My Wife, The Escort 1 & 2 (My Wife, The Escort Season 1)

by Victoria Kasari

No. Of course it wasn’t worth the risk. I shook my head in disbelief that I’d even considered it. “No,” I said aloud. “No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you alone with some guy, Harriet. I mean, yeah, it’s a turn on in theory—” I felt myself redden as I admitted it. “The idea of you sleeping with him and telling me afterwards. But not in reality. It’s way too dangerous. Anything could happen.”

  She pressed her lips together in a tight line as she nodded. Then, “What if you were in the room?”

  I stared at her. “What?! Tell the guy I’m your husband?”

  She shook her head. “You could hide. Those rooms always have big closets and there’d be nothing in them. You could hide and watch and only come out if something went wrong.”

  I stared at her. It sounded utterly ridiculous. Me, in a goddamn closet, watching while my wife—

  And suddenly, it was scalding my mind. Actually watching her having sex with another guy. For real. Right in front of me.

  Jesus.

  And then it hit me that Harriet had come up with this. She’d known I’d have this fear and she’d thought of a way around it. And she’d known how turned on I’d been, hearing about her exes, and she’d known this would turn me on even more.

  She knew. She knew how much this whole thing turned me on. I kind of squirmed inside, at that feeling. But she was my wife—of course she knew what made me tick, probably better than I did myself. “You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?” I said at last.

  She nodded. Then she reached out across the table and took my hands in hers. Looking me right in the eye, she said, “I know this is crazy. I can’t believe I’m even suggesting it.” Her voice grew steadily slower. “But...can you think...of a single reason...why we shouldn’t do this?”

  I knitted my fingers together with hers, staring back at her. God, she was beautiful. So, so beautiful. Part of me was screaming at myself, demanding that I call a halt to this thing right now. But the rest of me….

  I shook my head. I couldn’t think of a single reason.

  <<<<>>>>

  Read on for Part Two!

  And so we started to plan. I’m an architect and Harriet’s an advertising exec. Between us, we’re pretty good at planning.

  First, the hotel. We found one that was just as Harriet had described it: close enough to San Jose that no one we knew would bother to stay there on business, but far enough away that they wouldn’t stop in at the hotel bar. And we picked a place that catered mainly to business people, from the same chain as our first one. That meant we could pay for the room from our points account and it didn’t cost us a dime.

  In fact—and this was the thought that made me freeze when I thought of it, my cock rising in my pants—if it worked, we’d finish the night ahead. We were actually going to make money, selling my wife.

  Next, the outfit. Harriet had gotten a good look at the escorts in the first hotel we’d visited and she said that less was more. She needed to look classy not slutty. So she bought a new dress that was just slightly more revealing than the one she’d worn for our night away, a deep red one with a scoop neck but with a fairly long hem to balance it out. It was tight enough to show off her gorgeous figure, her full breasts visible as swells beneath the scarlet fabric and tempting half-globes of creamy flesh above. It hugged her waist but wasn’t so tight on her hips and ass that it looked tacky. After some experimentation on the bar stools at our kitchen counter, we found the hem could be strategically slid up to reveal more of her legs, or kept down for a more demure look. We figured that gave us options.

  Harriet got her nails and hair done that lunchtime, telling the other women in her office that she was going out with me on a romantic date out of town. It was weird—and a turn on—to think that she was making herself ready for someone else.

  I had our bags packed and met Harriet out of work so we could set out straightaway. The two hour drive was...an experience. We talked about what we were going to do, going round and round on whether we should or shouldn’t. Twice, I pulled over so that I could turn to her properly and ask her whether she was sure she wanted to go through with it.

  She was. And I was.

  On the third time we pulled over, we talked about the jealousy. She wanted, then demanded to know how I felt about some other man touching her, kissing her and being inside her.

  I stared at the steering wheel for a long time, tracing it with my fingertips. “It turns me on,” I said. “You know that. The idea of another guy fucking you.”

