With the casual familiarly that comes after years of marriage, she pulls her knit top off and stuffs it into the hamper. Beneath, she wears a pair of black boy-shorts that cling silkily to her round butt, and a delicate bra that reminds me of the one from the photo. She reaches between her shoulder blades and twists the clasp open.
Her phone buzzes on the dresser as I stare at her bare back. She picks it up, reads whatever’s on the screen, and smiles. Sliding her thumbs into her panties, she shimmies them past hips. I’ve always loved her ass, but maturity has given it a teardrop shape that makes me want to reach out and grab it. Makes me ashamed that I started taking her for granted.
Kylie grabs one of my t-shirts and tugs it on over her nudity. She leans a hip into the dresser as she thumbs out a response into her phone. The t-shirt barely reaches the tops of her thighs, barely covers her modesty. I drink in her shapely legs, distracted, and almost miss the look on her face as she regards her phone.
She’s smiling, but not in the neutral way reserved for reading texts from her other mom friends. There’s something more girlish about the smile, how it heightens her cheekbones and catches in her eyes. My heart pulses uncomfortably—jealously—as I watch her pupils dart across the surface of the phone before her hair falls forward and obscures her face.
“Something funny?” I ask.
She turns, looking at me sideways. Color in her cheeks? I suddenly want to read what’s on her phone, want to know what’s brought out this unfamiliar side of my wife. Or who?
Again, a quake rolls through my chest. It’s an old sensation, as nostalgic as seeing the modeling spread. She darkens the phone. “Oh, just Facebook,” she explains. I half-believe her. She wouldn’t lie, of course, and I have no doubt it’s Facebook, but there is nothing “just Facebook” about her reaction to it.
“What?” she asks when she’s climbed beneath the covers with me.
I roll onto my side, propping my head on my elbow, and look at her. Maybe it’s seeing those photos, but I can’t help but see her in a new light. But how do I express that? I don't even fully understand it myself.
“Did you get a haircut?”
She lights up. “Wow, you noticed?”
It was intended to be a joke, but now that I look, I see that she has. The changes are subtle, the ends trimmed back no more than an inch or two, layers added to give it more body. She looks youthful. I tell her as much, and she sees right through me.
“You really didn’t know!” she says.
“I mean, sure I did.”
“I got it done yesterday.”
“Oh.” Caught, all I can do is laugh. After rolling her eyes, she joins me. Reaching out, she touches my face. I mirror her. Her skin is as soft as ever. “Sorry. I was too busy admiring how beautiful you are.”
Kylie snorts. “Uh huh.”
“No, seriously.” I mean, not about the cheesy line, but she really is beautiful. I want to say this, but feel it all get stuck in my mouth. So I kiss her instead, shifting close until our bodies touch beneath the sheets.
“You...too tired…?” The question irritates me as soon as it’s out of my mouth, but we do that these days—asking permission before making love like the other is giving a concession. Like we’re trying to agree on what to watch on movie night.
Kylie answers by kissing me back, with more passion this time. Her hand wanders down my body and she scoots close to me, lifting her leg over mine. I take the hint, running my hand down between her legs and beneath her t-shirt.
She sighs between kisses as I run my hand along her pussy. She's wet, her shaved lips slick and warm as I pry them open and press into her. “Uh, yes, baby.”
We’ve been together for ten years. I know how this woman ticks, how to tease her, how to strike at her core. It doesn't make this any less exhilarating. I watch her climax build on her face as I finger her, running my thumb along her landing strip, down to her clit.
When I look at her, eyes closed behind her glasses, her lips parted and her dark brows pinched in pleasure, it's like seeing her anew. Like being used to the saturated color of her full life, and now I look and see her in artistic black and white.
I'm overcome. I roll her on her back and climb between her legs. Her eyes flutter open, her green irises appearing slate gray in the dark of the bedroom. She closes them as I press into her, my cock sinking easily between her smooth folds.
