Satisfying Her Needs 2: A Hotwife Revealed Story (Her Needs Series)

by Blaise Quin

  Oddly, it was no contest. The fact that we were having this conversation was proof. Our marriage wasn’t at risk, it was stronger than ever. “I feel great,” I said. “I love it. I love you.”

  Her smile was tentative. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be. Before, I felt that I couldn’t please you. Now I know I can, just in a different way. I found a new path to the place I’ve been trying to get to for years.”

  “Even if that path is not what you expected?”

  “I admit it has had its ups and downs. But the ups have far outweighed the downs.” I tightened the muscles around my crotch, the blood inflating my cock, pushing it into her hand. “More ups, as you can see,” I joked.

  “I’m serious,” she said, but now her smile was genuine.

  “I am too.”

  “You have to let me know if I—go too far. If you ever have any doubts.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Andie gave my cock a little squeeze and leaned down to kiss me gently on the lips. A marriage kiss, not a sexual kiss. Yet it warmed my entire body.

  “Are you upset I went to see a sex therapist?” she asked.

  “Not at all. I’m glad you told me.”

  “No more secrets from now on. About anything.”

  “Deal.” I took a deep breath, pulling in her clean scent. Like a new beginning for us. “I do have a question,” I asked.

  She leaned back, earnestly staring into my eyes. “Anything.”

  “The doctor, was he good looking?”

  She bit her lip. “I hate to disappoint you.”

  “Not good looking?”

  “Very attractive. But a she, not a he.”

  A new, even wilder, fantasy popped into my mind. Either my eyes or my straining cock must have given me away.

  “Oh, no, not that,” protested Andie.

  “Sorry,” I said. “On second thought, I’m not. Didn’t your therapist say people have all kinds of fantasies?”

  She slapped me lightly on the chest. “Funny.”

  “Okay, no women.” I let it hang, seeing if she’d correct me. She didn’t bite, or decided to leave me hanging. Maybe that was a discussion for another time. I leaned over and pulled the USB drive out of the drawer. “Since we aren’t keeping secrets, I’d like to know something. Rodney. Did he—excite you—because of how he—because of how he looked, or because of what he did?”

  Andie hesitated, and I wondered if she was going to keep her promise about not keeping secrets. “Both,” she admitted.

  “You liked watching this, didn’t you.”

  “I did.”

  “I did too. And I’ve been thinking about something else. What first tipped me off to what got me excited about—.” I gestured toward the USB drive. “It’s not just watching you, seeing you get aroused. I know now that I enjoy seeing you turned on, even if I’m not the one doing it. But I also learned that I love knowing that you turn other men on. They want you, just as I want you. Only they don’t get to keep you. I do.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

  “It’s an incredible feeling, knowing that other men want your wife.” I was thinking not only about Rodney and Rick, but about the businessman Andie had met. About the black boutique owner, Malcolm. Even about the guy I had met in the mall who had drooled over Andie through the window. They all wanted her. And yet, here she was. With me.

  “Maybe we need another trip to a bar,” she suggested.

  “That’s good, but I have a better idea.” I slipped the USB drive into the computer. I’d been creating promotional videos for work and was pretty good at it.

  “You want to watch that now?” Andie’s voice had a hint of excitement in it.

  “In a bit. First I want to—. Just give me a sec.” I worked diligently for a few minutes.

  “What are you doing?” Andie peered at the screen.

  “Patience, patience,” I admonished, turning the laptop so she couldn’t see. But my fingers were flying, I couldn’t wait to finish. I could sense her growing tension. “Okay,” said. “Come here.”

  Andie lay back against the headboard and I balanced the laptop between us. I started up the video.

  “I made a few minor edits,” I explained. Before the video had even gone thirty seconds my cock was jumping.

  “I don’t see anything different,” she said.

  “This part. See? I took out your face. And later, I took out Rodney’s.”

