The Game (A Hotwife Adventure)

by Max Sebastian

  By the time they got to the Beltway, I actually had to back-track and wait for them near an exit. But then they didn’t get onto the Beltway itself, they kept on driving north-west, out past a couple of large golf courses where the suburbs were chiseled out of the wilderness, and the houses were increasingly huge.

  I managed to pick them up as the passed me, following them a healthy distance behind. Where the hell were they going? There were a few turns this way and that, as though Billingford’s driver was trying to lose anyone who might be following. He wasn’t going to lose me, though, unless Izzie’s phone reception failed.

  As we drove further and further away from civilization, I had to be more and more careful to avoid being spotted by Bennett. I hung back a fair way, relying on the tracking device to keep me on the trail of the black Lincoln town car. I was getting a little concerned for Izzie’s safety by this point. What was C doing dragging her out here?

  I had to be even more careful as they drove slowly down an isolated dirt track in a forest area designated on the map as parkland, close to the River Potomac. I waited until their vehicle stopped, before venturing along the track myself. Watching carefully as I went, to ensure they didn’t start moving again, I drove as close as I dared before finding a turn-off, and ultimately somewhere I could park the car where I hoped it wouldn’t be found.

  Then as I moved on foot toward them, I saw Izzie’s iPhone on the move again — though this time, much more slowly, and away from the track. They were on foot. My heart was pounding — I was terrified that Izzie’s phone would fail, that her battery would die, that her coverage would fizzle out. I might never find them.

  What if Billingford was planning on quietly murdering my wife, to hide her body where nobody would ever find it? If she had done what he needed her to do with her reporting on his tip-offs, and now he had to cover up their affair.

  At last, though, carefully I approached the spot where Izzie’s tracker said she would be — and there she was. At first, she just seemed to be sitting on a fallen tree trunk in the middle of a small clearing, casually relaxing. Bennett was gone, and I had to be cautious since there was a possibility he was lurking in some bush nearby, watching to make sure no one found Izzie.

  I found my own hiding place where I could wait and monitor what was going on. I didn’t want to burst out there and demand that Izzie tell me what was going on. I wasn’t certain one way or the other whether she was in danger, or playing one of Billingford’s games.

  She was wearing jeans and a tank top, fairly casual clothes for some kind of meet-up with her Senator lover. But then he’d only given her minutes of warning that she was being picked up. Her hair was loose, flowing down over her shoulders, shining in the spring sunshine.

  It took me a few moments before I realized from the way she was sitting on that tree trunk, her hands held behind her back — she was tied up. It wasn’t just her hands — her ankles were tied under the tree trunk. She seemed calm, certainly not frightened. The way her hard nipples pressed against the thin material of her top made me feel a hint of arousal.

  I waited.

  At last, someone approached from the direction of the car that had brought Izzie here. It wasn’t long before I saw that it was none other than Billingford himself. The man was fairly casually dressed himself in a gray shirt and dark slacks. He approached from behind her, and lifted a leg to straddle the tree trunk behind her, though still standing.

  “Isabella,” he said, and though my pretty wife smiled, I also saw her body tense up. She was conflicted: excited by this man, but also wary of him.

  He put his arm around her neck, his hand holding her under the chin, lifting her face to his. His other hand reached down and over her chest, to her stomach, pulling up her top to reveal bare breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, though whether she had been this way at work that morning was uncertain.

  I watched him lean into her, kissing her neck as both hands moved to cup and squeeze her pale breasts. She sighed at the feeling of his hands on her bare flesh, but also winced a few times at his rough treatment.

  I wasn’t comfortable with the thought of him hurting her — but I had to remember she was consenting to this relationship. If there were any hint of her not wanting this, I was ready to spring forward and out into the open. Billingford might be strong and fit, but he had almost two decades on me.

  “What if someone sees?” I heard Izzie asking C.

  But he merely replied, “We’d better hope they don’t.”

  I watched him pawing at her, manhandling her, and I could tell from her expression and those rock-hard nipples that she was getting off on the vague sense that any hiker might happen upon them at any moment.

  Billingford ultimately untied her, then helped her up from the tree trunk, though she was ordered to keep her hands on her head. Standing completely at his command, he slowly unfastened her belt, and pulled down her jeans — then after her jeans, her plain white panties. He stepped around her, enjoying the sight of her exposed out here, in a publicly accessible forest.

  Then came her tank top, off over her head, and I saw as Billingford held her close, examining her, assessing her naked form, reveling in her beauty and his power over her.

  “Come here,” he said at last, and led her a short distance to a slight ridge, and two youngish trees spaced fairly close together.

  Again, it took a moment or two before I saw the full picture. The restraints already tied around the tree trunks, which C now quietly began to connect to Izzie’s bare ankles, then her wrists, until she was bound there, spread-eagled and completely naked.

  She didn’t complain once.

  Billingford walked away from her, and I could see the fear in her eyes that he might simply leave her out here, tied to these trees, so far from anyone who might hear her cries. But the man did not leave: he simply circled around, admiring the naked redhead as though she were some elegant sculpture on show in a museum.

