Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

  I slid my hand from inside her panties and reached up to the waist to gather them in my hand and pull them downward, tugging them toward her knees. Her legs swung together as I pulled on them, girlishly, almost adolescently.

  I left them bunched at her knees. A soft pink pair I didn’t remember seeing.

  “And?” I said. “Did he flirt with you?” I pressed a hand to her stomach and pushed her backward, until she was lying on the exercise bench. I now knew what I wanted to do with her.

  I bent her in half, hooking her legs on the pulldown handles. The skirt edged down to her thighs, and revealed her bare pussy and her ass. Her cunt was glistening with excitement.

  I moved the stool to the end of the bench and sat down on it. I used my fingers to pull apart her lips, and I blew on them to get her to squirm and move her hips, to get her ready for more.

  But first she had to tell me.

  “Did he flirt with you?”

  “I think so,” she panted. “I...”

  I leaned in to her cunt and flicked my tongue at her clit, making her lose her train of thought.

  “Tell me why you were late,” I said.

  “He’s… we have to go to a… thing next week,” she said. “A thing for...”

  I was making a journey along the edges of her inner labia, brushing lightly over her clit, and back down again. My tongue darted into the melted, sweet center of her pussy, where her juices were pooling in anticipation. “What sort of thing?” I said, letting my voice hum on her quivering clit.

  “A char… a charity thing… and he… um, he said...”

  I flicked at her clit. “He said what?”

  I was starting to get impatient. I pulled my head back from her pussy and placed my finger on her clit, drawing the hood up and exposing the rawest center of her body. Then I leaned forward and bit lightly on the meat of it.

  “Oh god,” she said. “Oh.. okay… he said...”

  I rewarded her by sliding my tongue along the protruding center, and her legs shook with the pleasure it gave her. My cock was now painfully hard, and I was using my free hand to wriggle out of my belt and pants.

  “He said… can we go together and he’s… oh, god, please don’t stop,” she whined. She lifted her hips toward my mouth. I moved away, teasing her until she was in a frenzy.

  “What did you stay late for?”

  She turned her head from side to side and closed her eyes. “I don’t, I don’t know what else… … he just...please don’t stop.”

  I stood up, and her eyes flew open in alarm as I stopped caressing her clit.

  She grasped my hair and panted. “Oh, that’s all, he just wanted to talk about...” her voice wandered off when I began to suck on her clit again. I stopped when she stopped, and she lifted her head. “He wanted to make plans...”

  “Over drinks?” I said, hoping.

  Megyn’s hips were gyrating in desperation. “Nah… no… not… it was… not drinks, but it was… it was obvious he was, you know…”

  “Were you alone?”

  “I… yes.” Megyn’s thighs began to tremble.

  I couldn’t resist making her come then, she was so wild and shaking in my hands. I felt her body tighten and I had to push on her legs to keep them propped up above her head on the pulldown bar while I massaged her clit until she let out a shriek and pulled on my hair. Her juices coated my chin, and I drank them up, enjoying the taste of her wild, partly unfaithful cum.

  She started to unhook her ankles from where I had hooked them, and I pushed down on her thighs to keep them in place as I rose up, shimmying out of my pants. My cock sprung loose and I guided it to her soaked, swollen pussy. Her cum was sliding down between her asscheeks, coating her pink eyelet, giving me very dirty ideas.

  But I returned to the moment.

  “And so you were alone, at night, with Max Riley,” I said, picturing the scene in my own mind.

  I rubbed my cock over her clit and she jerked, still too sensitive to withstand the caress. I did it again, enjoying the sweet torture.

  “And was he hitting on you, Megyn, by asking you to stay?”

  “I think so,” she admitted.

  “And you liked that?”

  I placed my cock right at her quivering hole. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  I slid my cock into her slowly. It was hard to go slowly; I was aching to ram her full of cum. But I wanted to hear more, and I wanted to savor this moment.

