Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

  The waiter was back almost instantly. He poured the wine for us, while Megyn made a face at how fancy everything was. We clinked our glasses together and she took a sip of her drink. “I’m just so excited, though,” she said.

  Then she looked at me, and her face was very... very what? It almost seemed like Megyn had read through a diary of mine (I didn’t keep one) or picked apart my head. She was looking at me with exactly the look I put on her face in my wildest fantasies. Teasing, leading, erotic. I was barely able to control the urge to pinch myself.

  “Can’t you at least give me a hint?”

  My mouth fell open a little.

  A hint. A hint. A hint about what? What the fuck was going on?

  Megyn’s look was searing right through me, and my cock was getting hard. The whole afternoon of sexy clothes and boots and lingerie swirled around in my head, but it was such a jumble at that moment that I really couldn’t figure out what Megyn was talking to me about.

  ‘A hint,” I repeated uselessly.

  Megyn took another sip of her wine and leaned back. “About the lingerie,” she said. “What did you buy?”

  And then she gave me some more of that simmering look.

  There was a strange pause while I tried to get my thoughts in order. I was feeling a little bit of a shift – a small one, one that maybe wasn’t even real – in the power dynamic between us. Almost like Megyn had somehow gotten a hold of my fantasy, plucked it from my brain, and was now running with it.

  I wasn’t sure if I liked it.

  I mean, I did. Her green eyes were burning right through me and I felt like a sixteen-year old hornball.

  But it was giving me an uncomfortable sense of vertigo.

  “Uh...” I said, looking for the right words.

  The waiter saved me by appearing with our appetizer. He set it out, explaining something about it while Megyn gave me more of her impish looks across the table. I didn’t hear a word he said.

  “Oh my god,” Megyn said, after he left. “I don’t even know how to eat half this stuff. What are we doing?”

  She leaned over the table.

  The spell she had been casting on me seemed to shatter in that moment. The sense of unease went with it. Megyn wasn’t being serious, not about any of this. I was reading things into what she was doing and saying, because I had my own fantasy.

  She was just excited about new clothes, like any girl.

  She picked up an oyster and held it in front of her. “Is this raw?” she whispered to me. “How do I eat this thing?”

  I picked one up and held it at the level of her oyster. In truth, I had never eaten oysters on the half-shell. “We’re such rubes,” I whispered back.

  Megyn smiled. “It’s just like in the movies, right? You just slurp it up?”

  The vulgarity of the word “slurp” struck another dirty chord inside of me. Oh yeah, I thought, my mind a little high off the wine I had just gulped and the buffet of sleazy ideas I had been lining up in my mind all afternoon. Slurp it up.

  Megyn smiled, and I felt a pang of guilt for being such a filthy man as her bright, pretty face gave me an honest grin of camaraderie.

  But then she did slurp the oyster, and it was spectacularly erotic to watch, for no particular reason at all.

  She stared at the shell.

  “That...” she said, “Was interesting.”

  She made a face, and drank quite a bit of wine.

  And then, out of nowhere, she looked at me with that burning look again. “Thanks for taking me here,” she said casually. “I think Max is taking me to a seafood place and this way I can get some practice in with this kind of thing.”

  There was a delicious pause, while what she said worked its way through me, a red-hot worm of pain.

  She broke into a smile and reached across the table to grab my hand. “Kidding,” she said.

  Of course. Of course she was kidding. I smiled, hoping that I didn’t look as uncertain as I felt.

  I reached for the bottle of wine, poured us both some more, and we clinked our glasses together again.

  Megyn brought another oyster to her lips after taking a very long draw of the wine. It was going to her head, I could see, and mine as well. She held the oyster shell in her pretty fingers and tipped it side to side, close to her mouth. “So, do you think these things really work, or it’s all just a scam?”

  Another burning look was issued to me over the oyster shell, and without waiting for my answer, she tipped the slimy aphrodisiac into her mouth. I watched her throat move as she tipped her head back and swallowed it.

