Married Men Are Catnip to Me

I work part time at an upscale coffeehouse conveniently located near my college campus. (And yes, I do wear one of those cute little aprons.) This job lends itself well to my favorite hobby, people-watching, and also affords professional-looking men the chance to rest their gaze upon me. That is precisely how I met one of my most notable benefactors.

He struck up a conversation with me, and I could not help but notice the wedding band gleaming on his left hand. This only made the game more enticing. He talked with me about his career as an art broker. I told him of my true passion in life, printmaking. Under the guise of learning more about my work, he asked me out that night to a very expensive restaurant in town. I could not resist this opportunity to have my work seen, nor could I resist the way he was looking so hungrily at me.

After my shift, I rushed home to prepare myself for our date. I drew a hot bath, readying myself for the long night to come. I decided upon a short, slinky black dress, one that hugged all my curves. Eschewing the many bottles of perfume that cluttered my vanity, I wickedly rubbed a dab of pussy juice at all the pulse points prescribed by Vogue magazine.

I met him at the restaurant, and I immediately saw the glint he had in his eyes. I looked down at his hands and found that he was no longer wearing his wedding band—a very naughty boy. I could tell this meeting was going to be anything but professional.

After dinner, I invited him back to my loft. I told him that I had noticed that he wasn't wearing his ring anymore. He stuttered out an excuse. I told him that I knew he was lying and that he would have to pay for his misdeed. I made him undress completely, with the exception of his tasteful necktie. I made him crawl on the floor, leading him by his tie. He begged for mercy, but he knew that there would be none in store for him on this night.

 




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