If only it was as simple as that.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The thing was, it was getting increasingly difficult to keep up with her, and her liaisons with C.
Sometimes, there was the fact that C would appear to demand sex at a moment’s notice. I knew: I had access to her text messages. He’d drop by and pick her up, almost unannounced, in her lunch break, or sometimes at any random time in the day.
It was work for her, she could justify it in her head, and even if a co-worker asked where she was going, as simply meeting up with one of her contacts. All through the summer, she got a steady drip feed of information on what was happening within Congress, and within the Republican nomination campaign, after all.
Sometimes I could track her movements, but still couldn’t actively get there in time to witness anything. I could see him taking her to the same place in the Maryland wilderness — or other isolated locations where he could no doubt shackle her, and take her to his heart’s delight.
She’d come home to me all horny for me to take her back, so despite my frustration at not seeing her infidelity, I could at least enjoy the reclamation. I’d peel off her clothes to find her flesh invariably pink and occasionally bruised, though she took pains to persuade me it had been fine, harmless, nothing to worry about.
“I just bruise easily,” she’d tell me, and I couldn’t really argue against her, though I didn’t remember many bruises during our married life before.
If I was lucky, she’d have her phone sufficiently close to where it was all happening, and be able to Skype me so that I could at least hear her infidelity — assuming I was at home or in some private place where I could enjoy it.
It was increasingly rare that I’d be able to appreciate her indulgence with the Senator in our own home. “He doesn’t like to be here too often,” she admitted when I mentioned it. “He doesn’t want his car to be seen, or followed. Especially with the Convention coming up — things are getting heated.”
“He can’t ride in a taxi?” I asked. “Or a rental car?”
I didn’t like to complain, though. Or sex life had never been better, never been more heated.
And every time I did get to witness my wife with C, it was something special. She just got so turned on by it all, more so than with any other man. The power he exerted over her just did something to her.
I thought, before we started playing the Game, that eventually things might get boring. I’d lose interest, I’d allow her to get on with whatever dating activities she wanted without my need to monitor her. How wrong I was — each time she saw C, or any other man, it just renewed the anxiety and the arousal for me.
And there were still times when they shocked me — when Izzie did something that seemed totally out of character, or something she never did with me. Just like the rare sight of C slipping his largesse inside Izzie’s rear entrance.
Jesus.
I had to look closer just to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was, on that occasion. I happened to have my car in the repair shop because the exhaust had been rattling, ended up getting a taxi home. When Izzie came back with C in tow, in the middle of the afternoon, my car was not in the driveway — so she must have assumed I was out.
She must have felt free to do things I might not approve of, since she thought I was gone.
It wasn’t long before he had her in the armchair we had downstairs in the living room opposite the couch, she faced him, her knees raised, and initially he was driving that great thing into her beautifully wet pussy.
Then moments later, he was pushing her knees up further, and thrusting into her other hole.
I was shocked, as it was something we had never even talked about. I’d never thought she was interested. I guess it had never been much of a turn-on for me. And yet watching someone else do it with her did turn me on — it was like a forbidden act, a taboo being broken.
Had she done this with C before, but I hadn’t been there to witness it?
A little later, as she climbed on him to ride his hardness, I could see her slip it into her rear entrance — and this time it was her clear choice. She panted and moaned just as she did when someone screwed her as normal, and I assumed she wasn’t faking.
I watched her lie on her back on his chest, his hands squeezing her breasts with little mercy, his large cock driving into her ass. Did she really enjoy it? She’d never even hinted at wanting to do such a thing with me before. I guess it had never been something that particularly interested me, but just seeing her do it with someone else… well. I guess watching my wife break with convention was just plain hot.
They spooned on the couch after that, taking things slow, and it seemed so affectionate a position that it really irked my jealousy. Affection was so much more difficult for me to watch between them than penetration or anything else. It tweaked the paranoid part of me, the part that imagined I could lose Izzie to this Senator.
And finally, as she stared in his eyes, smiling as though besotted, the two of them murmuring to each other so that I couldn’t quite catch what they were saying, I saw the base of his large tool pulsating, and Izzie let out a deep sigh as she felt him ejaculate deep inside her — deep inside her ass.
*
On that particular occasion, Izzie had to go back out to work after her encounter with C. In fact, she texted me to let me know she would be on TV that evening, and I sat down to watch her on Vincent Parrega’s CNN show. She was talking about the upcoming Republican Convention, and the chances of the various candidates for the Presidential nomination. In particular, Parrega was grilling her over her scoop about the possibility that a new candidate could come forward at the Convention and secure the nomination, since all of the other candidates either had scandal linked to their names — not least because of Izzie’s previous stories — or were seen as relative political lightweights.
I was so proud of my wife, and how she had shaped herself into this Washington insider — even if she did have help from a Senator she was sleeping with. She looked gorgeous on TV, and even Vincent Parrega himself appeared to be quite taken with her.