  “Wow,” she said, tilting her head back to face me. She lifted her glass and took another sip of her wine.

  I was so captivated by this strange performance that I didn’t say anything.

  Megyn finished her wine. “I think I do feel something...” she murmured.

  The waiter returned and asked if we wanted some more wine.

  Reality came crashing down around me in that moment. My wife wasn’t some woman I had just met – though she was acting like it – and she wasn’t trying out oysters with plans of slurping them up for Max Riley. She wasn’t going to fuck a black man, a movie star. She probably wasn’t even going to wear this expensive lingerie more than once. We were just two people with kids, spending way too much money in a restaurant next to an expensive mall, and if we kept going, we’d be too drunk to drive our car home.

  “Yes,” Megyn said, and she laughed. “Bring us this exact one.”

  “And how are the oysters?”

  I was still in shock that Megyn had ordered another bottle of wine, and thinking of a good way to cancel the order – not that I really wanted to, but practicality was welling up around me. So when Megyn said:

  “Is it really true that these are aphrodisiacs?” and leaned forward to look at the waiter with her mischievous eyes, flirtatiously pulling her fingers through her hair, I watched as though seeing it from a million miles away. “Because I’m feeling pretty.... you know.” She laughed.

  I looked at the waiter. He was a young guy, not bad-looking. Megyn was making him a little nervous, though. “I, uh...” He cleared his throat.

  “Megyn,” I began.

  “Just get the wine for us for now,” Megyn said to the waiter, who seemed quite happy to have an excuse to do an about-face and leave.

  “Megyn!” I hissed. “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t answer me, but instead took out her phone and began typing something on it. Just when I was about to get infuriated, she started talking. “I had a thought...”

  Type, type, type.

  “... that we should just...”

  She typed some more. She flicked her eyes up to meet mine, still holding the phone in front of her. “We never do anything fun for ourselves. So let’s just get some more wine and then -”

  I heard the low buzz of her phone in her hand. She read the screen. “There,” she said. “Grandparents are amazing. Your folks will keep the kids and we can do whatever we want.”

  Before I could protest, which I could feel I was about to do, my very strangely-acting wife leaned over the table and took my hand. ‘Maybe we get a hotel room, you show me this lingerie...”

  I stared at her.

  Don’t get me wrong. Don’t get me wrong, don’t get me wrong. I have a dirty mind and there were about sixty million fantasies filed away in my brain where my wife ate some oysters and went wild. Fantasies about her taking the lead and surprising me with a weekend of nothing but sex.

  But now that she was sitting in front of me, acting more like a bimbo-fied version of my wife that I put into my fantasies, she was freaking me the fuck out.

  “I really think these oysters have gone to my head,” she said. “I think they really work.”

  The waiter was back with the wine.

  He set out new glasses and poured another for each of us.

  Megyn watched him walk away, and then turned back to me and grinned.

&n
bsp; What the hell, I thought. What the hell was wrong with me? My wife was feeling horny, eating oysters, agreeably getting drunk, asking to try on some hot lingerie and get a hotel for the night.

  I shrugged off my reservations, and we clinked our glasses together again.

  I don’t remember much of the conversation we had for the next hour or so, except that it was a pleasant, fun, flirtatious conversation. The kind we hadn’t had in a long time. We finished off a second bottle of wine between the two of us.

  By the end of that hour, there was a sexual tension building up between us that reminded me of our first dates. The feeling was as nostalgic as it was exciting.

  Megyn looked into her empty wine glass and gave a little pout. Then she tipped the glass around, a little wildly. “Well,” she said. “It’s probably good there isn’t any more.”

  She ended the sentence with her eyes on me, and gave me another simmering look that cut right through me.

  “I think those oysters worked their magic on me,” she said, after a pause.

