I wondered where a guy like Max Riley stayed when he came to town. I wondered for a while how much a guy like Max Riley made. Then I started fishing around for the information on the internet. Then I felt sorry for myself, and then I then I started wondering if I hadn’t made a huge mistake.
Just the thought of having made a mistake opened a floodgate, and behind it were all sorts of terrible thoughts that had nothing to do with how much money Max Riley made and how that made me feel inferior.
Like this one, which chilled me to the bone: what if Max Riley was not a trustworthy guy? What if he was one of those crazed, abusive psychos, and he was mistreating my wife?
I didn’t want to drink, because I didn’t want to be an asshole when Megyn got home, so I didn’t have any kind of balm to put on my anxiety.
If Megyn ever came home.
I wondered what she was doing, right then, right at that moment.
I cheered up, on an upswing in my mood. Megyn was pretty good at reading people, reading men. (I mean, she sometimes idiotically felt unsure about whether or not they were flirting with her, but in general she knew what was what). There was no way she would have gone home with a total asshole.
My thoughts turned, then, to how Max Riley would put the moves on Megyn, and how she would react. Would he jump right in, or would he put on a whole seduction scene for her? Was he the kind of guy to turn on some music, offer her a drink, sit at the other end of whatever huge millionaire sofa he had in whatever huge millionaire loft he was renting, and ask her about herself?
And what about Megyn? How much of an act would she put on for him, for herself, and for me? Would she act flustered, or even be flustered? Would she say she couldn’t possibly, because she was married? (Thinking about her saying something like that was, for me at least, even hotter than if she didn’t).
And then, what kind of sex would they have? Would it be the kind of wild, uninhibited sex you have with someone you never intend to see again? Would they get wildly drunk and do things I had never done with Megyn? (My secret hope).
Or would he seduce her like that, too? Gently dipping into her this first time, warming her up and stretching her out for the next time he got inside of her?
And then, of course, I got around to pondering what kind of cock he had. How big it was, where he would put it, whether she would suck on his dick and if she would swallow his cum if he came in her mouth (not the kind of thing Megyn was usually in to, though if she had enough wine she was sometimes game, long ago, in the past…)
I whittled away the hours thinking about all of this, imagining all of it in vivid, painful detail. From time to time I would look at the clock and wonder exactly where Max Riley’s cock was at that moment.
Every now and then I would get hit by the reality of what we were doing. This was real. My wife was really alone somewhere with that humongous black man, and I had given her explicit permission to do whatever she wanted with him.
Fuck.
And then, at long last, a splash of light moved across the living room wall – I was sitting in the dark – stayed there while a door opened and closed, and then retreated.
The front door jiggled, and in walked my wife.
It was 2:17am.
“Jesus!” Megyn said when she turned on the light. She had her hand to her heart. “I thought you went to bed.”
I beckoned her to me with one finger.
I was pleased, in what you might think is a very cruel and perverted way, to see that a mixture of hesitancy and fear, guilt and shyness, played across her face.
“I texted you like three times,” she said.
I had forgotten all about the phone. I pulled her toward me by her knee when she got close enough for me to reach her.
I sniffed the air. The unmistakable scent of soap rose from her skin.
“You took a shower,” I said, and I looked up at her.
Her mouth dropped open a little. “I… well, I...”
I slid my hands along her thighs and up toward where her panties should have been. I snapped my eyes up at her when I found that they were not.
Megyn blushed. “They… uh, got ripped.”
The final word of that sentence was a whisper.
There. It was out. She had really done it, really gone through with it. My pulse raced.
I found her smooth pussy with my fingers. It was wet with something, something from inside of her, whether she had taken a shower or not.
I withdrew my hand. “Turn around,” I said.
Megyn looked a little worried, almost like she was going to object, but she did as I asked. I leaned forward and reached up to unzip her dress.
A shudder went through me as the zipper broke her dress open, and revealed that her bra was also not under the dress. Torn, as well? Who knew? Nothing but her porcelain skin filled the yawn in her dress.
She slid the dress off her shoulders. Once her ass was bare, her misadventures were brought into a little more focus: her butt was red with slap marks.
I touched her right cheek, which was particularly bright, almost as though Max had slapped her skin just moments before. I could almost hear the crack of his thick black hand against her ass.
“Did you get a spanking?” I said.
But there wasn’t any reason to pause, to wait for her answer; anyone could see that she had.
“Get on your hands and knees,” I said almost immediately. “Leave your shoes on,” I added, when she started to step out of the sleek black pumps.
My wife dropped to her hands and knees, and I slid off the chair and knelt behind her, unzipping my pants as I did.
I pushed down on her middle back, pushing her face to the floor. This way, her ass was tilted up at me. I made another pass over her sore buttocks. “Are you sore?” I asked.
She nodded by moving her face up and down on the floor. I kissed her on the red splotches. Then I leaned forward and took her hands, one by one, placing them on her ass. “Pull your ass apart for me,” I said.
