A Little Christmas Guilt

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I didn’t think it would ever happen to me. In fact, my mind had never even strayed towards the idea. My married life had been no less than spectacular for all of its fifteen years. We were both about forty and were awash with a deep respect and love for each other. We had marvellously uninhibited sex, common interests, stimulating conversations, and, equally important for both of us, no kids to impede our lifestyle. We seemed to have, as far as we were concerned, the perfect marriage. Sure there were ups and downs and things like money issues, just like everyone else that we knew, but they weren’t beyond dealing with, and they never created any stress or tension between us to the extent that it threatened our marriage. In short, there was nothing that was impeding the quality of our marriage, and absolutely no reason to think that I might ever want to do anything that might jeopardise it in any way. And then… I was on a short business trip, business trips being most unusual for me to have to undertake, and this one in particular as it was just a few days before Christmas. I had managed to do some on-the-road shopping for Christmas gifts, and they were wrapped and ready for the flight home. I was flying home the following day, Christmas Eve, as soon as the morning meeting was finished, and was looking forward immensely to it. I had just finished an after-work drink with a couple of colleagues after a long day of meetings and was heading towards the hotel elevator to go to my room, when this guy came charging down the hall heading towards the lobby. He was carrying two suitcases, had a wild look on his face, his clothes were dishevelled, his tie was draped over his shoulder, and he was muttering, “Jesus! Oh Jesus Christ!” God knows what his problem was but it certainly wasn’t mine, and I stepped well to the side as he careened past me towards the hotel exit. I glanced back at him over my shoulder just in time to see a woman emerge from a side corridor directly into his path. It was inevitable. He smashed straight into her, sending her sprawling, and he tumbled ass-over-teakettle over her, his two suitcases flying, one of which burst open scattering its contents of dirty clothes and underwear across the lobby floor. He picked himself up, swearing heartily, raced around scooping his clothes up and stuffing them back into the suitcase, and ran out the door, yelling for a taxi. The whole incident had taken only a few seconds. The few people in the lobby were stunned by what had happened and stood where they were, uncertain as to what to do, or what was going to happen next. The unfortunate woman had hit the wall hard and was lying at its base with her eyes closed, not moving. Her head was lying at what looked to me like an awkward angle. Her long winter coat, which she had been carrying over her arm, lay splayed out on the floor beside her. I rushed to her and found, to my relief, that she was breathing. I gently felt behind her neck for any swelling and found no sign of injury. A moment later she opened her eyes, blinking a little incomprehensibly at her situation. “Don’t move for a bit, okay?” I told her and placed my hand on her shoulder, gently holding her down. It was only then that I noticed that her skirt had been pushed well up her legs from her fall, exposing her stocking tops to which were fastened the straps of a garter belt. In addition, I could see that she wasn’t wearing any panties. Her pussy wasn’t visible because of the partially crossed position of her legs, but the neatly trimmed and shaped patch of pubic hair on her mound was. A couple of men had come over and were standing watching, and, no sooner than I had noticed her exposed situation, I looked up and I saw one of them leering down at her. I glared at him and immediately tugged her skirt down over her legs as far as I could. It was bunched beneath her, but I managed to cover her down to mid thigh. She groaned a bit then and weakly said, “Let me up,” I removed my hand and helped her into a sitting position against the wall. As she sat there, she drew her feet closer to herself, bending her knees, and, placing her elbows on them, she buried her face in her hands. Bending her knees had, of course, the unintentional result of her skirt sliding well up her thighs, once again exposing her stocking tops. “Are you alright? Do you have any pain? How do you feel?” A little unsteadily she replied, “Yes. Yes I think I’m okay.” She then became aware of the position of her skirt and she started tugging at it to cover herself. “Come on then. Let’s get you to your feet.” I helped her up and, holding her arm, I led her into the lobby and sat her down in a large easy chair. The desk clerk brought her a glass of water from which she gratefully had a few sips. “Should I get you to a doctor?” “No. I’m going to be fine thanks. I’m just shaken up a bit, that’s all. I just… I want to go to my room now.” I walked her to the elevator, holding her arm again, and we headed up to her room, which happened to be on the same floor as mine. As we approached her room she stumbled a little and I gripped her arm tighter, thinking that she might fall. She opened her room door and we both walked in. I took her over to the bed and she sat down on the edge of it. I knelt before her and slipped off her shoes to make her more comfortable. “You should lie down and rest.” With a little shakiness in her voice she said, “You’ve been so kind. Thanks so much for your help.” “You’re sure you’re okay? Is there anything I can get you?” “Yes I’m alright. I think I’m just going to