Nikita Gets In Too Deep: A Hotwife Exploration

by Arnica Butler

  I had no idea what to do, so I just watched. She walked casually across the porch, naked, and began drying herself with a towel. Hair first.

  “A hotwife,” Mitch said, patting me on the shoulder, “sleeps with other men. While I watch. There's a lot of crossover,” he continued, and then took a slurp of his coffee, “between hotwives and swingers. But I'm more of a...voyeur.”

  My mouth must have been hanging open.

  “But...why?” I said, because it was the first thing that popped into my head.

  Mitch gave his head a little jerk to swallow his coffee, as if he were taking a pill of some kind. He bared his teeth and hissed. “Why?” He turned to me. “Listen, maybe it isn't for you, but just imagine for a moment, that that hot little number of yours, Ni-ki-ta,” (and here he took special care with Nik's full name, to slice each syllable out at its sexiest and wettest) “were to run off and do some other guy. Because you asked her to, though. Like a performance. Let's say she treated it like a performance.” Mitch dropped his voice. “You wouldn't believe the things she might do.”

  He stepped back, because he had been getting closer and closer to me.

  I have to admit that by this point, I had in fact done exactly what Mitch suggested, and imagined my wife Ni-ki-ta had run off to do some other guy. That she had dressed up for it and lured him in, wearing a slender little anklet, and that I had watched the whole thing and she had, just as Mitch suggested, treated it like a performance and that I could not, as Mitch had further suggested, believe the things she had done.

  My cock was throbbing now. There was no way to hide it. Mitch smiled knowingly at me. I must have had a fevered expression on my face.

  “But don't you get...jealous...or...?”

  “Oh yes,” Mitch assured me. “That's the best part. But the thing is, I'm really the one in control.”

  I have to admit my head was swimming at this point and I don't remember what I was feeling. Mitch had planted images of such lewd and twisted eroticism in my mind that I couldn't think straight.

  There were a hundred other things I wanted to ask him, and I would think of them later and regret not saying anything at the time, but I was dumbstruck. I just stood there, mouth agape, like a dumbshit.

  “Mitch!” Paige called, from the house. “Where's the coffee?”

  Mitch tossed his coffee on the sand, scowling at it. “Get in the car,” he bellowed back. “We've got to go buy something better!” He looked at me quickly, as though the conversation we had just been having was one about stocks or football. “Later,” he said. And he left me on the beach, mouth hanging open, with the most solid, throbbing erection I'd ever gotten...certainly, at least, listening to a man talk.

  5 I TELL NIK

  Nik tapped her fingers playfully on her lips, her mouth open, her eyes bright and interested. She was leaning her bare, slender arms on the counter, and her dark hair was loose and wavy with the humidity. She had a faint smile on her open mouth. “You're not serious,” she said.

  I had just repeated the whole story about my beach conversation with Mitch to Nik.

  Well, maybe not every single part of the story. I left out the part where I imagined her on all fours, taking a big cock in the ass while I watched. I left out, too, the exact words Mitch had used to conjure this image in my mind.

  I also left out how very much it had turned me on, the idea that Mitch had planted, of controlling my wife through another man. It was something that hadn't really ever crossed my mind before, but it now seemed so visceral, so intense, as if I had done it before with someone else and actually experienced it.

  She seemed less shocked than she wanted to sound, though.

  In fact – and this was shocking to me - Nik seemed amused by the whole idea. “It's so...like, do you think they have parties with keys and stuff, like in the sixties? And just take someone else's wife home?”

  I doubted it, but I nodded. “Oh yes. I think they do.”

  She looked up at the ceiling and grinned with a strange sort of excitement.

  She tapped her fingers on her lip again. “I wonder...” she said.

  There was a long pause while she wondered, and I wondered what exactly she was wondering, and then she trotted out the door. “I'm going for a jog,” she said.

  She turned back around, though, about ten feet from the porch. “Hey,” she called. “Do you want to go back to that place again tonight, maybe?”

