Body Of Research: An Experiment In Hotwifing

by Arnica Butler

  “And you don't?”

  Jen glared at me.

  “But you're into it,” she said, teasing me a little, but obviously still annoyed.

  I decided to take the high road, The one that Heller would recommend.

  “I'm into it and I'm just... I never knew how to tell you that. Plainly. I was... I am... really worried about what you'll say, if you'll think I'm a bad person, if you'll be angry.”

  I realized all of this was true. I was actually just terrified of Jen's reaction.

  Jen didn't say anything for a few beats. Then she set the papers down and crossed over to the fridge, where she took out a half-finished bottle of wine. She got two glasses, and moved her head in the direction of the living room. “Let's just go relax for a little bit,” she said. “It's sort of a lot to think about.”

  I watched her leave the room. I was more grateful to Jen at that moment than I ever imagined I could be, and I wondered how it was that she knew just the right thing to say at that moment.

  *

  We had some wine, and Jen deftly talked about unrelated topics. Almost like she was a shrink herself. I sort of resented the obvious way she was managing me, psychologically speaking, but at the same time I was impressed and... I don't know, strangely touched by her tenderness.

  The reminder of wine in the bottle disappeared quickly and we opened another one.

  Jen got a little more sultry as the dry chardonnay worked its way into her system.

  She got hot, and peeled away her sweatshirt. Then she kicked off her jeans, and was down to a tight-fitting black shirt and black boy-short panties in no time.

  She was draped over the couch, her hair spilling across the green suede, her mocha complexion a perfect compliment to the color pallet of her hair and the skin of the sofa. She brought a finger to her mouth and nibbled it with her teeth. “So I don't exactly know how I feel about... going all the way,” she said. “I have to think about that.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “You mean, all the way. Like...your dream?” I didn't say anything, just gave a nod. I was getting pushed back into the stomach-twisting, heart smashing place of discomfort and angst I had been in at Heller's office and in the kitchen, earlier.

  “I have to think about it,” she repeated. “But I have to say that I enjoy the game we have going. You know, leading some guys on. Getting them all excited. We could... go that far.”

  My head reeled again.

  Staring at her, being sucked in by the idea more than anything because she was all legs and skin all over the couch, I realized what it was that was making me so crazy: I wanted control over this. I wanted control over myself, and my cock was fucking that up. Royally.

  And I wanted control over her, and I wasn't taking it because..

  Because...

  Jen was already looking at her phone. She crossed her legs and her shirt slid downward on her slightly angled midriff. She began to swipe through her phone, as though I weren't even in the room.

  Oh, but she knew I was in the room, didn't she?

  She knew exactly what she was doing.

  I stared at her, letting her drive me wild with her faux-innocent face as she “casually” swept through her potential matches on what, as far as I could tell from across the room, was the app Lust.

  “Oh, here's Trey again,” she said casually. She giggled. “At Brownhouse again, can you believe that guy?” She bit her pinkie finger. “Still,” she commented. “He did have quite the... package.”

  I was sitting in the armchair next to her. I moved my hand, and my fingers were able to brush her hair.

  “What else is there?” I said.

  She held the phone up higher to give me a good view. “Take your pick,” she said. “A city full of horny men.”

  And, it would seem, they're all interested in your wife.

  Jen was swiping now, slowly enough that I could see the matches' profile pictures, but fast enough that I got an eyeful of just how many horny bastards there were in this city who evidently found Jen's profile appealing enough to give it a shot.

  Of course, did that really say anything? Most guys that age would fuck a cantaloupe if there were no other option.

  “And all these guys have... what? How does it work? 'Liked' your profile?”

  It's the way it had worked in my dream.

  Jen pulled the phone close to her. “I guess,” she said, and her voice had the uptick at the end of her sentence, the reminder that she was younger than me, that she belonged to a different generation of women. Her fingers told the same story, playing with the app, opening screens and swiping with the effortless agility of someone who spent a lot of time looking at the thing.

  I shivered.

  I couldn't help but wonder if she did it all the time, this wanton perusing of eligible men in the city. Men who were interested in her. Possibilities...

  Perhaps it was just a fantasy for her too, something to keep her from actually wandering or becoming bored with her marriage. A way to assuage her regrets at monogamy, perhaps?

  Every thought like those that passed through my head seared me with its painful and delicious heat.

  “So tell me,” she said. Her voice rattled a little. She was quite toasted by now, and her neck was at an awkward angle. “Who looks good?”

  I stared at the screen as guy after guy floated by on her screen.

  “There,” I said, as the screen filled with a dark, black torso, and only part of a face.

  Jen held the phone up. “Him?” she said.

  I didn't answer. My cock was starting to throb, and my stomach twisted. I was feeling a little exposed by what we were doing. Exposed as far as what it was that boiled in my own mind, and exposed in that we seemed to be taking another plunge.

  Putting her out there.

  Marketing my wife.

  Jen flipped on her stomach and looked at me. She read from the screen.“Raphael – oh my God, really? Age... oh, lord. Twenty-three.” She giggled, and started to roll onto her back.

  I stopped her. “What else?”

