Body Of Research: An Experiment In Hotwifing

by Arnica Butler

  Trey solved my problem, though, by setting his stick against the wall and telling his buddies he had to “bounce,” which they all wholeheartedly agreed, he did.

  He made his way quickly to Jen, who had a big smile for him as he approached her.

  I was in a bad position to spy on them. They were moving toward the bar, leaning in to yell at each other over the loud music. Jen tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled.

  Trey turned his ear toward her. He couldn't hear. She was smiling broadly, and her lips seemed bigger than ever, wetter than ever, as her mouth rounded out the words of whatever she was saying. At that moment, their profiles were caught in the light, and they seemed to have their best sides facing me: they looked incredible together. Young, well-dressed, dark-skinned and exotic. Thin and fit, their taut limbs aching to be entwined.

  Now, to other business: where the fuck was I supposed to go, so that I could see what they were doing? Maybe hear what she was saying? The situation seemed hopeless. The bar was crowded.

  I would have to settle for what I could see right here.

  I watched them for a while, and after a few minutes it was almost like an out-of-body experience. I lost track of time, of myself, even, incredibly, the very outrageous hard-on that had been plaguing me all evening in spurts. Someone, it must have been me, finished my beer.

  But then, just as I was standing up to walk numbly to the bar and squeeze my way in and hopefully overhear more of what they were saying, Trey and my wife were squeezing themselves back toward the pool tables.

  People got out of the way for Trey. You might say the sea parted. He led the way, his hand dragging behind him a little, where – I knew- it was closed around my wife's hand. What was she feeling right now, with his smooth ebony skin, his big hand, clamped around hers? Was the heat of his body radiating along her arm, to her spine, sending licks of heat through her to her core? Was she looking at the muscles of his back through his tight gray shirt, thinking about her fingernails digging into his flesh? Were her panties getting wet, just thinking about it?

  I watched as Trey introduced my wife to his friends. A nice introduction, including her name. Their eyes grazed on her figure, but they maintained a respectful distance: it was Trey's catch, and they weren't there to horn in on it. But I could tell that my sexy wife was meeting with approval. Resounding approval.

  “You play pool?” Trey asked her, thrusting a stick toward her.

  Jen didn't play pool. She looked uncertain taking the stick in her hand. My jaw dropped a little and I had to deflect my gaze to my empty beer when she slid her hand up and down the stick. “I'm pretty bad...with this kind of stick,” she said.

  My own cock reminded me of its painful degree of readiness by springing against my zipper. Was she fucking serious? Flirt, not verbally suck this guy's cock.

  Even Trey, who couldn't have been unused to getting his way with girls, was slightly taken aback. He tilted his head back, as though to look at her through nonexistent bifocals. “Uh-huh,” he said, and the pleasure was obvious in his voice. “Well,” he gave a smile to his friends, who were equally amused by Jen and amazed at their buddy's good luck snagging a hot chick who apparently was also a bit of a trash-talking slut, “I can show you how to do it.”

  I lifted my glass and tipped it back along with my head in a gesture of disdain. The fucking cliches, man.

  Still, it was hot.

  When I set my glass down, after managing to coax a tiny drop of beer to my lips, Trey was standing behind my wife with his hands on her hips, his groin and the big piece of meat between his legs crushed up against her ass. He moved her into position, and then they leaned over together.

  My cock pulsed painfully again.

  Jen's back was pressed against his taut chest, and the way she was bent over, the innuendo was obvious. Surely her ass and the back of her thighs were delivering to her mind a message about the size and scope of the cock against her. I wondered if he was hard, if his cock was twitching to life as he felt the rounded shape of her ass.

  His big black fingers slide along the stick and down to Jen's fingers. The dark pads of his fingers traced a very sexual line over the length of her forefinger, edging it into place. For added effect, he moved the stick between her fingers, pulling it in and out. Jen turned her head to smile at him.