  Odd.

  I gave her a thumbs-up.

  I suppose at the time, I believed she was just interested in the seafood. Which I could do a better job with, myself, but would involve an hour-long drive to the market.

  I made some more coffee, and sipped it, while scanning the gray sea for signs of the full-bodied, surfing neighbor.

  6 THE ANKLET

  “Okay, so what do you think?” Nik asked me, emerging from the bedroom in the same black dress she had been wearing the previous evening.

  “Hot,” I said. She did look hot, but it was sort of hard to get as excited about the same black, and moderately conservative dress she had worn the night before, when I had the memory of Paige's see-through-ish number and other, extensive wardrobe choices, in my mind.

  Nik gave a little twirl and extended her leg. She stroked her thigh. “Just, 'hot?'” she purred. “That's all?”

  Her voice was telling me I was missing something; that much was obvious. I looked her up and down. Her shoes looked like the same shoes from the night before, the dress looked the same...

  Hair. That was where I almost always went wrong.

  But no. It was still dark, still silky, worn long, which was unusual, but not unheard of.

  “Uh...” I said stupidly. “Something does look different. Is it...you hair looks nice, did you do something-”

  “Ugh!” Nik said, exasperated. “Look.” Again she moved her leg around and rubbed the length of her thigh.

  I still wasn't getting it. Her legs looked great, though.

  Then I saw it.

  I can't really explain the sensation that went through me like a knife. It was searingly hot, or maybe cold. I actually felt myself shudder as though I had been shaken.

  Then I blinked. Surely she was just joking.

  I stared at the gold chain around her ankle. It was slender, thin, and made of two bands of gold. As I stared, I realized it was a necklace wound twice around her ankle. It clinched sexily on her ankle bone.

  “You're joking,” I said, and my voice was toneless, my mouth dry.

  I looked up at her eyes.

  “Oh, come on!” she said, flouncing over to me. “It's just for fun. I think they're full of shit, personally. I mean...women wear anklets all the time. I just want to see if there's anything to it.”

  I must have looked worried.

  “Honey,” she said, leaning onto my knees. “We're in Cape Breton. No one even knows about the internet, let alone about wife-hot...wife...”

  “Hotwife...ing,” I offered.

  She smiled, and leaned her knee on mine. “It's just for fun.”

  My cock was responding in a much different way than my mind. My cock was sure of what it wanted, and it apparently loved the idea of Nikita, my wife, wearing an anklet and finding out if it sent a signal to other men that she was a hotwife.

  My brain, of course, was spinning around wildly.

  “But where did you...why do you..?”

  Nik was wiggling a little, in that sexually charged way that means, “I can't hold still because I'm so turned on.” She touched the sloping collar of the dress. “I don't know. I think I just...let's just see if it's any fun,” she said. “I know you want to.”

  I stared at her. I did. I did want to. But I also didn't.

  “It's just a game,” she continued. “It's not like I'm actually going to do it.”

  My cock throbbed.

  “Live a little,” she said. “Please. For me?”

  “Okay, but you're not gonna run off with some fish-scented Islander
, are you?”

  She put her finger to her lower lip, and looked up at the ceiling. “But they're so fishy,” she said. “And, I can probably have all the crab I want.”

  “I'm serious,” I said, and my voice sounded quite drastically serious.

  Nik giggled, and then her face fell to match my level of seriousness. I could tell she was a little annoyed by me in that moment, because she was trying to have fun and I was getting far too serious for her little game. “Oh god,” she said. “Forget it.”

  She put her foot up on the chair next to me and leaned over to unhook the anklet.

  A lot of quick thinking happened in my mind between that moment and the next, and before I really knew what I was doing, I had reached out and grasped her hand. “No,” I heard myself saying. “No, go ahead and wear it. Let's see what happens.”

  Usually by the time Nik gets that exasperated, she's made a decision and you'd sooner get peace on the Gaza Strip than her to back down from it.

