Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

  And then, because I was staring at her with my coffee cup mid-air, she added: “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

  I slowly lowered my cup. Megyn was looking at her coffee, and I could see that she was slightly flustered. Her cheeks had gotten hot, and splotches of bright pink were unevenly creeping along her jawline, up to her cheeks. Her lips were pressed unnaturally to each other.

  I set the cup in the saucer. I was flabbergasted by her directness.

  “So...” I said.

  Then I laughed. Nervously.

  Megyn shot her eyes at me, and it gave me a little scare, because they were sharp and dark. Then she let out a strange laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is just… it’s weird, but it’s kind of hard to talk about.”

  I felt a huge wave of relief come over me. I reached for her hand and put mine over it. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for a long time,” I said. My voice was low but steady. “I, um, was always afraid of how you’d react.”

  Megyn looked down at her plate. “This is so weird. I’m… I don’t know, I feel kind of guilty that I sort of like this idea. Of yours,” she added quickly, and looked back at me to emphasize the point. She shook her head. “I never had any… I don’t know… like, ideas like this.” She shrugged.

  “But you like it,” I said, gaining hope.

  She shot me another look. “As a fantasy.”

  It felt like my blood was boiling. “As a fantasy,” I repeated.

  She shrugged again and looked out the window. “I was sort of freaked out by it at first, and then I was thinking about how I was going to ask you if you really would… you know, if you would really do something like that. Or let me do something like that. And then I thought… well, I don’t actually have to think about it that hard. Because it doesn’t really matter what the answer to that is. I wouldn’t do it. Not really. So…” she turned back to me. “I guess you’ll just have to settle for something like this.”

  My mind, rolling up and down waves of excitement and disappointment, my mood crashing and soaring all at once, was ahead of her. For now, I thought, optimistically.

  I squeezed her hand.

  I tried to think of the right thing to say, but it didn’t come easily. Instead I kind of mumbled:

  “I uh… that was really hot last night, that’s all… that’s all I really want.” And then I cleared my throat, worried I was bungling it. “I just want… I just want you to be happy. I want to feel… I don’t know, like...”

  “Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “you wanted to feel like we did last night.”

  We looked at each other, and sort of nodded.

  And that was the end of that.

  For now.

  6: THE DATE

  “Okay,” Megyn said, hurrying out of the bathroom. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she had the slightly frantic, sort of clumsy, rushed way about her that she got when she felt excited or nervous about something.

  I was enjoying watching her. Watching her try to hide that she was excited and nervous, and enjoying the fact that she was.

  She moved from the bathroom to the closet and then retreated, holding the towel above her head and moving her lips like she was talking to herself.

  I was stretched out on the bed, pretending to casually read the news on my tablet.

  But really, I had my eyes on my wife and my mind in the gutter.

  I knew it was pure fantasy I was indulging in, but it was something I couldn’t help think about. Maybe I liked the idea because it felt so safe: Max Riley was a movie star and I was pretty sure he did, in fact have a girlfriend, though numerous internet searches did not really reveal the exact answer to the question.

  (And anyway, just because a man has a girlfriend does not mean he won’t seduce your wife).

  But really. Max Riley was not going to actually seduce my wife at a charity-sponsored event for at-risk youth.

  There were probably a lot of papers to sign to that effect before they even went to his house.

  Megyn, as well, had left it very explicitly at the doorstep of fantasy. After our conversation in the hotel, she had alluded to teasing me with this “date,” but the agreement between us seemed to be that she would tease me and nothing more.

  I say “seemed to be” because I really wasn’t sure. Megyn had taken over control of things, and I was content to take whatever she gave me. Maybe I was secretly relieved that she had been up front and told me how far she would go. And maybe I was relieved that she didn’t want to go any further.

  I felt a soft plop on the bed next to me, and looked over to see that Megyn was laying out her beige bra and panty set. She began unwrapping the stockings from the cardboard package.

  “Ooh,” she said. “These feel like silk.”

  She held them out to me to feel. They did in fact feel like silk between my fingers, and the sensation was enhanced by the knowledge that she would soon be sliding said silky-feeling stockings over her smooth legs..

  I watched her as she abandoned her panties and bra, and walked back to the sink. She unwrapped her hair from the towel and brushed it out before fishing the hairdryer out of a drawer and turning it on.

  When her hair was wet it was a rich, chocolate color. As it dried, the red appeared in streaks and then finally dominated the color. She leaned occasionally toward the mirror and her butt peeked out from the towel she had wrapped around her body. I was enjoying the show, enjoying the towel slipping open a little and sliding off her breasts with each slight motion she made.

  Until finally, the whole thing came apart and slipped off her body.

  She let it fall in a heap around her feet, and continued drying her hair.

  I could see her body reflected in the mirror: her shapely breasts, the small round swell of her stomach. And then:

  In the center her legs, the fiery red color of her snatch. I was stunned for a moment as I looked at it: she had all but shaved it off, leaving only an enticing, flame-colored landing strip leading to her slit.

  My cock responded immediately, thickening for action. Megyn leaned forward and examined something on her face as she continued to dry her hair, evidently unaware that I was watching her.

