Hotwife Miami

by Jewel Geffen

  Scott just tipped his hat and headed down the hall.

  The Club was a good deal more opulent than the sparsely bare entrance hall had indicated. Everything was a rich velvet burgundy and trimmed in gold. A great sparkling chandelier hung from an unusually high ceiling. The atmosphere was ratified and luxurious.

  He saw several white couples scattered through the big room, and more than a few well-dressed black men prowling about the room with drinks in his hands.

  Scott wanted to look closer, felt a sort of magnetic pull seizing at him. He wasn't here to ogle the club members, though, he was on the job, and he was keeping his head down.

  He went quickly to the staircase, then up.

  The doorman had done a fine job guiding him. He walked right up to the door marked Office and raised his hand to knock. It was already open a crack. He hesitated, then pushed it open and stepped boldly inside.

  He stopped abruptly two steps into the office. A woman in an elegant blue gown was down on her knees, her pale blonde hair swaying as she bobbed her head back and forth, lips sliding over the massive erect cock of the naked black man standing in front of her with his hands on his hips.

  Scott stared.

  The black man looked at him with an expression of vague curiosity, but gave no evidence of any shame or embarrassment at being observed. The women didn't even slow for a moment. On the contrary, she actually seemed to increase her pace.

  Scott just stood there in the doorway, feeling rooted to the spot. He'd come in right at the tail end of the performance, it seemed, because a moment later the huge black man groaned and arched his back.

  The woman pushed her head fully down on his massive cock, gagging slightly as she held him against herself. Scott could see her throat bobbing as she swallowed.

  A moment later she was rising to her feet, the picture of elegance and refined beauty. She hadn't even smudged her makeup somehow and if not for the strand of creamy white cum dangling from her lower lip, you'd never know she'd just been giving a blowjob. She wiped the cum off her mouth with one white-gloved finger, then walked elegantly out right past the shocked Scott. The black man followed after her, his spent cock swaying heavily between his legs.

  “Good evening, Mr. Chapel.”

  He looked up, startled out of his stupor. Mr. Reginald Mason, who seemed to have a knack for making himself invisible, was walking across the room, leaning on his cane as he came.

  “My wife Penelope. A charming creature, is she not?”

  “Your... wife?” Scott turned and looked back down the hall, but she was already gone.

  “A creature of rare grace and sensual refinement,” Mason said, his voice tight and slightly smug. “My treasure.”

  “I can see that...” This whole thing still spun him right around. He tried to imagine a scenario in which he would sit calmly while watching Julie suck a black man's dick, then brag about it afterwards, and he just couldn't do it.

  “I've been hearing some reports about you, Mr. Chapel.”

  “Oh?”

  “Hm... not good ones, I'm afraid.” Mason stepped closer, stroking the head of his cane as he approached. “I was assured that you would be discreet.”

  “You're talking about the interviews.” Scott had spent the whole day chasing down leads. He'd gone to half-a-dozen of the women in the photographs, trying to find the common denominator – besides James – and searching for some kind of clue as to who the stalker might be. He'd come up dry, but managed to ruffle quite a few feathers in the process. He'd received a telegram from Mason requesting – or perhaps ordering was a better word – an in-person update on the investigation.

  “That's right,” Mason said sternly. “I thought it was made clear that I want this affair kept quiet.”

  Scott shrugged. “I'm doing everything I can, but I can't make any headway if I'm not allowed the talk with the people involved in the case. I need something to go on, suspects don't just pop up out of mid-air.”

  “No more,” Mason said, “I don't care how you do it, but I can't allow you to talk about this with anyone else. I won't have their privacy compromised.”

  Scott grinned, “You mean, you won't have them learn that it's already been compromised?”

  Mason's mouth drew into a tight line and his hands tightened on the haft of his cane. “No more, Mr. Chapel. If the case cannot be solved without exposing the club, then there is no point to solving it.”

  “I'll take that into consideration.”

  “So, tell me,” he said, turned away and walking back across the room. “What have you found?”

  “I'll have something for you tomorrow.”

  Mason turned back, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What's happening tomorrow?”

  I'm going to catch your spy red-handed, that's what. “We'll see,” was all he said, “I'll keep you informed.”

  “Deal with this, Mr. Chapel. Or I will find somebody else who can. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Scott tipped his hat and headed back out the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Scott came slowly down the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets. The evening was in full bloom, sunset splashed across the horizon, swaying palm trees black silhouettes against the golden light.

  It was still damned hot. He wiped his brow. The heat was so oppressive that it made him tired just walking down the street. Any actual exertion would probably leave him panting and gasping in a puddle of his own sweat in no time.

  He'd parked down the block, just in case someone had followed him from the Black and White Club, then doubled back through the shops and boardwalk in the other direction before coming back this way.

  He didn't think anybody was following him, but if they were then they'd have to be good and quick to have stayed on his trail through all that without him noticing them.

