Jen Hewitts Lover

If you're reading this and you don't understand that the Celebrity category is fictional and not meant to hurt or represent said celebrity in any truthful way, then you probably shouldn't be reading it.

Thanks to Duane for the suggestion and inspiration...

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Angie had given her husband ample opportunity to come clean. She had asked him in about a hundred different ways, never being as straightforward as asking, "Are you cheating on me" because she didn't want him to know that she already knew the answer, but eluding to that fact nonetheless. Since she had cheated on him first and since she had accidentally started this whole affair off, she would have forgiven him if he'd admitted to it.

But Carl never did admit to it, and what was worse, he reacted very harshly to her investigations, trying to make her feel terrible for suspecting such a thing, which might have been called for if he was being honest. But Carl in fact was cheating on Angie, and she was seeing undeniable proof for the second time as she tried to think of a way to deal with this.

The first time she'd actually witnessed him fucking Cindy, the 19 year old Hispanic bar slut, with her own eyes. But since that evening, Angie had been trying to find a way to prove what she already knew in her head and heart--that they had been seeing each other long after that first time. Carl was very good at covering his tracks, so it had been with great difficulty (and a lot of luck) that Angie finally managed to get video of her husband plowing the tall, ultra skinny girl, fucking her face, licking her ass, and shooting cum in every hole of the young woman who was 15 years his junior. As mad as she was, she couldn't help but marvel at how different her husband was with this slut; he totally dominated and humiliated her, and she loved it.

Despite her anger, Angie wondered if she had been like that I bed with him, maybe their relationship would be in better shape. Playing such a submissive role wasn't of any interest to Angie, but then again she'd never really tried it. Still, Carl had never asked her. And it was too late now. This video wasn't just to satisfy her need to be right about the situation. This was evidence to be used in court.

But things took a dramatic turn at the end of the video. After the sex was over and Carl and Cindy--him covered in sweat, her in cum--resting and caught their breath on his and Angie's bed, Carl whispered to his slut girlfriend that he loved her. That was a big enough deal to Angie, but it didn't end there. He took Cindy's hand, admired a ring she wore, and then told the skinny Latina that she must "remember to never wear it around Angie because it belonged to her grandmother".

As angry as she was, Angie could have cried, and was surprised when she didn't. The diamond ring, left to her a year ago with her grandmother's passing, was worth in the area of eight-thousand dollars, but it was in bad shape after decades of neglect. She knew Carl had snuck it away, and found a receipt confirming that he was having it cleaned it up as a surprise for her. She had been excited, and played into the surprise by asking him if he'd seen it--he said he hadn't--and then pretending to be very upset for losing it. But now here he was, giving her grandmother's ring to that pretty little whore.

Now, Angie thought, this wasn't just about adultery. She was going to get him for this if it meant going to Hell and back.

She spent hours trying to come up with a way to exact her revenge, and her need for it only grew as she learned more about Carl's intentions. She opened a locked file cabinet in the garage that she knew he didn't think she knew about and found notes and plans to pay off some local guys to lie about having sex with her. He had even collected evidence, from panties to lipstick, meant to be used against her in his own apparent divorce settlement. Angie couldn't believe Carl would stoop to such lows, and it only made her more determined to get him first.

She came up with the plan that same evening, when she glanced at the local newspaper's front page...

The headline I read was "Love Is In The Air". It was referring to Jennifer Love-Hewitt, who was going to be paying our town a visit. First, let me explain how Jennifer Love-Hewitt even heard about our dinky town. Ok, well it isn't dinky. We have maybe a hundred thousand people. Or maybe it's closer to fifty thousand. Either way, it's not the brightest star in the Midwest, but its home.

There was some contest to find the best Jennifer Love-Hewitt look-alike, and somehow two of the final five contestants lived in my city. The older of the two had even gone to my high school, and graduated a year after me. The other one was her younger sister. This was great publicity for...well...Ms. Love-Hewitt, so she stopped in town for a photo op. I was even there when they took the picture in the town square. It was in a couple newspapers (the local one, for sure) and a magazine or two. Ultimately, the girls in my town only received 5th and 2nd place respectively, which was good enough for some small cash prizes and fifteen seconds of fame. The winner was some girl on the east coast who, though I really didn't care, I didn't think looked much like the celebrity at all.

