She typed. I looked over the screen and read her message upside-down.
Still dont wanna b th only costume
The phone rattled again in her hand, almost instantly. A picture of a fairly crowded party.
She looked at me. “I mean, it's exactly what we wanted...”
My cock throbbed through the costume, and Jen's knee was against my dick. She smiled, indicating that she had felt the surefire sign of my extreme arousal. “Do we do it?” she said.
She waved the phone back and forth in her hand, screen up.
So many things could go horribly wrong with this. I felt a twinge of pain in my chest.
Then I imagined my wife on her hands and knees, with the ripped torso of the ebony Darren behind her, his fat cock in his hand, moving closer and closer to her ass...
“Do it,” I said.
It was, after all, the perfect night. The perfect chance. It was practically throwing itself at us.
I watched Jen type:
Im leaving now
She smiled when he wrote back:
just ask for the black guy
I pushed her against the wall and kissed her. She smiled again at my arousal.
I slid my hand down her torso, and oh so easily under the super-short skirt she was wearing. She looked to her right in alarm and wriggled a little as I slipped a finger under her panties and then down. But when she saw that no one could see what I was doing, her alarm turned to a wicked smile.
As I had suspected, or maybe just hoped, or maybe feared, my fingers found her pussy soft and wet. She had shaved all but a landing strip, and the feel of her smooth skin under my knuckles as I dipped deeper into her panties sent a wave of jealousy through me again. She hardly kept herself in such trimmed and pristine condition just for me.
And then I felt the opening of her cunt, slick and wet. Not gushing, not overwhelmingly sloshy. Not the equivalent of my painfully hard cock. But wet. Another pang of jealousy rippled through my torso. It made no sense to feel that way, to be jealous that she was turned on by doing precisely the thing I had prodded her to do. But as I sank my fingers deeper into her pussy, and began to stroke her sensitive g-spot, she began to purr like a cat and wind herself up to such a state that I couldn't help feel it again: the burn of jealousy. She closed her eyes and her cheeks flushed – surely she was just trying not to make a scene (we were, after all, in the living room with ten other people) as I worked her up into a dripping lather and her pussy flexed around my fingers. But I took her closed eyes personally, inducing as much painful lust and angst as I could in myself. I imagined that she was imagining the big cock that was waiting for her, trying to block out the sight of her husband and superimpose the image of the ripped and fit Darren over my own.
Her flesh closed around my fingers, tightening them in the grip of her silken cunt as she neared orgasm. Rivulets of her tangy juices trickled over my hand. She lifted her thigh to move it against the length of my engorged shaft, but it only drove me wilder and gave me no relief at all. I felt her body shudder as she came, and she leaned her head forward to bite the bit of exposed shoulder at my collarbone.
She leaned against me, and I felt her hand pushing mine out of her. With gentle pressure she guided my fingers to her mouth, and nearly sent me over the edge as she sucked her own cum from my fingers, two at the same time, all the way to the knuckles.
She smiled.
“I hate to leave you like this,” she purred in my ear, dragging her thigh across my crotch again and sweetly squeezing my throbbing balls against my cock. “But I have to get going.”
She reached a hand down and adjusted her panties.
And then.
And then she brought her own fingers up to her mouth, and sucked her cum from them. All the way to the wedding ring on her finger, which she pulled off and into her cum-stained mouth.
“You better keep this,” she said, taking my hand and sliding it onto my pinkie finger to the knuckle, where it swirled precariously.
“Oh god,” I said.
She slid down the wall, and under the arm I had propped up to hold myself against the wall.
“Follow me in like two minutes,” she said.
I was so spectacularly dizzy that I just nodded.
*
In retrospect, I might have made a better plan with her.
Peter caught me as I was trying to leave. He held me up with a barrage of questions, delivered with a raised eyebrow. Where was Jen? Why was I leaving without her?
I mumbled half-coherent responses, which made him conclude I needed my keys taken away. My cock was still throbbing inside my furry costume, and I was sweating profusely with anxiety and lust. Not to mention it was just fucking hot. With every passing moment that Peter held me hostage, I could feel an increased sickness building in my veins. I was desperate to get to Jen, and with each dragging second he held me there, I was realizing that I wasn't 100% sure where she had gone. I was getting behind; I might miss her entirely or get lost finding this party.
Finally, out of desperation, I gave Peter the keys to my car (probably for the best) and pushed him out of the way to get out the door.
I imagine, sometimes, what I must have looked like. A drunk man in a Yeti costume, my face steely with determination, searching the streets like a madman for my wife.
At the corner of the next block, I stopped and called Jen.
“Second thoughts?” she answered. Her voice cut through me, because she said it like it wouldn't matter to her if I did have second thoughts. “I'm a block from the house. Where are you?”
Did she care? She almost sounded as though she didn't.
“Peter,” I said, and I realized as I did that I was out of breath. I must have run to the corner instead of walking.
And I was walking. Rapidly. Speed-walking for my wife.
“How do I get there?” I said.
There was a pause, while I imagine that Jen smiled. Though with what kind of smile, I don't know. She recited the directions in a low, sexy rumble.
