Wives with Benefits: Volume One

by Max Sebastian

  What could he do but sit back and try to focus on the thrill of Victoria’s misbehavior?

  The way she gripped the bedclothes as he lodged between her open thighs, the way she bit her lip as he thrust inside her, the way she struggled to suck in oxygen as he filled her, stretched her, drove her wild with that enormous thing.

  He pushed himself up, holding her breasts as he knelt to fuck her, shaking the entire bed as he did so.

  God, did it ever end, this violation of such a beautiful married woman?

  It did end, it ended with Victoria shuddering in a forceful climax, which made the fear within Liam so certain that she’d never done such a thing with her husband, though he knew it was only the darkest paranoia that suggested that she’d been faking it all these years.

  Liam watched as Michael withdrew that enormous thing from his wife’s pulsating vagina, a cock that was so obscenely huge, so brutally hard, it made him wonder how a husband could possibly compete. The poor DVD, yesterday’s technology.

  He watched as Michael now slipped off the condom, Victoria merely smiling blissfully as this stranger removed the safety device, making her husband think for a shocking moment he was going straight back inside her bareback.

  But now he merely held it up, this cock that was so obscenely big and hard, bulging, throbbing, red from its compression inside Victoria’s tight pussy. Victoria grabbed it, pumped it, and Michael was spraying stream after stream of white come all over her beautiful curves, all over her smooth skin, all over her gloriously unfaithful body.

  *

  Michael held her, he kissed her, he lay with her, he drove her husband nearly insane with the affection with which he treated her.

  Well, it was easy to mistake lust for love, arousal with affection.

  Eventually, the man did make his excuses, did offer her the reminder that they had to get up in the morning, that they were both expected at the conference. Victoria didn’t seem to mind, and that reassured Liam hugely.

  She let him depart, then came to the camera, turning the phone around so that she could see her husband, see how hard he still was, watching his unfaithful wife glistening with another man’s come.

  “You didn’t stop me,” she said, seeming surprised, her tone almost protesting, allocating at least some of the blame for her infidelity with her distant husband.

  “Of course not,” he said. “Why would I stop you? You were beautiful. Why would I ever want to stop you?”

  “Were you horribly jealous?”

  “Horribly.”

  She looked confused, a little shaken even. Suddenly afraid she’d hurt him after all.

  “But in a good way,” he grinned. “I love you, Victoria, more than I could ever adequately express. What can I say? I love watching you having a good time.”

  Relief, plain to see on her face. “You know I love you, too, right? This could only ever be a little fun. But I’ll always be yours, and yours alone.”

  Liam felt wonderful. His technology might be slightly old hat compared to Michael’s or any other man she might enjoy in future, but this DVD was hers to own, and Victoria was his. Not rented, not borrowed, not merely seen and then lost to the ether. Owned.

  “Always,” he nodded. “Now tell me how it felt…”

  The Other Guy is Paying

  The door opens, and my nerves are at least a little calmed by finding that Wade is a well-presented, clean-cut man dressed in a nice shirt and tie. A lonely businessman, perhaps, with very short dark hair, a lean figure and a friendly face.

  I have my sexy seductive-but-polite greeting smile on, perfected in the mirror to help me hide the slight shakes, the butterflies that will always be there on first meeting a client.

  “Wade?”

  “Hey, you must be Rachel,” he says with a warm smile.

  I see his eyes flick over my body, checking out my conservative cream dress, which emphasizes my feminine curves and shows off my legs, but conforms to my client’s instructions to arrive in unassuming clothing — read: non-hooker gear — and change into something sexy in the room.

  “Nice to meet you,” we both trade the courteous welcome notes as he invites me in, stepping back to watch me sashay into the room, my every move designed to highlight my femininity, gestures stolen from actresses on the silver screen.

  I never used to be like this, never used to have the confidence. It’s something that can be learned, faked, and eventually comes more naturally.

