Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

  Megyn shook her head quickly. I saw a little flush of red appear on her cheeks. “I seriously can’t even imagine that,” she said. “These contests are so embarrassing.”

  “Hmm,” I said, intrigued. “What do you mean? It’s pretty clear it’s not a real date -”

  “I know that,” Megyn snapped. “It’s not that. It’s just, like, all these contests where it’s like: have dinner with so-and-so, go backstage with the... with the...”

  “Beastie Boys,” I offered. Megyn probably couldn’t name a band – any band – if she had to do for $1,000,000.

  “God. Whatever,” she said impatiently. “It’s just so dumb. I mean, what is this poor person going to talk to you about? And what are you going to do? Ugh. You just know these people are all dreading meeting whatever loser fan is going to show up, like, drooling all over the place and thinking, ‘oh my God, Max Riley is on a date with me, maybe he’ll dump his super-hot model girlfriend and we’ll move to Sikinos.’”

  Megyn can’t name bands, but she can name weird places at the drop of a hat and for no money at all.

  “Well,” I said, and I have to admit there was a little bit of excitement flickering inside of me as I said this, “Maybe you’ll win, and then you can just be a huge dork and talk business with him in your sweats.”

  Megyn glared at me, another thing I felt more than I saw, radiating from her side of the car like the blast of a thermonuclear weapon. “You know what?” she said. “That, is exactly what I would do.”

  She dropped something into her purse and snapped it shut.

  “Good thing there’s no chance of that, then.”

  “That’s true.”

  We drove along in silence for a bit.

  My mind began to wander, and I won’t lie and say it’s the first time it ever happened, but my mind began to wander to a daydream as I drove. A daydream in which Megyn did win her date with Max Riley, and then she did have “dessert.” I don’t know why I’m like this, why I savor the shards of red-hot pain in my chest when I think about something like that.

  Why it turns me on so much.

  Why I enjoy picturing my wife with another man.

  I looked over at Megyn, who had her hand to her right cheek and was looking out the window absent-mindedly. I wondered if she was thinking about Max Riley the same way I was. Her eyes were glazed over and she had a slight smile of her lips.

  It was delicious to think that she might be, in her own mind, doing some of the very things I had her doing in mine.

  I reached over and put my hand on her leg. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

  She was pulled from whatever she was thinking about, and her face flashed with annoyance which only turned me on more. She shook her head quickly. “Nothing,” she said curtly. The kind of “nothing” that always meant something – something she didn’t want to discuss.

  And then she went back to thinking and staring out the window, and my stomach went cold with wretched, lovely jealousy.

  By the time we got home, after collecting the kids from the grandparents and dealing with all the bedtime drama, a lot of the fun spark of the evening had disappeared and we were both tired.

  Megyn plopped onto the bed. She had, amazingly, not changed out of her dress yet. She lay back with a sigh, stretching out. I admired her lithe body and took the gesture, optimistically, for an invitation.

  I sat down next to her head and ran my hand over her cheek and her neck, along the line of the dress. I could tell that the caress made her sort of prickle – she was tired, and she probably just wanted to go to bed.

  Such is life as a married couple after thirteen years.

  Oh well. I decided to keep going. I had gotten pretty worked up in the car by my fantasy.

  “Did I tell you,” I said, using a “suave” voice, “how beautiful you look tonight?’

  Megyn looked up at me, and gave a little eyeroll. But she smiled.

  Bingo.

  I moved my hand along the collar of her dress again, this time pushing my fingertips beneath the fabric to caress a few more centimeters of her soft skin.

  I could feel her loosening up under my fingertips. To tell the truth it was a surprise. I had really been just shooting in the dark and not expecting anything but a rebuff.

  I moved my hand down to touch the soft fabric of her bra. Megyn had taken to wearing sports bras most of the time; it was nice to feel a satin material (even though I knew which bra it was, and it wasn’t especially exciting, just a white satin bra for going out to dinner).

