The Game (A Hotwife Adventure)

by Max Sebastian

  After a while she pulled away. “Won’t you fuck me, Mason?”

  I leaned over, grabbed her leggings with my two hands and aided by the adrenalin flowing through my veins, tore the thin material, exposing her soaking flower. I let her bob down on my shaft a few more times before I moved her, grabbing her hips, positioning her so I could kneel between her thighs, and slip the tip of my hardness into her hot, wet pussy.

  “I bet this is what he’s thinking about doing when he’s correcting your positions,” I said.

  Izzie just turned her head, smiling, and cried out as I began to move inside her, deep and hard.

  “Oh… fuck me… fuck me, Ian…”

  It felt — and sounded — so wet as I fucked her. Whoever this Mason guy was, she was definitely into him. Her breasts jiggled as I thrust into her, and it became almost the object of my rhythm to make the move.

  She moaned as I pounded her, and the hardness of her nipples as I took her made me believe she was imagining her yoga guy in place of me. I didn’t have a problem with that. It felt good to stir her imagination, to make her more certain she needed a range of men to deal with the sexual fire inside her.

  “Oh Ian…” she cried, “Oh yeah… fuck me, Ian…”

  I turned her over, those destroyed leggings still mostly covering her behind, and pushed into her again, mounting her like a beast. She grinned, and I could tell it was easier for her to imagine Mason fucking her like this.

  And like that, finally, I came, flooding her with my hot seed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She’d see him perhaps once a week, though not consistently so. There were times I knew nothing of her meetings with him until she came home, and the clues to her debauchery came after the fact. Nothing in the rules of the Game to stop her doing that — as long as she did give me the clues so I knew afterwards what had happened.

  I had to accept that in all this, a full affair, I wasn’t going to get to see them together each time he slept with her. Often she would be at Billingford’s secret townhouse. Sometimes he’d even take her to his mansion in Virginia. She’d go away to cover some Republican campaign event, and I’d know she would be spending the night with him.

  Occasionally, I’d have to travel myself, as I fought to keep my own fledgling freelance career on track, and I’d return home to our little house in the Silver Spring suburbs to discover incontrovertible evidence that she’d entertained him at our home while I’d been away.

  Strangely, I didn’t mind if she went off without a word to do it. I liked exposing her misbehavior when she came back to me. If she came home late because she’d actually been working, it would be a disappointment. I’d wait for her hoping that when she returned, I might peel off her clothes and find her freshly fucked, perhaps her behind rosy red from his rough treatment, her hair slightly mussed, her cheeks flushed, her body reeking of sex, her pussy already wet before I went near it.

  I reveled in her misbehavior, in her adventurous spirit, in her nymphomania.

  And while she came home all chirpy and content, satisfied like I’d never known her before the Game had begun, she was also kicking ass in her work at the Messenger.

  She came up with exclusive stories that affected the whole news cycle for days. She revealed little insights into developing policy, and the policymakers who were shaping it, that opened new doors to the political process, offering a transparency into the marking dealings of Capitol Hill that left Congress mulling over whether to launch an inquiry into where all the leaks were coming from.

  C himself remained carefully above it all — he was never suspected, always keeping back from the fray unless forced to comment, in which case he would express cautious concern at what was going on, just like all the other Senators around him.

  I’ll admit, I was happy to take advantage of the explosive sex provoked by our Game, by Izzie’s infidelity. I turned a blind eye to some of the bruises she came home with on occasion, the pinkness of her flesh. She consented to it, she didn’t complain about it. She craved sex with me as soon as she came back to me.

  And her job, in an era of dwindling fortunes at print newspapers across the country, was safe.

  I glossed over the safety concerns of what we were doing.

  Then one night in June, I saw a text sent to Izzie’s phone offering her a lift home from her yoga class, and as C’s black Lincoln town car pulled up in our driveway, from my safe hideaway in the basement, I watched the Senator escort my wife into my house, and up to the bedroom, and what I saw turned me completely against him.

  *

  Izzie was wearing a neon pink sports bra and black leggings, the kind of thing that drove me crazy, that I couldn’t believe might be standard dress for her gym or her yoga class, but which I enjoyed imagining men unable to stop staring at her.

  They went into our bedroom, C wearing his usual suit and tie, and they appeared to be talking business.

  “This is bigger than anything I’ve ever given you,” C was saying.

  “You know you can trust me,” Izzie replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “I do,” he nodded, sitting next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders, his other hand reaching over to toy with the nearest strap of her sports bra.

  “I don’t give up my sources. Especially not…”

  “When it might ruin your marriage?” the Senator grinned.

  She looked gravely serious as he exposed most of one of her breasts, and it seemed to me quite an assumption she had led him into: that her husband knew nothing of her adultery, and that this was a key protection for him as he pursued her and as he leaked her insightful details of the political process.

  “I don’t sleep with my sources,” she said quietly. “Not ever. So you know…”

  “I know,” C stroked her stiff nipple, apparently satisfied that he was safe with her.

  “I’m yours,” she said. “You know that.”

