Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

  I pushed her forward by the hair, until her forehead clanked gently against the mirror. I stood back to admire the sight of her ass, of my fingers probing her fire-red pussy. I finger-fucked her for a moment, and then I slid my wet fingers out and did a little dance around her ass.

  I placed the head of my cock against her pussy. “Here’s what you’re going to do,” I said, rubbing the crown over her sticky, swollen clit while she mewled. “You’re going to take that job, and then you’re going to not follow Cassie’s advice at all. You’re going to try very hard to get your skirt off around Max Riley.”

  I slid into her slowly, each inch of my cock treated to a violent spasm as her pussy pulsed with her undeniable desire. She put one hand up against the mirror and turned her head slightly, her eyes closed. I hoped she was imagining her pussy getting filled up with Max Riley’s cock.

  “You’re going to do everything you can to get his cock inside your pussy, just like this,” I said breathlessly. I was watching my own dick disappear inside of her, but I was imagining Max Riley in my place.

  “And then,” I said, as I began to fuck her, “you’re going to tell me all about it. You’re going to find a way for me to watch you. You’re going to do all kinds of very, very naughty things with Max Riley, and you’re going to like it, and then you’re going to come home and show me what a bad, bad girl you’ve been.”

  My voice trailed off at the end, as I began to slam my dick into her even harder. She put her hand on the mirror and held herself steady against it, but her forehead still banged into it a little as I began to pound her and my climax started to erupt, strangling my throat as it did.

  I was enjoying imagining all the things I would make her do.

  Her eyes were closed, so I didn’t know what she was imagining. But I hoped it was the same thing.

  I grabbed her hips and thrust deep inside of her when I came, yelling loudly and then snapping my mouth closed, remembering where I was.

  She, too, had lost control, and started to yell as she came. I covered her mouth with my hand and she bit into the flesh of my palm as I drove my seed into her pussy. Her cum and mine gushed out around my dick, sliding slow and hot over my balls.

  We panted like this for a moment, and then I slowly let my cock slide out of her with a plop. I looked at her swollen pussy, her cum gushing out and sliding down her thighs. I indulged in the pleasure of staring at her for a few moments before looking into her face in the mirror. She had pushed herself up and was leaning, still breathing heavily, against the counter.

  I could see doubt starting to play on her face, and the last thing I wanted to do was get into another conversation, another endless, interminable conversation about whether we should or we shouldn’t.

  Like I said, I’d snapped.

  “I’m serious,” I said quietly.

  And I stared at her.

  Of course, in the end, I know she knew that it was her choice. If she had said no just then, what would I have done? Ultimately she was the one who would have to seduce Max Riley, and I assume she knew that.

  But I could tell that all along she had just felt guilty about her own perverse desire. One or the other of us had to take the plunge and say it was okay.

  Not even that:

  I had to tell her what to do. That way she could absolve herself of her guilt.

  I stepped back into the shower after she said nothing to this. It seemed like a minute had gone by. She did nothing more than look at me in the mirror, and so I took what she was doing for acquiescence.

  I closed the shower door, and turned on the water. It was invigorating.

  Megyn was wearing a tight-fitting black skirt and a white silk blouse with a slouched, loose cowl neck, a pretty wardrobe choice from her days at work eight years ago – and amazingly, she still fit into it. In fact, her body seemed even tighter beneath the material.

  At my request, she had started wearing thigh-high stockings, like the ones from her date with Max Riley. When she had sat down in the car next to me, I had taken the liberty of pushing her skirt up a little to catch a glimpse of the lacy elastic border that encircled her thigh.

  We didn’t say much as we drove to her old office, situated in one of those many parts of the city that had once been very “bad,” and was now half-trendy, in an old warehouse. I pulled up at the curb and looked around.

  Today, three weeks into her new job, was an exciting day for both of us. She expected to see Max Riley in the office at some point.

  She tugged on her skirt and looked at herself in the mirror.

  “Don’t expect miracles,” she said, and I could see she was losing a bit of confidence.

  She glanced at me as she snapped the sun-visor mirror back into place. “He’s a movie star, after all.”

  I knew things about Megyn that I had decided to keep to myself at this point. I knew that she had done a lot of searches about Max Riley since the night we had agreed – the night I had told her what I wanted her to do. In her searches, and the pages she visited, her desire for him was evident.

  I looked up and down my pretty wife. I knew I was playing with fire here – particularly, particularly because the guy was famous.

  But I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t even want to try.

  I put a hand on Megyn’s knee.

  Since deciding to go ahead with this plan, our sex life had gotten wild and delicious. Every day was a thrill, and Megyn was easy to ripen nearly every night.

  I slide my finger down her thigh, and she sucked in her breath and looked straight ahead. The sidewalk had a few passers-by milling about on it, and I knew she didn’t want to attract any attention to the fact that her husband was sliding his finger up her thigh, pressing his pinkie against the center of her underwear.

  I smiled when the tip of my finger reported that her panties were damp with her excitement.

  Her chest rose and fell a little faster.

