Robin's Fix: A Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

  On Sunday we went to a late breakfast at the bar, and the atmosphere was bright, family-oriented, and generally consoling. The previous evening, of typical married life – sex, some Netflix, and dozing off early – had settled me down. I felt myself floating down from the exciting but terrifying highs of watching my wife skirt so close to the edges of infidelity, and landing in a nice bed of familiarity. It had been nice to have a little adventure, nice to inject something fun into our sex life, but it also felt nice that everything seemed to be cozying back to normal.

  I left in high spirits, and Robin kissed me, promising to work hard all week so we could enjoy the weekend together and then get out of there.

  I left a little early to avoid getting slammed by traffic, but the plan seemed to be one that the entire Eastern seaboard shared.

  I arrived home at eight, exhausted and annoyed, and called Robin.

  “Jeez,” she said, without even answering the phone. “That was some trip.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed glumly.

  “That really sucks. Poor you. I got to just take a nap all day.”

  “Thanks,” I said sarcastically.

  “Sorry,” she laughed. “I’ll make it up to you next weekend.”

  “I hope so,” I growled.

  We shot the shit a little more, and when I hung up, I felt like we were back on the normal track of things in our marriage. I slept well, and I stopped worrying so much about everything that had happened that weekend.

  My suspicions, though, were yet again aroused on Monday.

  It began with a text in the morning, which I sent as I was drinking coffee and feeling a little lovey-dovey reflecting on the second half of our weekend. Though I was a little at loathe to admit it, Saturday’s “normal-marriage” events, after the recklessness of Friday night, had made me feel romantic, like doing something a little bit cheesy. Almost believing that Robin had done something with another man had thrown a glowing light on our real, untouched marriage.

  So I texted her:

  [Me]: Hey I just woke up thinking about you. Time to Skype?

  It was early in the morning; in order to get to work “on time,” I needed to leave by about 7:30. But I figured since she had napped all day, she might be up early.

  There was no response from Robin, though.

  Not all morning, not all afternoon.

  For a while, I consoled myself by remembering that Robin often forgot to charge her phone. After all, that had happened so frequently on this trip alone. And how many times had I plugged her phone in for her at home? A zillion? She probably didn’t even realize that she didn’t do it.

  But the hours ticked on, and nothing from Robin.

  When I got home, I texted her again, bringing up Skype on my computer as I did. I logged in, and felt a surge of excitement when I saw that Robin was also logged in.

  [Me]: Did you sleep all day? Im home, want to Skype?

  No answer.

  I called her on Skype.

  No answer.

  And then, horrifically, her Skype icon went offline.

  And that’s when the jealousy started to burn again.

  I pictured her listening to the sound of my call, riding Heath’s cock on the couch. Did she smile at him as she leaned over to snap her computer closed. “Sorry,” I could almost hear her saying. “My husband was calling.”

  My stomach ached with jealousy as much as my cock throbbed with arousal. I sank onto the couch.

  I typed and re-typed messages, deleting them and then re-typing them. It felt adolescent, puerile; but also it gave me that flying sensation from my youth. The feeling of not knowing how a girl would respond, the thrill of taking chances, gambling, not knowing if I would get what I wanted.

  Finally I settled on:

  [Me]: I just called you on Skype. Are u home?

  And I waited. A long half hour of delicious pain unfolded inside of me, while I waited for my wife. I pictured her with Heath in every possible position, with Donny in every filthy scene I could conjure. I superimposed her face over all of the porn stars I had watched in the past three months, looking right at me with a big cock in her mouth, laughing with her eyes.

  My phone shook on the glass tabletop.

  [Robin]: huh? When did you call? Im just getting all these messages

  The response was frustratingly possible. Didn’t that happen sometimes? Haven’t we all experienced that very phenomenon?

  [Me]: where are you? Want to chat?

  Another lengthy, lengthy wait as I went cold and hot, like a pendulum, the back of my neck burning with rage while my cock throbbed in delight.

  An hour went by.

  Then another.

  I had some drinks and went through the photos on my phone, looking at Robin, feeling rage at her fake smile one moment and then sappily in love with her the next. It was awful and thrilling.

  Finally, the phone rattled to life.

  Message after message after message.

  [Robin]: yeah sure im just out right now getting some food at bar

  [Robin]: call u when I get home?

  [Robin]: oh hey I lost track of time going home now

  [Robin]: you there?

  [Robin]: I feel like these messages are going nowhere…

  [Robin]: I guess ill try u when I get home

  “God. Damn. It,” I muttered under my breath, extremely irritated with Verizon. I swore to cancel services immediately. “How is fucking possible, in the year 2017, to have a fucking pocket of dead air on the East fucking coast?!” I yelled.

  I really wanted to throw my phone, but I was too old for that, so I set it down.

  I stared at the computer until it became too boring, at which point I went back to my illicit pleasure: hotwife websites. My eyes grew blurry, and I toggled back and forth to Skype until they itched and it was almost midnight.

  No call from Robin.

  I went to bed and had terrible dreams

  Tuesday was even worse.