  “Oh.” Andie sounded a little disappointed. “You don’t want to see me?”

  “On the original, sure. That’s for us.” I knew now that I wouldn’t ever want to delete it, and neither would Andie.

  “So who is this one for?” she asked.

  “For all the other men,” I said.

  “What? Who?”

  “All the other men who are looking at porn sites, just like I did, looking for videos of beautiful wives having sex with other men.”

  Andie’s hand was back on my erection, her fingers tightening. “You’re going to post it?”

  “No, we are.” I pulled up one of the porn sites that took user uploads and browsed to the user submitted videos page. Taking her finger in mine, we poised over the submit button.

  Andie giggled. “But we won’t know who will look at it.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me,” I said. “Just knowing there are men out there lusting after you is enough for me.”

  My comment was enough to pull her eyes from the screen, which told me a lot. Especially since the video had reached the part where Rodney was about to fuck her. “It really does turn you on, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  I shoved down my pajama bottoms, my cock springing up in response. Andie smiled and began stroking me. Both of us still had one finger on the submit button.

  I gently pushed her hand away from my dick. “No, I want you to watch me. To see how turned on I get thinking about you with other men.”

  She settled back and watched me jerk off, her eyes never once going back to the screen. “That’s so hot,” she said.

  Her eyes thrilled me. “Now you understand why I like watching.”

  “Do you want to watch the other video?” she asked.

  She meant the one where Rodney’s face was visible. Or maybe the one with Rick.

  “Do you?”

  “I’m happy just watching you.”

  Her comment brought a new excitement to me. I’d never felt so good jerking off. At that moment, Rodney let out a guttural grunt. “We still need to decide what to do about him,” I breathed.

  “He might not even have a video.”

  My strokes quickened as Rodney, his face not visible, but his thick cock clearly on display, entered Andie. She groaned, and I wasn’t sure if it was her on the video or her next to me in the bed.

  Now it was me who was focused on the video. I glanced at Andie, and it thrilled me that she was still watching my hand and dick as I jerked off. Her face was flushed, her pupils dilated, the sounds of my shoulder slapping our bed mixing with, and then overcoming, even the sound of Rodney slamming into her. “There’s only one way to find out,” I grunted.

  “What? How?”

  “The trade,” I said. I was having a hard time speaking.

  “You mean—.”

  “You’d have to fuck Rodney again to find out.” Just the thought brought me right to the edge.

  Rodney’s voice boomed from the speakers. “You’re such a slut! Say it!”

  “I’m a slut!” replied Andie.

  “No you’re not,” I said. But hearing Rodney say it inexplicably turned me on. I drove Andie’s finger down on the submit button. She gasped, her hand squeezing mine.

  “You want it, don’t you?” demanded Rodney.

  “I want it!”

  I spoke in time with Rodney. “Louder!”

  “I want it!” said both Andies. The Andie next to me cried, “Oh my god!” and ripped open the nightstand drawer.

  I was about rea
dy to erupt, but her sudden movement held me at the very edge. In one hand she grasped her very lifelike, very black dildo. Her other hand was frantically pulling down her pajamas.

  The mere sight of it made me both cringe and shake with excitement. “What’s that for?”

  Andie thrust it inside her. “Practice!” she breathed. And she fucked herself hard, taking the enormous, thick, unforgiving cock all the way into her pussy. She had got wet watching the video. Or, just maybe, watching me.

  Practice. For Rodney.

  “Will you jerk off for me while I get fucked by Rodney?” It was both a demand and a plea. Her hands were moving faster than mine. Not her hands, the cock, fucking her with a life of its own. A cock so much bigger than mine.

  In answer to her question I blew my load, thick spurts of cum shooting up in the air, falling harmlessly onto the sheets, onto my stomach.

  Andie wailed, pushing the cock inside her so far I thought would disappear, and she came, her legs spread wide, wantonly, and I had no doubt in my mind, none at all, that she was fantasizing about Rodney’s seed, not falling uselessly on the sheets, but filling up her pussy.