  I was pretty loopy, since I’d had more than half of the wine to make sure that Megyn didn’t get completely plastered. She could hold her liquor pretty well, but a whole bottle of wine would have done her in. So I felt brave enough to say: “Oh yeah? Are you sure it’s the oysters and not the shopping for your date?”

  Megyn leaned back in the booth and answered me by giving me another impish look. She let it linger in the air, the tension building (my cock getting hard, my stomach turning), before saying: “Maybe it’s a little of both.”

  I had already paid the check without examining the amount. I gave Megyn a look that said, “let’s go,” and rose from my seat.

  Megyn took my hand and pressed herself close to me as we walked (unsteadily) toward the lobby of the hotel. It was clear we were headed there, and we walked toward reception as naturally as if it had been our plan all along.

  “Excuse me!” a man’s voice came from behind.

  It was the host from the restaurant, chasing after us with our bags, which we had entirely forgotten. Megyn took the lingerie bag and I took the boots, and she goggled as we turned toward reception again.

  “I’m glad we didn’t forget this,” she said. “I can’t wait for my surprise.”

  I checked us in while Megyn looked over a brochure near the entrance. The receptionist looked us up and down, and I could tell that we looked to her like some people having an affair: no luggage, sexual tension practically gluing us together, a faint air of sinfulness about what we were doing. It gave me a little thrill to see her size us up that way. She smiled broadly as she handed me the room key.

  By then I was going wild. I cocked my head at the elevators and Megyn followed, giving me that mischievous little grin that was driving me crazy.

  When the elevator doors closed and we were alone, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed her against the wall and pressed my mouth to hers. As soon as I felt her mouth, soft and wet, moving beneath mine, my whole body surged with the desire to rip her clothes off.

  Megyn’s hands were busier – and quicker – than mine, though. She slid her hand between our bodies and found my cock, hard and probably dripping with precum. She squeezed me through my pants and pushed her body forward and against mine.

  We were on the fifth floor, so the elevator came to an abrupt halt with a ding. Reluctantly, I pushed away from her. Her hand lingered on my crotch. We walked unsteadily down the hall.

  I felt like the wine had cleared my system. The dizziness I was experiencing was coming from Megyn.

  She took the key from my hand and slipped it into the card reader. When the door clicked open I put my hand on hers and pushed her into the room.

  We slid along the door and onto the wall. The lights were out and we would have been encased in darkness if, as we pawed at each other, she had not slid against the light switch. The bags fell to the floor.

  I dipped my hand into her jeans, searching for her pussy with my fingers. I wanted to feel if she was as wet as I was hard. My fingers found her soft curls and then a well of slick juices. I used my other hand to swipe at the buttons of her jeans.

  “That’s quite a bit of excitement from just oysters,” I growled. I slid her jeans down her hips and then pulled at her panties. I pushed her against the wall and plunged my fingers into her wet cunt. Her eyes closed halfway as I slid two fingers easily into her pussy and curled them toward her clit, stroking her from the inside and out. I pressed against her button with my thumb.

  “Maybe that isn’t the only reason,” I ventured, rubbing her g-spot. She squirmed against the wall and her lips parted in ecstasy. “Maybe you were being a naughty girl? Thinking about something you shouldn’t be?”

  Her eyes opened and met mine. She made a little noise, a slight gasp, but somehow it carried an affirmative sound with it.

  “Now what could Megyn have been thinking about?” I growled. Her pussy was so wet, and I seemed to have hit the exact spot that drove her wild. She was moving her hips against me, grinding her body into my fingers and begging me for more with her pulsing cunt. I leaned in close to her ear.

  The smell of her body was concentrated here: sweet, like her pussy, and damp with the slightest bit of sweat, ever-so-slightly brackish. A citrusy, salon-like smell lingered in her hair.

  “You wouldn’t have been thinking of another man, would you?” I said.

  She may not have answered with her mouth, except to mewl a little as I curled my fingers against the silky walls of her channel. But her pussy answered by pulsing in excitement.

  “I see. You were thinking about another man.”

