A Well-Laid Trap 2: The Story Of A Professional Hotwife

by Arnica Butler

  Like another bar where I had watched Jordan honey-trapping, The Yacht Room, the place gave off a certain immediate vibe. The men at the bar were, as “Cindy” had promised, good-looking and wore the uniform of the professional class. The women were slightly younger, even better-looking, and they bore expressions of determination underneath their painted faces. It was a meat market, and no one was doing much to hide it.

  The bar was already a little crowded, especially for 8:15pm on a weekday, but I suppose this was just a testament to the human spirit.

  I found a small round table with no seats around it to anchor myself to after ordering a whiskey soda. I was tucked away in a corner of the bar where not much was happening, and as usual, no one really took notice of me. I suspected this was because I gave off a slightly psychotic aura.

  I texted Jordan, and then I leaned against my table, which tipped wildly, and waited.

  I felt a different kind of dizziness as I waited for Jordan.

  Before, when we had done this as part of her assignments, the bars had not seemed so teeming with men. Jordan had been there with one man in mind, and so the others had fallen away like extras in a movie.

  Now they had all come to the forefront of the evening, and as I surveyed the many, many good-looking men at the bar, I started to feel a little sick. Any one of them was an option for Jordan, and she could easily seduce any one of them.

  I was starting to sweat a little. Once again, the idea was as arousing as it was terrifying.

  The energy changed when my wife came into the bar. Not immediately: the place was packed and so it wasn't as if everyone could turn around and see her all at once. But as she squeezed through the clusters of men and the already paired-up couples, Jordan worked like static electricity. A sort of ripple went through the room. Eyes went to her body, bodies turned ever-so-slightly in her direction, and, was it me? Or did all the men start speaking louder, puffing up like peacocks, making crasser jokes to try and get her attention?

  She was cutting through the crowded room with a black clutch in her raised left hand. I stared at her finger.

  Her empty finger.

  Our wedding ring had been tucked away somewhere, who knew where. And no Jordan was just a beautiful, single woman at the bar. Dressed to the nines, wearing slutty shoes made of twine, and looking for a good time.

  My heart fell to the floor.

  Of course I was right there. At any point I could step in and put an end to it all.

  She stopped at the far end of the bar from the door, just before it curved around and went into another small room. Two men had been pressed up against the bar, having a conversation, but they parted immediately to let Jordan in between them. I could see them exchanging looks above her head as she leaned in to order her drink from the bartender who was also anxious to wait on her immediately.

  And then they began to speak to her. Jordan gave a toss of her hair, and laughed prettily for the one who had evidently made a great joke.

  I stared at her empty left hand again.

  I stared until my eyes went practically dry. It seemed like eternities went by, though it must have only been minutes. The two men were clearly vying for her attention. They had gone into a competitive mode, making jokes, sparring with stories meant to delight her. It was so obvious from across the room, just like a dance.

  But after half an hour, the winner was evident: a blonde guy, with a square jaw and a smattering of stubble across his cheeks. The loser swiveled to the pretty girls to his left, and my wife and her man moved closer together.

  Jordan turned to lean against the bar, facing me. Her strapping hunk followed her lead. I watched Jordan twist the straw of her drink (what in God's name had she ordered? A daiquiri? She must have been playing her bimbo card) between her fingers. I couldn't see very well, and perhaps I was imagining things, but she did seem to be stroking the length of the straw between her fingers while batting her eyes at her man.

  Yes, her face seemed to be saying, I want you to think of exactly what you're thinking of.

  She brought the straw to her lips, and closed them around the top of it with her eyes on his.

  Then she reached out and pressed her hand against his chest.

  She held up a finger.

  Reached into her purse.

  Wait just a minute, she was saying. I forgot something I have to do.

  The buzz against my thigh was expected. I didn't move right away. My eyes were glued to the scene in front of me, and my blood had gone cold with jealousy.

  Why did it matter so much that this was just a random guy at a bar? There wasn't any real difference between this guy and a guy she had been assigned.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket.

  ????????

  His name is Troy tho

  lol

  Oh Jordan.

  Troy was the only other guy Jordan had dated besides me, way back in high school.

  Coincidence.

  Still, it felt like salt on my open heart.

  I couldn't take my eyes away from her to type.

  She had dropped her phone back into her purse and was playing with her straw again. Troy was mesmerized, staring at her mouth and her fingers. from his point of view, he could watch her mimic pumping cock with her full, barely encased breasts in the background.

  What must a guy like Troy be thinking right now? I wondered. I myself had never been out on the prowl like this, so I had never had the experience of standing at a bar and having a woman like Jordan start flirting with me.

  A new kind of jealousy sliced through me: these men were getting to experience something with my wife that I never got to have. Jordan had been kind of awkward and nerdy in high school. We had made out for the first time in the back of a car. We had sex at parties or under trees. I had never experiences what Troy, and all of Jordan's other honey-trapping victims experienced: Jordan seducing them. The fevered excitement of not knowing if you would really get to peel that green dress away from her skin. The curiosity, still unquenched, about the color of her nipples, and what she had done with her bush: was it trimmed? Was it the same color as her magnificent hair? Did she have a small mole somewhere that you would find while kissing her from her inner thigh to her navel? Was the soft skin buried in her snatch red or pink or purple?