  Whoever this mysterious photographer was, he knew a thing or two about staying hidden. To have managed to get photos of all those encounters before getting caught was no mean feat. Clearly, the man was good. But James hadn't been looking for a stalker, and Scott was. Anyway, this was Scott's line of work. He knew what to look for.

  He was reasonably confident, then, as he walked down his driveway in the warm Florida dusk, that he was alone.

  Julie's car was in the driveway. He glanced at it as he walked past, then he stopped. He stared a stack of papers in her back seat. That was strange. Not that the papers were in the car, Julie was in the habit of leaving her work in her vehicle. She was always pleading for him to go out and fetch it for her so she didn't have to put her shoes back on. But she always left them in the passenger seat.

  Always.

  So why would they be in the back seat now? Unless... she'd gone driving with somebody. Julie didn't go out with people often, certainly not in her car.

  It must have been James Cain. The two of them had been here alone for hours after she got back from work while he was out. Could they have gone for a drive together? Where to? And why?

  He felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise. He looked to the house. The curtains were drawn, the blinds shut. Were they usually closed at this time of day? He didn't think so, he remembered looking out to watch the sunset. It wasn't that strange that they were shut, but still...

  What were they doing in there? What had the two of them been getting up to?

  He thought back to how close they'd seemed chatting at dinner, how familiar and comfortable they'd been together. And that long lingering glance as she'd left the room...

  He needed to keep his head on straight. Julie wouldn't cheat on him, he knew that. That said, he'd been working this case for a few days now, and he never would have suspected all those women of secretly lusting after black men. All those wives desperate for James in particular. He had something, clearly, that they found very difficult to resist.

  Scott walked around the back of the house. He told himself that he was just checking the perimeter. Merely a precautionary measure. Someone was stalk
ing the guy, after all. He should check things out just to be sure...

  He stepped up to the back door and he took his keys slowly from his pocket, being careful not to jangle them. Julie would be expecting to hear the car pull into the driveway, would be expecting him to come noisily in the front door, then all the way across the house. If she was in the bedroom, it would give her plenty of time to, say, throw on her clothes and come out like nothing had happened.

  He was sure that nothing was going on, of course, but still... If he came in the back he'd be able to step right over and see what was going on.

  Scott slipped the key quietly into the lock and turned it slowly. There was a soft click, the door swung open. He swung it in fast so that it didn't squeak on its hinges and he slipped inside.

  He stood there in the doorway for a moment, ears cocked. The house was silent. He stepped away from the door and shut it gently behind himself, then started down the hallway. His palms itches as he inched along, listening with every fiber of his being for a creak of bed-springs or a low moan of sexual satisfaction.

  He thought of Hilary Kendall, telling him about the secret satisfaction which only a black man could provide. He thought of Georgette Wilson, cradling her pregnant belly. He thought of Penelope Mason, down on her knees in her husband's office. He thought of the photos locked in his desk drawer.

  He thought of it all, but he didn't see any of those other women, he saw Julie. Saw her taking two black cocks, saw her servicing James on her knees, saw her caressing her swelling belly. It made him feel a kind of queasy and fearful tightening in his stomach, but it always made him just a little bit hard.

  Scott shook his head and squeezed his thighs together, trying to ignore the swelling sensation of pleasure down below.

  The bedroom door was closed. He pressed his ear against it, listening intently.

  Voices.

  Julie's voice and... yes, that was James' deep baritone. They were in the bedroom together with the door closed!

  “Do you ever think-” James was saying, though Scott couldn't catch every word. “-sexual desires-”

  Scott felt a flash of fury and a powerful sensation of arousal. The two emotions competing inside him felt too confusing for him to understand, so he tried to push them both down. He stepped back a few paces, then started walking towards the bedroom door, letting his feet fall heavily on the floor.

  “Julie, you around?” he called out, his voice a little louder than it might usually be. He stepped up to the door and pushed it open, stepping swiftly inside.

  Julie was sitting on the bed, quite fully dressed in jeans and a blouse. She had her hands folded on her lap. James Cain was across the room, seated in the chair where Scott usually draped his jacket. He had one leg crossed over the other and held a ballpoint pen in one hand. There was a sheet of paper on a book on his lap.

  Julie jumped when the door opened, her hand shooting to her heart. “Oh my God! Scott, where'd you come from? You scared me half to death!”

  He scanned the room, looking for some sign that he'd missed something. Nothing. It looked innocent enough... for now.

  “I parked down the block,” he said, “in case someone followed me.”

  “Do you think that's likely?” James asked.

  Scott shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. What are you two up to, anyway?”

  “Oh, I just asked James about his study again,” Julie said, blushing slightly, “he agreed to show me an example questionnaire. We had to get a few books from his office.”

  “Hm. It's better if you lay low, Professor. No unnecessary risks, please.”

  “I'm afraid I needed these books rather urgently, Mr. Chapel. It couldn't be delayed.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “it could. Especially if it puts my wife in danger. You understand?”

  James opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again and nodded. “Of course. My apologies.”