  So I was surprised, pleased, and scared, when her mouth flickered at the corners with amusement and mischief. Then she let go of the latch, and stood up.

  “Let's go then,” she said.

  7 A SPIN

  All in all, it was a little disappointing. It was thrilling. It was a narrow escape. It was...like nothing I had ever done before.

  Zach's, when we first arrived, was a little empty, and the people who were there were mostly families. So much for erotic.

  The waitress watched us as she pulled menus out from beneath the hostess stand.

  “There's a patio,” she said. Her accent was strong and I looked at her for a few seconds before I understood what she saying.

  “Outside,” she continued, while my mind caught up. “It's small. But there're no kids out there. Right now.”

  I looked at Nik. She shrugged.

  “Do you want to sit there?” the waitress asked. By now, a slight edge of exasperation was creeping into her voice.

  “Yes,” Nik burst out. She shrugged at me. “At least it'll be a nice evening. And the food's good.”

  “The food is most certainly good,” the waitress said. She held the menu over her head as she moved among the empty chairs and out to the patio.

  The patio was indeed tiny, and it let out on to a not particularly spectacular view, which is probably why it was so small: scrubby grass and a smattering of dry, windblown trees obscured a narrow strip of sand and any view of the water. But it was breezy and a perfect temperature, and the light caught Nik's face just-so. As we sat down, I realized that I was a little bit relieved to have her all to myself, instead of baiting men in Zach's.

  We ordered white wine, and Nik ordered raw oysters again. She shrugged at my expression of curiosity. “I got a taste for them,” she said, coyly.

  I was relieved to be able to order the crabs, without being self-conscious about it in front of the ethereal Paige.

  I leaned back in my chair and absorbed the sea air. After a glass of wine, the evening actually seemed to be perfect: we were alone, Nik was sucking slimy oysters out of their half-shells, dolled up and flirtatious. Life was good.

  “So really,” I said, after a long pause staring into the trees and out at the darkening beach. I had, at that moment, been picturing Paige's naked body stretched out on the beach. “What do you think they're doing here?”

  “Who?” she said.

  Nik raised her wine glass and took a long sip. She seemed unusually amused with my question. “Mmm. Maybe they're running from their taxes or something, you know? Or like...I dunno,” she sucked in her breath. “Maybe they're on some kind of lifestyle tour.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “In Cape Breton? Who in the world even knows this place exists?”

  She brought the wine glass to her lips and looked out at the beach with a smile.

  It was at this point that I realized that Nik was quite drunk. At that moment, a band struck up inside. We had actually been there for quite a while, having a very nice and very romantic date, I realized.

  The music was a kind of jazzy bluegrass, which sounds terrible but was somehow good.

  “Let's move inside,” Nik said suddenly, seeming to suddenly forget all about Mitch and Paige.

  I was fine where I was, but there was a chill picking up from the water, and the wind was getting stronger. “Do you want to just head home?” I asked.

  Nik grinned at me. She bounced her naked foot playfully. “Let's just go have one drink. I want to see if there's anything to this.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Just for fun,” she said.

  This comment made my cock hard. Maybe the comment itself, maybe the careless way she said it.

  At the same time, it pissed me off for some reason. Maybe the comment itself.

  Maybe the careless way she said it.

  I sat back and looked in both directions. “It's Cape fucking Breton,” I said incredulously, knowing she would know what I meant: this was a place for fishermen and old people. Not exactly a nightclub.

  She shrugged, and a flush went over her face indicating that I had sort of pissed her off, too. “There were some hotties here the other night,” she challenged. Then she waved her hands impatiently. “Whatever. I still want another drink, though, so let's get one.”

  She stood up and walked into the restaurant with her half-full glass of wine.

  I waited for the waitress to come back, which seemed like forever, because I didn't want her to think we had skipped out on the bill. I had waited tables for quite a while on my long slog to chef, and I was sensitive to things that broke the unwritten code of conduct. It felt like an eternity out there, alone on the cooling patio.

