Awakening Her Needs 3: A Hotwife Beginning Story (Her Needs Series)

by Blaise Quin

  I slipped my hand between her legs. She was slick with juices. I started to rub her pussy, but she put her hand over mine.

  “Just hold it there,” she said.

  I did as she asked, flatting my hand over her mound. She nodded and leaned into my chest.

  When it was clear that she was content with just touching, I gently asked, “What brought that on? Not that I’m complaining.”

  After a moment she said, “I just needed to—show you how much I love you.”

  “You don’t need prove your love. Just saying it is nice.”

  “I know. You too. But. . .”

  The unbidden sex had cleared my head. Her wetness, the musk on her fingers. She’d been masturbating.

  Although she’d just given me an incredible sexual experience, I couldn’t help but wonder what was in her mind as she had touched herself.

  Maybe it was because I’d just gotten mine, and sensed she had already had her own release. Whatever the reason, I was suddenly willing to bring up the topic I’d been consumed with. “Emily—.”

  “Justin—.”

  We’d both spoken at the same time. “You first,” she said.

  “No, you go ahead.”

  There was a long silence, then she said, “I have a confession to make.”

  My stomach spun. Had she been with another man?

  I held my breath as she tightened her embrace, sure that she was about to vocalize my dreaded fear and yet still my wildest fantasy.

  She shook her head into my chest. “I can’t even say it.”

  I couldn’t let it go. “Did you. . .”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  My heart sank even as my cock, impossibly, stirred. “It’s okay,” I mumbled, even though it was decidedly not okay, it was either terrible or incredible. “After all we’ve talked about, and done. . .”

  Emily shook her head again, and when she spoke she seemed on the verge of tears. “It’s not okay,” she said, vehemently. “I shouldn’t be lying here in bed, masturbating, thinking about—another man.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t help it, I was fantasizing. I should be thinking of you, but—”

  “Back up. That’s it? You were just having a fantasy?”

  Emily’s head came up. My eyes, more accustomed to the dark, noticed her confusion. “Yes, that’s what I said. What did you think?”

  “Nothing. Just—you shouldn’t be upset. It’s just a fantasy. Did you think I’d be upset?”

  She continued to frown at me, perhaps still wondering if I’d left words unsaid. “No. Maybe. It was more—I just shouldn’t be.”

  Now I understood. She was feeling guilty. The knot in my stomach loosened. I wanted to make her feel better. Tentatively, I said, “I sometimes do too. That was going to be my confession tonight. That I fantasize about, you know, you and. . .”

  “Another man?” she finished.

  I nodded. “I can’t help it either.”

  She kissed my chest, perhaps her way of telling me it was okay.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” she said.

  Here it comes, I thought.

  “It’s not just when I’m alone,” she said.

  I tensed again, expecting her to confess to a tryst. “You can tell me,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  “Sometimes when we are making love, I—.” Her voice broke. “I think about other men when you are, when I’m. . .”

  She couldn’t finish, she just shook her head, burying her face against me.

  She’d confessed to the exact same thing I’d been guilty of. That should have made it easier to share my secret, but seeing how it affected her warned me that anything I said now could make it worse.

  And yet. . .we’d come so far, we’d shared so much. Now wasn’t the time to disrespect Emily’s willingness to tell the truth with my own deception. Although deep down inside I knew this was one of those topics that perhaps was left unspoken.

  “It’s okay,” I began, trying to find the right words to make my confession.

  Before I had a chance, she said, “No, it’s not. It’s one thing to have fantasies together. But when I’m alone, I want to be thinking of you. I want only to be thinking of you. I don’t even want those fantasies anymore.”

  She was crying again, and I was caught. She didn’t want the fantasies? That was good, right? She just wanted me? She wanted to go back to the way things were, just the two of us.

  That’s what I wanted, too, right?

  Again Emily beat me to it. “But I don’t think I can help it,” she said. “I keep—I love you so much, but these thoughts just jump into my head. I try to fight it, but I get so—.”

  I caressed her hair, soothing her. She was verbalizing my thoughts better than I could have.

  Being a guy, I was immediately jumping to solutions. I should have been talking, empathizing. Maybe I was avoiding the need to make my own admission.

  “Maybe you can have both,” I said.

  Emily looked up, hopeful. Could there really be a way out of her trap?

  Justin hadn’t been as upset as she had expected, or perhaps as upset as she had hoped. Is this what he really wanted? Her to be fantasizing about other men while having sex with him?

  She suddenly realized what Justin might have been trying to tell her. Was he having the same sinful fantasies when he was making love to her?

  Emily wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear that. Instead she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “First let me say that I don’t think you should feel guilty for having these fantasies. Who knows how long they will last? It’s all so—new for us. I’m not offended. We’ve talked about how it excites both of us—not just as fantasies. So it’s only natural you should have—thoughts. Even when we’re together.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Fighting it may be the worst thing you can do. Just let it go. Who knows, after a while it may burn itself out.”