  Andie

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  Peter hesitated, his cell phone in his hand. “Second thoughts?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “That’s kind of the definition of second thoughts.” Peter’s voice was gentle.

  I’d had plenty of second thoughts. Having a fantasy about sex with another man was one thing, initiating it was another.

  Yet here we were. I’d done a deed that might have destroyed many marriages. That it had come about not because of my desire to stray or cheat was a mitigating factor, but it didn’t take away from the fact that I’d slept with two other men.

  Not slept with. Fucked. It had a totally different connotation. I wasn’t in love with those men, I was in love with my husband.

  Who wanted me to do it again.

  Yet even though it excited him—I could tell, even now, by the way his fingers shook as he held the phone, ready to call Rodney—he was not going to push me, he was not going to try to talk me into an act that would be just for his enjoyment, his rush. It had to be about both of us.

  Oddly, my acts not only hadn’t destroyed our marriage, it had brought us closer together. I had an even greater appreciation for Peter than I had before. Not about what a good man he was; I knew that. But about how much he could arouse me sexually, which I had long ago concluded was not where we would be compatible.

  I’d been wrong.

  Yes, it was true he’d never excite the part of me that needed a rough man, a dominant man. Yet Peter’s willingness to let me get that experience elsewhere excited me in a way I never imagined I could be excited. He was a catalyst, he lit the fuse.

  Because of that, and because he did not judge me for my carnal desires, my second thoughts were gone.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  Peter waited, perhaps to see if I’d change my mind, but something in my look must have convinced him I was sure. The very fact that he was holding the phone in his hand also convinced me that he was as well.

  We were in the bedroom, the most personal of spaces, because that seemed appropriate for what was going to happen. It would not happen here; this was a space for us, for me and Peter. But this wasn’t a call you’d want to make from the kitchen. It was too personal.

  On the other hand, I’d been fucked many times in a kitchen before. Just not the one in this house. And not by Peter.

  I briefly wondered what Rodney’s house was like. I had a sudden image of him sweeping everything off his kitchen table, dishes smashing to the floor, his furious, uncaring onslaught only serving to drive my desire as he shoved me down on the table and fucked me.

  Peter kept his eye on me as he pushed the call button.

  I was perched on the armchair where Peter sat. My fingers gripped the fabric so tightly I left an indentation. If I had any doubts about no longer having any second thoughts, they were shattered by my arousal pumping adrenaline, by the tenseness in my shoulders. By the wetness even now spreading between my legs.

  I had another vision. Peter in the chair, but not on the phone, rather watching me, watching me and Rodney, in our bedroom, in our bed, Rodney taking me in front of my husband. Peter watching. Jerking off.

  The sinful thought was too much, I couldn’t sit. I paced the room, biting my nails. Why hadn’t Peter spoken? I didn’t dare look at him. Yes, I wanted this to happen, but I didn’t want Peter to see just how much I wanted it. I wanted to turn Peter on, not hurt him.

  “Voicemail,” said Peter.

  I turned now, wondering if he would leave a message. What could he possibly say? Call me back if you want to fuck my wife?

  My anxious look must have crossed the room, because Peter held up a finger, then hung up.

  “He’s away,” said Peter. “His message said he’s traveling and may not be picking up his voicemails for a while.”

  A wave of disappointment washed over me. Then guilt. How terrible was that? I was let down because I wasn’t going to be fucked by another man.

  Maybe I was a slut after all.

  I turned to the dresser, toying with my hairbrush, trying to hide my disappointment. Of again getting the kind of sex I craved. That need, which I had so long held in check, had come roaring back with Rick and Rodney, and had been kept aflame by my shared fantasies with Peter.

  I shoved my palm down on the stiff brush until the bristles dug into my skin, hoping to use the pain to dull my desire. Instead, the harsh act and hard bristles reminded me of being roughly penetrated, that brief, but so sharp, twist of pain from being taken before I was fully ready inside.

