The Game (A Hotwife Adventure)

by Max Sebastian

  “Even with some other guy. I can’t really explain it. I never thought about it before. It’s just hot.”

  “It would be hot if you found out, you mean?”

  “Well, I suppose if I didn’t know about it, it couldn’t be a turn-on.”

  I couldn’t complain at having her stroking my cock in there. It felt good, and the risk of being caught only made it feel better. My guess is she wasn’t expecting much of a performance from me after all the wine I’d had that evening, but here I was, hard as granite. She wanted to keep it going until we could get home.

  After a brief pause, she broke the silence again. “I couldn’t ever do it to you. You know that, right?”

  “Because of the guilt?”

  “It would eat me up inside. Knowing I was going behind your back, hurting you.”

  “What if there was no guilt?”

  She laughed at that. “Well, then I’d be a sociopath, right? And I’d be able to do anything. I’d probably be in jail right now.”

  “If you knew it was a turn-on for me, though. Then there’d be no guilt, right?”

  She was silent again, but now her fingers were fumbling with my belt, with my fly. She pulled open my pants, and slipped her hand in my underwear, to grasp hold of my cock directly.

  “But it would only be a turn-on if you knew about it?” she said.

  “Right.” I moaned as her fingers curled around my bare cock.

  “So I’d have to tell you about it. How much detail would you need?”

  “Much as possible.”

  “See, I’m not sure I could do that. I mean, if the other guy didn’t want you to know…”

  “He’d be stealing my wife — you’d be worried about his feelings?”

  “And anyway, I think it would be weird for me. To report back to you what was going on. I mean, I’ve never been good at… well, talking about that kind of thing.”

  “You wouldn’t have to write a poem about it.”

  God, her hand felt good. I really didn’t want to come in that taxi before we got home, before I could really make use of this erection.

  “What, I’d come home and say ‘I did it’, and that would be enough for you?”

  “If it came to it,” I said. “But you could find other ways of letting me know about what was going on — if you weren’t happy talking about it.”

  “Other ways?”

  “I don’t know… write a journal. Or… leave me clues to what’s going on.”

  “Clues?”

  It was hard to concentrate on our conversation, the way she was manhandling me in the back of that taxi. My own hand wandered over her smooth, warm thigh, perhaps it could be some kind of distraction for me, so I could avoid going over the edge. Izzie didn’t stop me. She even parted her legs a little more, so my fingers could slip steadily up under her dress, to find her panties already damp.

  She moaned as I began to stroke her there.

  I said, “Well… you know… if I saw you’d bought a box of condoms, I’d know you didn’t need them for us. So I’d know something was going on.”

  “Okay. Box of condoms, check.”

  “If you bought some fancy new underwear for your date,” I suggested. “I mean…”

  She joked, “I never buy fancy new underwear for you? Oh, I’m sorry honey…” But it was kind of true. We were married. I wasn’t expecting it.

  “Well, you know, if it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, or my birthday or whatever…”

  “Okay. So new lingerie. Check.”

  “If you were out for the night, leaving me no explanation.”

  “Might be suspicious.”

  “Maybe I look in your email and find you’ve been chatting to some guy. And you’ve arranged a date. And maybe you’ve booked a hotel somewhere else in the city for one night only.”

  “Okay,” she giggled, “I could see those could be clues. And that would be enough for you? To turn you on?”

  “If there wasn’t any doubt. Maybe you’d come up with other clues.”

  “And then you’d be okay about me sleeping with some other guy?”

  “Don’t see why not. If you came back to me after.”

  “And you’d still want me? We’d still sleep together?”

  A couple of my fingers slipped under the soaking cotton of her panties, to dip into her burning-hot pussy, drawing a quiet gasp from her.

  “Of course,” I said. “More than ever.”

  She pulled my hard cock free of my pants, and it seemed so exposed there in the cab. I had to assume the driver wasn’t going to see.

  Then she said, “And this would, what, mean you had permission to sleep with whoever you wanted to, as well?”

  “Not at all. It would all be about appreciating you. I… I just like the idea of you having an extraordinary sex life.”

  “A sex life that didn’t just involve you?”

  “It would hardly be extraordinary if it was only me.”

  “And I’d just leave you a breadcrumb trail, and that would be okay? I guess you’d want to spy on us.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You wouldn’t get jealous? If I brought him home some time. Tipped you off so you could watch.”

  Okay, that was a little dangerous to hear. That was putting me at risk of coming all over the taxi. I wasn’t sure what the fine would be for that kind of mess. Probably get arrested, for that matter.

  “Maybe…” I groaned.

  “Pervert,” she said, grinning in the darkness as she gripped my cock tightly.

  I brought my hand up to my mouth, tasted her arousal. “You’d get to sleep with your guy, guilt-free,” I said.

  “You’d be horrified!” she laughed. “If we really played that kind of game, as soon as you figured something was about to happen, you’d be, like, ‘stop, stop, stop!’”

  “I don’t think I would.”

  Izzie twisted in her seat, and dropped her head down into my lap to — my God! — take me in her mouth for a moment or two. Then, she was back up, sitting straight, moaning contentedly at her brief taste of cock.

