****
The second message of the day was a text: We’re here. House is fantastic, overlooking the ocean. It and the swimming pool are both spectacular!
About an hour after that I received a short snippet of video on my phone. Michelle was naked, her long body gleaming with suntan oil, and she was riding Ed’s fat cock, sitting in his lap.
They were on a chaise lounge in the shade next to the house. He had on a goofy-looking straw hat—the kind you see at the beach—and he was sipping on what looked like a frosty daiquiri as my lovely wife glided up and down on his impaling dick. He was beaming at the camera and Michelle’s eyes were heavy-lidded with arousal as she fucked him.
It’s going to be a long four days, I thought as I looked at the image, reaching for my once more hard cock. My dick’s going to be sore from jacking off if this keeps up!
****
The pictures stopped coming. I didn’t know whether to be glad about that or not.
Michelle sent me a normal text at around dinner time in Mexico: Eating in tonight. Lots of sex, probably; will video if possible.
I put the phone down and opened myself a beer, having just gotten home from the office. Tomorrow was Friday, thank God, so I’d have the weekend to myself to slink around the house and wonder how hard and how often Ed was fucking my wife; lucky me!
The next burst of video came in at ten my time; midnight in Mexico. Ed’s well-lubed cock was sliding in and out of a very familiar asshole and Michelle was cooing in a raspy, sex-laden voice, “Ooh, that’s it, you stud! Fuck me hard right up the ass…harder…fuck me even deeper!”
It was only about thirty seconds of video. I kept waiting for more to arrive, but none did.
I jacked off to it anyway; replaying the obscene images again and again, imagining him violating Michelle’s tight little backdoor with his huge cock. When I finally came, my spunk shot halfway across the bedroom, in spite of it being the third time I’d come that day; the fourth, if you counted our early morning, good-bye fuck…
****
I was sitting at my desk the next morning at about eleven when her next text came in. It said: Oh, God, baby, he’s fucking me a lot! He won’t leave my poor ass or pussy alone! Having a great time; wish you were here!
“Bitch,” I whispered fondly, grinning ruefully at her candor, wondering if she was going to send me another still or a chunk of video.
None came, so I went back to work, trying valiantly to ignore the persistent hard on her lewd text had caused. At noon, I bowed to the inevitable.
Waiting until most of the office had gone to lunch, I crept down the hall to the men’s bathroom. Finding it empty, as I had hoped, I went into a stall, locked the door, got out my rigid dick and—replaying the butt fuck video from yesterday, as well as looking at the blowjob pics from the plane flight—I proceeded to jack off into the toilet bowl.
Feeling like the pervert I was, I wiped up, flushed the evidence of my lust down the toilet, and went out to a solitary, lonely lunch. Throughout the meal, I kept checking my phone, hoping for another text, a picture, or perhaps a video; no such luck!
Uncharacteristically for me, I stopped off at a neighborhood bar on the way home from work that evening. After all, there was no one waiting for me at the house as there usually was, what with the kids being at my folks and my wife busy “entertaining” Ed down in Mexico!
Even though it was a Friday night, the bar wasn’t quite full yet. And since they had two bartenders on duty until the next shift change, both of them had time to schmooze with the customers.
The one working my end of the bar was a lady in her early thirties. She was an attractive redhead, with dozens of cute freckles, porcelain white skin, and flashing blue eyes.
“Hey, I haven’t seen you in here in months,” she greeted me warmly, no doubt remembering me from the last time I’d visited the place with a down-the-street neighbor a while back.
That night, we had been celebrating the defeat of a proposed slate of changes to the CCR’s affecting our neighborhood. The stringent new rules would have made it a fine-worthy offence to park a car overnight in your own driveway! We’d both gotten a little drunk and I’d tipped the bartender very well as we’d left that evening.
“What’s the occasion?” She now asked, placing a napkin in front of me and awaiting my order.
“Wife’s out of town,” I said somewhat glumly.
