I didn’t get up. I lay in bed and listened to the quiet sound of the taxi pulling away, and the door being unlocked and opened as Izzie let herself into the house in the early hours of the morning.
My naughty wife was home.
I was feeling nervous, afraid that she’d come upstairs and I’d be horrified about what she’d done, I’d feel everything but the excitement and arousal that had so gripped me all night. I was afraid the fear would win.
For a moment or two, I thought about feigning sleep, of letting her come in, take a shower, slump down on the bed next to me and sleep herself, giving myself more time to think about how I really felt now that Izzie had fooled around with another guy — even if she hadn’t gone all the way.
But as I heard her cautiously climbing the stairs, then pad into the bedroom, then duck into the en suite to turn on the shower, I felt the fear trounced by the craving I felt for her.
I heard the soft, silky sigh of her removing her clothing. She was undressing in the bedroom, not the bathroom. I felt her eyes on me, though I couldn’t see her.
“Hey,” I said, acting as though I’d just woken up.
“Hey,” she said. “You get much sleep?”
“A little.”
I rolled over onto my back. It was still dark outside, but the soft orange street lighting crept around the curtains to highlight her beautiful silhouette. She was stood still, wearing only a pair of panties, seeming a little anxious about how I would react to her.
“Do you hate me?” she asked.
I was a little taken aback by her question, particularly considering how encouraging I had been for us to play this Game. But I could understand that normal guys, even many who believed they harbored this fantasy, would react to her with revulsion, with outrage.
“‘Course not. I love you. More than ever.”
I couldn’t see much of her, but I could see her smile. I could see relief on her features.
“I’m just going to hop in the shower,” she said.
“Don’t,” I replied, surprising myself.
She stopped, uncertain.
I could smell her. Only faintly, but there was her perfume in the air — and something more. A musty, earthy suggestion of her misbehavior. It made my hardness throb under the sheets.
“If you can’t tell me what happened, you have to leave me clues, remember?” I said. I felt myself flushing, embarrassed. This was how it was when I tried to say anything risqué to my wife, my constant companion, my best friend.
“I remember,” she said, warily. “But…”
“Come here,” I demanded.
To be honest, I was nervous as well. I wanted to experience her fresh from her transgressions, I wanted the evidence that might still linger on her body, to confirm that something had happened. I wanted to appreciate the glory of her naked form before she did her best to wash away her sins. But what if it disgusted me, what if it shocked me, what if it turned me off the fantasy once and for all?
She cautiously climbed onto the bed, moving on all fours over me.
I gazed up into her eyes, and hoped that as she gazed into mine, she registered the adoration, the celebration at what she had done. She grinned, relieved and delighted by my response, by my embrace, by the hardness on which she now rested her weight.
I kissed her soft lips, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfume, which had been applied recently to cover up whatever else might be detected. Yet I could still recognize the traces of a man’s cologne — a young man who wore too much — and the mustiness of her post-coital body.
I could see the hint of old perspiration in her long, auburn hair. I could feel the delicate clamminess of her skin as I swept my hands down her back, the signs of sweat as her body had melded with his.
There was even the hint of her arousal, and perhaps even his, if that was possible, as I kissed her mouth, as I kissed her neck.
“You still like the idea of it, then?” she asked quietly.
“The idea?” I grabbed her and rolled her, almost threw her over onto her back. “It’s not really just an idea any more, is it?”
She was beaming, ear-to-ear, loving the obvious hunger imprinted on my features. I guess I hadn’t been this hungry for her since we’d started dating. Not quite to this degree. A woman could tell, Izzie could tell. She was gently surprised at just how powerful my hunger for her turned out to be.
She opened her legs for me, and I kissed my way down her inner thigh, taking in the sight of her sex, hidden only by white lace panties, which seemed almost bridal, reminding me of how we were stretching the meaning of our wedding vows with the Game.
The scent of her arousal was so intense the closer I came to her panties — she must have been so wet for him. So excited by taking a new lover.
Her hands encouraged me up, to kiss my way up her stomach, to taste the faint saltiness over her breasts, to take her stiff nipples in my mouth.
“So what kind of clues are you hoping for?” she asked me.
I looked up at her face, mirrored her broad smile. “I can smell him on you,” I said, moving up to kiss her mouth again, to suck on her lips. Lips that I was certain had stretched around another man’s cock earlier, perhaps many times.
“And it doesn’t freak you out?” she asked.
“No.”
It was almost as unexpected for me as it was for her, I think. But it didn’t freak me out. It was more like confirmation of what Izzie had been doing with someone else, signs of how wicked she’d been. I got the sense that she’d probably swallowed him, that perhaps he’d sprayed his come all over her face and her chest at one point.
I kissed my way down her chest, down her stomach, and she was almost laughing with delight at how I was with her now, how I was embracing her depravity. She’d had a great night, a fantastic date, and she didn’t even have to come back to face the anger of her husband — very much the opposite, in fact.
I peeled off her panties, feeling in my hands how damp they were, pressing them up to my nose to breathe in that thick, spicy scent.
