YES, I CAN DO THIS
By
Laran Mithras
Cover Photo by www.Shutterstock.com
Yes, I Can Do This is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2016 - All Rights Reserved
Your husband wants to watch you be naughty. Ask him.
~ Unknown
CHAPTER 1
Tina Rina shook her head in negation at her husband. "No, no, you can’t—"
Gerald looked pale; he covered his mouth with his hand. "I think…"
She stared in stunned disbelief, sitting on the bed in her cute costume she had ordered just for the occasion. "It's our anniversary—" she said plaintively.
Her husband groaned and made a shaky dash for the bathroom.
Is he really sick? She puzzled over the last hour. Had the deep-fried shrimp he had eaten for their anniversary dinner really been undercooked? He had complained the insides were cold. The waiter had assured them it was all freshly cooked. Or is this some excuse? Does he want me?
Loud growls and groans came from the bathroom door. The retching sounds were unmistakable.
He sounds sick. Her insides melted in concern. But he's been distant these past several months. Says he loves me but we're doing it less. She looked down at her skimpy costume. It was a sexy business suit number meant to remind him of his work. She glanced at the bedroom door. His home office was right down the hall and so was his laptop. Is he faking this because he has some other woman?
But the retching sounds were pretty convincing.
She frowned, wanting to trust her husband, loving him and believing in him. She had given up wild ways five years before to marry him. But she hadn't been all that wild. She had played a lot, while keeping her legs closed. Parties, drinks, dirty dancing, handjobs, blowjobs… She looked at the bedroom door.
He was coughing in the bathroom. She heard several pants and then another heave.
Her mouth firmed. Won't hurt if I look while he's puking. She rose from the bed and scurried out the door. I'll find out who this other bitch is. It better not be Valerie.
Settling on his rolling stool, she opened the laptop and turned it on. Typing in his password, she was presented with a background image of a wax can. He worked as vice president of sales for the largest wax products manufacturer in the U.S. Their products were used on autos, motorcycles, even planes.
She opened his browser and immediately checked his email. A long list of already-read emails flashed down the screen. Work-related, apparently: some back and forth with Greg in the Testing Department; queries and updates amongst the other VPs; several responses to advanced queries by customers.
She spied one with the name of Cathy Sexton. She lifted an eyebrow, though her heart began to hammer. "Sexton? Oh, really?" Opening the email, she adjusted her glasses to see the crime in text right before her. Expecting some disgusting and breathless promises of sexual gratification from this Cathy to Gerald, she was instead met with a reminder that his quarterly estimate was due at the accounting office.
She blew out a breath. His bookmarks contained nothing unusual-looking. His history was a mass of auto-related links that would put her to sleep. Hmm, he could have been browsing anonymously.
Her shoulders slumped; she wasn't finding anything. This sucks. Some detective I am. Better not buy a fedora and trenchcoat. No toothpicks for me.
She closed out the browser. Frowning, she clicked the folder icon for the system and selected My Documents. Several folders popped into the new window. She scanned down the work folders seeing nothing. But at the bottom, she saw one labeled "YUM."
The eyebrow lifted again and she straightened. What wax product is labeled yum? She clicked into it and was rewarded with a display of sub-folders, names immediately recognizable as porn. Ah ha! Are these pictures of your slut? Or is this where I discover you're into midget pissing porn?
However, they weren't. The first folder she picked was "HW-XXX." Inside was a mass of porn pictures, and not of the same woman. What is this? Where's the bimbo you're sleeping with?
She clicked out and clicked another folder. More pictures of different women. Same with all the other folders she checked. She sighed. Porn shouldn't make him want me less, would it? Or is he satisfying himself with these instead of with me? Shouldn't these excite him to want me?
She went back to the first and opened it. She glanced at the door, but only a couple minutes had passed. If he was really sick, he would collapse in bed. She would check on him in a few more minutes. Adjusting her glasses, she opened the pictures with Picture Viewer. What kink are you into, dear? Chicks with dicks? Why am I afraid to look? Why do I feel I can't avoid this? Why am I arguing with myself when I can be looking?
Picture after picture held fairly the same content: a woman with some text – a caption. She ignored the captions and clicked through the pictures rapidly. Nothing really stood out except when she came to one different. A man's butt was in the camera, his balls pressed and ballooning against some woman's crotch.
Frowning in confusion, she read the caption wondering what was so different. It read: "He sank deep into my wife and started cumming. I couldn't hold back and blew my own wad watching."
Tina sat up. Huh? She clicked out and restarted the photos from the first. This time, she read the caption: "About your fantasy of me being with another man, would I get to pick the man?"
The next picture she had previously dismissed was of a woman lifting her skirt and showing her pussy. The caption read, "All right, when I come back from my date tonight, this is going to be filled with his cum." The next one was a woman touching herself. The caption was, "Tell me again about your fantasy. Would the man fucking me have a big cock?" Her breathing accelerated with anticipation as she clicked to the next. A woman with a wedding band on her finger was posing in a see-through dress. The caption was, "Hotwives know how to entertain their husband's friends."
