And then the guy puts his hand on Jackie's back, and I watch as it moves down, along her spine and over the round curve of her bottom, where it stays.
I try to get a read on Jackie’s face: is she mortified? Upset? Happy? Turned on? I can’t read the expression on her mouth, and her sunglasses hide her cheeks and her eyes.
As much as this burns in my gut, it sends my cock into fully hard mode in a second. I can see the tendons in the guy’s forearm moving, moving his fingers around behind my wife's ass where I can't see what he's doing.
But I can imagine. I can imagine his fingers sliding up and over her skin, down to the hem of the suit, beneath it to the fold of her bottom. Sliding, sliding, nearing the center of her shorts…
Jackie smiles, almost as if she’s read my mind. Then she tips forward and twists around. She grasps the man’s hand, and says something to him. Then she leaves, walking straight toward where I am sitting.
Well, you can’t win them all, I think. It was fun while it lasted.
I still can’t tell what Jackie’s face is saying. She looks serious, but other than that I can’t make out how she feels.
I notice, though, that Jackie is sauntering a little bit as she walks over.
I raise my eyebrows, and I’m about to ask her if something has gone wrong, when she smiles and leans over her chair. I see that nothing is wrong: she’s come back for something. She digs in her large bag and then pulls out a bottle of sunscreen.
She clicks her tongue. “Sunscreen,” she says.
“Are you going to put it on, or is he?” I ask.
“Hmm,” Jackie says. As I asked the question, she was popping the top open and turning the bottle to her open palm. She uses her palm to snap the bottle shut. “Now there’s an idea.”
And then she saunters away.
I think I forget to breathe for the next few minutes while my wife returns to the hot tub area with her tube of sunscreen. I know the guy she’s with saw her talking to me. I wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s asking himself why I’m sitting over here in the shade while my beautiful wife goes to a “hot” hot tub gathering.
The guy is sitting down with his feet in the water. As Jackie approaches, he reaches out an arm to her and touches her calf when she gets close. Jackie sits down next to him and he produces a drink from a small table behind him, one he evidently ordered while she was retrieving her sunscreen.
Jackie chats with him, thanking him, I’m guessing, for the drink. She has set her sunscreen bottle next to her and sets her drink down to pick it up.
I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved, again, as she pours the creamy white lotion into her own hand, and then starts to rub it on her chest. Sure, the guy is looking at her, watching her, openly staring at her hands working the lotion into her skin. The oily shine spreads across her glorious sun-kissed skin.
But that seems to be all the show I’m going to get: Jackie rubbing sunscreen into her skin while another man watches lecherously.
Except…
When Jackie picks up her bottle to get some more sunscreen, the guy reaches over and plucks it from her fingers.
My heart skips a beat.
He squeezes some sunscreen onto his fingertips, and then sets the bottle behind him, out of reach of Jackie. Jackie has stopped moving and is staring at him, her mouth open a little. It’s clear as day that he intends to use those fingertips to put some sunscreen on my wife, but what I can’t tell from where I sit is how Jackie is reacting to it. I wonder if she was just teasing me all along and had no intention of things going this far.
In which case, the chivalrous thing to do would be to go over there and help her out.
Still, Jackie is a pretty big girl. She could get herself out of an awkward situation.
And there’s always the possibility, isn’t there, that this is going exactly the way Jackie wants it to?
My heart skips a beat again.
The guy reaches forward and pulls on the strap of Jackie’s swim top. He slides his other hand across her skin, starting at her collarbone. He travels to the skin beneath the strap, and starts to move his fingers in slow, sensual circles on Jackie’s chest.
He moves down, following the edges of the swimsuit – one hand lifting the fabric, the other following with drops of creamy sunscreen. He pauses occasionally to rub the lotion in and lean forward a little to get a nice eyeful of what is behind my wife's bikini top.
Jackie, for her part, does nothing except stare at the guy with a slack jaw as rubs his hand all over her chest.
But then I see that he’s talking as he does it. What’s he saying? I wonder. Words of seduction, or just casual conversation?
Jackie shifts, and then the guy climbs behind her, his legs on either side of her. He’s a little bit back from her, and that’s when I realize that he’s going to do her back.
I don’t have a very good view of him rubbing sunscreen into her back, but it’s made up for when he pulls gently on Jackie’s shoulder and she leans back against him. He slides his hand around her waist and onto her stomach, where he didn’t get her before.
Jackie is facing me, and so I know that she can see me, if she is looking. She hasn’t changed the expression of her face much, and her sunglasses are on, so I don’t know if she is looking at me or her man’s fingers as he travels all over her torso and then begins to give the same rubbing treatment to the hemline of her bikini – just this time, the bottom.
And from where I am sitting, it seems that he gets his fingers a lot further under the bikini bottom at the edges, than he did with the top.
This seems to go on for a really long time, and then Jackie leans forward. I am sure I see her lips form the words “thank you.”
The guy leans back and trails his fingers down her spine before he swings his legs around and sits next to her again.
For the next half hour, I watch my wife flirt with this guy. His skin is pressed up next to hers, and they are kicking their feet in the water. A few other guys stop and talk to Jackie as well, and even though it’s a fair distance away, I can see that they’re taking their eyes all over her body.
