Megyn For The Win: A Romantic Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

“I have some news,” she said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She was letting it grow long, and it had a little curl to it in the humid weather. (Thankfully, she had not started letting the rest of her hair grow long, which was a pleasant after-effect of our adventures).

  I wasn’t really paying attention, staring as I was into her shirt. I said, “mmm-hmm,” and took a sip of my beer. I was expecting “news” in the form of, “Maggie has decided to renovate her kitchen and she’s giving me that set of bottles I really like,” or something like that.

  “Well, you know that StreetRise has been thinking about expanding our model to other organizations in the region...”

  I sort of tuned out after “expanding.” I was enjoying the view, watching her breasts graze the red tank-top, and “expanding” is a word that triggers my Corpspeak-Filter to “Block.”

  It’s not that I don’t want to listen to my wife, it’s just that there are some topics – like those about her business affairs – that I just can’t focus on. Especially when I was thinking about how nice her round bottom looked in those tiny shorts she was wearing.

  “… and…. well, Max has decided to spearhead that campaign and do an outreach program in Philadelphia. So we’re doing a sort of launch there in two weeks. And… obviously, I have to go.”

  My mind came crashing to a halt.

  Max.

  Now she had my full attention. I set my beer down, and my eyes snapped up to meet hers.

  I found that she was laughing with her eyes, which meant that she had known I was sort of tuning her out and staring down her shirt up to that point.

  “Wait, what?” I stammered.

  Megyn grinned, and stood up straight. She dragged her hand along the counter as she came around to my side of the island. “I said,” she cooed, in a sultry voice, “Max Riley is going to endorse a Philadelphia StreetRise program and I need to go there in two weeks to… you know, help him.”

  I turned on the stool to face her. She stood in front of me, her robe open and her lithe body hanging out of it, skin in every direction. She let the robe slip from her shoulder, and then she slid the spaghetti strap of the tank off dropping the material down to almost reveal her nipple.

  “If, of course, you’re okay with that,” she said.

  I put my hands on her butt, which was wonderfully firm. She had continued running, even though she worked outside the house, and she had started working out in the YMCA below the StreetRise building.

  I often wondered if her religious workouts had been done in expectation of spending time with Max again.

  Truthfully, it all had a very bad aura hanging over it. But I was too excited by the prospect, too enticed by the gamble, to really think about bad omens or consequences.

  I slid my hands down her statuesque legs. “And I suppose you’re the only person who can go,” I said.

  “Well, that’s the thing...” Megyn said. “It actually makes more sense for Dan Enbright to go, but...”

  I pressed my mouth against her stomach and bit lightly into her flesh through the tank.

  “But what?” I growled.

  “But Max sent me a text, and asked me if I wanted to come instead of Dan. That he would make a special request, pull some strings.”

  This sent a little chill through me. It was pleasant as well as toxic: certainly this sort of lever-pulling was a signal to everyone that my wife was doing something improper with Max Riley.

  I forgot to answer her, because I was busy thinking about that.

  “I already said yes,” she said. “Because I didn’t really have time to talk to you about it.”

  She had moved her fingers to the back of my neck, and was running them down my spine with a feathery touch. I felt my skin prickle along the backs of my arms. I was already hard, from the moment I’d seen her little outfit, but this made my cock throb almost painfully.

  “Do you want to see the text?” she said. She had her phone ready, and she dragged it across the counter top with her fingertips. I watched with a side-long glance, my face still buried in her stomach, my mouth edging her tank up her belly. Her fingers glided nimbly over the screen, and then she picked up the phone and showed me the messages:

  [M Riley]: I want to see you again

  [Megyn]: hmmm… I don’t know how to make that happen

  I raised my eyebrows. I wondered how long it had taken Megyn to settle on that response. She wrote back an hour later, but it could have been because she hadn’t gotten the text. I wondered if it was a ploy, to make herself seem more detached and unavailable and therefore more enticing to him, or if she had done it as an element of realism, so she appeared to be merely a married woman who had been seduced by his… charms.

  Either way, it was a pretty slick move, as evidenced by the subsequent texts.

  [M Riley]: what if I can make it happen

  [Megyn]: im all ears

  [M Riley]: I can make it happen so you’ll be at my beck and call for a whole weekend. Would you like that?

  If Megyn didn’t like that, I certainly liked it. My cock practically split in two reading that line. I continued. Megyn’s response was five minutes later, showing she must have spent some time thinking about it. I wondered if the text had the same effect on her that it had on me, if she had creamed in her underwear just reading the phrase “beck and call.”

  [Megyn]: its a lot to handle for a whole weekend

  [M Riley]: ill make sure not to ride you too hard

  Cringeworthy word play, certainly. But still hot as hell.

  [Megyn]: well…

  [Megyn]: so what’s the plan

  [M Riley]: you’ll hear soon enough.

  “So you’re going to be at Max Riley’s beck and call, all weekend,” I said. The phrase was burning through me. What did he have planned for my wife? How many times would he fuck her in a weekend? How perverted would she let him get with her?

  And how would I be able to watch?

  “Pending your approval, of course,” Megyn said.

