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

by Blaise Quin

  I drove fast, wanting to get home before Andie. The lights were still out when I turned into the driveway; she wasn’t there yet. I rushed into the house, scoping out a place for making my move. The original idea was to wait until after some wine, but I didn’t want Andie to get a chance to settle down, I wanted to initiate my plan of action right away.

  I’d show Andie that I could take what I wanted. I’d be the one to satisfy her every need. Mental and physical.

  I was shaking with anticipation even before Andie arrived. Just thinking of what I was going to do, how I was going to take back my wife, free her from her need of fantasies of other men. By the time I heard the garage door open, I already had an erection. I stood there in the semi dark entryway, waiting, breathing hard.

  “Peter? Why haven’t you turned on a light? Where are you?”

  I came out of the shadows. “Right here.” I grabbed Andie’s arms and pushed my mouth against hers, hungry, insistent.

  Instead of returning my kiss, Andie turned her face. “What are you doing?!”

  I didn’t answer, but turned her head to face me and kissed her again, even harder.

  Andie half heartedly kissed me back and then again turned her head. “Wait, I need to. . .”

  “I don’t care,” I said. I pushed her back against the wall, angling my body into her so she couldn’t move. “I’m going to do what I need to do.” I spread my fingers across her breast, pressing down. I’d never done anything like this; we’d never had sex up against a wall. I don’t think I had ever touched her breasts when she was fully dressed.

  She stared at my hand, like she didn’t understand what it was, and I squeezed, grasping for her nipple through the fabric. I couldn’t tell if Andie was surprised or shocked or mesmerized, so I kept going. With my other hand I grabbed a fistful of her hair and kissed her again.

  She still didn’t respond, and I had a moment of panic. Was I being too rough? Not rough enough? I really didn’t know exactly what she liked, what she wanted, what she had experienced in her past.

  I plowed on, my mouth mashing into her, my hips pinning her to the wall.

  With an effort Andie pulled her mouth away. “Peter, no, I don’t want this, not now. . .”

  Did she mean that? Or was she playing the weak damsel, like the one she had told me about, not being able to resist the strong black man?

  I doubled down, lifting her skirt, my hand grasping her thigh.

  “No, no,” she gasped, fighting me a little, confusing me.

  “You’d want it if it were someone else,” I growled, my passion and intent easily giving way to some anger.

  Andie’s eyes flared. “So that’s what this is all about, is it?”

  “It’s what you said you wanted.”

  “Not from you.”

  The words cut into me like a knife. “You’re not giving me a chance.” I could feel myself deflate. The moment was over.

  Andie must have seen my shoulders sag. “Peter, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” She put her arms around me and cradled my head. “What I meant was, I don’t what you to change. I married you because of who you are.”

  “I just want you to be happy,” I murmured into her hair.

  “I am happy.”

  I pulled back to look at her. “Really? Are you really happy?”

  She kissed me on the cheek. “Of course I am. Don’t confuse having every little thing with happiness. No one can have everything. Just because I mentioned something that I—liked—that doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”

  “But you could be happier,” I said, trying to smile. “We could be happier.”

  Andie’s face softened. “Oh, no. I’ve been so stupid. I—this is really affecting you, isn’t it? It isn’t just that you want more sex. You aren’t happy, are you?”

  I hesitated. “I love you, you know that.”

  “But you aren’t happy with me, with us?”

  I looked away. “I guess the sex is just more important for me. Maybe it’s a guy thing.”

  Andie hugged me tight. “I’m so sorry. I hadn’t really realized. . .I should have. I was thinking that you were just looking for a little extra something, like some icing on the cake. But you aren’t even getting the cake, are you?”

  “I don’t want to be selfish,” I said.

  “There’s nothing selfish about that. You either feel it or you don’t. I’m the one who’s been selfish.” She took me by the hand. “Let’s go upstairs right now.”

  I shook my head. “No, really. I don’t want you to do anything because you feel you need to.”

  “I want to.” Andie put my hand back on her breast. “Or we can do it right here, like you wanted.”

  Her breast suddenly felt off limits, and I pulled my hand away. “No, you are right. That isn’t me. Maybe we can do it like that someday, but—I kind of lost the mood, you know?”

  She reached for my hand and put in back on her breast, not sexually, just warm, close. It was a good feeling, a loving feeling. Was I the one being selfish? I had this wonderful woman, who said she loved me, and I believed her. Shouldn’t that be enough?

  Rationally, it was. But though my ardor had cooled, I knew that another part of me wanted more, and always would. Guy thing or not, it’s just the way it was.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “I’m sure. Maybe later tonight. Let’s just sit for a while. I have some new wine.”

  We sat on the sofa, close, drinking the wine, not saying much. I had only turned on a small light in the kitchen, and somehow the darkness made it easier to relax a little, to put the evening, and everything else, into perspective.

  After a while Andie said, “This is nice, just sitting here, relaxing, being together.”

  “I think so too.”

  “I know it might be hard for you to believe, but this is something I never had in any relationship before. Even the longer relationships I had before I met you, they never had this element of—I don’t know what to call it. Relaxation. Togetherness. They all seemed to be based on something else, activities in common, mutual friends. Sex. But just sex, if you know what I mean. There was no real substance.”