I start to feel like an idiot for even suggesting such a stupid idea as a semi-challenge to my wife. Why the hell would anyone let a woman that attractive go flirt with guys in a hot tub at a swingers’ resort?
I stare when the guy sitting with Jackie leans toward her – she leans toward him, too – and places his hand on her thigh. He is talking into her ear, but more importantly, his hand is on her knee, moving in little circles.
I cannot imagine what lewd thing he’s suggesting to her. Or how she is enjoying it. Maybe he is telling her how he will lick her pussy until she screams, while he proves that it will be the best cunnilingus she’s ever had, because he’s able to send shivers along the backs of her thighs like he had his tongue on her clit just by talking about it. Or is it his fingers, sliding over her smooth skin, that are proving his point? If he can get her this worked up with just the tips of his fingers on her knee, what else could he do?
My cock is aching. I want Jackie to come back, and I want her to stay there. The forces pulling me in these two opposing directions are driving me crazy.
Suddenly, I am turned to ice when Jackie reaches an arm out and points to me. The guy turns his head and looks at me as well. They’re saying something to each other, and I imagine the worst, whatever that is. The guy smiles. He raises his glass in my direction, and then goes back to hitting on my wife.
I am not sure how long this goes on, the two of them side-by-side in a hot tub (how ridiculous). This guy is leaning in close to Jackie, his lips moving all the time. They don’t look like they’re talking about the weather. Jackie’s legs are kicking in irregular patterns – sometimes they stop in the water after he tells her something, and he smiles at her reaction.
And my cock just gets harder, my stomach turns over and over. And I sit there, watching. Waiting for something to happen, hoping it will, hoping it won’t. I
zone out of all context: our life, our marriage, this planet – all I can think about is how close Jackie is to being touched by another man. Taken by someone else. I picture him grabbing her hair and pulling her mouth to his, tasting the contours of her lips and their wet sweetness, polluting them with his own saliva.
I can’t tell if I am willing this to happen or praying that it won’t.
It seems to go on forever, this limbo, but Jackie finally touches his shoulder and smiles. Then she stands up and starts to walk around the bar and back toward where I am sitting, a towel modestly thrown over my shorts (however silly that may be).
As my wife slinks toward me she is wearing that expression again, the indescribable and unfamiliar one that I cannot put my finger on in any way. It’s hot, but it isn’t anything like Jackie.
She stands at the edge of my lounge chair, smiling. Her eyes drift down to my crotch, where the towel is not doing much to hide my erection. The strange expression covers her face again, and she grins.
“Not working out with your guy?” I squawk.
Jackie grins again. “I’m going in the pool,” she says. “His name’s Drew.” She sits down next to me and pulls a room key and some cash from her swimsuit. It’s a sexy, sneaky gesture, and one I’m surprised by because I didn’t see her slide them in there to begin with.
“That’s very… James Bond,” I say lamely.
She smiles again. “Make sure you keep an eye on these for me,” she says. “I might be gone for a while.”
I am turned to cold stone by what she says. Or is it raging lava? Is it both?
Whatever it is, my cock pulses and I am frozen solid where I am, my jaw hanging open, trying to make sense of what my wife has just said to me.
My body remains paralyzed, running cold and hot, as she slinks back to the pool, where I see that Drew has brought over a flotation device for her, which my wife climbs onto with a surprising amount of grace. It’s not without getting in the water, though, so her skin gets wet and shiny.
As she settles into the floaty, “Drew” lifts a hand in my direction. Like he’s waving at me.
They start to float around the pool, Drew leaning on the flotation cushion near my wife’s knees, looking right up at the edges of her swimsuit bottoms and by all accounts, enjoying the view.
My heart seems to sputter into motion, and adrenaline starts to fill my veins. I come back to life. I exhale and the numbness leaves my extremities.
I sit up.
I grab for my crutches and strain my right leg rising on only one foot without propping myself up (because I won’t look like an old, decrepit man, dammit). My eyes are on my wife and Drew, slowly rotating toward the “river” that surrounds the hotel.
Each of the hotel rooms on the ground floor open up to a small private pool, and each of these leads into a pool encircling the hotel. They’re all varying degrees of private: there is a large wall, belonging to the gymnasium building, running along the opposite edge of our pool, for example, so only those passing by in the channel running around the hotel would see into the private pool area, which is enclosed on one side by a wall from the building, where the next room over has their porch, and a wooden dividing wall covered in flowers on the other.
It’s down this channel that Jackie disappears with her new friend Drew. He is pushing her on her raft, and she is paddling along languidly in the water. Her body glistens with sprinkles of water, and she looks like a goddess.
And she hasn’t looked back, not even for a second.
I have a problem. It’s more of a problem than just the fact that my wife is paddling down the river with a man who seems to want to eat her up.
My problem is my foot.
But Jackie is disappearing around a corner, and I am either going to stand here and watch my wife disappear with another man for the afternoon, or I am going to do something about it.
I look down at my foot.
The instructions, are, specifically, not to get it wet.