  There’s still a touch of awkwardness when I first meet someone new, of course, but at least I have technology on my side. Women in the old days had it tough. I have a website to draw the interest, I don’t have to market myself the hard way. And I have my clients pay me online as they book an appointment, so there’s no uncouth counting of the cash at the start of a meeting.

  “Are you in town for the convention?” I ask him by way of breaking the ice.

  “There’s a convention in town?” he smiles, and offers me a seat on the couch opposite the bed while he pours some Champagne. “Must be, I suppose.”

  “You are from out of town, though?” I ask, brushing over his gentle critique of my opening by toying with my long brown hair, drawing his eye to my luscious wavy locks.

  “Oh no, born and raised,” he says, offering me a drink, perching on the edge of the couch next to me. Then he turns the spotlight on me, saying: “You really are as beautiful as your pictures. More beautiful, actually.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a coy smile and a girlish giggle. “I’m glad you think so.”

  My dress might be on the conservative side for an encounter like this, but it still affords him a view down my cleavage, which he takes without fuss. It warms me up a little to have him admiring me, making me feel sexy even before I’ve changed.

  “So, you’re local but you’re staying in a hotel?” My question is a delay tactic — I’m not quite sure whether he wants to go straight ahead and watch me change, or what. He’s offered me a seat, handed me a drink, so here I am.

  I might be better able to fake the confidence these days, but you can’t fake experience.

  “You know what?” he says, seeing my question as some kind of need for him to create a backstory — and I can tell from his eyes even before he’s uttered a word, that it will be creation, “I was out of town on business, but then I got home to find my apartment flooded. So, I’m here while things get put right.”

  I nod and smile, ostensibly buying his line, knowing he doesn’t want to reveal much about himself. That’s fine. “That sounds awful,” I say with a thick helping of sympathy. “Hopefully I can take your mind off all that.”

  “Hopefully.”

  “I know a few things we can do to distract you,” I touch his face, trying to break the ice between us, trying to prompt some kind of signal from him that he wants me to begin.

  “I bet you do,” he says, and now takes the opportunity to stroke my thigh, his touch provoking a ripple of excitement that travels through my entire body, ending with a tingle between my legs.

  It never gets old, this feeling. This exhilarating, nervous dizziness because I’m about to have sex with a man who is not my husband — and a man who has paid handsomely for the privilege.

  I see the sparkle in Wade’s eyes, his tender hands and the bulge in his pants and I think tonight is going to be great. He’s waiting for me, and I wonder if he’s not perhaps a little submissive. Wanting me to take the lead. Not a regular, then, not a long-timer.

  “So, I’m going to go freshen up, and then I’ll be ready to change for you,” I say, and see his eyes light up, which to me confirms my suspicions.

  “Excellent.”

  I give him a little twirl on standing up, offering him a hint of what’s to come, and then I’m gliding like a catwalk model to the bathroom, knowing that his eyes are glued to my rear, loving that I’m driving him crazy already.

  And that feeling reminds me I have a husband at home right now, waiting for me, and I’m driving
him crazy, too.

  The bathroom is nice enough. The whole room is not huge, though it’s no cheap hotel, the decor is vaguely elegant in that bland way that chain hotels must think comforting for their guests. The bathroom might be way too small for a movie star, but it’s large enough to feel spacious, with a good-sized mirror over the counter and sink.

  I slip off my dress, revealing a pair of pretty, rather than sexy pink and white checked panties and matching bra — the conservative underwear he requested for my entrance, though the panties are still thongs, smaller than anything a truly conservative girl would dream of wearing.

  I spritz a little perfume all over, then quickly reapply a little more make-up, turning my low-key look into something more appropriate for a dazzling goddess, complete with startling scarlet lipstick and thick eyeliner. I look okay, even if I do say so myself. My long brown hair with its hint of red offsetting my pale, but not anaemic complexion. My green eyes clear and bright after plenty of sleep, borne of the satisfaction of a healthy love life. My figure womanly yet trim thanks to my renewed relationship with our local gym.