  “Did anything happen?” I asked, my voice shaking. I so much wanted the answer to be yes, though I knew from the way Megyn had been acting earlier it wasn’t. She didn’t seem quite stunned or guilty enough.

  Megyn shook her head.

  “But you would have liked it if it had, wouldn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  I was overcome by a surge of lust and I slammed my cock into her pussy to my balls. Her pussy gushed its hot cum all around me.

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  I started to fuck her, getting into a slow rhythm. “What would you like Max Riley to do to you?” I whispered. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

  I sawed in and out of her while her face went through a series of expressions. I moved my fingers over her lips. “I want to hear it, Megyn, all the dirty things you want Max Riley to do to you.”

  The dirtier the better, I thought.

  I slid my hand down her thigh, and grabbed her in the slimy, wet center of her leg, right where her thigh joined her pelvis. I extended my fingers toward the round meat of her thigh, and my thumb into the wet, hot mess below, seeking her puckered asshole.

  I rubbed it when I found it, pushing my balls out of the way to get at the rough, ridged circle. There was so much cum dripping from her cunt my thumb slid in easily. Megyn’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t wince in pain.

  “Would you let him fuck you like this?” I said.

  She gasped as I twisted my thumb and pressed upward at the channel of her pussy, pinching her delicate flesh between my thumb and my cock. I continued to fuck her slowly, but I could feel my veins throbbing at my temple and along the length of my shaft: I was ready to burst.

  Megyn made a motion with her head that looked like a nod.

  “Dirtier?” I said. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’d let him fuck you like a dirty whore.”

  I was going to boil over. I suppressed it, just until I heard her say it.

  “I want you to say it,” I whispered, when she nodded. “Say it, and then I’ll give you a pussy full of cum, and you can pretend it’s a pussy full of Max Riley’s load.”

  Her pussy clenched against me, a pulse to affirm that she indeed liked the idea of Max Riley’s hot seed filling her up, as much as I did.

  “I want him… to fuck me… like a… like a…” her eyes were half closed again, she was going to come.

  “Like a dirty whore,” I prompted, and my balls throbbed, the base of my cock uncoiling.

  “Like a dirty whore,” my wife said, and she thrashed under me as her own climax ripped through her.

  “Good girl,” I said, my voice almost strangled. I thrust deep into her, bouncing on her contorted thighs, and unloaded my hot cum into her cunt.

  After we untangled ourselves from the very awkward position we’d been in on the exercise equipment, and Megyn found a towel, we marveled that my beer had somehow made it through the ordeal and we split it.

  I looked around in the liquor cabinet for something good, and we decided on White Russians. Megyn volunteered to get the milk from upstairs.

  When she returned she had changed into more comfortable clothes – her traditional yoga pants. But they somehow looked better on her than they had before. I admired her butt while she added the final ingredient to the glasses I’d set up on the edge of the table under the liquor cabinet.

  I was sitting on the workout bench. She came and sat on my lap, handing me my drink.

  “So, I’m not sure I really got this whole story,”
I said. “It was a little… unintelligible in places.”

  Megyn was taking a sip of her drink and had to stop herself from laughing. She held the drink over her lap, twisting it in circles, using only the long fingers of one hand. “Um… so, yeah, he’s definitely flirting with me. I think.”

  “You think?” I said.

  What was it with women?

  Megyn shrugged and took another sip of her drink. “I don’t know. He’s… like, famous. Why would he be flirting with me?”

  It went through my head to point out that all men are flirting with all women at all times as a matter of general biology, but of course I’m not a total idiot, so I said, instead: “Well, you’re gorgeous.”

  Which was true.

  Megyn tapped her glass. “I don’t know...”

  “I’m sure you can trust your feelings on this one. Did he ask you stay late, or not?”

  “Yeah, that’s true, but… he didn’t really do anything. You know. Moves-wise.”

  That’s the move, I thought.

