My Wife, The Escort 1 & 2 (My Wife, The Escort Season 1)

by Victoria Kasari

  The thought of her on her back in a dorm room, breasts bouncing as some guy thrust inside her. Or her in some guy’s beat-up car, straddling him, kissing him wildly as she impaled herself on him. Or in some alley with Zane, the biker, bent over his bike as he plunged into her from behind.

  I pushed open the door and headed into the men’s room I realized that I was so damn hard, I was actually going to have to wait a minute before I could piss. This was all happening so fast. I was starting to realize that this must have been lying dormant in me, undiscovered and just waiting to be tapped into. God, if we’d never had that drunken conversation, it might have lain there for another decade...maybe forever.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. Not a bad looking guy. Pretty average, I guess. Still in good shape and I dressed pretty well—as an architect, you’re sort of expected to. Normal.

  But was this normal? Getting turned on thinking about her exes? Shouldn’t I be getting annoyed? I was pretty sure my buddies hated to think of their wives with anyone else. It wasn’t something I’d ever been aware of before, but then the subject hadn’t ever come up—Harriet had always been pretty tight-lipped about her sex life before me...until the champagne had made her talkative.

  I thought of her out there in the hotel lounge in her sexy outfit, and I couldn’t stop thinking about some other guy’s hands unfastening the zipper at the back of her dress. His eyes watching it slide down her body and drinking in those magnificent full, creamy breasts. Him pushing down his pants as Harriet lay back on the bed for him and spread her legs.

  It hit me like a sledgehammer: I wasn’t just enjoying thinking about her past; I was getting hard thinking about another man taking her now, as my wife.

  I stared at my reflection. Was I thinking about her cheating on me?! No...not cheating. That still felt wrong, totally wrong, just as it always had. I couldn’t bear the thought of her going behind my back. But the idea of her sleeping with someone else and then telling me about it...that was a turn on.

  And...Jesus, what if I actually watched?! What if I could actually see him undress her, spread her...penetrate her?

  I blinked a few times. The whole thing was stupid, of course. We were married and I didn’t want Harriet to cheat on me. What else was there? Swinging?! I didn’t know much about it, but the image in my head was of hairy-chested men with gold medallions, swapping wives at parties in the seventies. No way!

  This would just have to be a fantasy...and maybe I could get Harriet to tell me some more stories from her past.

  I realized I’d been zoning out in the bathroom for way too long. I was still almost too hard to piss, but I got it done and headed back to meet Harriet.

  I was in a weird kind of mood. Happy that I’d discovered this new turn-on; annoyed that it was something we’d never really be able to indulge, except through stories of Harriet’s exes. Maybe we should ration them out. There were only eight of them and we’ve already had one. One a month? Mike, next, or should we go straight to Zane, the biker? It seemed ironic that I’d only discovered this kink of mine once we were happily married. If I’d known back in our college days, we could have had all kinds of adventures. Now, all we could do was talk about it...while trying to forget our money problems.

  And then I walked back into the hotel lounge and the sight in front of me stopped me dead.

  I was about to discover a whole new way of living out my fantasy, one that would change both our lives forever.

  Harriet wasn’t at our table in the corner. She was at the hotel bar. That made sense—she’d said she was going to get another drink. And the bar was busy enough that I wasn’t surprised she’d sat down on a bar stool while she waited to be served.

  What shocked me was the guy next to her, and what he was doing.

  He was one of the businessmen who’d been propping up the bar all evening, though he looked tipsy rather than falling-down drunk. He was about forty, fairly lean with black hair and a sharp suit. From his perfect tan, his silk tie and the Rolex I could see flashing from across the room, he was loaded. The sort of guy who owns a villa somewhere and maybe a yacht. The sort of lifestyle I wanted for us, and that we’d been heading towards before it all went wrong.

  He was turned sideways on his stool, facing her. And my wife had turned a little way towards him, maybe just to be polite. He was leaning in to her, chatting away, and she was smiling pleasantly. She didn’t seem to be flirting back, but I knew that she was friendly enough and open enough that she didn’t really need to. Guys don’t need a lot of encouragement, especially when they’ve had a few drinks. If the woman doesn’t actually tell them to go fuck themselves, they presume they have a shot.