  A welcoming smile.

  An inviting smile.

  And suddenly, for everyone in the room, it was almost like watching those two fuck each other anyway.

  The stick went back and forth, under Trey's guidance, broadcasting, not just to Jen but everyone around, what it was he was planning on doing to her later. The stick hit the cue ball with a crack, rolled neatly and with just the right amount of force to disperse two striped balls in opposite directions and sink them both.

  Jen stood up. “Wow!” she exclaimed.

  Trey had a smug grin. Like every man who has made a woman say, “wow!” because of some kind of physical feat.

  “Fuck, man, you didn't leave me with much,” Trey buddy grumbled.

  Trey and Jen were off to a corner, where Trey sat down on a high stool. His thick, tree-trunk legs parted, and just as naturally as if they had been dating for years, Jen folded herself into him.

  Just as naturally as if they had been dating for years.

  My heart nearly stopped at the sight of it. Trey's dark hand slid around the back of Jen's dress.

  My brain went wild with possibilities. I scanned through my memories:

  Had he introduced her to his friends? Like a stranger, or like an old friend? Maybe even a girlfriend?

  My mind drew a blank, the memories contorting with my paranoia as fast as I could cull them from my mind.

  What had happened? Had they looked like two strangers meeting, when Jen had walked in the bar?

  I was staring openly now, but luckily no one cared. Jen was inching closer and closer to Trey. They were speaking in low voices and I had no chance of hearing what they were saying. Jen was smiling, her mouth moving slowly and deliberately. Trey’s hands were inching down her body, from high on her waist to low on her waist and dropping with each passing second, slowly, toward the round of her ass.

  My mind seized upon a memory: Trey's friend saying she looked just like the profile.

  So it was a first date, and all that was happening here is that my wife was being super-slutty.

  This both turned me on and stabbed me with white-hot pain.

  Of course, my unhelpful paranoia-brain suggested, there was really nothing about what he said that proved that he hadn't met her before. In fact, wasn't he quite un-shocked by her appearance? Quick to recognize her?

  It was too crazy to think about. And anyway, Jen was leaning in so close that Trey's mouth was about half an inch from hers.

  Fury burned my cheeks. I took out my phone and sent her a message:

  [Me]: That's pretty heavy flirting

  But she was too busy twisting some chalk on the end of the stick, looking into Trey's eyes, to hear or feel her phone in her open purse, which she had tossed hastily on a bar that ran the length of the wall.

  Then I had a terrible thought:

  What if she couldn't control herself? What if what I was seeing was my wife going further and further into her own fantasy, instead of mine? Or what if this Trey guy had some kind of animal charisma that she couldn’t hold herself back from?

  Twist, twist, twist, she went with the chalk. Tray's eyes were getting more and more intently fixated on her. His friends, privy to his intentions, had not bothered to tell him it was his turn to shoot.

  Did this go beyond flirting, I wondered?

  I watched Trey's hands move over my wife's body. If you asked me, it seemed like he had an intimate familiarity with the shape of her ass, of where he would find the end of her curves. Maybe even that dress. His fingers played along the low hem in the back as though he had run his fingers along it a million times.

  I closed my eyes.

&nb
sp; That was utterly ridiculous.

  When I opened my eyes, Jen had her arms on Trey's shoulders.

  She was really driving him wild. I could see that she was. His eyes were sunk into her neck, then her lips, then her cleavage, fixed on her body like it would pain him to look away. I had a brief flashback of that kind of hunger, the way I felt before I got inside of Jen, and the memory of it along with the fact that another man was experiencing that feeling for her, seared through me.

  They seemed to be making some kind of plan to move out of there. How I knew this, I really can't say. They seemed to be shifting, gathering, flirting and twirling in the direction of the door, all without really moving at all.

  Wow. I looked at the time again.

  Only one hour had transpired since we left La Terrasse.