  After a long while, he returned to her, putting an arm around her, putting his face to hers, breathing her in, inhaling her anxiety.

  He was carrying something black, something that had a handle and many short strands of suede or leather protruding from it. Some kind of flogging device, it seemed to me. And then he was gently swatting it against Izzie’s bare body, and particularly her behind.

  He wasn’t striking her hard — again, I was poised to intervene if I started to genuinely fear for her safety — but each time the ends of the leather came in contact with her, she flinched purely from the unexpected impacts. The whipping seemed almost more psychological in effect than physical.

  I watched him swirling it around her skin, patting her more than really hitting her. The ends flicking around her legs, around her stomach, curling under her behind and between her thighs, even touching her bare pussy. I saw her buttocks, her breasts shiver as the soft leather struck, I moved quietly around to get a better view, to see how her pale flesh became steadily pinker the more he used that thing.

  She moaned and sighed and drew in her breath, but she didn’t scream. And when the thing wasn’t colliding with her flesh, she was smiling, she was gently panting, she was enjoying the sensations flowing through her shackled frame.

  I watched him place one hand over her sex as he used the other to gently pat the leather over her legs. I saw him touching her, I saw him playing with her clit.

  I saw the wetness trickling down her inner thigh.

  I saw her gritting her teeth, her face and her upper chest blushing as her whole body shook almost uncontrollably, her frame held up only by her bonds as a powerful climax swept through her.

  After that he took her down, and the whipping was over, though her bondage was not. He tied her to one of the young trees, her arms around it, her wrists tied together, and stroked her, his hands moving all over her body to feel out the warmth of her flesh.

  She groaned as his hands reached between her thighs to stroke her wet pussy, and she pushed out her behind, cravin
g something more than just his fingers.

  C wasn’t to be rushed, but after a while, I watched him unzip his fly, and withdraw that great monster without pulling down his pants. He stood behind her, and had to be stroking the end of his cock over her soaking pussy, coating it in her abundant wetness. Then he fished a condom from his pocket, unwrapped it and rolled it down his cock.

  Then he was sliding slowly inside her from behind, and the rapture on Izzie’s face appeared as though someone wandering through the desert had just been given a glass of cool water.

  C held her hips and thrust into her, making her body rock, her breasts sway under her as she held the tree between her forearms.

  She was panting and gasping as he fucked her, but in the still of the forest I could also hear the wet sounds of his cock inside her. Inside my wife.

  Seeing her in such bliss did calm me down. I was reassured, though I wasn’t a big fan of the whipping and the bondage. It would take a little time for it to sink in before the strangeness of it all — and the fact that the way this man was fucking my wife was like nothing we’d ever done together — came to be appealing.

  It was ultimately a turn-on to see how wet she got from his treatment, to see how hard her nipples were, to hear the moans and sighs from her pleasure.

  I watched him untie her from the tree, bind her wrists together again behind her back, and command her to kneel, to take his cock in her mouth. I watched her suck on him, I watched him come in her mouth, a little of his cream leaking out of her lips to dribble down her chin.

  I watched from a careful distance as C left her clothes in the forest, and marched my naked wife, her wrists still bound behind her back, through the trees all the way to the parked limousine. From the safety of the undergrowth, I watched the chauffeur, Bennett, open the doors for Izzie and the Senator, then calmly drive away.

  I waited until they were gone before I circled back to pick up Izzie’s clothes and return to my own hidden vehicle, for the journey back home.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  While I drove home, the Billingford limousine arrived back in downtown DC after a 45-minute drive, and I watched somewhat incredulous as Izzie’s tracker showed the car pulling up outside the Washington Messenger building — dropping her off at work.

  Had Billingford given her new clothes? I had hers with me — the strangely-erotic proof that what I’d just witnessed out in the Maryland wilderness had been real, not some day dream I’d had during a slow patch of the day.

  If C was trying to be subtle, it was an odd way of going about things.

  I waited a little while, then from the comfort of our living room couch, I phoned Izzie at her desk. She picked up after one ring.

  “Hey, it’s Izzie.”

  “Hey, honey,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Everything okay?”

  There was a brief but noticeable hesitation. “Everything’s fine,” she said, sounding as though she were halfway through a plate of sweet apple pie. “Why, you worried about me? That is so cute, sweetie.”

  I said, “It’s just that I have those clothes you were wearing this morning. I just wanted to make sure… you know… you didn’t need them.”

  I heard Izzie giggle, and despite the fact that she was in the middle of the newsroom, potentially dozens of co-workers around her, it sounded so dirty to me.

  “You found them?” she asked, all innocent. “I wasn’t sure where they got to.”

  “Yeah, I got them,” I said, picking up the pair of white panties they’d left in the forest. They smelled strongly of her arousal. She must have been buzzed while she’d sat there on that tree, hands and feet tied, waiting for her lover to show up. “I wasn’t sure if you needed them.”

  She said, “Oh, I had to change into something a little more formal to shoot the podcast this afternoon.”

  She must have gotten a new outfit from Billingford. My depraved mind pictured Bennett being ordered to go out and shop for female clothes, to buy my wife a nice suit, blouse, underwear.

