“Spanked? You can normally sit down after he spanks you.”
“I just got a little careless, that’s all.”
“Careless?”
“Speaking to people I shouldn’t.”
I looked up at her, horrified at her neutral demeanor. “He can’t stop you talking to people,” I said. “Was it for the story?”
“Yes. I just got careless, that’s all.”
I sighed. She was smiling at me, for caring, I guessed. Or for stroking her behind. I could smell her arousal. Now that I looked down there, it was clear her pussy was wet.
“Did you put anything on this?” I asked her, indicating her wounds.
“I took a shower,” she said. “Kinda painful.”
“Wait here.”
I went up to the bathroom, found the healing cream. When I returned to her, she hadn’t moved. She was dutifully waiting for me, as ordered.
She flinched as I started gently dabbing the cold cream over her behind, starting with the worst-looking wounds, gently spreading it as best I could without hurting her.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“Not really,” she insisted. I wasn’t sure I believed her. “I like you taking care of me,” she added, and flinched again as I touched a tender spot a little too roughly. “I like you touching me like that.”
“Is that why you keep jumping every time I touch you?”
She smiled.
I squeezed the base of her cheeks, and ducked down to kiss part of her behind unaffected by her spanking. She moaned. The scent of her arousal was getting really strong, I could see the moisture seeping from her pussy there between her thighs.
I gently laid a finger on her soaking groove, and she let out a long, low groan of pleasure.
“I don’t want you seeing him again,” I said. “That’s it.”
“I just need…”
“You don’t need anything like this again. Even if it’s for the most incredible scoop any journalist ever achieved.”
She sighed. “I just need a few more days.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want you seeing him again. Not after this.”
Another sigh. “If you knew what we were working on…”
She seemed confused. She liked the way I was defending her — I suppose she might also have liked the way I was ordering her what to do, taking command.
I applied healing cream to the very last part of her wounds, this time in the middle of her butt, as close as it got to her sex. She shifted as I touched her there, parting her legs. Exposing her pussy to me.
“Wrap it up with him,” I said. “Do whatever you have to — tell whoever you’re working with that the Senator is cutting off your access. You’ll just have to go with what you have so far.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“No, you’ll just do it.”
She seemed a little irritated, and at the same time, she was wiggling her butt, turned on, silently begging for me to touch her sex.
“Did he take you?” I asked her. “Before he punished you — or after. Did he fuck you?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, her voice taking on a slightly dreamy quality. “Before. He fucked me so hard…”
I guess I knew how to flick her buttons now well enough — dominating her seemed to work as good as anything. But she also knew how to flick my buttons. How far we’d come since we’d started playing the Game. I had to admit, it was hot to hear Izzie tell me outright that another man had just fucked her.
I carefully prized apart her legs a little further, and ducked down to wedge my face between her cheeks. I drew my tongue along her dripping pussy, making her moan. I could tell her reddened flower had been recently fucked. She was seriously wet. I ate her like a juicy peach as she sighed and groaned and gasped, jostling her behind as I lapped at her.
After a while, she gave up on her laptop completely, folding it up and placing it on the coffee table before dropping her head down onto a corner cushion, closing her eyes to enjoy her treatment.
“God, that’s so good…” she breathed.
After a while, I turned over to lie on my back on the couch, Izzie lifting her behind so that she could sit on my face. She gently pressed her sweet pussy down over my mouth, riding me carefully so that it wouldn’t hurt her wounds.
What can I say, I always loved going down on her. And when I knew she’d just been a naughty wife, it only drove on my hunger more. She came, sitting up on me, grinding her pussy against my mouth and my nose, gasping and yelling, squeezing her buttocks over me.
That night she asked me to apply healing cream to her wounds three more times. I could go down on her, but I wasn’t allowed to fuck her — that really would have been agony for her.
Eventually, though, my frustration pushed me into demanding that she at least reciprocate. My flash of dominance seemed to get her going. She played the submissive as she went down on me, and in that frame of mind seemed to enjoy it even more than usual.
I held her head, gently but firmly, leading her rhythm as she sucked on me.
By the end, I had her begging for me to allow her to swallow my come. Well, we all have different fantasies. It worked for her. And I could think of the fact that she’d no doubt been sucking on another man’s cock earlier that evening.
*
After that night, I decided to take advantage of Izzie’s need for a little dominance in her life in order to make sure she did not see the Senator again. It was kind of fun, something different from before. Something to distract her from her need for whatever C did for her.
In the morning I’d choose which clothes she was going to wear that day. Perhaps if there was time I’d have her model for me — different sets of sexy underwear, various suits. She still looked smart when she went out for work, I’d never do anything to damage her professionalism — but underneath a nice suit she’d be wearing fancy lace lingerie, stockings and suspenders. Maybe her skirt would be just a fraction too short, risking the possibility of her male colleagues catching the hint of stockings. Maybe I’d have her wear a blouse that was just a touch too tight.