“Okay. I'm here,” She told me. “It looks like quite a party, you can probably just walk in -”
She cut herself off.
And then she hung up.
I was pretty sure that just before the phone cut off, I heard a low voice growl: “Hey, girl.”
But that could have been my imagination, which was on overdrive at that point.
I stopped dead in my tracks at the bottom of the hill I was on.
“Fuck!” I screamed into the night.
I didn't have my Yeti head.
I ran all the way back up the hill, and burst into the party.
“You okay man?” Frank said, as I blazed through his home. I knew that I looked crazy and I no longer cared.
“Where's my head?” I shouted at Peter.
Peter just shook his head.
I rummaged through the house, and even though there was a lot going on behind closed doors in that place that I would have ordinarily paused to investigate, I didn't relent for a moment. Time was slipping away. Jen could be up against a wall by then, her legs spread and her pussy full of Darren's cock.
I took out my phone and typed her a message furiously.
Wait. Lost my head.
I found the Yeti head on the porch, and it seemed as though someone had poured beer on it, but no matter. I ran from the party again, into the night, following Jen's direction. Every ten feet or so I held my phone up, hoping for a text from her. But there was none.
I saw the party from down the street. Remarkably, it didn't look too much different than the one I had just left. It was in an older subdivision, on the other side of a socioeconomic-splitting avenue, but still a nice area. The crowd was younger, but not college-aged. A few people were sitting outside on the front porch. They held their hands up as I approached.
“Hey, sweet costume, man,” someone yelled.
I held up a hand to thank him. I had decided, running through the neighborhoods, that speechless was
my best bet.
I was starting to like the costume. Inside of it, I was in cocoon of sorts, alone with my own dirty thoughts. The scenes in front of me played out like some hyper-realistic computer game. People looked through me, instead of at me. I could get away with anything.
I turned a corner. And there it was: the very thing I wanted to get away with watching.
Jen had donned her face mask, but she was otherwise as unclothed as she had been all night. She had a plastic cup in her hand and was leaning against the counter in the kitchen. Very, very close to her new date.
When I entered and began searching through the booze with my cumbersome costume, she cast me a sideways glance and grinned a little, but otherwise pretended I wasn't there.
I could barely hear the two of them as they spoke in low voices, just a foot or so away from me. They were leaning toward each other, saying the sort of things that people seem to feel they have to say before they fuck. Almost certainly that's what they were saying, and without hearing it I was enraged by it.
I stared, because I knew I could, hidden as I was behind the ratted white head of the costume, at the big fingers of Darren, the “only black guy” at the party. He had put on a white t-shirt, but the muscles he had sent in his picture were very much real, and they gave a solid masculine shape to the shirt. His biceps flexed with youthful, athletic muscle. His hair was buzzed and his dark face was handsome and flaunted maleness. Rugged, absolute masculinity.
His thick fingers, wired with a strength that was visible in the fibers of his hand, were playing up and down Jen's arm. Her toasted skin looked pale under his fingertips.
I shuddered as he moved up to her collarbone. He sucked his lips in and pressed them together. Distinctly, I heard him say: “Sort of noisy in here. Want to see another room?”
A knife of jealousy went through me again, as I thought of my wife sliding her wedding finger down to my pinkie knuckle. My wife, with her wet cunt and her wet panties just barely hiding her shaved snatch from the world. My wife, who was smiling and taking the hand of the very black man who wanted her to go “to another room” with him.
My heart jump started again, to an even more rapid, crazed speed. How would I follow them? I was dressed like a fucking Yeti. Who wouldn't see a gigantic hairy snowman peering at them as they fucked?
I followed them anyway, not really caring who saw me or if they were watching me watching them. After all, no one could see my eyes or my crazed face. I held my hand up, with the beer I had managed to pour from a keg in it. Several people cheerfully toasted me in the living room.
The house was more of a ranch-style. The rooms seemed to go on and on down a corridor. A lot of people were hanging out in the hallway, talking. I had to push past them. The lights were out and I could barely see Jen's Nemo costume.
And then, just like that, it was gone.
She was gone. The orange and white stripes that encased her lithe body had just...disappeared.
I arrived at the end of the hall, and there it was: the obvious. Jen had just gone into a room with her black “date.”
And the door was closed.
I stood outside the door, staring at it, for several minutes.
I was in a daze. My stomach was flopping and running from ice-cold to hot and sick as I stood there thinking about the events that were unfolding right in front of me. My wife was maybe sucking on that guy's cock right this moment, and I was missing it all.
My wife was maybe sucking on some guy's cock right then.
What the fuck were we doing?
I put my hand on the doorknob. I should probably burst in, get my wife out of here. Put an end to a crazy, fever-dream of a fantasy and stop all of this before it went too far.
Because this was going too far, right? It had all been fun pretending but now the moment was actually here. This was it. I was letting my wife fuck another man.
At that moment, a couple, all over each other in slurping, passionate hookup intensity, pushed into me and I went slowly crashing into the opposite wall. They crashed against the cheap, hollow old-suburbia door and fumbled with the handle. The door flew open with their combined weight against it.