I’d been vacillating between euphoria and depression over Michelle’s long weekend down in Mexico with Ed. When the pictures and the video snippets had come in, I’d been glad she’d gone: when I was all by myself and wondering what nasty tricks she was up to with him right then—like I was now—I got to feeling sad and a little sorry for myself.
“Most guys would be okay with that,” the professionally upbeat bartender told me with a smile, “unless you have to get home and baby-sit the kids tonight all by your lonesome.”
“Nah, they’re at my folks for the weekend,” I told her.
“Well, looks like tonight is your night to howl, then,” she said in a cheery voice. “What can I get you?”
“Something strong, I think,” I said, reflecting on it. “A boilermaker sounds about right. I’ll have a shot of Crown Royal with a Stella back.”
“You got it,” she responded brightly, pouring the Canadian whiskey and a draft of Stella Artois beer.
I downed the ultra-smooth liquor and chased it with a few swallows of the brew. She asked, “Where is your wife?”
Not knowing if it was the rush from the booze or how shitty I was suddenly feeling about Michelle being down in Mexico with another man, I rashly answered, “She’s out of town with her boyfriend. He owns a big house in Puerto Vallarta, and they’re down there…fucking!”
She gave me a smile and a look that said she didn’t believe me. The Crown Royal really hit me at that moment, so I found myself whipping out my phone and showing her one of the stills of my naked wife riding Ed’s huge cock in the shadows by his hacienda.
The bartender’s blue eyes shot open. She said, “Man, she’s something else! And that dude is really hung!”
Glancing up at me as I put the phone back in my pocket, she asked, “Aren’t you worried that she won’t come back to you at all? I mean…that guy has a real horsecock!”
I drank the second Crown Royal that she had just poured me down on one big gulp. Downing another few mouthfuls of Stella to chase it with, I said, “Not really, see, we kind of have this understanding. I’m okay with her playing around a little, providing I know all about it.”
I patted the suit pocket holding the cell phone and added, “As you can see, I not only know about it, I get pictures and videos, too. It’s almost like being there.”
Her expression had undergone a subtle change as she looked at me. With a tiny little smile born of pure flirtation, she said, “You sound like an interesting guy. A man who knowingly lets his wife fool around with a guy whose cock is huge like that…I bet you’re pretty special in bed yourself, huh?”
I finished my beer without replying, my eyes sweeping up and down the bartender again, lingering on her bigger-than-average breasts, the hour-glass figure displayed by the tight black trousers she wore, and her cute face. When I still didn’t speak, she leaned closer and said, “I get off at six; maybe we could go somewhere and…talk?”
It was a quarter to six, according to the bar clock. A scenario hit me from out of left field; I saw myself fucking the cute bartender in our bed while my wife was fucking Ed down in Mexico!
I shook my head, as if to clear it. Did I really want that? Was that what this was really all about; my having a hall pass to fuck around on Michelle while she was out of the country fucking around on me?
The bartender was damned attractive, and she was clearly interested. I’ll admit; I was tempted, just for a moment…
Reluctantly, I decided that extra-marital flings weren’t for me. Some strange pussy might have been great tonight, but how would I feel abou
t it when Michelle got back in town and the kids were home?
“Maybe some other night,” I said hesitantly, with a big sigh, finishing my beer and tossing some bills from my wallet down on the bar top.
Chapter Seventeen
Abrupt Return
I had a couple of more shots when I got home and two more beers. Rustling around in the fridge, I found some left overs and made a meal of them, eating over the sink, not even bothering to warm anything up.
In my current, more than half-drunken state, I felt like I didn’t need hot food. I decided what I really needed was another shot and another beer!
After I’d consumed them, I resisted the temptation to have one more of each and instead climbed the stairs to our bedroom. It was empty, of course, and I had second thoughts about that cute redheaded bartender as I shucked out of my suit and doffed my shirt and tie.
