“You made it man!” Pete' voice barked in my ear. “Good on you!” And then the now-familiar slap on my back. He stood next to me and turned to face the same direction. There was little doubt was he was looking at. There was nowhere else for a man's eyes to go except to Kate's gloriously displayed tits. “Yep,” he croaked. “That is some fucking sight.”
At that moment, my wife began to jump up and down, her hands balled into fists. Her breasts swayed and Pete (and every man in the room) sucked in his breath, obviously offering a silent prayer that her precariously perched shoulder straps would slide down.
But they did not.
A waitress passed by with champagne. Feeling a little inspired by the scene and the whiskey I had already downed, I took a glass as she passed, in a very James-Bond-move. I brought it to my lips with a wry smile.
It was now or never.
Kate lifted her eyes from the table, and almost as if she knew I would be standing right there, she met mine. Her dark blue irises burnt through the smoky haze of her gray and black eyeshadow.
What was in her expression? Mischief? Amusement? Seduction? It was so hard to tell with her anymore. I felt for a moment that she was the only one in the room, and it seared right through me, whatever it was she was broadcasting.
Abruptly, though, she turned to her left, and her mouth opened wide as she let out a peal of excitement that could be heard across the room. She was suddenly throwing her arms around the shoulders of a tall man in a tux.
My heart stopped.
Kyle.
I downed the champagne in a single gulp. The carbonation seared my nose and the taste made me grimace. Whatever they had for a budget for this affair had evidently gone to the decor and not the booze.
“Okay,” I said, choking back my pained expression. “Let's gamble.”
Pete was still watching my wife. “Let's go play roulette, shall we?” he said. “I'm really very, very interested in a game of roulette.”
Yes. The whole place seemed very, very interested in a game of roulette.
“It's pretty busy there,” I said coolly. “I'm going to play blackjack for a bit. Squeeze me in to the table later?”
I clapped him on the back. I wasn't going to sit there edging my way up to the fucking roulette table like some simpering dog. I strode down the stairs and over to the blackjack tables. I was feeling pretty good about how suave I was being.
Inside, I was seething with all kinds of feelings. I barely looked at my cards. I positioned myself so that I could easily glance up from the table and past the shoulder of the dealer at the glittering silver silhouette of my wife. It would look like my eyes were on the dealer, and all the while I could stare at her.
My heart seized up again, as I saw that the man I had mistaken for Kyle was not him at all.
No.
My wife had found herself another very tall, very handsome, black man.
My insides boiled.
Partly, because I was turned on. There was no doubt about that.
But partly, they twisted because Kathy – as Kate – was wrapping me around her finger with such ease.
I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, there were probably only two black guys at the whole goddam convention.
The fact that she had found them meant two things:
First, that she knew exactly how much I liked to watch her get fucked by a big, black cock.
And two, that she was teasing me. Baiting me. Seeing how much I could take before I caved.
She wanted me to cave.
She wanted to break my resolve to take a “pause.”
And infuriatingly, she knew just how to do it.
If Kate knew I existed, or that I was sitting there, she didn't show it. She was clasping the guy's arm as the ball rolled around the wheel, biting her lip as though it were some kind of life and death situation. I could barely look away from her gloved hands around his forearm.
“Sir?” the dealer said, breaking my reverie. He must have already asked me a question. I glanced around the table. The other players were looking at me expectantly. Without looking at my cards I motioned for him to hit me. Then I stayed.
I could feel that I was clenching my jaw. My eyes went back to Kate. She was bouncing again, and her breasts were jiggling lightly in her dress. You could bet that the whole gala was staring at them, or looking sideways at them so their wives didn't catch what they were checking out. My eyes were probably the only eyes in the room on her hands, and the way they were grasping her gentleman friend's arm.
I stood up. The dealer gave me a strange look. I left my cards and my bet on the table and moved toward the roulette table.
“Sir? Sir, you...won...” the dealer was saying, but he abandoned all hope of getting my attention rather quickly. I must have looked like a zombie.
I did an unusual thing, at least for me. I pushed my way into the throng of people at the table.
It should be noted that while the money was fake, there was some kind of prize incentive for people at the end, if they had the most fake money, which is why everyone was going so wild at the tables. I set some chips down on red by bossing my way between Kate and another man – not the one she was paying so much attention to. Then I just wedged my way in. The guy looked at me, and I could see from his expression that he was about to say something, but I supposed there was something on my own face that told him to back off.
I was rather enjoying my newfound badassery.
I turned to Kate, who uncoiled her grip on the man next to her and turned to me with a bemused smile on her face.
“So,” I said. “What do you usually bet?”
Kate turned her head and looked at me archly for a moment. Then a smile formed on her lips. “I don't usually gamble,” she purred. Her voice sounded as elegant as the evening. As sexy as her dress. It brushed over my skin as though she had licked me from my neck to my earlobe. “But since it's fake money...I like to go big.”
