A Conventional Hotwife

by Arnica Butler

  I was on a high again with these words, I don't mind saying. I mean, I know it's a little fucked-up. I pressured her into doing it, and then I wanted her to feel bad about it. I did. It's not exactly pretty, but that's what I wanted, and that's what sent me flying again. My cock twitched, and I felt her eyelashes scrape over my skin as she swung her eyes in that direction. She had felt it.

  But did she know what I was turned on by? Did she know that, sure, I liked what I had seen, but that if I were being honest, my cock was twitching because she felt guilty?

  “It's okay,” I said, in a throaty voice. “It's what we decided to do, right?”

  She bit into the tip of her thumb again. “I know...” she said. But she sounded uncertain. Her uncertainty spread through me like I had taken a warm drink of whiskey. My cock got hard as a rock just thinking about the troubled thoughts that might be going through her mind.

  “I asked you to do it, remember?” I said. And then I slid my hand down her torso, taking the sheet off with it. “I liked it.” I knew she could feel that for herself, and I pushed against her so she would definitely feel it. Then I pulled her head back and took her mouth with mine, rolling on top of her as I did.

  Her body was hot from sleeping, and sticky with the remnants of our own wild lovemaking the night before. Sticky with seat and cum from me, and from Kyle. My fingers found her gash, and it was soaked.

  She seemed alarmed as I moved my fingers into her. “Do you want me to take a shower?” she said quickly, and she moved beneath me as though to get out from under her. I kissed her to quiet her, and I shook my head.

  Her troubled expression was like cocaine to me. Really. It electrified my whole body to feel her still struggling slightly, her body still moving with what was left of her thought to go shower. That her face still looked uncertain, that I knew she was thinking she was too dirty for her husband – it made precum gush from the tip of my cock. I guided myself to her hole, where I knew my own cum and the cum of her lover were mingled and dribbling from inside of her.

  The guilt on her face was about more than just that, though. I knew this, too, and my cock pulsed as I was sliding inside her:

  She felt guilty because her cunt was slippery with her own excitement. She was just as turned on by whatever she was thinking, whatever guilt she was feeling, as I was.

  And so I went with it. I plunged inside of her and pushed her legs open beneath me. “Do you feel guilty?” I breathed into her ear. “Have you been a bad girl?”

  My cock pulsed furiously when I said this, so surely she knew it was part of the game.

  And she went along with it. She clutched me and raked her fingernails down my back lightly. “I've been a really bad wife,” she said. “I can't stop thinking about it.”

  She squeezed me in response to the jerking of my cock inside of her. She let out a little gasp and her pussy tightened around me. I could feel her juices boiling out of her, coating my balls, dribbling down her taint and welling up in the eyelet of her ass before drizzling onto the sheets. I wasn't even fucking her: I was too afraid that I would explode inside of her if I moved an inch. My cock kept throbbing, and she began to twist and grind beneath me, trying to get me to fuck her.

  It was so different, this kind of thing. So different from our usual dull sex. My wife was wild beneath me, hungry for me to fuck her until she came. She was soaking wet and her cunt was pulsing around my cock, even if she did feel a little bad for fucking another man.

  “You can't stop thinking about how bad you've been?” I whispered, letting her writhe beneath me, “or you can't stop thinking about the man you fucked?”

  “Oh God,” she breathed. She pulled on my back and her fingernails dug into the flesh of my upper back. She pulled her body close to mine and her thighs suddenly developed an incredible strength. Her hips moved and she ground against me violently until I felt her whole body go rigid with an orgasm. “Oh God!” she whispered again.

  I could feel her pussy overflowing. I had to do nothing more than move my cock once and I was also over the edge, filling her guilty cunt with my seed.

  I collapsed on top of her, and we panted against each other like that for a moment.

  Kathy turned to me and placed her head on my chest. Her fingers played with the hair on my torso for a bit, and then she pulled her hand close to her body.

  “Paul,” she said. And then she fell silent.