  We leaned over and kissed each other, like an ordinary suburban couple, in an ordinary suburban marriage – not like the two people we were, about to embark on a wild adventure that would hopefully end with her doing all sorts of depraved things with Max Riley while I watched.

  [Megyn]: He’s here finally

  And then no more messages for two hours.

  I made a big show at work of trying to look like I was working, so much so that I actually managed to get a great deal of work done. As I worked away on the interface for a grocery chain, though, my mind was moving my wife around the tableaux of her office, into increasingly precarious and tempting positions with Max Riley. Until finally, unable to take the sexual tension between them any more, they stowed themselves away, and he held her ankles as he sawed in and out of her on the brown and beige marble counter-top of the third-floor private bathroom. In my fantasy, he just pushed her panties aside. They would be hard with their dried cum by the time she got home.

  The day was torture, and I had to find all sorts of way to amuse myself in order to stop myself sending her messages incessantly. Where was she? What was she doing? Had she managed to get Max Riley’s cock in her mouth yet, or what?

  Finally I could take it no more. I texted her.

  [Me]: I’m dying here

  There was a torturous fifteen minutes while I waited, staring at the wall, for her response. My insides twisted with a metallic, painful high of hope, and my cock throbbed relentlessly. I was unable to even pretend I was working.

  The phone buzzed and I nearly tossed everything on the floor as I grabbed it and swiped at it like a wild, drooling drunk. I drew a sharp look of disdain from one of the raven-haired, gothy twenty-somethings working nearby.

  [Megyn]: going ghppf

  I looked at the message, perplexed, as another came in

  [Megyn]: wrig everything teaspoon

  [Megyn]: under tablespoon

  [Megyn]: table

  Once I had deciphered Megyn’s message (writing under table), which took some doing to figure out, I busied myself pictu
ring the scene, dying to know what kind of table (a meeting, a restaurant… his hotel?)

  More delicious dozens of minutes passed by, while I waited to hear from my wife again. Sure, I knew she was at work, surrounded by people, and by people who knew she was married. Max Riley was probably sitting on the far end of a conference room table and they were probably talking about accounting matters or something boring.

  Nothing was happening.

  But that didn’t stop me from envisioning something else entirely.

  How long would it take for big, superstar, gorgeous Max Riley to move in on my wife? How long would he wait before going over to her desk, leaning on it, and growling at her in his deep voice that he’d like to go over something with her after she got off work?

  How long would he wait to pull her into the supply closet and push her up against the shelves of pencils and paper, and grope her small breasts and dig into her mouth with his bright pink tongue while a rain of pens and replacement staples fell on their heads?

  After hours passed, I sent Megyn a text, unable to wait for her.

  [Me]: So?

  And I waited. I wondered if Megyn really was in a supply closet, getting her pussy filled with Max Riley’s meat while she hung from… something.

  Or perhaps Megyn was getting more into this game than I had imagined, and now she was teasing me. Drawing things out purposely, because she had sensed how wild it drove me.

  The phone buzzed in my pocket.

  [Megyn]: Hey. I’m going to be a little late tonight. Can you take care of dinner? Don’t wait for me ill get something here.

  I stared at the words on the screen, while my heart went flying around in my chest. I could feel my blood pressure rising, my arteries filling to a tightened, dangerous level, and my cock responding by thrashing to life.

  I typed a message asking her to clarify, and I almost sent it. But I changed my mind, preferring instead to dwell on the distant-sounding text she had sent me. “Hey,” - as if she hadn’t spoken to me all day.

  And what had happened? Surely it had to be something about Max. It was far too much of a coincidence if it wasn’t.

  My heart was beating so fast it felt dangerous. I leaned back in my chair and tried to calm myself down.

  It was time to get going home. Time to collect the kids from the after-school program.

  I couldn’t get up, not in the state I was in. I closed my eyes and tried to think about something – anything – else. But my mind kept coming back to the imagined interaction. Max Riley leaning on her desk, doing that thing he always does on his shows, straightening his tie while looking down at it, in a display of alpha-male false modesty. Leaning in, his voice low and rumbling, the sound of an animal more than a man, looking up and around the room to let Megyn know he wanted to be discreet as he said this to her. Asking her to finish up a few things after work, with him, maybe over drinks.

  The implications of invitation lurking in his voice, in his animal-brown eyes.

  And Megyn shifting in her seat, agreeing to it all, her pussy ramping up to a dull ache and her panties getting damp as his eyes pulled her in like tractor-beams.

  That didn’t take long.

  I rubbed my hands over my face and made a noise that drew more annoyed looks from the remaining employee, some thin guy with no social skills who had entered and set up his workstation without me even noticing.

  I thought about my taxes to take the edge off my hard-on, for as long as I could, and then I hurried downstairs to get home so my wife could “stay late” at work.

  I went through the motions of finishing up the day; making dinner, helping with homework, doing all of the daily activities that ordinarily spelled out the end of another drab evening. There wasn’t any time to sit and ponder what Megyn was doing, but it was never far from my mind.