Pendik Escort have a hot bath to relax me.” “You’re sure a bath is a good idea? I’m a little concerned that you might black out again.” “Black out again? You mean I was unconscious?” she said incredulously. “Briefly. You really hit the wall hard. I saw the whole thing.” Still sounding a little shaky she said, “Oh god. I had no idea.” She paused to collect her thoughts after the revelation, then continued. “Well, I think I’d still like to soak in a bath for a bit. You sound like you know what you’re talking about, so if you’re really concerned, and if you wouldn’t mind, then perhaps you’d wait here. Just for a few minutes. Would you do that for me? If you’re okay with it just look in occasionally on me please.” “Of course I will,” and I sat down on the couch. There were a few magazines on the coffee table, and as I picked one up I watched as she went into the bathroom. She appeared steady on her feet so my concerns were lessened. After she closed the door and started running the bath water I heard her moving around, and I couldn’t help but think back on the incident downstairs and how she had been exposed before my eyes. She was a very attractive woman, and I could imagine how sexy she must look without her skirt, blouse and jacket, just as she must be at that very moment on the other side of the door, perhaps moving around in just her bra, garter belt and stockings. I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused back on the magazine. After about fifteen minutes I realised that I hadn’t heard any noise from the bathroom for quite some time, and got up and went to the door. I knocked on it lightly and asked, “Are you okay in there?” There was no answer and I became a little alarmed. Opening the door I poked my head inside and there she was, standing by the bath tub, nude, rubbing her hair vigorously with a towel. At that moment she looked up, a startled look in her eyes. I pulled back and closed the door immediately. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” I said loudly through the door. “I knocked to see if you were okay, and when there was no answer I became worried. I guess you didn’t hear me.” There was a small laugh in response. “That’s alright. I’ll be right out.” A minute later the door opened and she stepped into the room, wrapped in a bath towel and looking quite refreshed. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated. “I really am.” “It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “You’re not the first man to see me drying my hair.” That immediately put me at ease, and we both laughed. “I’m really glad you’re alright. That bath seems to have done you the world of good. You were looking pretty shaky earlier.” There was a short silence between us, then I continued. “Well, I’d better get going now. It was nice to have met you. And please, if there’s anything I can help you with I’m just down the hall in 423. Take care.” As she walked towards the door with me she said, “There is one thing. I don’t suppose you’d care to have dinner with me, would you? I hate eating alone. I’m famished and would really like some company.” Turning back towards her I said, “You know, I think I’d enjoy that. I don’t have any plans for dinner. Could you give me maybe fifteen minutes though? I’d like to freshen up and change.” It was an Italian restaurant, just down the street from the hotel. When we entered she spoke Italian to the man who greeted us. He appeared to be the owner and he beamed at hearing her speak his native tongue, and perhaps as a result, the service was as superb as the food. We had a drink before dinner and shared a litre carafe of exceptional wine during dinner, which the owner proudly told us came from his home village in Italy. Before we had finished it, he graciously topped us up with another half litre of the same, saying something to her in Italian that I could only presume to mean that he enjoyed our being there. We both hit it off really well, and our conversation flowed as if we had known one another for years. She was in town, like me, on business. She had been married for eight years. Both her and her husband had professional careers, and no kids. There were a lot of parallels in our lives. When dinner was finished the owner served us a shot of an Italian liqueur, which he said would help with the digestion and our sleep. I protested when he gave her the bill, but he said that the ‘signora’ had insisted to him earlier that she would pay the bill. She looked at me and said, “Please, let me pay. I really do owe you a big thanks for being so kind today,” and she followed it up with, “even if you saw me drying my hair.” When we left the restaurant and hit the cold night air we could both feel the effects of the alcohol, so we linked arms as we walked back to the hotel. When we got to her room we thanked each other for the lovely evening, wished each other good luck with our business efforts, and said our good-byes. Back in my room I undressed, pulled back the covers on the bed, and lay comfortably naked on the sheets as I phoned home. When my wife answered she seemed to be kind of remote, and when I asked her if anything was wrong, she assured me that everything was alright. We spoke for awhile about our respective days, and I asked her what she was eating as I could hear a slight smacking of her lips. “Oh it’s just a little Christmas cake from the office,” was her hesitant reply, and when she asked what I had done for dinner I told her that I had eaten with some of the guys I had spent my day with. I have no idea why I said that. I had no reason to not Pendik Escort Bayan tell her the truth as my evening out had been