Maybe her skirt would be modest enough, but she’d go to work wearing no panties whatsoever.
During the afternoons, I’d sent her the occasional text reminding her to be home quickly following work, or following her gym workout or yoga classes, so that she might service me. I’d drop little hints about what I was going to do with her.
She’d get home and I’d have my way with her, ordering her around, shackling her to the bed, blindfolding her. A little light spanking perhaps, though I was never really comfortable with that.
I’d play the dominant lover, but I’d talk to her about loaning her out to men I knew — or requiring her to flirt with certain men from the gym, or even from work. That was role-play really, but we also signed her up to a discreet online dating service, being careful not to give out the kind of personal details that might fall into the hands of hackers.
Two of those dates didn’t really come to anything, though it was exciting hoping they would, and we were optimistic that at some point we’d find somebody Izzie liked, or who wouldn’t flake out on a date.
The only disturbing thing to me was that while Izzie enjoyed playing the submissive, she also liked to purposefully flout rules and requirements here and there — so that I would be forced to “punish” her. I wasn’t much good at the whole punishment thing, that more than anything probably showed up the fabricated nature of my dominance. I could take her over my knee and spank her a little, I could bind her wrists and ankles a little more tightly than usual. The most effective method seemed to be to refuse her sex for periods of time, though that represented punishment for me, too, so that was hardly ideal, and she’d only have to casually prance around the house in her underwear to persuade me to end her temporary chastity.
Sometimes she would tease me about breaking the most important rule of all — not to see Senator Billingford any more. That more than anything distur
bed me.
“C was there today, at the hearing.”
“Is that so?”
“Came over to me afterward.”
“Friendly chat?”
“He wanted me to visit his townhouse.”
“And you said ‘no’, didn’t you?”
“I said I wished I could. But…”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He told me to go to the restroom and take off my panties, then come back and give them to him.”
When we got frustrated with the difficulty of finding a suitable male through the online dating service, she’d suggest going to see Billingford again. She’d start telling me she’d make it only the one visit. For old times’ sake. Of course I said ‘no’, and found some mild punishment for her even considering it.
It was getting tiring, however.
Nights when she was late home from work, or from the gym, perhaps even delaying her return just to get me to punish her, I would start imagining she’d been tempted to go somewhere with her favorite Senator.
I’d even start imagining that her Senator might persuade her to run away with him, to quit Washington and walk out on her marriage and shack up with him in secret somewhere.
She always came back, though, and we’d reconnect. She’d enjoy my dominance, whether it was slightly put upon or not.
Only, then there was one night she didn’t come back.
Part Four:
Game Over
Chapter Thirty-One
That particular night, I waited and waited.
The time pushed past the moment where she was simply late home from work. Then it pushed past the point where she’d be late home from the gym, if she’d rescheduled her regular workout that week for some reason without telling me.
It pushed on toward midnight, past the point where she might be at the TV studio, or out with some contact having forgotten to let me know she was interviewing someone or simply picking their brains.
I was sitting around, and it was late for me to be going to bed on a weekday night, and Izzie still wasn’t back.
This was a big flaw in our Game. Izzie was allowed to go out and see other guys as she wanted to, of course, but if I didn’t get the clues I needed to know where she was, I would worry.
On this particular night, I spent the small hours working hard to find some small piece of evidence as to where she might have gone. I naturally called her, texted her, even emailed her. There was nothing in her social media, or in her email, to suggest she had been planning on meeting someone.
I checked her credit card records, I checked her phone tracking application, I examined her appointments diary.
All came to nothing. I felt panic beginning to rise inside me, threatening to squeeze my heart to pulp. God. Was this Izzie actively misbehaving because she wanted to get me to treat her as C had treated her?
At around 4am, I collapsed on our bed, defeated. I couldn’t sleep, however. I lay there for a while, figuring that our Game had to change, or end. If Izzie was playing a prank, or goading me somehow, this couldn’t happen again. But when you played the Game, how could you force your partner to play by the rules? I could hardly threaten her with divorce — that was precisely the opposite of what I wanted.
I even started thinking about calling the police, though I hardly wanted the authorities involved if there was a chance Izzie was just away being naughty with some other guy, and had just forgotten to let me in on the adventure.
Two or three hours of sleep eventually came, but I couldn’t sleep for long despite my exhaustion. The daylight came, and I was back to scouring Izzie’s email for signs I might have missed overnight.
By mid-afternoon, I really was about to call the cops. I was still wavering over whether Izzie was actually missing, or whether she might come back to me in the morning disheveled from a night of wanton sex, an apologetic smile plastered over her wicked face. Part of the point of the Game was that it was supposed to see Izzie as an independent, strong, sexy woman. Okay, so she could date dominant men if she so desired, but she wasn’t supposed to be merely an object to play out her husband’s fantasies. First and foremost, I wanted her to date as she wanted.
