Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

  I kissed her forehead.

  I then proceeded to shamelessly indulge in my own desires. Following my nose to them, like a hound. “Why does it feel funny?” I said. Then, suggestively, “unless you’re worried about it being more than a date.”

  I tried to make this sound like a joke, but it didn’t really. And my thoughts, like dominoes, went crashing into the dirtiest places of my mind.

  Unless she didn’t want it to be just date.

  Unless she was hoping it would be more than just a date.

  Unless she was thinking, right now, about the weight of Max Riley’s thick cock in her hand, his veins throbbing against her palm, the length of it sticky with her cum...

  Megyn sighed, exasperated. “It’s not that,” she said. She sat up and looked at me. “And why are you okay with this?”

  I shrugged. Inside, I felt like I was going to burst, but I was keeping a calm exterior.

  Megyn tipped her head to one side. “Oh. I see. You don’t think I could tempt Max Riley?”

  This placed me in a real conundrum, didn’t it? I floundered with several possible answers. Was she challenging me? She was getting all fired up, her green eyes glinting and her hair looking redder as her temper flared. Was it possible to push her into some kind of dare?

  That was an exciting thought, but it was a dangerous one. Did I really want my wife trying to prove a point when she went on a date with Max Riley?

  I had very little time to think about this, and I wasn’t able to articulate an answer in time.

  “Ooooooh,” Megyn said. “I see.”

  I wondered what she saw.

  But she was already standing up. “Well,” she said. “That’s good, that you don’t care.”

  I felt disoriented. Megyn started walking out of the room. She paused at the doorway and looked back at me.

  I thought a lot, and I still think about, the look she gave to me when she turned her head and caught my eye.

  “And we’ll just see about that,” she said.

  Then she slinked away.

  I blinked into the darkness outside the windows.

  What the fuck had just happened?

  I went over the conversation in my mind. Had Megyn just taken what I had said as a challenge to seduce Max Riley?

  Or was that just what I wanted to think?

  And why hadn’t I said anything? What would Megyn think I thought now?

  Did I need to straighten this out?

  I mulled it over for a bit, with each passing moment making me more and more uneasy. After all, it was a lovely fantasy that Megyn had said something to that effect, or that she had some kooky idea in her mind to go seduce Max Riley – but it was quite different as a reality.

  But was that even happening?

  What was I supposed to do here?

  I set my wine glass down and hurried down the hall.

  Megyn was already under the covers. She had them arranged neatly over her legs and she was holding a book.

  “Uh...” I said. “Are we... okay?”

  Megyn looked over the top of the book. “What do you mean?”

  Her tone was very odd. I couldn’t tell if she was playing a game with me, teasing me a little, or if she was in one of those moods where I was supposed to know What Was The Matter.

  “Uh, you just seem a little mad.”

  Her face remained exactly the same. “Do I.”

  It was a statement, not a question. A tiny smile turned up one corner of her mouth. Her eyes went back to the book.

  “But you’re not,” I said. “Or are you?”

  Megyn licked a finger and turned a page. She scanned the book with her eyes before looking back up at me. “I,” she said. “Am not mad.”

  I waited for her to say something else.

  “Uh… you seem mad,” I said.

  We were back at the beginning of the conversation.

  Megyn folded up the book and set it aside. She drew her knees up to her chest and folded her arms around them. Her toes gave a slight wiggle under the duvet, indicating that her mood was slightly playful.

  I was still on guard.

  “No, no, every woman loves to hear that her husband doesn’t mind her going on a date with a hot guy because he doesn’t think the guy will be interested in her.”

  I quickly flipped through the notes I had mentally taken of the preceding conversation. Admittedly, I am a guy, and so I often don’t really have any idea what just happened. Still, I did not remember saying this.

  “I do not remember saying that,” I said confidently.

  “Well, you did. More or less,” Megyn said, and she seemed to be gathering steam.

  Fucking women, sometimes I really don’t know what the hell they are thinking.

  I shook my head. “Megyn,” I said, and I sounded exasperated, even to myself. “That is not what happened.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “You’re reading into what I said.”

  “Huh.”

  There was a pause. Megyn shifted her jaw, a sign of aggression.

  “Look,” I said. “I really don’t want you to be mad at me -”

  “Really? Because let me tell you something. It’s a real pro-tip. If you don’t want your wife to be mad at you, don’t not care if she’s going on a date with a hot guy, and then tell her, ‘oh, you wouldn’t catch his interest anyway.’”

  “Not what I said.”

  Megyn rolled her eyes and picked up her book. “Whatever.”

  This meant she knew I hadn’t actually said that, but felt like I had said it, so it didn’t really matter what had actually happened.

  I sat down on the foot of the bed.

  “Look,” I said. “I really don’t want to fight. I...”

  I was about to tell her everything. It was all there at the tip of my tongue. All the dirty fantasies I had, how much I struggled with them, how much I buried them deep inside because they seemed so perverted.

  I had been thinking about things like this for years. Even though it sounds ridiculous, I had never really, fully admitted to myself until that moment just how long I had been imagining my wife with another man, or how often that man was black, or how much the fantasy really wormed around inside of me.