  “Okay,” I said, “Well, I just thought I’d check. I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Of course.”

  “I hope you’re not too… sore…”

  Another giggle. “I’ll be fine. See you tonight!”

  *

  When she came home she was wearing black skin-tight leggings, and when she removed her gray hoodie, she was wearing nothing but a sports bra, her shapely midriff on view for all to see.

  It still took the breath away to see her like that.

  “Guys at the office see you like that before you get to the gym?” I said, eyebrows raised.

  “Jealous?” she grinned.

  “Probably the complete opposite.”

  She came and sat on my lap, slinging an arm around my neck. “You go for a drive today?”

  “I might have done,” I replied.

  She kissed me, then glanced at the pile of her clothes I’d dropped beside the couch. “You must have done if you found my clothes.”

  I shrugged. “I heard the Maryland wilderness is beautiful this time of year.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, and moaned as I kissed her, my hand finding its way over one of her breasts. “And did it live up to expectations?”

  She smelled fresh, making me sure she must have showered after her excursion into the woods, before her yoga class and perhaps before her appearance on one of the Washington Post’s podcasts that day.

  “I saw a lot of beauty,” I said, and gave in to temptation to draw down the zip on the front of her sports bra, freeing her exquisite breasts. “Not so much from the wilderness itself.”

  She moaned as I sucked one of her nipples into my mouth, my hand finding its way between her thighs to find the intense heat lurking beneath her thin leggings. “I was hoping you might be there,” she said.

  “I didn’t think you’d go in for that kind of thing,” I said, slipping my hand underneath her leggings to cup her smooth, hairless mound, my fingers gently seeking out her sex, and the wetness just beginning to emerge.

  “I didn’t either,” she said. “Just… kind of… went with it…”

  She was pulling on the waistband of her leggings to aid my hand. I loved how quickly her tender folds became slippery with her moisture. She’d had an intense day of being turned on.

  “It didn’t hurt?”

  “No,” she said. “Just startled me a little, I guess.”

  My fingers penetrated her, rubbing her, slick with her arousal, brushing up against her clit. She groaned as I thrust two digits inside her.

  “But you liked it?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face before kissing my mouth. She was stroking my hardness through my pants as we kissed.

  I wanted to know more, but we were hitting that roadblock, that barrier to talking about sex. I said, “It felt good, though?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t really explain… I guess… it was his attention on me… and how exposed I was… and hoping you were watching…”

  She stood, and with her leggings now pushed down to mid-thigh, she gave me a good look at her bare behind — and the color given to her by her mild flogging.

  “You’re still all pink down here,” I said, gently stroking her cheeks.

  “It’s faded a little, I think.”

  “It’s like you’re blushing, you’re embarrassed.”

  She turned, and knelt on the couch beside me, presenting her rear for me — apparently enjoying my examination.

  “When I was back sitting at my desk, it felt all warm as I was sitting there — almost like sunburn,” she said as I held her around the waist with one hand, caressing her buttocks with the other.

  I gave her a couple of playful swats with my hand, and she laughed. I said, “I’d feel so wrong doing anything like that. Hitting a girl.”

  “It wasn’t really hitting,” she said, kissing me. My fingers found their way between her thighs, to the oily wetness of her sex.

  “You don�
��t wear underwear under these things?” I said, tugging on her leggings.

  “Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.”

  “Today you didn’t, huh.”

  “I was feeling a little frisky.”

  “Some hot guys wandering around the gym, huh?”

  She giggled. “I changed class, to leave Mason to Marie. Made sure the new class had a male instructor, of course.”

  “You are a bad girl. Mason’s going to get jealous.”

  “He’s all loved up with Marie.”

  I ducked down to kiss around her glistening pussy, before running my tongue along her slick groove.

  “Mmm…” she moaned. Then, “I guess… I’m less likely to wear underwear to the gym… on days I have my yoga class with the new guy.”

  “Naughty girl,” I grinned, feeling my pulse quickening at the thought. “I bet he can tell, too.”

  “Sometimes… I get very close to him on purpose,” she said, catching her breath as I forced my tongue inside her, lapping up her tangy nectar.

  “Maybe you should try for him instead of your Senator friend,” I suggested, slipping a couple of fingers inside her.

  “Maybe…”

  I climbed up onto the couch and unfastened my fly to pulled down my pants, just enough to retrieve my hard cock. Izzie let out a cute little squeal. I reached forward and under her chin, gently urging her to turn her head to me. She twisted round, and I guided my cock to her mouth.

  “What’s he called, your new guy in yoga?”

  She smirked, and for a moment slipped my cock out of her mouth. “Ian,” she said quietly. “In class, sometimes I can see his cock tucked in his tight gym shorts.”

  “You’re a naughty girl, staring at his cock in class.”

  I groaned as she sucked it back in her mouth, and held her head gently in my hands as she bobbed down on it, guiding her motion — fucking her face.

  As she sucked on me, I could reach down to touch her through her leggings, feeling the wetness seeping through. I imagined that sometimes during her yoga class, she would become damp for her instructor, and that he could easily tell as he was around her.