I wanted a view of her pussy, which shower or no, was probably still dripping with another man’s cum.
I leaned back on my heels to have a better view, and I investigated the damage.
Her inner thighs were smeared with her, or his, or both of their cum. Or her excitement. I had no way of knowing which until I heard the story. The outer and inner lips of her cunt had certainly taken quite a bit of abuse. Beneath the layer of shiny juices, they were red and inflamed. Her hole was enlarged, stretched out, and her clit was fat and protruding. The skin around her pussy had been rubbed to a flaming red.
And above her pussy, the pucker of her ass, which didn’t seem to have taken a whole cock inside of it but which had definitely been abused in some way; it, too, was a flushed, manhandled shade of red.
I touched her pussy. “How about here,” I said. “Are you sore?”
She nodded.
I touched her ass. “And here?”
Another nod.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Mrs. Lyons,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me what Max Riley has done with you?”
“I can’t tell you,” Megyn whispered.
“Oh, you most certainly can,” I said. “Or do you need another spanking?”
Megyn pushed up on her hands. “No,” she said. “No, I’m too sore.”
I rubbed my hand on her ass. “Well, you’ll have to tell me what you did, if you don’t want a spanking.”
She looked back at me helplessly.
“I don’t know how to say it,” she said, finally.
I took my cock out, stroking it languidly with my hand. Precum had formed in a bead at the crown.
This is why, I thought, this whole thing would be easier if I could just watch them.
“Let’s start with this,” I said. “Did you suck his cock?”
Megyn nodded.
“And did he come in your mouth?”
She looked down as she nodded.
“And did you swallow?”
<
br /> “Yeah, I mean… sort of.”
“Sort of?”
Megyn lowered her head a little. “He, um… came all over my lips and my… face.”
“So what did you do?”
She hesitated.
I nudged her with my cock, rubbing it along her thigh.
“I licked it off,” she whispered finally.
I reached forward and grabbed her hair and pulled her head around, leading her toward my own cock. She looked at my shaft, saw the precum oozing from the tip, and seemed to relax a little.
“Did he ask you to lick it off?” I asked.
She lifted her gaze to look me right in the eye. “He told me to.”
I pushed her head down, and she opened her mouth wide for my cock. She took it all the way to the back of her throat, effortlessly. I pumped her up and down on my shaft a few times, and then released her head so she could look up at me again. “Was his cock the biggest cock you ever put in your mouth?”
Megyn nodded. I pulled gently on her hair to let her know I wanted something a little more. “It was hard to get the whole thing in my mouth,” she added.
I pushed her back on all fours, facing away from me again. “Did you suck his cock before or after he fucked your pussy?”
“After.”
“And did he come in your pussy, Megyn?” I slid my fingers into her wet slit and pinched her clit. She gasped. “Oh,” she said.
I slapped her lightly on the ass. She sucked her breath in. “How did his cock feel in your pussy? Was it big?”
“It was… he fucked me for a long time.”
“And his cock was big?”
“Yes.”
“Thick?”
“Yeah.” Megyn’s voice was weak now. She was getting worked up as I played with her clit.
“Is your pussy very sore right now?”
She nodded.
I placed the head of my cock at the entrance to her sodden cunt. “But not too sore for me?” I pushed into her slowly. “I’ll fuck you nice and gentle,” I said. “If you tell me what else Max did to you.”
Megyn sucked in her breath as my cock slowly cut through her. She was obviously in some discomfort. Max had really fucked the shit out her, it seemed. I shuddered. I would have given anything to see him manhandle my wife.
But however sore she was, there was no mistaking that she was also wildly turned on, because her cunt was as soaked as I had ever felt it, and she was the one who started rocking back and forth on my cock.
“He fucked me… there,” she said. “And he, while he did that he… that’s when he spanked me.”
“But you liked it,” I said.
“I liked it a lot.” Her pussy quivered as though agreeing.
“And then what?”
“Then he… uh…”
I slapped her lightly on the ass when her voice trailed off, and she gasped lightly. She hurried to get the next words out:
“He... put something in my ass, more than one finger. He did it while he was fucking me and I was so… I barely remember.”
I had to fight hard to keep from blowing my load into her right then and there. I leaned forward and caught my breath, not moving for a moment.
“Did you like that?” I asked, when I had regained control.
Megyn responded by whimpering, getting closer to an orgasm. She started to buck against me, slapping her sore buttocks against my thighs.
“Does your ass hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Oh...” Megyn whined. “Oh... my ass hurts.”
I had a plan for it to hurt even more, next time, but I shelved it because thinking about it nearly sent me careening over the edge again.
“And then what?” I said. I grabbed her hips, and started to fuck her hard, breaking my promise to be gentle. She went right along with it, incredibly – such a slut! - and I never got the answer to that last question because we both started yelling as we came.
The orgasm I had in my wife’s sodden, used cunt was like none I had ever had before in my life. I had to saw away at her for a full five minutes as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over me, until it was almost painful.