  It was such an epiphany. And I was just about to open up and share it with Megyn. I even opened my mouth and started to form the first words.

  But her eyes were black with rage, and she was reading that book by peeling the words off the page with her hawkish stare.

  I closed my mouth.

  No, this definitely wasn’t the time.

  What was I thinking? There would never be a time.

  I was mistaking being physically close to my fantasy for being capable of getting it. It was like believing that I’d own the Mona Lisa just because I was standing next to it in the Louvre.

  Or whatever. Terrible metaphor.

  But now Megyn was waiting. I could tell by the way she was icily turning the pages of her book without reading anything.

  “I think I just said that...” I began, to keep her mood stable. I sighed. What to say?

  “...because I didn’t want you to know I’m actually jealous.”

  This froze her page-turning fingers.

  She shot me a look.

  She didn’t believe me.

  I sighed.

  “Okay. Actually… the truth is… I just don’t want to admit that...”

  She was staring at me.

  From somewhere in my mind, some advice someone – I didn’t even know who, or why or when or where – had given me rose to the top of my boiling thoughts. A tiny bit of truth can hide a huge lie.

  “Okay. Here’s the truth. The truth I didn’t want you to know. I sort of like being jealous.”

  Megyn dropped the book onto her lap.

  “Huh?”

  She was flummoxed, and that was good. And she was not angry – yet – which was also good.

  I sighed dramatically. I was charting my course of a
ction as I spoke, and beginning to feel like I had a pretty wise plan. “I, uh… I didn’t want to tell you this because it’s… I think it’s weird, but it, uh… explains my behavior. You know. So… I just don’t want you to read too much into it or anything.”

  Megyn was staring at me.

  “Into what?” she said, finally.

  I felt cornered suddenly, and I had to fight the urge to physically recoil from the question.

  I had never liked the feeling this gave me. The manly-masculine side of myself, the one I liked to believe would always win, often made such declarations to the rest of myself as: “Just tell your fucking wife, already, and get it over with.”

  It wasn’t, after all, as though Megyn was going to divorce me over a fantasy.

  But at the end of the day, I was too scared to tell her about it. “Manly-masculine man” was not winning, and I hated that. I hated thinking about it, I hated admitting it to myself, and I hated the feeling of being humiliated by… well, myself.

  All because of Megyn.

  Because at the end of the day I really loved Megyn more than anyone in the world, and if she somehow got a low opinion of me – as she might do, if she knew how often I pictured her with a black cock in her mouth, for reasons I didn’t fully understand myself – then I would be devastated.

  No point in taking that risk.

  Which made me feel like a wuss.

  I’m a complicated man.

  “I sort of like feeling jealous. It’s kind of exciting,” I said.

  As soon as I said this, I actually felt a huge sense of relief. It was true, it was clean, it was a good warm-up, and maybe I could feel out how Megyn would react to further… ideas. But I could always pretend this was the extent of things.

  There was one chink in the plan:

  Megyn.

  Megyn was a little too direct, and frankly a little too curious, for me to say something like “I find feeling jealous exciting” and leave it at that.

  “It’s exciting how? Like, sexually exciting?” she said, turning the idea over in her mind.

  “Uh...” I said. “Yeah, you know, sort of… a turn-on, I guess.”

  Megyn’s mouth dropped open a little.

  Then, to my surprise, she picked up her book. She held it up and turned the pages – backwards – to where she had been reading before she started anger-page-turning. She shook her head amiably. “I don’t get it,” she said.

  There was a pause, while I considered what had just happened.

  What had just happened?

  Megyn did not appear to need any further explanation than that.

  I was a little confused about what I should do with myself, and whether or not this situation – which I was still trying to understand – was resolved or not, and weighing the likelihood of my being able to leverage this spat into some make-up sex (or, in the event it had not actually been an argument, just plain sex). I finally opted for getting up and finding my wine to help me think, when Megyn said:

  “So. It’s not that you don’t care that I’m going on a date with Max Riley… it’s that you enjoy feeling jealous about it.”

  Her voice was queer. Her eyes were on the book, but they were flashing with a kind of wet, mysterious… thing. Her mouth was turned up at one corner.

  She seemed almost amused.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “So,” she continued, putting the book down again. She slid down onto her right side and put her hand in her hair. “If I were to get really dressed up, and really go all out to have a nice time, that actually wouldn’t bother you, you’re saying?”

  She was really searching my face as she waited for my response.

  I just shook my head slowly. This conversation had me as troubled as a stray dog being offered some food.

  Her eyes twinkled. “Huh.”

  She patted her pillow. “Well, that could be kind of fun, then.”

  My cock had been responding to this conversation by slowly filling out in my boxers, but this last sentence made it hurtle to full-fledged life.

  “Are you serious about this?” she said suddenly.

  I nodded.

  I considered taking her hand and placing it in my lap, just to let her know how seriously I was taking it, but I decided that was letting her too much behind the curtain.

  Lewd, lewd. Lewd man.

  “So… what kind of things make you jealous?” she said.

  She was just forging ahead.