I sat there on our couch watching her closely as she discussed the possibility of the Republicans going through a brokered convention where the GOP could end up with a dark horse winning the nomination. And yet as I watched her, I couldn’t shake the memory of seeing her latest rendezvous with C.
It fixed in my head: my wife had just had anal sex with one of the most powerful men in Washington.
My wife had just had anal sex.
Somehow, knowing that made her seem different in my eyes, I can’t entirely explain why. Different: more sophisticated, more interesting, more attractive. It wasn’t that I now desperately wanted to make love to her in that way, now that I knew that she would. I don’t know. I guess it was because she seemed more capable, more open than I’d even imagined.
Had she done it before, with someone before I’d come along?
*
When she came home that night, she came in wearing the same outfit she’d donned on TV, and that proved distraction enough for a while. But as she stripped down to her underwear right in front of me, I was reminded of what she’d been up to with C that afternoon.
“I saw you,” I said, standing to greet her, to kiss her lips, to run my hands over her stunning body.
“Was it okay?” she asked me. “I think I kind of babbled.”
She was referring to her appearance on CNN, and I think I had been referring to her appearance on my monitor in the basement when I’d expressed wonderment at seeing her.
“It was fantastic,” I said. “You were brilliant.”
She beamed, and held my jaw as she kissed my lips. “You’re just saying that because you’re my husband.”
I laughed, my hand skipping over her breasts, feeling her stiff nipples poking against her bra. “I’m saying that because I’m a fellow journalist,” I insisted.
She flashed a beautiful smile. I stroked her l
ong dark hair out of her face and gazed a moment at her pretty brown eyes before sucking on her bottom lip.
“You were with C this afternoon,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” she nodded, and there was a glint in her eye, knowing that I’d picked up on whatever clues she’d offered me to suggest she had, indeed, brought C to the house while I had been out, knowing how much it would turn me on to know she’d been with him again.
“I watched,” I said. “I was there. Here. Downstairs.”
She caught her breath — she hadn’t known I was there, then. Was that why she’d allowed anal sex that afternoon?
“You were there?”
Her hand slid down to my crotch, discovering the bulge in my pants. She smirked as she stroked it, amused and also turned on herself by my signs of arousal.
“I saw everything,” I said.
“You’re getting very good at the Game,” she sighed as I kissed her neck, breathing in her exotic perfume — and detecting the hint of shampoo from a shower she must have taken before going on CNN.
“You do that with him a lot?” I asked her, slipping the steps of her bra off her shoulders, popping her breasts out of their confinement so that I could taste them, curl my tongue around her stiff buds. “The mid-afternoon quickie?”
I’d wanted to ask her about the anal sex, of course, but it was difficult for me to bring up.
“Sometimes,” she said. “If he can’t see me during the evening, I’ll go see him during the day.”
“And if you think I’m not home, you’ll bring him here?”
She shrugged, then nodded. I guess she’d been having sex with C a lot more than I’d given her credit for. Cheating, in a way, since I’d missed any clues she’d given me.
I don’t know. It didn’t bother me that there had been times with him that I didn’t know about. That was the point of the Game, wasn’t it? Sometimes I’d fail to spot her clues. It burned inside me that she’d had times with him that I wasn’t aware of — but at the same time, under the terms of our Game, I had given her full permission to do it.
“I guess I’ve missed some of your clues along the way,” I said, trying not to sound too put out.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a pitying smile. “I try to be as plain as I can be.”
“Right.”
“Sometimes I think there are days when you’re not in the mood for it.” She pulled her bra off, then moved to tear off my shirt.
“Not in the mood for it?”
Another shrug. “You’re not always in the mood for sex, are you? No one is.”
“I don’t know. If I knew you’d been with him, I would be.”
“The clues are there,” she insisted. “Maybe it would be more obvious if you happened to want sex with me after…”
“So I should fuck you every night, just in case?”
She grinned. “Not a bad idea. But I guess I can give you stronger hints sometimes.”
I dipped my hand in her panties, felt the heat, the smoothness of her pussy, and how wet she was. “Sometimes you don’t seem like you’re in the mood,” I said, and I’ll admit, it bothered me a little to think that she might have sex with C, and then later that evening appear to me to be not in the mood for sex with me. I’m not saying that happened.
“If I’ve been with him, then I’m definitely in the mood when I see you again,” she insisted, and it did make me feel a little better. “I promise, I’ll make it a little more obvious.”
She unfastened my belt, and pushed one of her hands down inside my pants to hold my erect cock, to stroke it while I stroked her breasts.
“I think you just like cheating on me,” I said, pulling her down onto the bed.
“No,” she smirked, “I’ve told you — I prefer it when you’re there, when you’re watching.”
“But sometimes the illicit thrill of a secret encounter is just too good, right?”
“I swear, I leave you clues!”
