Many thanks to my editor Newell Post.
I had intended this as a bit of a poke at the HotWife stories, but as is often the case, my characters had their own ideas.
Chapter One - Our Game
When he got up to refresh our drinks, I saw a dozen women's eyes follow him, stay on him and follow him back to the table. Those same eyes looked at me with undisguised envy, and at least in a couple, hostility. I had him, they didn't, and that made me hot as fuck. It always had. I squirmed a little in my seat.
He smiled that incandescent smile at me and I could feel myself melting. "You okay, Allison?" he asked.
I smiled my secret smile. "Yeah, Wallace, I'm pretty okay. Umm . . . can we finish our drinks and go? I've got something you need to take care of before too long."
He laughed. "That's what I'm here for."
It's always been like this. Allison and Wallace Parker, married five years and my husband is fire, there's no doubt in my mind, but he has no idea.
I know what people must think: "'Wallace.' Must be a real nerd; bet he's a wimp cuckold."
Well, they couldn't be more wrong. I'm no slouch, in fact, most people think I'm pretty hot, and I've never had to go wanting for male company.
Wallace, though, is in another category altogether. To call him a hunk is to damn him with faint praise. He can't walk into a room without catching the eye of every woman in the room. He almost has to literally beat the women off with a stick.
Fortunately, he doesn't have to, because I encourage him to bed as many and any of them that he can. Just watching him put the moves on a woman (not that he really needs to) gets me so wet that I need to wear panty liners all the time.
One of our favorite games is to go to a club in separate cars. I'd go in first, sit in a dark corner and check out the local "talent," then text Wallace who I'd like to see him take home.
At first, I had a hard time with the pussy hounds trying to hit on me, but I've shot down so many, that in the clubs we go to regularly I'm known as the "Ice Queen." If they only knew.
I didn't even have to watch the door to know when Wallace arrived; all eyes would turn to the door, and many hands would be adjusting their bosoms to their best advantage. It usually didn't matter if they were married or single, though Wallace made it a point to avoid women with rings, though he had to admit that it was hard, no pun intended, at times, and there were always women who kept their rings in their purses.
After making brief eye contact with me, he'd make his rounds, purposely avoiding his primary target, hoping to build up her anticipation and frustration.
He was an impeccable gentleman; if a lady was with a date he would always ask her date's permission before asking her to dance. If it was denied, he thanked him anyway, and would not approach the lady again. If he recognized the couple on another night, he wouldn't even approach them.
When he did dance with a lady, he also kept a respectful distance between them, especially if she was part of a couple. Often the woman would try to press tighter against him, but he would step away, though maybe a little more reluctantly if she was without male company.
After an hour or so he would approach our target, though often she couldn't wait and would approach him.
Initially, he would only dance one or two dances with her before continuing to circulate, but would gradually stop at her table more often, and dance more dances until he would finally join her at her table.
At this point I should probably describe Wallace a little more. He is quite literally a Greek god: six feet two inches tall, two hundred pounds with a muscular, but not muscle-bound, build.
He's not a freak of nature in the cock department. Believe it or not, we've never measured him, but I've seen my share of cocks, and I'd say he's just a little bigger than average. More importantly though, he knows how to use it, and has more stamina than most could imagine. He normally doesn't go soft after one, or even sometimes two orgasms, and recovers quickly. He's no slouch with his fingers and mouth, either.
Most nights he fucks me to oblivion, and is still ready for more. That's actually how we got started with our little game.
Wallace was reluctant when I first suggested that he have sex with other women.
"Allison, I love only you," he would insist, "I'm more than satisfied with our love life, I don't need or want any other women.
"Wait a minute," he said suspiciously, "this isn't your sneaky way of telling me that you want to fuck other men, is it?"
"Oh, God, no!" I cried. "Besides the fact that you totally wipe me out, there is no way that any other man could compare to you!"
"Then why? Why now?"
"Several reasons," I said, "First, as I said, I simply can't keep up with you in bed. I know you say that you are satisfied, and I believe you, but you're only human, and I fear you giving in to temptation . . ."
"Now, hold on there, Allison, I already told you I would never cheat on you, and you said you believed me. So what's the problem?"
"I know it's irrational. In my heart and in my mind, I know you would never cheat, but sometimes our emotions aren't rational."
"You said that there were "several reasons." What are the others?"
"Well . . . I guess there's really only one other reason . . . please don't think I'm sick or weird."
"Allison, please just tell me what you want."
"I . . . I have this fantasy of watching you with another woman . . ."
"WHAT?" Wallace startled me as he jumped out of his seat.
"I . . . I'm sorry!" I cried, tears running down my cheeks, "Just forget the whole thing," and I ran to our bedroom, threw myself onto the bed and cried into my pillow.
I don't know how long I lay there weeping, but I heard Wallace enter the room quietly. He sat down beside me and gently stroked my hair.
"I'm sorry, Allison," he said, "I didn't mean to frighten you, but you have to admit that you hit me with a pretty big hammer there."
