The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing)

by Jasmine Haynes

  He switched to the other nipple, pinching it. “You’re so sweet and hot,” he whispered. “Every part of you.” He reared up to take her lips with her own taste on his tongue. The kiss was long, drugging. Her arms were around his neck without her being aware of the movement.

  When he pulled away, she held his face. “Let me taste your cock. Please.”

  “Yeah, baby,” he said softly. “I want to bury my cock between your lips.”

  He pulled back slowly, rising above her, setting his knees on either side of her torso. So big, so beautiful, as thick and strong and hard as the rest of him. A single drop of pre-come beaded on the tip. She raised her head to lick it off, rolled the flavors around her mouth.

  He pulled her shirt off, then angled her slightly across the bed. She remembered the camera then, and Keith inside the closet. God, she’d forgotten. There’d been just her and Spence.

  She was supposed to be performing for her husband. And perform she would.

  Slowly she took Spence in her hand, wrapped her fingers around him, raised her head. She circled the crown with her lips, sucked, licked, swirled her tongue. Spence’s growl vibrated through his body and into hers.

  He went down on one hand, bracing himself over her. She sucked him all the way, deep-throated, drawing another long, low growl from him. One hand on his cock, the other on his tensed butt, she directed him with a gentle push until he began to pump.

  He stretched his neck, tipped his head back, riding her mouth. “Ahh, God, fuck. That is so fucking good. Baby, baby.”

  She sucked on every outstroke, licked on the way back in, held him tight in her fist, then reached up to squeeze his balls the way he liked.

  His legs trembled, and his arm shuddered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

  She wanted him to come. She knew he could do it again in a very short time. But he pulled free, leaned down, his lips on hers, close enough for him to mingle his juice with hers. “I want to save it all for when I’m inside you.” He straightened. “How do you want me to fuck you, my dirty little slut?” And they were on camera again.

  She knew how Keith wanted it. It wasn’t the best for her, but she rolled over and came up on her hands and knees. Eyes on Spence, she looked over her shoulder, perfectly angled to the closet. “This way. Like you’d take a whore.”

  He stroked her flank and leaned over her, snugging her body close, his hand wandering between her legs. Lips to her ear, he murmured, “You’re worth the price, baby. This is for you.”

  He shifted into traditional doggy style, and his cock caressed her, all smooth, hard flesh, hot to the touch.

  “You’re so damn wet. You feel so good on my cock. I don’t think we need the lube, baby. That’s how bad you want me.”

  “Yes, please, fuck me.” She pushed back, trying to center him, take him.

  “Oh no, baby, we have to do this slow.” A hand on her hip, he held her still. “I want your sweet juice all over my cock.” He dipped down, grazing her clit.

  She sucked in a breath.

  He kept talking for Keith. “Will you look at that, my cock right there, do you feel it, baby, all that hard flesh?” He centered himself at her entrance. “Now you’re going to take me.” He nudged, his crown breaching her. “Christ, you’re tight.” He let out a long sigh. “That feels so good. You’re so hot and wet. Look at my cock filling you.”

  He short-stroked right there, only an inch in. She curled her fingers into the sheet. Oh God. It really was so fucking good, to use his words, despite the fact that this wasn’t her favorite position. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a man inside her, nothing between them, just his cock in her flesh.

  “Does that feel good, baby?”

  She reared back. “Fuck, yes.”

  “Dirty girl.”

  He went deeper, hitting her G-spot, and everything intensified. His slow pump drove her mad. She moved against him, adding to the friction, her body contracting around him.

  He groaned. “Christ, yeah, do that again.”

  It wasn’t conscious, her body just seemed to flex on its own. His pace quickened, his thighs hitting hers. She pushed back, taking him deeper, all the way, straight to her core.

  “Yes, that’s good, good, good,” she chanted, her breath puffing. Maybe it was his size. Maybe it was the way his whole body seemed to caress hers. Something was different, something she’d never experienced with any of the men who came before. Not even with…

  She let herself go, stopped comparing, stopped thinking. He pounded into her, taking her hard and heavy, his body slapping hers.

