“Might be nice to have company, don’t you think?” she found herself giggling, and tried to hide the fact that she needed to briefly clutch the wall with her fingertips to keep from toppling over.
“Company is a nice thing to have,” he smiled, his eyes now roaming her body again, sensing that he was permitted, Alice feeling herself warming up as his gaze dwelled on that little dress of hers.
He stepped up beside her, and she apologized, said: “I don’t normally do this, you know.”
“Of course,” he said, polite, friendly. “But tonight is a special night.”
“Something like that,” she giggled again. She never giggled, particularly for the benefit of men. Jesus. She felt curiously light-headed.
She was playing with her hair now, as they wandered the long halls. God, this hotel was a labyrinth. What was she doing? She was a married woman. Or was she?
Well, to Hell with Mark and his stripper underwear.
“Do you think I’m awful?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he said, laughing himself now.
She paused in the hallway, as though momentarily lost, but as he was about to quietly ask her room number, she surprised both of them by stepping in front of him, so that she had to walk backwards a few steps to keep him from knocking into her — and then she was pulling him into her, kissing his mouth. Tasting the bourbon on his breath, which made him seem so very exotic somehow, not at all like beer-drinker Mark.
They were laughing like teenagers fooling around under the bleachers.
He was kissing her now, and they were whirling around and around in the corridor as though they were waltzing to some unheard music.
Jesus, what was she doing?
She didn’t even know his name. He was stepping up behind her, snatching little kisses on her shoulder, the side of her neck. Oh, was this the biggest mistake ever? He was so hot. And he wanted her!
She skipped a couple of steps forward again, then paused, forcing him to knock into her this time, so she could fling her arms around his neck, suck on his lips, feel that dangerous tongue of his slip inside her mouth — the wet feeling of his mouth on hers, so real somehow, and so wicked.
Jesus, they were at her room now. This was huge.
“I’m not normally like this,” she said, unable to keep from beaming so broadly it hurt her cheeks a little.
“No, me neither,” he smiled that wonderful sugar smile again, and his friendly countenance suggested he accepted her word that this was a chance in a million thing, that this was totally out of character for her.
She already had her room key in her hand — it had appeared as if from nowhere, her hands retrieving it from her tony purse on autopilot, willing her to get inside that room without hassle, to get her companion in that room.
Door opened, and even before they were inside, he was pushing up against her, pressing her to the door itself, molding his mouth to hers.
Then the door was closed, and she was a married woman in a hotel room with a stranger, and his hands were all over her body as she kissed him, both of them panting as they locked lips.
Oh God, she was on fire, her whole body ablaze, the focus of the inferno lying clearly between her thighs.
She pushed him over to the wall, pressing herself on him now, raising a knee to rub it up his thigh, inviting his hand to check out her curves, sweep around to her rear as she continued to kiss him.
Then she was stepping away, letting herself be led by her body, ignoring the clamor in her mind that said this was all wrong, that she hadn’t even tried to talk things through with her husband, that revenge sex could solve nothing.
Well, if he could have his little indiscretion, she could have hers. Why should she be the only one that had to forgive and forget?
She was falling back onto the bed, letting him crawl over her.
“What’s your name?” he asked her now, and she wanted to tell him, but what came out of her mouth was:
“Natalie. And you?”
“Ethan.”
He was a forceful kisser, compared to Mark, at least, and that was her baseline for any comparison. Forceful was good — she needed a little energy, a little short sharp shock to her system. Perhaps she needed a little punishment, too, for what she was doing to hubby. Judging him and sentencing him without even hearing his side of the story first.
Oh, but she needed this, now.
Ethan kissing his way up her stomach now, breathing her in, putting his strong hands all over her breasts. God, she’d always had a thing for strong hands. Ethan’s were all over her — holding her, fondling her, caressing her, squeezing her.
He wanted her, he appreciated her.
Ripping her dress now, he was so desperate to free up her breasts.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh I don’t care. Rip it.”
His fingers on her bare breasts, his hot mouth on her impossibly stiff nipples, flicking his tongue over her sensitive buds, sending little electric shocks directly from her chest straight down to her pussy.
She let out a long moan. It had been so long since anybody had touched her like this. She couldn’t take too much of it though, not in one dose.
Alice pushed him back, sitting up, tasting his mouth again, sucking on his tongue, breathing in that hint of underlying bitterness that suggested he was a light smoker — again, so different from Mark, from clean clinical Mark.
Pulling off Ethan’s shirt now. Figuring: hey, we’re in a hotel room alone. If anyone found out about this, they’d assume the worst, they’d never believe she had stopped this whole thing before it went the whole way, even if she did. So she might as well keep going anyway.
His bare chest smooth, waxed or shaven, shapely and not overly sculpted, the gentle tan and his neck chain making her think he was a surfer, perhaps, though he’d been too distracted by life recently to ride many waves.
Then he was falling on her, his hand falling on her panties, her mound, showing her that her dress seemed to have ridden up past her hips all on its own.