  A smile touched my lips. So he thought she was single, and was trying to chat her up? I could understand that. She was gorgeous and, in that dress, she was hard to resist. Surely he’d seen her wedding ring, though?

  I looked again. Harriet had her phone in her left hand. She liked to play around with it when she was on her own, a kind of social prop and, with it resting in her palm, the fingers of her left hand were covered. Maybe he didn’t know she was married. And Harriet would probably be too polite to say something, as long as he was just flirting. Hell, maybe she was even enjoying it. All women love a little attention and, as long as he didn’t try to touch her or anything….

  I could feel myself getting a little jealous, but a little turned on, too. It wasn’t like fantasizing about one of her exes—I mean, obviously they weren’t going to have sex or anything. But seeing him surreptitiously glancing down at those firm, shapely thighs under their gleaming coating of nylon and watching his eyes rake over the swell of her breasts in the tight dress...it was kind of the next best thing. A part of me, crazily, actually wanted her to have some moment of madness and run off with him, so that she could have sex with him and then tell me about it the next morning. I shook my head, astonished with myself. Jesus, imagine that!

  I took a step forward, intending to go and greet her at the bar, and probably give the guy chatting her up a heart attack as he realized his mistake. But, when I was still six feet away, everything changed. I saw him glance around to check no one was listening and then lean into her and murmur something to her in a low voice. Instantly, Harriet’s expression changed. She’d looked a little dreamy, tipsy from the champagne and heavy-lidded with arousal. Now her eyes snapped wide and she stared at the guy in horror. Her polite smile stayed in place but it took on a plastic quality. The guy seemed to be waiting for an answer and, at last, she gave him one.

  I was close enough to hear, now. She said, “Maybe some other time.”

  The guy blinked at her, surprised and just a little annoyed. But then he sighed, drained the last of his drink and wandered off.

  I came up behind Harriet. Her eyes were glued to the man’s departing back, her mouth open. When I touched her, she spun around with a little yelp.

  “Sorry!” I said quickly. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Is everything okay? What did he want?”

  She stared at me for a moment, speechless, and then said. “Fine. Can we go up to the room?”

  She looked...weird. Slightly pale and shaky, her eyes wide in disbelief.

  I frowned. “Honey, what did he say to you?” My hands balled into fists. Had he called her some name? Offended her? I was ready to chase after him and pound him into the ground.

  “No! Nothing like that! Just—Let’s get out of here. Please?”

  I nodded quickly, still confused, and took her hand. We got in the elevator and headed up and I tried to work out what the hell was going on. I didn’t want to freak my wife out by staring at her, so I looked at our reflections in the mirrored wall in front of us. She still had that same expression—pale and shocked—but, every few seconds, she’d give an amazed little smile, and then go back to shocked.

  And, when she smiled, she squeezed her thighs together.

  When we were back in our room, I sat her down on the huge bed. She sat back, kicking her legs out
in front of her, but didn’t take her shoes off. She wasn’t talking, but she wasn’t grabbing me for sex, either. She seemed to be just...processing. “Harriet...what is it?” I asked. “What did he say?”

  My voice seemed to finally cut through her reverie. She flushed a deep red and shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a mistake.”

  “What mistake? He thought you were single?” I shook my head. “Honey, if he chatted you up a little....that’s okay. I don’t mind.” I was a little jealous, but surely she knew I wasn’t the kind to fly into a rage about it—certainly not with her!

  “It wasn’t that. I mean, he was kind of chatting me up—at least, I thought he was. But it wasn’t what I thought. He.....”

  I gently sat down next to her on the bed. “What?”

  She swallowed. “He thought I was an escort.”

  I stared at her for several seconds. “He WHAT?!”

  She turned and looked at me, her eyes huge. “I think it was because....you know, sitting alone at the bar, and—” She looked down at her low-cut dress.

  “But that doesn’t mean you’re an escort!” My shock was giving way to anger, now. “He can’t just harass women like that! You’ve got every right to sit there and—”

  She swallowed. “I think, um...it’s this hotel. I think it’s common, here.” There was no one but us in the room, but she still lowered her voice. “I think there were a couple of other women there at the bar who were escorts.”