And just before Darren said, “Hey man, this room's taken!” I got a full, searing eyeful of what was going on in that room.
Jen was on the bed, kneeling with her legs spread wide open so her ass and her little white panties were exposed. The costume was peeled away from her tits, so I caught a glimpse of her dark caramel nipples as she turned toward the door. Her face was surprised, as though maybe she were expecting me. Darren's hand was in her dark hair, his strong fingers clutching a handful of it tightly. His jeans and shirt were off, and his cock was pointed in front of him. He had his other hand on the heavy piece of meat – and it was exactly as I had imagined it. Dark, heavy, thick and long.
Pointed toward my wife.
The implications of his hand on her hair and his cock in his hand were clear. And God, what a sight it would be. The way Jen was kneeling she would have to bend over low, thrusting her ass in the air, to get her face pushed onto Darren's fat cock.
The couple who had tumbled into the room laughed. They apologized in a peal of giggles, and tumbled back out of the room.
The door swung closed.
The couple started making out again as they stumbled down the hallway, trying doors.
I heard the door to Darren and my wife's room click.
My stomach felt as though it were squeezed by a fist of ice.
Locked out.
Seared onto the surface of my eyes was the image I had just absorbed. Slutty, slutty Jen, propped up on the bed, her head in the hands of that dark man, his fat cock erect and ready for her mouth.
I froze for a moment.
Then, the image seemed to clarify. Details focused.
Ah yes.
The window.
I pushed through the crowd in the hallway, which seemed to have gotten thicker. More people toasted me as I walked by, and I discovered that I no longer had my beer. Just a vague memory of the plastic cup hitting the floor, and a cold sensation on my foot.
I made a mental map of the house as I exited. I nearly jumped onto the front porch. I swung my gaze around the yard.
The window of the room Jen was in, sucking on her lover's cock right now, faced the front of the house. It was a corner window. And it was blocked by a hedge that came up and met the side of the house.
I looked around.
Everyone on the porch was looking at me, almost expectantly.
It didn't even occur to me – and Jen would later find this hilarious – to go back into the house, through it, and out the back door, for surely it would have led me to the same place.
No.
Instead, flying on my cock-heavy high, my mind addled with images of my wife fucking a black man, my head spinning with alcohol, I did this:
I growled.
I turned.
I ran and launched myself into the bushes.
As I struggled to get through them, I could hear that the plan had worked precisely as I had hoped for it to. Everyone was amused, assumed I was wasted, and had gone to whatever they were doing before by the time I hit the ground, as though I had never been there.
Branches snapped and cut through even the Yeti fur as I very ungracefully struggled through the bush.
When I finally emerged on the other side, with the head of the Yeti costume rolling on a cement pathway, I was delighted to find that I had made a wise leap of faith. The corner window was just a few yards away, and there was no one in that part of the yard – a little enclave around the side of the house. The lights glowed through the glass, and if I just crept up to the window, I would have a great view of my wife getting fucked.
I stood in the cold air, panting, trying to catch my breath so I didn't pass out or steam up the window.
And then, I did exactly that. I crept up to the window, and crouching in a position that would have been wildly uncomfortable
had it been for any other reason than sex, I slowly raising my head until I could peek into the room.
I caught the tail-end of what I had suspected was happening in the room all the while I was flopping around the house and yard. The fit, muscular, and very naked body of Darren was in front of my wife. Jen's dark hair was wrapped around his fist like a riding crop, and it was clear that he was guiding her head with not entirely gentle pressure up and down the length of his shaft. I strained to see her lips around his cock, but only caught a glimpse. I could see her cheeks, puffed and strained by the presence of so much meat in her mouth. But she seemed to be taking nearly all of him.
Jealousy burned the back of my neck again. Jen never took me to the back of her throat. Fuck, she hardly ever even gave me a blowjob.
Her breasts had been freed from the Nemo costume. I knew that Darren had undoubtedly smooth-talked her with his low voice while his dark fingers peeled the tube top down and her tits sprang loose. Now they bounced over the cover on the bed as she bounced her face over Darren's cock. Her nipples grazed the bed covering, and I knew that they were being tickled to arousal by the motion. My cock pulsed again.
Jen's ass was in the air. Both Darren and I had a nice view of her two rounded cheeks, parted by her cotton panties snug between her buttocks. The Nemo costume had also been roughly pushed up so that her ass was framed by the dark frills.
Almost as though it had occurred to him to look at the same thing, Darren moved a hand to my wife's ass and slid it beneath the white cotton. I watched his hand snake under the fabric of her panties and between her asscheeks. Down and around, into her wet gash beneath. As he did this, he had to push his cock deep into her throat and leave it there.
I watched in a mixture of horror and sheer delight as my slutty wife opened wider and wider and her whole mouth and throat filled up with dark black cock. She must have been gagging, I knew. Gagging on black cock while Darren slid his fingers over her asshole and into her wet cunt.
Was he playing with her clit? I wondered, as she squirmed around. Maybe it was too much cock for her, or maybe he was sliding his finger on her clit and driving her wild. Either way, my wife was being impaled by a black man, right before my very eyes.
Body Of Research: An Experiment In Hotwifing Page 14
