I took off my jacket and headed upstairs, my pulse quickening even though I had no guarantee anything special was happening whatsoever. The mere potential for something to happen was exciting enough to get my heart rate going, it seemed.
I started my investigation upstairs in the en suite bathroom.
Everything was completely neat and tidy — that was my first impression. I suppose we were fairly tidy people, but normally when we were going out to some event, there would be clothes strewn around in the bedroom or the bathroom after we’d changed into our formalwear. This evening, there was none of that. In fact, even the various clutter from our day-to-day existence had been put away. Had Izzie tidied up in case she brought someone home with her?
My second impression was the lingering trace of perfume in the air — which gave me the picture of Izzie really preparing to dazzle the guys at the Ball.
In the bathroom, I went straight to the medical cabinet. Her brand new box of condoms was in there, and on first sight appeared unopened. My heart quivered. Maybe if she was intending on coming back here with someone, she didn’t feel the need to take protection with her.
Then I looked closer. The clear plastic wrap around the box was gone. The box had been opened — she’d just closed it again after taking off the plastic and retrieving three condoms, by my count.
Now the blood was beginning to flow down toward my loins.
Back in the bedroom, I opened the bottom drawer in the chest opposite the end of the bed. The drawer wasn’t even open by the time my eyes fell on the empty bag from which she had taken some of her special lingerie. From the receipt in the bag, I could tell she was wearing black lace — bra, panties, stockings and suspenders.
My cock thickened further. She wouldn’t wear fancy underwear like that just to attend a ball, not unless she seriously intended some guy to see it. She’d probably wear a thong, something to keep the VPL at bay, and then probably hose as well. Stockings and suspenders were usually too much hassle for her to bother with.
Maybe now she was effectively a single girl, it seemed less of a hassle when weighed against the benefits of impressing someone who might be interested in her.
Closing the drawer, I glanced around the rest of the bedroom. Everything was spotless. She’d even put clean linen on the bed. I was beginning to pray she’d go through with the idea to bring someone back here tonight.
I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and drew up the website that allowed me to check Izzie’s messages. Were there any clues who she might be intending to meet at the Ball?
The text loaded up in the browser, and I saw a few recent messages:
C: You are looking lovely tonight.
Izzie: You’re here? I can’t see you anywhere.
C: Of course I’m here. But you know why I can’t come over and say hello
Izzie: Maybe they’ll be an opportunity for you to brush past me later ;-)
C: Sounds like an invitation. I do so hate to decline an invitation.
I looked at the time the messages were sent — just minutes previously. I’d keep my phone close by, the app on. Perhaps there would be a little more to- and fro- between Izzie and this “C” whoever that was.
For a few moments I just sat on the bed and stared at my iPhone, gazing at those messages. My mind was reeling a little — the question whirling round my head over and over: was this really happening? Was Izzie really looking to make a play tonight?
I was so buzzed, so completely aroused as I sat there, holding my phone in a shaking hand. And yet at the same time, I felt the eerie, unnerving sense that I was in danger, and I was losing control — as I might feel when leaning out over a high cliff, perhaps.
What if Izzie did go through with it tonight? Would I be able to handle it?
It seemed like a two-sided coin I was flipping. Maybe it would be the most exciting experience of my life. But maybe it would be the darkest day, full of despair. I had to cling to the bright side of the possibilities.
With a deep breath, I picked myself up from the bed. I had to get ready. I had to hope that Izzie would try to make the most of having an empty house all to herself that night.
*
About half an hour later, when the next message came through into Izzie’s phone, I had moved my car around the block to conceal my presence at the house, and had finished setting up my surveillance system throughout the house. The tiny microphones were all easy enough to hide — the creativity came in secreting a number of small cameras around the house, most notably in the living room and the bedroom. I’d managed it, though, with some fairly clever hiding places.
I’d also set myself up in the basement, which might have been an unfinished basement, but offered me the best place to stow away while anything might happen in the rest of the house — if I didn’t want to decamp to a nearby motel room, anyway.
It was warm enough, and with an old armchair that had never quite fit in with our interiors upstairs, and some suitable cushions, I could make myself comfortable with an iPad to monitor the cameras upstairs.
Sitting there, all I had to monitor for a while was that phone application. I perked up when another message came through from Izzie, and it was almost immediately replied by “C”.
Izzie: Roquette says the schools bill will be shot down next week.
C: Don’t count on it.
Izzie: You saying you have the votes?
I was impressed. It sounded to me as though this was somebody with an eye on the Hill — and perhaps more than an eye. Was it that Jacob guy? He was a Congressman’s aide. But why would she abbreviate him as “C” in her phone? I didn’t get the sense that it was Jacob.
C: I wouldn’t show my face here tonight if I didn’t.
Izzie: And that would make it an awfully drab affair.
C: They certainly wouldn’t raise as much through these casino tables.
Izzie: Sounds like you need lady luck tonight.
C: Good idea. Come stand at my table. At the very least I’ll get to enjoy you in that dress.