  She gave me a look, and then a smile. “Uh... okay... well, he's good-looking.” She shook the phone from side to side to emphasize the point. “He's into... fly fishing and yoga.”

  I stared at her. She laughed. “No, he likes: clubbing, gamer girls, and.. I don't even know what this last word is.” She raised her eyebrows. “He's hot, though.”

  My cock pulsed.

  “How hot?” I prompted.

  She looked up at me. She read my face for a moment, and we were on the edge again, the one where she could go either way and all I could do was wait to see what she would do. Would she tease me and give in to my fantasy, or would she laugh it off?

  The tension was thick in the air, at least for me, as I held my breath in my mouth and waited for her answer.

  Her shoulders moved slightly, and at first I thought she was going to shrug it off with a laugh.

  And she did shrug.

  But then she made a face. “I'd do him,” she said.

  Our eyes met.

  It seems like we looked at each other for a long time. I have no idea what happened inside of Jen in those moments. If she felt the same ice-cold queasiness, the same heart-stopping excitement, the same rush that I felt. If she felt like she was looking out of a plane she wanted to jump out of, deciding if she would actually do it. If she was as turned-on as I was. If her pussy was pulsing with desire the way my cock was throbbing.

  Was she just putting on act for me right now? Or did this turn her on as much as it did me?

  Was she actually the one looking for an excuse to take it all the way?

  I found myself incapable of moving. Incapable of breaking the spell for what seemed like an eternity. Was this it? Was this finally going to be the moment where we agreed to actually do this thing? Or maybe it was the moment that Jen started laughing, and told me she'd already done it hundreds of times, already done him hundreds of times, all right under my nose while I sat here sal
ivating and scraping up the seconds.

  Another shiver went through me.

  “You would, would you?” I said dryly.

  Jen said nothing. She was waiting for me, though I couldn't tell from her face if she needed leadership or she was setting a trap. Her expression was eager but I couldn't say for what.

  “Why don't you message him, then,” I said. My wine glass was resting on my knee and moved my finger around the edge of it in a slow circle.

  Jen rolled onto her back without saying anything, and for a moment I felt like she had slapped me. Then I saw her opening up a messenger.

  “Dear Raphael,” she said. “I am very pleased to receive your profile in the -”

  She lost her nerve with her joke and cracked up.

  “Okay, seriously. What do I write?”

  “Is this your first time contacting him?”

  She turned her head and looked back and up at me. Disdainfully.

  That was a good, sign, right? A sign that she wasn't just chatting with every guy on her dating apps, that she was telling the truth when she said she didn't use them except while I was around?

  “Do you usually contact these guys first?”

  She gave me the same look.

  “No,” I laughed, lying through my teeth. “I didn't mean it that way.” (I had. I had meant it exactly as entrapment). “I mean, like, does one, a woman, usually contact the guys first on these things?”

  Jen shrugged and kept typing. The screen was too far away for me to read the words.

  I watched with delicious horror as, without checking it with me at all, she sent it.

  “What'd it say?” I stammered.

  The usual,” Jen purred, flipping over on her stomach again. “Want to send some more?”

  My cock twitched. What did she mean, “the usual?”

  Her phone dinged at that exact moment. The sound was actually a lip-smacking kiss sound.

  “Clever,” I commented, in reference to Lust's cheesy sound effects. My stomach was churning as she opened her messages.

  “It's not from him,” she said, with mild surprise. “Some guy named Mark.”

  I said nothing. Mark sounded like a nice guy.

  A white guy.

  I was loads more interested in Raphael. Or Trey.

  She turned the screen and held it toward me, laughing.

  [Mark]: ur hot whats up?

  I smiled. “Original,” I said.

  “I get a lot of that,” Jen said.

  See, this was the thing.

  Little comments like this one. Offhand comments that slipped out of her mouth. Comments that could mean something - or nothing at all. What did she mean, she “got a lot of that?” How did she get a lot of it if she never got on these apps except with me?

  “Here's another one,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  I took the phone from her hand without asking permission. “Lemme see that thing,” I said. “Jesus,” I commented, looking at the user's profile. “What is this guy, like twelve?”

  “My profile is really... young,” Jen said, twisting her fingers together.

  I swept through the app. “Oh my God Jen, you say you're twenty-two on this thing.”

  She laughed a little. “And people believe it.”

  Another one of those comments, coming down on me like a hammer.

  “I thought you never used this,” I said. There was plenty of accusation in my voice.

  She looked up and backward at me again. “Huh?” What's that mean?”

  “Well, just – how is it that you know people believe it, if you never use this thing.”

  She snorted disdainfully and looked back at her hands. “God, Chris,” she said dismissively.

  I felt my cheeks starting to burn with rage. Not blinding rage, not throw-a-chair-through-the-window-rage. A rage of fury and infatuation.

  I wondered if I should press the issue. I didn't want to seem childish, and I didn't want to harp on something that would only end in a fight. And I didn't really want to know the truth, no matter what the truth was – that was my secret pleasure. Not knowing for sure.

  But then, I also hated the way Jen had taken control of everything, how she was so smug as she played me like a harp.

  I mean, what the fuck? Where did this even come from in her?

