My husband and I had been married about five years when we had our first kid. As with any major transition, it was a stressful time, further compounded by the fact that my husband was working full-time AND had gone back to school for an advanced degree. I hardly saw him, which not only created distance in our marriage, but it also meant that most of the child-rearing responsibilities fell to me – and that was exhausting.
I was desperate for help, attention, affection – anything. Maybe that’s why I noticed Enzo.
I was walking through our local grocery store, with our infant son in his carrier, just as I had done hundreds of other times. On that particular day, however, as I was browsing through the produce section, someone caught my eye. Enzo, as I soon learned, was actually the produce manager, but all I knew on that first day I noticed him was that he checked every box for me.
Enzo was as thoroughbred of an Italian as his name indicated: ruggedly handsome, tanned olive skin, jet black hair, and a strong upper body that was evident even through his work polo. Taller than me, older than me, and with a great smile, I couldn’t help but take an extended look at him. My mind quickly wandered into impure thoughts of what he would look like with his shirt off.
Right at that moment, perhaps sensing my gaze, he glanced at me. His eyes. Omigosh, his eyes. His piercing light brown eyes invaded my soul. I wanted to melt, I wanted to run, I wanted to look away but I couldn’t.
He smiled at me, and I smiled weakly back, feeling as if my legs were going to give out. Fortunately I had the cart for support, and I quickly found something else to look at. I happened to be near the potatoes. I never examined potatoes so closely as I did that afternoon.
My mind was racing. How have I never noticed him before? Is he new to this store? Why am I checking out another man? Why did I have to wear this baggy outfit today? Did I even wash my hair this morning?
Suddenly, my swirling thoughts were interrupted: “Can I help you with anything?”
I nearly peed my pants. Turning around, half-trembling, I assumed that deep voice belonged to the stranger that was undeniably making me wet. Fuck. Yup, it was him.
“Oh! Um, no, thank you, I’m good, just – thank you for offering, though.” My face turned red as the words stumbled out of my mouth. I felt like a kid talking to her crush.
To my chagrin, he stuck out his hand and continued to engage me: “Well, my name is Enzo. I’m the produce manager here. If you ever need help with anything, let me know.”
He had extended his right hand, but I glanced down at his left. A ring. Dammit, why are the handsome ones always married?? Oh wait a minute – I’m married too.
I shook his hand. It was a strong, firm grip. His warm touch sent a wave of electricity through my body. “I’m Madison,” I responded. “My friends call me Maddie.”
He smiled again. His teeth were perfect. Dammit, he was handsome. “My friends call me Enzo.”
As I chuckled nervously at his facetious reply, he glanced at my cart: “Is this your son?”
My face turned redder with embarrassment. Not only had I briefly forgotten that I was married, I had also temporarily forgotten that I was a mom. “Oh yes! Yes, it is – he is.”
= = =
Over the weeks that followed, I found various reasons to visit the grocery store with increasing frequency. Enzo was almost always there because of his role, and we said hello every time we saw each other. Sometimes, especially when my son was napping and/or he wasn’t too busy, we would talk for an extended period of time – but never more than five minutes or so. I was conscious of trying to not make my flirting be too obvious.
Like any woman, I had always taken time to appreciate the attractiveness of other men – but I was a good wife, and had never given much thought to any of those desires. Enzo, however, was becoming a problem for me. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I spent my exhausted days and nights counting down the hours until I could make another trip to the grocery store. Seeing his ruggedly handsome face was the highlight of my day.
Things really started getting dangerous, though, when – unprompted – I started having sex dreams about him. He made me cum again and again in my dreams – and sometimes it translated to real life too. Even my husband noticed that I was moaning erotically in my sleep. Of course, when he asked me about that, I simply told him that he was in my dreams. He never questioned it.
I started to plan my visits to the grocery store a bit more carefully. Not only did I make sure that I was freshly showered, but I stared dressing up more. I’d always dressed modestly, so I didn’t have anything particularly provocative to wear, but I’d wear my lowest-cut shirts for him. Or my tightest-fitting pants. Or my cutest outfits. It didn’t hurt that my milk-filled boobies were quite a bit larger than my usual 36Bs. He started noticing – and commenting – on what I wore, which only inspired me to keep going.
Casual conversations about babies, the weather, and produce soon turned into more personal conversations. I learned that he’d been married for twelve years and they had two kids together. He didn’t speak negatively about his wife, but he didn’t speak highly of her either. Was that intentional? I told him about my husband – and I highlighted how he wasn’t particularly available to me. That was intentional.