  It seemed like the music was getting heavier and sultrier inside the restaurant. Inside my abdomen, my feelings were churning. I was acting a little bit like an idiot, and I wasn't sure why. I felt the tentacles of jealousy wrapping around me – but that didn't really bother me. That was a natural feeling, an explicable one. The other feelings inside of me were the ones making me uncomfortable. Like the fact that one part of my mind was playing out a rational fantasy in which I stood up, grabbed my wife by the arm, and told her it was time to go home because she was being drunk and silly.

  The other part of my mind was running a fantasy, though, in which I went into the restaurant and found Nik grinding with another man on the small dance floor. The hot-cold pain of it twisted right above my cock and just below my stomach, a kind of strange mix between lust, love-sickness and actual sickness.

  What the fuck?

  Tiring of waiting for the waitress, I stood up. She appeared right at the moment. “We're going to the bar,” I told her abruptly. I felt a surge of drunkenness splash over me, and it smacked into the adrenaline that was curiously surging in my veins.

  When I entered the restaurant, it was like a different world than the one we had entered earlier: there were a lot of people there now. Not all of them fishermen, and not all of them old. A lot of them looked...well, a lot like us. Middle-aged couples, a group of solo men at the pool table, some younger adults in a big group at the table enjoying the music.

  I scanned the room. My pulse was racing. I knew it was Nik working me up, but it seemed unusually high for the circumstances. I had a tinny ring in my ears. I hoped I wasn't getting sick from the oysters I had vowed not to eat.

  Nik was at the bar. She had two glasses of wine in front of her, and one of them was half-empty. Her left hand was on the glass, her fingers moving up and down the stem of it. I don't know why this was the first thing I saw, or why it flared inside of me like a lit match: the sight of her hand, with our simple gold wedding band on her ring finger, and her subtly lewd display on the wine glass stem. She was sitting on a stool, her legs crossed, leaning into the bar and talking to the man next to her.

  I know it couldn't have taken me very long to get across the room: it was a small room, and I had a direct line to where she was. It felt like an eternity, though, as I crossed the room and
watched my wife. She was bobbing her anklet ankle lightly, making sure that anyone who was looking to notice that sort of thing would notice it. She tucked her silky hair behind one ear and leaned close for the man to whisper in her ear. Whatever he said made her smile. She placed her hand on his arm and her mouth formed the words of her reply.

  Then she took a sip of her wine, and was looking over her wine glass at him as she did.

  When I reached the bar, I wasn't sure what to do.

  I looked the guy up and down. Truthfully, he was an okay-looking guy, but nothing to write home about. I felt a little less threatened. I had a wave of embarrassment pass over me, realizing suddenly that I had been exaggerating the things I was seeing: Nik had her hand on the wine glass stem, but she wasn't stroking it. She was bouncing her ankle lightly, like anyone does if they sit cross-legged on a stool. And she was just talking to this guy. She had two glasses of wine in front of her, for fuck's sake.

  She looked over at me with a quick, mischievous grin as I approached.

  The feeling that washed over me was another difficult one to define. Fine, I decided. She wanted to play games? Far be it for me to stop her.

  I edged up to the bar and sat down, letting Nik decide if she wanted to say hello to me or not.

  I heard her tell the man, “Oh, that's my husband.”

  He lifted his fingers from the bar in a salute, but he didn't leave, not the way you'd expect a guy to scram once this sort of awkward moment has taken place: you're flirting with a woman, her husband shows up, you stop talking, say hello, and then make an excuse to leave, right?

  But this guy, instead, said to Nik: “So 'Nik,' that's short for Nicole?”

  “Nikita,” my wife said, and the word unfurled from her mouth like velvet.

  And this guy? He made this sound, a little bit like a growl. “That seems more like you,” he said. “Very exotic.”