I Googled it, and 32nd Street NW was in Georgetown. I could even see the elegant townhouse thanks to Google’s Streetview. Was that where Senator Billingford lived while he was in DC?
My theory was good enough for me. I put on some clothes and hurried down to my car.
It was pretty stupid. I don’t know what I expected to find. It was late. I pulled up outside the address, and there was nothing I could see from there. Some lights were on, but I sure couldn’t see anything through the windows. Was she fucking him in there? Something about that thought did excite me. But the lack of evidence was frustrating. There wasn’t even any sign of C’s black limousine, but then I guess that sort of vehicle wasn’t just parked outside private residences.
I tried checking Izzie’s iPhone tracking application, and of course there was nothing.
I parked a while. What did I hope, that she would come running out the front door? She didn’t know I was there. Perhaps she’d be with C all night. Was I even doing any good for Izzie’s security if she didn’t know that I was parked there outside?
I was about to text her to say I was there on 32nd Street if she needed me, or if she needed a ride home.
Then a police car crawled around the corner and slowly drove up the street toward me, stopping right by my vehicle. My God. The fear that shot through me.
Right next to mine, the driver’s window slowly rolled down. It was a clear signal for me to do likewise. Jesus. My heart was thumping like a jackhammer.
Without bothering to remove his sunglasses, the cop peered at me.
Then he said, “Some reason that you’re stopped here, sir?”
I was shaking a little. I never did react well to people in uniform. I stammered, “Uh… no… I just needed somewhere to stop for a while. Didn’t think there were any parking restrictions just here.”
The cop gave a slight nod. “This is not the place for your little stop, sir,” he said.
“Of course,” I said. It felt like I was betraying my kind, stabbing all journalists around the world in the back by crumpling in the face of this challenge from authority. There really weren’t any signs around here to state that I could not park right here.
But I stammered, “I’ll find somewhere else… better…”
“There’s a lot down on Prospect,” the man said. “Good restaurant, too.”
“Great. Thanks so much for the recommendation.”
“It’s just a little too residential round here,” he said as though it was some kind of explanation. “Folks get a little jumpy, they see someone lurking.”
I drove away. I drove home. It had really freaked me out. Of course, it could have been simply that it was a wealthy neighborhood. Rich people could get the police to do as they wished. I wondered if police cars ever drifted around poor neighborhoods and worried themselves about where cars were parked. I doubted it.
At the same time, it felt to me that I’d been told to scram because a notable US Senator was there in that house nearby, sleeping with someone else’s wife.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Where were you?” I said as she came in, at last.
“You know where I was.”
She was wearing a light gray dress, fairly loose but for the way it held her breasts. It looked as though it could simply fall to the ground if she wasn’t careful, or be torn away from her body by a single finger.
“Georgetown. That where he lives?”
“It’s his pied à terre in the city,” she said. “One of them, anyway.”
“One of them,” I nodded. In truth, I felt a touch insecure the way she spoke of him. This man was wealthy beyond our dreams.
She smiled, and leaned against the door in such a way as to accentuate the shape of her breasts in that dress. “His secret one,” she said quietly, conspiratorially.
“He must have a lot of money if he can afford a secret hideaway like that one.”
“You saw it? You came by?” She seemed mildly surprised that I’d go to the trouble.
“You slept with him?” I asked her. My heart was thumping in my throat. I wanted her to tell me she’d only visited him, only interviewed him, or some kind of platonic meeting. I didn’t want to miss the sight of her when she actually slept with him.
But at the same time the hardness in my pants wanted her to tell me she’d been wicked, depraved, fucking him every which way but loose.
Yes, cheating on me, if you wanted to call it that.
She ran her hands gently over her body, over her exquisite chest, as though she needed to make sure I noticed. Then she clutched at the hem of her dress, pulling it up to reveal more of her creamy thighs, and the black of her lacy thong.
“You want to find out?” she said, dipping one hand provocatively beneath her underwear.
The sight of her like that tipped the balance of my conflicted feelings in favor of the arousal that so ached between my legs. She’d never been so sexy in my eyes. I wanted it, I wanted her to have slept with him.
I looked up at her, trying to feign calm serenity. As though I could wait to ravish her, I still wanted to finish reading the magazine article open on my lap.
“Is there another one of your clues in there?” I said drily.
She smiled like a siren, her hand still buried in her panties, moving slightly to stir her dangerous sex.
“Could be,” she said, giving me a come hither look I could not resist.
I stood, I went to her. I leaned into her, planting my hands above her head as I closed in for a kiss of her poised lips. As I drew against her I could see the hint of perspiration in her hair as it tumbled down over her shoulders, and I could hardly miss the earthy scent of sex under the fading remnants of her perfume.
She was a bad girl. She’d fucked him over and over.
I felt giddy as my lips touched hers, as I tasted the hint of expensive sherry on her wicked mouth, which perhaps disguised the fact that she’d had something large and masculine in her mouth earlier.