  Dating really was a young man's game these days. As incensed and jealous as I was, I had to have some admiration for Trey.

  Jen picked up her purse, and then she delved into it as though something had stung her.

  She held her phone in her hand.

  She leaned in to Trey. I watched his face as she whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened, confusion and then anger and then a flash of amusement crawled across his face. Resignation of some kind. Jen stepped back, and shrugged. The friends stood with their pool sticks, watching with their eyes and feigning disinterest with their bodies.

  Jen leaned forward again and whispered something that made Trey smile.

  Then she trotted away, as though in a hurry, holding her phone to her ear.

  I stared in confusion at the scene in front of me. I felt like I had been slammed against a wall, on the one hand. My excitement, which had been building to a near-explosive tension, was blown apart like a popped balloon.

  I fought to figure out how I was feeling.

  I should have been relieved. My wife, who had been so close, so physically close to placing her sweet, heart-shaped mouth on the big black lips of this guy Trey, so close to letting him slide his fingers along her thigh and under her skirt – and she had left the building without so much as a kiss.

  I should be thrilled.

  But instead, if I was being perfectly honest, I was sitting there feeling...

  Horribly disappointed.

  As I dealt with this misalignment between what I should be feeling and what I was actually feeling, my phone rumbled in my pocket. Over the noise, I didn't hear the low ring. The vibrations reached through me slowly, fighting their way to my consciousness through all my mixed feelings.

  “What the fuck, man?” one of Trey's friends exclaimed. “I thought you had that locked down.”

  Trey shook his head, but his eyes were still on the door, still hungry, still full of lust for my wife. “Shit you will never believe this shit. That girl is married. And her husband just came home.”

  The same raised eyebrows spread like a contagion through the group.

  Then they went back to playing pool.

  At that moment, I slid my phone out, suddenly aware of its insistent vibrating in my pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Jen laughed, when I said “hello?” as if I didn't know it was her. “I'm almost to the car, we have to go!”

  “I, uh...”

  “Come on,” she laughed.

  “'K,” I said, and I hung up.

  “You still gonna try to hit that?” one of Trey's friends was saying.

  “There is no fucking way that chick is married,” one of the other guys mused, holding his stick in contemplation and looking in the direction Jen had disappeared.

  Trey shrugged. “Ain't my problem, gentlemen. If her old man is gonna let her run around like that..” He shrugged, and lined up his shot.

  The cue ball hit its targets, and he sank several balls.

  Probably everything he wanted to sink, and nothing he didn't.

  I walked unsteadily through the crowd, and out to the car.

  *

  It's a strange thing to walk down a street toward your own car, with your wife waiting inside and all the thoughts in your head that I was having at that moment.

  If her old man is gonna let her run around like that...

  I've done something naughty...

  Actually looks like her picture...

  Hot, hot, hot, my wife Jen is hot...

  Jen was in the passenger seat, the window rolled down. She had her own set of keys in the ignition and her pretty arm was draped along the window.

  Watching my wife flirt with another man like that had been surreal, as though a tableau from my mind had suddenly become animated, and walked out to real life. But looking at Jen's smooth arm, resting on the open window of our car, brought out a very new, very different kind of thrill. It was something about the way she had led Trey on, bringing him close, making him froth at the mouth, and then nimbly slipping out of his grasp.

  And into my car.

  I walked past Jen and around the front of the car. She leaned out the window and placed her head on her forearms, folded over the window-frame. “You better hurry,” she said, looking back at Brownhouse. “I had that guy really riled up.”

  Her mood was buoyant. This was exhilarating, but very strange. Jen, after all, wasn't one for being a tease, or being overtly sexual, or doing the sort of thing she had just done tonight. It went against pretty much all of her sensibilities.

  But now, she seemed high on what she had just done.

  And like anyone who is high, anyone who seems to like something enough that they might become an addict, she made me nervous.

  I sank into the driver's seat and looked over at her.

