Every choice heavier.

I knew exactly what this was. I was getting wet smelling him and I had not been f*cked for at least 2 months. Now I’m stuck in quarantine for 14 days straight, completely bored, and not being able to even leave this hotel?

I knew what it meant and what it would change.

I also knew I wasn’t moving away.

That should have been the end of it.

The line. The boundary. The moment I stood up, walked away, and chose the version of myself I’d always been.

Instead I stayed.

Because sometimes the most dangerous thing in the world isn’t losing control — it’s realizing you don’t want to find it again.

Shivers ran down my body. I didn’t look away from him. Those green eyes staring deep into my blue ones. I could feel my body losing control.

He laid me back on the bed, admiring his prize with a lustful set of eyes

Catastrophic.

I should have stood up. Laughed it off.

Instead, I added, “This is a bad idea.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

That was it.

No argument. No persuasion. No attempt to convince me otherwise.

Just agreement.

Which was somehow worse.

Because now there was no debate. No pressure. No excuse. Just two fully aware adults, acknowledging the bad idea and not doing a single thing to stop it.

“Okay,” I said, because apparently my brain had decided to shut down all advanced functions.

“Okay,” he echoed, like we had just agreed on a meeting time.

Neither of us moved.

I glanced down at the menu, as if I might suddenly regain control through poultry options.

“Do you want the—”

I didn’t finish the sentence.

Because his hand moved.

Again, nothing dramatic.

No sudden grab. No cinematic urgency.

Just a slow, deliberate reach. His fingers brushed mine. Light. Barely there. And yet somehow my entire nervous system reacted like it had just been personally invited to a crisis.

“That’s not fair,” I muttered.

He tilted his head slightly. “What isn’t?”

“That,” I said, gesturing vaguely between us, which was not a strong legal argument but felt emotionally accurate.

He smiled. Not smug. Not cocky.

“You could move your hand.”

I looked down. I absolutely could. It was right there. Fully operational. No injuries. No restrictions. And yet it stayed exactly where it was.

“Right,” I said. “I could.”

I did not, and he shifted slightly closer. Now we were officially past “questionable” and entering “you’re going to have to explain this in therapy someday.”

“Tell me to leave,” he said quietly.

That one landed. Because now the responsibility was back. Clear. Simple. Undeniable. Three words. That’s all it would take.

I opened my mouth.

Paused.

Closed it again.

This is where I’d love to tell you I made a principled choice… that I stood up, walked to the door, and said something noble like “this isn’t right.”

Instead, what I said was, “We haven’t even ordered food.”

He blinked. Then laughed. Actually laughed. And despite everything, I laughed too because in my moment of moral crisis, my biggest concern was logistics.

“That’s your argument?” he asked.

“It’s a valid point,” I said defensively. “We’ll be hungry.”

“Eventually.”

That word hung there.

Eventually.

Not now. Not this moment. And just like that, the tension shifted again. Less sharp. More dangerous.

Because now there was humor in it.

And humor makes things easier to justify.

“Last chance,” he said, softer now.

I met his eyes again.

And for a second – just a second – I saw it clearly.

The choice. The line. Everything on either side of it.

Then I made another mistake.

The real one.

The first one that actually mattered.

I didn’t say stop. I didn’t say leave. I didn’t say anything at all.

I leaned in. It wasn’t dramatic. No sweeping movement. No sudden urgency. Just a small shift forward. A quiet decision disguised as instinct.

And that was enough.

He closed the distance. Slowly. Like he was giving me time to change my mind. Like he expected me to.

I didn’t.

The first contact was surprisingly gentle.

Not overwhelming. Not consuming. Just enough to make everything else disappear for a second.

And here’s the truly inconvenient part: It felt good.

Not just physically. But in that deeper, more dangerous way. Like something in me – something that had been quiet for a long time – just sat up and said, “Oh. There you are.”

That’s when the panic should have kicked in. That’s when reality should have come rushing back. Marriage. Consequences. Common sense.

Instead, my brain contributed this brilliant thought: Well this is already bad.
Followed immediately by: So how much worse can it get?

I pulled back first.

Not out of strength. Mostly out of surprise.

“This is—” I started.

“Yeah,” he said.

We both nodded. Very serious. Very aware. What happened next didn’t feel like a decision. It felt like gravity finally doing its job.

The intensity of his second kiss naturally increased and he pulled me closer.

I let out a breath. “This is how people ruin their lives,” I muttered.

“Probably,” he agreed.