  I bristled at that, but at the same time the warm arousal bloomed inside me, my cock throbbing that I might have the opportunity to watch her fuck him once again.

  C grabbed her breast in his hand, squeezing it a little more forcefully than I was expecting.

  “Mine,” he said, and the way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.

  He started pawing at both her breasts, pulling her into him, and his other hand was around her neck. Down came her sports bra as he held her, then he quickly unfastened it, and removed it completely.

  I watched him produce a thin rope from one of his pockets, and bind it round and round her wrists, locking them firmly together.

  “Mine,” he said, one hand gripping her hair, the other her face. “You’d better not forget that, Isabelle.”

  He slapped her cheek — again, not hard, but it didn’t have to be to disturb me. Hard enough to be an audible slap, anyway. Hard enough to make her flinch.

  “No, sir,” she said.

  “Good,” he said, slapping her again. Her cheek was pink already.

  He kissed her mouth, but holding her around the neck. She moaned quietly, apparently sexually, but I was on edge about whether to go up there, to step in, to end this once and for all.

  I watched him manhandling her, squeezing and slapping her breasts, holding her hair in a less than gentlemanly manner, and I felt I had to accept that she wanted this, that she’d been with this man enough times now, that this probably wasn’t the first time he’d treated her this way — and she kept coming back for more. It was a turn-on to her.

  If I ended things, it might ruin her career. That was how I thought at the time.

  “I’m going to give you a few pointers in the coming days,” C said to her.

  “Yes sir.”

  He pulled around on the edge of the bed, holding her neck, turning her so that she went face down on the mattress, her butt raised where he could spank it.

  “You’re going to write it very carefully for your paper,” the Senator went on, holding her hair in one hand as he spa
nked her with the other.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He tore down her leggings, and she was actually wearing underwear on this occasion — a neon pink thong that appeared to match her sports bra, but didn’t offer a whole lot more coverage of her exposed ass than a g-string. Now his spanking cracked down on her bare skin, each impact leaving her behind pinker than before.

  “It’s more important than ever before that we get this right,” he said, leaning down to kiss her pink flesh a couple of times, pulling on the back of her thong, forcing the material to split her pussy.

  “Of course,” Izzie was quietly moaning at his treatment of her, biting on her lip as she tried to look back at what he was doing.

  Kneeling on the floor, he patted her rear a couple more times, then peeled down her thong. I was torn between pure lust for her, pure arousal at how she was totally giving herself to this other man, and anxiety that whatever this was might go too far — or that it already was going too far.

  He jammed his fingers inside her, his other hand prising apart her butt cheeks. It only made her moan louder.

  “I can’t just leave this to trust,” he said, pulling himself up, pulling one foot up on the bed next to her so he could reach her hair, holding her by it again as his other hand manipulated her pussy.

  “Mmm-hmm…” Izzie was panting, her whole body seeming pink to me, not just the areas he’d slapped.

  “You’re going to submit your stories to me when they’re written — before you sent them to your editors.”

  Her eyes closed, her mouth open, she cried out, “Oh fuck…” as he fingered her.

  But then she opened her eyes, looked back at him, said, “If my editors change anything, there’s nothing I can do.”

  C slapped her rear a few more times. “You’ll just have to make your copy so watertight they won’t change anything,” he said. “You’ll have to say any deviation might get the paper in trouble.”

  He put the fingers that had been inside her into her mouth, and she licked off her juices obediently. My mind was reeling a little — I felt a total lack of control here. Was Izzie really into this kind of thing? Was she taking this treatment for fear that it would affect her career if she didn’t?

  And yet I wanted to see him fuck her. My need to see him drive his huge cock into her eager pussy was overwhelming the alarm bells that were beginning to sound in my head.

  C wrenched off her thong, then sat with her, parting her legs, his hand coming down to pat her pussy now — still, not really hard impacts, but it still seemed so wrong. He rubbed her there, and I couldn’t deny how wet she obviously was from his touch, how much she was moaning from pleasure.

  He lay beside her, holding her tight in one arm, as he took one of her nipples in his mouth and with his other hand resumed fingering her, rapidly and as deep inside her as he could manage.

  “Oh fuck…” she moaned, her clear enjoyment of this keeping me seated, holding me back from intrusion.

  “Oh fuck… oh fuck…”

  Her moans became cries, her body shaking almost as though she were having a seizure — I couldn’t believe she was coming from this, from his rough fingering, from everything that had come before.

  Her climax was another factor to tip the balance in favor of me allowing this to go ahead. I sat back and watched as he had her kneel on the floor, as he unfastened his belt and gently patted it against her pink cheeks before unzipping his pants, withdrawing his hard cock before slapping that against her face.

  I watched as she sucked on that huge thing, as he took it out and slapped it against her mouth, her tongue. As he held her hair and fucked her face with it.

  She moaned as she sucked on him, and when he allowed her to lick his shaft, and when he rubbed it all over her face. She moaned even as he forced it as far down her throat as she would have it.

