The Boss kissed me very deeply and moved me toward the door.  He opened the door and continued kissing me as his hands wandered. He felt under my skirt and discovered that I had followed his directions and skipped the panties.  "Good girl."  He told me to get on the edge of the bed on my knees.  I listened like I always do.  He began to fuck me and as I relaxed and let myself go, I grabbed the comforter on the bed and squeezed it in my hands.  That bed was not in a hotel somewhere, it was in my
house.  My bed. My marital bed.

It has only happened one time and yet it is the one regret I have about my secret life.  I could always fool myself into thinking that while I might be a whore out there...in my house, I am still pure.  I am my husband's alone. If I could change anything about the things I have done, I would change that.  Four years later, I still think about it and it is the only guilt I carry with me.

 I almost think that The Boss knew I would feel that and fucked me here for spite.  Silly, of course.    Four years later he still wants to come over and fuck me on my bed.  He tells me that there is something about taking me in my house that turns him on.  The idea that he is fucking the woman of a much younger man on his own turf excites The Boss.  I have allowed him back twice.  Once, he came around to the back of my house and I sucked him hidden by the trees.  Another time, much more recently, he came by and I let him in the door.  He kissed me in the kitchen, the hall...I guided him to the living room and had him sit on the couch.  I allowed him to kiss me and rather than have him lead me to the bedroom, I took matters into my own hands...okay, it was my mouth.  It did the trick and distracted him from his intended goal.  He wanted my bed again but this whore  has her limits.