“A lot had changed since then,” Donny agreed, squinting up at me. “Hey man.”
We shook hands, and Robin moved her daiquiri around with her straw and smiled secretively.
“Well,” I found myself saying. “I’ll just.. leave you two to catch up.”
Robin grinned up at me, and said nothing else before closing her lips around the straw sexily, a glint in her eye.
I wasn’t sure exactly where to go or what to do at that point. It was pretty clear to me that I’d just given my wife permission, even encouragement, to do what she obviously intended to do with Donny. He seemed into it, and she had a look in her eye like she was actually going to go through with it. Whatever “it” was.
No touching, I reminded myself.
But what would I do with myself in the meantime? Sit down and watch on a bench tucked away on the lawn, like a stalker?
I slammed the martini I’d made, decided the best thing for the storm brewing in my abdomen was to have another, and then I gave one last look back at my wife. Robin was leaning back on one hand, her pert breasts on pretty display in her skimpy bikini top, her eyes on Donny as he told her some kind of story.
I waited. She shifted her eyes in my direction, and though her expression didn’t change, it seemed like she passed me some kind of message. Like a wink, some kind of complicit glimmer. Then she sat forward, lifting her drink, dipped a finger into the cold liquid, and sucked it off her finger.
My cock throbbed.
I hurried up the steps to get another drink and think of a place to install myself and watch the show.
I passed Heath as I went back into the kitchen. He had installed himself on the opposite side of the room, which hung out past the deck and also looked down into the yard. He was leaning on the low windowsill, his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. I couldn’t help but notice he was stealing a few glances out the window, his eyes going toward where my wife was flirting with Donny.
And I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed a little disgruntled by what he saw.
None of this helped my erection. I gave once last furtive look in his direction, at his scowling face as he stole another glance down the hill, let myself feel the pleasure of watching another man feel the same jealousy that I did as my wife batted her eyes for Donny, and then I moved quickly to the counter to lean against it and hide the bulge in my shorts.
I skipped the martini part of the martini, and tossed the last two olives from a questionable-looking open jar into a glass with some vodka while I surveyed the yard from the kitchen window the best I could. Since the house was on a hill and the pool and surrounding yard were in a deep depression, I could only snippets of the property, meters away from the pool. The rest of the view was blocked by the porch. I wondered if I should just go sit out by the pool by myself, or pretend to go for a swim, or what. I wanted to watch every moment of my wife’s flirting, but I didn’t want to look like some sleazebag, either.
I turned around and bumped right into the huge swells of pink-tipped breasts of none other than the strip-poker loser, Sophie.
Her creamy skin swam in front of my eyes for a moment, and in slow-motion the ice-cold liquid in my glass crested in a wave over the edge of the glass and onto her skin. Right onto her pink nipple, which reacted by hardening into a pretty pink eraser-tip.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, and I stared at the glistening vodka making a tidy rivulet down her smooth curves.
“I’m so... so... sorry...” I said.
Sophie smiled, and shifted her weight, making her big breasts bounce. My eyes disobeyed direct orders and snuck a peek down to see her smooth snatch. I encountered a pair of blue boy-short underwear instead and quickly jerked my gaze back up to her face.
She gave me a coy grin.
At this point, not only because of Sophie but because Robin was somewhere licking daiquiri off her fingers for another man, my cock was rock-hard and there was no hiding it.
My hands ached to reach out and wipe the liquid off her body, which I sensed she wouldn’t mind me doing – she even seemed to be waiting for me, expectantly, to do just that – and turned to find a towel I had seen hanging off the oven door. I grabbed it hastily and held it out to her.
Sophie fluttered her eyes and waited.
“I, um... have a deal with my wife,” I stuttered, putting the towel on the hook formed by her hand on her hip and her arm. “So...”
Sophie lifted her chin and grinned more. “Well,” she said, ignoring the towel and wiping the vodka up with her finger, bringing it to her mouth afterward. “You can make it up to me by making me one of those drinks.”