  I hadn’t had any relationships like that, so I didn’t quite know what to say. I tried to imagine a relationship based just on sex. From a guy’s point of view, it sounded pretty good. All the physical connection, without the complication.

  “The sex part sounds like fun,” I said.

  “It was. But that isn’t any basis for a marriage. What we are doing right now, sitting here together, talking, this is what I wanted.”

  “But don’t you really want both things? This closeness, but the sex too? I mean, the kind of sex you like?”

  The light was behind Andie, so I could just see her in shadow. She turned to me, although I couldn’t make out her features clearly. “I won’t lie to you. It would be great. But it’s a small price to pay for all the rest.”

  “Do you think you might come to regret that?”

  Andie shook her head. “I can’t know for sure, but I don’t think so.”

  What she was telling me was that she could be happy just the way things were. Married, but with a very limited sex life with me. This isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear. It reinforced all my trepidations, that I couldn’t satisfy her in the way she needed.

  “You’ll always have your fantasies,” I said, trying to make light of it, trying to hide my disappointment. And my insecurity.

  Andie reached over and touched me on the knee. “Maybe I never should have mentioned that.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. This is part of being married. Knowing what the other person likes, what they want. And being truthful.”

  Andie paused, and I wondered if she was thinking of the man at the bar, and how she hadn’t been truthful, at least by omission.

  “I know this has been painful,” said Andie. “But one good thing has come out of it. I now realize what you want. And I’ll do whatever I can to give it
to you. I hadn’t really understood how frustrated you were.”

  “Like I said before, maybe it’s just a man thing. Men just need more physical connection, more sex. It’s not that the other stuff isn’t important, but—it’s not enough.”

  “I hear you. But it’s hard for a woman to really feel it. What would happen if I were in a car accident, and couldn’t have sex? Would you stop loving me?”

  “Of course not. And I know that someday we’ll be too old to have sex, and a woman’s hormones changes her sex drive as she gets older. But none of that is true now. Now’s the time we should be—sorry, can be—having more sex.”

  “What do your guy friends say? Do they have a lot of sex?”

  “Guys don’t talk about this as much as women think they do. Single guys do, at least some. But married guys, not so much. What about your women friends?”

  Andie laughed. “They mostly complain about their husbands.”

  “And you?”

  Andie put her wine down and lay against me on the sofa. Now she was close enough for me to see her expressions clearly. She looked right in my eyes and said, “Never. I told you I’m happy, and I have nothing to complain about.”

  I believed her. At least in terms of what she told her friends.

  About having nothing to complain about, I wasn’t so sure. A part of me still wondered if Andie was trying not to hurt my feelings.

  “What about you?” she asked. “If the topic came up, what would you say to your best friends about me? Would you tell them we didn’t have enough sex?”

  “No.”

  “But that’s what you think, isn’t it? Is it because you’d be embarrassed?”

  “Probably. It’s just not something I’d talk about.”

  Andie’s head was on my chest, and I ran my fingers through her hair, rolling through her waves. She felt good, her weight on top of me, close.

  I thought about what she had said, about what it meant to be happy, about what she needed. About what she liked. About past relationships based only on sex. What had that been like for her? Had the men been rough, dominant? I couldn’t imagine Andie being submissive. Yet maybe that was something she did only with certain types of men. The type of man I’d never be.

  “I’ll do better,” said Andie.

  “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. Sex shouldn’t be a wifely duty. I want you to be excited when you are having sex with me.”

  “I am.”

  “Sometimes.”

  There was a long silence. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t apologize. I want more, I admit it. But I don’t want you to fake it.”

  “I’m sure a lot of women do.”

  “I know. But I don’t want that.” I laughed, but without humor. “Okay, maybe now and then it would be all right. To do it just for me. But not most of the time.”

  There was another silence. Finally Andie said tentatively, “What you said the other day, about not minding if I was—thinking about someone else—at least to get me aroused. Was that really true? Now that you’ve had some time to think about it, I mean.”

  I thought back to seeing Andie flirt, not once, but twice now. And how I had reacted. And about how aroused she had been describing her fantasy to me, and my reaction to that.

  “It’s true. I’m a little bothered by it, my insecurity I guess. But it does turn me on. All of it. Hearing you talk about it. Seeing how aroused you get. You saw what it did to me.”

  “Then maybe we have an answer. Or at least part of one. If that works for you, if you would like it, then we can do it more often. I can—talk about my fantasies with you.”

  “I thought you said you needed more than that, you need to have someone particular in mind.”

  “That certainly helps.”

  I thought carefully about what I was going to say next. I had a sense something was about to change in our relationship. “Then you should do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Whatever it takes to make it—real for you. Think about real men. Meet them. Flirt with them. Get them locked in your mind so that you’ll get really turned on, turned on enough to get excited when you are with me.”

  “That could be dangerous,” she said. “What if—what if we start to rely on it?”