Jackie's raft has turned and all I can see of her are her long legs, which she is unfolding sinuously for her man to see.
As the cushion makes a last, slow turn and Jackie faces me at last, she lifts her sunglasses and makes an odd gesture. I can’t see it too well, I can only see that it is for me. And then she lifts her fingers and waves, and the two of them disappear around the corner.
I stand there, burning. I have a thought that I might jump into the pool, but only for a moment. And then, do what? Drag my leg and my melting cast through the water until I find the two of them doing whatever they’re doing, and then have to stand there in the water because I can get out?
I waste a lot of time, my heart racing, thinking about what to do.
And it’s only then that Jackie’s gesture starts to make sense to me. She was pointing at something.
In the direction she was going? Or…
Back towards the lounge chair.
I hobble back to the chair, where I’ve left her stuff, anyway. My mind is split into two now: the part of me that can’t stop thinking about my wife floating away with another man, and the shock of it, and the part of me that is looking for our stuff like a dutiful husband.
I pick up the room key and money.
I’m glad I do, because on one of the bills (American), Jackie’s handwriting glares at me in dark black marker:
Room 135.
I go cold again. I flip the bill over, unable to believe what I’m seeing. And then I gather up our stuff and head, hobbling as fast as I can, for Room 135.
Our room, conveniently, is on the way, so I stop to drop off our stuff. I insert the card Jackie left, half-hoping it doesn’t work and that it’s the key to Room 135, and half-terrified that this is the case.
It’s our room key, though, and it opens the door.
I throw our stuff inside, all but one of my crutches, and I head back down the hall as fast as my disabled leg will get me there.
I’m standing in front of it for a while.
Do I knock? What’s the protocol here? What’s Jackie doing in there?
Or is this even Jackie’s handwriting? Maybe this is all just an illusion in my mind, and the two of them have floated around the hotel and back to the main pool, and nothing like what I am thinking is happening.
I put my ear to the door.
I can’t hear anything through the door, nor can anyone else, because that's the kind of place this is.
I consider knocking. I consider, too, how that would proceed in the best of all circumstances, and decide that I’m (insanely enough) too shy to just speak to the guy who’s going to fuck my wife.
I look to my left, where the hallway ends at a balcony that hangs over the pool.
I look down at my crutch and my foot.
I think about the fact that I am a forty-five year old man with more sense than this.
And then I hobble to the end of the hall, lean over the side, survey the situation, have one more thought about how crazy I am.
And then I step over the black iron balcony and onto the edge, leaving my crutch behind. And I, Sy Price, start to hop along the edge of the pool, clinging to the balcony and then to anything I can grab. Right around a wall and into someone’s private patio.
Thankfully, no one is in the two rooms whose private pools I hop around.
It’s exhausting.
I’m ridiculous, I realize, but I’m driven by the last sighting of Jackie, floating away with another man, and so I go on. I lean against the next wall, eyeing the very small lip of slippery white brick that I will have to hop around (I’m putting the tiniest bit of pressure on my broken foot and honestly, it’s okay – but it isn’t enough to make the going easy.)
At last, I hear Jackie’s voice. It’s light and flirty, the kind of sounds you hear from a porn star in the five minutes before the whole thing gets raunchy. But unmistakably hers. It’s one patio over, right where room 135 would be.
Sighing, I move to the wall and peek through the wooden f
ence and the tangle of flowers.
I am so stunned by what I see that I have to jerk my head back, take a breather, and refocus. I almost fall backward into the pool.
I peer through the slats again.
Jackie is sitting on a lounge chair. She is pulling her swimsuit top up and over her head.
Drew, who is on his knees behind her on the lounge chair, is ready with some sunscreen.
Again.
He rubs the sunscreen between his palms, warming it. Jackie waits, her hair suspended by one hand, and I can tell that a breathless anticipation has overtaken her. She is already thinking about Drew’s hand, and how they will feel on her shoulder blades, then wherever they go from there.
Drew places his large hands on her shoulders, and trails them down her back, where he massages her gently for a moment. Then he slides his hands around to the front of Jackie’s body, as simply as if he has done it thousands of times before and Jackie’s breasts are his to touch.
He cups her breasts and kneads them in his hands. Jackie makes a pleased sound and leans back against his bare chest. Her eyes are closed and she seems to be blissfully enjoying this man fondling her as he “applies” sunscreen (which, as I haven’t forgotten but evidently they have, he has already applied).
He rises from the back of the lounge chair after leaning in to whisper something in Jackie’s ear. “Mmm,” she says. “I don’t know.”
They turn around and look out at the water.
Jackie giggles. It’s not a delighted or a funny-joke giggle, but a naughty one. The sound of it falls all over me like shards of glass, stinging and cutting through me.
Drew pushes Jackie down onto the lounge chair. Jackie draws a hand up to her neck and looks down at him, as he slides her suit bottoms from her body. “I don’t know,” she says again, but she reaches forward to get her fingers into his hair. “I have to...”
Her voice trails off as Drew slithers up between her legs, pushing them apart and holding them open. His head moves in to her wet center.
Clothing Optional: An Interracial Hotwife Erotica Novel Page 6