I was about to open my mouth like an idiot, and say “it’s just vodka,” but I managed to realize what a stupid thing that would have been.
“Uh,” I said instead. “Yeah, okay.” I turned back to the counter to make a real martini.
Sophie leaned against the counter. “So, who’s your wife?” she said, watching me make the martini.
With her pretty tits on full display, I was having a really hard time deciding which of the bottles on the table I needed to make a martini.
“You know Robin?” I said, my eyes flitting over each of the bottles and making no sense of them whatsoever. Flustered, I grabbed a bottle of gin and then set it down, picking up the vodka. “There are no olives,” I blabbered.
Sophie leaned slightly in my direction, so close I could smell her skin, and a lock of her white-blond hair fell forward and brushed against my skin. “I know Robin,” she said, and she dipped one of her fingers into my drink, which I had set on the counter next to me. She plucked one of the olives from my drink and brought it to her lips as I stared at her. My mouth hung open as she placed the olive on her lips and bit into it sensually with her teeth, before her tongue darted out and collected into her big, pink mouth. “You don’t mind sharing, right?” she said.
I turned back to the drinks and tried to remember the ingredient I was missing.
Sophie pushed away from the counter and stepped behind me. As she did, she pulled all of the hairs of my body away and toward her like a magnet, without touching me. “You need ice,” she said.
I felt the cold blast of the freezer against my skin as she opened it, and then a puff of icy air as it closed. She was back, with a container of ice. She dropped three cubes into the martini shaker, then took a fourth and brought it to her mouth. She closed her lips around it and sucked on it.
I turned my attention back to the drinks.
“So what’s your deal with Robin?” Sophie said casually, and in my peripheral vision I saw that she was dragging the ice cube over her skin, down her neck, over her chest, and further down...
My deal with Robin.
“My deal with Robin is, um...” I was moving my eyes over the bottles, really at a loss as to what other ingredient went into the drink I was making, which I couldn’t have told anyone the name of for half a million dollars at that moment. “Um...”
Sophie’s toned, tan arm passed in front of my face, the curve of her breast and the pink nipple that capped it swinging below her bicep. She handed me the vermouth. “Are you guys, like, totally exclusive?”
My stomach twisted. “Kind of,” I said. “It’s a... a....” I was pouring the vermouth, the vodka, and concentrating on the drink to take my mind off the proximity of the very statuesque Sophie, and the itch in my palms to cup her swinging breasts.
That was it.
“It’s a no-touching deal.”
I shook the martini shaker, semi-triumphantly. I was going to get through this just fine.
Sophie had somehow located a martini glass, and she turned slightly to pick it up from her right side. She held it out to me.
I poured the martini for her, and while she tasted it, I allowed myself another stroll with my eyes over her generous curves, and the convex but toned thighs below her boy-shorts. The material of her underwear had tucked slightly into the lips of her bare cunt, revealing the shape o
f her pussy. I lifted my eyes to meet hers, startlingly blue and framed by slightly trashy, seductively slutty black mascara.
“It’s good,” she purred.
Then she put her hand on my chest and swiped it down my front. “Thanks.”
I shuddered, relieved I had been able to pass my own test, my mind already heading back to the yard, and what Robin might be doing. Sophie’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Hey,” she said.
I turned around.
“Let me know if the rules change.”
And then she was gone.
“Jesus,” I whispered under my breath.
I slammed what was left of my drink and made myself another one, hurriedly, making a bit of a mess. My hands were shaking a little, and I didn’t know if it was disorientation from Sophie, or the unsettled feeling that my wife was getting up to her own game, or pure excitement.
I headed back out to the porch, taking note that Heath had disappeared. I felt a cool thrill go through me: was he also seeking out my wife to watch her, maybe to interrupt what she was doing with Donny, maybe to try and get her to do it with him?