She let a pile of chips fall neatly from her fingers onto the number 22.
Her lips turned up slightly. She seemed to be challenging me to do something, though what it was I had no idea. Did she want me to bet bigger? At roulette? Or at something else? Was there an innuendo in there or did she just actually mean what she had said, literally?
“That,” I remarked, looking down at the pile of chips on 22, “Is a serious bet. With bad odds.”
She ran her tongue along the edge of her top teeth. She slid her arm back into the crook of the guy's arm. “But it's all fake,” she cooed, with a smile. Just before she turned to face the table and snuggle closer to him, she said, in a low voice: “It's no fun if you don't go big.”
At this point, the dark eyes of her companion veered over to look me up and down. He was cool customer. He sized things up pretty quick, assessing that a man about a foot shorter than him and not nearly as good-looking, was probably not a threat to his conquest, who had her arms wrapped around him anyway. He looked back at the table.
I looked at Kate, and my face turned serious without me being able to control it.
Was she talking about what I thought she was talking about? It's no fun if you don't go big.
Or was she actually just talking about roulette?
“You don't really win anything this way,” I said, in a low voice.
Kate made a noise and craned her head behind her in the opposite direction. Her breasts thrust out in front of her, and the material of her dress spread open just a little more. I could actually feel the ripple of excitement going through the group of men gathered around the table. She gave a throaty laugh after she consulted the dark man, and turned back to me.
“You get to keep on playing, he said,” she purred. She was obviously delighted with this answer, and the way it was playing into her double innuendo.
I stared at her.
The dealer announced the closing of bets. Kate bit her lip and looked at me with this new, mischievous grin of hers. “Let's see what happens,” she said.
<
br /> The ball dropped into the wheel, and we both watched as it spun and spun. It seemed like forever.
“Black 20!” the croupier called.
Kate met my eye for a moment. She seemed to be egging me on to do something, though at this point I wasn't sure of what.
“What a pity,” she finally said. I watched her fingers slide along the hem of her dress, right over her breasts, where the hardened bump of her nipple was outlined provocatively in the fabric. “We both lose.”
She leaned away from the table again, and whispered something to the ebony man. The seconds seemed to last forever as she touched his arm and her lips moved so close to his ear. Hundreds of thoughts went through my mind in that small space of time. They all moved through my gut as though I had swallowed gasoline. Was she going to do this, right here in front of me, when I had been so clear with her the night before? Had I already lost control of my wife to such an extent that she was going to flaunt her betrayal? And was it really something I could lay claim to at this point, after everything that had happened?
The man looked over at me.
“Hey man,” he said. He extended his giant hand.
I was so shocked by the interaction that I just kind of stared at him.
Kate's mouth came close to my ear. Low and throaty again. “I just told Will here how lucky it is that I ran into my old friend Paul,” she said.
I put my hand in his giant paw. He gave me a firm handshake, just shy of crushing my fingers into a pulp.
What next? I wondered, for a nanosecond, my pulse racing and my body tingling with a spinning, dizzying, horrified feeling, like someone had just pushed me off a building.
Kate Orel slid her arms over both of our shoulders and looked from Will's face to mine. “Well,” she said. “Let's go have some fun, shall we boys?”
*
Kate Orel's idea of fun, for the time being, was to continue gambling and drinking, and flirting alternately with Will and...me.
She would bounce and jump and squeal, and then kiss Will on the cheek. And then the next time she won, she would do the same to me.
After about half an hour, I could see that Will had gone from perceiving me as a nobody, to a potential competitor. He started making more overt moves on Kate. He moved his hand to her ass. I refused to look down, even though I desperately wanted to. The sight of the dark shadow of his skin over her silver dress burned through my lower eyelid and fueled me with a desperate jealousy.
But it didn't mean that he had won.
After gambling, Kate suggested that we go to the hotel bar and have a few drinks. It was too hot in there, she complained, fanning herself with her purse.
We walked to the bar. A little awkwardly, the three of us. Will was giving me the eye, and I was giving it right back.
I had absolutely no idea what was going on, only that my wife definitely seemed to have some kind of plan. She was in control of this thing.
I decided to just let her play her hand.
So we sat in a little gathering of leather chairs. Kate with her now-trademark martini. Biting her olives, making a sexual innuendo of everything. Will with his big legs wide apart, his arm draped over the back of the too-small chair. When Kate wasn't looking he seemed to be giving me a stare-down.
Hard to say what look I returned.
I wasn't entirely sure what Kate's plans were, but I knew one thing: this was a challenge to what I had said before. A challenge to my idea of putting the brakes on things.
And fuck, it was pissing me off a little.
But I could always have done something about it. And sitting there, letting it go on and on, I realized that my wife was simply making her point the way she always had. Rather than arguing, she was just letting me see that I didn't really want what I said I wanted.
Like the time she let me buy a boat.
Fuck. It was so infuriating.
So hot and infuriating.
