Scanning the room, I spotted her. Clare Adams. I had seen her here at the party earlier, but always with other men. She at six feet and I at six-two, we were taller than almost everyone else here. I walked to her, took her hand, and we moved to the wall.

"So, how's life in Audit?" I asked.

She beamed. "It's wonderful. I thought I would end up working at a CPA firm, but banking is much more interesting. I never got the chance to thank you for getting me the job."

"I got you the opportunity, you got you the job. I'm glad it's working out for you. Is your husband here tonight?"

Her smile evaporated. "No, he's out to sea. Four months into a seven month deployment. There were a group of wives who went over to see their husbands in Italy, but I didn't have vacation, so I couldn't go." Then, Leonard Erickson, a director, took her hand and she was back on the dance floor.

Later, it was nearing the witching hour, and I was still searching when someone touched me from behind. I turned, and it was Clare. "I want at least one dance with you before the it's over," she said and led me out onto the floor.

The music was soft and slow, and I was still looking for someone while we danced. I didn't think I heard her correctly when she whispered in my ear, "Take me home and fuck me."

I drew my head back and stared at her. She looked me in the eye, serious as a heart attack. "I want you to take me home and fuck me. Right now."

I stammered, "Your husband..."

"Isn't here. You are." We danced into a shadow. "Get out your phone." When I did, she gave me her number. "Text me your address and leave. I'll be five minutes behind you. We don't want people to see us leaving together."

______________________________________________________________________________________________

When I got home, I took off my jacket and tie. Batchelor apartments aren't known for their neatness, and mine wasn't up to even those low standards. I shoved the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, tossed the loose clothes (clean and otherwise) into the closet, and pulled the duvet over the bed.

That was all the time I had before a knock on the door. I opened it and she entered.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked.

"Bourbon, please."

I poured one for her and one for me. She shot hers, held out her glass, and I refilled it.

Looking at me over the rim of her glass, she asked, "Which way to the bedroom?"

Now it was my turn to drain my glass. Refilling it, I pointed to the door.

She preceded me into the room, stopped at the bed and turned to me. She put her glass on the nightstand. She was wearing a wrap-around dress, held together by a belt and some Velcro. She untied the belt, pulled it apart, shrugged out of it, and there was nothing inside but all woman.

My mouth fell open. And my eyes. There was a flush on her cheeks and chest, but her eyes never wavered from mine. I drained my glass, set it on the dresser, and started to unbutton my shirt.

"No!" she commanded. "Let me." She came across the room, eyes locked with mine. Without looking away, she unbuttoned my shirt and pulled the tails out of my pants. She pushed it off my shoulders, grabbed the cuffs, pulled, and tossed it alongside the bed.

"Step out of your shoes," she said. When I did, she kicked them to the wall. She unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, letting them fall to the floor. She put her foot between mine and stepped on the pants. "Step out," she said. I did, and she kicked them to the side.

That left my boxers. And a very obvious inhabitant.

She moved me back to the bed. Kneeling, she pulled the boxers halfway down and had me sit. Then she removed them, tossing them after my pants.

There, at her eye level, was my almost painfully erect cock. She looked at it, a wry grin on her face. She took it in her hand, gently stroking it. Then she began talking to it.

"Hi there, big guy. Were you scared, all alone there in the dark? It's okay, momma's gonna take good care of you now."

Her grip got firmer, her strokes faster, and I began to leak.

"Oh, no, no, don't cry, baby. Momma's here. Let momma kiss your tears away."

And she leaned forward, licking the fluid that had dripped down the shaft, running her tongue to the tip. She locked her lips over the tip, a soft suction while she French-kissed it.

"Oh, God, Clare," I groaned.

I saw a mischievous glint in her eyes right before she suddenly engulfed the head. She trapped it against her soft palate with her tongue, sucking it like a clogged straw, all while stroking it more firmly and much, much faster.

"CLARE!" I shouted, but I couldn't stop my prostate from rapid-firing into her mouth.

Her sucking turned to swallowing, the stroking easing. She finally lifted her head and kissed the tip. Looking up at me, she reached to the nightstand, picked up her glass, and emptied it. "That was nice and, no, I didn't mind," she said, "but sometimes I like a little chaser."

She pushed me back onto the bed and lay beside me, her head on my chest below my jaw. Her voice was soft as she spoke to me. "I don't want you to think I'm a loose woman. These last four months, I've had to fend off the advances of almost every single man, and some married ones, too. I was not going to be one of those Navy wives that runs around whenever her husband goes off to sea."

"Then I found out my Eric wasn't so loyal. Lois McCarty, one of my coworkers, went to Italy with the other wives. When she came back, she avoided me. When I asked her why, she said she had seen Eric with an Italian woman. Her husband admitted that my Eric had had women in every port of call they made. I was devastated. I decided that tonight was the night I would see if I could do it, too. You were the best-looking single man there, and I saw you scanning the herd. I kept trying to get to you but there was always someone else interfering. I'm glad you didn't find someone else."

I didn't know what to say. Then, I did.

"So, how do you feel now?"

"Empowered. Free. I wondered if I would feel dirty, but I don't. I really liked sucking you. It's something I enjoy, and I think you did, too. And I'm looking forward to the next act, if you think you're up for it."

She had been stroking my cock all the while, and the answer was in her hand.

She pulled me to her, her lips on mine, her tongue attacking mine. Then she rolled onto her back, bringing me with her. Her eyes were ablaze, her voice husky with passion. "Fuck me now. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me hard. Make me forget that cheating bastard of a husband. Make me cum. Make me cum hard."

Her knees came up, she grabbed my cock and placed it at the mouth of her vagina, and I shot home with one stroke. Her head went back, she forcefully exhaled, and we began.

I held her ass and fucked her hard, as hard as any woman I ever had. Her hips beat a counterpoint, soft mewls every time I bottomed out. She wasn't looking for love-making, she wanted the physical release of pure animal sex. And I gave it to her.

I felt the start of my own orgasm when her back bowed, her body shuddered, and she cried out, "I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING, OH MY FUCKING GOD, I'M CUMMING!"

And then, moments later, she looked into my eyes and whispered, "Cum in me, cum in me. Let me feel your cum filling me."

I did. Once again, I began to pulse, shooting into her. And with each pulse, she whispered, "Oh, yes." Six times.

Afterwards, we lay in the bed. She used my shirt to staunch the cum draining from her vagina. She spoke first. "You better soak this shirt in water, or the stain will never come out."

Then, she asked, "What about coming to my place Friday and let me impress you with my culinary skill? I can cook frozen pizza with the best of them, but I guarantee you will love the dessert."

"It's a date. But, what about your husband?"

"Don't worry about him," she replied, steel suddenly in her voice. "I'll fuck him long before his ship returns."