  I knew the answers to all these questions, and so I would never get to feel what Troy-at-the-bar was feeling right now, for my wife.

  Jordan looked at me, at that exact moment. Her eyelashes lifted from her daiquiri, and she met my eyes.

  Only briefly.

  I was taken on a roller-coaster ride of abysmal pain and my own twisted elation as the next few minutes unfolded before my eyes. It seemed to happen both in slow motion and too rapidly for me to do anything about it.

  Jordan leaned in toward Troy. Her body was close to his now, pressed up against him so he could feel the soft pillows of her breasts and maybe even the hardened nubs at the center of them. He could probably feel the shape of her body, all the varied firmness of her against him: the sinewy strength of her stomach against his lower abdomen; the malleable core of her against his upper thigh; the supple flesh of her thighs against his legs. Her hair, and the lemon-mint shampoo she used, were just beneath his nostrils.

  She pressed her hand against his chest as she spoke to him, in her low, sultry voice. I could only guess at what she was saying: there was no way to know. I had never responded to her text. Whatever she was doing now, she was doing independently of me and what I wanted.

  And what was it I wanted? I had no idea what I really wanted to happen next: for Jordan to move her hand down to his jeans, and search for the shape of his cock? For them to disappear, out the back door of the bar, with me running after them but just a moment to late? For them to fuck in a bathroom stall, the way she had done her hockey player?

  Excitement was quivering inside of me. I supposed I wanted something like that.

  And then, just like that, Jordan's mouth was against Troy's.
I watched him move his manly jaw to grind against her lips. It wasn't a little kiss: it was a kiss to precede mating, a kiss that was practically a sex act by itself. His tongue was inside of her mouth. He was letting her know what he could do with it, how he could possess her. Feeling out the place where he would put his cock.

  I was burning from the crotch up, and I could feel the jealous rage moving like a reverse drip, from under my collar and up to my face.

  Jordan broke free of the kiss, and leaned back to give him a smile. She moved her hand down the front of his body, and very indiscreetly cupped his cock in her hand through his jeans. She gave him a knowing smile, and then pressed her body against his as she told him something with her lips next to his ear.

  Another kiss. Jordan put her hands up to his head this time, pulling him close to her.

  I felt my insides turning to a liquid that ran both hot and cold. My face by now was burning, and my cock was hard and straining against my boxers and pants. I felt sick. I felt exhilarated. I felt like I was flying, and about to slam into the ground.

  And then, very suddenly, it was over.

  Jordan looked over at me again, whispered once last thing to Troy, and turned to leave. He caught her arm, pulled her back, and they kissed again briefly. She whispered in his ear. She laughed. And then she swept her eyes in my direction, with who-knows-what expression on her face, and she glided out of the bar.

  I looked at Troy. He was practically licking his lips. His buddy patted him on the shoulder to console him, but it was clear from his response that whatever Jordan had said to him, she had given him the impression he would only get more.

  My phone snapped me out of my reverie.

  You coming or what. I need a ride home remember?

  I blinked.

  My cock was throbbing.

  Troy was grinning.

  My wife was waiting for me.

  Feeling more drunk than I could possibly be, I stumbled through the crowded bar and onto the street. I bumped into a group of young men and they hollered an obscenity at me.

  When I reached the car, parallel parked on the same street, Jordan was already sitting in the passenger seat. She looked up at me, and smiled. Then she twirled something around on her fingers.

  I watched it, not knowing what it was for a moment, and then I realized it was her panties.

  I had never, in my life, had a blowjob in the car, while driving.

  I had often wondered about it. How dangerous it was, really. What I would think about while it happened.

  I never imagined, in any of those scenarios, that I would be getting a blowjob from Jordan right after she flirted with another man, and that the thing I would be thinking about was whether or not I was disappointed or thrilled that she had decided to end the evening the way she had.

  I had gotten into the car and looked at her. I opened my mouth to say something, but she gave her head a slight shake.

  “Just get us home,” she said. She put her hand between my legs, along my upper thigh, and used her pinkie finger to tease the awkwardly bulging length of my shaft.

  I pulled into traffic, thinking of what to say to her. Wondering if should even touch it. She had evidently decided, for some reason, to cut the evening short of going all the way.

  Some reason. The reason was obviously me.

  Had it been my hesitation in answering her text?

  My inner voice sort of laughed at me. I knew it hadn't been that.

  I knew, deep down inside, that she had looked over at me and changed her mind.

  What had I looked like in that moment? The deranged crazy man I was?

  And what awful thing had she felt for me at that moment?

  I was swirling around the word, close to saying it to myself but, luckily, never getting to it, because Jordan's fingers moved to my belt buckle.

  Only one hand. She deftly unbuttoned my pants, and unzipped them, and reached into the material to find my cock. With an ease that seemed as practiced as a hooker's (a surge of suspicious arousal came with this thought), she took my cock out, and held it with her left hand.

  “Don't wreck,” she said, and she slipped the seat belt over her head.