The bed looked inviting, since I hadn’t slept much last night, fretting about Michelle and what she might have been up to with Ed. I pulled off the rest of my clothes and--clutching my cell phone in case another text message, photo, or video came in that night—I proceeded to stretch out on the bed.
When I woke up about midnight, feeling slightly hung-over already and with the driest of mouths, I checked my phone. Sure enough, there was one text: God, babe, that was a really good one! Thot you might like some snaps of it!
Eagerly--like a drug addict about to get a fresh “fix” of his poison of choice--I opened the second message and was greeted with a picture of Ed’s big cock embedded in my wife’s shaved bare pussy. My drunken mind reeled: what shaved bare pussy?
As if she had been reading my mind, a text soon followed that said simply: Ed prefers a girl who is entirely shaved—so I obliged him!
“Of course you did, you flaming tart!” I bellowed into the empty bedroom. “You’d do anything for old Ed and that mammoth cock of his, now wouldn’t you?”
My traitorous prick didn’t seem to care what a tramp she was. It got hard almost instantly as I stared at those petite pink lips, now so fully on display, without the usual fur surrounding them.
Jesus, that guy’s thick, I told myself as I studied how stretched out she looked around his wide prick, berthed so deeply up inside her.
Another transmission came in just then, a video this time. It turned out to be about two minutes long and it featured that same fat cock lunging furiously in and out of Michelle’s very bare-looking twat.
I groaned and took my rigid dick in my fist, jacking it furiously. Michelle was screaming that she was going to come, and Ed’s dick was banging up and down inside her cunt as I watched.
Suddenly, a huge glob of white spunk appeared around that flying cock and I knew he was coming inside my wife’s cunt! I too screamed, as a large wad of jism rocketed out of my well-fisted dick and arched up into the air.
I shot rope after rope of come as I watched helplessly while Ed Livingston filled my Michelle’s once-tight little slit his pearly cock cream as she whimpered and cooed out her own pleasure…
****
I awoke the next morning with a raging hang-over and a very limp cock. Groaning, I remembered jacking off twice more last night, while watching the obscene footage of my wife getting creamed by another guy again and again before finally passing out.
Lurching to my feet, I took a shower and tried to sober up. I felt like shit, both physically and mentally.
While in the shower, I recalled that the last time I had jerked off last night, I hadn’t been daydreaming strictly about Michelle and her well-hung lover anymore. Just before I’d erupted that time, I had thought fleetingly about that bartender, being in our bed with me, while Michelle watched, aghast, as I fucked her!
“You miserable prick,” I chided myself aloud now, as I shut off the shower and began to dry off. “You really don’t know what you want anymore, do you?”
I got out of the shower and shaved my face over the bathroom sink as soon as I’d dried off. Then I went into the bedroom and dressed casually for the day.
Thoughts kept churning through my mind. I wished I’d scheduled a round of golf for that Saturday morning, to help fill the time I had on my hands.
No, I’d just embarrass myself, I admitted, knowing I couldn’t keep my mind on the game, not when Michelle was doing God knows what with Ed’s big dick!
I went downstairs and made myself some breakfast; just a big bowl of cereal and a piece of buttered toast. Not wanting to make a whole pot of coffee just for myself, I banged around in the kitchen cabinets until I found an old jar of instant coffee.
“Jesus, this stuff is awful,” I said aloud as I poured what was left of the vile brew down sink at the end of my meal, “no wonder we don’t use it anymore!”
I thought about what I wanted to do next, to help pass the time. A visit to the zoo with the kids popped into my mind, but I dismissed that thought as quickly as I’d had it.
Michelle and I were supposed to be out of town together; at least that’s what my parents thought. It wouldn’t do to have me show up in their driveway this morning, asking to take the kids on an outing to the zoo, now would it?
I briefly toyed with the idea of waiting until one or so and dropping into that bar once more, just to see if my newfound bartender friend was working today. As I mulled doing that over, I dismissed it as a fantasy, born of boredom and desperation.
Even if she was there, she probably wouldn’t get off until six again. What would I do in the meantime, stay there and drink?
