Hotwife Hall Pass Read online

  Hotwife Hall Pass

  Max Sebastian

  MaxSebastian.net

  KW

  PUBLISHING

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Author's Note

  Get your free Max Sebastian ebook...

  About the Author

  Also by Max Sebastian

  Copyright © 2017 Max Sebastian

  All rights reserved.

  Cover image © Kryzhov | bigstockphoto.com

  First digital edition electronically published March 2017

  This is a work of fiction, any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or events, organizations or locations, is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without written consent is strictly prohibited, other than limited quotes for purposes of review.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this story. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought this book, or sharing your experience via social media, to help us spread the word. Thank you for supporting this work.

  Chapter One

  Did he cheat?

  The circumstantial evidence was strong, sure. But was it truly adultery if you had absolutely no memory of the deed itself?

  What Noah Delmar did know was that he awoke in the small hours of that particular Sunday morning, naked, slumped in the shower with the water streaming down all over him, the skin on his fingers and toes all shriveled up like he’d been soaking for ages.

  When he’d hauled himself up out of the shower and grabbed an over-small, over-starched white hotel towel to clutch around his waist, he’d emerged into a bathroom that was not his own—featuring toiletries clustered around the sink that were not his. Out of the bathroom, the room had looked uncannily similar to his—but the clutter was not his, the clothes on the hanging rail in the closet were not his, the suitcases were not his.

  The blonde sprawled half-naked over the bed was definitely not his.

  Damn.

  She was gorgeous, whoever she was. Lying in the fetal position, she was still wearing a bridesmaid’s dress—but quite clearly nothing else, at least below the waist. If Noah had been a single man he’d have felt elated, proud, victorious. Instead, he felt only shame, fear, pain.

  How could he have slept with another woman? He wasn’t that kind of guy. Really. Sure, five years of marriage had seen sex with Adrienne settle into a comfortably familiar routine, but it was still good. And even if it wasn’t, he loved his wife more than life itself, he couldn’t conceive of causing her pain, of letting her down, of being that kind of bastard husband.

  And yet here he was, alone in a room with a blonde whose pussy was shaven like you see in magazines, or in porn clips on the Internet, not in real life.

  Jesus. Had they really done it? How could they possibly have, if he had absolutely no memory of it? He felt vaguely sick, the nausea keeping his body from fully responding to the erotic sight of the sleeping bridesmaid. His unsettled stomach was testimony to his sense that it was extremely possible that something had happened, even if he wasn’t that kind of guy. The shower had taken away any kind of evidence that he’d just slept with someone.

  It seemed to take a few moments for the panic to override the desperation and fear that had rendered him temporarily immobile.

  Released, Noah took a step toward the bed, peering at her to ascertain whether the blonde was, indeed, completely asleep. Her breathing, her firmly closed eyes suggested she was. Mildly impressed at how silent he could be, he scouted around the room to locate and gather his clothes. No signs of contraceptive use, which could mean the adultery had been unsafe, as well as unwise.

  His clothes had been heaped on the armchair in the corner of the room, rather than strewn around the bed, or in a pathway from the door to the bed. He hoped desperately that this might mean there was no drunken passion between himself and the blonde. Perhaps he’d shared a cab with her back to the hotel and merely collapsed into bed without the energy to get to his own room? But then, why the late-night attempt at a shower?

  He dressed silently, perched on the edge of that armchair. Almost got away, too, except that he lifted up his pants and all the loose change fell out of the pocket, landing on the floor with an alarming jangle.

  The blonde stirred, lifted her head from the pillows. Her hair was all over the place, and her make-up too, but she was pretty. He didn’t recognize her, even if she was a bridesmaid. He hadn’t been checking out the women at the wedding, he’d spent most of the time drinking with just about the only two guys he knew at the ceremony, and they were all married.

  His stomach sank a little further as her eyes apparently came into focus, and she saw him sitting there.

  ‘Hey,’ she, maybe even still half asleep.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, still hoping she might go back to sleep.

  ‘Did we…’ she said, and his heart leapt at the idea that if she couldn’t remember anything happening, chances were better that it didn’t.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  He said it as confidently as he could, as though it might set the story in stone from this day forth if she believed it too.

  The blonde smiled, and lifted one knee. He could see her pussy again, and had to work to keep his eyes from being dragged straight to it. ‘Everyone will think we did,’ she said. ‘So you know…’

  She stroked one foot down the smooth, shapely calf of her other leg, entirely unselfconscious about being naked in front of him, other than the dress that rode up so high he could almost see her navel. If you had a body like that, you could be entirely unselfconscious, he figured. What was she, 24, 25?

  ‘They probably won’t,’ he said firmly, attempting a polite smile, though his insides felt like they were being shredded at the hint she was giving him that news of their encounter was already out there.