  I retrieve my change of underwear from my bag, but before scooping it up to head back out to my client, I have one last little duty to perform.

  My smartphone is sitting in the bottom of my bag like some kind of bomb ready to explode. It’s got such power, such incredible potential to cause all kinds of strong feelings in the man I love, who waits so patiently for me. I pick it up, draw up the camera app, and snap a sexy shot of yours truly posing in the mirror in her little bra and panties.

  Offering him a glimpse of his wife before she goes to fuck another man.

  Once I’ve got the image I’m happy with, the one I’m sure will send his heart rate soaring, his cock pulsating, I add it to a text message.

  > Hey hon! How do I look? Just about to start — he looks like a nice guy. Pretty sure he has a nice, big cock.

  It’s only been a few times so far, but I know how to get him going.

  I know he’s back home hovering over his phone waiting for news. Sure enough, his reply text message comes through mere moments after I’ve sent my bombshell.

  >You look incredible, sweetheart. I feel so jealous — but so hard to think of him having you.

  I smile. His words set my insides on fire — to know how all this is turning him on is, strangely, even more arousing to me than the fact that I have a client out there in the room waiting for me with a big hard dick.

  I text back:

  >I want you to imagine how hard my nipples are when he’s putting his big strong hands all over me. How wet I am when he touches that big hard prick to my pussy. How much I’m screaming when he’s thrusting inside me...

  His reply is brief:

  > I will. Get out there! Can’t wait to hear the details xxx

  I can’t help beaming, ear-to-ear. I’m so in love with him, and yet here he is prodding me to get back out to my client, to start the process of sleeping with another man. I’ve done this before, I know how hard he gets when I return to him, it gives me some idea of how hard he must be while he’s waiting for me.

  It really sets my heart pounding to know how my darling is feeling to know I’m now about to go back out there and shatter our marriage vows once again. Blushing like a virgin, it’s the perfect moment for me to gather up my change-of-underwear and return to my client.

  He’s sitting expectantly in the armchair in the corner.

  “Ready?” I flash him a naughty grin.

  “Oh yes,” he says, and I see him flush a little himself. Bless. I like his inexperience, it lends me a little more confidence, makes me feel I’m in a stronger position than he is, because I’ve done this before.

  I slip off my bra, moving gracefully though not quite providing the full stripper-esque striptease. I sense that he’s not interested in me stripping out of my conservative clothes, but in watching the changing — the preparation of my body for him.

  My nipples are hard as I show off my full breasts for him, and I can see him appreciating the sight. It’s not cold in here.

  Down come my panties.

  I’m still nervous getting naked for someone other than my husband. It fuels my excitement, so it’s no bad thing, and each time it happens, I see how they approve of the view, it bolsters my self-confidence. It’s great to see their eyes widen, the way they lick their lips for me, reach for me. It’s a wonderful feeling, being desired. I’m learning to suppress my reservations.

  I dawdle a little getting ready to put on the luxurious lingerie I’ve brought for Wade. Let him run those startled eyes all over my body.

  On goes my suspender belt. Purple and black satin and lace, very stylish, very expensive, designed only for the boudoir.

  Then the matching bra.

  “You like my outfit?” I ask him before I’ve even completed it.

  “I love it,” he says, and I hear the quiver in his voice, see his gaze fixed on my pussy as I step into a tiny purple G-string and slide it up my smooth legs. “It makes you look so sexy.”

  “It makes me feel sexy,” I say, adding: “I bought it just for you, Wade.”

  Hearing his name from my full lips gives him a little thrill, I can see. I’m not lying to him — I bought this for him. My husband was there, and he paid. He loves how it stokes his jealousy to see me shopping for something to turn on another man.

  Knowing what I’ll be wearing for him, helps him imagine what is going on while he waits for me, I bet.