I felt her hand brush lightly over the bulging prominence in my pants, confirming how I was responding to her latest infidelity. My own hand skirted lightly down over the gorgeous swell of her breasts, to rest on her behind as I pulled her in for another kiss.
She was beaming as I kissed her, as I stroked her thigh, as I showed her that I wanted her as much as I ever had, if not more, despite what she’d done that night.
I wanted her to tell me all about it, to leave out no details of what had gone on in that expensive townhouse in Georgetown. But my inability to really talk about it kept me quiet, leaving my imagination to fill in the gaps.
As I kissed her I was picturing her on some lavish four poster bed, perhaps shackled to the headboard as another man engorged himself on her delicate form and penetrated her with his monster of a manhood. This was our Game: she felt awkward about telling me the details of her tryst, and I felt awkward asking.
My fingers did the talking, drifting down to slip the dress off her shoulders, allowing it to drop down to her waist to start the process of uncovering her clues.
Of course I smelled the sex on her, I smelled the hint of a man’s cologne as I kissed her. I tasted the salt of perspiration on the soft, warm skin of her neck as I descended, and between her glorious breasts. Slipping off her bra to reveal unbelievably stiff nipples, I could see faint marks around her chest, suggesting that her binding had been tighter than the first time her new Master had taken her.
She closed her eyes and moaned as I drew her nipples into my hot mouth, then knelt in front of her to pull her dress the rest of the way down her stunning figure.
The scent of sex and female arousal was powerful as I kissed my way down to the waistband of her black thong, and then over the tops of her thighs. She stroked my shoulders, then reached down to grab my shirt, to pull it up and over my head. I lifted my arms to allow her to remove it, and the way she kissed me seemed to invite me to take this upstairs, right now.
But I knelt there still, wanting on
ly to explore this goddess standing over me. My hands gently taking hold of her remaining underwear, slipping the soaking scrap of black lace and cotton down over her hips and thighs, exposing the incredible sight of her bare, hairless pussy.
She sighed as I moved in to kiss the place where she’d so recently kept a tidy patch of her red down. The place she’d been applying a razor since then, in order to further impress her new lover. Then as I moved down to press my mouth gently over her clit and the upper reaches of her slit, taking in her abundant wetness, I heard Izzie groan long and low, a sound that sent shivers down my whole body — because I knew she’d made that very same sound earlier, in the company of someone else.
I pressed the flat of my thumb against her soft folds, as I flicked the tip of my tongue around the wetness that lay on her flesh around her sex. Izzie pushed out her behind from the door to allow me full access, to lap at her and stroke her flushed, puffy flower, to taste and smell and feel the evidence of her wickedness.
They’d used condoms, then. I could tell that much.
Izzie sighed and moaned as I gorged on her, her body gently rocking and swaying. She was stroking my arm, lovingly, gazing down at me with adoring eyes as I licked her, seeming impressed at me, enthralled with me.
She wasn’t going to come standing up like this, though. She urged me up, so she might crouch down herself, and drag down my pants. So she might hold my hard cock in her hands and marvel at my response to her informed adultery.
Watching her lick my shaft, caress it in her hands, then take me in her wonderful mouth put images into my head of her doing this for her new man. Stretching her lips around a larger cock.
But I wanted more from her. She squealed as I picked her up, carried her petite, elvish form over to our couch, and laid her on it exactly where I had watched the news coverage in the wake of the exclusive story she’d cheated on me to get.
She lay back and I knelt on the floor in front of her, parting her thighs to display her reddened petals, her pussy seeming even to my sight to be slightly stretched, still, from her evening being filled by “C”.
“Does it feel different, after you’ve been with him?”
The words blurted from my mouth as I pushed the tip and the upper reaches of my cock inside her. Not something I’d meant to say.
She smiled at the unexpected vocalization of my thoughts.
“Maybe a little,” she said, sounding a little unsure of herself.
She was seriously wet, and that only seemed to enhance the sense that I was the second man to enjoy her like this that night, and that the first man had been more of an alpha male. I felt the muscles in her vagina clutching at me, remembering how it had been after that first time. It felt good, but it also seemed that she was compensating for something.
“Because I’m not so large?” I asked her.
“You’re plenty large,” she insisted.
She was stroking her clit, and somehow the whole feeling of risk, that I might be out-competed by my rival for Izzie’s sex, only spurred me on. The knowledge that she’d been taken by another, violated — and that she’d loved every minute — made my heart rate quicken further, adrenalin pumped into my blood. It made me thrust into her harder, deeper, my pace accelerating.
She looked up at me with a note of surprise in her eyes, but as her breathing deepened, her sighs became cries, and her hand fell away from her clit.
I felt a kind of superhuman strength, and somehow it seemed to affect my mood.
As I fucked her, harder and harder, I growled, “He’s a Republican. You like fucking a Republican?”
She looked up at me and grinned, naughty, wicked siren that she was. “Uh-huh,” she said.
“You like cheating on your husband with someone like that?”
