I just didn’t like the idea of her hiding anything from me. What if she came home and said nothing had happened, when it had? I just had to hang on to the idea that she had no reason to lie, no reason to cover anything up. I was baying for her to go further and further in trying to make me jealous.
Finally, around 2am, a text message from Courtney.
[Courtney]: On my way home, sweetie! It turned into a late one ;-)
I didn’t know what to say in reply. Tell her I’d found her box of condoms? Ask her if she’d used all three she’d taken with her?
It was exciting to think that she might have used even just one. And yet troubling, too. We hadn’t actually talked about her genuinely cheating. Though I wanted it, I’d been too nervous about bringing up the subject, too nervous about what would happen if we went for it.
What if it had happened tonight? She’d forced the issue. I felt an enormous rush of nervous energy to think that it might already have happened, my wife was already unfaithful.
I sent her no text in reply. Indecision turned into the thought that at 2am I ought to be asleep. I didn’t want to give her the impression I’d been up all night worrying about where she was, and who she was with.
I lay in bed and waited, my heart pounding. And when, eventually, I heard the front door closing, I pretended to be asleep. Sure, I didn’t normally fall asleep on my back, but who cared about that?
I could still see her come into the bedroom through almost-closed eyes. She dropped her coat over the chair by her dresser, to reveal the little black and silver dress that must have turned a fair few heads that night.
She was smiling at the fact I’d apparently fallen asleep, but she obviously wasn’t in the mood to simply fall asleep next to me, or else she would have taken a shower, or at least washed and brushed her teeth. Instead, she climbed onto the bed like a panther stalking its prey. Crawled up the bed to straddle me, to lie over me, to kiss my mouth.
I couldn’t fail to smile as she kissed me. Her lips were so sweet, tinged by some kind of fruity alcohol. Cocktails, no doubt. As she kissed me I was engulfed by a cloud of her exotic perfume, the one she didn’t normally use, especially not for me. Only, the thing was, it smelled slightly different than the last time. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was...
“Hey, honey...” I said, in a fake sleepy voice. “What time is it?”
“Hey sweetie. Nearly 3am, I guess... sorry I was so late.” She just went on kissing me, as though it meant I couldn’t be mad at her for being out so late.
I kissed her back, and suddenly realized that the difference in her smell was because I could detect a man’s cologne on her.
My God.
I felt a surge of intense heat bloom inside my chest. Had it happened? Had she done it? Had she fucked some stranger she’d met at a club?
I tried to act calm. “You had fun?” I asked her. “I thought you must have... met someone... or something...”
She smiled as we kissed, and yanked the bed sheets out from under her, so she could sit on my seriously hard cock.
“Mmm...” she said as she ground herself down on my stiff shaft. “You like thinking about me meeting someone, huh?”
“What happened?”
“I met lots of people, actually. Lots of guys...”
She held the side of my neck as she kissed me forcefully, stroking me with warm affection. I breathed in her scent: she must have tried to apply a fresh burst of perfume over the male cologne, but she’d failed to entirely cover it up.
It was intense, a little overwhelming for me. She’d been with someone, even if she’d only made out with them. It made my manhood throb to think about it, but it wasn’t the jealousy that I felt most: it was the sense that Courtney must have had a really good time, and that above all made me happy. I wanted her to have the excitement of being single again, even if she was obligated to come back to me afterward. I liked that she’d had a little naughty fun.
“You were dancing?” I asked her.
“Uh-huh.” She kissed down my neck, and over my upper chest.
I reached down, my hands gliding over her back, down to the smooth skin of her thighs, then up again, pushing up her dress. I caught my breath as I found she was wearing no underwear. And yet I hadn’t seen her dropping her panties as she’d come into the room—just her coat.
“What happened to your underwear?” I asked her.
“I don’t really know,” she giggled, sitting up on me. “Things got fairly intense on the dance floor toward the end of the night.”
I raised my eyebrows at that. “This club... it wasn’t at the Playboy Mansion, was it?”
She laughed. “No, nothing like that. But some of the guys I was dancing with were getting awfully friendly...”
I felt her wiggle her hips over me, crushing my erection having doubtless felt it throbbing as I contemplated the idea of her dancing up close to various men, letting them put their hands all over her. To the extent that she’d lost her panties.
I sat up, wrapping my arms around her waist, kissing my way down her ample cleavage, where the scent of male cologne only strengthened.
“They were... touching you?...making out with you?” I asked between kisses.
She laughed. “Maybe.”
“You liked it?”
“Oh, I had the best time... and there was one guy... later on... oh, honey, I hope you’re not upset with me...” Courtney suddenly turned on her little girl lost demeanor, sexy but vulnerable, seductive but regretful, concerned about what I might say.
“What happened?” I said, trying to suppress the shock I felt at Courtney for being so bold in this game of ours.
“I guess... my friends were getting tired... so they went home... only, I wanted to stay and dance...”
Gulp. So she’d lost the monitoring facility of her college buddies. No wonder something had happened.