  Then I worked my fingers under the material, and when Megyn didn’t squirm away or sigh (as the preamble to her “I’m-so-tired” speech), I dipped all the way to her nipple.

  Megyn’s nipples are small and they harden into tiny round rocks, a pale, caramel shade that matches the smattering of freckles that plague her in the summer by forming on her nose no matter how much sunscreen she puts on. I felt them protrude and stiffen beneath my fingertips, and my cock responded, imitating them.

  Megyn sat up without warning, and my hand trailed out of her dress and over her shoulder. Disappointment kicked me in the stomach, but only for a moment: she turned to me and reached behind her. “Can you get this zipper?”

  She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as I tugged the zipper down, revealing the smooth pale skin of her back and the slightly worn white satin of her bra. I unhooked the bra while I was there, and stroked her back with the palm of my hand. More evidence that she had slimmed down significantly – I felt her ribs beneath her skin as I reached into the dress. Not protruding, of course, but definitely closer to the surface.

  Megyn shimmied out of the dress, standing up quickly to get out of it and then sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

  I pulled my undershirt up and over my head – I had taken my button-up shirt off as soon as I got home. I walked myself on my knees behind her, and pushed her hair out of the way to kiss her neck, sliding my hands around to the front of her body where her bare breasts were waiting for me to cup them and stroke her nipples back to pebbles with my thumbs.

  I kissed her neck, and her ear, then I whispered for her to lie down on the bed.

  She had, for some reason, left her panties on, and so I tugged them off her hips and down to her legs. The bright red hair of her pussy sprung loose, a bit tangled, and I stared at her body. She looked great, and I wanted to say something to her, but she reached up and pulled me to her by my neck.

  We hardly ever kissed anymore. It was just a function of our marriage. Lovemaking was always something we did in the morning, usually because I initiated it, and it was rarely earth-shattering. We were both always so tired – I hated to admit that I was sometimes so tired I didn’t really have an interest in sex. We were less tired now that the kids were older and Megyn was at home, but somehow that excuse had never really worn off. We had never really gotten the magic back.

  So when my lips met hers, it was almost like kissing another person. Or kissing her for the first time. Her lips were soft and dry at first touch, warm and inviting. Then she opened her mouth and I felt her tongue searching for mine.

  I was so involved in the intimacy of our kissing that I almost didn’t feel her hand moving down my body and tugging at the buttons of my pants. Her hand was hot when it slid under my boxers and she grasped my cock. My dick pulsed in the grip of her hand. All the while her tongue was moving with mine in a lurid dance.

  I used first one hand, then the other, to get my pants and underwear down and free my cock, without having to break away from her mouth. I opened my eyes at some point to watch her face, and I saw that she had her eyes closed.

  And then I let myself sink a little into that dark fantasy of mine.

  Maybe she had her eyes closed because she was thinking about Max, instead of me.

  My cock responded to my thoughts by flexing, but Megyn had no real reaction, even though it was in her hand. This only drove me wilder.

  I guided my cock to her pus
sy. She was wet, and I slid into the channel of her cunt easily. Her hot flesh wrapped tightly around my cock and pulsed with her own excitement.

  Her eyes were still closed, feeding my dark thoughts.

  In a very erotic scene from one of Max’s movies, there’s a lot of close-up, sweaty action with him and his pale, blonde love interest. Five full minutes of it, in fact. Close-ups of their faces as they kiss, of their tongues playing with each other, of their flawless, entwined, cream and onyx skin slapping against each other, a sheen of lewd, sexual sweat pearling and dripping down their bodies. I closed my eyes as I fucked my wife, and remembered it in lurid detail.

  With just one exception – I changed the blonde out for Megyn.

  Megyn closed her legs around me, her ankles against my tailbone. I tried to force the images out of my head, because I wasn’t going to last long. I opened my eyes and watched Megyn’s face, but her closed eyes and her open mouth only fueled my fantasy more.