  I shrugged. “Then we could stop. We’d be no worse off than we are now. I mean, I’d be no worse off. I guess you might be. You’d have to tell me if you thought that was happening, if you were going down that path. Only you could answer that.”

  It was so quiet for a such a long time I could hear the little creaks that the house made.

  “I’ll do it,” said Andie. “Not just for you, for us. I want you to be happy.”

  I felt both elated and a little sad. Sad because we had to do something so odd, something almost kinky, to have good, frequent sex. Yet elated, since I knew that what we were planning was something that really turned her on. And, if I was truthful, turned me on too, even if I didn’t totally understand why.

  “When do you want to start?” I asked.

  Andie slid off the sofa and onto the floor. “Right now.”

  Andie turned away from me, balancing on her hands and knees, her ass up in the air, tightly outlined in her dress. I’d only seen her on all fours like this once, naked. In some ways it was even more erotic with her clothes on, especially when she looked over her shoulder at me. It was too dark to know whether she had her eyes open or closed.

  “I have this fantasy of someone breaking into the house and finding me, and I want to scream but I can’t, I know I should, but the man is so alluring, I’m speechless. I try to run but I trip and fall on the floor like this, and I start to crawl away, but he grabs me by the ankles. . .”

  Those few words drew a vivid picture for me, and without even pausing I was off the sofa, my hands on Andie’s ankles, the image so harsh and demeaning and terrible, yet I was powerless to resist. I tried to remind myself that it was just a fantasy, Andie wouldn’t really want this to happen, fantasies could be controlled, you could have the good without the bad. . .

  “He pulls my legs apart, and lifts my dress. . .”

  I did as she described, following the script like an actor, yet I was no actor here, I was taking the part of someone real, someone Andie was imagining. I bet her eyes were closed, a man in her head, not me, but I didn’t care. My cock filled instantly as I lifted her dress, her ass now thrust in my face.

  “He yanks down my—oh!” she moaned, because before she had even spoken I was pulling at her panties, anticipating her desire.

  “I try to crawl away some more, but his hands are on my hips, and I reach back to fend him off, and now my face is on the hard floor, and I’m grabbing at his hands and trying to keep my panties up and my legs together all at the same time. . .he pushes my hands away and slaps my ass, hard, and it hurts so much I freeze. . .”

  I’d never hit Andie before, I’d never hit any woman, but her words set something off in me, it suddenly wasn’t me, and I spanked her, hard I thought, I felt the sting in my palm, but she only said, “Then he hit me harder,” and I tried, but even with the craziness that had overcome me I somehow knew it wasn’t enough.

  “Now I’m fighting him again, but he just laughs, and he says, ‘I know you want it, bitch, so stop pretending,’ and I can’t believe he’s seen right through me, he knows what I’m thinking, and I hear his zipper and I know he’s taking out his cock. . .”

  And I was too, rushing to get my pants down and freeing myself, and then my hands were back on her hips, feeling her quivering anticipation.

  “He says, ‘Show me how much you want it,’ and I grab my ass and open myself up like this. . .”

  I looked down at my wife, shoved against the floor, offering up her pussy to me—no, to some stranger she had fixed in her mind, some rough man who was going to take her, partially against her will, maybe even the man she had been flirting with in the bar, or the black man, and a
ll of that should have disgusted me, my wife, some kind of slut, wanting to be degraded, to be taken, but instead I plunged my cock into her, feeling her wetness, and for the first time ever I heard her gasp, in pain, in desire, I didn’t know what, and I didn’t care.

  I rammed into her, over and over, her face and knees roughly rasping against the floor, my grunts not faked at all, and neither were her moans, and I shot my cum inside her, trying to claim what should have been already mine.

  The next day I lay in bed long after I should have been getting ready for work. I had slept late, barely registering Andie getting up.

  After last night, things just felt different. I still wasn’t sure whether it was better or worse. The sex—the sex had been incredible, but bothersome as well. I had lost control in a way I never had before. It was surreal, it didn’t even feel like me then, and now I could not believe it was me, I couldn’t imagine doing that again.

  And Andie—was this the same woman I had married? Was this the way she had sex before she met me?

  Was that the kind of sex she had hoped we’d be having after we got married?

  It wasn’t the act; we’d just had basic intercourse. It was the way we had done it. The things she had said. Obviously it hadn’t been for my benefit specifically—it wasn’t like I had been telling her I wanted to be rough with her. It had been something she wanted. What had she said the other day? The kind of sex she needed.

  It just wasn’t me. And Andie knew that. Which meant that during our sex, as I was fucking her, as I was cumming inside of her, as she was moaning and having an orgasm, she was probably thinking of someone else.

  Not just some faceless, romance novel cover model stranger, but someone in particular. Maybe even someone I knew.

  So now I might be getting what I had wanted. To see Andie more excited, to have more sex. But at what cost?

  Maybe it would be just a phase. Like a couple exploring porn videos, or sex toys. She’d tire of it, and we’d move on.

  But to what? Back to the infrequent sex of before? With me always wondering if she was doing it just to keep me happy? And wondering if she was instead taking care of her own needs by masturbating when I wasn’t there, thinking of some almost forced encounter with some hot guy?