  I sat and watched as he shoved her back onto the bed, as he removed his clothes and climbed on with her, as she raised her reddened behind to him so he could enter her, stretch her with that great pole.

  “Oh my God…” she panted as he pounded her, slapping her behind with his hands as well as his body.

  I watched as he gripped her by the hair to fuck her when she was on all fours. I watched him put her on top of him, her hands still tied as she bounced on his cock. I watched him take her missionary style, and then force up her legs, pulling her knees together so her pussy was even tighter around his huge manhood while he fucked her.

  I watched him stuff her thong in her mouth, and fuck her until she was screaming and yelping such that she would have woken the neighbors without her impromptu gag.

  I watched him come in her mouth, her face all pink, her make-up smeared and streaming, his white cream leaking out over her lips, her chin, her cheeks.

  I watched him pick up his clothes and leave her there, her wrists still tied, as he dressed, then walked out of the room, left the house, drove away in his big black limousine.

  I watched, and as though to distract myself from the concern at the Senator’s abusive behavior toward my wife, I found myself mentally focusing on the fact that the two of them were not using condoms any more.

  *

  “He wears protection if he’s with anyone else,” she said as I raised the matter.

  She was lying naked on the bed, watching CNN on the small TV sitting on the chest at the end of our bed.

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked, as I cut into the rope binding her wrists, using a knife from the kitchen.

  “I know. And he’s been tested recently.”

  I was breaking a sweat as I finally got through that rope — it was tough stuff. She gave me a grateful smile for freeing her, but remained there, lying on her front, her body pale or pink all over, the smell of sex strong around her.

  I quietly removed my clothes and returned to her, surveying her naked form, relishing her recent adultery, but tentative about touching her after the rough treatment she’d received.

  “It’s okay,” she said, her head turned to see my caution. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  I gently stroked her back, feeing the hint of dried perspiration there. I touched my hands delicately down on her raised buttocks, which almost glowed they were so pink.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  I squeezed her behind a little more firmly, and dropped down to kiss her there, inhaling the heady scent of sex, of her arousal, along with her sweet perfume.

  “I don’t like it, Izzie,” I said. “You shouldn’t let him hit you.”

  “It’s okay,” she insisted. “Really. It doesn’t feel like much more than stroking. It’s not really hitting.”

  I pulled her buttocks apart, revealing the pink flower between. She was wet, either from her recent fucking, or from anticipation that I might want to reclaim her. I kissed further down, closer to her sex. My hands massaged her behind — testing her, I suppose, to see if it made her wince, or flinch, or react in any way that she might if she were actually hurt.

  I said, “If you’re doing this just because you’re waiting for the promise of some big scoop…”

  “I’m not,” she said. “Or at least, not only because of that.”

  I moved around, edged apart her legs, and pushed on her hips to urge her to raise her rear. She did as I wanted, and the full glory of her unfaithful pussy was revealed to me. It didn’t freak me out that she’d had him in there bareback. Quite the opposite, actually. It seemed to tickle that dark side of me, that wanted her tainted, despoiled. Interesting.

  She did flinch as I pushed my face into her, touching my mouth to her sex, but then relaxed, her initial gasp turning to a long, low moan as I tasted her and the subtle flavor of her recent bout of infidelity.

  “You like him hitting you?” I asked between mouthfuls.

  She whimpered a little as I lapped at her fragrant flower, though not because it was hurting her. “I like that he commands me,” she said. “I like that he does as he wants with me.”

  Her b
ody rocked gently under me as I teased her slippery pussy with my tongue. I could hear her sighs, her deep breathing, as I feasted on her.

  After a while, I sat up, placed my hands on her hips and turned her. “It doesn’t hurt, to lie on it?” I asked her.

  “No,” she grinned, opening her legs for me.

  I dropped down on her to resume my oral exploration of her swollen pussy, her reddened pussy lips, her clit. She stroked my head as I lapped at her, and as her moaning became louder, more breathy, her fingers tensed on my scalp, then fell away completely. It seemed to me much easier to make her come after she’d been with C. Another added perk, I guess. He warmed her up for me.

  “You’ll stop seeing him if I tell you to, won’t you?” I said, picking myself up, feeling the coolness of the air conditioning since my face was so wet with her juices.

  “Just give me a little longer,” she pleaded. “I just need a little more time.”

  I knelt up, and dipped the end of my cock into her soaking pussy, her lips already parted from the actions of another man’s larger organ.

  “You can have the summer,” I said. “But no more than that.”

  “Okay,” she said, and groaned as I sank down, and into her.

  “And if he hurts you. If I think he’s going too far, it ends immediately.”

  “Of course.”

  She turned on all fours again for the final exertion of the night, her behind on display for me as I penetrated her, teasing me with its redness, reminding me how he’d spanked her as he had fucked her, something I’d never feel comfortable doing, making her come like crazy in the process.

  I groaned as my own climax hit, the force that had been building all night as I’d watched another man fucking my wife exploding into a gush of hot come pumping out deep inside her.

  I felt good that she had agreed to a term limit on her relationship with C. And with my warning that I’d end it all if I thought it was getting out of hand.