  “Touch yourself,” he demanded.

  She’d do whatever he wanted, reaching between her legs, stroking herself. She could feel him against the tips of her fingers. God, she was wet.

  “More, more, more.” She needed something, she needed… “Not this way.” She gasped for air. “Not like this.”

  “How do you want it, baby?”

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg. Her need simply communicated itself. He withdrew, flipped her to her back, and plunged deep, filling her all the way to her throat. She wrapped her arms around him, held him tight, squeezed her eyes shut. All he had to do was tap her thigh and she knew what he wanted. Bringing her legs up, she locked her feet across his back.

  “Yeah, baby, that’s it, baby. Look at me.”

  She laid her head back, opened her eyes, met his. His breath was warm on her cheek.

  “You feel so good, baby. So tight around me. Never like this, you know what I mean?” He arched, pushed deep, then curled around her again. “God, yes. Reach down and squeeze me, baby. Take me.”

  She loved the way he talked and talked, his words filling her as much as his cock did: how good she was, how sweet she tasted, how tight she felt, her skin like silk, her lips like fruit. He carried her away, taking her with him, higher, closer to the peak, riding her. She never wanted it to end. But she couldn’t stop the inevitable. Reaching down, she took him in her hand, squeezed his balls, pressed her fingers into the base of his cock until his thrusts became a frantic pistoning of his body into hers.

  The litany of words stopped, and there was nothing but sensation, nothing but him. She fell over the edge at the first throb of his cock inside her, the heat of his come filling her. She held him tight as they tumbled into orgasm and rode it down to the very bottom of ecstasy.

  When it was over, she didn’t want to let go. Couldn’t let him move. His weight on her was sweet and heavy, his skin hot, his muscles smooth. Don’t go yet.

  She didn’t want to release him. She didn’t want Keith to drink his come out of her. She didn’t want Keith between them. She wanted only this, Spence inside her, surrounding her.

  * * * * *

  He couldn’t move. He wanted to remain inside her forever. There was something about his flesh filling her that changed everything. Something about her body taking him, accepting him. He couldn’t live without it. He would always need the feel of her flesh around him.

  Then he quivered. It wasn’t orgasmic aftershock. It was a chill. Like someone walking over his grave.

  He told himself that as long as he didn’t open his eyes, he could pretend this wouldn’t end.

  The closet door slide in its track, like Dorothy pulling aside the curtain to reveal the wizard of Oz. Keith, the wizard. Her husband, the puppet master.

  He wanted to shout, tell the man to get the hell out. While he was inside her, Zoe still belonged to him, not her husband. But once the man drank from her, licked her clean of Spence’s essence, she would belong to him again. She would be his wife again. Not Spence’s woman.

  He raised his head, took her lips, tasted the sweetness of her. And pulled out. Her arms clung for long seconds. Then she let him go, her eyes on his face as he hefted off her.

  What the hell was he supposed to do now? Leave?

  “Fuck, that’s hot, honey.” The camera was still on, focused on the place they’d been joined, her hus
band’s eyes on the screen rather than her. Couldn’t the man see the difference?

  Come dripped from her. His come. Spence wanted to be the one to taste her.

  But Keith had climbed on the bed, and Spence let himself be pushed out. He was the other man. He’d done his job. Now it was her husband’s turn.

  Keith handed Zoe the camera. “Here. Make sure you get this.” He crawled between her legs, held her butt in his hands, and put his face to her, licking, sucking, devouring.

  Holding the camera, Zoe looked up to Spence. She parted her lips as if she had to say something. He couldn’t watch, but he couldn’t leave. So he rolled down beside her, turned her face to his and kissed her, open mouths, tongues tangled. She moaned. He told himself it was for his kiss, not the man between her legs.

  He palmed her breast, stroked first one nipple, then the other. He tweaked and pinched, felt her body jerk, drank her moans. He didn’t care what was happening with the camera. He devoured her mouth, then her arms were around his neck, her body sinuous against his. Suddenly, he was the one devoured, dragged down into her. She began to quake against him, and he pinched her nipple hard, the way she loved. Heat suffused her skin, radiating through him, and when he tried to pull away, to watch the climax steal across her face, she held him tight.