“I’m also married.” I tried to justify an escape route.

“Do you want me to go?”

There it was again. The exit. Clearly marked. Well-lit. Easy to access.

I looked at him. At the door. At the space between who I was and whatever this was becoming.

Then I sighed. Dropped my hands.

And said the sentence that sealed it, “No.”

There are big decisions in life.

Marriage. Career. Moving cities.

And then there are small ones that quietly rearrange everything.

That was one of them.

Because the moment I said it, something shifted. Not outside. Inside.

The responsible version of me didn’t disappear.

She just stepped back, crossed her arms, and said, “Fine. But this is on you.”

What happened next wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t chaotic. Wasn’t even particularly reckless in the way you’d expect.

It was deliberate. Careful. Curious.

Which, in some ways, made it worse.

Because this wasn’t an accident anymore. It was a choice.

And for the first time in a very long time I chose something unpredictable.

He hadn’t even touched my breasts or between my legs and I was already approaching climax.

Oh my gawd I thought. I want this. No, I NEED this.

He laid me back on the bed, and sat there a few moment, admiring his “prize”.

It was an amazing turn-on to be looked over by another man’s lustful eyes.

I was his. Or rather, was going to be his.

I finally found my voice and said his name. I meant it to come out with a warning tone but instead it sounded more like pleading.

He pulled my blouse out of my skirt and slid his hand across my bare stomach. He had me on fire. I could feel his hardness on my leg.

I thought I can’t do this. I’m married.

But my body kept saying, “YES!”.

It had been so long since I’d felt a cock inside me. My body began to instinctively respond to him.

This must have been the encouragement he was waiting for.

His hand pushed under my shirt until it covered my breast. All I could do was moan when he pinched my nipples through my bra. Gawd it felt so good.

I was pulling his shirt out of his pants. I needed to feel his skin against mine. He slid his shirt over his head. I knew he played sports, but his hairless chest was spectacular. Not rock solid but definitely toned.

He removed my shirt and bra. My breasts spilled out into his hands. He gasped and told me he knew they were perfect. He began to lick all around my nipple while one hand kneaded and rubbed the other one. My body was in sexual heaven.

He then gave my nipple a slight nip with his teeth. WOW that felt so great. Ladies, when you’ve been with someone for 15 years, and someone new comes along and does this, only then will you understand how amazing is feels! I wanted hours of him sucking and licking my tits. I was moaning and wriggling around like a virgin.

His hand trailed down my stomach and thigh until he reached the bottom of my skirt. It was torture as he began to rub my leg under my skirt. He’d glide his hand up then back down. Those motions were working me into a frenzy. Just when I thought he would finally touch my pussy he moved his hand back.

It was driving me totally insane.

I was raising my hips, straining to get my pussy closer to his hand. After what seemed like an eternity he began to rub me through my thong.

He told me I was so wet. DUH! He ripped my thong off with one pull; as you guessed this excited me having him take me like he was. I spread my legs uncontrollably. He began to rub the length of my shaved slit. I was so wet and slick. I couldn’t help it.

I told him married or not I needed him inside me. He teased that he had waited too long and now I would have to wait. I liked that he was assuming control of the situation.

He kissed me again telling me that he was going to make me cum over and over. He kissed me down my neck. Kissing and nipping me as he worked his way between my legs. I was shivering with every touch.

How can he do this to me? How does he know exactly where to touch, where to nip, where to bite? Or maybe it was just because this was a new man, a different man?

He pushed my skirt up and rubbed my hips just looking at my shaved pussy. I raised my hips for him to gain easy access to me. Finally there was nothing between his mouth and my pussy. He kissed the lips and ran his fingers in to spread them apart. He French kissed my whole being, kissing it like it was my mouth. He barely flicked his tongue on my clit and I exploded.

I exploded like never before when he flicked his tongue on my clit

When I caught my breath he kissed my inner thigh and told me that was only the first of many. He began to devour my pussy and clit. Changing his rhythm and pattern just enough to keep me on the verge of climax but not over the edge. I had my knees spread and my hands in his hair as I raised my hips to his mouth and pressed his face down. I begged, pleaded, and he took me to climax again.

When I came back to earth I wanted more. I wanted to feel a dick inside me that wasn’t rubber. I wanted to be stretched out by a big cock. I was so afraid after all of this build up that he would be one of those guys with a little dick.

Boy was I wrong.

