His lunch break is only a half an hour, and she lives an hour and a half away.

Once a week he slips out of the office at lunchtime and they meet up somewhere away from prying eyes. He’s found a secluded spot behind a closed gas station, in the shadow of a crumbling whitewashed cinder block building, hidden from view by a rusted and sagging chain-link fence and tall, overgrown weeds. There’s no time for renting a comfortable room somewhere. She can’t chance her husband finding a receipt from a no-tell motel, even if there were any close and discreet enough to his office, and she has to get home and get the smell of sex off of her before the kids get off the bus. He can’t risk the temptation of a rented bed and willing partner, so it has to be quick.

And dirty.

It’s never a problem.

They slide into the backseat of her car, kicking aside a bike helmet and a few rumpled, coloring books. The waxy smell of crayons and the orange remains of fish-shaped crackers serve as less-than-subtle reminders that they’re no longer a couple of teenagers, even though the urgency with which they come together is adolescent–heedless and hedonistic. His hand is inside her shirt almost immediately, pulling her breasts out and tugging at her nipples, making her gasp. She can feel how hard he is through his pants, and she fumbles with his zipper, struggling to free him.

He laughs and says, “Let me,” and deftly pulls his cock out, stroking it like he does in the short phone-cam-recorded videos he makes just for her. She watches them after her husband and kids are in bed, and records some to send to him, taking pictures and writing him long, detailed emails about her sexy, dirty, hot, funky fantasies.

She doesn’t want to leave her comfortable life, and neither does he plan on abandoning his family for her.

Friends with benefits, the kids call it, and it suits them perfectly.

She pushes his hand out of the way and leans over, taking him in her mouth with no warning or explanation. None is required. He moans, running his hands down her back and gathering up the soft fabric of her skirt and pulling it out of his way. He finds the black lace panties she put on just for him and slides his hand inside, running his palms over the soft curve of her ass.

She’d love to keep sucking his cock, to taste him as he cums in her mouth, but there can be no long, drawn-out lovemaking between them, and a quick blowjob isn’t going to be enough. Not for either of them. Not today.

He guides her to his lap, pulling her panties to the side as she straddles his cock, taking him inside as far as he can go. He fills her perfectly and they sit together like that for a minute, his hands pushing her clothes out of the way, hers around his shoulders as his mouth finds her nipples. She squirms and grinds against him as he sucks them into hard, aching points.

They move together, his cock deep inside her, hitting all the secret, hidden spots that he knows will drive her wild. And it won’t take long. The pent-up desire and frustration needs an outlet, and like a current through a grounded wire, it’s found a short path through them. She tells him she’s close and that she’s going to be quick, her words a frenzied whisper in his ear.

His mouth is on hers, her hands twined in his hair, pulling him to her, his hips thrusting against her. He is determined to make her come first, and she’s in no position to argue with him as she feels the pleasure build to its breaking point. With a powerful throb, her orgasm bursts inside her like a bubble, and as she clenches tightly around his cock, she drenches him, soaking his open pants and crying out. She’s breathing hard, and so is he, and grabbing her hips, he drives hard into her…once…twice…and then he comes, his cock exploding, his hot cum mixing with hers in a slippery, ecstatic mess.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she says with a laugh, sliding wetly off his lap and running her thumb over the purple love bite starting to form right beside her left nipple.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says, kissing the spot before pulling her shirt back into place. “See you next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”