  I looked down at her enquiringly.

  “Was this okay?” she said. “I'm sort of...I don't know.”

  I sat up and pulled her with me. “Hey,” I said. “No...it's...what do you mean? This is exactly what I asked you to do. It...wait, are you okay?”

  She sat back on her hands. “I mean, I think so. If you are.”

  I frowned. “Kath,” I said. “This is really...it's a fantasy of mine, you know, it's what I want...but if you don't like it...” I shook my head.

  Kathy blinked. “No, it's not that I don't like it...I just wanted to be sure that you...I don't know. You're actually...okay.”

  “It was my idea,” I laughed.

  She seemed a little reassured by that.

  I put my hand up to her cheek. “You seemed so in control of it,” I said. “It's funny to hear you saying this now.”

  She brought a hand to her forehead and scratched it. “Well..it's just...uh...I don't know.”

  “I like your new personality,” I said. Then I added quickly. “I mean, I like your new personality sometimes. Not as a permanent change or anything.”

  I couldn't have even told myself, for a million dollars, if that was a lie or not.

  “Don't you like her?” I said, when she was quiet for a while.

  “I do...” she said, hesitantly.

  It was strange to see hesitation on her part. She was so in command of the voluptuous, sexpot that was Kate Orel.

  “What's wrong?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I don't know. I think I'm...” she looked up at the ceiling. She squinted, as though there were something there for her to read, some secret. “I think I'm disappointed,” she said finally, almost as if the answer surprised her.

  “Disappointed?” I said, having a hard time and possibly failing to keep the disappointment out of my own voice.

  “Yeah, it was hot when it happened, because I thought you were there...you know? But after you said you weren't, it just seemed sort of...trashy.”

  My heart fluttered wildly.

  “But if I'm watching you're still okay with it?” I said.

  “That's fun,” she agreed. “That's something, I don't know...I could do again. But when I thought about doing this, or I got excited, it was more about like, I don't know...seeing you see me. Without that I just don't really even like it.”

  “Even though Kyle had such a huge cock?”

  She slapped me. “Be serious. I'm serious here.”

  I was too, I thought.

  Almost like she could read my hand, she slapped me lightly with the back of her hand again. “Big cocks aren't that big of a deal. Such a myth,” she said.

  “Yeah right,” I said.

  Inside, though, something was getting stirred up again. Kathy's words were searing through me. She liked it if I was watching.

  She preferred it if I was watching.

  Even though I had just come, I could feel desire stirring up inside of me again.

  “So how did you and loverboy leave it?” I said. Even though it made no sense, I still felt a slight, angry jealousy toward Kyle. I still had to mock him. Call him 'loverboy.'

  “Why?” Kathy purred.

  Did I dare to tell her? Did I dare to even suggest what I was thinking?

  “Well,” I said, suggestively. “I may have a plan.”

  “Tell me while I shower,” she said. “And then you need to get out of here.” She stood up, and slinked into the bathroom.

  I rolled over and opened up her laptop.

  C HAPTER 7

  The day after the rum factory
visit, almost no one attended the presentations. Several presenters, in fact, were not in attendance.

  In spite of my lack of sleep, and my utter disinterest in anything but my wife and her alter-ego, and her reeling in Kyle for another round that evening (one I could watch), I put on a suit and tried to make the best of the day. After leaving Kate, I actually went to the late morning presentations.

  Kate was nowhere to be found. I had hoped to see her. Sit across from this woman who was and wasn't my wife, and feel the energy between us. I wanted to watch her ignore me, or give me a wink from across the room. But she had, like almost everyone else, decided to skip the day. Without her there, my mind slipped over and over into imagining her with Kyle. Picturing his cock inside of her. Then I got creative, and had them doing things she hadn't told me about. Then I got even more creative, and filthy, and perverted. There was no end to what I could imagine my wife doing with Kyle.

  At 3pm the presentations came to an end. The ten or so die-hards and tee-teetotalers in the group gave a sigh of relief and trickled out of the conference rooms. I was still hard from my fantasizing, so I walked with my suit jacket in front of me.