She realized she was sitting ramrod straight on the stool. She closed the viewer and clicked one more picture at the bottom of the folder. A woman with a wedding ring prominently displayed was sucking the head of some man's cock into her mouth. She was looking at the camera. The caption was, "Nothing turns me on more than when my hotwife sucks on another man's cock."
Tina let out a small laugh of amazement. "Are you kidding? Gerald? You? This?" Does he think this of me? Or want it? Eyes wide with eagerness to absorb all she could, she checked more folders. Everything was related to hotwife. The last folder was labeled, "VHW." She clicked into it and saw the video icons. Clicking one, she was greeted with a ten-second video of a married woman on the bed getting rammed from a muscular-looking man. The camera moved and she realized it wasn't staged. The camera shifted again, downwards this time, showing a length of erect cock. The man filming this is very turned on! She squirmed on the stool. The wife on the bed kept looking and smiling at her husband filming it. But her eyes would close and she would gasp with pleasure.
Heat flooded Tina's pussy and she squirmed again. Does my husband desire this with me? His kink isn't some big-titted blonde? Her own breasts were anxious-As that couldn't even pretend to be barely-Bs. Even her blonde hair had that darker-root look that many people thought meant dyed. But if they looked closely, it was just how her hair was. She was cursed with it and had argued with many men in the past that she didn't dye her hair. Even her pussy hair, before she started going bald and staying that way, had been light brown. It had been a never-ending source of aggravation. Men just didn't realize how hard women had it with their hair color. A woman either was blessed with awesome hair, or wasn't. And if not, constantly fought with it to do something, be somethi
ng, do anything that might look good, or be anything that looked different than what it was. Or they dyed their hair.
Tina stuck hers up in a ponytail. The lift in the back made her look better than hanging down. Hanging down made her look drab and homely – especially with the glasses. At least with it back she looked more like a librarian or secretary instead of a plain-Jane that couldn't even attract the eyes of a lesbian.
Does my husband think I'm the sexy hotwife-type? Does he desire this with me or is he hoping he could be married to a prettier wife that would be a hotwife? She closed out the folder and shut down the computer. I can't believe his thing is hotwives. That sounds like so much fun…like my partying days. But is his fantasy about me? Could I do it?
A joy burst through her, hidden and hushed that brought hope. I could definitely go for this kind of fantasy. Glad it wasn't something like me lezzing with his sister or something gross. Yuck.
Her pussy twitched with tension. She sat up straighter and adjusted her glasses again. A lot of fun. I sure hope he wants this with me and not someone else. But I'd definitely love to be the woman. Yes, I can do this. Now, it all hinges on whether it's me he wants as the hotwife.
She went out of the office to go check on Gerald. He was in bed, slumped over half-sideways. His face was white and his skin was clammy to the touch. He moaned at her as she brushed his damp hair off his forehead. She leaned over and kissed him. "Bad shrimp, huh?"
He groaned and convulsed on the bed as if the memory would make him chuck again.
Her eyes went wide. "Oh, sorry."
His voice was a quivering whisper. "No, I'm sorry. Some anniversary date, huh?"
"That's all right."
"No it isn't; I really wanted to be with you to cap off the night."
She let that stretch into silence. She pursed her lips to keep from crying. It is me he wants. His previous distance began to make sense.
CHAPTER 2
Tina greeted Monday as an opportunity to experiment. I will pursue this hotwife thing whole-heartedly. I'll be what he wants me to be and boy will I have fun!
Freshly showered, she carefully considered her clothing. What do hotwives wear? See-through tube-tops for their enormous fat-bags of blubber they call tits? Hmm. Won't work for me. She twisted her mouth to the side in wry dejection. Something else, then.
Gerald came up behind her.
She smiled, feeling his warmth and smelling the soap and aftershave of his morning rituals. "You sure you're feeling better?"
He sounded dismissive. "It was days ago, relax."
He had felt better enough the next day to make love to her; she supposed he was right. She turned to him. "Should I get implants?"
He frowned ferociously. "Boob implants?"
She put her arms around his neck. "Mm hmm."
"Why do you think you need them?"
"Isn't that what all men like to see?" It would stretch out a tube-top better and make men drool. Fake tits totally drain men of any kind of coherent cognizance. Men were so very easy to predict and control. A total open-book.
"Not this man."
She fought an eye-roll and sighed instead. You don't get it. I need some edge here to be your hotwife. She turned back to her closet. "What should I wear today?" She glanced back to see his response.
His face went slack. "What you usually wear."
She knew that look – a resignation of settling for something not to his liking. My work clothes don't appeal? She turned back and rapidly dismissed the usual slacks and baggy pullover blouse that hid the fact she had non-existent breasts. Instead, she selected a pair of jeans and a sleeveless button up blouse with a high collar.
He was already gone, making noise at the bathroom sink.
She dressed, wondering what her boss Michael Taylor at the school district administrative building would say. He was a handsome man, forever giving her a suggestive eye – a little twinkle that hinted at more. He's my first conquest. I am now Tina Rina, the Sensuous and Sexy Hotwife. I can do this. It will be like my early to mid-twenties all over again. And I thought thirty was the end. Ha!
