I gripped the top of the door.
I'm a decisive person, in general. You have to be decisive if you do things like argue cases in court. You don't get second chances in that kind of performance. You have to commit to a tactic and you have to think on your feet. No one has patience, for that matter, for a hemming and hawing prosecutor.
But I couldn't channel the same decisiveness into this one decision.
“It's good,” I said.
“Okay...anything is good?”
My stomach went cold, as a montage of images of “anything” flitted through my head. Anything: Jordan's lips around his cock. Anything: Jordan bouncing on his lap with his huge cock in her ass. “Anything is good,” my mouth said.
She pulled the door closed.
Don't wait up for me, she mouthed, and then laughed at her own joke.
The car rolled down the driveway, and then Jordan and her three-thousand dollar dress were gone.
The walk from the driveway to the study was fine. I was fine.
Once I shut the door, and looked around my office, the reality of the situation set in upon me. It slammed through me. I felt like I had swan-dived onto concrete.
Stunned – actually stunned – I sat down in my chair.
While we had already leaped into the great unknown in a way before this, it had been different. I had been there, watching, able to send a text to stop things or even reach out and physically restrain Jordan.
I had never done that, but the option had always existed.
There had been no need for Jordan to tell me what happened, because I had seen it all with my own eyes.
Now, it was all about trust. And it was terrifying.
Terrifying, and exciting.
I rubbed my temples with my fingers. I had no idea how I was going to make it through the evening. I couldn't just sit here, thinking about Jordan and her date every second. I would drive myself crazy.
Work.
I turned on my computer.
It was useless. I read and re-read the same sentences over and over again, without a single word permeating my consciousness. I had no idea what I was looking at. All I could think about was Jordan. Jordan in that scorching dress, glittering in the center of some restaurant with every man's eyes peeling away her dress in his mind. Jordan laughing at Tyrese's jokes, Jordan meeting his eyes across the table. Jordan sliding down the chair and disappearing under the table, because she couldn't wait another minute to feel every inch of his cock with her tongue...
Would he take her home? I pictured him sliding the zipper of her dress down her side. Or maybe he had pressed her against his chest and dipped his hands into the bodice, watching his own fingers through the transparent fabric, under the beads, until he found what he wanted: the hard button at the center of her breast.
Or maybe he had just ripped it away. Maybe he had torn apart her three-thousand dollar dress, sending beads rattling to the floor. Maybe she was bent over his kitchen counter right now, with his enormous cock filling her up. “Oh!” she was screaming. “Oh! Oh! Oh fuck!”
Yes, I had plenty of time to think about every possibility. The possibility that Jordan's ass was full of cock right now. The possibility that Tyrese had been a lover of hers all along and she had just pulled a very clever heist of our marriage. The possibility that everything was what it was, and she loved me, and she was only doing this because she knew how the feeling slithered around inside of me like icy-hot in my veins. The possibility that she might begin that way, but find Tyrese to be a superior lover, a superior man, and never come home.
I tried to distract myself with television.
I ran on the treadmill, and almost broke it because I was slamming against so hard. The commotion summoned Max from his blue-screened twilight life, to stand in the doorway of the office. He surveyed my running, and shook his head. Olivia appeared next.
“I thought there was an earthquake,” she said simply, and left.
I took a shower. I jerked off, unable to stand the pain of my erection anymore.
And then, it was only ten o'clock.
Jordan came home at two.
I emerged from the study when I heard her come through the door, where I had been pacing in my paranoia all night. I had stayed there for the benefit of Olivia, to give her the idea I was working.
I heard Olivia's voice from the kitchen. “Oh my god,” she was saying. “Will you please tell your boss I will do that job? How much was this dress? Is it yours? You have to be kidding me.”
They looked up when I stood in the doorway.
I was doing my best to look like a man who had simply been working in his office all night. Waiting for his wife to return from an unconventional job that he was perfectly and totally comfortable with her doing.
This was apparently not the impression I gave, because Olivia looked from me to Jordan and back again, and then shook her head. “You two are totally fucked people,” she said, and spun around to leave in a hurry.
I was already buzzing with even more arousal than I had experienced before, as impossible as it seemed. I felt like this must surely be the high the cokeheads talked about.
My eyes were inspecting every inch of Jordan's body.
Her dress was in place, as it had been when she had left. I looked for wrinkles, for some kind of indication that it had been hiked up to her waist as she bent over a counter, or climbed on top of a man in a car. But the material was smooth and unblemished. I was actually relieved to see it intact, because I had allowed my fantasy of it getting torn to shreds to get a little out of hand in my mind.
My eyes went to her legs. I don't know what I was expecting there: a trickle of cum running down her thigh?
Back to her face. Was her lipstick smeared? Had she sweat until the smokey eyeliner around her eyes had smudged ever-so-slightly?
“So,” I said.
Jordan smiled and leaned against the counter. “So.”
There was mischief in her eyes. She was enjoying the desperate way I was looking over her. She was holding her cards close, toying with me. And she was clearly getting off on it.
My stomach twisted again.