  I tugged on her leg, and pushed her onto my lap. It was a precarious position, teetering on the stool like we were. But I didn’t care. As she climbed up, I swept her shorts aside and worked my fingers into her pussy.

  “And what about you?” I growled. I clawed forward inside of her, pressing out to her clit, and I was rewarded as she rocked slightly on top of me and her eyes dropped a little. “How do you feel about being at Max Riley’s beck and call?”

  I started to move my finger rhythmically, and I knew I had hit a sweet spot because she turned to liquid in my hands. She mewled as I pushed deeper inside of her, balling my fingers into half a fist. I rolled my hand inside of her and her eyes went wide-open. “I want…” she said, and she lost track of what she was saying. “I want… I’ll do what you want.”

  “But tell me if you like fucking him,” I said.

  She looked uncertain, but she was also close to coming, and she knew I would stop if she didn’t tell me. I could see the slight panic in her eyes, the need.

  Just say it,” I said. “Say, ‘I like fucking Max Riley.’”

  I slowed the turning motion of my hand and she mewled again. “Oh… I like fucking Max Riley.”

  “Do you like sucking his cock?”

  She started to move her hips, and I pressed on her shoulder. “Stay still,” I said, and she settled on my lap, her body trembling. “I’ll let you come when you say what I want to hear.”

  She gave another low whine, and then she let her head fall back. “I love sucking on his cock,” she said, almost desperately. “I love how he fucks me.”

  With each lovely, filthy admission, I started to fuck her closer to her sweet spot, and her legs began to tremble as she fought to stay still and work for her pleasure by telling me how much she liked Max Riley’s cock in her mouth.

  “I like the way his cum tastes at the back of my throat,” she purred.

  So I fingered her furiously, until her pussy clenched around my hand and I f
elt her cum slick down to my wrist.

  I stood up a little, enough to slide my cock out of my pants and underwear. And then I lifted her, and slid her still-pulsing, hot liquid cunt over my dick, and used her hips to bounce her on top of me until I came.

  Which admittedly, took next to no time at all.

  12: PHILIDELPHIA

  When I agreed to the plan, I envisioned it much differently than it ended up taking shape.

  It’s hard to say what actually went through my mind; it was a fantasy, so it didn’t obey the laws of physics or reason. I suppose I thought I would float around in Philadelphia, an all-seeing ghost, and enjoy views of my wife from above and below and right next to her while she submitted to Max Riley’s “beck and call.”

  In reality, as Megyn pointed out long after the plan was already set in motion, this would not be possible.

  Max Riley wasn’t a man of such fame and importance that he needed a bodyguard with him, but he also wasn’t the kind of man to stroll along in public places hand in hand with a woman and not get noticed, and probably photographed.

  So, the first difficulty to overcome was that whatever Max was doing with my wife – unless they were standing apart and not looking at each other at public functions for show – would be done in private.

  The kind of private I could not get to.

  Max Riley didn’t stay in hotels when he did gigs like this. He was going to be staying at one of his apartments, which he kept year-round because… well, he’s Max Riley.

  Megyn was booked into a hotel for appearances’ sake, but we both knew as soon as we thought about it that Max Riley probably wouldn’t go to her hotel room. He would probably beck-and-call her to his own apartment.

  None of these factors were very good for my immediate problem, which was that I wanted to watch my wife with Max. Up close, preferably.

  “It will happen,” Megyn assured me, as she kissed me goodbye for her first meeting on Saturday. “And if it doesn’t… at least you’re here.”

  I frowned.

  “You want me to call it off?” she asked, trailing a finger down my chest through my shirt. “I can always tell him I’m feeling too guilty, I need to call it off.”

  She was smiling as she said this, and I didn’t much care for the look in her, as wildly hot as I found it. She had too much power over me, I realized.

  She sort of laughed as she climbed off the bed and grabbed her purse. “I’ll text you when I know more. I love you.”

  And there she went.

  The wait in the hotel was excruciating. I had brought some work with me but I spent most of the day in a daze, daydreaming, jerking off when my fantasies overwhelmed me, watching trashy TV.

  Megyn sent me a text around 5pm.

  [Megyn]: hes invited me to dinner. Do I go or no? ;)

  I hovered with my finger over my reply, savoring the idea that I could control my wife, like a remote-control sex doll, letting the feeling course through me: adrenaline, lust, testosterone, something that was making me high. Beneath it, I sensed that maybe this was too far, too much of a risk, but I did it anyway.

  [Me]: make sure to tell him you have to call your husband and check in

  [Megyn]: youre evil

  [Megyn]: i’ll try

  [Megyn]: any other requests

  I thought on this for a while. And then the idea was starting me right in the face, a solution to the problem. In a way.

  [Me]: leave the phone on. facetime it, try to aim it at where you are

  There was a long, long pause. Maybe it wasn’t long, maybe it was only minutes.

  The plan I had just suggested was of course preposterous. I knew that before I even read her reply.

  But letting your wife sleep with a movie star is preposterous.

  Wanting to watch another man fuck your wife like a rag doll is preposterous.

  Preposterous was not something that deterred me, clearly.