  “We’d have to have a safe word,” she said.

  “Look at you, Ms Fifty Shares of Grey.”

  “Knew you read that book.”

  “Read it, still hated it. I’m not into the whole hitting women thing.”

  “It’s not… look, I’m not getting into that again.”

  “So what would the safe word be?”

  “How about ‘Christian’.”

  I groaned at that. I was not going to blurt out “Christian” to her or anyone else. But now we were pulling up into our street, finally. I had to quickly pull my pants together again, even though my manhood was rather sizably in the way.

  The driver seemed none the wiser for our little indiscretion during the journey as I paid him. We stood and watched him drive away.

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” she said. “I’d never cheat on you!”

  “It wouldn’t be cheating if you let me in on the secret,” I said.

  She grabbed my hand, pulled me to her.

  “Shut up — just fuck me, pervert,” she said with a wicked grin.

  *

  Thursday morning, as she headed out to work, Izzie told me she’d be late back that night.

  “I know,” I said. “You have that hot date. Jacob, wasn’t it?”

  She smirked. “I told you, didn’t I? He’s just a contact. He’s got a confidential report for me.”

  I was lounging on the couch in sweatpants, though the TV was off, as were all the lights — the power cut had expanded to include our house at some point during the night. I was using my cell phone to download some background info to my laptop ahead of my ten o’clock coffee meeting with my guy at the local power company, Pepco. It was kind of nice sitting there in peace for once.

  Izzie, on the other hand, looked especially good in a gray twill jacket, white shirt and tight black pants. She’d brushed her red hair particularly straight, and s
eemed to me to be wearing more make-up than usual, particularly around her deep brown eyes. Date-ready?

  “You look nice,” I said, getting up to give her a proper farewell. “For your non-date, I mean.”

  A brief eye-roll at that. “When I’m going on a date, you’ll be able to tell,” she said. God, something about the way she said it — or the way she used the word ‘when’ — made me almost immediately rock-hard.

  “You do feel differently about it, now, then?” I asked her. Using the word ‘it’ was a classic hallmark of our inability to really talk detail on intimate subjects. A favorite go-to word. I don’t feel like it tonight. It’s been ages since we’ve done it. You’re in the mood for it right now?

  Only this time, ‘it’ didn’t just refer to sex in general.

  She gave a shy smile, which only made my cock harder still in my pants. “I guess I have a different opinion about it,” she admitted. “I can see it might not be such a threat to us. Might even have certain… advantages.”

  I smiled, approaching her. She turned her head so I could kiss her on her cheek, so I definitely wouldn’t mess up her lipstick with the normal peck on the mouth. She smelled extra good, too. Her special perfume.

  “So have fun tonight,” I said, trying to be casual, though my chest was all fluttery again.

  She smiled, her eyes running all over my face, seeing the hope in my expression, and responding with a touch of mild surprise, still, and perhaps also quiet delight.

  “He’s just a contact,” she said.

  “Of course,” I grinned. “But if you feel like — “

  She shook her head. “If we’re going to play The Game — if we’re really going to play it — then it won’t be for a while. I have to get my new birth control sorted, remember?”

  I nodded. She was right. True, she could use condoms to sleep with someone else, but both of us would feel safer with that extra level of protection if this really were to happen.

  “And if I’m really going to do this — you can’t hate me if it turns out you don’t like it.”

  “I’d never hate you.”

  “You’d tell me to stop.”

  “Of course. If need be.”

  She nodded, and gave me a wicked grin.

  Chapter Four

  It was a fairly busy day — I kind of liked working on a story that was really affecting people in the city. After my coffee meeting with my Pepco guy, Harold Mortensen, I dodged the fallen branches on my way into the office, where I hit the phones to gain the official view from the power company that had, a few years back, borne the title as most hated company in America.

  In quiet moments, though, I found my mind wandering to Izzie’s evening meeting with the Congressman’s aide. I was actually hoping something might come of it, other than just some report about a candidate for the Democratic nomination.

  My logic, though, told that while Izzie had always been quite flirty with people to get information out of them, when it came to actually dating guys, she was quite picky. I remember when we were first working together at the Hartford Tribune, just how many guys were after her — and though she never made any of them think they didn’t have a shot, she held out against all actual date offers as far as co-workers were concerned.

  It took until we were no longer working together before she would consider dating me, for example, during the long hiatus before we both ended up in Washington working for the Messenger. And even then, our dating had been the result of one of her friends deciding to matchmake us, since she’d always said we were ‘perfect for each other’, and Izzie had had a long series of disappointments as far as dating men was concerned.

  Still. I remained optimistic when it came to 10pm, and her old Beetle pulled into the driveway once again — late for just a meeting with a contact, I was supposing.

  She was still looking good in the same outfit she’d been rocking that morning as she came in the door.

  “Hey — power not back on?” was the first thing she said, since our house like every house on the street — in the neighborhood — was dark. I had a few candles out here and there, and had been tapping away on my laptop on the couch thanks to the illuminated keyboard and the light from the screen.