  “The idea of it,” she said. “What if it’s different in real life? What if you get angry? What if it comes between us?”

  I looked at her, trying to imagine it. But how the hell are you supposed to imagine something like that? How can you really know, until it happens? “I don’t know,” I said at last. “I can’t say for sure. But I can promise that I won’t be mad at you, if I get mad. We’re going into this with our eyes open. If it goes wrong, we won’t blame each other...deal?”

  She nodded slowly. “Deal. But I’m still worried.”

  “I’m still worried. But I still want to go through with it. You?”

  She nodded, but her eyes were wide with fear. “I do. But I’m scared I might lose you.”

  I grabbed her hands. “You’re not going to lose me. Worst case scenario, I freak or you freak and we call a halt to it and throw the guy out of the room, bundle up our stuff and drive home. And then what? We’d survive, right?”

  She nodded slowly, thinking. Then she nodded again, more firmly.

  I started the engine again and we drove on. And this time, we made it the whole rest of the way there.

  ***

  “It’s big enough,” I said, checking the closet. More importantly, it had slatted doors that would give me a perfect view of the king size bed. We played around with the lighting and found that, as long as the lights were on in the room and there was no light in the closet, you couldn’t tell anyone was in there.

  “I’m going to have to keep quiet, though,” I said. “Even breathe quietly.”

  Harriet thought about it as she began to do her make-up. “Music,” she said at last. “There’s an iPod dock. I’ll put some music on, when I bring him up here.” We figured out a playlist as she did her eyes and then her lips.

  She turned around and I drew in my breath. She’d achieved the perfect balance—seductive, but not slutty. Her eyes looked huge, with smoky lids. Her lips were painted a shining red that set off her pale skin—alluring, but classy. High class escort? She looked as if she should be charging a million bucks.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around. We’d carefully hidden my suitcase in the closet and I deliberately hadn’t unpacked—not even a toothbrush in the bathroom. We had to maintain the illusion that Harriet was there alone.

  “Won’t he think it’s weird, that I’m bringing him back to my room instead of going to his?” Harriet asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Tell him that you’ve got some deal worked out with the hotel. Say that they’re cool with you meeting clients in the bar, but you have to pay for a room and you have to use it, so they know where you are.” I figured that sounded plausible, the sort of compromise an escort and the head of hotel security might work out between them. Also, it was really the only option if I wanted to be able to watch.

  And then we stared at each other, because we’d run out of things to say. It was time.

  “Condoms?” I asked.

  Harriet patted her purse.

  Jesus. She’s carrying condoms. My wife is carrying condoms so she can go and pick up a stranger and—panic rose in my chest even as my cock hardened.

  “One last thing,” said Harriet. And she gripped her wedding band and twisted it off her finger, then did the same with her engagement ring. She dropped them in the palm of my hand.

  There wasn’t even a mark where the rings had been. I wasn’t ready for how her naked finger made me feel. It was as if we’d just severed a r
ope and set her adrift on the ocean. I stared at her, my breath suddenly shuddering in my chest with each lungful. From her wide eyes, I knew she was experiencing exactly the same thing.

  “Time to go,” she whispered.

  We’d agreed on a plan. She’d go down to the bar and then I’d follow a few moments later, taking up a position where I could watch her from a distance. If it looked like it was going to happen, she’d signal me by using a cocktail napkin to dab the corner of her mouth (we were pretty proud of that signal—Harriet said it made her feel like a spy). I’d then leave and head upstairs, use my key to get into the room and wait in the closet. She’d follow with the guy soon after and then….

  Every time I thought of it actually happening, my heart started to pound in my chest. We can’t be doing this. We can’t actually be doing this—

  But we were. Harriet was slinging her purse over her shoulder. In a moment, she’d head out the door and then I wouldn’t be able to speak to her again—not without blowing our cover—until it was all over.

