Wives with Benefits: Volume One

by Max Sebastian

  If it was a room like this, there was precious little space to just sit and share drinks and chat as relative strangers. Sure, there was a tiny little table with a couple of chairs in the corner, but this was no five-star Hilton Hotel. These rooms were designed for travelers to stop in for a night and sleep, nothing much more.

  Was she lying with him on the bed, letting him put his hands all over her as she tenderly kissed him?

  My heart was suddenly pounding, and my cock stiffening up as I lay there in bed, propped up against the pillows.

  It was exciting, but at the same time I felt an unnerving sense of fear. It wasn’t entirely rational, but it was a powerful cocktail of feelings, and there was nothing I could do about it. Thoughts flew around my head — a muddle of the positive and negative.

  What if she came back changed, somehow? Different than she was before, in a bad way. Hating me for leaving her to another man, mistrusting me for not being more possessive, more jealous. What if Kurt was not the clean-cut type she’d thought he was, and things turned ugly? He could attack her, and in court I’d probably have to testify that she’d gone up to his room with the intention of potentially sleeping with him.

  What if she’d felt somehow pressured into this, and she came back afterward blaming me for it all?

  What if she had a bad experience, and she came back with the decision that she’d never do anything like that again?

  At the same time, if I could only suppress those ill feelings, the paranoia and the fear, I could also imagine that she was up there having an incredible time. Giggling and flirting with him, thrilled at another man appreciating her beauty without the marital obligation to complement her. Touching him, kissing him, and allowing him to do the same to her, and feeling so wicked in stepping outside the comfortable monogamy of her marriage that it made her feel like a teenager again, fooling around with a boy when polite society frowned on anything like that until she was older and preferably married.

  I could think of how she’d been in that restaurant — her flushed cheeks, those hard nipples, and the way she’d sat slightly awkwardly on that seat, perhaps because being hit on by an attractive man had made her that tiny bit moist down there.

  I could look at our room and imagine her in an identical one somewhere else in the building, some guy called Kurt sat on the edge of the bed as she pulled down his pants, and held his big, hard cock in her hands.

  I could imagine him stripping her off, running his hands all over her naked body, stroking his offensive weapon along her soft, inner thighs before lining up to slide it inside her wet, inviting sex.

  Fifty minutes, or maybe an hour she’d been gone. There was no way she wasn’t doing something with Kurt. Then as I waited, my watch ticked on so very slowly, but never failing to stop, and suddenly it was two hours after Bridget had gone upstairs, and then three. I won’t say that wait was easy — I seemed to go through phases, some patches feeling ecstatic with what was going on, aroused beyond belief, then at other times the doubts crept up on me, leaving me cold and uncomfortable.

  During the difficult times, I’d just need to catch hold of some thought, some little shred of evidence that might lead me back into the light. So when I suddenly started thinking that three hours in his company must have meant she was falling for him — that perhaps she would sleep with him until morning and then sheepishly tell me, if she came back to me at all, that she had to be with him now, permanently — I glanced at the box of caesar salad she hadn’t eaten at dinner, and told myself that maybe she just got hungry, and had Kurt order in some room service. Then the next moment, I was thinking that if she spent this length of time with him, they must have been fucking like rabbits — and suddenly I was hard as a rock once again, and loving every moment of this strange, strange wait.

  I paced, I flipped around through the TV channels and perused all the other on-demand movie previews. I went for walks, every half hour or so, wondering if the two of them might adjourn to the bar later on, having fucked each other to a standstill. Or so they could stock up on more condoms. But they never showed up.

  I guess I was a little disappointed that she didn’t send me any text messages — but for the most part, my smartphone was showing no bars, perhaps because of the snowstorm whirling around us, so I guessed that if she had tried to send something, it hadn’t got through.

  *

  She’d left our table at eight. I swear, it wasn’t until one in the morning that I heard that unbelievably welcome sound of the key card being slipped in the slot, and the door opening to admit my prodigal wife.

  “You didn’t stop me,” she said, sounding totally surprised, and somehow full of awe.

  “You wanted me to?” I asked.

  She took a step into the room, letting the door close behind her. She looked incredible — wearing exactly what she’d been wearing before, her black t-shirt, no bra, jeans. But her hair was a little mussed, and there was a glow about her that I couldn’t quite determine and yet made her seem so unbelievably desirable to me.

  “No,” she said, and I could tell she was sounding me out, trying to quickly ascertain whether I was angry or disappointed with her, that she’d gone through with it. “I just thought… well, I never thought you’d just let me go like that.”

  “After all those times we played it over between us?” I gave her a wry smile, and pushed myself forward, so I could sit on the bed and potentially get up to greet her.

  “I was so nervous…” she laughed, stepping toward me, her face seeming to relax, the anxiety melting away as she saw the look of pure ecstasy and excitement in my face at her return, at what she had done.

  I could smell her perfume, even from a distance. She’d spritzed again before coming back to me.

  “You were so brave,” I said, my smile so broad it hurt my face.

  Another laugh, more natural now. “I kept him chatting and drinking for absolutely ages, you know that? Until I figured you weren’t going to call up to the room.”