  The phone vibrated in my hand. Jen looked back at me.

  “It's Raphael,” I said. I clicked through to his message.

  [Raphezzz]: im game where u at

  I stared at his profile picture again. I imagined his dark skin pressed up against Jen's, his arm looped under her leg, lifting her up so I could get a good view of his black cock sliding in and out of her.

  I read the message to Jen.

  “Wow,” she said, flipping over and falling to the floor on her knees. “He doesn't waste any time. I thought we could get a little more fun out of that.”

  I wasn't sure, for a moment, what Jen meant by “fun.”

  She had shuffled over to me on her knees, and leaned across my lap to peer at the screen. She looked over at the bulge in my pants as she did, and smiled. “Well,” she said. “Maybe we can string him along for a bit.”

  She curled her arms around, over my thighs, leaning the soft fullness of her breasts on my lap, and began to type.

  [Me]: cant get away right now but maybe this will keep you waiting 4 me

  I looked at Jen's delighted face as she typed. She was positively evil, delighting in what she was doing. Stringing this poor guy along. I could see the glee on her face. It was frightening and exhilarating to see.

  Then she looked at me. “I'm thinking of sending him a dirty picture,” she suggested. Like in your dream.”

  I shivered again.

  “Of what?”

  Jen moved her shoulders and her lips suggestively. “Your choice.”

  I sucked in my breath.

  There were so many things I wanted her to do, but inside my mind I scrambled to think about whether or not I should actually ask for them. How far would Jen go? Just thinking about the question made me sick to my stomach, as though I were careening down the hill of a roller-coaster.

  How far would Jen go?

  My choice, my choice...

  Her phone beeped again. She flipped the screen so I could see.

  [Raphezzz]: got nothing dont tease me

  Jen was smiling over the phone. “So? What do I send him?”

  Something terrible. Something that would drive him wild. Immediately coming to mind were ideas like this one: Jen could pull her panties to one side and snap a picture of her shaved cunt.

  But it was too far, wasn't it?

  Too much for me to suggest to her.

  Jen turned the phone around and looked at the screen. “I want to do something really naughty,” she said.

  It felt as though she had read my mind. Her words sent me flying on an uncomfortable high. Uncomfortable, because I wasn't 100% sure that I wanted Jen to actually do anything naughty.

  Not... too naughty.

  She put the phone in my hand. Then she reclined on the couch, facing me, and gave her hair a toss. “Okay,” she said, and she almost seemed a little sheepish. “You ready?”

  Oh, I was ready.

  No, I wasn't.

  I stared as Jen looked off to the side first, and then slowly parted her legs. She was wearing a pair of black underwear – a simple, boy-cut pair that was part of her new collection. She slid her palms over her thighs, close to the center of her legs. And then she said: “Don't get my face in it.”

  She was excited as she leaped over to see the photo after I took it.

  “Is it hot?” she said, looking at me.

  “I can't really... judge...” I said, stupidly.

  Jen's legs were hot. The photo of the center of her body, covered only by black panties, would have driven any man wild. It was making my chest tight and my cock hard as hell.

  Jen rolled her eyes. “I think it's pretty hot. Okay, now... do I send it?
Is it too much?”

  I was dumbfounded. As in: I actually couldn't form words.

  So, she watched me shake my head idiotically and mouth words for a few seconds, and then she just went ahead.

  She sent it.

  My heart felt like it was getting folded up along with the electronic message, scattered all over the universe, put back together again somewhere.

  “I can't believe you just did that,” I said, breathless.

  Jen was crawling toward me now. Her hands were on my pants, unbuckling my belt, taking my cock from inside my pants. She was so in control of herself in that moment, as though she hadn't just done what she had done.

  I imagined Raphael opening her picture. She had her hand around my cock, and was looking at me with that teasing, smug, in-control look that grated through me and turned me on as much as it infuriated me. She stroked my cock, which had been hard since she suggested this game, which was defeating me at every turn by just gushing precum and telling her to just keep going, just take things all the way.

  Her phone rattled on the table and she leaned back to reach for it without taking her hand off my cock. She smiled when she read the message.

  [Raphezz]: damn (a bunch of strange, unintelligible emoticons) more plz what u doin plz dont make me wait

  She still had the phone in her hand, and the way she was holding it was so dangerous and sexy, it sent a shudder through me, along my spine. She was terrifying and incredibly sexy at the same time. She brought my cock to her mouth and licked the tip of it, moving the blade of her tongue around the crown of my cock in fat, slurping laps. Her mouth was wet and she let her saliva drip down onto my cock. She pressed her lips to the head and sucked up the oozing precum into her mouth.

  Then she looked up at me, grinning a little, and slid my cock into her mouth.

  She went halfway, and used her hand to stroke the remainder of my shaft. I sucked in my breath, scarcely able to hold back the cum that was surging up inside of me.

  Then she paused, and leaned her head back, still rubbing my shaft up and down with her hand. The phone was in her other hand, resting in her palm, bobbing slightly as she moved. The shiny black surface of the screen looked like the most seductive of weapons, and it sent another pulse of pleasure through me. What was she planning to do?