  Emily had considered this. Her fear was that it wouldn’t, that it would only get stronger. That every time she’d be making love to Justin it would be the same. Or much worse, that she’d need fantasies just to be aroused. She’d do anything to avoid that outcome. “You said you had an idea?”

  “Remember that night at the bar? How it turned us on? We could do that again. Then if you were—thinking about another man, afterward, with me, it wouldn’t seem so strange. You wouldn’t have conjured him up, he would be real. We’d have both seen him. Of course you’d be thinking of him.”

  Emily had considered many options for dealing with her obsession, but running pell-mell into a temptation hadn’t been one of them. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because—.” Should she admit it was because she feared she might want to experience it again? With a stranger? She didn’t think she did at this moment, not really. But she didn’t trust herself to find out.

  As if Justin was reading her mind, he said, “I’d be right there with you. Nothing would happen.”

  That you didn’t want to. Justin hadn’t said it, but Emily sensed the unspoken idea.

  She pictured it, her at some bar, men all over her, Justin watching. . .it had worked before. Would it be enough? Would it give her an excuse for her mind being filled with thoughts of another man later in the evening, with Justin?

  The whole idea was to get other men out of her head, not in her head. Strangers. Antonio. Not a stranger, but too close to home. What she had done with Antonio had been dangerous enough.

  Maybe she should work off her desires with fantasies. The alternative was simply too risky.

  It was Justin she wanted to be thinking about. He was the one who should be capturing her attention.

  And all at once, the answer was totally clear.

  Emily walked into the bar at the best airport hotel. The middle of the week, she was wearing what appeared to be a typical work outfit: a dark
gray skirt, a light blue blouse, a black jacket. The skirt was cut a few inches above the knee, a little shorter than Emily usually wore, but no different from what half the women in the office wore. Her heels were two and a half inches, again, a little higher than her usual heels, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  Not at all like the last outfit she’d worn at the restaurant bar, when she’d been trying to stand out. This evening she wanted to look like she was a typical business woman, perhaps on an out of town trip. No one at the bar would guess she’d bought this slightly different outfit just for tonight.

  Eight thirty, the place was half filled. A long, rich mahogany bar with a gold rail ran along the far wall. Mostly men, but a scattering of women. To the left were dark booths, in the middle sofas and soft chairs with coffee tables. A typical hotel bar layout, although a little nicer than most.

  Emily was nowhere as nervous as she’d been the last time she had done something like this. That bothered her a little bit, but she pushed down her worry and slowly entered the room, checking it out.

  Where to sit? If she chose a sofa no one might approach her. Of course, it would be pretty obvious what a man would be interested in if he came over to a woman sitting alone at a table or on a sofa. That might be fun, seeing what man would have the confidence to approach her. But she rejected the idea, she wanted some competition.

  The bar it was. She crossed the room, getting a little chill as three—no four—men at the bar turned to look at her. The best by far was the broad shouldered, muscular man with the very short hair, which reminded Emily of a soldier. He was with two very attractive women, about Emily’s age, and they were smiling and hanging all over him.

  Yet he’d still looked up at Emily, and his eyes never left hers as she approached the bar.

  One of the woman noticed the soldier type looking at Emily and she turned, her smile freezing, giving Emily a cold stare.

  Emily purposely moved to the opposite end of the bar, not because of the woman, but because the soldier would be able to see her across the bar. On that side three men in suits stood talking. Behind them were two empty stools. They too turned as she approached, Emily sure they were checking her out. She still wasn’t used to this, not even after Dwayne had seen her naked, not even after she’d posted a video of herself on the internet. That her face wasn’t visible hadn’t taken away from the sense of being on display. Yet even in her discomfort, her shiver was one of heat, not chill. Right now she was just an attractive women in a bar. But what was going through the minds of those men? What could happen in the next few minutes, the next few hours?

  The unknowing was part of the thrill. This was also part of the new Emily, the woman who was aroused by the unknown. Emily screwed up her courage and approached the men.

  “Excuse me, is that seat taken?” she asked, not flirty—she didn’t even know how to do flirty. Just a woman wanting to sit down.

  The men moved aside as fast as a knife moved through hot butter. “Sorry,” one man muttered.

  Emily gave them all a little smile, looking away from the man who had apologized. He was being polite, and normally she appreciated manners. Tonight she wanted a man who didn’t apologize for taking what he wanted.

  She sat on the stool, turning away from the men. The bartender, a short Latino, caught her eye and hurried over.

  Emily sensed the men around her were still looking her way. They had stopped speaking, and though she wasn’t facing them, the hair on her arms prickled.

  The bartender wiped the already spotless bar top, set out a coaster, and said, “What can I get you?”

  “A Climax,” she said, fighting to keep a straight face, the words catching in her throat.

  The bartender cocked his head, looking over her shoulder, perhaps at the reaction of the men behind her. Then he nodded and stepped away to make her drink.