  I frowned. Now I thought about it, there had been a couple of other women in sexy dresses at the bar. I’d assumed they were with the businessmen—girlfriends or wives. “But this is a high-end place,” I said. “You don’t expect...hookers wandering around!” I felt awful. I’d brought my wife to this place and some creep had degraded her.

  Harriet shook her head. “Not hookers. Escorts. High-end. Like, a thousand dollars a night.”

  My eyes bugged out. “A thousand—That’s crazy! No one pays a thousand dollars a night!”

  She nodded firmly. “They do. We’re not talking streetwalkers here, leaning up against a lamppost. It’s all designer dresses and classy hotel rooms. It makes sense they’d be in a place like this. It’s where all the guys with money stay when they’re away on business.”

  “But a thousand dollars a night? How do you know that?”

  She flushed again, dropping her eyes. “Um. Well, for one thing, I saw the dresses those other girls were wearing. They must be earning a lot to afford them….” She trailed off.

  “Go on,” I said.

  She swallowed. “And...that’s what he offered me.”

  “He what?! He actually propositioned you?!”

  Harriet was staring straight ahead of her, now, not meeting my eyes. Her chest was rising and falling as she took in quick little breaths, her breasts hypnotizing. “He said, how about a thousand dollars for the night?” She swallowed again. “It wasn’t like some big revelation. He just said it casually, and that’s when I realized that all the stuff he’d been saying: asking how I was doing and telling me how hot I looked...that wasn’t to chat me up, like I thought. We were talking business, from the very first second he came over.”

  Hot rage exploded inside me. I wanted to run straight back downstairs and smash my fist into the guy’s face. How dare he! How dare he mistake my wife for a hooker, even if it was some classy kind! A hooker was still a hooker. A whore. Jesus, if I ever got my hands on him—

  I looked at Harriet, about to put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her. That’s when I noticed that she was still staring straight ahead of her. It was almost as if she’d forgotten I was there, for a second. She was just re-running the scene in her mind.

  And she was smiling, just as she had in the elevator. Quick little smiles that were almost instantly banished, followed by a blush.

  “You...liked it,” I said stupidly.

  That got her attention. She twisted to face me. “What?! No!” But she flushed even more as she said it. “Of course I didn’t!”

  But she couldn’t quite meet my eyes. She kept looking down at her lap, twisting her hands together and then glancing up at me to see if it was safe, yet. God, she’d never looked more beautiful, her pink lips shining, her huge eyes liquid with a mixture of arousal and nerves. “I mean—You know. Not—Well.” Her voice grew very small. “Kinda.”

  I just sat there staring.

  “I mean, no,” she said quickly. “It was embarrassing. I felt...dirty, when he said it. But then afterwards, in the elevator, I sort of thought...he’s saying that he’d pay a thousand dollars for one night with me. He thinks I’m that beautiful.”

  “You are that beautiful,” I said, astonished. “Do you not realize that? You were easily the best looking out of those women.”

  “Stop,” she said. “I’m not. They’re younger.”

  “If they are, then they didn’t look it. You’re gorgeous, honey.” Suddenly, I was spooked. “Do I not tell you that enough?”

  She nodded quickly, grabbing my hand. “You do. Just...I guess it’s nice to hear it from someone else. Especially because...I mean, if some guy says you’re hot then maybe he’s just being nice. But if he’s willing to actually part with a thousand dollars to spend the night with you...I mean, that’s sort of proof, right? In a weird way?”

  I blinked. “I guess.” I rubbed her palm. “But I didn’t realize you were—”

  She gave me a look that was more like her old self. “Insecure? I’m not. No more than any other woman.” She grabbed my other hand. “Look, you do a great job of appreciating me. I didn’t mean it like that. Just that some outside validation’s nice, you know?”

  I looked at her seriously. “Are you...okay? I mean, you’re not upset? He thought you were....you know. I feel like I should kill him.”