  She went to the door and then stood there with her hand on the handle. “Sure?” she asked over her shoulder.

  I took a deep breath...and then nodded.

  And my wife went to find her first client.

  Waiting was the hardest part. I knew that, when my wife walked into the bar, every man would stare at her. And then they’d check that she was alone before approaching. If I raced in just behind her, it would ruin everything. So I sat there, staring at my watch. We’d agreed that I’d wait five minutes. I realized I still had Harriet’s rings in my hand and I turned them over and over in my palm as the seconds ticked by. What the hell am I doing?! That’s my wife, down there, alone. Even now, the men would be circling, preparing to approach—

  After four minutes, I couldn’t take it any longer and raced downstairs.

  The hotel lobby was huge, with an elaborate bronze sculpture of a man and a woman kissing to break up the expanse of marble floor. The bar area opened off one side with the reception desk on the other. As I stepped around the sculpture and got my first glimpse of the bar, I held my breath.

  There. Sitting on a bar stool, sipping a glass of white wine. She was turned away from me, which was good. If I’d seen her face, it would have been difficult to avoid locking eyes. God, even from behind, she looked gorgeous. The position emphasized her hourglass body, the deep red dress hugging every curve, her long blonde hair falling in soft waves down her back. I stared at her long, long legs in those shining black stockings and I felt my cock harden. All I wanted to do was grab her around the waist, throw her over my shoulder and carry her up to our room.

  But that wasn’t my job, tonight. Some other guy was going to get to take her upstairs. Some other guy was going to fuck my wife.

  I forced my eyes straight ahead and walked up to the bar, well away from Harriet. I ordered a beer and then found a table at the back of the room, where I could watch everything that went on without anyone noticing me. I grabbed a sports magazine so that I could pretend to read.

  The bar was already full of men, almost all of them in suits and most of them drinking alone rather than in groups. Lonely businessmen. Perfect.

  There were two other women in the place. One of them looked to be about the same age as Harriet. She was in a black suit jacket and skirt with a white blouse—sort of severe looking, but it set off her long, flame-red hair. I guessed she was there on business. Then there was a younger woman with long dark hair, her turquoise dress stretched tight over her full breasts. I guessed she was an escort, which meant we’d picked exactly the right hotel. Both of them were beautiful, but neither could match my wife’s looks.

  As I carefully scanned the bar, I saw that several of the men were already checking out my wife. Just little glances, at first, making sure she was actually alone. Then longer and longer looks. The brunette and the redhead were getting some attention, too, but not as much as Harriet.

  I sat there trying to pretend I was reading my magazine. I could feel the lust in the room, all the pairs of eyes sliding along the length of my wife’s stockinged calves, working their way slowly along her thighs and under the hem of her dress. I saw eyes flick from her long, lustrous hair to the valley of her cleavage. When she turned a little on her stool so that she was side-on to us, I saw them stare at her eyes and lips. I’d looked at this woman every day for years but now, it was as if I was seeing her for the first time. I was seeing her as they saw her, as an object of raw desire. An object that could be purchased, if they had the money.

  This is wrong. We should end this, right now. The instinct to grab her and run upstairs, to jealously guard her for myself, was almost overwhelming.

  But the thought of watching one of the men approach her was even more tempting. Maybe we’ll just go part way, I thought. I’ll let one of them talk to her and then, before they go upstairs, I’ll grab her. We won’t actually go through with it.

  Twice, men stood up and went over to the bar to order drinks, deliberately standing right next to my wife rather than at the expanse of empty bar. Both men used the opportunity to gawp down at Harriet’s breasts when she was looking in the other direction. Christ, was I that obvious when I checked women out? They were practically leering at her! I felt a sudden spike of anger. Part of me wanted to march over there and smash my beer bottle over their heads. But, as I watched their eyes follow each soft, creamy-white curve, the anger changed shape. It became lust.