But Izzie wasn’t this irresponsible, I was sure of it.
I remembered Marie. I hadn’t talked to her for ages — and these days felt awkward for leaving her out of the loop on what was going on with our Game. She’d been a useful source. She was still Izzie’s best friend. There was a chance my wife had let her know where she would be that night.
I called her.
“No — I can’t get hold of her either,” Marie said. “I was going to call to ask you.”
“Shit.”
“Shit.”
The way she said it made my stomach sink into my shoes.
“Stay there, I’ll be with you in no time at all,” Marie said, and hung up.
Forty minutes later she was pulling up in our driveway and battering down our door.
“I know who she’s been seeing,” she said, breathless.
“Right…” I stood back to let her into the house, and it seemed like I was letting a whirlwind inside our living room.
“I know who she’s been seeing — and you have to stop her seeing him. Jesus, maybe it’s too late already.”
I glanced out into the street, as though there might be reporters or FBI agents or someone out there, trying to eavesdrop. Then I closed the front door, made sure it was locked.
“I did stop her seeing him,” I said. “At least, I thought I did.”
“You think she’s with him now, though?” Marie asked.
“I have no clue. That’s why I called you.”
“You know how dangerous this is?” she demanded, claiming a spot on the couch. “Sleeping with someone like that?”
“How did you find out who she’s been seeing?” I asked her, hoping it might shed some light. I wandered through to the kitchen to make coffee. God knew we needed it.
“From Izzie,” she said. “I eventually got it out of her.”
“You just got it out of her?”
Marie sighed. “Okay. Look, she asked me to help her with the article.”
“You’ve been helping her?” I felt irritated, somehow, that I knew nothing of this. “I thought she was going to drop all that.”
“I’ve only started looking at it in the last week or so. She wanted to hand it over to me, because you wanted her to drop it.”
“You’ve been working on it a week, and you’re only now telling me now that she should stop seeing Billingford?” My tone was sharp.
“I’ve only started to see how dangerous it was all getting.”
“She told you what she does — did — with him, with Billingford?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Showed me some of the bruises, too.”
“I did let it go too far,” I admitted. “I thought she was in control of what she was doing — I think I was wrong about that. But she said she was writing a story about something to do with him — she had to keep seeing him…”
Marie said, “The final story was going to be about Goolden, you know that? Or at least, the final story Billingford wanted Izzie to write. They were hoping for a brokered convention, if none of the Presidential Candidates get enough of a lead — and Goolden would come out as a neutral candidate.”
“Jesus.”
“It’s been such a polarized campaign. But Goolden would present himself as the sudden consensus choice, untarnished by a full-length campaign.”
I looked up at her, surprised.
Marie looked slightly smug from knowing. “Billingford took her to see Goolden a few times.”
“A few times?”
I felt the ground shake a little under me.
“Oh, she did quite a lot with Billingford that you didn’t know about,” Marie said, looking at me almost with pity. “You know you gave her quite a hall pass when you two devised that whole Game thing.”
“I know, I know.” I f
elt a little upset. Not that Izzie had cheated on me — I still fervently believed that I’d given her consent, so it wasn’t really cheating. The upset came from not being a part of it, somehow, of being excluded. I would have wanted to find out about what she’d done, or watched if I could.
I didn’t want to miss out on any of my beautiful Izzie being a bad girl.
“Oh, what you saw, what you heard about was only the tip of the iceberg,” Marie seemed quietly happy that she knew more about Izzie’s recent adventures than I did.
“Seriously?”
I sighed, and headed over to join Marie on the couch, handing her a mug of steaming hot coffee.
“Last week — you were in Toronto chasing some metals company,” Marie said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Chromium Consolidated. It went bust, the executives secreted away a lot of money before everything went caput.”
Marie nodded. “Izzie was at Billingford’s mansion in Virginia. “The guy wasn’t there himself, but Izzie partied with two of his major donors.”
“He wasn’t there — Billingford?”
Marie shook her head.
“Izzie told me everything,” she said. “It was her and two wealthy businessmen. Bald guy, and a guy who was scarily young — made his money in a tech start-up. The guys were wearing nice suits, and she was in a smart cocktail dress. Dinner, Champagne… then they ordered Izzie to strip. They had her walking about on all fours like an animal…”
I raised my eyebrows at this, but having seen what she’d done with Billingford, I couldn’t claim to be surprised.
Marie went on, “…they walked through the house to the grand drawing room. Amazing room, amazing view. The young guy pulled his cock out and had Izzie suck on it. Then she was sucking the older guy, the bald guy. The younger guy lay under her, licking her as she sucked on the other guy. Then they took it turns to fuck her — from behind, from in front. In the ass. Sometimes both at once.”
The Game (A Hotwife Adventure) Page 26