  “Hmm. I think it’s part of a master plan,” I said. “So what’s this ‘event’ you were… sort of talking about?”

  Megyn gave me a small grin, and I thought I saw her blush a little. “Oh yeah.” She took another sip of her drink. “That’s he, um… it’s a charity thing. And it’s… he gave me the impression that he, like, you know. Wants to go together.”

  This was cute. My wife sounded like a high-school girl talking about a boy she liked.

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  Megyn smiled and looked at her glass. “Just… he said, if I didn’t have a date for that night, then he’d be happy to stand in for him. You.”

  My heart fluttered and I felt my cock stirring again. Stand in for me, I bet.

  “And you said?”

  Megyn brought her drink to her lips and gave me a sidelong glance. To keep me waiting, she finished off her white Russian, the creamy white lingering on her lower lip until she licked it off, kicked up a little storm in my crotch area. She smiled. “I said I’d check with you.”

  I groaned.

  “But that you were probably busy.”

  So busy.

  “So Max Riley wants to stand in for your husband,” I said. I moved my hand up and under Megyn’s shirt. “Reaaally...”

  Megyn giggled and stood up, taking my glass from me as she did. “It’s too soon for me, cowboy. You want another drink?”

  “Are you going on another date with Max Riley?”

  Megyn smiled. “It looks that way...” she sang, leaving the room. From the stairs she said something else I didn’t hear.

  It looked like I was going to get what I wanted, after all.

  9: CHARITY

  Was there something a little creepy about the way I was going to this event? Sure. But honestly, as I walked into the auditorium, I knew instantaneously that I wasn’t going to get caught out.

  I’m an average-looking guy. I’m so average-looking that no one notices me or remembers if I went somewhere, unless I do something to make myself stand out. I’m an average height, and average build, an average coloring of brown hair and green-blue eyes, and an average, likable face. Women say I’m good-looking, but they don’t pick me out from a crowd.

  Anyway, almost everyone was here to see someone else, and that someone else was Max Riley. Who did stand out, especially since he had come down from the stratosphere to be here.

  The tickets were excruciatingly expensive, but it was all worth it. After all, it went to charity, and it provided me with exactly what I wanted, a real dream experience: front(-ish) row seats to my wife interacting with Max in a “professional” capacity.

  I’d see for myself what he was up to with her.

  Because while Megyn had been as forthcoming as she could be, she just wasn’t very good at giving me the visceral details that I wanted: how did Max look at her, and how did she look back at him? Was there any chemistry between them, or was it just the typical flirtatiousness between all good-looking people?

  I’d have liked to know more – so much more, like what Megyn’s thoughts were when she looked at him, if something rippled through her body when he was near her. But I knew I could never really have these details, they were locked inside of Megyn and even if she had wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to give them to me the way I wanted them.

  So this was the best I could do. The closest I could get.

  The first part of the event was in a glass-faced auditorium on the side of the museum, where small-venue chamber concerts were often held. This I knew only because I read a brochure while I waited, tucked away on one of the high, distant seats in a corner, where I could see everything: the kids’ orchestra (part of a youth program), the waiting dancers (another program), and the coordinators of the event. I could see the white-gloved waiters at an open bar, rich-looking donors, and in the corner, busily giving instructions and typing away on her work phone, my wife. She was so preoccupied with what she was doing that she didn’t even look around to find me as the minutes before the event started wound down.

  The seats filled up around me as I stared at my wife, waiting in anticipation for the big moment when Max Riley would enter the scene. I lost track of time thinking about it, and I must have been quite a wild sight. Though like I said: no one paid me any notice.

  Megyn was picture-perfect in a black cocktail dress. Her figure, viewed at such a distance, had such elegant proportions, curves in just the right places. The dress dipped to give just a hint of her cleavage – but not too much, as this was a conservative event. The dress didn’t glitter or sparkle: it was simple, and it was perfect on her, because the extraordinary color of her dark red hair was attention enough. Megyn, unlike me, stood out.