  I sit on the edge of the bed to roll my stockings up my legs, taking it slow, eking out every sensual moment to tease him, and perhaps even tease myself, letting me dwell on the thought that I’m about to cheat on my husband.

  It’s a powerful thought, stirs strong emotions in me.

  I’m on my feet again, a pair of killer black stilettos completing my sexy ensemble. Wade is beaming as I slowly waltz over to him, swinging my hips seductively.

  “You want to help a girl?” I ask him, and he eagerly takes me up on my offer to help hook my black stocking tops up to the suspenders hanging from my belt.

  My burning pussy just inches away from his face as he focuses on the task at hand.

  If only I’d known five, ten years ago the affect that stockings and suspenders have on men. Such an easy way to snare them — I could have saved so much anxiety when I was dating by wearing them, knowing that any little flaw I might perceive in my appearance would be overlooked entirely in the presence of such extravagant underwear. All those hours stuck in front of the mirror worried they would think my nose too big, or my mouth too wide, or my hair too red, or my boobs too small — all could have been avoided with this armor carrying me into battle.

  The things one learns with experience.

  I stroke Wade’s short hair a little as he finishes up, then walk back over to the other side of the bed to retrieve my old bra and panties, stashing it in my bag more as an excuse to walk away from Wade, show him the goods, bending over as I access my Versace limited edition, offering him a nice glimpse of my rear.

  When I rise to my feet, and turn back to Wade, he’s up and reaching for the bedside table nearest to him. Pulling out a little box, opening it.

  I kneel on the bed, trying to see what he’s got, surprised as he pulls out some kind of jewelry, holding it up for me. A little elegant silver necklace. Stylish, understated.

  “I got something for you,” he said. “Something to remember me by.”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” I’m not lying. It’s something I’d pick out for myself, an elegant sterling silver spiral drop around a simple but perfect pearl.

  I turn, lifting my hair to allow him to put it on me. I can’t help but think what it will do to my husband every time he sees me in this, knowing that another man gave it to me just before fucking me. He’ll probably want me to wear it every time we make love from now on.

  “I love it,” I purr.

  “I wanted you to know this means a lot to me.”

&nb
sp; I like that. The suggestion this isn’t just a cheap trick for him.

  As he returns to his seat in the arm chair, I stay on the bed to give him a little fashion show, flicking my hair and flaunting my assets, exposing my body in this sexy lingerie and making it clear how much I adore my new jewelry. As he sits there, his legs apart in that classic male stance, I can see how well he’s responding to my display. It makes me feel even more certain I’m going to enjoy what else he has for me, and that stokes my flames even further.

  I’m going to be very wet for him when the time comes.

  Slowly, I crawl over the bed, moving like a panther, pushing up my butt, making the most of my curves as I approach him, swing down onto the floor and arrive between his thighs on my hands and knees.

  For a moment or two, I drape myself over him, rubbing my breasts over him, stroking him with my face. Feeling the big hard mass inside his pants, pressing my cheek to it, confirming its impressive size.

  He places a hand gently on my shoulder as I fumble with his belt, biting my lip to indicate my insatiable need for his cock.

  I’m not faking when I gasp on peeling back his pants, slipping down his underwear to reveal the swollen beast residing there, although on seeing him pleased at my response, I quietly think to myself that this would be a good thing to do for future clients, whatever their size.

  Even after a few times, it’s still shocking to me to be presented with a real cock that’s not my husband’s. It gives me a real buzz, not just because it’s a big hard cock that now gets even harder still as I lick it, as I stretch my lips around it, as I draw it into my hot mouth.

  He groans as I sink down on him, holding back my hair as I take him deep, then withdraw, licking him, tasting him, rubbing that huge thing over the soft skin of my face as though marking myself as his territory.

  He has a clean, delicate smell, manly, a hint of musk but not too much, light on the cologne. The way he feels in my mouth thrills me, makes me feel so wicked, every touch spurring a long, low moan from him, every lick a sigh, every suck a gasp.