  Emily toyed with the coaster, her left hand in her lap. After a moment, she spun the stool around to face the bar. All three men were staring at her. The closest had blond hair and dark blue eyes, her age, more cute than handsome. He had a small smile on his lips, which, Emily thought, were very nice. The second man was taller, darker, dense eyebrows, yet not brooding. He too was smiling, more of a knowing smile, as if he were saying I know why you are here.

  The third man was actually the best looking, lithe, toned, beautifully dressed, with alluring green eyes. He was the one who had apologized. Emily immediately thought of him as a model, even though he probably wasn’t.

  Emily let her eyes drift over the room, then settle briefly on the blond man. She gave him a tiny smile.

  He must have taken that as an invitation, because he said, “That’s an interesting drink order.”

  Emily felt herself reddening, so she turned slightly, pretending to move her hair out of her eyes. He was too direct; she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t use to sexy repartee. But out of nowhere she said, “I might not have been ordering a drink.”

  She sensed an immediate change in the environment, the men shifting, squaring their shoulders. The blond man put his hand on the bar next to her, moving in. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  “The bartender thought so,” said the blond man.

  “What about you?” She turned away, playing coy.

  “I could make sure you get what you want.”

  Before Emily could reply, the third man, the one who had apologized, jumped in. “You traveling on business?”

  Emily wondered if was embarrassed over his friend’s aggressiveness. Instead of replying directly she asked, “Are you salesmen?”

  “Why do you ask that?” said the tall confident man. He appeared a bit amused.

  “It sounds like you are trying to sell me something,” she said.

  All three men laughed, the blond a bit unsure, the model relieved, the powerful man appreciatively.

  “I think David is more of a buyer,” said the powerful man, indicating the light haired man.

  Emily didn’t get it at first, but when David threw a cold look at the taller man and said, “Never paid for it in my life,” Emily realized he was talking about sex. They thought she was a prostitute!

  She almost ran out, but just then a man entered the bar, so she forced her attention back to the tall man. Emily was proud of herself for holding his eye. “Too bad no one is selling. What about you?”

  A gleam came into his eye, reappraising her. “I’m more of a taker,” he said.

  Emily crossed her legs unconsciously, her body sending two messages on its own. The first was defensive, closing off her legs. The second was suggestive, her nice legs now on display, inches away from their hands.

  She was trying to think of an appropriate reply when the bartender returned with her drink. “Your Climax,” he said, setting it down. He lingered for a second, perhaps to see how she’d reply. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “Shall I run a tab?”

  “Put it on mine,” said a new voice. Another man had appeared, muscling his way through the pack. The soldier.

  The blond looked like he was going to protest, but Emily smiled and said, “Thank you.” She picked up the glass, leaned it toward him in a toast, and used the motion to look across the bar. The two women who had been with the soldier were glaring at her.

  Emily felt a rush, as much from their looks as from the men. Not that she was interested in women, but because the soldier had left them for her. She felt like she’d just won a different kind of contest.

  The blond man’s face hardened, like he was going to start something. The tall man, however, turned his amused smile on the soldier, as if he was interested in the challenge. The polite man just looked back and forth between them.

  Bodies shifted slightly, squaring off. Emily could almost smell the testosterone rising. Pheromones must have been flying, because even as she held her breath to see what might happen, an unbidden heat fluttered in her belly.

  The blond man nudged his way toward Emily, trying to do with his body what he had failed t
o do with his talk. The soldier stared him down, the men’s eyes locking, Emily watching in fascination at the test of wills. Her body tensed, yet instead of cringing she leaned forward, wanting to see, wanting to take part.

  This was about her.

  No one moved or spoke. It couldn’t have been more than few seconds, but to Emily it was as if a war was being fought.

  The blonde rose up on his feet, and Emily stiffened. Not only her shoulders, but her nipples. It was happening to her again.

  She’d barely spoken a dozen words, and three men were fighting over her. And who knew how many other men were watching, perhaps waiting for their chance.

  The soldier didn’t flinch, and like a beast who had roared a warning, only to be ignored, the blond man deflated. His half step back was like a running surrender.

  The soldier glanced briefly at the handsome slim man, then past, the taking his measure and dismissing him in that one motion. Now the soldier and the tall man were face to face, the last remaining warriors.

  Emily was torn between wanting to be the prize and to be part of the battle. She recognized her reaction, the thrill of being fought over. Yet just because she was a little shy and had been naïve didn’t mean she was weak. It was, after all, her decision.

  She did her own review, back and forth between the two men, both confident in their own way, one with physical strength, the other with an aura of power. She could imagine herself being attracted to both of them. She was attracted to both of them.

  She placed her left hand on her knee, the motion in the stillness drawing quick glances from all four men. Her diamond ring and wedding band had never looked bigger on her slim, dainty fingers.

  The expression on the soldier never wavered. The tall man’s mouth flickered slightly, more a smirk than a smile.

  They had realized she was married, and it wasn’t stopping them.

  Emily’s crossed thighs were burning, her mind flashing back to the first hotwife porn she had watched with Jason, of the big man, the bull, having sex with a married woman. Not caring that her husband was in the room. A man who took what he wanted, ignoring barriers and codes other men followed.