Chapter Thirteen
I broke a few speed limits by a fair amount on the way home. I was careful, but it wasn’t very responsible of me. I parked the car down the street, around a corner, safely out of sight for anyone else who might be arriving at our house later that evening.
As I let myself in through our front door, my heart was thumping in my chest. I think the first thing I laid my eyes on when I got inside was the flowers that Izzie’s date had given her, which had ended up on the kitchen counter.
The sight of those flowers made my chest burn a little. It was confirmation that the video Izzie had made and sent me was not faked, and though my head knew all along it had to be real, my heart was a little slower on the uptake. Glancing around, I saw the bottle of beer that Izzie’s date had been drinking.
I felt a rising sense of panic. My wife was out on a hot date with another guy. Various thoughts were whirling around my head — what if they didn’t come back here, what if they got a room in a hotel? What if Izzie wasn’t safe with the guy?
My heart seemed to lead the paranoia, but my head kept a grip on things. I knew Izzie had chosen this first time to be with an ex, because she knew him, she felt safe with him, it was someone she’d been with before. It was infidelity, but in a way, it was only light infidelity, soft infidelity, because Izzie had already slept with this guy, some while before she’d started dating me.
What if they did go to a hotel somewhere? If I hadn’t looked at Izzie’s message, her video, immediately this evening, I wouldn’t have come back home in time to see them anyway, if they came home. At least now I had a chance.
But how could I possibly see them if they came back here?
Nervous, a little panic still in my chest as I tried to think where I ought to hide when they did come back from their date, I scouted around upstairs. Izzie’s clothes were where she’d left them, as per the video she’d sent me. Her floral skirt folded up on the chair, the pink denim jacket. Her black panties in the laundry, which still contained the unmistakable scent of her arousal.
Izzie was already wet for him, her date.
So. First of all, I determined that if I was lucky and they left the bedroom door open, I might just about see from the spare bedroom across the hallway. What if they merely stayed downstairs, fooling around on the couch? I had to believe Izzie would at least want to end up on the bed, knowing her as I did.
I didn’t like the risk that they might close the door — even partially — and block my line of sight from the spare room. The answer came pretty quickly, though again presented some risk. I could hide my iPhone in the small pot plant on the dresser. If you weren’t actively looking for it, you wouldn’t notice it there. The iPhone could broadcast an image straight to my iPad via FaceTime easily enough.
I had to charge my iPhone battery a little more before Izzie and her date returned home. Thankfully, there was enough time to do so, and while I waited I had a bite to eat — and made sure there was no evidence anywhere that I was present at the house.
When I heard the car pull up in the driveway, it was really late. Watching from the spare room, which had a window overlooking the street and our driveway, I was jolted awake, having almost drifted off to sleep while I waited.
I had to quickly set up my iPhone in the bedroom, then hide away in the spare room.
My heart was nearly beating its way out of my chest as I heard the front door open, and the two of them return from their dinner. There in the dark, I could hear them talking, flirting. It sent little pulses of sexual energy through my system.
“You know, I could take some pictures of you, Izzie. It’d be more beautiful than anything else I’ve ever taken.”
“You’re so sweet, Ben.”
“I should have brought my camera tonight. You look incredible.”
“Perhaps another time. Or I could come by your studio some time, model a few outfits for you.”
*
She left him sitting on the bed as she slipped into the bathroom. I was pleasantly surprised by how much of the bedroom my iPhone camera was able to view from between the leaves of the pot plant.
When she emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, her dress was gone and I had to stifle a gasp to see her walking toward Ben in her sexy underwear.
“Wow,” he said, as she came to a halt in front of him, allowing him to sweep his eyes all over her.
“You like?”
He sighed. “I’ve missed you, Iz.”
She giggled, and climbed onto the bed on her hands and knees, Ben twisting as he sat on the end of the mattress, to gaze at her.
“You had to run off to Africa,” Izzie said. “Or Asia, or Australia or wherever.”
He smiled as she crawled over to him on the bed, her hand sliding over his thigh to find the bulge in between his legs.
“You were just starting your career,” he said. “You wouldn’t have wanted to come with me.”
“No, probably not.”
“High-tailing it all over the world.”
“Wherever there were species under threat.” Izzie was rubbing another man’s cock through his pants. My stomach felt squeezed by some invisible vice.
“I wish you had come with me,” he said.
I felt a few pangs of jealousy, sure. But it was nice to know other men wanted my Izzie, yet I got to have her as my wife. I knew Izzie wasn’t tempted to leave me for this guy — from her tone, if anything.
“I would have distracted you from your endangered wildlife,” she smiled, and moved back on the bed, sitting for him as though posing for one of his pictures.
“Maybe,” he nodded.
She was sitting up against the pillows, her knees drawn up but her thighs parted. I could see her from the spare room, through the open bedroom door — but the high resolution image from the iPhone offered an incredible view. Izzie’s new panties were semi-transparent, offering Ben a hint of what she was offering him.
“Show me,” I heard the guy say, and it sounded oddly commanding.