So a few months go by, and the rumors start up that Jennifer was so impressed by our town during her visit (we did, after all, have a Jennifer Love-Hewitt parade the day she came, and the mayor declared the day Jennifer Love-Hewitt day) that she had inquired about buying a house here. And sure enough, it wasn't long when she had actually purchased a nice big place on the edge of town. The newspaper article said she would be arriving in town tomorrow to move in. But here is the key--I was part of the town's volunteer welcoming committee. I made sure Jennifer's stay went picture perfect and that she had everything she needed. I had never worked with a celebrity before, but Jen made it easy. She was nice, or at least she faked it well, and we became relatively close when she was here. We shared a couple drinks, and were on a first name basis. She even gave me her private phone number, though I hadn't yet used it. I suppose we might have become friends, but honestly I felt jealous of her; not just her fame and money, but her looks, too. She had everything, and being with her, due to my own insecurities, made me feel like a second-class citizen.

Since she wanted to avoid the fanfare this time around my services weren't needed, but I knew Jennifer wouldn't object to me calling and offering any help I might be able to give. So that night I called her up, we chatted a little, and I found out she would be staying in one of the hotels in town while her stuff was all unpacked and arranged. She asked me to meet her there for a drink in the hotel bar.

About an hour after the call, Carl came home. He didn't smell as if he'd showered or had sex, so this seemed to be a rare night when he actually was working late. I told him I'd talked to Jennifer, and that I was meeting her tomorrow. Even in our sad state of affairs, he perked up at this news. A lot of guys I know have a list of five or so celebrities they'd drop anything to sleep with, and I knew Jennifer Love-Hewitt was high on my husband's list, though I also knew he'd never have the balls to do anything about it.

But I was going to make sure that he would find the nerve the next day.

I kept the date with Jennifer that next evening, and it was fun but nothing particularly exciting. Maybe I would've had more fun if my mind wasn't on how I was going to get back at my husband in a very big and public way. Maybe I would've listened to Jennifer more if I hadn't been imaging how she'd react to what I planned to do. Fortunately jet lag and a little stress put her in the drinking mood, and it wasn't long when she was slurring her words and looking glossy-eyed. I had been very persuasive and pushy with the drinks, and it was paying off. I almost convinced myself that I didn't have to implement the date-rape aspect of my plan.

I should mention here that I didn't actually use a date-rape drug, nor did I ever intend to. I had planned on knocking her out in a much less invasive way--by secretly paying the bartender to double or triple up on the liquor content of everything we drank. Knowing this, I only sipped mine, pretended that I was just as sloshed, then got rid of it by either dumping some into my water glass or into Jen's glass when she wasn't looking. By the time last call came around, I was buzzing as hard as I have in years, but Jen had trouble keeping her head up. Unfortunately, I was losing confidence in my plan because she still seemed to have it together enough to make my plans impossible. And then Jennifer told me about Vinny.

She had met him last time she was in town, and though she never did this sort of thing, actually gave him her phone number. At first they talked only rarely, she explained, and their conversations were always innocent, and yet there was a sexual tension that grew between them. Eventually she met him when they had both been in L.A., and they made love constantly over the course of a long weekend. In a shy, whispered voice, Jennifer became uncharacteristically blunt and descriptive as she told me how great Vinny was in bed. She sounded like a schoolgirl, excited to be talking of things she was afraid to be scolded for.

And then she told me that he was to meet her later, around 4am, for a particularly unusual night; apparently Vinny had expressed interest in using a blindfold and handcuffs in their love-making, and though originally dead-set against it, Jennifer finally decided to try it out. She bought a blindfold and a pair of velvet handcuffs and was planning to be bound to her headboard, naked in bed when he finally arrived. She was very scared to be doing this, because it was more adventurous than she usually was, but she wanted to at least try it for Vinny, and she knew he'd treat her nice.