On the bedside, her phone rumbles. It's face down and I see the light of the screen glow against the dark wood. Something about it strikes me as wrong. Who is sending my wife messages at 10 at night? I think of the way she read her phone earlier, the smile that was something more than friendly.
Jealousy flares through me again, paranoia burning a hole in my chest. I look down at my wife, eyes closed, mouth parted in a moan that she cannot stop, and wonder if she's thinking about whoever is on the other end of that message?
I don't stop fucking. If anything, I fuck her harder, driven by this urge to prove myself, prove my prowess, prove that I am the same man that curled her toes when we were young.
But that’s not all that drives me. Something hotter burns in the darker corners of my sexuality. I feel the lick of it up my spine, uncomfortable yet undeniably hot. It's a feeling I used to have all the time, especially early on when we were first together and I kept expecting her to run off with the next man to say hello. It's a side of myself that I haven't told Kylie about, to this day.
Kylie wraps her legs around my waist, digging her heels in, urging me even harder. The breath goes out of me.
Her moans rise, the last of her restraint gone. She forgets the kids. Forgets to stay quiet. She reaches up, grabbing me by the back of my neck to pull me against her shoulder. “Come, baby,” she gasps. “I want your come.”
It’s about as dirty as Kylie gets, but it’s enough. I rock forward, driving myself one, two, three final times into her. I can feel her pulse against my cheek. I can hear her ragged breath catch and sputter. The world stands still, and then her wail cuts through us.
I explode with her, filling her as she rides through her orgasm. Her wail dies to a hoarse moan. I collapse onto her, my skin on fire, my heart racing.
“That was...fun,” Kylie says between heavy breaths. “What got into you?”
I almost glance at her phone, then think about how absurd that would sound. I'm jealous because you were smiling at something you read on your phone...possibly another man...so I wanted to remind you that you're with me.
Yeah, that wouldn't go over well.
“What can I say, your haircut drives me wild.”
Kylie laughs. “Only kind of haircut that gets you that wild doesn't involve the hair on my head.”
It's true, and I feel myself stir despite the recent sex. Sliding my hand down between her legs, I stroke my fingers along her smooth pussy lips. “Feels like you got this cut recently, too.”
“Waxed, actually,” she confesses.
She used to get waxes all the time when we were first together. Now, she only has it done once or twice a year. “Oh? What's the occasion?”
I swear she hesitates before answering. “I still had my gift card from Christmas and had a free afternoon.”
All of that is true. Or sounded true enough. Still, something feels...off. And hot because of it. I run my hand along her arm, where her skin forms goosebumps. “If that's all it takes, I'll make sure to get you another gift card right away.”
“So noble,” Kylie says, rolling her eyes playfully. She kisses my nose. Beyond her, I catch a glimpse of her phone, dark now.
“Mm, you're hard again,” she whispers, surprise registering on her face.
“What can I say?” It's a genuine question for the both of us. I didn't understand exactly why I’m ready for round two so quickly, either. All I know is that when I look at her, it’s like falling in lust all over again. I see her the way a stranger would, as another man would. “You're beautiful.”
She squeezes my erection. “
Not sure that's what your dirty mind is actually thinking.”
Climbing on top of me, she takes my cock and positions it against her pussy, made impossibly soft from the waxing. I watch as I sink into her. We fuck quietly, watching each other. She doesn't close her eyes this time, doesn't go somewhere else. I think again that this must be what it's like to see her for the first time, to be another man appreciating her undulating body rise and fall over him.
She even blushes at whatever hungry expression consumes my face. “The way you're looking at me…” She trails off.
“What?” I look away from her, then back again. She’s resting her cheek against her raised shoulder, looking demure.
“I like it.”
“When did you get so beautiful?”
Her smile is lopsided. “You know what the implication of that is, right?”
“Don't twist my words. You know what I mean.”
She sighs happily. Leans down to kiss me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I put a hand on her hip and slowly run my eyes up her naked body. “Now fuck me.”