She gasped as she felt that strong hand on her soaking pussy, pleased this all happened on the day she decided to wear the smallest panties she owned. His fingers slipping under the skimpy piece of black satin to find her slippery folds as he moved up to kiss her mouth, touching her just where she wanted, spreading her wetness all over her mound.
Pinching her clit and its protective hood between his fingers even as he continued to stroke her, pushing the tips of his fingers inside her.
He was owning her pussy with that hand. His enthusiasm made her forget that hint of insecurity over the fact that she hadn’t shaved down there, though it was trim and tidy enough to cope in a bikini.
God, she was going to come soon if he wasn’t careful.
Then as though he was aware of her approaching climax, he broke off from her. Pulling off his pants, his underwear.
Oh Jesus, he had a big cock. Was she even going to be able to get it in her mouth?
It was so beautiful, not just its size. Its simple lines were somehow elegant, in a way the male phallus was not really supposed to be — was it? His lack of hair was striking enough, perhaps helping emphasize his sheer immensity.
Panic set in as he moved between her thighs, pushing up her knees, pressing that enormous thing against her sensitive, burning sex with only a tiny little scrap of black satin to keep it out.
He wasn’t even going to wait for her to suck him, to get her head around the sheer physicality of what she was doing, the fact that a real live huge naked non-spousal cock was going to claim her, breaking her vows.
She felt as though she were walking a tightrope over a great canyon, with the overwhelming temptation to jump off and feel the rush of the air as she fell.
Ethan nudged aside her underwear with the tip of his bare penis, and she felt she’d look a fool to stop him now. She felt it touch her there — right there, there where no one had been but Mark for so long, where she had believed no one ever would
but her husband. The tip, the head, broader than she would have imagined, making her wonder if she could even take him inside her.
Big and hard and hot and male and not at all her husband.
In that moment, Alice could not breathe, could not move to stop him. She felt herself teetering over the edge, gasping, shaking, completely giddy.
She looked away, and the image of her husband and that stupid g-string she’d found in his pocket sprang back to mind. She felt the fire of rebellion inside her. Well, she did not have to pay for a stripper to show her a good time.
Alice looked into Ethan’s eyes, and smiled wickedly. Then she felt her world ignited, as he eased forward, that great thing stuttering a little as it slipped inside her half-inch by half-inch, stretching her, filling her, lighting her up.
A stranger’s big cock, so hard and so astoundingly hot. So very bare without a condom.
She kissed him as he moved inside her, his violation so brutally physical, and yet it made her so wet that he simply glided within her, then out, his fullness brushing over every erogenous point within her, including parts she’d never known could give her a sexual thrill.
Oh God, was she an adulteress now? Or did it require him to fill her with his come? She felt despicable, felt she’d crossed that line.
She pulled herself away from him now, thinking this was such a momentous thing for her, it couldn’t just be a two-minute whirl in the sack. He was grinning as she slipped off her panties, then pushed him away, off the bed, clambering on all fours toward him and the edge of the bed.
She reached for him, for his cock, that big obscene thing that had intruded so magnificently on her and her marriage. The Whoremaker, she decided it could be called. She reached for it, and pulled him to her with it, her hand curling around it, then her lips stretching around it.
It tasted of her, of her betrayal. Sweet, salty, tangy. The flavor of bad girl. Of cheating wife.
His smell was all about him, blended with her own. It seemed so wrong, so powerfully against her every instinct — and yet so exotic, so different from anything she knew, from anything she might have expected.
Licking him, feeling this strange thing in her hands, the big helmet with its rounded tip, the strong shaft with its central vein pulsating from his arousal. Thinking how it would hurt Mark to know this was what she was putting in her mouth, in her body. The guilt deadened by the sense of justice, and now only fueling her lust, her desire.
She felt his hand gently on her head, and moaned her approval, her voice stifled with her mouth so full.
He was fucking her face. She had to strain to keep him from making her gag, but it was so worth it. She was letting this gorgeous, athletic god of a stranger ram his cock into her mouth, and she felt exhilarated as he used her.
He didn’t hold her, however. He didn’t prevent her from pulling back, from flicking him a gaze that told him clearly to lie back down on the bed so she could have him as she wanted.
He was strong, he was powerful, but he did as she told him, so she could lean over him, suck him into her mouth again, maybe, or maybe put him between her tits, having him fuck her cleavage in such a bad way, rubbing that enormous tool between her breasts, the breasts that Mark so enjoyed, but had never treated like this.
Feeling so wrong, that big hot phallus slipping between her soft tits, that were normally reserved for hubby’s mouth and hands.
She licked his cock, and then rode it, figuring she had already broken her vows, might as well go the whole hog. Rolling over him when she got tired, as though they were wrestlers, allowing him to take the lead, to pump his hips and fuck her hard, his thrusts jolting her whole body, wracking her with a force that might even have hurt, had she not been so doped up on adrenaline and pure undiluted wicked sex.
The first time, he came inside her. Completing that sense of downright depravity, raising a finger to her lying, cheating husband.