  “Not yet. Middle of tomorrow, if we’re lucky. If not at the weekend,” I said, stepping up to greet her. “So how’d the date go?”

  In the light of the candles, I saw her eyes roll, but she was smiling all the same. “What would you do if I said I gave in to him?” she grinned. “What would you do if I told you we ended up going to a motel somewhere outside the Beltway?”

  I laughed, but under the surface wanted it to be true. I brushed my hands through her hair, and cradled her head in my palms to draw her in for a kiss. “I’d probably want to take you upstairs,” I said.

  “Uh-huh?” she beamed, and led me in another kiss. “And what would you want to do with me up there?”

  “Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand, pulling her to the stairs. “I’ll show you.”

  I guess it was as good a thing as any to do when there was no power.

  “So you had fun with him?” I asked her, as we pulled together, hands roaming all over each other, foreheads touching together, noses crushing together, lips sucking on lips, tongues dancing together.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, tearing off her jacket, while I fumbled with the fly of her pants.

  I could taste the zesty dry white wine on her breath, and as I drew in deep breaths laced with her perfume, I tried to tell whether she’d really been with someone or not, though I knew for the most part this was role-play.

  We’d done a fair amount of role-play after we’d initially invented the concept of The Game. It was fun.

  “You want me to shower right now?” she asked, teasing me, suggesting something had happened.

  “No,” I kissed her neck, and I could detect a hint of cigar smoke in her scent. It was something for my imagination to hang onto.

  Then she was sitting in my lap as I perched on the edge of the bed, pressing herself down on the hardness inside my pants as she held my head and kissed me. I let my imagination run wild, picturing her meeting with some faceless Capitol Hill aide, sneaking away with him in the night.

  “I should freshen up… “ she murmured.

  “Stay here,” I insisted.

  She pulled off my shirt, and then we were both unfastening the buttons on hers, making me think of that old adage, “too many cooks…” Off it came, though, and her bra, too. I held her sweet breasts in my hands as she began rocking her hips over me, rubbing herself against my hardness.

  “Was he… good?” I asked. I guess I did wish we were better at talking dirty with each other. It was just awkward. So we left it as brief as possible, usually.

  “Very,” she grinned as I kissed down her cheek and down her neck, kneading her breasts in my palms.

  Funnily enough, our concise sex talk might actually have helped the role-play seem more real, when we did it. It spurred the imagination, after all, and role-play is all about spurring the imagination.

  Right now, simply telling me her new lover had been very good sent my imagination reeling, picturing her in the throes of passion with her faceless guy, his strong body lying over her, driving inside her.

  “It doesn’t bother you?” she said, her breathing deepening.

  “What would be the point if he wasn’t good?”

  She beamed, and kissed me again, though now she was slipping down onto the floor, kneeling in front of me, working to unfasten my belt, then drag my pants down off my legs. She stroked the bulge in my boxer shorts, gazing into my eyes — and somehow it seemed more intense than when we’d role-played before.

  She was looking at me to tell if I really would be on board if we were playing The Game for real. It wasn’t just a pure hypothetical any more, she had actually hinted that it could happen.

  “You’re not jealous, then?” she said.

  “No.”

  She pulled the
waistband of my boxers down to reveal my hard cock, and licked slowly from base to tip, once, twice. Then her tongue was swirling around the head of my cock.

  “You’re not freaked out I’ve… been… with someone else?”

  She had to have felt my hardness throbbing in her hands at that. She giggled. She dragged my boxers down and off, then her licking of my shaft soon turned to sucking on my tip, and bobbing down on my hardness. I looked down on her as she sucked on me, her hands brushing her hair out of her face as she did so, and could imagine she might do this with someone else, if she were out there being unfaithful.

  She was moaning quietly, elated at how hard I was in her hand, in her mouth.

  She pulled herself up to kiss my mouth, and it just seemed wicked that she’d just been using that on my cock — and maybe, in our little scene, on somebody else’s cock.

  “So I come home, after my date…” she said, “…and you can tell from kissing me… that it’s really happened?”

  “Uh-huh,” I replied.

  Izzie climbed up my body, clambering back onto the bed, pushing me back down, straddling my hips, kissing my mouth forcefully, pressing herself down on my hard cock. She was panting a little now, and I got the distinct impression that it turned her on, that I fantasized about making love to her after she’d just been with someone else.

  She pushed my hands down onto her breasts while she kissed me, unsubtle in what she wanted, and as I cupped her soft mounds, my fingers and thumbs finding their way to her stiff nipples, I felt one of her hands close around my cock between her thighs, and start to pump me.

  “Another man has been inside me,” she said, “and now I’m with you…”

  This was perhaps the dirtiest I’d ever heard her talk in bed. It was up there, anyway. But it was more than just her trying to sow the seeds of my imagination this time: she was putting questions out there to confirm I would be okay with this kind of scenario in real life.

  I sat up, and pressed my face between her breasts, kissing her there, and up to take her sensitive buds in my mouth, one by one.

  “It only makes me want you more than ever,” I said.