“Oh yeah…” she cried, “he fucks me so good…”
I pulled up from her, stood, then yanked her up by the hand, to turn her around. She complied, kneeling on the edge of the couch, pushing her butt up to expose her rosy, used pussy. Onto my own knees on the floor in front of her, I briefly leaned in to kiss her cheek, and taste that spectacular pussy of hers, then I stood, put a foot on the couch beside her, and leaned into her, entering her from behind.
“You can fuck him,” I said as I shoved forward, drawing a groan from her as I filled her again, “but I’m not gonna be happy if you start agreeing with him.”
She turned her head, not far enough to look into my eyes, but far enough for me to see her smile. “His views are offensive,” she said. “Thankfully his cock is, too.”
That little comment pressed some kind of button inside me. I grabbed her hips and rammed into her, the beast inside me taking hold, making her whimper under my forceful reclamation.
I lay over her, pushing her down against the couch, encircling her with my arms, kissing her neck, squeezing her breasts in my hands as I mated with her. I pounded her, and as I nuzzled into her neck, I caught another hint of her new lover’s scent, and it tipped me over the edge.
But as I slammed into her once, twice, three last times, my loins throbbing as the hot cream surged up to erupt deep inside her, Izzie was shuddering under me, yelping as she hit a powerful climax of her own.
After that, we both hit the shower together, though while we washed each other under the wonderful warm flow of the water, we were too exhausted for another round of much more.
“You didn’t come very much,” she said as she took care to wash my equipment.
“No?”
“It didn’t feel like much inside me.”
I felt a little shiver pass through me. “Maybe you’re too accustomed to your new man,” I said.
“No,” she said, then asked, “Did you… make yourself come? Earlier?”
I recalled the incident when I’d taken a shower to distract myself from my concerns. “Uh… yeah, actually. When I’d discovered you’d gone with him.”
“Shame,” she said. “I wanted to feel it inside me when I came home. It makes me feel close to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
She smiled, then kissed my lips. “I think we should have a new rule. For our Game.”
“And what rule would that be?”
“When I’m with someone else… or at least, when I’m not with you… you can’t come.”
“Okay…” I wasn’t sure about this rule.
“It’ll be fun,” she grinned. “See if you can handle it. Or not handle it, I suppose you might say. If I’m with someone else, I’ll be back with you in no time anyway.”
“If you’re away for three nights, that’s going to be difficult.”
“So take it as a challenge,” she said. “New rule: you can only come inside me.”
“And if I break the rule?”
She laughed. “If you break the rule, you get punished.”
“Very kinky.”
I wasn’t entirely sure how serious she was, but at the time I figured I could probably abide by her new rule.
Later, as we lay in bed together, I said, “I didn’t enjoy you being alone with him.” It wasn’t entirely the truth, I realized as soon as I’d said it. There had been part of the experience that had proven exciting. The thought that she was in that townhouse, that she was fucking someone else completely free from the restraint of having her husband watching.
The thought that she could be as wicked as she had ever wanted to with her new lover.
“I don’t know if I can avoid it,” she said after a pause. “If I want to keep him… interested.”
I sighed. “I guess so.”
She said, “That is part of the game, you know that?”
“I know.”
“Even if I bring him back here, I can’t be certain you’ve found my clues.”
“I suppose so.”
“You want me to stop it?” She looked at me. The image of her fucking the Senator after the Montessori Ball materialized in my mind.
“No,” I said. “But I do want to know where you are at al
l times from now on. I can understand why you might need to suddenly be with C — or whoever. But I need to know where you are. It’s not safe otherwise.”
“Okay.”
“Just keep your iPhone on, that’s all you need to do.”
“So you can track it?” she grinned.
“I just want you to be careful.”
“I am being careful,” she insisted. “You know how many condoms we got through tonight?”
Even ready for sleep, my cock thickened at that.
“He might be a good source,” I said, “but you also need to be careful you don’t start writing exactly what he wants you to write.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mid-March. C sent Izzie a text message some time before noon, saying:
>I need you, now. Bennett will pick you up from your building in 30 minutes.
I happened to have a slow hour or so that day, and as it often went if I was at a loss, waiting for interviewees to call back or documents to be sent through, I’d make a few little checks on Izzie — perhaps her email, her text messages, her lingerie drawer. I might daydream about finding something, about her going out to see the Senator or some other man.
On this occasion, I happened to check her text messages around 20 minutes after she’d received her latest from C. Even if I’d been watching as the text message had come in, however, I’d never have been able to drive in, lurk around the entrance to the Messenger building, and see where Bennett took her.
I felt a little frustrated until the appointed time came for Izzie to be picked up. Then she switched on her “Find My iPhone” tracking system.
I was off like a flash, fleeing to my car and pulling out of my driveway as though I had a bounty hunter on my tail. I relaxed as I saw that they were driving north-west, not quite toward me, but closer and closer. Potentially, I’d be able to head them off.
The Game (A Hotwife Adventure) Page 21