Her hands had been gently stroking her knees through the black nylon stockings, but now moved between her thighs, covering her panties. She began caressing herself there, through her semi-sheer underwear. So hot — and yet the way she looked at him, compliant, obedient, submissive, seemed so very strange to me. I guess because we’d never been that way.
Perhaps Izzie was just slightly different with the other men she’d dated. There was something sexy in that thought.
“How is it?” I heard him ask.
“Growing wet,” she said. Her candor shocked me. This was my wife, my Izzie, who found it difficult to talk about sex, even while we were doing it.
Maybe she found it easier to talk about it with other men. It was just me that made her feel awkward.
She was more than just casually stroking herself down there, she was masturbating for him. The way she did it made me certain this was something they’d done while they were together — this was part of their old relationship re-emerging.
I guess we men come to a relationship and kind of blank out what our women might have done before us. We imagine them as near-virgins when they come to us, without a sexual past. Oh, maybe they had some oral sex here, some penetrative sex there, a little fumble here and there with some faceless guy. But here, Izzie was showing me her past, and rather than freak me out and stoke the jealousy inside me, it was hotter than hot.
“Take off your bra,” Ben told her.
She sat up — knelt up. “Yes sir,” she grinned, reaching back to flip the catch on her bra, then slip the straps off her shoulders. Her bare breasts were revealed to him, her nipples stiff as could be.
“Squeeze them,” he commanded, and she squeezed her nipples, sighing as she did so.
“Harder.”
And she squeezed harder.
“Good girl.”
“Good girl?” she laughed. “My husband would probably beg to differ.”
“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him,�
�� said Ben, then twirled his fingers. “Turn around.”
“Yes, sir.”
She did as he ordered her, turning to face the bedstead, showing him her ass, framed beautifully by her stockings and suspenders.
Ben leaned toward her, reaching to touch her buttocks, stroke them, fondle them. I held my breath as he touched her. As he slapped her. Izzie sighed and quietly moaned.
“I always loved your nice, round ass.”
“Thank you.”
He ran his finger along — and underneath — the thin band of material that formed the back of her panties. Thong, I guess. It was almost a g-string. I could see him pull on it, stretch it, dig it into the slit of her pussy.
“Very nice,” he said quietly, stretching her underwear aside to reveal her sex in its full glory.
He began slowly touching her there, running the tip of his middle finger along the slippery folds of her pussy. Izzie sighed as the touch of his digit became penetration.
“You’re seriously wet,” he said to her. “Must’ve been looking forward to our date, huh?
“Ever since you told me you were coming to town,” she said. I wondered when that might have been. I had access to her email, to her text messages. I guess it could have been via Skype, or even a traditional phone call.
I was so hard watching another man sliding two fingers inside my wife’s soaking pussy. I could just about see from the spare room, but the iPhone was a better viewpoint.
He slapped her a couple times as he fingered her, and she only moaned in response. I didn’t think he was hitting her hard, but it made a crack. I had to trust that Izzie knew what she was doing — she had to know what this guy was like well enough, and she had invited him into her bed.
I’d never been entirely comfortable with the whole spanking thing, though. Even if I had to accept that some women appear to enjoy it.
He was saying something to her, which I couldn’t hear. Izzie was quietly moaning in reply. He kissed her on the behind, and then peeled her panties down off her hips, over her thighs. She lifted her knees to allow him to remove them completely.
Then he was off the bed, kneeling on the floor, pulling her to him like a lion dragging a gazelle. She lay on her back for him, opening her legs for him, groaning as he touched his mouth to her sex, as he began licking her there.
I couldn’t see much, but it was hot enough to see how she panted, how she sighed and caught her breath, as he lapped at her, and pushed his fingers inside her.
I was so turned on by her staccato breath as he took her on a sexual thrill ride.
And how her little cries subtly changed, becoming pleading — pleading for him to allow her to come. He murmured, and moved up to kiss her mouth, but it seemed to me he was not allowing her to come, not until he wanted her to.
Ben had her move off the bed, and as he removed his shirt, she unfastened his belt, his pants. She pulled his hard cock out of his underwear, and I had to stifle another gasp as I watched my own wife licking another man’s hardness.
The guy did have a fairly impressive physique — lean and strong, his muscles well defined though not built by gym time. The body of an outdoorsman, a man who made his living roaming the wilderness in search of the perfect image of animals in their own habitats.
The way Izzie was kneeling, I could watch through the bedroom door as she took him into her mouth, as she slowly sank on his shaft, as she coaxed his length with her lips. Was he larger than me? I guess it was an inevitable question for a guy watching another guy performing with his wife. I didn’t think so. Similar, at any rate.
He held her hair out of the way of her face, and led her motion, fucking her face right there not more than a dozen yards away from me. She seemed to enjoy it, though, moaning as she serviced him, as she played with this manhood that was not her husband’s.
I was just about handling the sight of my wife going down on another man when he had her get up, lay on the bed once again, part her legs for him, and he was there between her thighs, stroking her pussy with his cock, patting the thing against her flesh as though it were a whip.