I kissed the top of her sex, and she caught her breath. I breathed her in, I tasted her like a connoisseur, appreciating how well she’d groomed herself for her date, how tidy she’d left her little patch of soft auburn curls, and how insanely wet she was.
I smelled him on her flesh, I knew he’d been there, I knew he’d touched her there, he’d licked her there. There was no flavor from a condom, though, there was no tang of latex. I believed what she’d said to Marie about not going all the way with him.
I kissed away from her pussy, along her inner thigh, my fingers taking up where my mouth had been, stroking her, dancing circles around her clit, stretching open her pink labia as I considered how another man had gone down on her not so long ago.
“Did you enjoy it?” I asked her.
“Uh-huh,” she nodded, grinning, almost purring as she moaned to indicate her feelings about her date. “Once I got past feeling that you might not want me to do it, after all, anyway.”
“How long did it take you to feel that?”
“A couple of rum-and-cokes.” She smiled.
I licked along the length of her groove, and sucked gently on her soaking lips. Then I asked her, “You liked him, then?”
“He was very nice.”
“Will you see him again?” Well, the Game didn’t preclude me from asking her direct questions about her plans. It was supposed to be there in the absence of our communication, after all. If our communication was there, if it improved to the point where we could talk about her infidelity without resorting to snooping for clues, then all the better for it.
She said, “No. I think he wants more than I’m willing to give.”
She panted and groaned as I flicked my tongue gently over her sensitive lips, and the hood of her clit, as I sucked on her, as I drew in her wetness, my hot mouth pressing against her.
“He wanted a relationship?” I asked.
She nodded.
> I lifted my head, toyed with her precious flower with my fingers, gently teasing her, stretching her, drawing her slick moisture all over her sex, thinking about how her young Navy admirer must have enjoyed her, and how some time soon, perhaps, she would take another man’s full hardness.
I slid my fingers inside her, kissing her thigh, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her rumble with a military man. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply, her nipples seeming impossibly hard as they moved with her chest. Izzie closing her eyes as I fingered her, her sighs turning to higher-pitched cries.
“Oh my God that’s so good…” she murmured. I could tell she’d missed not having the guy’s cock inside her. She needed one now.
“I can tell you didn’t fuck him,” I said, the heat and the musk in the air pushing me to say things I might not ordinarily say to her.
“No,” she yelled.
I dropped down onto her pussy again, sucking her flesh, supping at her juices, fucking her with my tongue, stirring her whole body with my mouth, my hands reaching up to grab her breasts, to squeeze her nipples.
I got the sense that her Navy man had gone down on her also, but the way she responded to me made me certain that his attempts had been merely amateurish fumblings compared to the experience of a husband. She came, hard, but the way she looked down at me afterward, propping herself up on her elbows as I cooled down between her thighs, made me sure she had come not only because of what I was doing to her, but because I was the second man to lie between her legs that night.
And because the reality of this strange fantasy had presented itself: Izzie had a husband who would let her sleep with other men.
She pushed herself further up on her elbows drawing me up to meet her face, her mouth. To kiss her there despite the fact my face and my mouth were slick with her wetness.
Then I went back to feasting on her, my hands sweeping all over her delicious naked body as I fed on her tangy nectar, obsessed with her unfaithful pussy, her gorgeous curves, the lingering signs of her night of adulterous passion all over her writhing, rocking form.
Eventually, she pushed me away. She urged me over onto my back, she lay between my legs and took my shaft in her hands, stroking me, kissing my tip, stretching her lips around my girth. The way she licked me, the way she focused on my cock, the way she inspected it — it was so obvious that she was taking in the fact that this was the second cock of the night for her.
It only made the experience more intense for me, making me picture her tending to someone else’s cock, perhaps that of an African-American man with a military bearing.
She looked me in the eye as she sucked on me, and I blurted out a question, “Did you like his…?”
“Uh-huh,” she said.
She might not offer me more detail than that, but the truthful manner in which she said it was seriously hot. And the way she slipped a hand between her legs as she sucked on me, touching herself while she appreciated her wanton depravity going down on two guys in one night.
She couldn’t go down on me for as long as I went down on her, though. She was too in need of my hardness filling her, going where her Navy man had not. She pulled herself up my body, straddled my hips, dropped her sex down onto my shaft, stroking herself against my length.
She stroked a few rogue strands of her hair back behind her ear, then smiled lovingly at me as she slowly sank onto my hardness, taking the tip then the top half of my cock inside her irresistible tightness.
“God, I needed this,” she grinned as she rode me, her hair falling down to form a little private chamber for our faces as she kissed me, and as she fucked me.
“I bet he’s regretting not doing this with you,” I said.
She swept her hair back over her shoulder. “Maybe… Maybe not… We had a nice… time. He just… wanted someone… he could bond with. Oh God…”
As she fucked me, she sat up, and it was as though every muscle in her body was tensing up. I held her tightly around the waist, and took on more of the effort of thrusting into her. She came again, easily. Shaking, trembling, crying out.