  [Megyn]: he’s pretty uptight abt phones and stuff

  [Megyn]: I gotta go talk soon xo x

  I deliberated about typing back, “OK,” and didn’t. I was a cool customer, an unworried man, a man who was completely confident about what his wife was going to do with Max Riley tonight.

  I poured myself a strong drink, and stretched out on the hotel bed. I was such a cool customer I was going to watch Holmes on Homes and not even think about my wife, or where she was, or what she was going to do.

  Two hours later, the phone rang from Megyn’s number.

  I was deep in a very paranoid cycle of thought about her and Max, and my cock was rock-hard, and Holmes on Homes had long since ended and been replaced by another show without me even noticing. I had had too much to drink (luckily, I had had the good sense to purchase a bottle of booze at the liquor store so I didn’t have to raid the mini-fridge. I had begun, very classily, to drink it from the bottle).

  I swiped at the phone, and set the bottle down on the night-table as soon as my swiping revealed that I was far drunker than I had intended to get.

  “Hi, honey,” I said, when I answered. “How’s Philadelphia?”

  “Hi sweetheart,” she said, in a little whisper. “I’m just calling to say goodnight.”

  I felt the features of my face narrow into a stern expression. “Are you at his apartment right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re out of earshot?”

  “Uh… I think so.”

  I pictured this. On the one hand, it probably lent credibility to her phone call: she was engaging in her married life, giving one last kiss to her husband and kids before she strolled back into his expansive living room, that probably had a view of the city and floor-to ceiling glass, leather couches, a nice glass of wine, and a huge bed with slippery silk sheets that they would soak through in under an hour…

  “Peter?” Megyn said, bringing me back to reality. “Is everything okay?”

  “Go to where he can hear you,” I said.

  There was a pause, and I was unsure what she was doing. “That’s… listen it’s not the best plan right now. But what if you call me back in like… ten minutes. Then I can answer the phone out there and leave it on instead of hanging up.”

  She sounded excited as she formulated her plan.

  “Yeah,” she said, without waiting for my reply. “Do that.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, I was so taken aback by her excitement. She was being so… devious. I could almost see the stain of crimson creeping across her cheeks – not embarrassment, but excitement.

  The feeling unsettled me as much as it excited me.

  “Love you too,” she said loudly, even though I hadn’t said anything.

  And even though I didn’t actually hear anything else through the phone, it seemed to me as though I could hear the presence of Max Riley creeping toward my wife. Heavy, dark, like the bass line of a rap song. Easing up next to her, walking toward her.

  And I imagined Megyn pointing theatrically at the red button on her screen. Hanging up. Smiling at Max as she let her hand drop slowly down and he moved closer to her, his mouth already sucking her lips toward him.

  A chill went through me, because imagining her smiling at him I realized: Megyn was probably doing this more for herself than for me. After all, what woman wouldn’t want to get permission to fuck a man like that?

  And if she didn’t answer when I called?

  My stomach dropped.

  I grabbed the paper-bagged booze and took a swig. Then I set the timer for ten minutes.

  The digitized tone of a ring blared in my ear. I held my phone away from my face and checked one final, umpteenth time, that I was on mute.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  My impatience soared, my paranoia ate at my insides like a fire licking up gasoline. It seemed like an eternity stretched out between each ring of the phone, and yet like there was only a nanosecond between them. Life was moving too fast, moving too slow.

  Inside, my organs wrung themselves out.
They were dumping every bad thing into my blood that they could, and my whole body throbbed with the weight of it.

  “Peter?” Megyn said.

  And then, for a moment, I wondered if my plan was terrible. If I shouldn’t have said something, if I should un-nmute myself. Maybe Megyn wouldn’t understand my plan, maybe she would hang up on me…

  I held the phone away from my face again, ready to change the plan, when Megyn’s voice cut through the silence.

  “Oh, sure. It’s uh… yeah sorry I forgot that. I think it’s in the cupboard above the fridge.”

  And then I heard him. I was sure of it. The sound was low, barely audible, but it was the unmistakable sound of a man’s whisper.

  Was he touching her now? His head on her stomach, his hands moving down to her panties, pulling them down, rounding at her hips, his lips brushing side to side like a pendulum, lower, lower still…

  “You want to check?” she said.

  And then, her voice shaking from time to time as Max did something to her – something I couldn’t see, but something that made the cadence of her voice race, or her vocal chords choke for just a moment, or her voice warble as she fought to sound (for show) like she didn’t have a black man tearing off her clothes or sucking her nipple into his mouth… she started to have a conversation with herself:

  “Not there… hmmm… maybe in the garage…. How important is it?…. Okay, I understand… it’s, it’s…. yeah, I’m just walking up a flight of stairs…. it’s maybe in the – oh you found it. Good. Well… anything else?…. No, I’m really exhausted, I’ll probably just… turn in...”

  By the time she said “I love you,” it was clear that Max had moved on from light petting and kissing to something much more complicated. Whatever he was doing to her, she could barely keep her voice from breaking.

  After she said “goodnight,” I was in such a daze that I almost hung the phone up on her.