My initial shyness and awkwardness around Enzo had rapidly disappeared. Our chats, and our subtle flirting, had led me to become quite comfortable around him. Therefore, on one particular day when I hadn’t slept much the night before, and happened to be quite annoyed at something my husband had said, I went to the grocery store on a mission. I wanted to push the envelope.
As soon as I walked in, I found Enzo working near the bananas. Perfect. “Hey, handsome.”
I had never called him anything other than Enzo. Whirling around to notice me standing there, even he looked surprised: “Oh! Why hello there, Madison.”
I picked up a single loose banana that looked perfectly ripe. “Working on bananas?”
A puzzled, but curious, look flashed across his captivating face. “Umm … yes, right now I am.”
I had never peeled a banana so quickly in my life. Staring deeply into his intoxicating eyes, I made a show of dramatically opening my mouth and slowly – ever so slowly – inserted the unpeeled banana along my tongue.
As his eyes grew wide, I held it in my mouth for a few seconds, sucking in my cheeks, before taking a quick bite and then casually removing the banana as if I hadn’t done anything seductive at all.
I saw his Adam’s apple flutter as he swallowed hard. “Umm … wow, Madison, do you uh … do you like that banana?”
I smiled greedily at him, and whispered back: “You should see what I do with other things in my mouth.”
Enzo rapidly scanned our surroundings, then leaned toward me and said softly: “I’m married.”
My answer was quick, and equally quiet: “I know that. And so am I. But all that I said was, ‘You should see what I do with other things in my mouth.’ The fact that you felt compelled to remind me that you were married tells me that you’re having a very dirty thought about something of yours that you’d like to stick in my mouth. I was just innocently enjoying a banana.”
Enzo rolled his eyes and groaned softly, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”
I laughed wickedly. “Fine. Have it your way. You believe whatever you want to believe.”
Enzo nearly interrupted me: “I have a break in ten minutes.”
My heart fluttered. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but I guess I hadn’t expected my advances would work so soon. “Really? I have my son with me though.”
Enzo glanced inside my shopping cart. “Yeah, but he’s asleep. If he’s still asleep in ten minutes, meet me behind the fence out back, near the dumpsters.”
I could feel my pulse pounding. My mouth felt dry. My panties were wet. “Okay.”
= = =
Ten minutes never felt so long. My son stayed asleep. I found a good secluded spot by the fence.
I paced back and forth while I waited, my feelings and thoughts a hot mess. Am I actually about to go through with this? Does this make me a slut? Does it not count as cheating if I don’t show him anything of mine? I wonder how big he is. I wonder if he’s circumcised or not. What if he’s too big for my tiny little mouth? Should I swallow, or?
I never finished thinking through that final question, because Enzo suddenly appeared.
He looked more nervous than how I was used to seeing him. He looked around several times, then looked into my eyes: “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I had been a good wife, a faithful wife, a non-cheating wife, for years. I had been flirting with, lusting after, and fantasizing about, this man for only a couple of months. At that moment, though, the latter won. “Do you want me to suck your dick or not?”
Arousal overpowered his anxieties. Enzo grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
After one last check of our surroundings, I knelt on the grass in front of him as he quickly undid his belt and zipper. The first thing I saw was his tight-fitting black briefs. Sexy. The second thing I saw, as he tugged those down, was his massive cock. Oh fuck.
He was bigger than my husband. As best as I could recall, he was bigger than any of my ex-boyfriends. I gasped instinctually. “Omigosh, you are huge!”
“Thank you,” replied Enzo.
This was going to hurt my jaw. I didn’t care. I curled two fingers around the base of his shaft, opened my cute little mouth as wide as I possibly could, and leaned forward. For the first time since I’d gotten married, the cock in my mouth did not belong to my husband.
It was everything I had dreamed about: his scent, his taste, the feel of his rapidly-hardening rod disappearing down my throat, his erotic moans.
I hardly ever swallowed my husband, but I was willing to make an immediate exception for this stranger-turned-lover. Until we heard it.
He jerked out of my mouth, and I rapidly stood up, at the loud beeping noise that horrifyingly interrupted our secret rendezvous. It was the garbage truck, there to pick up the dumpster.
“Shit!” Enzo exclaimed, quickly pulling up his pants and tucking his cock away.
Disturbed by the abrasive beeping sound, my son woke up and instantly started screaming. Half-traumatized, half-laughing, I blurted out, “You’ve gotta be kidding me, what are the odds?!?”