There was just one problem: she didn't want anyone--not her bodyguards or even her assistant--to know about this guy, and so here was no way to get him up into her hotel room secretly if she was going to be, as the fantasy demanded, handcuffed to the bed upon his arrival. So she asked me if I would take her spare room keycard and drop it off at this Vinny's house. That way he could just go to the hotel and right up to her room without a word to anybody.

This couldn't have been a more incredible opportunity to fulfill my plan, so of course I agreed.

Afterward I helped Jen up to her room, got her in bed, and then left as she passed out...but with both of her room keys in my purse.

But before I left, I also put another part of my plan into action.

I got home a little before 3 AM. Carl was home, and fortunately it seemed like he'd been home all evening, and alone. It was also fortunate that he was still awake. I told him a little about my night, leaving out how drunk Jen had gotten, and the part about Vinny, and then started lying through my teeth.

"Everything was going fine," I said, "and then she asked to see a picture of you, and I showed her one, and you'll never believe this--she asked if I'd be willing to share you!"

I could tell by his expression, which he fought to hide, that Carl didn't feel the same way about this as I pretended to feel.

"I told the bitch off, and she acted like it was no big deal, that she's good at keeping secrets, and that she does this all the time. Said she likes to be tied up and stuff. I just couldn't believe it. I mean, what a slut! What a sick little bitch!"

I wouldn't get an Oscar for my performance, I thought, but I deserved a nomination.

I went into the bathroom adjoining our bedroom, closed the door, and pretended to get ready for bed. Through the door I asked Carl to check his email for me on the computer in the bedroom. I said I was expecting some information on our nephew's birthday party from his sister, but I wasn't sure if she was sending it to me or him. He did, and I gave an evil grin to myself in the mirror as I imagined what his face must have looked like when he saw his new message.

I can't give it out here, but for the purposes of the welcoming committee, I had been given Jennifer's email address. I had read some of the emails with Carl the last time she was here, so he knew it, too. And I knew that when he opened his email, saw her address as having sent him something, and the subject line read "Don't tell Angie", he probably felt as if his head might explode.

When I was putting the very drunk Jennifer to bed at the hotel, I got her to tell me her password, then logged onto her email through her laptop and sent my husband a message telling him that she wanted to see him tonight, and that she would make sure I was taken care of so they would have the time to get away with it. She also said it had to happen tonight, because she had already had her assistant drive her room key to our house and put it on our mailbox.

As he read this, his heart probably pounding, I dialed myself on my cell phone so it would ring, then pretended to have a conversation with Jen's assistant. The gist of what I said I later explained when I came out of the bathroom. I told him Jennifer wanted to use my welcoming committee services after all, and that she wanted me and her assistant to set up a last-minute breakfast to show-off to the town and the media the next morning. So I had to go now, and wouldn't be back probably until the next afternoon, after the breakfast.

As I left, I was confident in my plan as ever. Jennifer was almost certainly still passed out, and Carl knew he didn't have to worry about me missing him in bed. And he had the invitation of a lifetime. I parked down our street for a moment, waiting for him to go pick up the key from our mailbox, which also came with a note written in my best forged Jennifer Love-Hewitt handwriting. I knew he'd taken the bait when he started up his car to warm it up. I sped out of there, intent on getting to the hotel before he did.

When I arrived, I carried up to the room all of my supplies in a small suitcase: a ball gag, a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, a leather collar and leash, a video camera... The plan needed a lot of luck in the preparation, but I knew the results would be exactly as hoped. From previous conversations, I knew Jennifer passed out after hard nights of drinking like the one she'd just had. I was going to slip into her room, as she waited asleep, blindfolded, and naked for Vinny, and set up a video camera and, if given the opportunity, leave some of the other toys and maybe strap a leash around her neck. Then, when my husband showed up, Jen wouldn't realize she was with a stranger until he was already naked with her--and caught on tape. It would be a very valuable piece of blackmail against my husband since he'd go straight to jail if anyone ever found out about it. After setting that up, all I had to do was play defense with Vinny.

