This is a novel of twenty-five chapters. I suggest you begin reading at Chapter 1. The novel deals with hotwifeing and cuckoldry. If those are subjects you aren't interested in, you may reconsider reading this.
Please read my statement regarding anonymous comments in my biography.
*
I got home early the next afternoon, by the time she arrived, six-thirtyish, I had a glass of wine and a salad ready for her. "Are you nervous?" I asked.
"Tingly. Had butterflies all day, was pathetic at work," she conceded. "I'm still not absolutely sure this is the right thing to do. But if I don't do it tonight, I don't think I ever will. And I find I want to."
While I cleaned the dishes, she went to the master bedroom and I heard her take a long shower. She'd ordered me to stay out of her way, and I followed her command. Then, again according to the plan she'd developed, I got a text, and headed to the Marriott by the convention center. I'd never been there before, but it was as she'd described, a rectangular bar, seating on three sides, to the back of the stool I sat on was a series of semi-circular booths. The dance floor and a few tables were on the other side of the bar.
I ordered a beer, did some people watching. The place was perhaps half full at the 8:00 hour, mostly business men attending a convention, some nerds still had their name tags on, a few couples. Ten or twelve minutes after I'd sat, I looked to the doorway, and there was a wonderfully alluring woman - my wife. She was dressed in an outfit I'd never seen before, a thin floral blouse, ebony skirt that covered only the top half of her thighs, mesh nylons, black heels that added at least three inches to her already tall frame. Her hair was magically perfect, the lips ruby, lashes long, earrings sparkled from her lobes, a pendant drew attention to the exposed skin above her cleavage.
A multitude of eyes watched as she parked herself on a stool, almost opposite of me, I could see her clearly, and she glanced quickly at me, smiled.
Within a few moments, a man approached her, he was welcomed warmly by Molly to the seat beside her. I couldn't hear the conversation over the noise of voices and canned music, but it didn't seem Molly was giving out the proper flirting signals. He was a little short for her, I thought, and I noticed his shirt needed to be ironed. I was right, after five minutes or so she sent him packing.
Another period of waiting, then she was approached by someone more suitable. He was tall, I thought he was handsome in a Roman fashion, wearing an moderately expensive suit with an open collared shirt. This time, she went into flirting mode, licking her lips, smiling, gazing directly into his eyes, touching his arm or hand every once in awhile. The man dropped his arm out of my eyesight, it's possible that he was fondling a knee. I had hopes, great ones, but after fifteen minutes I saw Molly smile and shake her head 'no.' Just a few minutes later, the man stood and walked away. Another miss!
I noticed a rather good looking man sat around the corner of the bar from Molly, I could see he was trying to catch her eye. She hemmed and hawed for a bit, playing with her hair, but then she looked to him. I could almost feel the lock of their eyes. He raised his glass to her, she smiled and nodded, and the man got up and sauntered over. He was tall, I could tell, at least six-two, in a suit, he still had his tie on. Hellos were said, names exchanged, he sat. Molly was in full-flirt mode, and the discussion seemed animated. The bar maid questioned if another round was in order, the man responded affirmatively, the conversation continued. Then he pointed at me, no, past me, and Molly nodded. In unison they stood, and walked around the bar, just a few feet from me, I could hear Molly saying, "The last book I read was Colter's Woman, by Maya Banks. Have you read . . ." and then she faded out. They stepped to the booth directly in back of me, sat, near but not near. In my position, in order to spy I had to turn my head, it was neither comfortable nor subtle. I shifted to a stool around the corner, from here I had a great view. They chatted, first she had her hand on his arm, then his hand was brushing a hair from her face. Another few moments passed, his hand was on her knee, then higher, even below the hem of her skirt.
He leaned toward Molly, and I believe their lips met. She leaned back, just a little, I couldn't tell if she was signaling 'no' to him or if it was simply a tactic. And then, below the table, I saw her hand, the one with the ring on it, gently rest on his leg at mid-thigh. A few more words were spoken, I wish I could have heard them, and then Molly reached for her clutch, took her phone out, turned it on as if checking for something, then turned it off and returned it to her purse. Then, very deliberately, she placed her hand on his neck and led his head to her mouth.
This was my signal that the game was on. Pursuant to our agreement, I stood, tossed a bill on the bar. From twenty feet I looked at my wife, sitting with a man in a booth, and it was clear that he was in lust for the love of my life. Perhaps I took a little too long in my glance, perhaps it morphed into a stare. My sweetheart looked to me, our eyes met, she smiled, for me, not for her other man.
I broke the glance, walked to the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I got to my car, the dashboard clock read '9:28.' I just sat there for a few moments, chilly in the mid-March evening, and tried to collect my thoughts. My wife was in that bar, making out with a guy, and in a few minutes would, I was sure, go up to his room, where he'd fuck her silly. The horror of that thought snapped to my attention, and for a few seconds I told myself I had to go back in there and tell her not to do it. But the the ecstasy of the apparition eased into my mind, and I knew I wanted her to have sex. I backed out of the spot, onto the road and headed for home. A dozen times during the ten mile drive I wavered between 'I need to stop them' and 'what a great time she's going to have.' I was close to pulling the car over a couple of times and calling her, but both times I either came to or lost my senses - your call.
When I got home, my emotions were still twisting my gut, I actually had to go into the bathroom. When I was done with that, I poured myself a drink and turned on a basketball game, but there was no way I could, or even wanted to, concentrate on it. Every few moments I wondered what Molly was doing. Was she in his room? Was she naked? Was he naked? Was she sucking on him? Was he eating her? Were they screwing?
I finally gave up on the television and turned the computer on. In a hotwife forum I read the tales of joy of both women and men, the stories of anticipation. I looked at pictures of naked women, and naked men, and what they were doing with each other. I admit I pulled my tool out and masturbated, wondering if while I was spurting into the air, he was coming inside Molly.
An interminable amount of time later, the clock ticking at half speed, another drink in my hand, I realized it was approaching 11:15, and Molly, if she kept her agreement, would be home soon. And, just a few seconds later, my phone lit up with a text. 'im fine going to stay longer'
Attached was a picture of my Molly from the waist up, disheveled hair, she was lying on crumpled bed sheets, and all she was wearing was an immense smile.
At least, now, I was absolutely sure what had happened that night - our wishes had been granted. Who said, be careful what you wish for? I texted back 'ok'.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was after 12:30, I was in my easy chair in the den, when I hazily grasped something was happening. I'd dozed, helped by yet one more drink, half full at my elbow. Ah, that was it, Molly's car was in the driveway, I heard the click of the latch. I scuttled to the door just in time to watch my Molly enter the house.
She was properly dressed, all her clothing tucked in and fitting very nicely on that wonderful body. She seemed to walk fine, normally. The hair was sprucely brushed, if a lock or two was less than perfectly in line it wouldn't have been noticed by the neighbor down the block. Her makeup, if less than fresh, was no more mussed than if she'd spent the day at work. In short, most of her appearance was completely normal.