  She put her arms around me. “My hero!” she said warmly. We hugged for a moment. “Thank you. No, I’m fine. I mean, I was shocked at first but...he didn’t mean it as any sort of insult. He wasn’t degrading me. He just made a genuine mistake. He was nothing but respectful the whole time. I mean, sure, he was lucky I didn’t slap his face. But at the time, I was too shocked and—”

  “...and what?”

  She looked away.

  “What?” Then I remembered the way she’d squeezed her thighs together in the elevator. “Wait….” I put my fingers under her chin and gently turned her head so that she was forced to look at me. “You said you liked it, but...were you turned on by it?”

  She said nothing.

  “You were, weren’t you?”

  She finally met my eyes and, when she did, I caught my breath. I could see the gleam of lust there and it was brighter and more powerful than I’d ever seen it before. “Yes,” she breathed.

  I just sat there, stunned. “You really liked him?” I said. I was trying to think back to what he’d looked like. He hadn’t been bad looking, I suppose, if slightly older than us. Then again, women sometimes went for older men.

  She shrugged. “He was okay. He looked like he was in good shape and he had nice eyes.” She looked up at me guiltily. “Is this okay? Are you sure you want me to—”

  “Yes!” I said quickly. I could feel the edge of something, the same arousal I’d felt when she’d told me about her exes. I didn’t have time to figure it out right then, so I just went on instinct. “Tell me!”

  “He was okay, but it wasn’t about him. It was the idea of it. I mean, he was going to take me upstairs, right then, to some hotel room”—she glanced around—“just like this one.”

  I glanced around too, starting to imagine the scene.

  “And when we got up here, he’d undress me and kiss me and we’d go to the bed and”—her voice was growing croaky, thick with desire—”we’d fuck. We’d do whatever he wanted.”

  “Whatever he wanted?”

  She nodded. “Well, he’d be paying, right? And he’d expect a good show, a good time. I’d have to really perform. I mean, you know...really let loose. Be….” She
flushed deeply. “Slutty.”

  Suddenly, I found I was breathing hard myself. The image was burning itself into my mind. My wife, in that dress, on a bed with a stranger. It helped that we were in an exact copy of the hotel room he would have taken her to. I looked at her and then at the bed behind us.

  And suddenly, I was pushing her back onto it. Her eyes went wide.

  “Tell me about it,” I gasped.

  She blinked up at me and then got the idea. A tiny smile twitched the corners of her mouth. I hunkered down atop her, sliding one knee up between her warm, stockinged thighs.

  “He would have taken me into a room just like this one,” she said in a low voice. The air seemed to have grown thick and heavy around us. “We’d go over to the bed and start kissing.”

  I stared at her lips. They were the same perfect, silken cushions they’d always been. But suddenly, I was seeing them as if for the first time. “Would you kiss him? Do escorts...kiss?”

  She stared up at me. “Yeah. I think I would. If he was paying.”

  I was almost panting, now. I lowered my head and kissed her. Lipstick and soft warmth, giving way instantly to heat as her lips flowered open. I tasted her, my tongue slipping into her mouth, and she moaned, the vibrations flowing up into me. I could feel myself hardening against her thigh and knew she’d be able to feel it, too.

  We kissed long and hard, mouths open and hungry. Suddenly, she wasn’t my wife—or not my wife as I knew her. She was an escort, perfectly coiffed and elegantly dressed, bought and paid for by some rich guy. I could feel her breasts between us, soft and warm against my chest. I kissed her all over, not just on her lips but around her mouth, both of us gasping. When I finally lifted my lips, I croaked, “What then?”

  In answer, she pushed me to the side, indicating what she wanted. I rolled over so that she was on top.

  “Then he’d undress me,” she said. There was a tremor in her voice I’d never heard before.

  I reached behind her, feeling for the zipper of her dress. But it was hard to stay focused. She looked so different, suddenly. Her long, blonde hair was falling down in soft curls towards me. Her position above me made her jutting breasts look even more alluring and I could feel her warm thighs tight against my sides. She looked amazingly hot. I found my hands were actually shaking, as if I was undressing her for the very first time. I finally snagged the zipper pull and drew it down, slowly and carefully, and her dress loosened.