I sought out the last place I had seen Robin and fully expecting to find her there, maybe a little closer to Donny, maybe taking her cutoffs off in a little faux strip-tease, getting into the pool. I was more than a little curious about how Robin would manage our “no touching” rule, or if she even would. Part of me, I could feel, was hoping she’d break it, or bend the rules a little.
But when I sought out my wife’s pretty legs at the bench I had last seen her on, she was gone. And so was Donny.
And there was no Heath, either.
I swept my gaze rapidly over the entire scene at the pool, panic rising in my chest. But no Robin. No Donny.
No Heath.
Not much else about the scene seemed to have changed: the people who had been there before were still there, getting much friendlier with each other, and the group with their feet in the water had beckoned the woman on the floating bed to swirl closer to them. They were smiling and talking, splashing water at each other’s legs and chests.
Things were about to get heated there, but where was my wife?
I strained to see into the increasing darkness beyond the pool area.
I scrambled down the steps, my eyes shifting and looking in all directions for Robin. When I got to the pool, the girl floating on the water smiled at me.
“Hey, have you guys seen my wife?” I said, trying not to sound as half-crazy as I suddenly felt. “It’s... she’s, her name is Robin. She was just down here?”
The girl between the two guys said, in a sultry and very stoned voice. “Oh, I know Robin. Yeah, she was just here.”
When it became apparent that she was not going to elaborate on that, I looked to the girl floating in the pool, who shrugged. “I guess they left,” she said, a glimmer in her eye.
“Thanks,” I said, and I continued down the slope away from the pool and scanned the remainder of the yard, which ran up into a forested area, a creek at one end, and more forest on the other side. It was impossible to see into those places, but I knew Robin was a poison-ivy awareness queen: there was no way she’d go into the bushes with some guy.
I swung back up toward the house. Mumbling a little, mildly annoyed that Robin had moved so fast on her target and so easily begun her game, a little unsure that I even really wanted to be playing it (and unsure that I really wanted Robin to stick to its prude rules), I went through the door of the basement level on the far end of the house, which was wide open.
There was a rec area on the bottom level of the house, where the party seemed a lot more boisterous, and a lot more... adult. The heady smell of weed lingered in the air, but that was not what a lot of the people in the large area seemed to be on. Someone had a strobe light going and some hip-hop music, almost too low to be heard well, was making a few very stoned dancers bob and grind against each other to the beat that reverberated in the walls.
The deeper I went into the rec room, the more sexual things seemed to become, and the more I began to worry about finding my wife. I started to feel like things were slipping out of control. I brushed up against a couple who were making out, half-undressed, in a narrow hallway. The girl broke away from her partner with a slurpy sound and turned to me. I was expecting to get an earful but she only smiled, and one of her hands floated magically toward my chest.
No touching.
I edged away, apologizing over the music with a few noncommittal sounds. I reached a set of stairs and looked up them; there was no way of knowing if Robin had gone that way. The only other choice was a hallways that led to two closed doors. One was evidently a bathroom, because someone was waiting outside of it with a look of impatience.
I went upstairs.
At the landing of the stairs, I took in the sight in front of me. It was a pretty boisterous scene: the strip-poker was to the right, and Sophie was sliding her panties down from her hips. My eyes refused the orders I gave them and took a long, lingering look at her bare snatch. Then I remembered that my own wife’s pussy was just as smooth and silky, and I felt another punch in the gut: maybe Donny was feeling that out for himself.
To the left, a few stairs led down to a sunken living room, where a couple on the couch was very wrapped up in what they were doing. The couple was rocking against each other, a woman with a very pretty ass that was barely covered by her dress, and the sturdy legs of a fit guy whose shorts seemed to be rumpled down to his thighs.
I couldn’t tell if they were actually having sex: their clothes were still mostly on. But the girl was on top of the guy’s lap and rocking her hips, and his hands were grabbing at handfuls of her ass as she did.