Without time for a proper goodbye, we swiftly walked away from each other in opposite directions, desperately hoping that the driver wouldn’t notice that a manager and a customer had met in a very odd location.
= = =
Unlike what my pattern had been, I suddenly dreaded going to the grocery store. In fact, I avoided it for nearly a week, and – even then – went on the weekend since Enzo usually didn’t work those shifts.
Over two weeks went by before it became unavoidable to make a weekday trip. I nervously entered the store and headed toward the produce section to legitimately pick up some fresh fruit.
As soon as Enzo saw me, he walked hurriedly over toward me – perhaps too fast, I wondered to myself. “Hey! I mean, hello Madison, haven’t seen you in a while.”
I chuckled awkwardly: “Um, yeah, ha – well, been busy with the baby, you know how it is.”
Enzo glanced around, then lowered his voice: “I am sooo sorry about what happened a couple of weeks ago. I don’t want things to be awkward for you.”
I shrugged. “Too late. But, whatever. It’s not your fault.”
Being back in his presence reminded me of how attractive he really was. I had been trying to convince myself over the prior two weeks that the whole thing was stupid, and he wasn’t worth it – but that defense mechanism was quickly crumbling.
In fact, I shocked myself with what I said next: “Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to finish the job.”
Enzo’s eyes widened. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting that either. Softly, he replied, “Well, for what it’s worth, your mouth felt really good on my … banana.” He winked.
And just like that, we were back to flirting. “Banana?” I retorted. “More like a large zucchini.”
Unfortunately, before the suggestive dialogue could continue any further, an elderly customer approached and asked for help picking out some cantaloupe. “I’ll see you next time,” Enzo called out in his professional managerial voice.
= = =
A variety of interruptions suddenly seemed to plague our relationship: our conversations, our flirting, even the timing of my planned trips to the store. Ever since that garbage truck, I thought to myself.
Enzo noticed it too. I began to worry that it might scare him away. I was just a customer; he was an employee. If his employer found out that he was flirting with a customer on the job, and had even met her out back behind the store one day, he might get in trouble.
My fears were alleviated, though, on a random weekday afternoon when I was at the store. Enzo approached me to offer unsolicited advice on strawberries – which I found odd until I realized that he was creating a fictional situation so that he could slip me a tiny note of paper. I clasped it in my hand without acknowledging it and walked away shortly thereafter. Only when I was a few aisles down did I open it up.
It was a handwritten address. Underneath the address, he wrote: “Tomorrow. ONLY between 1-3 pm. Only time alone.”
I pulled up the address on Google Maps. It was a residential area. I clicked on Street View. It was a house. A large gorgeous two-story colonial house. Was this his house? Was he inviting me to come to his house???
= = =
On the way home that afternoon, I had worked on an excuse to tell my husband why I’d need to leave the house for two hours the following afternoon, and why he needed to stay home with our son. It took some creativity and a lot of convincing, but I managed to pull it off.
I didn’t sleep much that night and was a nervous wreck most of the day. It was one thing to spontaneously give Enzo a blow job behind the store, but to go to his house?!? Not only would it be a conscious act of adultery, but it was risky! What if his wife – or his kids – came home? And yet, he had consumed my thoughts and my fantasies for months – and the impressiveness of his cock had only elevated my lust for him.
I had to get changed in our bathroom so that my husband didn’t see the lingerie I was putting on underneath my casual outfit. I felt really wrong doing so, but the sexiest set I had was the white lacy set that I had worn on our wedding night – and hadn’t worn since. That streak of unuse was about to be broken; perhaps that was appropriate because I was also about to break my vows of marital faithfulness.
Or so I thought. On the way to Enzo’s house, I must’ve ran over something in the road, and my tire instantly went flat.
I couldn’t call my husband since it was in the opposite direction of where I’d told him I’d be heading, so I had to call AAA. By the time they had come and finished putting the spare tire on, it was 2:30.
= = =
Unlike the previous interrupted attempt to cheat, I wasted no time in hurrying back to the grocery store the following day and practically ran up to Enzo.
He started to greet me, but I quickly interjected: “I am sooo sorry … I was literally on my way when I got a flat tire; it wasn’t done getting fixed until 2:30, and I had no way to call you or anything …”
Enzo raised a finger to his lips and quietly shushed me. “It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. I felt like a real idiot yesterday, I thought I went too far, but I’m glad to hear the real story and to know you’re okay.”
I had obviously told my husband about the flat tire (though not the location), and also told him that I had rescheduled my plans for the following day. That meant – for the second day in a row – I didn’t have our son in tow. I told Enzo that.