  I took a shortcut through the breezy courtyard where one of the smaller pools in the hotel sat almost unused. I felt terrible.

  I slowed, peering over the palm shrubs into the courtyard as I walked.

  I could only get glimpses of what I wanted to see: a flash of Kate's full breasts barely constrained by a bikini. Her leg.

  Then I heard a low voice. The distinctive low rumble was instantly recognizable.

  Kyle.

  I almost walked into a maid. I apologized, and looked both ways down the corridor, before stopping blatantly and pushing the bushes apart to peer into the pool area like a Peeping Tom.

  Kate Orel – for there was no mistaking, no taking Kate Orel for Kathy Banks – was stretched out on a reclining chair by the pool. She was wearing almost nothing. A bikini that was little more than two scraps of red fabric was held together precariously by single strings of the same red material. They looked loose, as though any moment the bounty of her tits was going to fall out. The contours of her curves were not at all covered; anyone, anyone at all could have an eyeful of the round swells, the shadow between them, the sweet way they folded into her ribs.

  And the bottoms she was wearing were just as skimpy. I was shocked to see her flaunting this much of her skin at a pool, where anyone could walk by. Kathy was a fan of the one-piece, and she always wore a cover-up when she was sitting by the pool.

  Not Kate, evidently.

  She was twisting a straw between her fingers, and laughing. She tossed her head back and lifted her chest slightly. The bikini stretched to its maximum. I could see the hard pebbles of her nipples through the fabric.

  Kyle rose to his full height and then sat down on Kate's chair. She scooted over for him, but barely. His black skin pressed against her thigh.

  He had something in his hands.

  Oh Jesus. I had come at just the right time.

  I watched in a mixture of fascination and horror as Kyle turned his hand face-up and squirted a generous amount of white sunscreen into his palm.

  He began on her arms, innocently enough. Holding her hand like she was royalty he was about to kiss in the most gentlemanly of manners, he used his other hand to rub the lotion into her arms. She leaned forward and he rubbed some on her back. But when she reclined in the chair again, his hands greedily moved onto her chest. I watched his ebony hands as they covered her whole chest, rubbing in the lotion in deep, penetrating circles.

  His fingers slid under the fabric of her bikini. She swatted at him, and he smiled broadly.

  “Just makin' sure. Don't want you to cook,” I heard him say.

  More fingers beneath the fabric of her bikini. This time my wife just let him linger there. The shape of his finger beneath the fabric moved down, toward the center of her bikini. He was stroking her nipples, working them into hard little balls of excitement. I could see that even from where I was.

  Satisfied that she was worked up enough on her upper body, he moved down.

  I watched him massage her foot, slide his hands up the length of her calf. She giggled and jerked her leg as he moved up to her lower thigh. And then he kept right on going, sliding his hands up to her upper thigh. He pushed her legs apart with a nudge of his hands. From where I was standing, I could see that he was grazing his knuckles over the patch of fabric between her legs. Teasing her just a little. I wondered if she was wet, wet enough that he could feel the dampness against his finger.

  “Hey buddy!”

  I jumped, very guiltily, and the palm bushes swished noisily back together. My heart slammed against my chest and my guts felt like they went diving for the floor.

  It was Mike.

  “Man,” he said, and then his eyes wandered suspiciously to the bushes. He frowned and furrowed his brow, but evidently didn't feel like pursuing his curiosity. “Did you go to presentations today?”

  My mind was on Kyle, whose black fingers were at this very moment working their way underneath the fabric of my wife's skimpy bikini, into the center of her, finding her wet and primed for the taking.

  I lifted my suit jacket in response.

  “You are...a bigger man than me. I am wrecked. You wanna go get a stabilizer with me?”

  I couldn't stop my eyes from shifting nervously toward the palms, where I hoped I could get a glimpse of the pool. And my wife. And the black man she was letting finger her.