  “Hurry,” she said, putting her arm out in front of her. “Go!”

  “Really had him riled up, huh?” I said. “How's that?”

  Jen gave a quick look back at the entrance to the bar. Then, she turned back to me. Her eyes were burning through mine as her hand slid over my thigh, and her fingertips tapped playfully on the erect surface of my shaft. “Oh, I think you know,” she said.

  I looked up at that moment, into the rear-view mirror. A dark man was exiting Brownhouse, and I didn't waste any time figuring out if it was Trey or the other black guy who had been there. I pulled out quickly, and drove far too fast down the street.

  Jen smiled. I knew she was smiling about the same thing I was: the excitement of a getaway, however strange the getaway was. The warm air, the hum of sex hanging around us. It felt good to be excited about something with her again.

  “Oh,” she said, out of nowhere. “I forgot to tell you what the other thing was.”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “The other naughty thing.”

  My blood boiled. There had been two.

  Jen didn't say anything, and I waited, my breath caught in my throat, my mind vaguely telling me I should be paying more attention to driving. It took a while for me to realize that she wasn't speaking because she was showing me something.

  I looked over because I saw the vague movement of her skirt. When I saw her, she had hiked her skirt up all the way to her slender waist, and below it she was... absolutely naked. Bare. Her creamy skin went on and on, and the only sign of anything else was the trim landing strip above her slit. Her gash and her navel and her thighs seemed to dance in the seat, a collage of the sexiest things I could imagine. Only at her thighs did any clothing appear: the lacy elastic of her thigh-high stockings, which somehow looked positively lewd without her underwear.

  I stared so long that I forgot I was driving, and looked up with a jolt when an oncoming car honked at us. I jerked the wheel and missed a parked car by mere millimeters.

  My wife laughed.

  She had been there, first at La Terrasse and then at Brownhouse, walking around and bending over the pool table with Trey's hard cock against the fabric of her dress – and all that time her creaming, soaked gash had just been there, no panties in the way of any wandering hands.

  My blood was pounding inside of me, and I searched with desperation on the s
ides of streets and in my mind for a place to stop. I had driven in the wrong direction, headed into the industrial part of the city, and for a moment I considered taking Jen into one of the warehouses or lumber yards and getting really wild in a dangerous place.

  I turned onto the freeway instead, and once I had settled into the mild traffic in the middle lane, my fingers wandered to her side of the car. Jen sent the window up to block out the cooling night air. I reached directly toward her pussy, sliding my finger down the landing strip and into her folds, which were, as I had hoped, wet and hot.

  “So you knew you had turned him on,” I said, hoping that she would take my cue as a prompt.

  Which she did. Though not quite in the way I had imagined.

  Jen turned slightly, leaning her back against the door of the car. She opened her legs a little, and the pink of her pussy peeked out from between the folds of her outer lips, glistening with excitement. The scent of her cunt traveled to me, heightened my aching desire. I sucked in my breath and tried to concentrate on looking back at the road, keeping my vehicle in the lines. But my eyes were drawn to the sight of my wife, reclining in that slutty pose, her cunt wet with excitement about another man.

  Another black man.

  “Oh God, Jen,” I said. My eyes felt like they were going to roll out of my head, looking back and forth from her to the road.

  “I could feel his cock against my ass,” she said.

  But I barely heard that. I barely knew what planet I was on as she said that, because at the exact same time, she slid her own fingers down to her swollen pink gash, and began to pull back on the hood of her clit.

  I was fully staring at her now, my eyes nowhere near the road, neither one of us, apparently, concerned about our safety. I watched the skin of her hood pull back, and the purply-red knob inside of it burst forth.

  I looked back at the road. We were way off in the left of the lane, and I directed the car back on track. A curve was coming, so I kept my eyes rigidly on it, but in my peripheral vision I could see that Jen's other hand was dropping to her gash. That her pointer finger was making little circles right in the center of her cunt.