  This time, there was no glorious sensation of pleasure which followed.

  “Andie? Are you okay?”

  I let go the brush. There would be no relief there. “I’m fine,” I said, not at all sure what my tone conveyed.

  “I didn’t think I should leave a message,” Peter said.

  “Obviously.” I bit my lip, turning around now. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

  “Not for the reason you might be thinking. That I couldn’t leave a message about what we are planning. I could have been pretty vague, he would have understood.”

  “Then why?”

  Peter got up, took two steps toward me, but then stopped, as if he didn’t think he should be near me, or perhaps, he sensed my mind was on Rodney, and he didn’t want to intrude.

  “Because if I did, the clock would be ticking—you’d be waiting for it, wanting it. I would too. And if he didn’t call back for a few weeks. . .”

  I slowly nodded. What Peter was saying was that I’d go crazy waiting.

  I didn’t know Rodney at all. But I did know the kind of man he was, how he was with women. With me. And now that we’d started down this path, it was the only road ahead I could see.

  A few weeks? I wouldn’t have lasted a few days. A few hours.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  Peter smiled, one of those I know you are only saying that to make me feel good smiles.

  Not a lie, not really.

  “I did have another idea,” said Peter. “In case you had—your hopes up.” His eyes dropped to my breasts. I was wearing a tee shirt, and wondered if he could see my hardened nipples. I didn’t need to look down to know.

  Peter turned toward the bed, and I expected that he wanted to have sex, that he wanted to help relieve my pent up desire. And perhaps his own.

  I couldn’t deny him, and my need was real, so I took a step to the bed. But Peter walked around it to the nightstand. Confused, I stopped.

  Instead of pulling back the covers he picked up a card. The card the businessman from the coffee shop had given me. Peter held it up, giving it a little wave.

  Signaling a question.

  That card had been on the nightstand since the morning I’d been hit on by that powerful b
usinessman. At first I’d wondered why Peter had left it there, a glaring reminder of my attraction to another man. After we’d shared our fantasies, I understood. Which is why I hadn’t removed it either. I’d often held it in my hand, masturbating, remembering the cocky way he had spoken to me, how he had told me he thought my dress would look better if it was on the floor.

  His name was Nathan Chase.

  Yet as enticing as Nathan Chase had been, my mind had been more focused on Rodney, on the deal. On being used as a bargaining chip for a video. A video which might not even exist.

  Now Nathan Chase’s face jumped into my head, bending over me in his impeccable suit, his broad shoulders blocking out my vision, the image so powerful I could no longer see Peter.

  An image so strong, a recognition of my response to Nathan Chase so visceral, that even Rodney was pushed from my thoughts.

  I slowly refocused on Peter, who was still holding up the card.

  “Back with me?” he asked.

  I smiled. He knew.

  “So?”

  I didn’t need to see the card to remember what it said. Call me when you are ready.

  I nodded.

  Now it was Peter’s turn to smile. He punched in the number.

  Please, I prayed. Don’t let it go to voicemail.

  “Nathan Chase?” asked Peter.

  My legs began to shake as Peter listened, then spoke again.

  “My name is Peter. You don’t know me, but we have a mutual acquaintance. A woman you met at a coffee shop a while back. You gave her your card.”

  Again Peter listened, and I was sure what Nathan Chase’s response would be. I give a lot of women my card. What of it?

  Instead, Peter said, “That’s her. Yes, that’s exactly what she was wearing.” He glanced over at me to see my reaction.

  I knew I had made an impression on Nathan Chase in the coffee shop, but the fact that he remembered me with no prompting, that he remembered exactly what I had been wearing, was exhilarating. It was like when I had been a freshman in high school and I had discovered that my secret crush, the homecoming king, the captain of the football team, not only knew who I was, but wanted me.

  And still did, even after he had me.