My short time working as a waitress

I married for love. Still am, honestly. My husband’s completely in love with me, and I do love him back.

But if we are really being honest here? I’ve always loved cock more. The ones that have read my other stuff knows that's just a fact. I'm a bit more careful now that I'm older, but when I was younger? Oh yeah, gotta admit I was a slut. And no, I'm not saying that with an ounce of embarrassment or regret. I'm damn proud of the life I've lived.

That’s why I cheated. Not because anything was missing at home. Not because I was lonely or unloved. Just because I was a slut. Always have been. Simple as that. Sex is what makes me feel alive.

I remember working as a waitress downtown shortly after I got married. Being away from my town and everyone I knew except from hubby, that was perfect. I fucked a different businessman almost every other day. Fancy place, packet with businessmen at lunch. Many of them middle aged. Most married, just as myself.

They were my favorite.

I could always spot them: wedding ring, eyes darting in seek of any sign of opportunity. They weren’t there just for the food. And although I was there to serve, I was also up for fun.

I didn’t flirt. I just let them look and hunt me. Let them notice my own wedding ring when I poured their coffee or cleared their plates. That never scared them off. If anything, it made it better, a challenge. A competition between men. For a businessman, taking another man's wife is more than just about the pounding. It meant they overruled the other man. They beat the other man. They felt superior to that other man. And I loved that.

At a given moment, they’d compliment me. Nothing special, lines like “you’re too smart to be working here” or “you should be doing something bigger.” Y'know, typical kind of crap men always say.

I’d drop it casual, like nothing: “I’m actually studying IT at University. Right after my shift.”

And just like that, their interest spaced up. Suddenly I wasn’t just another dumb waitress. I had a project. I had ambition. They’d offer to drive me to campus after work—“no reason you should take the bus so late” or some other simple excuse of a reason to get together after hours.

We both knew I wasn’t going anywhere near the university, but each one played their part. Me, the naive waitress-university student. Them, the smart businessmen playing me. So I would hesitate for a while and accept whatever offer they gave.

I loved that moment. Watching them think they were seducing me. Watching them think they were in control. Watching them think they fooled me.

I’d finish my shift, and they would be out there, trying to look casual.

Once I got in their car, the second act would begin. Some would invite somewhere else right away. Some fancy restaurant where I would be served instead of serve. Or a cafeteria to "chat a little and get to know each other better". Like I would be in a mood to go to a place so similar to the one I'd been working all day long. Others would start driving to University, but all of them knew they needed to act fast. There was a wife and maybe kids waiting for them at home, they didn't have time to waste on a chick, no matter how bad they wanted to fuck me. They needed to get between my legs as fast as possible.

In any case, no more than a couple of traffic lights later, I would feel their right hand on my thigh most of the times. We would stare for a bit and they would lean. And I would never disappoint them.

That first kiss would always be rushed. Always desperate. Their hands hurrying to grab my tits. I’d let them think I was shy—little gasps, soft hesitation, maybe even a small denial followed by a moan. Inside, I was soaked, ready and wanting.

Following that kiss, some would park at the first available place to make out before inviting me "somewhere more private". Some would suggest going to a hotel right away. Whatever the case, the drive to the hotel would be filled with kisses on every traffic light, their hand on my thigh going up. I wouldn't touch their crotch. That would seem desperate, even too low-class for them. I would try my best to keep in the soft spot between horny, shy and daring, all at the same time.

From there, to the nearest hotel. I remember a couple that even had an empty apartment for them. And one whose wife was on holiday with the kids. That was the only one I repeated. Getting fucked in the beds men share with their wives have always been a fetish of mine.

I fucked so many of them I stopped counting. Different men almost every other day.

They thought they were getting lucky. They didn’t realize I’d chosen them the moment they walked in. Because I wasn’t a gift. I was the one who hunted. And they were just the latest meal.