totally innocent. Nonetheless, I harboured a nagging little feeling of guilt about it. I suppose it was because I had had such a wonderful time alone with another woman, something which, not surprisingly, I hadn’t experienced since before I was married. It might have been compounded by the fact that it was only two days before Christmas. I’m not in the least bit religious but the season does have its values to me, beyond the religious ones held by so many, and I think it played upon me. Before we said goodnight with our usual “Love you”, I told her that I was looking forward to getting home. I asked her again if she was alright, and when she told me to please hurry home there was an odd tone to it. Just the same, hearing her voice was, as always, stimulating to me and I was hard afterwards and was considering turning on a blue movie to help satisfy myself. The next one wasn’t due to start for another half hour so I watched the news to pass the time, which more or less took care of my erection. Just when I was set to start watching the movie there was a knock on the door. I got a towel from the bathroom, wrapped it around my waist, and opened the door as far as the security chain allowed. And there she was, the woman from down the hall. “I hope you weren’t asleep.” I unhooked the chain and opened the door. She was dressed in a terry-towel bathrobe which covered her down to her knees.. I looked down at myself wearing a bath towel and, looking back up at her said, “Well I was just about to dry my hair.” She laughed and said, “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about being knocked down today and that I was actually unconscious.” She paused before continuing. “I’ve ordered something to drink from room service and as there will be enough for two I was wondering… would you care to join me for a nightcap?” I’m sure my surprise showed. “Well… sure. That… that sounds fine. Just let me get dressed in something else though, okay?” She smiled and said, “I found this bathrobe in the closet in my room. Maybe you’ve got one in yours too. Just be comfortable okay?” and she turned and headed down the hallway back to her room. Sure enough, I found a complimentary bathrobe and slipped it on over my nakedness, which somehow didn’t seem to be inappropriate in spite of my not having known this woman any longer than a few hours. And then that nagging little feeling of guilt entered my mind again. “What was I doing?” I thought. “I really don’t need to sit in a strange woman’s hotel room, having a drink and wearing just a bathrobe. I don’t need to get involved in some kind of fling, if that’s where it might lead.” And then I rationalised it. “This was totally innocent. This would only be an extension of our pleasant dinner together.” When I arrived at her room the door was half open, so I knocked and walked in. She was sitting on the couch and smiled when she saw me. “Thanks for coming. Please sit down. Our wine should be here any moment now.” As I sat down she drew her legs up and sat sideways on the couch facing me, one arm draped over the back of the couch. We had spoken only a few words when there was a knock on the door. “Oh, our nightcap’s here.” As she turned in her seat and swung her feet to the floor to answer the door, her bathrobe, whether by accident or design I couldn’t guess, spread open revealing for the briefest of moments her bare legs almost to her pussy. It was a view not unlike what I had seen of her earlier in the day, but this time I found it stimulating. She returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses, placed them on the coffee table and resumed her position on the couch beside me, legs drawn up and facing me. I reached over and filled her glass and handed it to her, then filled my own and sat back on the couch half turned towards her. “To an unusual day with a pleasant ending. New friends,” she toasted, and we clinked our glasses together, both of us seemingly oblivious to our manner of dress. Just as at dinner our conversation flowed easily, but now with more of a personal focus on our individual likes and dislikes and what made each other tick. At one point she surprised me by asking, with a wide smile and a kind of teasing tone to her voice, “I’d like to know how old you were when you lost your virginity.” “Well, okay… Uh, I was a bit slow in getting going I guess. Twenty, to answer your question, and oddly enough it was to a friend of my mother. She turned up one day when I was alone at home, pretending that my mother was expecting her. It was a ruse of course, as all she wanted to do was deflower me, and this was her opportunity. I have to admit she did a really good job of it too. I guess I was lucky to start off that way. What about you?” “A little younger. Nineteen, and to a friend of my older brother. Unfortunately,” and she laughed a bit before continuing, “it was in the back seat of a car, and he didn’t do a very good job of it. I knew though that there was a lot more to having sex than what he provided, and I was determined that I wasn’t going to let my learning about it plateau-out with that lousy experience.” “Did you move on quickly?” “Yes, I guess you could say I did. I stupidly married a guy only a year later, because I thought I was in love. The marriage was over in two years. It had been a huge mistake but at least I expanded my sexual horizons because of it. I met my new husband two years later and we were married a year Escort Pendik afterwards. It’s been a wonderful relationship.” She paused for a moment, then asked me, in a tone no longer casual, “Tell me, if you don’t mind me asking, after fifteen years how is your sex