  “Jor-”

  I suppose I protested like every man who has received a blowjob while driving a car has protested.

  In a short-lived sort of way.

  Because the moment her lips kissed my glans, it was all survival mode. A battle between my most base and animal physical instants and….my second most base and animal physical instincts. Cock versus physical coordination. On a public road.

  It would have been beyond unacceptable to get pulled over. There was no way it wouldn't get back to the office. There was no way it wouldn't be worse for me than just a hilarious joke in the cops' locker rooms.

  I looked at the streets. Teeming with people. No place to park discreetly.

  I almost ran a red light. I kept my face forward, not wanting to now if the trucker next to us was looking over at what Jordan was doing.

  Her mouth was all the way down my shaft now. It was the only thing my body could actually feel. I knew my hands were on the wheel of the car, but it felt like they were someone else's, and I was operating them more like a user in a video game.

  I felt my abdomen spasming with the struggle to control myself and my car, and the desire to give in to what Jordan was doing. I tried very hard to steer my brain toward concentrating on the road, but it was instead busying itself with images from the evening, and fantasies about the evening ending differently. Troy sliding the straps of Jordan's dress from her shoulders, Jordan swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock…

  I ran a red light, very definitively, at the on-ramp to the highway. No one was coming, and I drove onto the ramp and into the right lane.

  There wasn't much traffic. I stuck to the right lane, and Jordan began to bob her head up and down my shaft. I was getting closer and closer, and I let my foot off the pedal as my orgasm rose up inside of me. Jordan's mouth was wet and hot, and I was deep inside thoughts of it wrapped around another man's cock.

  I grasped the steering wheel until my knuckles went white as I came. Jordan left me deep inside of her, and I felt her throat close around my shaft, swallowing my seed.

  I panted.

  A car roared by us, tilting with the sudden jerk to the left the vehicle had made, horn blaring through the many tones of a traveling object. I looked at he speedometer. I was driving less than 30 miles per hour.

  Another honk.

  I felt Jordan's mouth move into a smile, but she was still sucking up the last drops of cum from my cock. She held me erect with her hand and sucked hard as she pulled herself off my cock. It sent a shudder of pain through me: the pleasure was far too intense. My foot jerked and the car lurched forward a little.

  Jordan sat up.

  Her face was amused.

  She snapped her seatbelt back into place.

  I was still driving thirty, still panting and staring out he windshield.

  I heard her throaty laugh. “Paddy. You'd better step on it. This is not safe and -” she flipped the sunscreen down and looked in the mirror. She wiped the corner of her mouth and flipped it back up. “I'm not done with you yet.”

  A TALK

  I gripped the steering wheel for dear life all the way home, with white knuckles. My hands were sore by the time we pulled into the driveway.

  The drive was quiet. I had every opportunity to open my mouth and say things to Jordan that I knew I needed to say.

  Or did I?

  It was obvious to me, as soon as I got some blood flowing back into the thinking of my two heads, that Jordan had ended things with Blondie at the bar because she had seen something in my face. All the terrible feelings I was having. Jealousy of the wrong kind.

  But something inside of me really needed to actually talk about it. I wanted to confirm that she had in fact looked over at me, seen my pain, and decided to leave the bar. For me.

  At the sa
me time, I didn't actually want to talk about it.

  I wanted to somehow confirm it without having to be frank.

  I shook my head at myself and laughed at some point in the drive.

  “What?” Jordan said.

  I looked over at her. She was flushed with excitement. The green of her dress caught flecks of green in her eyes, and the glow of the city lights made her appear green-eyed.

  Seeing she was getting no answer from me, she rolled the window down and the wind picked up her hair. She reached into her purse and found a cigarette. But she didn't press me for my answer, or what I was thinking.

  And that bothered me. Didn't she want to know what I was thinking?

  A happy possibility warmed my heart for a moment: perhaps she didn't need to ask me what I was thinking because she knew me so well. She already knew what I was thinking, and the real reason she had left Washington's without going all the way is because she knew it was making me uncomfortable.

  The warmth of the sunny idea, though, was quickly clouded over by my usual paranoid thoughts. She didn't care, this was all part of her elaborate plan to trick and cuckold me...on and on.

  I am a dark guy, I thought to myself, at some point.

  About ten minutes from home, Jordan turned in her seat and placed her hand on my thigh. She moved it down, back to my cock. She explored the shape of it with her fingers. She was grinning impishly at me from her seat.

  My intentions to talk to Jordan immediately disappeared into thin air.

  By the time I pulled into the driveway, my cock was hard again and I felt sure precum was oozing from the tip of it. We looked at each other across the car as the garage door closed behind us.

  Jordan unlatched her seatbelt and bit her lip. If she felt anything like I did, and I didn't see how she couldn't, she couldn't wait long enough to walk through the kitchen and the hallway.

  I watched her smile as she slid her hands under her skirt. She slid her panties down her legs, and moved her feet to “step” out of them.

  My cock was almost bursting now. I knew there was a stain of precum spreading across the front of my pants again. I could smell the scent of Jordan's ready, soaked pussy. There was a beat, as I tried to think of how I could get inside her as fast as possible.