I managed to hold on, not wanting to finish, wanting to prolong things, stretch out this feeling of reconnecting with her, of appreciating her beautiful infidelity. We lay side by side, spooning together, my hardness filling her up once again, only this time we moved slowly together. Tenderly. Gently.
I held her cute behind, or her breasts, or her waist, and for the longest time just cherished our togetherness, the feeling of her body next to me, the glory of my cock sliding in and out of her slippery pussy.
It was so slow, and yet so incredibly intense. Then finally, she rolled onto her front, and I mounted her like some uncontrolled beast, pounding her, rocking her whole body, making her mine again.
“Oh fuck… oh fuck…” she yelled, over and over.
Slumping down reaching forward to kiss the back of her neck, my lungs were briefly filled, once more, with the syrupy smell of another man’s cologne, which triggered the primal sense in me that another man had mated with my woman, that I had to inseminate her, to take her back as my own.
With that, I was exploding deep inside her, shooting my thick cream within her unfaithful body, my cock throbbing and jumping and pumping inside her, as the orgasm swept through me.
Chapter Eleven
I came back to the office from a late Monday late afternoon interview to find Marie camped out at my desk.
“Aren’t the Messenger and the Times meant to be competitors?”
She grinned, and pushed out her chest to give me a good flash of cleavage. “Your security guards are easy to distract.”
I put my notepad and tape recorder down on the desk. “If I start seeing lousy little stories in the New York Times about any struggling DC businesses, I’m coming for you.”
“So where you taking me for dinner?”
I laughed at that. Round our way, Times reporters had a reputation for being tight with expenses. “I’m taking you for dinner?”
She shrugged, “I figured you owe me since I set your wife up with — “
“Okay, okay, okay,” I interrupted her, shooting her a glare that told her not to whisper a word in this place concerning what my wife and I were doing.
Marie chuckled, feeling the gentle power she had over me considering her knowledge.
I said, “Barnet’s?”
“That will do nicely.”
K Street, not far from the office, was hardly the most discreet place for what Marie clearly wanted to talk about, but Barnet’s wasn’t too bad, I knew we could get a table relatively protected from casual ears.
Somehow, Marie managed to hold out until our food was actually in front of us, and the waitress departed, before she blurted out: “So how’re you feeling now, knowing that she actually slept with someone else?”
I shrugged, though the words she used to describe my Izzie did warm me up decidedly. “You know they didn’t go all the way, don’t you?” I told her. Of course she knew. I got that information from her own text messaging with Izzie.
She said, “They went pretty far, though, wouldn’t you say?”
“I guess.” I took a huge bite of my chicken sandwich. Barnet’s does a great chicken sandwich.
Marie said, “Most married men, if they heard their wives did that… well, there’d be a large proportion headed to the divorce courts.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re okay, though?”
“Of course. Couldn’t be happier,” I said. “You spoken to Izzie since it happened?”
She grinned, and took a bite of her pasta. “Of course.”
“And?”
“She couldn’t be happier.” I felt my chest fill with warm honey at that. Marie went on, “She loves how this turns you on, she loves that it makes you want her even more, want to have sex with her even more.”
“Good.”
“Jesus, she won the lottery, right? She’s married to a great guy who loves her and treats her right
— and not only does he let her go out and date other guys, he actually gets off on it, too.”
“In a nutshell,” I said. It was good to hear that this whole fantasy wasn’t just my individual desire. “What did she say to you?”
“She said how nice he was, but after a while she stopped worrying about how you would react to all of it, and started worrying more about how he was going to feel.”
“Because he was falling for her?” I prompted. “He wanted an actual relationship?”
Marie nodded. “He was young, I guess. Impressionable. You know how sex can bond someone to you.”
“And vice versa.”
Marie said, “You worry about that? About her falling for someone else?”
“I worry about it,” I said, taking a gulp of ice water. “I don’t think it’ll happen.”
“You don’t think it’ll happen? But there’s a possibility, right?”
I shrugged. “I guess it could happen. It’s all part of the fear, you know? This fantasy… it’s not just some reckless voyeurism. There’s a genuine fear that something bad might happen…”
“So why d’you do it?”
“I don’t know… it just adds to the excitement, somehow. Like, if there wasn’t risk, and if it wasn’t so taboo… maybe it would be less exciting. Or different, anyway.”
“I don’t get why you want that risk, though.”
I sighed. I could hardly explain it myself. I couldn’t entirely understand what I felt. “Something I read,” I attempted, “suggested guys get more stirred up knowing their women are with other guys, because they need to be ready to mate, in case she’s mated with someone else. You know, sperm competition.”
Marie nodded. “So it’s just biological.”
“But… I don’t know. When I was waiting for her, Saturday night, there were so many moments where I felt… you know… scared, despondent. I started feeling I’d made a horrific decision to let this fantasy become real. But then I’d turn around and feel the most unbelievable high. And it was like, the fear made the high even stronger.”
It was strange to me, that with a little time passing, I could be a little more crystal about how I’d really been feeling that night. But when it came down to it, on that night itself, the sensory inputs had been so strong — even while I’d been doing very little physically — that it had kind of numbed my mind.
The Game (A Hotwife Adventure) Page 9