life? I worry that after that amount of time it might just become routine and boring.” “Is yours showing signs of that?” I asked. Her glass was now empty so I refilled it and topped up mine. It appeared to me that she was starting to become a little drunk for the second time that evening, but she was obviously enjoying talking with me and turning the conversation towards sex. And it was mutual. I was enjoying it and, likely it had something to do with the wine as well, I was becoming a little aroused by it. “Perhaps a little,” she said. “That’s what scares me a bit. So what about yours? How do you keep it alive, if you do?” “We experienced the same concerns about it diminishing at about the same period in our marriage as you have with yours, and we decided that we weren’t going to let what we had just slip away. We became inventive, even did some role playing, planned weekend getaways to romantic locations. That sort of thing. We still do it and it’s working for us.” “What do you mean by becoming inventive?” “Well she has a drawer full of toys and movies, and scarves and exotic lingerie, all of which we use on a regular basis.” “Scarves?” “Yes. We use them for restraint. We’ve both discovered we have a liking for mild bondage. It’s been a huge turn-on for us. What about you and your husband? Do you do anything to make it special for you?” She was silent for a moment, then said, “We really do have a strong relationship and our sex life is… well, if I was honest, I would say it’s only okay. But there’s nothing we do to try to make it exceptional, I’m afraid. What I mean is that we don’t really go out of our way to help things along. And that’s what I was getting at when I asked you. I’m worried that things have become kind of routine and boring between us. I’ve tried a couple of things to try to spice things up. I like to wear special things for him but I’m not sure it really does a lot for him.” “Yes, I know.” “How do you mean ‘you know’?” “Well, what I mean is that… well, when you had your accident earlier on and you ended up on the floor, your skirt was bunched up almost to your waist.” “Oh god!” she giggled and blushed deeply. “Then my little secret’s out.” “Yes, I guess it is, but not very far. Don’t worry. I covered you up very quickly. But if you don’t mind me saying, I can’t understand how your husband doesn’t find your little secret stimulating. The little I saw of you was very elegant and sexy. And what about for you? You obviously enjoy being dressed, or kind of undressed, like that even when you’re away from home.” Now that I had broached the subject of what I had seen of her I could feel my cock starting to get hard beneath the loose bathrobe. Glancing down I could see that its presence was becoming more than a little noticeable, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. Now the guilt really jumped at me. “This isn’t what I wanted was it?” I though. “I’ve too much to lose. I should call it a night and get out of here. My wife has everything I need and we love each other.” And then the rationalisation kicked in once again. “But then, of course, this is leading nowhere. It’s just friendly, innocent conversation and I’m enjoying it. I can control it.” She answered my question by saying, “It’s really the only naughty kind of thing that I do, and to tell you the truth I love dressing that way. And just in case you were wondering; no, my husband doesn’t know I dress this way when I’m away from home. It’s my way of secretly giving myself some freedom from the daily grind. It adds a little spice to my life but, you know, that’s as far as it’s gone.” “So you enjoy being forbidden and untouchable and, in your own way, something of an exhibitionist?” I said. “Well, I guess I’m not really an exhibitionist. At least not in the true sense. Sure, there have been a number of times in my life that I’ve realised I’ve unintentionally exposed some part of me, but when it happened I didn’t mind that it had. So to answer your question; yes, very much. It excites me.” “So, from what you’re saying, I’m guessing that you have some unfulfilled fantasies.” “I suppose you’re right. There’s something about creating that feeling of want in men and, this may sound a little odd, knowing they’re suffering a little just because I’m not letting them have what they know I have. I’m in control with it. It’s not that I dislike men. On the contrary. For the most part I really love them, but they do have their shortcomings at times, and sometimes it doesn’t hurt to sort of put them in their place. I hope that doesn’t sound too bitchy.” The tone of her voice was changing noticeably as we spoke. It was becoming more sultry. Sexier. Was it the wine, or was our talk having the same effect on her that it was having on my cock? I continued, quite unintentionally believe it or not, pushing the conversation along. It just flowed that way. “Do you ever really wish you could fulfill your fantasies?” I asked her. “Isn’t that what fantasies are for? To tantalise yourself? For instance, today I had to give a talk before a group of about twenty men. Standing before them in a relatively short skirt and wearing just my garter belt and no panties was extremely exciting for me. There was a huge satisfaction seeing the way some of the men looked at me. It was as if they knew. Almost as if they could see. And there I was right before them and completely unattainable. Forbidden, untouchable fruit. “And here’s the fantasy. I had the feeling that I wanted to step forward, cross the floor and offer to let a couple of them sample the forbidden and untouchable.

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