If I did that, I realized, I’d be too drunk to maintain a hard on by six anyway; even if I could talk myself into cheating on Michelle. I pushed the friendly, sexy young bartender out of my thoughts and checked my phone once more; just to see if any new videos or stills had been sent.
There hadn’t been any. I put the phone back in my shirt pocket and picked up my car keys, intending to go for a long drive, to help kill some time.
I drove around Los Angeles aimlessly for two hours, thinking about Michelle and Ed and what he might be doing to her right at that very second; basically driving myself crazy. I ended up in Santa Monica, meandering toward Venice Beach. I lucked out in finding a parking place when I got there; one that had a good view of the beach and its bikini-clad denizens.
After nearly an hour of watching the body builders and scantily-dressed young beauties saunter by, I realized that seeing all of these lovely, half-naked female bodies on display was making me horny again. I checked my phone once more and saw that I had no updates from Michelle.
Sighing, I started the car and headed back into town. It was just past three-thirty and I was feeling just as rudderless and bored as I ever had.
I reached our part of town by four-fifteen or so. Passing a movie theater multiplex where my wife and I often took the kids, I spotted an action movie listed on the marquee. It was one I halfway wanted to see, so I parked and walked over to the ticket booth.
Normally, I would have waited for a movie like that to reach one of our premium cable film channels before watching it. Michelle hated what she called “blood-and-guts” movies like this one, so we rarely viewed them together, and such a movie was much too violent to share with the kids.
Checking the show times, I discovered that I was in luck; the film that I vaguely wanted to see started in fifteen minutes. So I bought a ticket and went inside.
****
The movie was only okay. It was full of mindless acts of violence and car chases and special effects, but the plot was practically nonexistent. At least it distracted me for a little while.
I got home from the theater at six-thirty and thought about dinner. But I had filled up on movie popcorn and a big soft drink, so I wasn’t that hungry.
Opening the booze cupboard, I remembered last night’s debacle and closed it again. I told myself I could get through being alone tonight without whatever dubious aid liquor might provide.
I told myself that Ed was doing whatever he was doing to my wife right at that momen
t down in Mexico, and there was little I could do to change that, no matter how drunk I got. I eased my cell phone out of my shirt pocked, checked it quickly, and then returned it.
There had been no new texts, no photos, and no videos since I had last glanced at it in the theater, an hour ago. I had known already that there wouldn’t be: but I found myself checking it anyway.
At just after seven, I went into the living room and flipped through the zillion and a half channels we got on cable. I was looking for something that would occupy me until it was time for me to turn in for the night.
When I finally went upstairs, I intended to take one of the sleeping pills that my doctor had prescribed a couple of months ago, when I’d suddenly been plagued with a bout of insomnia. He had written the prescription for ninety days, but I hadn’t taken but a handful of them, so there were still plenty left in the bottle.
I found a so-so western on one of the cable channels and I settled in to watch it. The movie was one I had seen a few years back, when it was new and in the theaters, so I watched it with flagging interest, my eyes flicking over to my cell phone every few minutes, hoping for another transmission from south of the border…
****
Nine-thirty came and went; the movie ended, and there were still no new texts, photos, or videos. I debated whether I should go upstairs and take that sleeping pill or try to find something else on television I could watch.
At just that moment, I heard a key turn in the front door lock, and then I heard the door open. Since Michelle and our housekeeper/nanny, Brenda, had the only other keys to that lock besides mine, I was mystified as to exactly who was out in our foyer right at that moment!
I knew my wife was in Mexico—probably with Ed’s big dick buried deep in her pussy—and I couldn’t imagine what Brenda might be doing here, late on a Saturday night. She knew the kids were at my folks’ for the weekend, after all.
Arising from the couch, I padded over to peek cautiously around the corner, into the entryway. There stood Michelle, in just a sundress and flat shoes with no luggage, no coat; just her purse.
Michelle (A Hotwife Adventure) Page 11