He was on his knees between my legs. I watched him unfasten his belt. He slowly undid the button and unzipped. As he pushed his pants down my eyes got big – it was huge. The head looked like an assault weapon of some kind so I knew he was not going to disappoint. I wanted to suck him so bad. I started to sit up so I could return the favor but he pushed me back down and shook his head no.

He was instantly on top of me rubbing the head of his cock against my pussy. He kissed my neck and whispered, “I’ll try to be easy, but I’m afraid I’m losing control”.

I wrapped my legs around his hips.

I wrapped my legs around his hips while he eased himself into me

He started to push himself inside me. He was thicker than I thought. I took a deep breath and said, “Oh, go slow my husband is not even close to your size, go slow baby”.

With that, he used slow, albeit short strokes, to ease inside of me.

Ladies, that sensational feeling of a new cock entering you for the first time… after more than a decade with the same one… you don’t know what you’re missing. You forget what it’s like, and the way your body reacts with all the excitement surrounding it, until you experience it again!

That extra gush of excitement!

I was so wet that he would have slipped in easily if he were smaller. I felt him going deeper and stretching me wider in places my pussy had never been stretched. It felt good to be totally filled up with cock.

Finally he was all the way in. He stayed buried deep inside me without moving for a second or two allowing me to adjust to his size.

Then he moved. Long slow gentle strokes. He was longer than I realized too with a slight curve that felt absolutely incredible. Combined with his cock with the pace, his thrust after thrust, I was rapidly building to yet another climax.

I could feel myself getting ready to cum again. How many times was this? Three? Six? Seven? He really had the rhythm down; his ass was incredible. The engine that drives the piston.

He slowly picked up the pace and began f_cking me harder. He was rubbing my G spot with every deep penetration. I can’t count the number of orgasms he gave me but it was probably more than I had in my entire married life.

They hit me again and again, over and over, like they were being emitted from my inner depths.

I was being taken just the way I wanted to be.

As I was cumming I wrapped my legs tighter around him to keep him from escaping. I must have clawed his back because he pinned my hands over my head; this new stud was f_cking me and giving me a new experience in sexual bliss.

Knowing how excited he was and feeling completely in his control, I wanted still more and showed him by raising my hips to each thrust. He was really ramming me now and I loved it.

It didn’t end there. Another climax came over me. As that one was beginning to subside another one rocked me.
It was like I was stuck in climax mode.

What pushed me over the edge though for the last time was his cum.

As his body tensed when he shouted out, I could feel jets of it shooting in my pussy.

For the first time in my life I could feel a man’s cock swelling inside me and the stream hitting me up inside me.

And from someone other than my husband.

That’s so taboo yet it was the hottest feeling I ever had. It felt absolutely incredible knowing that he was cumming hard inside me like that.

I didn’t care that I’m married. All that mattered was having this bull fill me up first with his cock and then his cum.

I held onto his arms while he continued to shoot, moaning in one continuous sentence, “yes baby shoot your hot sperm inside me shoot it deep give it to me”.

I honestly don’t know where all that came from as I don’t normally lose control like that.

But my body wanted all of it.

And I mean ALL OF IT.

Some women will understand when I say I can’t explain that feeling. What drives us to want a man’s sperm? Or more shockingly, that from another man?

Anyway, he collapsed on top of me, kissing my chest, still inside my pussy, both of us soaked in sweat.

As our breathing slowed back down to normal we looked at each other and began to laugh. I told him that he was an incredible lover and had taken me places sexually that nobody had ever done. He said it takes two to get off like that.

Finally he softened and slid out of me. I loved the feeling of his cum and mine running leaking out.

He rolled over and we layed there together, catching our breath, staring at the ceiling like two people who had just made a spectacularly complicated life choice.

Then, unexpectedly, we laughed.

Because what else do you do? Cry? Panic? Draft apology emails?

No. You laugh.

“You’re trouble,” I told him.

“You let me in,” he replied.

Fair point.

Eventually, reality crept back in. Careers. Marriage. Consequences. All the things that had politely waited outside the door.

But not immediately. Not yet.

Because for now, there were still days left in quarantine.

Days that suddenly felt very different.

It was another hour or two before we even got back to that room service menu.

I don’t know what happens after this.

I don’t know what this means.

I don’t even know if I’ll recognize myself when it’s over.

But I do know one thing: that beige, predictable life? It just got a very unexpected splash of color.

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “This is unbelievable.”

“What is?”

“I can feel guilty,” I said, “and still want to make the exact same bad decision again.”

We still have over a week of quarantine, and I am going to make sure we are taking full advantage of it and this covid affair while we can.