“I'm tired,” Jordan said. “Let's go to bed.”
In the bedroom, I moved my finger along the plunging neckline of her dress. I started at her collarbone, and moved up and over the swell of her breast, then down to where the “v” came together, somewhere between her sternum and her navel. Back up again, along the edge of the other side. The skin on her neck went bumpy with delight. I heard her breath catch. “Tell me what you did. Every detail.”
I slid my finger beneath the dress, and moved down the edge of it again. I stopped at when I was across from her nipple, and dove beneath the fabric to find it with my fingertips. I grazed the silky skin of her areola, and she shivered. Then my fingers found her nipple, and it turned hard underneath the pads of my fingers.
“So?” I whispered.
Jordan's eyes were partially closed. “We ate dinner,” she said, and while this normally might have been an opening for a joke, I knew she was in no mood to be silly. “It was...nice.”
“'Nice,' hmmm? Why 'nice'?”
I leaned toward her, and moved my lips over her neck. Her gooseflesh returned. I felt her body stiffen, excited by touch.
Or maybe by the thought of what had transpired between her and Tyrese
“He's a really...he knows how to really make a woman feel sexy,” she said. “He's an interesting guy.”
I'm sure.
But these were water I wasn't interested in wading in. Not now.
“Did he touch you? At dinner?”
She smiled. “On my hand. Then on my knee. Under the table.”
I imagined Tyrese's enormous hands on her knee, under the table. I imagined his big fingers moving over her kneecap.
“Anything else?”
“Not at dinner.”
The words traveled through me like an injection of boiling water.
“Thi
s part,” she said in a whisper, “we should probably go over in the bed.”
Tyrese was a medic in the army. Of fucking course. He was now a reservist, and in medical school. He was going to be rich, respected, and he could also whip out a story about his actual tour of duty.
Of fucking course.
He was also, apparently, an incredibly smooth gentleman.
But that didn't mean that he had any problem hitting on my wife, who he knew was married.
It also didn't mean that he had ended the evening with a light kiss.
He was after Jordan, and he hadn't spent any time mincing words about it.
While Jordan gave me this back story, I sat practically cooking myself in my own juices. I was looking at her and listening to her, but my body was really just suspended in time, waiting for the part I really wanted to hear.
At dinner he had put his hand on her knee. His hands were smooth and hot, and – she added for me, because she knew I wanted to hear it, over and over if possible – they were big.
He wasn't looking for any kind of relationship. That's why he was into married women.
And then he had bored through her with an animal stare, the kind that works like a magnetic force on women everywhere. He had asked for the check and just kept staring at her, and she knew something was going to happen.
She was still in her dress while she told me all this. Still wearing it. I could envision more easily the way that Tyrese had seen her, and looked at her. God, she was stunning in that dress, more stunning than I could remember.
He had asked her if she wanted to go home with him, and she told him she wasn't quite ready for that yet. She didn't have enough time this evening.
Jordan had held her thumb up to her mouth and bitten on it at this point. “I think I want to keep playing it like, I'm having an affair and I'm not really sure if I want to do it or not...you know? I think it makes it more exciting.”
“Okay,” I said lamely. Whatever she wanted, it was fine by me.
In fact, so much the better.
So he had offered to walk her to a cab. She had been surprised, surprised he would give up that easily, but she decided to play the long game. They walked up the street to a busier avenue where they might get a cab.
Close to each other. Flirting. They bumped into each other and found each other's hands.
“Where you turned on by him then?” I interrupted.
Jordan's eyes fluttered a little. I could see she had some reservations about admitting it to me, which could mean only one thing: she was. She was very attracted to him.
“Remember,” I said. “You said, 'every detail.' It's part of the deal. Were you getting hot for him, wishing he would do something?”
Jordan bit her lip. “I mean...he's a really attractive guy. So...yeah. Yeah, I was...turned on.”
A satisfying jolt sizzled through me. I pictured them in the dark, walking down the street, their bodies “crashing” into each other occasionally, their hands finding something to squeeze.
Tyrese, looking down at the ripe breasts of my wife, so near to being freed.
He hailed a cab in a second. Made a joke about how it was handy to have a white woman with him. They stood there, toying with the idea of kissing. Both of them wanted it.
I pictured his big hands on the door of the cab. Maybe draped there, because he seemed like the kind of guy who would hang his arms cooly over the edge of the door. He moved a hand and his fingers stroked her cheek.
He asked if she was sure she couldn't find a way to stay out later.
She thought about doing it, and she wanted to. But then she decided to make it all even more savory, more delightful, by dragging it out.
So she shook her head, but she suggested they split the cab at least to his place.
It's not on the way, he pretended to protest. I could see him, laughing. Already coming around the door to get in the cab next to her.
In the cab he had wasted no time. Smiling, looking the other direction as though he weren't paying any attention to my wife, he slid his hand down the inside of her thigh. His long pinkie finger moved backward, backward, toward the sweet spot between her legs.
Then he brushed over the fabric of her underwear. A light touch, and it sent a shiver through her.