  “Alright,” Scott said. He didn't know if he felt relieved or disappointed. What had he been expecting anyway? That he'd walk in and find them fucking on the bed? That wasn't like Julie at all. “Look, tomorrow's the big day. I think we'd better get some sleep, alright?”

  “That's a good idea,” James said, getting to his feet and tucking the questionnaire under his arm. “Perhaps we'll finish this another day, Julie.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly, “I'd like that...”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “This is it then.”

  “The big day.”

  “That's right. You're ready?”

  “Of course I am. Do you really think he'll show up?”

  Scott rubbed his chin. “I think he's desperate. He'll show.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Now? We wait. What time is she expecting you?”

  “Eight o'clock tonight.”

  “Guess we're just gonna kick back for a while then. I'll head over separately a few hours early to scope the place out.” He paused, “Who's the woman, anyway?”

  “Lily Fairchild. She has a beach-house on the south side of the city. We're meeting there.”

  “She married?”

  James studying him closely, searching, perhaps, for a hidden meaning beneath Scott's tone. They were sitting together in Scott's office following the hearty and filling breakfast Julie had fixed them both. He nodded. “She is.”

  “Does her husband know about it?”

  James shrugged. “I don't know.”

  “Does it bother you at all?”

  James leaned back in the chair, knitting his fingers together across his chest. “Does what bother me?”

  Scott felt his mouth twist awkwardly. “Knowing... Knowing that you might be breaking up someone's marriage. Doesn't that make you feel anything? I mean, this is someone's life, isn't it? Doesn't the husband matter at all to you?”

  James smiled, shaking his head slowly. “Mr. Chapel, you've got this all wrong.”

  “Do I?”

  “If she's doing this in secret, or over her husband's objections, then it means that she's no longer invested in the marriage. I'm not breaking them up; she's making a choice to fulfill the need which he'd been unable to meet. And, if he does know, than he's simply acknowledging and attempting to fix his own inadequacy. Either way, I'm giving her something that she needs. If her husband can't accept that, maybe he doesn't deserve her in the first place.”

  Scott didn't have anything to say to that.

  * * *

  The sun was blazing low in the sky when Scott arrived at Lily Fairchild's beach house. It was set up on a bluff over the dunes, the waves washing upon the shore below in an endless white noise crashing and receding.

  The place was empty; she'd not yet shown up herself. Scott walked the far perimeter, way out from the place in case their stalker was already there scoping it out. He didn't see anybody, and he moved in closer.

  He wore a large set of binoculars looped around his neck. He'd observe from a distance, then move in when their stalker showed up. With luck, he'd be able to apprehend the bastard without the couple inside even knowing about it.

  Lily Fairchild could have her so-called needs met and she'd never even know about her audience, if all went according to plan.

  Scott made a face. He still wasn't too sure about any of this, but he could keep his head down and do the job. He'd been on stakeouts he'd found more distasteful, that was for sure. This was just like any other case.

  And he needed the money.

  He didn't want to admit it, but what Mason had said the other day had spooked him. There had been a notice from the bank in the mail earlier. He hadn't been able to bring himself to open it just yet. He needed this job to go right, because he needed that cash.

  Certainly he needed it more than Misses Fairchild needed black dick on the side, but then he wasn't a rich society lady after all. His needs weren't so exotic as hers.

  He poked around the outside of the house for a while, and identified the place where the deed would li
kely be taking place: a bedroom on the second floor with a nice big window overlooking the ocean. There was a balcony just outside. A perfect romantic spot for a sensual rendezvous, and an even more perfect spot for a voyeur.

  Scott found a concealed location that would give him a clear view of everything. He settled down in the scrub on the sand and put his binoculars in place. Now there was nothing to do but wait. He checked the gun-belt looped around his waist, touched the revolver just to make sure that it was there. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, of course, but better safe than sorry.

  Scott lay there, and he thought about Julie.

  He'd woken late in the middle of the night and found her place in the bed beside him empty. Immediately suspicious, he'd crept out and down the hall. Sure enough, he heard her voice and James', coming from the kitchen in low tones, just as before.

  And, just as before, they were doing nothing more than talking. Talking, as it turned out, about him.

  “I love him so much,” she'd said, her fingers wrapped around the mug of tea she'd made for herself in the early predawn hour. She wore her bathrobe and slippers, and the two of them sat across from one another at the kitchen table. Scott peeked out from around the corner, listening closely.

  “I'm sure you do,” James had said, “he seems like a good man.”

  “He is,” she sighed, “that's what makes it so frustrating.”

  “I know.”

  “I just... he doesn't seem to even know what makes me feel good in bed. I wish I could tell him but I just can't. It's too hard for me to open up like that. I just wish he would know. I suppose that isn't very fair of me, is it?”

  “Sometimes it's not about what's fair,” James said softly, “it's about what you need.”

  “I know,” she said, and she reached out across the table to give his hand a squeeze. “I just couldn't ever do anything that might hurt him. Not ever.”