  I pressed one hand against the wall, clutching her wrist. I had her pinned, this way, and only her right hand was free. She dug her nails into my shoulder through my shirt as I toyed with her, finger-fucking her slowly, teasing her.

  “That’s very bad,” I said, my mouth in front of hers now, her lips just millimeters from mine. Our eyes locked. “Very, very bad, Megyn.”

  She whimpered as I pinched her clit between my thumb and the fingers buried in her cunt. Her whole body was starting to tense up, getting closer to a climax. My head was spinning, but I wanted to get something more from her, extract more about her thoughts. Get her to say something dirty, maybe do something dirtier.

  I started to finger-fuck her, and then I saw she was very close to the edge. She dug her fingernails into my back viciously.

  I stopped, freezing just as my fingers left her pussy. I fluttered my fingertips over her pulsing cunt. She let out a tortured sound and tried to push her hips toward me, but I backed away. “You’re going to have to make it up to me,” I said. I brushed lightly over her clit, and she gasped again. I could feel the disappointment of being so close to coming racking her body.

  It took her a moment to catch her breath. “How?” was all she could say.

  I brought my hand to her lips. The scent of her pussy was on them, they were wet and slick with her juices. I played with her lower lip like I had just done with her clit, lightly passing my fingers over it.

  “I just want to know what you were thinking about,” I said.

  I pushed my fingers into her mouth. It was a bold, and pretty vulgar move. It was the kind of thing I’d imagined Max Riley doing to her, his dark fingers spreading her mouth open, warming her up for the full meat of his cock.

  Megyn was a little shocked at first, as my fingers probed her mouth rather violently. Then she closed her lips and sucked on them, sending a wave of searing desire through me. My cock flexed against my pants.

  I pulled my fingers out of her mouth slowly.

  “What do you want to know?” she said.

  “Who you were thinking about,” I answered quickly.

  She pushed her hips against me. “You know who I was thinking about,” she half-moaned.

  I leaned forward and placed my mouth next to her ear again. Heat radiated from her body; her skin was hot to the touch. “I want to hear it,” I whispered.


  Megyn tipped her head back in frustration, and I wasn’t sure where this was going to go. I watched her as she moved her head back and forth against the wall.

  “Just tell me who you were thinking about,” I said. I started to sink down, crouching to pull her jeans down to her ankles along with her underwear. Her unruly red bush was in front of me now, glistening with her excitement.

  I trailed a finger along the inside of her leg, up to her knee, over her thigh. I watched her face as I did this, and the way her chest fluttered erratically with her excited breaths.

  She looked down at me when I used both hands to pry her pussy apart and expose the moist folds. The tangy scent of her flared in my nostrils. I moved my head closer, so that she could feel my breath on her wet lips. As I moved my mouth, my own lips brushed against her skin, and I felt her thighs tremble with each syllable. “Just say it. Tell me what you were thinking about. What got you so very, very wet.”

  She placed a hand on my head and gasped.

  I could see that she was uncertain about what I wanted her to do – she desperately wanted to say the dirty thing I wanted her to say – but she wasn’t certain it was really what I wanted.

  I decided to help her out. I was already further into my fantasy than I ever thought I’d get as it was.

  “Were you thinking about him doing this?”

  I flicked my tongue to the edge of her outer lips, running the tip of it along the border between her hair and the ultra-silky skin. I was satisfied by the taste of her juices, slowly warming my mouth, dripping onto my lips.

  I looked up at her. She gasped a little and nodded her head.

  “And then what? Were you thinking about him doing this?”

  I dove into her folds, her juices smearing across my cheeks and dribbling down my chin. I was certain this was as wet as my wife had ever been, and the thought that it was because of this “game” we were playing – or maybe really because she was dreaming of another man eating her pussy – made my cock agonizingly hard.

  I brought my lips to her hardened nub, and her thighs shook when I pressed them together and squeezed her sensitive bundle of nerves in to where I could flick at it with my tongue.