Love yields to lust. Bracing her palms against my chest, she puts her thighs to work, riding me like an equestrian. Her dark hair clings to the sweat dappling her forehead and the back of her neck. Her breasts bounce, capped by her small, dark nipples. We lose ourselves in the moment. My hand tightens on her hip, guiding her to bounce faster as I thrust up, meeting her in wet, meaty slaps. She bites her lip, but her moan escapes.
With my free hand, I reach down and thumb her clit as best I can as she rides me. It’s enough. She arches over me, her nails biting into my shoulders as she comes. She begs me to come, to join her, her words warbling and high, pleading.
I do, exploding deep, filling her for the second time, and for the second time, we collapse into one another, sweaty and out of breath.
I collect her into my arms, kiss her neck. She giggles, shying away, her body still too sensitive for me. “Yeah, I’ll definitely get you another gift card.”
“And I know exactly what to do with it.” She sighs happily. “Good night, dear.”
“Night.”
Sleep takes me, despite the unsettling thoughts that surround me. Despite the phone sitting face down on her nightstand that may, or may not, contain a text or a message that would reveal a whole new side of my wife.
It’s a funny thought, that. I have no reason not to trust Kylie. She’s never once given me reason to suspect her of being anyone but a loving wife and mother. She’s always been faithful. If I hadn't heard the stories about her wilder, “artistic” days in college, I would have believed that she’d always been the way she is now.
But I know things. I pieced things together from overheard conversations and passing remarks from her girlfriends—things that I didn’t think even Kylie knew that I knew. Like how she had a fling with a teaching assistant—the same T.A. who took the photos that are on our desk now. I never called her on it. Not sure why, but it probably had something to do with the inexplicable thrill the idea gave me. She never shared, either, and it’s just one of many little details that I’ve picked up.
Not that she slept around much back then. That isn’t the impression I’ve picked up, either. She was just a bit of a free bird, flitting from guy to guy, having her fun.
I fall asleep thinking about Kylie in college, longer haired, but with her more mature body, the baby fat trimmed from her face and cheeks. She laughs. She spins from one man to the next, kissing them before spinning away. I watch, feeling jealousy rise through me, right along with arousal.
When I wake, I’m hard. And alone. The shower is on in the master bath. I nearly turn over and go back to sleep when I catch sight of Kylie’s phone, still sitting face down on her nightstand.
Suddenly, I'm wide awake. Suddenly, that phone is all I can think of.
I glance one last time at the bathroom door. It's still closed, the mirror mounted in the middle reflecting a stricken version of myself. The shower still hisses beyond.
She’s probably already cleared it, I tell myself. There's probably nothing there. I lean over and grab it, flipping it over in my hand. My heart quakes. I hit the home button and it lights up. There's one notification on it—a Facebook direct message.
[Ashton Brooks] We’re all set for tomorrow. Got a block of private time at the end of the day in the studio, just you and me. See you at 3. :)
I stare at it as the world around me crumbles. It's somehow not what I expected at all, and yet exactly what I thought it would be. It's why I didn't want to look. Why my heart beats as fast as it does now.
The shower cuts off. I flip it over, quietly, and roll onto my side again, although my chest rises and falls so fast that there's no way I can pretend that I'm sleeping.
I give up, rolling to sit. I stretch, try to put the message out of mind, even as her phone burns a hole in the back of my head. I stand, uncertain of what to do, adrenaline pumping in my veins.
I confront her about this, right? It's a no brainer. I've never heard of this guy, Ashton Brooks, but clearly he's making some kind of move on Kylie.
It's only when I stand that I realize that I'm hard—so hard that I hurt in the confines of my boxers after last night’s sex. Morning wood, I tell myself, taking a few breaths to calm myself. That mostly works.
The door to the shower opens, and steam billows around Kylie as she emerges, a towel wrapped around her still moist body.
Her bare arms are lean, with a hint of tone beneath them. Has she been working out more than usual? Have I missed the signs right under my nose?