Izzie: I know somewhere else you could enjoy me in that dress ;-)
So, it couldn’t just be a staffer from some Congressional committee or some Congressman’s aide. “C” was wealthy enough to be playing the casino that night, and raising money for the cause.
I could imagine her going over to C’s table in the casino area of the ballroom. Flirting with him, whoever he was. Enjoying his powerful presence. They wouldn’t be talking about the schools bill, not out in the open. Looking back on her text conversation with him, something struck me about the under-stated nature of his communications. He didn’t need to show off how powerful he was. He didn’t need to tell her everything he knew — he just dropped hints.
He sounded big league.
Was Izzie flirting with a Congressman?
Jesus. I felt my insides go cold. I guess when she’d been fooling around with ex-boyfriends and other reporters, it hadn’t seemed quite so serious — and I hadn’t really felt threatened. Ex-boyfriends were exes for a reason. And why would she end our marriage just to start seeing another reporter?
But a Congressman. A rich, powerful Congressman. It wasn’t that I didn’t entirely trust Izzie — but a woman could change her whole lifestyle by dating, and perhaps ultimately marrying, someone like that.
Whether or not she was bringing “C” luck in the casino, the communications between them stopped. Monitoring the situation, I found the radio silence frustrating. But what could you do when they were just talking, out in real life, without the help of technology.
Later — much later, I was shaken awake by my phone.
Izzie.
My heart spun, my stomach filled with molten lead. Something major must have happened for her to interrupt her evening to actually call me.
“Hey, everything all right?” I said, doing my best to keep calm.
“Yes,” she said, “fine.”
Her voice was hushed, she was speaking to me to avoid anyon
e overhearing.
“You remember how this all started?” she said.
“Sure.” Was this some kind of pop quiz, to check my memory was still ticking over? “Dinner at the Hudsons’.”
Izzie said, “It was about whether we would sleep with a source if it meant getting a seriously good story out of it.”
“Right,” I said, and chuckled a little. “I remember. You were pretty straight-up about cheating on me for a scoop.”
“Only…” she paused. “Well… what if it really happened?”
I found myself heaving a big sigh. “You know I’m okay about… well… with whoever you wanted to… see.”
Awkwardness tied my tongue in knots.
I tried to force through the barrier. “You know how the Game works,” I said. The Game aiding our communication, as it was designed to, I guess. “You’re free to see who you like.”
“But for a story,” she said. “Would you think less of me if this wasn’t just about the sex?”
My rock-hard cock didn’t think any less of her if this wasn’t just about the sex. My mind was reeling a little, though.
“I’d have concerns about your safety,” I said. “And any risks… you know… to your professional reputation.”
“If anyone found out, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“But you wouldn’t hate me for sleeping with someone who’d make a good… well, a good source.”
“Of course not.”
I was probably overly influenced by my arousal, but hey. It was hot, the thought of my gorgeous wife sleeping with a powerful man who would feed her sensational tip-offs. Kind of hit on the part of me that obviously enjoyed sharing my wife, while also engaging with that part of me that had always been fascinated by the world of journalism, politics and Washington circles.
“Okay,” she said, warily. “I’m not sure anything will happen. Or if it does, it anything will happen tonight.”
“Whatever you need.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Good luck.”
I was shaking a little as she rang off.
Two hours later, I received a text message:
>I might need you to leave the house. Or at least get completely out of sight.
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.
I replied:
>No problem.
I wasn’t going to leave the house. I’d tidy it up a little — make sure there was no evidence to suggest Izzie’s husband was at home, and had been all night. But once that was all done, I was headed into the bedroom to test out my new surveillance system, which hadn’t been used in earnest so far.
Was Izzie really going to sleep with a Congressman? Who was this man who could become an invaluable source?
And my paranoia wanted to know: was he a threat to our marriage?
Chapter Twenty-One
I was disappointed to see from the camera in the porch that Izzie stepped out of a taxi alone. For a few moments after Izzie entered the house upstairs, I sat in that armchair in the basement and wondered how I was going to emerge from my hiding place with any form of dignity. Izzie would no doubt laugh at me for hoping so fervently that tonight would be the night.
But then a large black Lincoln Town Car pulled up in the street outside our house. Hardly the most subtle place for a large chaffer-driven vehicle to stop, but then our neighbors knew Izzie was a reporter, and perhaps might imagine she was interviewing someone important at her home.
I didn’t particularly care if our neighbors looked out their windows and wondered what a big black limousine was doing in our street. Just now, a man stepped out of the vehicle who I recognized straight off.
Senator Carter Billingford.
Wow. Was this seriously “C”?
My initial reaction was one of surprise. Billingford was a rising star on Capitol Hill — but he was a Republican. Physically, I could see that Izzie might view him as quite a catch — but though we aimed to keep our own personal politics out of the stories we reported, both my wife and I were Democrats. Privately, Izzie had always scorned the GOP — was she really about to sleep with one of them?