  Propping herself up on one elbow, now she started touching herself. He thought at first she must have an itch between her legs… and then realized she had that kind of itch between her legs. God. She was maybe five, six years younger than him and made him believe quite firmly that the younger generations were experiencing an entirely different kind of sex to his own.

  ‘They will,’ she said. ‘So you know… we might as well anyway…’

  But he was on his feet, mumbling a quick, ‘I’m sorry,’ as he went by, not even stopping to put on his shoes—just grabbing them and his suit jacket, to escape as quickly as he could. He finished dressing in the elevator, found his room and threw his belongings back into the suitcase before he could start to feel nauseous about the perfect state of a bed that had not been slept in.

  Even managed to switch to an earlier flight when he got to the airport, but it wasn’t a fast enough escape.

  *

  Adrienne was there to meet him at Logan Airport, complete with horrified expression, and the first thing out of her mouth when she saw him was a sharp: ‘How could you do such a thing?’

  There was just no point in denying that something had happened. As the blonde had predicted, everyone had made up their mind that it had, from the drunken brunette who had somehow spotted him stumbling out of the blonde’s room in a state of half-undress—or at least, without shoes and a jacket on—to the ranks of Adrienne’s college girlfriends who lit up social media with their judgment and scorn, offering pity and comfort to Adrienn
e, while no doubt concealing their private glee at her difficulties.

  Adrienne’s anger had been intense, all the way down the Mass Pike to Worcester, and their little two-up, two-down house in a tree-lined suburb. He’d only managed to soften a few of the edges by pleading alcohol-driven stupidity, by insisting that he really couldn’t remember what had happened, from the closing stages of the wedding to waking up crumpled in that shower.

  His head was spinning, and it wasn’t because he had any kind of hangover. That whole drive home from the airport, he looked at his disgusted wife and felt sure she would end things, walk away from him, flick the switch on the rest of their lives together.

  Noah’s every ounce of energy swung into damage limitation mode, into crisis management.

  ‘I do love, you, Addie, more than anything…’

  But there was only so much fire you could fight with a water pistol.

  Addie’s rage progressed to acute sorrow by the end of the journey home, and when she screamed at him that, ‘You don’t know how I feel, you couldn’t possibly know how I feel… you don’t know what it’s like to have your heart torn out…’ she showed him what could be worse than the anger she hurled at him—floods of her tears.

  There was nothing he could say to even slow her sobs— because he was the sole cause. At home, she shut herself away from him in the bedroom, crying. He made her food, and it went uneaten. He pleaded with her to at least talk to him. She didn’t, not for a long while. When the hunger or the thirst became too much, she walked out of the house and drove away in her little Nissan.

  And after the tears came the silence. She decided, it seemed, that since she was the wronged party in all this, she shouldn’t be the one denied access to the house. She finally came out of the bedroom, she started making use of the kitchen for food, she even slumped on the couch to watch TV while he was in the room—but she wasn’t talking to him. She ignored him, treated him as though he wasn’t there. He was a ghost to her.

  At night, he slept on the couch, if sleep was really the word. He couldn’t get much sleep, with the pain that constantly racked his body and mind, the shame.

  Things were so frosty between them that Noah ended up fleeing the house to find sustenance in the mall, to spend time at the movie theater, or even a bar. Looking like some social reject, no doubt. He kept away from social media—he could imagine how his presence would go down on Facebook after what had happened. He even refrained from calling family—his voicemail filled with surprised and then angry messages from his parents, his siblings, no doubt after they’d found out what he’d apparently gone and done.

  Noah avoided their calls, for a long while.

  His first step had to be to get Adrienne to talk to him again. Yet the longer she shunned him, the harder it seemed to break the ice between them. And the longer that the two of them kept apart, the stronger and stronger came the dark feeling that their relationship was no longer salvageable.

  He started to contemplate the ‘d’ word—the end of their marriage, the death knell for life as he knew it, his future, everything. Was that really where this was headed? Noah spent time he wasn’t at work looking for answers—could they get professional help to cope with the enormity of the chasm that his apparent infidelity had opened up in their marriage?

  Finally, after many, many sleepless nights, Noah finally confronted her and forced her to listen to his abject apology, to his acknowledgement of the pain he’d caused her, and his promise to rectify things. To his suggestion of marriage counseling, therapy, whatever course of action they could take to get through this.

  ‘What do you want, Adrienne?’ he asked her, there on his knees in front of her. ‘I don’t understand what I can do to please you. I can’t go back in time...’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ she said, and it was the first time he’d heard her speak in such a long while.

  ‘Do you want me to leave?’ he asked her. ‘I’ll get a hotel room. Sort out my things. Get out of your life.’

  The words shocked him. Even if separation was only temporary, it seemed such a devastating move, the next step to sure-fire divorce.