I know, most men would have been furious to find out their wife had slept with someone behind their back. Most men would be angry about their wife sleeping with anyone else, period. I wasn’t most men. I liked that this Game of ours kept me on my toes, and that there might be times I might fail to know about her Game-playing.
In the end, it was her who brought up the anal sex.
“You saw… everything… today?” she said, straddling me as I lay back on our bed.
“Everything,” I nodded.
“And it didn’t make you angry, what I did with him?”
“I never said you couldn’t.”
She was stroking the head of my cock over her soft skin between her legs, through the lips of her pussy, coating it in her copious juices.
“You ever do that before?” I asked. “I mean, before C?”
She shrugged, “A few times in college. Never thought much of it.”
“And now?”
“C seems to like it. And if it’s done in the right way…”
She sank down on my pole, and it took me a moment or two to realize what she was doing, and why she seemed extra tight.
My God.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The game did seem to improve many aspects of our lives, though, at the end of the day.
I flew away on a business trip, and she’d send me little hints of how she was misbehaving while I was gone — and though I itched to be back with her, to reclaim her, every little text message or photo or video I received from her was like the greatest present ever. It made trips away pass by very quickly, although I had to be careful not to lose focus at times when I was interviewing people or covering some event.
I’d get pictures or videos of Izzie as she prepared herself for another date with C. Or perhaps just a text message telling me to look up an outfit or some lingerie on an online store — so I could imagine what she was wearing for another man.
Perhaps I’d get another picture later on of her underwear lying forsaken on somebody else’s floor, or even a subtle glimpse of my wife’s naked body with a hint that she’d just had sex.
And while the Game gave her a pass from actively telling me the details of her dates, she often liked to FaceTime with me, to talk with me face-to-face so that I would see her just after she’d been with C, and she would see me riding the emotions — from lust to insecurity to love — being so far away from her at such a time.
Despite the torture of seeing Izzie being so sexual while I was away, receiving her little insights made my time away from home pass more quickly, and I’d be burning to get back home and see her again. Whenever I got back home, I’d be into the bedroom like a flash, every time, sensually enjoying every inch of her adulterous body, and I’d be so hungry for her.
Whatever else it did for us, the Game made our marital bond stronger than ever.
One visit I made to Los Angeles saw her sending me a long video, which I was able to download from my hotel but did not have time to watch before having to flee to the airport. Having that video in my phone all the way through check-in, and the security checks, made me feel like it was burning a hole through my pocket.
The terminal was just too full to find any privacy where I could see the video. Even the restrooms were just too full, giving me no time to sit in a stall and watch it.
On the plane I had a row to myself, and once the in-flight meal was out of the way, I finally had a little time and space to secretly watch what she had sent me.
The video opened with Izzie turning on the video app on her phone. She positioned it in a bedroom that seemed very expensively furnished — the window I could see made it seem to me that this was my first view inside C’s very own townhouse in Georgetown.
Izzie gave me a big smile, which did warm my heart, even considering what she was clearly planning to do. She was wearing a suit, rather than evening wear, something she’d wear at work. If it was 10am on the West Coast when she’d sent me her video, it would be 1pm in Washington. Had this been one of her quickies with C? The
daylight was still coming in through the window, filtering around the blinds, which would confirm it.
She stepped out of the picture, and for a long while there was nothing but the same view of the empty bedroom. I skipped the video forward until something happened.
Then, there was C. But he wasn’t alone. As soon as the Senator stepped into the view of the camera, another man was there as well. Chatting, leisurely, removing their jackets, draping them over two antique chairs by the window, before sitting on the side of the large bed.
Who was that other man?
It took me a while, but I immediately sensed that he was somebody. Not just an old friend of the Senator. Jesus — Joseph Goolden, no less. Current Governor of Ohio. The two men were smoking cigars, and it seemed like some casual meeting or other except for the fact that this was in a bedroom.
Then there was Izzie again, bringing an ashtray for the men to use with their cigars. She stood in front of them, talking as though giving them a presentation at a conference. God she looked good in that suit. And then she removed her jacket, draping it on the same chairs as the men. The top buttons on her shirt were undone, to reveal a hint of cleavage, and that skirt of hers was so short, even if it was smart over her dark pantyhose.
I watched Izzie talking to the men, and then she turned her head to look off-camera, and beckoned to someone.
I caught my breath as a young blonde woman stepped into view, wearing a suit similar to Izzie’s. Izzie took the blonde’s jacket from her, laying it over the chair behind, and then said something to the two men.
I saw C give a nod to them, but otherwise the men did not seem to stir.
And then I watched as Izzie stripped off the young blonde’s clothes right there in front of the two powerful men sitting on the bed, and right in front of the camera — before Izzie removed her own clothes.
The blonde seemed delighted by it all, and it seemed to me fairly clear that whoever she was, she was besotted with Governor Goolden. I guess power corrupts, and all that.
The Game (A Hotwife Adventure) Page 24