“What happened?” I said, a little more gruffly than I meant.
“There was a guy... Russell... we were having such a good time... dancing up close... holding each other... I could feel his... thing... pressing against me...”
“What happened?”
She pushed me down on the bed, and said: “Are you angry with me? Sweetie? I think I took things a little too far... I didn’t mean to... it was the heat of the moment...”
“It’s okay,” I said, feeling my throat drying up, finding it difficult to talk.
Courtney pushed herself down on my cock, and she must have known how unbelievably hard it was, she must have felt how I was really thinking about her confession.
She said, “We left the dance floor for a break, for a drink of water... and I guess we ended up in a dark corner... he was kissing me...”
Oh Jesus, it did make me want her more. I pulled her down for another kiss of her mouth, and I was sucking on her lips, so taken by the fact that another man had been here before me, in my place.
She pulled away at last, and, breathless, said, “I... I didn’t mean for anything to happen...”
“What happened?” I said again. “Tell me.”
“He was pressing me up against the wall... I could feel his... his thing... his dick... pressing against me... He was so big, honey...”
“What happened?”
She seemed frightened, but the way I held her thighs firmly, looked up at her so intently, she knew she had to tell me. “He... he asked me if I had any condoms...” she said. “I don’t know... I guess I’d been drinking... a lot... and with everything we’ve talked about... I said I did...”
Lying there under her, I felt my world reeling, shaking, rocking. My stomach was folding in on itself, my heart was just about ready to burst out of my chest. And yet the adrenaline, the arousal... it was insane.
“And you actually did?” I asked her. “You had condoms with you?”
She shrugged her shoulders, looking dejected, apologetic, pitiful. “With everything we’ve been talking about...” she said, as though our jealousy ga
me explained everything. I guess it could to some extent.
“You fucked him?” I asked her.
“I... I couldn’t help it...” she said. “I don’t know... he... he broke down my resistance... I thought... maybe you wouldn’t mind so much...”
Was she genuinely scared I’d be angry at her? Was she really worried that I might end things between us, now that this had happened? If she wasn’t, she was a good actress.
But lying there on my back, I looked up at her, naked other than this tiny slip of a dress, and saw only Aphrodite personified. I’d never wanted her more.
I dipped my hands under her thighs and circled my arms under her, then pulled her up my body until she was over my head. Courtney let out a little squeal of surprise, but then saw where I was going with this.
“Oh John...” she moaned, as I encouraged her to find a comfortable position over me.
I held her bare buttocks as I pulled her down onto my mouth. The view was just stunning, and in a way startling since I wasn’t yet used to Courtney after her full Brazilian.
Only, this was her after sex with another man. Her pussy lips were reddened, puffy, glistening—and if I wasn’t mistaken, open. I’m sure she wasn’t like this after she’d been with me: her pussy had been stretched, I swear it.
Her guy must have been truly huge.
There between her thighs I breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of fresh sex. It made me tremble, melt a little inside. I lapped at her sheen of juices and the buzz I felt inside from what I was doing was almost overwhelming. Sucking on her, slipping my tongue inside her after another man had fucked her right here. And somehow, the little tang from the latex condom made it seem that much hotter, that much more real.
She was so wet, she was dripping down my cheeks as I ate her. It was magnificent.
“Oh... Jesus, John... oh my God... oh my God...”
I think the sheer force of my hunger for her after this act of infidelity astonished her. I guess the strength of the feelings, the force of the craving I now had for her somewhat took me by surprise, too. Oh, the jealousy had added a touch of spice to our relationship, a piquancy to our sex. But adultery leant it real fire, explosive energy.
She let me enjoy her, let me savor her, gazing down on me, gently stroking my hair as I tasted her, holding up her dress as she cupped her breasts so I could see all the way up her trim body.
Then she was pressing down on me, no longer letting me take the lead, no longer letting me explore her unfaithful pussy—now she was using me, gyrating her hips to grind her sex over my mouth, to take what she wanted from me, to provide the release from me that my comparatively gentle sucking had promised.
I loved it, it felt so dirty, and so intimate, rubbing my face in her adultery, gazing up at her as she panted and writhed and rocked and cried out. And her Brazilian wax-job, well that did make it easier on me.
I reached around to stroke her clit as the mad frantic energy of her climax approached, and then she was leaning over me, grabbing my head with both hands, pressing her hot body all around it, and she shook, shuddered, screamed.
It wasn’t just Courtney getting off on my adrenaline-driven technique, this was my wife turned on by my response to her infidelity. This was my wife made to come hard by just how much I wanted her after her evening’s transgression. This was my wife’s thermonuclear explosion triggered by the certain knowledge that I wanted her to explore her sexuality, I wanted her to have fun with other guys.
This was her knowing I wanted her to cheat on me, so long as I got to share in the details afterward.
“Jesus... Jesus... Jesus...” she was whispering once she came down from her high peak.
She shuffled back down my body, kissed my mouth, just held me for a while.
I said, “I can tell...”
“You can tell?”
“He was inside you.”