Gerald came out, teeth brushed. He stopped and frowned at her clothing. "Not going to work today?"
"I am."
"Those aren't your work clothes." A little twitch to his lip told her what he really thought of them.
That's it. I'm done hiding my flat chest. Baggy blouses in the trash. Fuck you, baggy clothing! "I thought…I'd wear something different. I'm kind of tired of looking like all the other women."
A twitch of his eyebrows and a slight curve of the corner of his mouth told her he was mildly pleased. "Oh?"
She searched his face for a brief second. "In fact, I'm going to throw away all those baggy blouses."
He looked uncertain. "I thought you loved them?"
She did. She had. I guess. But only because I blended in with all the big-titted women without having the tits. "I don't know, I suppose trying to fit in doesn't fit me…" Did that come out right?
A smile spread that conveyed satisfaction. "You go, girl."
She scrunched her nose to the side. She had always hated that saying. "Do I look okay?"
He dropped his chin a fraction and gave her a studious look. "Better than normal."
No, are you just saying that because you hate the baggy clothes? Or because you have to because I'm your wife? Like, could I be any more confused? Come on, I can do this. "Okay…"
"Really."
That made her feel better. "I don't know, though, these jeans might attract the wrong kind of attention." She looked down. She knew the well-worn jeans showed the outline of her pussy. Camel-toe, men called it. Some women thought it rude as being too suggestive, but she had often gone around before she married showing it all she could – she didn't have anything else to flaunt.
Her husband groaned as if disgusted. He didn't otherwise answer and turned away.
She frowned at his back. What was that? Disapproval? What about all those pictures you have? What about your kink? Is it my tits? Is my ass too small? What is it that isn't connecting here?
He provided no answers, and went about straightening his tie.
"So should I wear this?" She wanted some kind of an answer.
He looked over with his eyes, not moving his face from the mirror. "Wear it. Whatever."
What kind of an answer is that when I have perfectly direct questions? She gave a glance back at the closet towards the baggies. Ugh, no, I think I'm done with them. I didn't like them anyway. "Well, I'm throwing the baggies away."
He paused, done with his tie-fixing anyway. "Good."
I just don't get you. You're glad I'm dumping the baggies but disgusted I'm wearing these? You looked pleased that I was wearing this but then disappointed when I said I might attract attention. Where exactly are your thoughts on this? She shook her head, no connection made. Why are men so hard to figure out?
He came to her and gently gripped her shoulders. The touch of his hands on her bare skin sent a shiver of warmth down her back. He said, "I'm glad you're wearing that; you look great. Much better than your usual work-attire."
Okay, so I did figure you right, I think. "Are you sure?"
A minor look of annoyance flashed across his face. He said in a pedantic tone, "Yes, I'm sure."
All right, all right, don't get pissy. I just wanted confirmation. Yes, men are easy to figure out, after all. This is cake. I can do this. She smiled.
~ ~ ~
Tina felt as if every eye was on her. The thing was, they were. Women scowled. The wrong men leered.
Oh gosh, why did I wear this?
Danica, with her hair fashion disaster she paid dearly to get at an edgy hair salon gave her an up and down once-over and frown from her cubicle.
Go back to sipping your diet double-chocolate cream Frappuccino, you monstrous messy-haired moose.
Big-titted, buxom, and show-it-all-off Shannon made such a dramatic frown of dour disapproval that Tina knew she woul
d be getting extra work from now on. Whenever Shannon couldn't finish something, Tina was given the task. She had a sneaking suspicion Shannon would be practicing the breast-bouncing breaths more often for which she was famous, and not doing her work – knowing Tina would be forced to do her work for her.
Derek, bloated, puffy, and considering himself all beefcake with his cliché goatee and the shoulder strut, licked his lips and gave her an appraising eye. Truth was, he had lost some weight, but he had a long, long, very long way to go.
Then Hugh caught her eye, smiling with his yellow teeth caked with plaque.
Oh my god, just kill me now. This isn't working. She hastened to her office. Tina Rina, Administrative Secretary was printed on a cheap, gold plastic nameplate and plastered on her door. It was crooked and always had been.
Sue was carrying her first cup of coffee and her pen. She clutched that writing instrument throughout the day, never letting go. She paused in her journey to her office and gave Tina a critical appraisal. She tapped the pen against her lips and said, "Hmm."
Oh god, please. Your dyed hair and pancake makeup give you no place to judge. The woman had such heavy mascara that she looked constantly in shock – as if her face exploded and she quickly applied glue to make it stick that way the whole day.
Tina slumped into her chair and started her computer. She checked her email and scanned the work requests from Michael, her boss. Also in her inbox was an email from Cheryl Gibson. She was an after-work friend she occasionally hung out with for a drink during Happy Hour. The email red:
Tina!
Let's do the Velvet Lounge at 4.
Tina already felt like a drink would be a good idea. Or a whole bottle. She whipped out her cell phone and texted Cheryl.
Me: Sure thing. A drink sounds good.
Michael Taylor, shaven, bald, and brooding with bold lines of sexiness chiseled into his face, leaned into her doorway. "You got my emails?"
Yes, I Can Do This Page 1