  Both men chickened out, returning to their seats with their drinks. I wondered if they thought she was just a single woman alone in a bar and were scared to chat her up, or if they knew she was an escort.

  She’s pretending to be an escort, I reminded myself. This was just a game. A kinky game.

  When the man arrived, it took me completely by surprise. I’d been watching the other men in the bar, but this guy strolled straight in from the lobby and sat down beside my wife without asking if he could. She turned to face him immediately, a little shocked. I saw her head jerk as she almost looked around to find me, then resisted the impulse.

  He was just a few years older than me, roughly mid-thirties. Dark, curling hair, short but sort of tousled, as if he’d just toweled it dry. I could see from the back of his neck that he was tanned. Then he turned around for a second and I got my first good look at him. He was good looking, that mixture of fine features but ruggedness women go for. Dark stubble on his cheeks. Gray eyes that seemed very bright, with his tan.

  He said something to my wife and she smiled. I wasn’t ready for how that hit me—the sight of her smiling so easily with another man, even if she was doing it to flatter him. She had a beautiful smile, wide and sexy but innocent at the same time, like a teenager flirting with her boyfriend, not realizing he’s planning to fuck her. The man’s smile was very different. Wolfish. As if he knew exactly what he was doing.

  He’d done this before. He used escorts. My stomach twisted at the word. Used. He used escorts and now he was going to use my wife.

  I had to stop this. I half-stood up but, at that moment, the man said something and my wife giggled and touched his arm. The sight of her hand, bare of its rings, resting on his arm made me freeze.

  She wasn’t my wife, tonight. She was Kimberly. An escort.

  I sat down, my heart thumping in my chest.

  He asked her something and she blinked and then nodded. Another question, whispered almost in her ear, and this time she glanced away, not meeting her eyes, and I thought I saw her flush.

  She nodded again.

  Surely they couldn’t be discussing...no, it was much too soon for that. He’d only just sat down. He was probably just flirting with her.

  The guy leaned casually back in his seat. He was one of those confident, cocky men, the sort who don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. He nodded at Harriet’s glass of wine. Was he offering to buy her a drink?

  She nodded at him and took a gulp. Then another.

  Shit! He hadn’t been asking her i
f she wanted another. He was asking her to finish it up. That must mean—

  Harriet picked up a napkin and dabbed at the corner of her mouth.

  Electricity crackled up and down my spine and my hand squeezed my beer bottle so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter. They’d already made the deal! That brief conversation was all it had taken. God, he must have just come straight out and asked if she was an escort, and suggested a price. That’s why she’d flushed...and then nodded. She’d been confirming how much it was to fuck her.

  I sat there paralyzed. This was actually happening. A guy had just propositioned my wife for sex and, as soon as she’d finished her wine, he’d be heading upstairs to fuck her.

  I had to go, now. If I didn’t, they’d get to the room ahead of me. I drained the last of my beer and stood up, then walked towards the lobby. That meant walking right past my wife.

  Should I call it off?! I kept glancing at the two of them as I walked and, to my surprise, it was mainly him that I was looking at. I was imagining him with Harriet, hulking over her, pushing her legs apart.

  I was right next to them, now. As I watched, he put a possessive hand on her thigh, right up near the hem of her dress. I saw his fingers squeeze her gently there and heard her soft intake of breath.

  Stop this! This is wrong!

  But it felt so right.

  I forced my eyes forward and walked straight past them. In the lobby, I hit the button for the elevator. I was almost panting, my shirt soaked with sweat. This is really happening!

  My wife was about to fuck another man, right in front of me.

  My hands were shaking. I could barely get the keycard into the door. At last, the light flashed green and I almost fell inside, heading straight for the closet. I glanced at the bed as I passed. God, that’s where she’d lie. She’d lie there naked, stretched out for him—

  I took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped into the closet, pulling the doors shut behind me. Inside, it was almost pitch black, which meant that there was no way anyone would be able to see me.