  You might think that engaging in domestic life with my family would have thrown into stark reality the risk I was taking by pushing my wife into a sexual relationship with a gorgeous movie star. And in a way it did.

  But far from discouraging me, it actually enhanced the high I was on.

  Megyn came home around 9:30. The kids had just tucked themselves away in their rooms.

  Acting like it was any other day, an ordinary day, she set her things on the counter and rushed into the hallway, saying she wanted to say goodnight.

  It seemed like an eternity that she was back there.

  What would Megyn tell me? My insides twisted in anticipation, even though I knew it was almost certainly not the thing I most wanted to hear. I had committed every detail of her appearance to my memory when she had come through the door, and not a hair was out of place. She seemed neither too refreshed (as though she had taken a shower in a hotel after banging Max Riley), nor in a disarray that came from making out with someone, pressed up against a wall.

  But a guy can hope.

  When she came back to the kitchen we looked at each other wordlessly for a few seconds.

  “You have a good day?” I said.

  “Long,” she sighed, pushing her hair out of her face. She smiled.

  Then, out of nowhere, she suggested that we go sneak some drinks in the basement.

  We snuck away to the small room in the basement where I kept a liquor cabinet and a small fridge with (occasionally) extra beers and (usually) extra cheese or vegetables like cabbage that no one really wanted to eat but which had been purchased to make us all feel more healthy.

  I was happy to find two beers in the fridge, so I cracked them open for us, and Megyn sat down on an unused piece of exercise equipment and giggled as we clinked our glasses together. I was sitting on a stool.

  By now, I was burning up inside. But I wasn’t about to give Megyn any more leverage than she already had by showing her how eager I was to hear what had happened.

  “So?” I said, after taking a swig of the beer.

  Megyn was still wearing her black skirt, her thigh-high stockings, her silky blouse. She crossed her legs in front of me, and I strained – but failed – to see the triangle of fabric between her legs. I felt certain, with the small puff of air, that I smelled the tangy scent of her excitement.

  She leaned back on the faux leather of the bench and swung her foot a little. “So,” she said.

  “Why were you late?” I said, tiring a little of the game. I wanted to get to the good stuff.

  Megyn smiled again, and looked at her bottle. Then she brought her hand to her hair and flicked a lock of it from her face. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said.

  I felt my cock thicken. I leaned my elbows on my knees and leaned a little toward Megyn. I set the beer down and put both hands on her shapely calf.

  “So it was Max,” I said.

  Megyn brought the bottle to her lips, and closed them around it, blatantly alluding to a blowjob. Then she looked away, to the shelves of junk on one side of the room. “It’s sort of hard to talk about,” she said.

  “What’s so hard to talk about?” I ventured. I slid my hands along her shapely muscle, noting again the taut feel of her running efforts beneath the silken stockings and her even softer skin. I made my way up, and when I reached her knee I pulled her leg from atop the other and used my left hand to push them gently apart.

  She continued to recline on her elbow, but her mouth opened slightly and she looked at me with interest. I joined my left hand with my right in its continued journey up her leg, moving along her thigh until I reached the elastic at the top of her stocking.

  Now I could definitively smell that she was excited. I slid the stocking off, peeling it away, back down her leg the way I had come, until it slipped from the end of her foot. I turned my attention to her other leg, making the same long trip up to her thigh, and then peeling the pantyhose away down to her toes.

  “So?” I said. “Tell me all about it.”

  She bit her lip uncertainly. “Where should I start?” she said, as I pushed the backs of my hands along the inside of her thighs, my fin
gers headed to the center of her, pushing out against her legs as I traveled closer to my target.

  “Why don’t you tell me what time he got there,” I said.

  Her legs fell open, just as I wanted, and close to her pussy, her thighs were sticky with the tiniest sheen of sweat.

  “I think at one.”

  “At one,” I said. I ran just the tip of my forefinger over the soft indent beneath the damp material of her panties, right where her hole would be. Then I moved up, until I felt the hard, inflamed ridge of her clit protruding, ever so slightly, from between her fat outer lips. “And did you two hit it off as much as before?”

  I passed my nail over her clit, just a feathery touch, and I was pleased when her eyes twitched in pleasure.

  “Tell me,” I insisted. “Those are the rules.”

  She sucked in her breath as I continued to play with her clit.

  “I, um… he seemed to… yes, yeah, we got along, but -”

  “Did he like your outfit?” I interrupted.

  She looked taken aback for a moment, but I reassured her with my look. I moved my finger to the hem of her panties, and she squirmed a little as I drew it up and down, caressing her innermost thigh.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  I hooked a finger under her panties, and immediately came into contact with her slick excitement. I continued to tease her, rhythmically moving my finger up and down the length of her smooth outer lip. Never touching her in the center, where she was hottest. She would have to give me something more for that.

  “How do you know he liked it?”

  She tipped her head a little as I flirted with touching her clit, but pulled back at the last moment.

  “It’s… you know, it was obvious, he was looking at me.”

  “Just looking at you?”

  “Looking at me with this, uh… um, you know, the look.”