  ‘Is that what you want to do?’ she asked him, and suddenly her hardened icy facade was breaking down into a quivering, red-eyed vulnerability—and he saw that she was perhaps as frightened of the finality of separation and divorce as he was. So why didn’t she just give him a break and forgive him? Or even just agree to move on, to try to work on accepting his apology?

  ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘I’d do anything to stay. To show you how sorry I am. To make things right between us.’

  ‘I just.. I just need time, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand why you did what you did—why you felt you needed to...’

  ‘I was drunk...’ he protested, but as unfair as it was, the look in her eyes warned him sharply that his attempts at defending his actions were not appropriate.

  ‘I feel... betrayed,’ she said quietly. ‘I know you’re trying to understand what it did to me... but you just can’t... fully appreciate it unless it happens to you. I love you. I promised my life to you—and I thought you promised your life to me...’

  ‘I did...’ he insisted. Deep inside, he felt a little nugget of pure injustice—she wasn’t giving him any way out of this, she wasn’t allowing him any solution, any possibility of rehabilitation. She seemed determined to hold on to the pain and never stop throwing it back in his face.

  ‘Maybe we do need... therapy... or something,’ she said in that small, frightened voice. Surprising him with the possibility that she would allow this as their way forward.

  ‘Maybe,’ he agreed, trying to sound penitent, rather than hopeful or optimistic.

  ‘Maybe it’ll help you truly understand exactly how I feel about this,’ she said, but there was such a huge element of doubt in her voice.

  What good was therapy if she went into it in such a pessimistic manner?

  Noah felt frustrated, almost annoyed by her ownership on all the hurt, her apparent embrace of victimhood. What did she want? What would make her stop all this, make her give him a chance. How could he turn all this around, to even the score, to take on his own share of the hurt?

  He sighed. ‘Maybe I need to know exactly how you feel,’ he said. ‘Maybe nothing less will be good enough—even if we go to all the therapists in the city.’

  She raised an eyebrow. What was he talking about? He hardly knew himself. An idea was forming in his head, but it was only really a vague idea. He wasn’t sure of it even himself.

  ‘What are you saying?’ she asked him.

  What was he saying? How could he possibly come to feel the same sense of betrayal that she felt after his night with the blonde?

  ‘I’m saying, maybe... I need to feel just what you do... You need to do to me exactly what I did to you...’

  ‘What on Earth—?’

  The idea seemed to crystalize inside his head quite suddenly, with a burst of intense heat inside his chest that felt like his heart exploding. God—was that really what he was saying?

  ‘I cheated on you. So you cheat on me,’ he said, his stomach churning merely at the thought of what he was saying—and yet, now he had said it, he felt certain it was the only way she could accept him again, the only way she would ever relinquish that awful yet justified victimhood.

  ‘Cheat on you?’ she looked horrified.

  He took a deep breath, as though it would help to stop his mind from spinning, and perhaps quell some of the nausea in his stomach. ‘So maybe you need to tear out my heart, too,’ he said, feeling as though he was signing up to some kind of dreadful capital punishment, volunteering for pain. ‘Then it’s all fair, and maybe we could move on...’

  ‘I don’t understand...’ she said, shocked, but not saying ‘no’.

  Noah felt light-headed, but though he was conditioned to view the thought of his wife cheating on him with absolute horror and revulsion, at the same time in laying out the suggestion, he
began to feel the strangest sense of hope. That this might really be the way to get Adrienne back on side.

  It would both punish him for his misdeeds and enlighten him on how she’d been impacted by his infidelity.

  An eye for an eye.

  But dear God, it was such a strange concept to come to terms with. Was he really suggesting that she...

  ‘One night,’ he said, trying to lay it all out in as simple terms as possible—to help himself get his head around it, as well as to make her understand. ‘One night, whenever you decide. You do to me what I did to you.’

  She was frowning, aghast. ‘Cheat on you?’

  He took another deep breath. Did he really have to explain further? Couldn’t they just agree that it would happen, and then say no more about it until it had happened?

  He nodded, and forced himself to explain further. ‘One night—perhaps even a wedding, if you wanted it to be completely fair,’ he suggested. Well, weddings were bad enough. ‘You find whichever guy you like... and... you know... sleep with him.’

  He looked up at her, horrified, and yet strangely curious.

  ‘You’re serious?’

  He shrugged, ‘Don’t you think it would help if I really did know exactly how you feel?’

  He saw a cruel streak in her eyes just then—that she did, at the end of the day, want revenge and retribution. It didn’t seem like the Adrienne he knew, and yet somehow it was understandable. He probably didn’t seem like the man she knew, after what he’d done.

  ‘And you’d really want this to happen?’ she asked.

  He sighed. ‘I think it’s the only way.’