“Morning,” she says as we pass one another.
“Morning.”
Other things occur to me—the new haircut. The waxing. Were these things for me? Or for Ashton Brooks?
Kylie leans into me as I pass, kissing me gently on the mouth. I smell her shampoo and her soap off of her scrubbed body. “Mmm,” she says, tracing her hand over my erection. “That for me?”
“Always, hon,” I say. I’m pretty sure it’s the truth, as troubling as it is.
“You should have joined me in the shower, sleepy head.” She crosses the room to her dresser, dropping her towel onto the bed as she goes. I drink in her naked backside. Is her butt tighter than it was a few months ago? Her legs have always been shapely, but are they more so now?
I groan and disappear into the bathroom, letting the steam consume me. Too much to think about. My head’s spinning too fast. I turn the shower on, extra hot, and step beneath the scalding spray.
Kylie’s voice drifts in from the other room. “Hey, I’ve got a thing this afternoon, so I’ll be dropping the kids off with my mom.”
I stiffen. “A thing?”
“Yeah. Meeting up with Christy for coffee.”
The lie hits me right between the eyes. I feel woozy enough that I need to put a hand on the shower wall or topple over. She’s having an affair. Kylie’s cheating on me. I feel sick to my stomach. Don’t know what to do.
Got a block of private time at the end of the day…
How long has this been going on. And who the hell is Ashton Brooks?
...just you and me...
The curtain slides aside, and Kylie’s back. She’s not dressed yet, her slender nudity as tempting as it is disloyal. “Well, well,” she says, stepping in to join me. “This still for me?”
I don’t even realize that I’m hard until her fingers wrap around my cock. Confused, I manage a dumb, “Uhh…”
Kylie giggles. She’s pulled her bob into a short ponytail. “Hope so, because I’m taking it.”
I’m still dumbstruck as she sinks to her knees on the shower floor and wraps her mouth around my cock. Pulling back, she says, “You’re huge,” before returning to this surprise blowjob.
I reach behind me, needing to steady myself for a different reason. The confused emotions of betrayal and jealousy still swirl about me, even as baser, more animalistic needs rise. The blowjob isn’t so rare that it’s
unheard of, but I also can’t remember the last time she’s gone down on me.
I think back to those photos and the younger woman she was in them. When we first met, she was spontaneous like this. She woke me with a BJ more than a few times, and we had enough shower sex to perfect the tricky technique.
Is this fling she’s having bringing that woman back? Is that why she pulled the old photos out? Did she miss that girl?
“Kylie,” I groan.
She doesn’t stop. If anything, she renews her attack on my cock, looking up at me with her shimmering, green eyes as she bobs. I hear the slurpy gags, even beneath the shower’s hiss, and in a weak moment, think of her doing this later, with Ashton Brooks, after they finish up whatever they have planned.
My orgasm catches both of us by surprise. I explode, filling her mouth, filling her throat. She pulls back, immediately realizing her mistake as I catch her across the cheek. Rather than be grossed out, though, Kylie laughs as she continues to jack me off with her hand. Pointing my cock against the wall, she leans in and runs her tongue along my balls.
I shudder, stepping away as the pleasure gets too intense. Kylie releases me, lets the water wash my come from her face, and stands.
“So my mom’s going to keep the kids over tonight. I was thinking we could grab dinner after.”
Dates. They are so rare these days, even with her mother living just fifteen minutes away. This must be guilt talking. She’s with her lover in the afternoon, so compensates by being with her husband. Even this blowjob is compensation for that guilt.
It should sour everything. It doesn’t.
“Dinner sounds great.” I can’t keep the darkness from my voice. It gives Kylie pause, but she lets it go. We need to talk. But at dinner. After I know what I need to know. I put on a fake smile. “Now we better get dressed.”
Kylie studies me one last time, then nods. “Big day.”
Big day.
~~~
Best Hotwife Erotica Vol.3: Caught! Page 6