My heart was pounding in my chest as I scrolled through the various camera views to see where Izzie was. I couldn’t immediately locate her — then from the bedroom, I saw that she was in the bathroom, touching up her lipstick in the mirror.
Senator Billingford — “C” — walked up the little path across our front lawn, then up the few steps to the front door. Quietly, he glanced around at the neighborhood, to see if he was observed — but as far as I could tell from my little camera on the porch, no one was looking out their window at what was going on.
C didn’t stop to ring the doorbell, or even knock. He simply turned the handle and stepped into our house. Izzie had left the door unlocked for him. Inside, he took off his jacket and hung it up on the hatstand, then briefly scanned the living room, checking out his surroundings, before turning to climb the stairs.
He had a neutral expression on his face — concealing any thrill he might have for what he was there to do. He just mounted the stairs, and kept on going, up to our landing and through to our bedroom.
It seemed bizarre to me that this man, who chaired the Senate Committee on Health, Education, Labor & Pensions, was here in our modest abode. But he was here for Izzie, and Izzie had looked gorgeous all evening, I was certain.
I watched C open the bedroom door, and allow it to swing back slowly to reveal the room. For a moment it was empty. Then Izzie stepped forward from the unlit bathroom, and both of the men in this house caught our breaths.
She was wearing black stockings, suspenders, panties — and nothing else.
“I thought I was going to enjoy seeing you in that dress,” the Senator said.
“I can put it back on if you like,” she said calmly.
Izzie walked confidently toward him, her bare breasts no doubt stunning him where he stood, just as they stunned me via the camera I’d stowed in her jewelry box on the chest of drawers. God, now that she was giving herself to someone else, it seemed to me that she’d never seemed more attractive to me. She stood with the poise of a dancer, her pretty face perfectly made up, her hair tied up neatly in a ponytail. Her nipples were rock hard.
“Out of the dress is fine,” C said.
He sat on the bed, and Izzie stepped in front of him. She was carrying something — I couldn’t quite see what it was in the low light from the bedside tables.
I saw her straddle his lap, climbing onto him, putting whatever it was around his neck. A cord, perhaps. A rope, but black. She used it to pull his head gently to hers, so that she kiss him, lightly at first before becoming more passionate.
A shiver ran down my spine. My beautiful wife was sucking on the face of another man. An older man. A powerful man. C was on the young side for a Senator of his stature, but he was still around 50. His hair was dark for the most part, flecked with enough silver to give him gravitas in Washington circles. I hoped I looked that good when I reached 50.
Izzie stepped off his lap, then turned around to stand facing away from him. What was this? She put her arms behind her back, but just stood there at attention, waiting for C to make the next move.
The Senator stood. I saw he had the rope in his hands. What was going on?
He threaded the rope under her arms, behind her back, and then round her body, under her breasts, around them… it was expertly done, and when he was done it was as though he’d made a rudimentary bra for her out of rope — except that her arms were bound in place behind her back.
“Good,” he said quietly, his hands skirting over her breasts, those seriously-hard nipples, and down to her stomach.
She stood still, demure for him, but seeming happy enough as he stood behind her, and gently fondled her breasts while kissing her cheek.
Down in my basement lair, I was frozen still — startled at what Izzie was doing. She’d never mentioned the desire to try anything like this with me. I guess when
you let another man into your marriage, you had to expect there might be new ideas introduced as well.
I watched C step around my bound wife as though he were inspecting her on some military parade. He touched her face, ran a finger over her lips — and she just let him, completely compliant.
“Beautiful,” he said calmly.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and she slowly sat down on the bed at his bidding.
After that, he unfastened his pants, and pulled them down along with his undershorts, to expose an impressively proportioned manhood. I saw surprise on Izzie’s face at its sheer size, followed quickly by an expression of pure desire.
Her excitement seemed to translate to my own: I wasn’t afraid just now, it seemed to me, I wasn’t even really jealous. I was thrilled that my sweet wife was having this adventure, that she was having the kind of experience she’d thought would be closed off to her forever.
C stroked it a couple times, and it grew even harder if that was possible. He held it up to Izzie, stroking its tip over her chin and her cheeks. Then he left it hanging for her, and Izzie leaned forward to kiss around its base, and then down its immense shaft.
She had to position herself just right, not having the use of her hands — but then oh God, my wife was sucking on another man’s cock.
She stretched her lips around it, and took it inside her mouth, bobbing her head to stroke him with the inside of her cheeks and her tongue, before withdrawing to lick around the great head. C stroked her head gently as she sucked on him, as though she were merely his pet.
I watched her sucking on him from a few different angles. Far from horrifying me, it actually made me want to go out there and take her from him, and reclaim her for myself. But though my heart and my swollen cock craved her, my head kept me sat still in that chair, needing to see more.
At last, he reached between her legs to touch her sex, and by touching her there, urged her up onto her feet. Of course she did as he wanted, silently standing then turning around as he took her place sitting on the edge of the bed.
The Game (A Hotwife Adventure) Page 18