  I woke up and tried Robin again, both in text form and uselessly leaving a message on Skype.

  I took a shower, trying to wean myself from the habit of looking at my phone incessantly.

  But I didn’t even dry off completely before picking it up, and it slipped from my hand and almost shattered on the tile floor. The screen cracked, and I cursed so loudly I wouldn’t have been surprised to have the police show up.

  In the car, the phone buzzed and I violated a rule I had sworn to Robin to never break by looking at a message. It wasn’t even from her, just a garbage solicitation.

  I yelled at the windshield in traffic, my nerves frayed to the edge. What the fuck was my wife doing right now? Why was everything in the world conspiring to make it impossible for me to find out.

  At ten o’clock I received a message from her.

  [Robin]: wtf is up with this

  [Robin]: I didnt get any text from u til now

  Aggravated, I typed away.

  [Me]: never mind let’s talk tonight

  And her response (“Okay”) came back immediately. Strange in its brevity, but what could be expected? I called Verizon, I was so mad, to maybe bitch about service or aimlessly demand to speak to someone who could explain how there was no fucking coverage in that area, especially because (I was growing an argument to end all arguments in my mind) I had seen a cell tower on the highway, and that sucker should have been enough.

  But I gave up because I had work to do and I was on hold forever.

  The evening, though, held only nasty surprises for me.

  Robin was not online. I texted her, and she responded that the internet wasn’t working again for some reason. I proceeded to attempt to guide her to fixing it in a series of texts that made us both angry as hell. Or at least I guessed that, from the curt tone to her texts.

  Her responses started happening further and further apart.

  And then, this terrible exchange:

  [Me]: its the icon in the top right corner that looks like a ph
one signal, right click it

  [Robin]: It doesn’t say anything

  [Me]: when you right click it? Are you right clicking?

  [Robin]: just give me like 15

  This first message, I didn’t think much of. I pressed on, thinking Robin needed to pee or something. But she messaged me in thirty seconds.

  [Robin]: I decided not to wear that

  [Robin]: or anything else

  And then a dark and scary text silence.

  I stared at my screen, unable to believe what I was reading.

  I had no idea what to do, or how to respond.

  There weren’t very many ways to interpret something like that, were there?

  A cold, blind fury started to boil over inside of me. This was proof, wasn’t it, that my wife was up to very naughty things?

  My hands shaking, I started to type, “what?” but Robin kept typing right through it.

  [Robin]: I cant figure out what you mean, it just says input, output, some other thing

  [Robin]: im sort of losing patience with it

  A long pause.

  Surely she would see her own mistaken text to me? Surely she would realize and try to cover it up or explain it somehow?

  [Robin]: honey?

  [Robin]: oh man, I hope this isn’t delayed again. Listen, I don’t think I can make it work tonight. People want to meet up at the bar… can I just try this tomorrow?

  My insides burned.

  I typed, “sure.”

  But I never sent the message.

  Instead, I fumed. I decided Robin was definitely up to something, and whatever it was, it was no good. Then I decided she wasn’t, and I was acting like an adolescent cock. Then I went on Reddit. Then I watched some porn, thinking about Robin and Heath. Robin and Donny. Robin’s aquamarine eyes hovering over a shaft of black cock, her lips stretched out to a thin line like the whore in the porno I’d picked… Robin looking at me while her mouth got filled with inch after inch of another man’s meat…

  And then, I lay down in bed to have another terrible sleep.

  8: THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

  Wednesday morning was another angst-ridden succession of delayed responses and poorly-timed texts. But Robin professed to have the problem “really, actually solved” thanks to some guy named Kip who worked in IT in Toronto and was down here visiting his cousin.

  Great.

  I waited all day to get home so I could talk to her, feeling like I had swallowed a piece of coal and it was burning slowly right through my gut.

  I got home, set up my laptop, and logged on with a beer and a cheap, gas-station burrito I had microwaved. I had eaten the burrito by the time Robin logged on.

  Tentatively, not wanting to be disappointed again, I clicked on her icon and called.

  “Finally,” I said, as Robin’s face filled the screen on my computer.

  Robin smiled at me. “I was beginning to think we’d never see each other again,” she said, her voice sultry.

  She had a strange look on her face, though I couldn’t quite say what it was.

  Probably I was just going crazy.

  She propped her tablet up and settled into the chair. She was wearing a white t-shirt that fit snugly against her tanned skin, and I could see the outlines of her nipples through the thin fabric. It was the kind of shirt that almost looked like it had been soaked for a wet-t-shirt contest.

  She folded her legs up and revealed that she was also wearing her very short cutoffs. Her hair was in her usual ponytail, with little wisps of hair cascading down to her neck, grazing her skin.

  “Nice shirt,” I said.

  Robin looked down at her shirt and smiled. “You like it? I’m wearing it out tonight.”

  I formed the beginning of several sentences in my mouth before I managed to get out, “You’re going out tonight?” And then, wanting to say them all, I said, in quick succession: “In that shirt? Are you wearing that for Heath?”

  Robin smiled and looked thoughtful.