“Wow,” I said, involuntarily, and I became transfixed, much the way Robin described feeling. I stepped to the side of the railing and watched, admiring the way the party just kept going on around us, heavy with youthful sexuality. I had to admit, it was exciting; like going back in time. It felt good to feel aroused, to feel like things like this were possible – making out with some chick on the couch in front of everyone.
Suddenly, though, the scene made me uncomfortable, and I remembered that I was looking for my own wife. I turned to my left, intending to head back down the steps and back out to the yard, to look for my wife and maybe get out of here.
I bumped right into Heath.
From that moment, things happened in quick succession: Heath smiled at me, just as I pushed myself away from his hard, muscled chest. “Have you seen Robin?” I said quickly, and Heath gave me a strange look.
And then, almost as though I had summoned her with that question, I saw Robin’s shiny black hair. It caught my eye as she passed from the hallway beyond the steps – the one that led to the two closed doors – and past the stairway, back toward the door that led to the backyard.
And right behind her, the sandy, curly mop of Donny’s hair.
Heath’s eyes followed my gaze, and I looked quickly from where I had seen Robin to his face, which seemed to fall with the tiniest trace of disappointment. That flicker of jealousy burnt right through me, in turn.
And then Heath turned back to me, and gave me a flippant grin. He shrugged, and pushed past me.
I scrambled down the steps, following my wife.
I replayed, over and over again, what I had just seen: Robin, followed closely by Donny, leaving the hallway.
When I reached the bottom floor I glanced back at the two doors. One was closing, and I caught the sight of tile: a bathroom. The other was still closed.
My gut twisted. I calculated the time that had passed, what Robin could have been doing, weighing and re-weighing the possibilities that she could have just been going to the bathroom, innocently, by herself. Maybe Donny had waited for her. That’s why they were there together.
But it didn’t seem to add up.
I pushed through what seemed like a growing crowd, back to the very front room.
“Oh hey!” Robin’s voi
ce called to me from my right.
The music had gotten louder, the smell of weed, weedier.
Robin was slinking around on the dance floor, her hips moving lazily from side to side. Her hair had come out of its ponytail, and she was pushing it up in a pile on the top of her head with both hands.
Donny was inches from her, very close, but not actually grabbing her with his paws. Still, they were clearly dancing together, and clearly at Robin’s behest.
Robin waved at me, beckoning me closer. But at that very moment, she leaned in very close to Donny, and said something right next to his ear.
Then she started to dance again, and Donny gave me a look – stern and almost annoyed, and one that I could not make heads or tails of – before he took to dancing again.
We were the only people dancing, except for the same very stoned girl who had been dancing earlier. It wasn’t a huge area, and there weren’t a lot of people around it, but it still seemed like I was in a fishbowl as I headed toward my wife, who was gyrating sexily and only half-clothed, her breasts jiggling above her smooth stomach.
She was, in fact, dancing like a fucking slut. She curved her hip right into the shape of Donny’s crotch, pushing her hair messily over her face and smiling at him with an open-mouthed, come-hither and fuck-my-mouth look.
I move closer to her and put my hand on her back. With my mouth next to her ear I asked her: “Where have you been?”
Robin threw her head back and smiled. She kept shaking her hips, and she ran her fingers over her bikini line. “In the bathroom,” she mouthed, giving Donny a quick glance and then smiling.
Then she held her hands up above her head, and twirled around slowly, leaving me to gape at her. My gut went ice-cold and my heart kicked at my chest furiously.
But – and there was no denying this – my cock was hard as stone.
In the bathroom, huh? I looked at Donny, who met my eyes for a moment and then started to dance, his eyes dropping to the floor. Like maybe he didn’t want to look the husband of the woman he’d just fucked in the bathroom in the eye? Or just a regular look?
I glared at him, and then I pushed myself up next to Robin. She turned and let her hands drop onto my shoulder. She ground her body up against me, and she grinned when she felt my erection. Her fingers scraped at the back of my neck, right along my hairline. She leaned over to my ear. “You seem happy to see me,” she purred.
Robin's Fix: A Hotwife Novel Page 9