Slipping on a condom and then sliding it straight into her dripping wet pussy.
I gasped, and had the two of them not been in there fucking, they might well have heard me.
Another man was fucking my wife.
*
I was burning inside to watch them — and yet my cock was harder than it had ever been. I was experiencing the sharp acid of jealousy, at what she had with Ben, and perhaps of what she’d had when she’d been with him before me. There was a sense of fear and paranoia inside me that she wanted him more than me.
And yet the exhilaration was beyond any of that. The sight of her being so naughty, of her gaining sensational sexual gratification — and under the terms of our Game, it was me allowing her to have this.
I could appreciate the beauty of my wife as a sexual creature, from an independent viewpoint, a viewpoint I’d never have if it was me involved.
And the taboo nature of this, just how wrong it was in society’s eyes, made the sex as exciting as it had been when I’d first started out as an inexperienced teenager.
When I embraced the trust I had for my wife, I found I could lessen the negative side of watching her with him, muffle the pain, cut out the jealousy. And seeing her mating with another male drove a primordial instinct within me to want to claim her for myself.
My desire for Izzie had never been stronger.
She moved her knees down, stretching her legs apart further, and via the iPhone I could see his cock thrusting into her. My God, it took my breath away.
“Touch it,” I heard Ben grunt, and Izzie’s hand came down to cover the tidy little patch of hair over her mound, to stroke her clit as he fucked her.
She gasped and cried out as he pounded her, and then she was pleading for permission to come again, only this time more desperate than before.
Ben held her by the neck and fucked her hard. And I guess he did give her permission to come, because she did so explosively. Ben himself had longer to go, and it wasn’t until he was taking her from behind, like an animal, before he allowed himself to come, tearing off the condom and spraying his white cream over Izzie’s back.
*
I watched as Ben dressed himself, and I felt just plain stunned. Izzie had done it. Though I’d allowed her to do it, I had myself an unfaithful wife.
I think I’d always been curious what that would feel like — a curiosity that had fed into the original conversation that had given rise to the Game in the first place. I was a writer, a creative, I saw people around me with flawed relationships, and I naturally wondered what that felt like. I had now engineered the experience for myself, only it wasn’t a classical flawed relationships. The infidelity was consensual. I had wanted my wife to fool around.
“You gonna be in the city again any time soon?” Amplified by the microphone of the iPhone, to be broadcast to my iPad, Izzie’s voice cut through my daze.
“Not planning on it,” Ben responded.
Izzie was lying there on the bed, half-covered by a white sheet. “You could come round,” she said. “Have a little fun for old times’ sake.”
Ben smiled. “And you’d be able to get hubby out of the way?”
She shrugged. “He’s a very busy man.”
Finishing up buttoning his shirt, the photographer leaned forward to stroke Izzie’s chin. “I’ll let you know,” he said.
I felt a little tremble at the thought that this ex of hers could spring up any time in the future, and Izzie would take him to her bed at the drop of a hat.
I had unleashed this in her now, I had opened Pandora’s box.
“We could go to a hotel, if you prefer,” she said.
“Maybe,” he nodded, “maybe.”
I watched him leave her, leave the house. I didn’t feel bad about it. It seemed to me there was no way Ben was any kind of threat to our marriage — he was a wild animal, he couldn’t be caged, coul
dn’t be tamed by the commitment of an actual relationship.
It seemed to me, after watching them, that the one fear that really burned through me watching my wife with another man was the fear that she would prefer her time with that other man — and want to be with him rather than me.
As I sat by the spare bedroom window, watching as Ben left the house, got in his car, drove quietly away from our serene and highly civilized neighborhood, I figured he was the perfect kind of lay for my wife in this new Game of ours. Someone who really wasn’t out to win her — just bed her.
*
She was in the bathroom as I came into the bedroom, though the door was open. I went in. The shower was running, but she wasn’t under the flow of the water yet, she was peering at some of the pink marks on her behind left by Ben’s little swats.
“Still love me?” she asked, apparently unsurprised I was here.
“More than ever,” I said, and I wasn’t kidding.
Seeing her in there, naked now, my cock was throbbing, I was filled with a craving for her body. I touched her behind, gently applying one finger to the pink blush on her cheek.
“He was a little rough,” I said.
“Uh-huh.” She leaned into the mirror behind the sink to apparently check on the state of her make-up. Or else she was just giving me a better view of her butt.
“You like that?”
“I did with him, I guess.”
“But not with me?”
She shrugged. “It’s different with you.”
I nodded. She turned, and her fingers brushed over the bulge in my pants. “Does that make you mad?”
I paused. “No,” I shook my head. “I guess it’s part of it, isn’t it? That it’s different with other guys.”
“That turns you on?” she stroked my hard shaft through my pants, amused as much as she was excited by its presence.
“I guess. I’m not sure I like him hitting you, though.”
The Game (A Hotwife Adventure) Page 11