  “I’m wearing the shirt for you,” she said. She leaned forward so that her pretty face took up most of the screen. “I’m so glad we got this problem taken care of,” she said. “I have a big surprise for you.”

  I had no idea what to say. “I… what…?”

  I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask her, like if she had gotten my texts from yesterday and who she had meant to text when she sent me her errant message. I wanted to know if she was teasing me or if she was being serious, if she was actually fucking around up there or deliberately making me think so, or if I was just being crazy and seeing things where there was nothing to be seen.

  But the way she was smiling right now, the way she was moving her mouth seductively into a luring smile and telling me she had a surprise for me…

  Well, that knowledge knocked me right off my train of thought.

  Robin just smiled.

  Then I heard a thump, which seemed to come from nearby.

  “Okay,” Robin purred, looking off to the left. “Well... I think that’s my ride. I have to go.”

  “Wait,” I said, snapping out of my reverie. “Where are you going?”

  Robin leaned in close to the camera, so that just her lips were visible. “Just another party. It’s very close by,” she said seductively, and kissed the camera. “Bye.”

  “Wait, Robin...” I said, but all I got was a nice view full of Robin’s breasts, and then saw her fingers tapping on the screen.

  Was she hanging up on me? A flash of angry heat made its way over my face like lightning. “Robin, what the fuck?” I muttered, expecting my screen to close up into a picture of her icon.

  But the feed continued on.

  “Robin,” I said, confused. “Hey, I’m still here.”

  But Robin was getting up from the couch where she had evidently been sitting, taking the tablet with her. If she heard me, she didn’t indicate it. “Come on in,” she said. And then the camera jiggled as she set the tablet, in its stand still, down. Robin fidgeted with something, looking right into the screen and tapping on it, and then something else. The realization that she had muted me and not turned off the camera sank through me slowly, forebodingly.

  But foreboding of what?

  “Robin?” I said.

  She registered nothing.

  I watched as she walked away from it: wherever she had set me I had a nice view of the living room and a part of the kitchen. “Robin,” I said, one last time, however futile. I was muted, powerless to stop her.

  “Hey, hey,” I heard a familiar male voice say.

  My heart sank as I watched Heath’s arms, then his muscled torso, come into view. He had a six-pack of beer and a bottle of wine. He set them on the table.

  Robin leaned on one of the dining room chairs with her knee, and rested her weight against the table on her palm. She twisted flirtatiously, moving her hips in ludicrous circles to draw attention to them.

  Heath asked Robin if she wanted wine or beer, and she surprised me by saying she wanted beer.

  He opened two bottles, his eyes on her breasts. “Nice shirt,” he said.

  Robin took the beer from him. “This old thing?” she joked.

  They sat down at the table, and Robin stretched her legs out in front of herself.

  “So, when is hubby coming back?” Heath said.

  My skin tingled at the mention of my “name.”

  I watched with a cold burn in my gut as Robin ran her fingertip over the lip of her beer bottle, fingering it the same way she often had my cock. Her message to Heath as deliberate as her message to me.

  If, of course, this was all intentional.

  “Not until the weekend,” Robin said.

  Heath brought his beer to his lips and drank from the bottle while he looked at Robin. “He’s a pretty crazy man, leaving a hot little number like you here all by yourself,” he said.

  Robin leaned back in her chair. “Is he?”

  They looked at each other over the table for simmering
moment, and my stomach dropped to my feet. My cock was pounding to life, and I leaned in to the computer screen so close it was slow-burning my retina.

  “Maybe he trusts his wife,” Robin said finally.

  Heath just kept staring at her. “Should he?” Heath said. “Are you a good and faithful wife?”

  My cock throbbed.

  “I don’t know. Does a good and faithful wife have strange men over for beer and pizza while her husband’s out of town?”

  Heath, I could tell, was as hungry for Robin as I was. He set his beer down. “That sounds like a really naughty wife to me,” he said. “That sounds like the kind of wife who needs a little bit of discipline.”

  It was obvious that this was going to a very real place, minutes before Heath said that, but these words, more than anything, made my heart begin to kick inside my chest so loudly I could almost hear it.

  “Robin,” I said, with futility.

  “Come over here,” Heath said, spreading his leg open wider to form a bench for Robin to sit on. Robin unfolded from her chair, her long legs looking even longer than ever. She stood in front of Heath, who patted his thigh.

  Robin climbed onto his thigh, straddling it. His leg was a thick tree trunk that she was riding like a horse, and she ground her little bottom against it when she sat down.

  “Oh I see,” Heath said. “I see what kind of girl you are.”

  I couldn’t exactly see what Heath was doing now, because Robin’s back was to the camera. Some exchange that was very quiet was going on between the two of them, and Heath had his hand up to her face. I squinted. And then I realized: she was sucking on his fingers.

  “That’s it, you little slut,” I heard him say. “Is that how you’re gonna suck my cock?”

  I saw the back of Robin’s head move up and down to nod. Heath tipped her head back, shoving his fingers in her mouth. He used one hand to support her as he tipped her back like a doll and made her suck on his fingers while he shoved them bluntly in her mouth. “I know all about wives like you,” he said.