  “Don’t stop kissing me, please don’t stop.”

  He told himself it was his mouth that made her come, his touch on her breasts, his body on hers. She came for him.

  * * * * *

  “Do me again,” she said. “You’re hard. I can feel it. Fuck me again. Please.”

  “Sweetheart?” Keith was down between her legs, eyes wide. Astonishment maybe. She couldn’t be sure.

  She’d almost forgotten he was down there. The cataclysmic orgasm had seemed to be all Spence, his mouth on her, tongue in her, hands on her.

  “He’s ready,” she said, her voice feeling harsh in her throat. “He’s hard. I want him again. Now.” She moved her legs, not kicking Keith out of the way, but pushing him nonetheless.

  “Fuck,” Keith said. “So soon?”

  Spence didn’t say a word. Zoe answered for him. “He can do it three or four times. Let him do it.” She didn’t say please. She wasn’t going to beg Keith. But she added “You can video it” to appease him. He picked up the camera from the bed where she’d dropped it.

  This time she rolled Spence to his back and climbed on top. “My turn,” she said softly as she gathered him in her hand and slid down until he filled her. She closed her eyes, leaned back, hands braced on the bed, and rode him. Oh God, this was what she needed, Spence inside her.

  “Christ, that’s beautiful.” His voice was like a caress.

  She opened her eyes, not wanting to miss the sight. He held her hips, pushed her into a rhythm. Looking down, he was magnificent inside her, thick and hard. She rose until there was just the tip still inside her, then slammed down on him.

  “Yeah, baby, just like that.” He put a finger to her clitoris, circled.

  At the head of the bed, Keith watched his camera screen, his lips parted almost rabidly. “Fuck him, sweetheart, yeah, fuck him good.”

  She tuned him out, watching Spence’s face. Faster, harder, she rode him. His face tensed. He bared his teeth. There was nothing but harsh breathing and the slap of their flesh. Heat building, spiraling down, shooting out. She rode through her climax, used it to squeeze him, drive him wild. Until his fingers dug into her hip and she felt him spasm inside her.

  She pulled up, worked him in her hand, held his gaze, and let his spray cover her belly, her mound, her pussy. His cock still in her fist, still pulsing, she ran her palm over her stomach, the heat of his come against her skin. Raising her hand, she licked it, a long swipe of her tongue, swallowed, licked her lips. Then she leaned down, put her hand to his mouth. “Lick it,” she demanded. And he did, eyes on her, holding her, speaking to her.

  Hunched over him, she did it again, rubbed the come from her belly, tasted it, shared it with him. Then she took him with her mouth, sharing it that way, too. Sharing everything.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It had been so fucking hot, Keith could almost have taken her himself. But he’d been afraid that in the last moment, he’d lose the erection. He couldn’t let the other man see that.

  His heart was still beating hard. How aggressive she’d been, riding him like a fucking truck driver, then making him lick his own come off her hands. It was a visceral punch to Keith’s organs. He’d wanted to jack off on them.

  He hadn’t intended to come out of the closet until the man was gone. But he’d been driven to taste her right then. He couldn’t wait. It had been so goddamn good. So nasty, dirty, and debasing. Both for her and for him. Tasting another man’s come inside her, a beast of a man who’d fucked her like a whore, ridden her hard.

  The man had finally left, pulling on his jeans, his shirt, his shoes, watching her on the bed while he dressed. She was sleeping now. In the bed the other man had fucked her in. Their bed, thoroughly debauched.

  He didn’t know why he couldn’t use the man’s name. Maybe because a name elevated him. But without a name, he was just the other man, the cocky asshole, a role he had played so well.

  Just as Keith had played his role of cuckold, letting another man fuck his wife right in front of him, cleaning the come out of her as if that was all he deserved. He could feel the rise in him. He needed it now, the movie, reliving it.