  She wasn’t trying to hide it, that was for sure. But... what did it mean? What did it mean if your wife shaved her snatch into a shapely landing strip for the first time in almost ten years, when she was about to go out on a date with another man?

  What did it mean about me that I found it horrifying and also incredibly erotic?

  I had, after all, purchased the new underwear for her, and it wasn’t like my fantasies were a total secret at this point.

  But really, Megyn? Was this over the line?

  She turned off the hairdryer and fluffed her hair. Parts of it were still slightly damp, but I knew she planned to touch it up after she got dressed. She gave me a look in the mirror, and on her face I could see that she had known I was watching her.

  Did she know how her shaved pussy would make me react? If she did, she gave no indication that it had even occurred to her.

  But she couldn’t not know.

  She walked over to the bed and smiled down at me.

  She picked up the stockings.

  It seemed to me that she was smiling inwardly, totally aware of the control she wielded over me at this moment with her “surprise,” and waiting for me to be the one to bring it up. She seemed to be enjoying this.

  She put a foot up on the bed to slide a stocking along her leg, unrolling it over her calf and then her knee, securing it in the center of her thigh. She did her right leg first, blocking my view of her snatch with her shapely hip.

  But when she switched legs, she glanced over at me and surely caught my eyes zoomed in on her snatch. Her smile didn’t change as she calmly slid the second stocking over her leg in a languid and sensual movement.

  “Cat got your tongue?” she said, as she moved the lacy elastic top into place on her thigh. She fidgeted with it at length, giving me
a long time to enjoy the show, even though it seemed like it was in place all along.

  Her red hair swung lightly back and forth with the motion.

  She looked at me and smiled before dropping her leg and turning around to admire herself in the mirror from across the room.

  “That’s a new style for you,” I managed to say. “Very interesting.”

  She turned back to face me, and picked up her new panties. For a moment she formed her features into the picture of innocence, about to ask what I was referring to. But then her smile returned and she shrugged a little as she bent over to step into her panties.

  I quickly flashed my gaze at the mirror, to get a nice view of her ass as she bent over. Between her legs there was nothing but the dark line of her pussy. It was scandalous.

  She stood up, sliding the panties along her legs and pulling them over her hips, into place. “I thought I’d... you know, do justice to my new underwear.”

  She did indeed do justice to her new underwear. I was speechless for a moment. Through the transparent mesh of the center of the panties, her bright red landing strip tantalized, just out of reach behind the gossamer curtain of silky material.

  It was all I could do not to rip them off of her.

  She was putting the bra on, hooking it in front of herself and sliding it around to pull the straps up and over her shoulders.

  As with the panties, the see-through material was especially tantalizing. Her pink nipples, which I noticed were hardened into excited pebbles, pressed against the material and the pink showed through, offering an approximate view of her large aureole, silky beneath the layer of silkiness, waiting to be touched.

  My cock flexed against my sweats.

  I set the tablet down next to me, and started to lean forward. I was going for the back of her knee, planning to stroke her through the silky stockings and pull her toward me so that I could bite through the panties and get at the red strip that led to her gash.

  She slapped my hand away and turned quickly. “Nope. I have to get ready,” she said.

  An erotic and terrible feeling sank through me.

  “Come on,” I pleaded.

  She shook her head and stood in front of the mirror to put on a pair of earrings, a dangly gold pair.

  I leaned back. “It seems a little suspicious, don’t you think?”

  She met my eyes in the mirror. She knew exactly what I was talking about, I could see in the light smile playing on her upper lip. “What’s that?”

  She tossed her hair to get at her opposite ear.

  “You know, trimming things up so... professionally. Are you sure you don’t have any extra plans with Max Riley?”

  She dropped her hands to her hips, and didn’t answer me immediately. She moved her head in one direction and then the other, admiring the dangling gold that shimmered under her ears.

  It was pretty sexy. I wondered if she would leave the earrings in while Max fucked her. They were so heavy. They would slap against her neck as she rocked back and forth on her knees, taking a pounding from his huge cock...

  I blinked slowly, hoping the image would clear my mind, like a picture on an Etch-A-Sketch.

  It did not. My cock ached.

  Megyn turned again. She rolled her eyes at me and crossed the room to the closet. She disappeared inside of it.

  “You’re the one who got me the underwear.”

  This was true. I was.

  And it was also true that I wanted her to wear them, and I liked her shaved snatch and her fiery landing strip. It was also true that I was sitting on the bed with a hard cock because I was unable to get the image of my wife getting fucked by a movie star out of my head.

  But something... bothered me.

  When she came out of the closet she was in the dress. She stood next to the bed and turned around. The zipper was open to just above her ass, the lacy edge of her panties visible, the crevice between her buttocks a mere shadow. “Zip me up?” she said.

  I won’t lie and say that I didn’t imagine the exact opposite of what I was doing as I dragged the zipper from her panties to the soft dip of her spine, just at her shoulders. That instead of the zipper moving upward, along her spine, enclosing her in the soft rust-red dress, led by my own fingers, I pictured the zipper being tugged down. Her skin unfolding from within the material. A dark black hand guiding the zipper from her shoulders to her ass.