  “Oh fuck,” I breathed. “I’m going to come.”

  Megyn squeezed me with her legs, without opening her eyes, and ground her body against me. Her brow furrowed a little as she concentrated on her own pleasure, trying to get it in before I filled her pussy with cum.

  I erupted inside of her, and she grabbed my shoulders and moved her hips rapidly, almost violently, until she gave a slight shriek as she came. Her body went rigid for a moment, then she tipped her head back and collapsed, hanging from my body by her fierce grip on my neck.

  I looked down at her torso, pleased to see that it was covered with exactly the filthy sheen of sweat I had pictured in my fantasy. I moved a hand carelessly over the swell of her right breast, to her wet stomach.

  My cock pulsed inside of her, and her eyes lazily opened in response.

  I wondered what she was thinking about.

  She pulled herself up to my face by my neck to kiss me. It was a quicker kiss this time, and then she fell back on the pillow. I rolled off of her and dropped face-up onto he bed.

  She rolled toward me and lay her head on my chest.

  I wanted to say something, but I spent such a long time forming the words that it seemed silly after a while. My pants were still tangled around my knees and I kicked them off.

  What I had wanted to say was along the lines of “why don’t we do this more often?”

  Or:

  “You weren’t by any chance thinking about Max Riley’s black cock while I fucked you?”

  But it was too late. And then Megyn yawned and climbed out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Shower water splashed on tile, and the moment was gone.

  2: A WIN

  Megyn seemed to forget about the contest altogether after that night.

  I didn’t, of course. I fantasized about it while I drove to work. I let all kinds of delightful, dirty and terrible thoughts into my mind. My favorite image to come back to was the one from the movie, though with Megyn in it, of course. All of that sweaty flesh, their tongues probing each other’s mouth shamelessly, everything slick, wet, and shiny.

  I even rented the movie to watch it over and over again. Something I shamelessly did at work.

  It begins at 42:17 in Red Line of Duty, in case you were wondering. Also, the rest of the movie is terrible.

  I also looked the contest up online, so while Megyn may have forgotten when the drawing was and when the winner would be announced, I did not. The drawing was on May 1st, and even though it was a ludicrous fantasy – that she would be the winner, out of what appeared to be an inordinate number of contestants, and also that any of my perverted ideas would come to fruition – I couldn’t wait for the day to arrive.

  I didn’t want to look like a jackass, though. I didn’t want to let on to my wife that I was obsessing over something that was so obviously silly. I also didn’t want her to have any idea that the fantasy I sometimes hinted at was more… well, dirty than she probably wanted to know.

  That I sometimes pictured her with a big cock in her mouth, looking at me while it disappeared into her throat, as I jerked off.

  Who was going to tell their wife such a thing?

  The day of the drawing itself, a sunny Saturday, I kept my phone in my pocket and refused to take it out. It felt like it was burning through my pocket and into my skin.

  The winner was to be announced at twelve.

  I fidgeted at the counter while Megyn made breakfast. I wondered how long I could wait, not checking online, not asking Megyn herself if she had heard anything about it.

  I set goals for myself: make it to ten o’clock.

  I talked myself down, because I was really starting to get way too excited and obsessed about something that wasn’t going to happen. My blood pressure was probably too high. Megyn looked at me strangely a few times. “You coming down with something?” she finally asked.

  And what kind of man gets so obsessed by a completely ludicrous idea, that his wife thinks he’s coming down with the flu because he’s sweating at his temples?

  And then the phone rang.

  “Oh hey,” Megyn said, after answering. She turned toward the stove and moved a spatula around, stirring the eggs she was cooking.

  A strangled-sounding, high-pitched sound came from the earpiece, one that I could hear all the way across the kitchen.

  Megyn calmly took the phone with her free hand and held it away from her ear.

  I knew, at that moment, what it was. Cassie’s voice, Cassie’s high-pitched screaming.

  I started to float. My body instantly felt lighter, tingly.