So infuriating that she knew, she had known all along, that I was going to sit here and let this all play out, because she knew as well as I should have, that I didn't really want the brakes on anything at all.
Not really
“Well,” Kate said, after a bit. “I'm going upstairs.”
She rose, smiling sexily at each of us and our shocked and disappointed faces. She let the whole moment linger for a bit, and then she laughed. Rubbing a gloved along the swooping neckline of her dress, she blinked lazily. “We can always continue the party up there,” she purred. “I just need to get into something more comfortable.”
The implications of her words were not lost on Will, nor were they lost on me. We exchanged a look. Will licked his lips and shrugged, giving a kind of half-smile. “'Aight,” he said. And he started to get up.
“Lovely,” Kate said. And then she looked at me.
Her eyes were twinkling with the challenge. “Come on, Paul. It'll be fun.”
Unconsciously, I had started moving our wedding band on my finger.
Kate leaned down and ran her finger across the gold band as she whispered in my ear: “What happens here, stays here,” she said. “So don't worry about what you wife will think.”
I perceived Will exhale a puff of air, a sort of impressed harrumph, like he actually couldn't believe this woman.
That made two of us.
I found myself standing up, giving the same shrug that Will had given, and then Kate's arms were draped around each of our shoulders, and we were walking to the elevator.
Kate opened the door to her room and went in, flicking the lights on as she went. She crossed the room swaying her hips and telling us that the mini bar was stocked, help ourselves and find a way to make her drink. She slid her silver gloves off and tossed them onto the back of a chair. Then she reached up and closed the curtains theatrically.
Will looked at me, and went in ahead. I followed, and sat down on the bed as he started to make drinks. We took our jackets off and placed them over the back of a chair near the door.
Kate turned around and watched the two of us for a moment, sitting on the arm of a chair near the windows. While Will's back was turned, her gaze floated over to me. She smiled.
Then she stood up, and reached a hand behind her. I stared as her hand moved downward, and the material stretched across her hips loosened. The precarious balance of her dress collapsed, and it all spilled downward. The straps seemed to disintegrate, and the sequined silver fell away.
“The best I can do,” Will was saying, diligently crouching by the mini-bar, “is a vodka soda...there's no-”
He turned to look over at Kate, and he stopped mid-sentence.
Katie was shimmying out of the dress by then. Her full breasts were bare, and her pale pink nipples were already hardening with her excitement. My cock had already stiffened long before then, and now it throbbed in response to seeing her body unwrapped. Silver, satin panties, very simple in nature, rode high on her hips and plunged between her legs. A small v-shape of satin edged in light lace covered her mound. She stepped out of the crumpled dress at her feet. She shook her hair loose by pulling out a single pin. “That's better,” she said, smiling.
For a moment she held me so spellbound that I forgot Will was even in the room. The realization that he was sank over me slowly, and I cast an uneasy glance over at him. His eyes were on my wife, appraising, and he was slowly rising to standing. I could see the bulky shape of his cock in his pants. He seemed uninterested in the fact that I was in the room.
I had no idea what to do next. None at all.
My wife, however, seemed perfectly in command of the situation. Her ease with it, in fact, was one of those painful undertones that would not go away for the next hour: was this the same shy Kathy who had blushed so deeply at being mistaken for a prostitute, several years and several lovers ago?
Kate looked from me to Will, and back again. With a wry smile, she moved her almost predatory stare to Will, and stepped closer to him.
Things seemed to move in slow mot
ion as my wife smiled at Will and began to unbutton the shirt of his tux. As the fabric began to open, revealing his dark, hairless skin, formed into chiseled muscle, another realization sank over me with cold fingers: there was no stopping this now. I backed up, and collapsed on the bed, unable to stand.
Will was enjoying watching my wife undress him, her mouth turned up in a smile of excitement as she uncovered his masculine body. She ran her fingers over his chest, and I felt my own chest burn as though she were raking a knife through it. When she placed her lips on his pecs and sucked on his flesh, I went hot with rabid anger. But I stayed where I was, watching my wife undress this other man in front of my very eyes.
When his shirt had been pulled away and after she paid attention to his chest for bit with her tongue, making a slow circle up and down his pecs and around his left nipple, her fingers made their way to his suit bottoms. The tux pants were complicated, and she had to use two hands to unfasten them and let them fall around his ankles.
As she slid down to her knees, Kate turned her head and looked me in the eye. As she did, she slid his silk boxers down and his erect cock sprang loose from them and pressed up against her neck.
I stared at his member, pressed to my wife's throat. It was dark and veined, and not especially or incredibly long. The girth, however, was impressive. At the end where his fat head was swollen with excitement, his cock turned from a purple-black to a dark reddish pink. As she moved down to her knees, Kate rubbed her cheek over the top of his shaft, still looking at me, and turned her attention to his eyes only when she was seated on her heels (she still wore the high-heeled shoes from the party.)
A Conventional Hotwife Page 16