I nearly crashed the car a couple times because I just couldn't stop reading the letter Jennifer Love-Hewitt had left in my mailbox even as I drove to meet her in her hotel room. I was nervous as hell when I got there, but as I was also so excited I felt like I might cum just from the anticipation. Jennifer had always seemed to be this pure, innocent young woman who, beautiful as she was, probably never got too original in bed, but according to the letter she left wrapped around her room key, that was far from the truth. Jennifer Love-Hewitt was apparently a very dirty girl. I had an invitation to see this first hand, my wife was busy with work, and here I was, outside a sexy celebrity's door...I couldn't believe my luck.

I opened the door and went inside. It was dark, just as the note said it would be.

"Hello?" came a sweet, feminine, sexy voice. It sounded as if I'd woke her up and startled her upon shutting the door.

"It's Vinny," I said, following her instructions to use that name and to only softly whisper it. Jennifer's note had said she had already fantasized enough about my "big dick" that she had given it a name--Vinny--and that was how she would refer to me.

"When did you get here?" she asked.

The note had specifically said that I wasn't to talk after introducing myself, so I ignored the question and took off my clothes silently. Once naked, I went over to the bed as the note requested and switched on the lamp to the dim setting. The light illuminated my ultimate fantasy; Jennifer Love-Hewitt in the flesh--and nothing else. She was on her back on top of the sheets, her wrists bound to the headboard in velvet-covered handcuffs and a black blindfold tied over her eyes. A leather collar was around her neck. I couldn't have been harder.

Her breasts looked so much larger and perfect in person than on TV, and there was a beautiful patch of fuzz on the little peach between her tightly shut legs. She had the most incredible curves, and the softest, purist milky skin I'd ever seen. Her flat tummy heaved in and out erotically as she anxiously chewed on her bottom lip. Even her curly brown hair was done up in a professional, movie-star worthy style.

Jennifer's note had said she loved to be dominated, and that it scared most men, so she had to have secret episodes with guys like me--regular Joes who would be thrilled to do anything with her no matter how strange--to get off. She also said she loved to play roles during sex, and that I shouldn't be scared off no by whichever role she chose to play. For a guy like me, this was like being as close to Heaven as possible. I was so excited and even scared that my hands were shaking like leaves as I touched her soft, warm breasts.

I watched her gently bite her lip and suck in a deep, stiff breath as I touched her.

I bent down to lick her breasts and Jennifer thrust her chest out to me which made me hungrier and more excited, and yet I couldn't help but notice that such was not the move of someone desperate to be dominated. I decided to get more demanding, so I grabbed her body firmly, then sucked hard on her fabulous nipples as she sucked in deep, surprised breaths.

"Oh careful, sweetie," she whispered calmly. "You have to be gentle, okay?"

I knew this must have been one of her roles, because the note Jennifer had left for me existed in a completely different realm from that statement.

Continuing with hard kisses and rough handling, I made my way all over her body, kissing not just her breasts, but also her tummy, her arms, neck, face and then down to her legs, finally coming up between her thighs and taking in the amazing sight of Jennifer's pussy, which was very wet.

I kissed her between her legs, and then put my whole mouth on her, assaulting her with my tongue. After just a few seconds, she spread her legs as wide as they would go, and as she moaned, she even began to grind her crotch against my face.

I know celebrities are just normal people, but I must say that I've never tasted a pussy as sweet as Jennifer-Love Hewitt's. She has, without a doubt, the most perfect pussy; neither too firm nor too soft, the lips just thick enough and the pubic hair just long enough. She was hot and wet, and I drank from her and drove my tongue in her for more. I nibbled and sucked her clit, and then I felt her body tightening, and I knew she was going to climax. I was going to make Jennifer Love-Hewitt orgasm!

I took her ass in my hands, lifted half of her off the bed and gobbled her pussy. He legs went wild at first, but then they locked around my head and her moaning grew louder. She begged me not to stop even as she complained that I was being too rough. She started bucking against my face and screaming with both pleasure and nervousness, as if she was afraid to admit how much she liked this. She thrust her hips against me as if she was fucking my face, and in fact I had to concentrate to keep myself from prematurely cumming as she orgasmed.