  She stepped in front of me, and along with her perfume I could detect something else — an earthiness, a musky scent that told of my wife’s wickedness. The scent strengthened slightly as she dropped her jeans, and stepped out of them to reveal her plain white cotton panties. Jesus. I felt as though I were sitting on a cloud, it didn’t quite seem real. Bridget really had just slept with another man.

  “And then?” she put her hands on my shoulders and climbed onto my lap, kneeling either side of my thighs on the bed. I added, “You were gone for hours — I assume you didn’t just drink and chat?”

  “No,” her lips curled up into a naughty grin. Hands on my shoulders, she gazed into my eyes, “After everything we've talked about, and the fact you didn’t call up… I had to assume you’d be disappointed if I didn’t take my opportunity.”

  I breathed her in, inhaled the lingering traces of their sex, and ran my hands over the contours of her back, her behind, her thighs. God, she was so beautiful. More so, even then when she left our dinner table. The way she looked at me — confident in her own desirability, appreciative of what I’d done in giving her this experience, hungry for me to reclaim her and share fully in the night’s adventure with her — it was breathtaking.

  “You assumed right,” I said, and although I’d been though many moments that night where I’d half-hoped she might come back having decided not to give herself to another, I now knew that I’d have been disappointed if she had turned down her handsome stranger.

  She pushed me back, down flat on the bed, shook her loose hair aside and sank on me, her lips pressing to mine. The taste of her mouth seemed oddly unfamiliar to me, but it only drove me on to suck on her lips, to touch my tongue against hers, as passionate and forceful as I’d ever kissed her.

  This pretty mouth had pleasured another man that night. It was so wrong seeming, and yet so dangerously exciting. My good girl of a wife had turned bad.

  Her body felt so good, so hot. As our kiss continued, sheltered under a ten
t of her golden hair, I felt a slight clamminess of her skin that did not seem to have come from a shower. She was fresh from exercise, of course. It struck me that her coming back to me like this was quite bold for her. We’d talked about it during role-playing, and at first she’d failed to understand my dark little desire to have her back from an adventure with at least a hint of evidence that she’d done what she said she had. But this was reality. She was normally such a pristine, fussy person.

  “He let you use his shower?” I asked.

  “We shared it at one stage,” she grinned. “But I guess after that we just ended up getting dirty again.”

  She kissed my neck, “So you were okay? Waiting?”

  “It wasn’t so bad,” I said. A white lie, but I got the feeling that next time, and hopefully the times after that, it would get easier and easier to wait for her. “I got to imagine what you might be up to.”

  Another enchanting smile. “You are crazy, you know that? I could never handle knowing you were with someone else.”

  “It’s not about me wanting someone else. That’s not my fantasy.”

  I pushed her hair back away from her face and kissed her again. So sweet, her mouth still laced with the liquor she had been drinking, but something else also, which made the jealousy smolder gently inside me, and spurred the innate need in me to reclaim her as my own.

  “I thought I’d started understanding it,” she said. “You know, why you’d want it this way. But when I was with him, I tried to put myself in your shoes, and it just… well, didn’t quite compute.”

  “I just get off on how beautiful you are,” I said, “and how sexy you are, and how hot it is to think of you getting that new relationship energy… of misbehaving… of being so god-damn dirty…”

  I’m grinning like somebody handed me the best Christmas present in the world. A Ferrari F40, a Ford GT40, An E-type Jaguar.

  And I swear, as I attempted to explain myself as I had many times before while we’d simply pretended, and she’d been confused about my motivations, I saw something click in her eyes now, as though she finally accepted I was telling the truth, I wasn’t hoodwinking either her or myself. This was just how I was wired.

  Then she took on a sudden change of tone, sounding almost devilish as she said, “You know I was such a bad girl up there, sweetie, you have no idea…”

  “Maybe you should tell me, then,” I said. “Give me some idea.”

  She kissed me again, hard. Different from before, it was more assertive, taking what she wanted from me rather than giving me what she thought I wanted from her.

  “I sucked his cock,” she whispered breathlessly during a brief pause in the kiss. Trying to shock me, almost certainly, but I sensed in her bravado that she now fully appreciated that this kind of revelation would only turn me on, not horrify me. “I stretched my lips around it, and took it in my mouth,” she added, then resumed that forceful kiss, giving me no option but to take it, knowing what had been inside her mouth earlier that night.

  She pushed herself up from me, and the way she now looked down on me — fully confident, aware of her own power over me and of how she wanted to play it — sent a shiver down my spine.

  “I bet he enjoyed that,” I said.

  A grin, “I think by that time, he was thinking I was going to hold out on him.”

  “And that would have been so cruel.”

  She shuffled forward to straddle my stomach, and sat up to peel off her t-shirt. Her nipples were rock-hard, breasts just incredible, waiting to be touched.

  I did my best to sit up, and pulled her to me, my hands gripping her waist as I touched my mouth to the soft taut skin of her stomach. The scent of sex was strong, intoxicating, exhilarating, and now I tasted the gentle saltiness of her skin, the traces of her exertions.