  Mike Levin looked at the palms again and smiled knowingly. “Whatcha lookin at?” he teased, and pushed over to the hedge.

  A feeling I had trouble identifying – maybe part humiliation, part fear, part excitement, a cocktail of everything I'd been feeling since we started this adventure – burned through me as Mike tore the bushes open inelegantly.

  He seemed immediately disinterested.

  I caught a glimpse of the pool as he turned away and the palms closed up: Kyle and Kate were no longer there.

  My stomach churned violently.

  Mike swung his arm around me. “Come on. I'll buy.”

  Numbly, I went with him. My mind was racing to the scene I had just witnessed, and how it might have ended. They were gone.

  And from what I had seen, there was only one place to “go” from there – straight into Kate's cunt.

  This was not our plan, was it?

  It wasn't my plan. It wasn't part of the plan we had made together, for the evening.

  But it could be Kate's plan.

  After all, I hadn't ever said that nothing could happen between last night and this evening, had I?

  Still, it burned. What the fuck was Kate playing at?

  I ordered a beer and stared at the bartop while Mike droned on and on. I was thankful he found himself in a chatty mood, and didn't seem to notice that I was miles away. Thinking about my wife.

  What had I expected her to do today? Go to presentations like a chump so I could ogle her? When she had so many other options? When she had Kyle, and she could ask him to rub his strong hands all over her body? Sneak something in between lunch and dinner?

  My face was warming with a stain of rising anger.

  I pulled my phone out. “Shit,” I said carelessly. “I gotta take care of this real quick,” I told Mike, who gave me a knowing and sympathetic look for my fake phone call.

  I moved toward the other end of the bar. I typed to Kate.

  [Me]: What r u up to?

  I stared at the screen, my heart racing. My stomach twisted tighter as seconds passed and nothing happened. But what was I expecting? Of course nothing happened. Of course Kate was already somewhere, doing something very naughty, with Kyle.

  I scanned the screen.

  Unable to send message.

  My heart dropped.

  I remembered, as though dredging it up from a dream, turning to airplane mode when I sat down in the first presentation.

  A half-drunken
thing to do.

  I quickly changed the settings and held my phone as though I would choke it, as though it were a hostage and I was going to kill it if it didn't -

  And just like that. My own message was gone, and the slender piece of metal vibrated in my hand with all the notifications I'd missed.

  I stared as my wife's messages appeared. Delayed, out of order, slowly taking shape as a narrative.

  [Kathy]: going to the pool

  [Kathy]: in a scandalous bikini

  [Kathy]: (A selfie of her red bikini, her fingers tantalizingly diving into the bottoms, pulling them down slightly, the shadows in the photo cruelly cutting me off from seeing what was beneath them).

  [Kathy]: hello? okay just come and hang out

  [Kathy]: where are u?

  [Kathy]: kyle just showed up come watch me

  [Kathy]: things are really heating up where are u

  [Kathy]: i hope you're okay i can't really put the brakes on this

  [Kathy]: ???????

  [Kathy]: okay...well...turn on ur computer if you get this

  “Fuck!” I said, a lot louder than I meant to.

  I rushed past Mike at the bar. I held up my phone. “I have some...problems back home...I have to...”

  Mike looked at me strangely, but raised his beer to indicate he'd see me later. Or whatever.

  I took the steps near the bar two and three at a time. My legs burned by the time I reached the third floor, and I could feel every inflamed beat of my heart, threatening to explode out of my chest. I had to will myself not to run like a madman down the tiled corridor to my room.

  I threw the door open so hard it slammed back toward me after bouncing off the doorstop and I had to push it again. I went straight for my computer, which I had set up the night before after I shared my idea with Kathy.

  “Shit,” I whispered, swirling my fingers and the mouse over the screen, taking in what I was seeing.

  Of course, it was only a good plan if I was there in the room to make it happen.

  I stared at the Skype screen.

  Call from Kate (a Skype account we had created with only me for a contact, to avoid any confusion) 3:14pm