She’d even been thinking of telling him to pull out, but then she felt her own orgasm coming, and she couldn’t face not going through with this, Mark be damned. Feeling him stiffen up even more inside her for that final push, and then with a quiet groan, that enormous thing was jerking, shuddering, and pumping his thick oil inside her, the heat of his come making her pull him hard into her, wanting him deeper, deeper, deeper.
Finding that she’d been yelling for him to finish in her, make her his.
The second time, after she’d sucked him back into full life again, she had him spray all over her chest, so she could rub his slippery cream all over her smooth skin, that white fluid dripping down her cleavage, dribbling down her stomach, sticky as it spurted over her mound. Covering herself in it, her territory claimed inside and out.
*
In the early hours of the morning, she woke feeling confused, her bearings a little lost, her body raw and stretched and sore and on fire.
The guilt suddenly swamping her system as she remembered what had happened, her memory coming back to her seemingly in reverse order, starting with the moment that she’d shown him to the door, naked, dripping with his essence, giggling at how wicked they both were, Ethan sharing her cheer, looking a little as though he wasn’t quite believing what had happened.
Jesus, it was good. But she did not want her marriage to end.
What had she done?
Drink had been a factor, but she’d clearly gone too far in seeking restitution for the sleight she believed he’d made against her.
What was the point of sleep when this colossal fork had appeared in the road that was her life? She wasn’t going to drift back. Flipped the lights on instead, saw the business card lying casually on the writing table beside the TV.
Ethan Villier.
Remembered him telling her to call him maybe, maybe they could have dinner some time, if she felt like punishing her husband again.
Her husband.
Jesus, was he, though? Whatever he’d done, he’d looked apologetic, hadn’t he? When she’d confronted him with it? He hadn’t know what to say to her. She’d flown off the handle, run out on him.
He deserved something, but she did love him. Couldn’t do without him.
Dinner with Ethan Villier. But that was a tempting prospect, too. The wickedness, the depravity. Playing behind her husband’s back.
Dinner.
Lying there in the bed, unable to sleep with half a hangover beginning to emerge, she remembered a dinner party a few weeks back — where the post-meal conversation had somehow found its way to the question about what you would do if you found incontrovertible evidence that your partner had cheated on you.
The laughing, the teasing, the host deciding that everybody at the table should answer.
Alice sitting at the opposite end of the table to her husband, speaking clearly and loudly enough for him to hear as her turn came around. If she ever discovered even a hint that he’d been with another woman, she’d walk straight out and fuck the first man she ran into. Fair’s fair, right?
Seeing Mark blush at that suggestion, she couldn’t understand it, he looked faintly pleased with her answer. She remembered thinking at the time — well, Mark would never even think about someone else, he wasn’t that kind of guy.
It had come time for him to tell everyone what he would do if he discovered evidence that Alice had cheated on him. He’d said something quiet about it being all right. Not a big deal.
Trying to hide his real feelings about it.
That conversation had fallen into the melee of topics that were quickly forgotten after the drinks that followed the food, and a party that was riotous and successful and went on into the small hours.
But they’d had particularly good sex that night, Mark had been harder than she’d remembered him being in ages.
Remembering that, as she now lay in that otherwise empty hotel room that still smelled of sex — made Alice suddenly gasp.
Three o’clock, her clock said. Why did she feel a sudden burst of hope? That he would forgive her,
yes, she now felt that was certain. He hadn’t been lying at that dinner party. What made her suddenly scrabble to find her purse, and open it up, and grab that silly little scrap of cloth: that was hope for something else. That he’d been playing her, playing her for that scenario they’d talked about at that dinner, in front of everyone.
She found the g-string that had sent her walking out on her husband, which she’d furiously stashed inside her purse, at the time to remove his trophy, his memento.
Held it up to her nose, finding that there was no way it could have been worn, by a dirty stripper or anyone else.
He’d bought it to spur her into action.
Playback
One moment his life, his marriage had been entirely conventional, destined to play out predictably with a slow tedious march toward the inevitable — and then the next moment, suddenly everything changed. Everything he knew was shaken up, transformed, never to be the same again.
And Liam Bryson was suddenly sitting there on the end of their bed, watching his pretty brunette of a wife preparing herself to seduce another man.
He couldn’t quite believe it.
“You can still stop me, honey,” she was saying, as she drew the razor along her smooth skin, over the tantalizing shape of her exposed mound.
Shaving her pussy for him, though she’d never done it for her husband in seven years of marriage.
“All you have to do is pick up that phone. Text or call, I don’t mind.”
One moment Liam had been just an ordinary husband with an ordinary wife, with a sex life that had fizzled as familiarity overcame easy lust, and awkward communications made fatigue and stress insurmountable barriers to sexual fulfillment.
The next moment, here he was sitting on the end of the mattress with the biggest erection of his life, watching Victoria make her pussy so smooth and bare — all for someone else’s benefit.
“But if I don’t hear from you, I have to assume you’re all right with this…”
Wives with Benefits: Volume One Page 2