Then I gave him an invitation: “Black Honda Odyssey, far corner of the parking lot. Tinted windows. I’m free for the next 2 hours. I’ll be waiting.”
I whirled around and briskly left the store. I had cast the fateful bait.
=.= =
About twenty minutes later, I saw Enzo strolling through the parking lot toward me. I checked my hair and makeup one final time, took a deep breath, and prepared to break some promises.
I was sitting on one of the second-row captain’s chairs, so I slowly opened one of the sliding back doors so that he could step right in. He quickly shut the door behind him and took one look into my eyes.
That was all it took: that one gaze, that one interconnected stare, that one glance that transcended all other barriers and instantly joined us and our sexual desires together.
I kissed him with abandon; he kissed me back; our hands roamed over each other’s bodies and quickly began to undo each other’s clothes. When his shirt came off, revealing his tight pecs and a body that was even more fit than what I had imagined, I paused to breathe out: “You are so fucking hot.”
Passionate kissing resumed; his hand went inside my loose-fitting sweatpants and touched my dripping wet pussy that I had left commando just for him.
I moaned with pleasure. He sat back: “You don’t have any panties on!”
I smiled coyly. “Just for you.”
I undid his belt. He undid his zipper. I pulled down his pants. He pulled down his briefs. His cock was completely hard, and bigger than I remembered. I re-introduced it to my mouth.
While I did that, he lifted up my shirt. He exclaimed: “No bra either??”
“Mmph mm mph,” I mumbled onto his cock.
He wanted my shirt off. I reluctantly slurped my mouth off his large member to let him do that. He was practically naked. I still had my pants on. It didn’t seem fair.
First, I reached into my purse and handed him a condom. Enzo raised an eyebrow. I answered his unspoken question: “I don’t just want you in my mouth.” With that, I propped myself up and slid down my pants, revealing my shaved pussy to him – but I wasn’t done there.
I wanted him. I needed him. I needed his cock. I swung my body off the chair and got on all fours in the aisle between the seats, confidently presenting my naked backside to him. “I need your cock,” I pleaded desperately. “I’ve been horny for you for soo long – and I think you’re the only man big enough to fill my stretched-out pussy right now.”
Enzo didn’t say a word. All I heard was the condom wrapper opening, and the faint sound of the rubber stretching over his huge dick.
Then I felt it. I gasped. His tip touched my hole – and then, as he grabbed my hips in his strong hand, he pushed his entire length into me without any warning.
I felt like he was going to split me in half – and I fucking loved it. I cried out loudly: “Oh FUCK, you’re so huge!!”
He finally broke his silence: “Your pussy is amazing.”
He started thrusting slowly. “I can’t believe you took me in like that.”
I groaned in response: “I can’t believe it either. I’m so turned on by you …”
His right hand had wandered to my clit. It felt like my entire body was on fire. I was being overtaken by a flood that I couldn’t control.
I cried out: “Omigosh, Enzo, you’re gonna make me cum …”
“Already??” His voice sounded incredulous – and impressed.
“Uh-huh,” I moaned. “Pound me harder, pound me, touch me, fuck me …”
He eagerly picked up his pace. The sound of his crotch slapping against my bare ass made an incredible echo inside the van. In less than sixty seconds, it sent me over the edge.
I didn’t care if anyone could hear me: “Unnnhh!!! I’m … I’m … oh fuck, I’m CUMMING!!!”
I nearly passed out from the mind-blowing rush. It had to be one of the best orgasms I’d ever had – certainly one of the fastest.
I was only half-conscious of him continuing to thrust into me, but I loved how my entire body was shuddering in response. He could’ve fucked me like that for days.
At some point, though, I heard him groan his release, and I could feel his huge cock quaking inside my satisfied pussy.
He could’ve stayed there, but he must’ve been tired from being on his eyes, and pulled out sooner than I wanted him to in order to collapse in a heap on the floor. I turned around to glance at his cum-filled condom, and wondered if I’d regret not letting him go inside me.
Enzo stretched his hand toward me and got my attention. “That was fucking incredible. You are so sexy. Your poor husband doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
I gestured toward his towering cock. “Neither does your wife!”
Enzo shrugged. “Oh well. You’re really good.”
I smiled. “Am I good? Or am I bad?”
Enzo smiled back. “Mmm, you’re bad. You are a bad, bad naughty wife. And I love it.”
= = =
That was over five years ago. That’s when I first became a bad wife – and I didn’t know it at the time, but it certainly didn’t stop there.