  “So what, you were just having a drink with him, then you suddenly knelt down and sucked on his cock?” I teased her.

  She grinned, “We were kissing for a while. A long while. I guess I used it to delay him. Until I… you know… knew you weren’t going to stop us.”

  For some reason, the thought of her kissing Kurt, whoever he was, for a while — tenderly, hopefully, increasingly passionately — pained me more than the thought of his cock stretching her lips. I guess I wasn’t ready for my Bridget to have romantic feelings for someone else, and the thing about kissing is that it’s easy to get romance tangled in there, if it’s done right.

  “He’s a good kisser?”

  “Very.”

  I shivered again, and didn’t want to hear about her kissing him.

  Taking my pause as a prompt, Bridget went on, “I took off my shirt, and helped him out of his clothes, then we were on the bed, and his big cock was right there… and it wasn’t yours…”

  She moaned as my hands wandered all over her soft breasts, teasing those hard nipples of hers, but at the same time my kisses dwelled around the waistband of her panties, I was hooked on that dark, dark scent that came from her arousal and what she’d done with another man in another bed.

  I think the Bridget from earlier in our relationship would have giggled, pushed me back, made a play to grab hold of my cock. But this Bridget knew how I was wired, and was no longer uncertain about what did or did not turn me on.

  So she lifted one knee, and the other, her body pushing me back and down on the bed, and her gloriously adulterous pussy was suddenly right there over my face, covered by only by thin, damp cotton.

  That wicked aroma was so strong now, but for a moment or two she held herself up, away from me. “When I was finished with sucking on him,” she said, “so he didn’t blow too early, I stripped off my jeans and my panties, and I was touching myself for him.”

  And here she was, my beautiful wife, who never liked to masturbate in front of me, her fingers strumming over her pussy as though it were some exquisite musical instrument.

  “Just like this?”

  “Just like this.”

  She pulled her panties aside, and I found myself once again shocked and awed, her sweet pussy all rosy red and well-used by another man, glistening with moisture.

  I kissed her soft, warm flesh beside that dewy flower, and she said: “Then he was ready again, protection in place, lying between my legs, and he stroked that huge great cock of his against me, against my…”

  Was she trying to horrify me again? Test whether I was squeamish about someone else touching her like that?

  I grabbed her hips, pulled her down to my hot, eager mouth, tasted her delicious tangy wetness. I ate her like a ravenous hound, indulging in her profuse moisture as it covered my face, the faint hint of latex only confirming what a bad girl she’d been, and fueling the lust that my primordial masculinity ingrained in me as a way to spread my seed instead of the male who had stolen her before.

  She panted and groaned as my tongue slid into her, as my lips closed over her clit. And I had the most wonderful view of this sexy nymph up her body from there between her thighs.

  “Oh God…” she moaned.

  “How was it?” I demanded to know, snatching a breath while I continued to feast on her.

  “Oh… so good…” she said. “He was so big… he stretched me… I’ve… I’ve never… felt that way before…”

  Underneath her, I smiled, recognizing a few phrases from our role-playing days. But this sounded real from her now, not acted.

  “Must have been more than just once,” I said.

  “Four times,” she said, and if I had a hat, I’d have taken it off to the guy. “Including the time in the shower and after it.”

  “After?”

  “We got all cleaned up — I got all cleaned up — and then when I was drying off, and putting my clothes back on… he said he just had to have me one last time…”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “And he had that big hard cock, and I just couldn’t say no…”

  She moaned long and low, and suddenly forced herself down on me, taking charge. Now she
was riding my face, taking what she wanted, I was little more than a witness. It was unbelievable, she’d never been like this before. I knew she was thinking about Kurt, filling her that final time before she came down to me, still smelling of him, perspiring from that last time, her pussy still wet and puffy from that final penetration.

  She might even have lost herself in it, forgotten what was between her thighs as she reached a shuddering climax on my face. I loved every moment.

  Then she pulled back, bringing herself back to this place, to her husband, giving me a little space to sit up again while she regained her breath, and have her pull my own t-shirt off, as she continued to straddle my lap.

  “It was so amazing,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck and my shoulders. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  We kissed, and now she was tasting herself on my mouth.

  “How did you leave it with him?” I asked her.

  “I swallowed his come,” she grinned, “and then he asked for my phone number.”

  She lifted a knee, then swung it around so that she could kneel beside me on the bed, remove her panties, and then my pants to release my brutally hard cock.

  “And you gave it to him?”

  “What do you think?” she teased, her fingers wrapping around my shaft.

  “I think you probably did,” I said.

  “I did,” she said, holding my cock, looking at it as though it would tell her exactly what I thought of that. I guess it did, pulsing in her hands at the idea that her stranger might call on her again some time, for a little sequel to this stormy night.

  Encouraged, she said, “He lives in Virginia, but it’s not far from DC.”

  I felt a little tremble inside at the thought that my cautious Bridget might actually have a full-blown affair. It made me feel a little that there might be something wrong with me, but I was very much okay with that idea, so long as she included me in on the details any time something happened. That’s not to say it didn’t scare me, the possibility of feelings developing between them rising exponentially the more times they saw each other.