[This is part five of our ongoing story, "Revealing Miranda." If you missed Parts I-IV, they are alive and well and living in the archives. You can find the full text there. But for now, here's a clip from where we left off:

"I'm a man standing in his own back yard, a man with a son and a wife, staring
down at a girl wriggling out of her shorts. I'm a strong man hanging over a girl lying nude in the grass with her knees up and her cunt open and it's glistening and I can smell it.
...
I'm a man with a raging hard-on who should say, "Get the fuck up, slut.
I'm faithful to my wife. The lady who is your boss, you ungrateful bitch." And I'm about to say all that, truly I am, but first, I say, but first..."

Now for part V...]


I drop to my knees, between hers, shove her legs apart, grabbing her behind
her knees, pushing them up into the air. With one hand I shove three fingers into her and I work to drop my pants with the other. I'm holding her legs open with my waist. She's moaning. I pull back to look at her, everything spread so I can see, nub and hole and slime and crack and asshole. I mush my hand there, up and down in the slime. She's playing with her clit, eyes closed. So I turn her over -- she obeys the direction of my hands. She's still playing with herself, on her knees now with her ass up and the pink pushed out, that temptress pussy. When I see the hole crack open, I'm done for. There's no such thing as Vicki. As a wife. I bore into the hole, doggie style, raging. I come in no time.

Pity. Vicki would never let me get away with that. But this isn't Vicki, not by a long shot. This is the hot little gardener, white cream clinging to her bush. She's pinching her tits and working her pussy until she comes. She's on all fours and I'm on all fours behind her, my face right down by the white cream, eating her, so I can taste it when she comes. She moans. The sound is very deep. I watch her hole pulsing; quick, I shove my tongue inside it, making her shiver and a little squeal come out. It's a sweet, sweet pussy this girl comes with, hot, juiced, pleasing. I want to fuck it again. I really want to fuck it.

She's driving me nuts because I can smell her and I want her to stay on her knees, head on the ground so her ass is stretched up to the sky and her butt hole is a bullseye.

But the "oh gods" set in: Oh god if Vicki finds out. Oh god, how could I do this to our marriage? Oh god, oh god. I get up quickly.

I stand over Miranda who is on her back again, playing with her titties, her legs spread, her cunt clogged with slime. She's pulling at the nipple ring, then reaching a finger through it and rubbing the nipple. I want to give it a fillip.

"Get dressed," I say. I mean for the words to come out strong, but they come out low
and breathless. I collect her minimal clothes. I toss them at her.

"You need to go," I say.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'? You just fucked a married man."

"I believe you fucked me," she said.

"You've been throwing your cunt in my face for weeks." I didn't mean to be crude. But oh god…

"I knew you wanted me."

"Well, I did. And now it's over. I shouldn't even keep you around after this. Can you keep your mouth shut, or should I let you go?"

"Admit you loved it," she says.

"I'm human. I liked it, so what?"

"Fuck me again. "

"No. I'm not going to fuck you. Ever again."

"You go into your nice high tech office every day, but indoors something in you dies. You're like a chained bear. You need release."

She's playing with herself, twat and tits, as she talks to me nasty while she smells so like a hot meal on the table. Ready to eat.

"I get plenty of release."

"You need it wild, out in nature, in the green air. You need to fuck outdoors, you need to be an animal."

"Not everybody's like you."

I'm looking at her, trying to guess her game. At least I think it's a game.

"Please," she says. "I want you to fuck me again."

The thing is, I'm not interested right now. I've cum and I'm not hard and I'm feeling trashy guilt and she's making me nervous. I can't tell if she's teasing or if she's serious. I imagine Vicki coming back from class early.

"I said never again. Now do you get that? Do I have to let you go from
your job over this?"

"I get it." She stops playing with herself and lowers her legs.

"This can't and won't happen again. Besides, a hot chick like you can't be that hard
up."

She pokes her finger in her hole, pulls it out, licks it, sits up, takes up her clothes. I turn. I'm not watching anymore. I'm thinking, Vicki, Vicki, and I'm calling myself, you fucking asshole prick, and I'm thinking, I'll need to fire this girl. And I'm wondering why I don't just do it now.

Yeah, I'm all screwed up. I play the scene in my head for hours. In my head, it has no guilt. And the part of me that has a dick for a brain loves it. I love remembering how she looked and smelled, how her cunt sounded. And how I made it give up more sounds. The way I dismissed her, as if spreading her legs for me was a mundane service in her contract. I took the service, just how I wanted it, and discarded her. I would never treat Vicki so coolly. But when I think of it, it makes me hot. And I start to think it's true, this bitch has made somewhat of an animal come out in me. What if I can't put it back? I worry, am I addicted. What if it ruins my marriage? Is it normal to think these thoughts of doom?

For hours I am miserable until Vicki comes home. She seems distant. She kisses me good night and goes to bed. I want to talk to her. Be reassured. And you know what? I want to fuck her. Is it weird? Am I twisted? But I have this… this need to be inside Vicki and know that everything's OK. If I were a kid or a girl, I'd cry myself to sleep, alone, with Vicki's plush body so quiet and distant beside me. But instead I have a dry cry, in my mind, the hollow, lonely kind that talks to you, saying, you're shit, you're lost, you'll never get home.

For two weeks I am really on a hair trigger -- jumpy, irritable. Slowly, the intensity dies down a bit and it stops following me to work. I just feel a kind of free roaming malaise. About two weeks later, after my criminal act, I come home and Vicki is not around. Signs of her presence, and the doors are open. No food on the stove. Kitchen a little untidy. I dismiss it at first and head up to change. I'm in the bedroom, opening and closing drawers, starting to get dressed, when I suddenly hear voices. I peek out the screen of the sliding balcony door, and I see Miranda and Vicki sort of pacing around each other in the grass outside the pool area. Very odd. I'm half naked, but I go closer. I'm pretty sure they can't see me because of the screen. I can't hear a thing, but something about the way they're circling each other makes me nervous. I keep coming back to the door as I'm getting dressed. I can't make out the words, until suddenly, sharp and loud.

"What do you mean you fucked my husband!"

Oh, god, I'm thinking. My life is over.

[To be continued...]