  With only the glow of his monitor illuminating his office, he slid the disk in.

  The man threw her on the bed. Yeah, cock of the walk. Keith undid his slacks and took his cock in hand. It wasn’t the rigid staff of his youth, or even what it had been five years ago, but it was hard enough to stroke, hard enough to feel the sexual kick. Everything grew as he watched.

  What an asshole, that cocky grin after he’d made her come the first time. It wasn’t as if Keith hadn’t made her scream for his tongue in all their years together, but he’d definitely been one-upped. He pumped faster, harder, as the man shoved his cock down Zoe’s throat, fucking her mouth like it was her pussy.

  It was so fucking good. Forced onto her hands and knees, her lover drilled her. She’d taken every inch of that length of meat, pounding back against him. Keith’s wife, the fucking whore. He loved it. He loved her. The lady and the whore. What man could ask for more?

  Then the guy flipped her to her back and thrust deep.

  Keith leaned back in his chair, his hand flying. He could barely ejaculate, and when he did, it took a while. It took something extra to really get him off. Watching her getting fucked so good was the something extra his body required.

  He loved watching sex, loved watching her. He’d waited so long for her to finally take a man to her bed in front of him. For him.

  On the computer screen, she moaned and panted. Keith stroked harder, feeling things working, moving within him, building. He brought to mind the taste of come in his mouth mixed with her sweet familiar flavor. Extraordinary and nasty, and the nastiness made it hotter. He loved his sex dirty, and until they’d started the hotwifing, he’d never achieved that with her. She’d given him so much when she’d given herself to other men.

  She locked her ankles at his back and forced the man to a hard, tight fuck. Keith could no longer make out what they said, whispers, sweet nothings. Except that the asshole wasn’t the sweet-nothing kind of guy. She reacted, groaning, gasping. And Keith reacted to her sounds. God, yes, it was more than he’d felt in a long time.

  She reached down, squeezed his balls, and it was like an explosion between them. They quaked and quivered together. Simultaneous orgasm was a myth, but Keith thought he saw them achieve it. In the midst of their ecstasy, he felt it rise in him. Overpower him. Dragging him down, down, down, and he came hard, not shooting like he had in his youth but a slow pump dripping down over his fist. Fuck, hell, damn, yes, he’d done it. He’d achieved orgasm, hot and heavy and draining.

  He opened his eyes, still
stroking his cock slowly. They filled the monitor now, the man raising his head from the crook of her neck, taking her with a kiss. A long, sweet kiss before he pulled out of her, Zoe still wrapped tight around him, holding him as if she couldn’t let go. A look passing between them.

  Keith had been so busy filming, he hadn’t seen the look, hadn’t focused on anything but the sex.

  “Fuck, that’s hot, honey.” His own voice, excitement threaded through it, then the camera zoomed in on the big cock and Zoe’s moist pussy, come slowly dripping from it. That’s all he remembered, her pussy, the cock, the come, his need to taste it, to be a part of it. The camera bounced around, ended up in Zoe’s hands, and he was there between her legs.

  The sight didn’t excite him the way he’d thought it would. Was his hair thinning? He could hear her moans, and the camera moved, jostled, falling until the lens was obscured by a rumple in the sheets.

  But there was still her voice—“Don’t stop kissing me, please don’t stop”—and the sounds of her climax. Then she was telling him the guy was hard again and she needed to fuck him. “He can do it three or four times. Let him do it.”

  The camera righted again, focused on the tableau, Zoe the magnificent rider.

  Keith heard awe in the other man’s voice as he muttered, “Christ, that’s beautiful.” It had been in the moment, and Keith thought nothing of it then.

  He watched her now, though, and a chill stole into his chest. He listened to them, watched, heard his own words urging them on. “Fuck him, sweetheart, yeah, fuck him good.”

  Her face froze his heart.

  Had she ever looked at him like that, her features radiant?

  When it was done, when the man’s come was all over her belly, her pussy, she scooped it up with her fingers, licked it, and put her hand to the other man’s mouth, forcing him to lick it, too. Then she kissed him with it.