  And then, suddenly, he was there. He strode out from behind a large white exhibit wall.

  Other than the children in the room, Max was one of the few black people present. So there was that.

  But it wasn’t just that. He was tall, his skin was a deep, black-ish brown, and he had a magnetic energy that turned people toward him. The effect rippled through the audience and the workers on the stage, even though only a few people had noticed him and obviously everyone had been given instructions not to act like an idiot.

  And the first place Max Riley, hot black superstar went? To stand right next to my wife.

  Megyn was on the phone, looking worried, holding a piece of paper in her hand and waving at an aide who had just started to walk away. Max stood right behind her, and it was clear she didn’t see him (and that she was slightly flustered). She turned and nearly walked right into his hard, muscled chest.

  I watched Max grin, his signature grin, the grin that made millions of women swoon.

  And I watched Megyn flutter and melt. She brought the phone to her chest and smiled at him. I saw her give a little shake of her head, and then point at something.

  They were talking. Standing quite close to each other.

  And then Max Riley took his gigantic hand, and put it on her shoulder. On my wife’s shoulder.

  Megyn smiled, and rather than be taken aback or flustered by the gesture, she sort of melted into it, smiling.

  The two of them turned to look at the group of little kids forming in the seats on center stage. I squinted, scrutinizing the way they were standing. I wished I had sat closer, though I didn’t want anyone to see me.

  But I could see very plainly that Max and Megyn were standing so close that Megyn’s bare shoulder must have brushed occasionally against his suit. He had his hands folded in front of him, relaxed, poised. Megyn was now looking on, confident, everything she had been flustered about seemingly resolved.

  And for just a moment, I had a disorienting wave of vertigo roll over me: they looked so natural, so good together. They had an easy camaraderie I hadn’t expected. Megyn shifted slightly in her shoes and smiled, bringing her arm up to touch him on the elbow. Her mouth opened, and she smiled as she said something, which in turn spread a
smile across Max Riley’s lips.

  As though she were saying, “oh yeah, I almost forgot...”

  But the way that she did it made my insides boil. So casually, so easily. Max Riley didn’t intimidate her.

  And from what I could see, Max Riley liked my wife. A lot.

  While I mused on this, someone came forward and made an announcement, and Max Riley was now striding out in front of the orchestra, waving at the crowd, smiling his big, broad smile and flashing his ultra-white teeth.

  Megyn watched him until he started talking, and only after a few moments did she seem to remember the whole reason she was here. Or the whole reason I wanted her to be here.

  And only then did she lift her eyes to scan the audience. When she saw me, she brought her fingers to her mouth (probably laughing at my attire), in recognition.

  And then we were all clapping because Max was done speaking in his silky, baritone voice, making everyone laugh easily. The conductor was walking out to the stage, and Max shook his hand as he passed.

  But I was looking at my wife, who was smiling right at the big, bald, black man as he swaggered toward her.

  He could have gone anywhere, at that point, I imagined. There was no reason for him to stand at the edge of the performance floor: there were seats along the wall, and surely he was such a big-shot he even had one reserved.

  But he didn’t do any of that. He stood, instead, by my wife. And the two of them watched the concert but with that energy buzzing between them, the energy you can just see, and feel, between two people who are flirting with the idea of fucking each other.

  It was a long concert as I watched them. I was so absorbed in the two of them standing there, moving closer millimeter by excruciating millimeter, smiling silently at each other now and again, crackling with obvious lust – that I missed the whole concert and was quite surprised when the orchestra filed away, and the chairs and stands were somehow gone when Max strode back out the front of the floor and addressed us all again.

  “And now,” he said, his voice like whiskey-colored velvet, “I’d like to introduce a very amazing little group of dancers, who are part of the Ryerson Hall Dance Troupe. This is a program...” My mind faded out.