Finally, I slowly withdrew from her pussy, with a squelch. My cock flopped against my thigh, and she edged forward before rolling over to lie down on the floor.
I looked to my right and found a blanket on the couch, which I tossed over her. I threw a pillow on the floor for her and then sank down next to her with my own under my head.
Megyn pulled the blanket over her and up to her chin. She covered her mouth. “Oh my god,” she said. She looked at me.
I was smiling, moving my hand up and down her arm.
“Was it too far?” she said.
“Only if it was too far for you,” I said. “Did you… I mean, was he too rough with you? Was I too rough with you?”
She shook her head quickly side to side. “I liked it,” she admitted.
I already knew that, I could already sense it. I never did things like this with her, not even in the beginning of our relationship. But I had always sensed by her eagerness to cross into the area of roughness, that she liked it, maybe even craved it.
“He smacked you pretty hard on the ass,” I said.
Megyn nodded.
“But you liked it.”
She bit into her lip. Her head moved in a barely perceptible way.
“Was it too much?” she said. “The, um...”
I was suddenly curious about something. “Did you suck his cock before or after he fucked you?”
She put the blanket over her face. “Uh… after.”
This sent a ripple of ecstasy through me. Imagining her licking up her own sweet cum from the dark, veined skin of Max Riley’s cock.
The Hill would never be the same for me.
Somehow the conversation lulled after that, and it was a long time before I spoke again. The question rose up inside of me, floating adrift on a sea of thoughts. It came out of my mouth suddenly, without me really thinking about it.
“So how did you leave it?” I asked.
Megyn was drifting away in her own thoughts. “Mmm… huh? Oh.” There was a long silence. “I don’t know… it was… I didn’t know how to leave it. I just sort of… went home.”
Something fluttered in my chest. A feeling of excitement. “But did it seem like… I don’t know, a one-off?”
There was another long pause, while I waited for Megyn’s answer. I didn’t know what I wanted her to say.
“I guess so,” she said finally. Her voice was sleepy.
I wasn’t really sure what that meant, but I sensed Megyn was done talking about it, so I dropped it.
11: ANOTHER CHANCE
One of the reasons I had felt reasonably safe about letting my wife hook up with Max Riley is that, while he occasionally came to town for events to support StreetRise, he mostly lived and worked in L.A. and traveled to Philadelphia, where they shot most of The Hill. I had secretly assumed he would fuck my wife, and then go back to doing whatever he was doing.
It’s a thing I honestly didn’t think through all the way.
At first, that’s exactly what happened, and it seemed like we had pulled off the perfect plan: I got my fantasy, Megyn had her old job back, and our marriage and sex life got a shot of adrenaline, resuscitating them both.
Her adventures with Max Riley had spawned a whole new era of adventure in the bedroom for us. Megyn became a lot more willing to engage in dirty talk, in teasing me, in doing the sorts of things she hadn’t really been into before.
And we always had the lingering effect of her adventure with Max Riley to fall back on.
So in a way, I was a little relieved that Max was gone: I had gotten what I wanted (mostly) and I came out on top. The risk had paid off.
In another way, I still had an itch that I wanted to scratch. I had wanted to see – and I still obsessed about seeing – my wife with another man. I didn’t want to hear about it, I w
anted to see it with my own two eyes. I knew I would never be truly satisfied until I did.
It didn’t have to be Max Riley, I realized, after stewing about it for a number of days. There were whole communities of people who participated in a lifestyle of hotwifing, men who would be willing to help me out.
But I was pretty sure that Megyn wouldn’t go for that sort of thing. I realized that she was partly into this because it was Max Riley, because she actually liked him – and importantly, because the whole thing had developed a little organically. I think she liked to be able to tell herself it had all kind of “happened” to her – Cassie is the one who bought her the ticket for the “date,” and Cassie is the one who talked her into taking the job, and then I was the one who nudged her toward an already-blossoming attraction with Max.
If I just had some man over to have sex with her, her own illusions and desires wouldn’t be maintained.
But it still nagged me. It nagged me all the time that I had missed seeing her, smelling her, hearing the slap of her skin against Max Riley’s thighs.
I should have been grateful that our experiment had gone so well, that I had gotten something from it, and that it hadn’t ended in disaster.
But I have a gambler’s mentality. (I don’t gamble, not even a little, not even with fake money, for just this reason.) I can’t stop once I start.
So when, almost a month after she had sex with Max, the tides shifted again, I was not hesitant to jump in with both feet.
“So, listen,” Megyn said, leaning over the counter. It was a Friday evening, an unusually warm one for June, and she was wearing a loosely-fitting silk tank top she used as a pajama, with the robe I had given her from the lingerie store draped over her shoulder, open. One shoulder of the robe kept sliding off her skin, exposing her collarbone and the smooth hump of her shoulder. When she leaned over, the tank-top fell open and gave me a nice view of her breasts, and her nipples grazing the silky fabric.
She seemed to be dressing like this unconsciously, unaware of how it was driving me wild.
Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel Page 15