He fanned the fingers on his big hand, and his ring finger and thumb pushed her knees apart. Spread her legs open. All the while, he looked out the window and smiled. I could see that smile now: assured. Smug. The smile of a man who is about to dip his fingers into the wife of another man.
The gorgeous wife of another man.
“And what did you do?” My voice was raspy.
Jordan reached over and found his cock beneath the fabric of his pants.
She waited after saying this, giving me time to get the image arranged in my own mind, and sharpened into excruciating focus: Jordan's pale hand on the dark fabric of his suit, closing in around the shape of his cock.
He was hard, but maybe not all the way. Still, she could tell there was a lot there. He had a good, big package.
She moved her hand over it to try and feel the shape of it, and he grinned.
Meanwhile, he had pried her panties away from her bare snatch. When he found her smooth skin he looked over at her and gave her a raised eyebrow of surprise. Perhaps there weren't that many utterly bare suburban women in the world.
Then he held her gaze as he dipped into her wet folds. She could tell he pleased to find her so turned on.
His finger had been solid and strong against her clit, which he found easily in spite of her body being so new to him. He had moved over the slippery button with ease and a practiced hand. In less than a minute he had made her convulse with a jolting orgasm.
Just as the cab arrived at their destination.
Her hand was still on his cock. Now it was bigger, and she could feel all the promise of it on her palm. Her panties were soaked, and her face was hot and red with the flush of coming.
He had already popped the door open. “You sure there's nothing you can do about that curfew of yours, Cinderella?”
Jordan was still reeling from what he had done to her. So she shook her head.
Then he had leaned over, and pressed his lips to hers. Soft, big lips, and entirely different kiss than she had ever experienced. His hand moved down her chest again, feeling her soft, bare skin.
“I'll call you tomorrow,” he had said.
Then he paid the cabbie, and strolled into his condo. Hands in pockets. Smooth as ice.
He turned back and smiled at her.
I pictured it: a wolfish grin.
He knew she'd be back.
“And that's it?” I said, when she finished telling her story.
You didn't lean over in the cab, and take his cock into your mouth, did you?
She leaned back on the bed, on her elbows. “That's it for now.”
Several kinds of pain were writhing inside of me. I felt a pang of disappointment. As delicious as it was to think about Tyrese's fingers prying open the wet folds of my wife's pussy in the back of a cab and making her pant against the fake leather seats, I wanted more.
As delicious as it was to imagine Jordan's hand caressing the bulge of another man's cock, I wanted her to have actually wrapped her hand around the hot flesh of it. To be able to tell me exactly how fat it was, if it was veined and dark purple, or brown and smooth. How long it was, and then...
I wanted more.
I wanted Jordan to have his cock between her legs, plunging into her flesh and spreading her open. I wanted to see her gasp and scream in pleasure. I wanted to taste the sweat on her shoulders when he was done with her. I wanted to see her lips wrapped around his cock.
I almost blushed at the slew of dirty thoughts that flooded my mind.
But Jordan knew I wanted more.
She tapped her fingers on the bed. She was still looking at me.
I moved to the bed, and rested my knees, left first, then right, on the edge of
the bed. I grabbed Jordan's ankles and pushed her backward. She scooted onto the bed, and as she did her skirt bunched up, almost to her waist.
I used one hand, as Tyrese had done, to push her thighs open. She let them fall open wide, and the scent of her cum and arousal breathed onto me as they fell open.
I reached for her underwear, right in the soft center where her hole was. As I had expected, they soaked clear through. I slid them down her legs, and she pushed them back together to get the panties down her leg. I stretched them to slide them off her right foot, and then I pushed her legs open again. Her wet panties still dangled from her left ankle.
I looked at her slit, and the light skin that surrounded it. Smooth and fresh, it seemed, but someone else had been there just an hour ago. Playing with her ivory petals, dipping into the hot flesh between them.
Someone dark. Practically a stranger. A big, athletic man. A man with a huge cock.
I dipped a finger into her pussy. She was so wet the sensation was almost strange.
Was it that? Or had she perhaps been stretched open, and she wasn't telling me? My fingers slid into her with no resistance at all.
I jerked her by her ankles, close to me.
“Is that everything, Jordan?” I growled.
She brought her fingers to her mouth and touched her lips.
Was her expression distant? Was she thinking of a lie?
She paused like this, and the moment seemed to drag out forever.
Then she slapped me suddenly on the arm. She laughed. “Of course that's everything,” she said. “That was the deal, right?”
I lowered myself on top of her, and my cock sank into her flesh. She squirmed in pleasure. She hung her arms around my neck and lifted her hips up to me, grinding against me.
“What do you want me to do next time?”
She rocked her hips back and forth, and her pussy squeezed my cock.
“Tell me,” she said. “It turns me on when you tell me what you want another man to do to me.”
I pushed her hips down, to stop her from grinding me right over the edge. She felt so good, so hot and silky, and I wanted a chance to talk dirty to her and get an even sharper, more agonizing high than all of them that had come before.
A Well-Laid Trap 2: The Story Of A Professional Hotwife Page 9