Still panting for breath, she brushed her long dark locks out of the way of her face, kissed me as though to apologize for my knowing. But then she pressed her body down on me, crushing her breasts against my chest, her sex against my hardness—and she caught her breath at just how hard I was.
“John... sweetie... you’re enormous...” she said, in awe it seemed.
“I guess I like it when someone warms you up for me,” I smiled.
She grinned, but still seemed amazed at me, surprised at this. She reached down to slip my cock inside her, and I very nearly ended things right there.
Yet I just managed to hold it together. She rocked her hips over me, taking advantage of her copious wetness, and my rock hard erection, quickly ramping up to a lively pace. She rode me hard, gasping for air, her body flushed with the effort, both our bodies glistening in perspiration.
I grabbed her, rolled her over, plunged back into her and just owned her, smothering her body with mine, embracing her tightly in my arms, gazing into her eyes as I took her, as I reclaimed her.
“Tell me,” I growled as I fucked her. “Tell me how good he was...”
“Oh Jesus... he was good... honey... he fucked me so good...” She knew what to say to me, she knew which buttons to press. She took us both over the edge as she moaned in my ear, “He fucked me against the wall... then he turned me round and fucked me like a dog... oh honey... it was so incredible... he had the biggest dick I’ve ever seen... he filled me up so good... he made me come so hard...”
She raised her legs, pulling her knees up under her chin as I fucked her, locking her thighs together to make herself tighter for me—acknowledging, perhaps, that her first lover of the evening had stretched her.
Along with her dirty talk, that seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back, the thought that whoever her stranger had been, he’d stretched my wife’s pussy that night.
With that, I squeezed her body tight and flinched—once, twice, three times... my hips spasming as my climax hit, and my cock bucked to fire thick white cream deep inside her adulterous pussy.
“Oh... come in me... come in me... come in me...” she gasped, and her second orgasm of the hour came along quickly.
Wow. Just incredible.
And afterwards we just held each other, speechless, sucking in oxygen to help our depleted muscles recover, both of us seeming astounded at the other one.
I held my wife and thought about how strange it was, what we had done, what she had done. What she now was to me. I adored her still, and I only wanted her more.
That came as strong relief to me as we drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.
It seemed the final confirmation that despite all my paranoia, I wasn’t going to suddenly hate her for fulfilling my own personal sex fantasy, I wasn’t going to have a sudden change of heart about her infidelity. In fact, I only wanted her to continue it.
The relief seemed almost to come more from my own lack of anger and revulsion at what she’d done than from the sense that even though she’d had wild sex out with some big-dick stranger, she still wanted to come home to me, she still had ground-shaking sex with her husband.
*
I think that sheer sense of relief even tided me over when, later that night, I awoke and hauled myself out of bed to pay a brief visit to the bathroom. It meant I didn’t mind so much when I saw her handbag lying there by the sink, and there inside it was a large—very large—dildo onto which she’d placed a condom.
I was shocked, sure. But my disappointment was actually tempered by the almost certain feeling that this had been a real test, perhaps even the final test. Courtney had wanted to know how I’d feel to really honestly believe she had cheated.
Now, it seemed, she was ready to do it for real.
Chapter 12
I struggled getting back to sleep that night, then struggled through the weekend, bouncing between feeling relieved and nervous. The game was now on. She knew she had permission. I knew she had permission. Question was, now that we knew what we knew, what came next?
I kept going back to the dildo in her b
ag, a prop set up so perfectly that she had to know that I’d find it—if not when I did, then in the morning. It was as if she’d winked at me and said, Just kidding. If that was where this thing ended, if that was as far as she was willing to go—games, teases, clever setups—I should have been fine with that, right? I should have been fine with it. I had a super-hot wife, smart and successful and, for some reason, devoted to me. What more did I want?
But I did want more. I wanted her to go through with it, and if all she did was tease me, it was almost as toxic as if she’d done it behind my back. Strange to think you could feel so betrayed by, literally, not being betrayed.
Looking back on it now, in some ways, it might be responsible for what came next. It was at that moment that I decided that I needed to talk to Harry Richards.
*
Getting in touch with the man proved harder than I would have expected. My initial thought was to wait for him outside the clinic—the only place that I knew he’d been before. Of course, that was problematic because, for one, I didn’t know when his appointments were, and for that matter, whether he was still seeing Courtney at all. And two, I couldn’t exactly just skip work to stake out my wife’s place of business. My current flip project was nearly complete and I needed to be onsite for the finishing touches, no matter how good my guys had become.
I did have a name, first and last, and the Internet, which opened a world of possibility for the amateur stalker such as myself.
His LinkedIn page was the first thing to pop up—and the most reliable since a professional photo was attached. He was still on active duty in the Air Force, working out of a military base outside of the city. I wouldn’t be able to reliably follow him from there or I’d risk getting arrested. He’d earned some medals and accolades while serving in Afghanistan, and seemed like a real G.I. Joe. I second guessed my plan—but only just.
Out of His League: A Hotwife Novel Page 10