  I felt a tremor travel through me. It was cold and hot and deliciously, painfully erotic.

  She was waiting for my answer. My wife. Looking cute with her head in her hand, propped up on a pillow, looking at me earnestly and asking me what kinds of things made me jealous.

  After I let an image pass through my head, of her staring at me while she swallowed Max Riley’s cock, I opened my mouth and said: “Well, uh… getting really dressed up is good.”

  My voice was dry and cracked.

  She rolled her eyes and slapped the bed. “Of course I’m going to get dressed up for Max Riley,” she said. “What else?”

  “Uh...”

  This could really go wrong if I said the wrong thing, I remember thinking.

  But Megyn saved the day. “It would make you jealous if I got dressed up… what if I bought a whole new dress to meet Max Riley?”

  I moved my head, and I meant to nod, but the movement was strange.

  “A really sexy dress.”

  Another weird nod from me.

  My cock was aching now.

  Megyn surprised me, yet again, by crawling out from under the covers and toward me. “And what else?” she said. “What else would make you jealous?”

  Oh, the images that flashed through my head.

  We didn’t say anything else, not with words. Not to my recollection. I remember that Megyn held my gaze, and reached out to touch my hard cock. It was almost as if she was saying: “Would this turn you on?”

  And I didn’t say anything back to her, but the next thing I knew I was looking down at where she was scraping her fingernail over the wet stain of precum that had soaked through my pants. I sucked in my breath.

  We looked at each other for a moment, and then we dove for each other’s mouths. I climbed onto the bed to my knees and slid my pants and boxers down, while kissing Megyn with the same kind of passionate kiss from nights before. She had taken off her sweats and a pair of cotton panties was all I needed to penetrate to find her pussy.

  I could feel that her panties were wet as soon as I slid my fingers over the top of them. We were still looking at each other, and her eyes showed me that she read my mind as I made the discovery.

  So Naughty Megyn was just as turned on as I was.

  I slipped a finger under the panties and found her sodden hole right away. I rubbed my thumb over her clit through her panties.

  She was wildly wet. I could smell her scent now, wafting up between our bodies.

  Her voice was replaying in my head: so would this make you jealous? What about this, what about that…

  And then I began to add my own imagination to her words, to create images to go with the soundtrack of her voice. As I pulled her panties down her legs and over her ankles, as I knelt over her, moving my cock over her clit to tease her, I pictured her saying what about this? With Max Riley’s cock in her hand, inches from her mouth.

  I sank into her pussy and she slid down a little, nibbling at my chest, finding my nipples with her mouth. The heat of her small bites rippled through me; I pictured her sinking her neat white teeth into the firm, chocolate pecs of Max Riley, while he sank further and further inside of her, her legs flailing wildly around him.

  I had to put a halt on these thoughts to last long enough to feel her body rising, her hips wiggling beneath me. As soon as I was sure that she was going over the edge, as soon as I felt the tight squeeze of her muscles around my cock, I let a final image flash through my head and my cum surged from the base of my cock and into
her quivering cunt.

  “What about this?” she said, looking behind her on all fours, her own fingers sliding into her ass, the thick veined shaft of Max Riley sinking into her pussy with a sticky, wet squelch.

  “Huh,” she said, after we collapsed on the bed and lay there for a bit. It was late, she was playing absent-mindedly with the hair on my chest. “I had no idea that turned you on.”

  I thought maybe it was the beginning of a long conversation.

  I closed my eyes, thinking I needed to turn off the sunroom light, lock the door, hear what Megyn had to say. But the sleepiness of post-sex was bearing down on me, and before I knew it I had drifted off.

  Megyn had fallen asleep by the time I drifted back to responsibilities, like the light and the door. I looked at her after I shifted her onto the bed.

  If the confession had troubled her, it certainly didn’t appear that way.

  “Huh,” I said aloud, looking at her peacefully sleeping face.

  I made myself a drink when I got out to the kitchen, and I remember looking out into the black night with my heart sort of soaring.

  The door was open, just a crack.

  It was exhilarating.

  4: SHOPPING

  The date of the date had been set, and the wheels put in motion for my wife to go out with the sexy star Max Riley.

  And the wheels had been put in motion inside Megyn’s mind to tease me with this “jealousy” I liked so much. Though precisely how much those wheels would turn, I didn’t know. I was afraid to ask, so I decided to just sit back and enjoy the show, be grateful for whatever I got.

  A tactic, I would soon discover, that paid off well.

  A few days after our “jealousy talk,” which I was increasingly proud of myself for handling so deftly, Megyn called me in the middle of the day, at work. This was something she did so rarely that it sent a jolt of fear through me when I heard her voice.

  “Everything okay?” I said.

  “Uh… why? Yeah, of course.”

  I had thrown her off-guard. She seemed a little annoyed, but she recovered quickly. ‘So,” she said, dropping her voice to a sexy purr. “Have you checked your email?”

  I pulled it up on my phone, because I didn’t use my work email – which was heavily monitored – for personal emails. I was half-expecting naked pictures or a porno to pop up in Megyn’s email titled “Get This.”