  She thanked me and hurried to the sink the moment the zipper closed her dress, leaving me no time to move my hands over her body as I had hoped to do.

  She started combing her hair again and plugged in some kind of iron. I watched her brush a light dusting of foundation over her skin and coat her light lashes with a dark brown mascara. She looked at me as she screwed the lid on.

  “Oh come on,” she said. She turned around, putting her hand on the counter. “I did it for you, because I knew you’d get a little kick out of it.”

  She turned back to the mirror. “Honestly, I think this will probably be a hugely embarrassing, awkward evening.” She looked down, into her make-up bag. “Ugh. I’m so annoyed at Cassie.”

  She looked back up into the mirror and caught my eye. “I was just trying to have some fun with it. God. Don’t be so serious.”

  I forced my face into a smile. The kind of smile you have when you “totally get it” and were also “just joking around.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m also just joshin’ you.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, seeming convinced by my act. She put some lipstick on and rubbed her lips together. “For a second, I thought you were serious.”

  There was silence as I contemplated her and she straightened her hair with the iron, which was evidently a hair straightener. Her auburn hair turned silky-smooth and shinier as she pulled the iron through it. She styled it unusually for her – straight as an arrow, parted in the middle. The look gave her a dangerous, sexy aura. I wasn’t sure why, but she looked a lot more erotic with her hair like that.

  As she quickly dusted her face with some powder, applied some eye shadow, and painted her lips, the feeling became stronger. Her features started to look more sultry, and I couldn’t place my finger on why I was starting to feel unsettled.

  And then I realized; she resembled a porn star I really liked (for obvious reasons), whose hair was straight like hers.

  She turned to face me. “How do I look?”

  She didn’t have the boots on yet, but once she did she would look…

  “Stunning,” I said. “He won’t be able to resist.” There was a trace of bitterness in my voice. I heard it, and it surprised me.

  I don’t know if Megyn didn’t hear it, or if she just chose to ignore it. Either way, I didn’t blame her. I was acting like a spaz. As the countdown to her leaving the house to spend the evening with Max Riley had ticked away, I had become a basket case of emotional highs and dour lows.

  She gave herself another glance in the mirror and then looked at the slender gold watch on her wrist. “Oh my God,” she said, hurrying out of the room. “The car will be here any minute.”

  I followed her, and watched as she put on her boots, glancing nervously out the window as she did. Her excitement about leaving, her trepidation about missing the car, clawed at my insides. I was bouncing between the idea of telling her to stay and following her in my own car, hoping to watch her with him.

  She stood up when her phone buzzed. “They’re here,” she said.

  It was just a driver, and I bit down on my tongue to stop myself from correcting her. I walked with her to the door and waved theatrically at the driver. A long, black sedan, shiny and expensive, was parked at the curb. A driver in a snappy suit was standing near it with his arms crossed.

  “Swanky,” I said.

  Megyn turned and kissed me. “Honey,” she said pointedly. “I’m just joking about all of this.”

  I knew that “all of this” meant the innuendo, the act she had been putting on. Her words brought out another cacophony of f
eelings inside of me. It was exactly what I needed to hear – exactly what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear that my wife was, absolutely and 100%, joking about taking anything too far with Max Riley.

  It was just a gimmick, a fundraiser. She had done all of this to turn me on, and it had worked, and now she was assuring me that it was all just part of the game we were playing.

  That’s what I wanted.

  Wasn’t it?

  The affirmation made my heart sink, though, as much as it relieved me.

  I was disappointed.

  “Okay?” she said, to whatever strange expression I must have been making.

  “If you want, I don’t even have to go,” she said.

  I wondered if she meant that.

  I laughed. “Of course you should go,” I said.

  She kissed me again and trotted down the steps to the sleek black sedan. The driver opened the door for her.

  All just a game.

  The red dress, displaying her perfect body. The knee-high boots, like the wink of a slutty woman, hinting at a classy whoreishness. The beige underwear and the trimmed red hair beneath it.

  The car moved into the street, and rolled slowly out of sight. I was disappointed that Megyn didn’t turn around and wave at me. Excited that she didn’t, that she was already thinking of the next thing in her life.

  I hoped this was all a game.

  I hoped it was all serious.

  I hoped Max Riley would feel the silky-smooth skin on either side of that red landing strip before I did.

  I didn’t.

  A wave of desperation came over me. I almost charged down to the sidewalk to wave the car back.

  I stopped myself, and it felt like I ran into a brick wall.

  The car was already out of sight, turning the corner.

  My wife was officially on her date.

  What, I wondered, does a man do with his time while his wife goes out on a date with another, better-looking, richer, famous man?

  How does one entertain himself, or distract himself, or keep himself calm, while he waits for this event to unfold, far out of his reach?

  It was so early when Megyn left. The kids were at her parents’. In a silly, almost childish act, I had told Megyn I was going out with some friends. I could tell she largely didn’t believe me. That my intention – to make her think I was taking this whole thing with a grain of salt, playing a game with her and so secure in myself that I didn’t really care she was out on a date. Oh yeah, I already had a poker night planned, whatever. Was that tonight? - was never really believed.