  It had actually happened. The first component of this fantasy I had cooked up.

  I stared at Megyn’s thighs.

  “What?” Megyn sounded annoyed.

  A long pause on her end. I could hear Cassie’s voice, about five pitches above normal, through the phone. It sounded like a mouse was trapped in the earpiece.

  “You have to be kidding me.”

  More squeaking.

  At this point, I looked down at the newspaper on the counter and flipped a page of it casually, as though I had no idea what was going on. As if my heart wasn’t racing uncontrollably.

  Megyn’s tone was stern.

  “Well, I can’t do it. I don’t... can you just take the ticket?”

  Pause, while blood pumped through me in hot waves.

  “Well, what about giving it to somebody else?”

  Another pause.

  Megyn sighed. “What if you just give it to the next person in line?”

  Cassie’s voice was no longer squeaking. Megyn had stopped in the middle of the kitchen with the spatula in her hand. Her face was growing serious.

  “Ugh,” she said finally. “Cassie, goddammit,” she said. “This is... I have to call you back.”

  She held the phone in front of her and pressed the off button forcefully. Her eyes were getting green with rage. She smashed the spatula on the counter.

  “Daddy, mommy said a bad word,” Ella pointed out to me. The child had materialized next to me, as she often did, creepily and out of nowhere. I looked down at her. “Ella, go watch some more cartoons, buddy.”

  “I want some cereal.”

  I handed her a box of cereal and the carton of milk, both still on the table from earlier. “Knock yourself out, give some to Chris.”

  To Megyn: “What’s up?”

  Her face was going white with annoyance. Maybe rage. She shook her head. “Fucking Cassie,” she said quietly.

  “What happened?”

  I sounded utterly insincere, and I hoped she couldn’t hear it in my voice. I was feeling a mixture of emotions. Disbelief was high on the list. Excitement, dread, amusement.

  She replaced the phone forcefully. “You know that contest, the raffle thing, the one where you ‘win-a-date-with-Max-Riley?’” She said this last part in a deep voice and sort of shimmied as she talked.

  I made a face like I had no idea what she was talking about, but she was already on a rant and didn’t stop.

 
“Well guess what? You remember how Cassie bought that stupid ticket for me?”

  “You won.” Another stab of delicious envy ran right through my gut as I formed the words.

  “And!” she declared, “Cassie says it will ruin the PR if I don’t take it. The winner’s already been announced.”

  “Why would they do that?” I tried my best to act like I would have acted if I didn’t actually care that much about any of this, but my performance felt pretty bad. I wondered how it was coming across to my wife.

  Megyn exhaled. “God, I don’t know. It doesn’t... I mean, I’ll think of something, like I have to take a trip that week, or something like that.”

  I snorted.

  She shot me a look. “Surgery. Something fireproof. I just need to think about it.”

  I folded the paper. “So my wife is going out on a date with Max Riley,” I mused.

  “It’s not a date,” Megyn grumbled into the fridge.

  I didn’t really like the idea of my wife going on a date with Max Riley, at least not intellectually. However, there was some part of me, deep down inside, that was having a very visceral response to the idea. That burning, stirred-up, slightly queasy feeling in my abdomen, most akin to meeting a new girl you find attractive, was really boiling over inside of me.

  I paused to ask myself what that was about for about half a second. I really wanted to keep prodding Megyn. Talking about this “date.” Thinking about her going out on a date with Max Riley.

  She closed the refrigerator. “Did I just see you give a box of cereal and a carton of milk to Ella?” she said, changing the subject.

  I shrugged and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  “So... you’re going to go on this date, with this really hot guy....” I said.

  She paused for a moment, with her mouth open. Then she shook her head. “Will you please go get the milk back from those two, before it’s all over the living room?”

  Her mind was already on to other things.

  Which I supposed I should have been grateful for.

  But in fact, I was a little disappointed.

  I slid off the stool and grumbled my way into the living room to get the milk and cereal back from the kids.