The Game (A Hotwife Adventure) Read online

  “So you do feel bad, sometimes?”

  I shook my head, “It was a rough ride. I wouldn’t change it, though. I want her to do it again, I want her to date other guys. It’s like some extreme sport, you know? Danger just makes it more of a buzz.”

  “You are crazy. But you know there’s a ton of other guys that are into this kind of thing?”

  “Never really thought about it,” I said.

  Marie waved a few pieces of pasta on her fork gently over her plate as she spoke. “I did some digging around online. There’s whole chat forums devoted to this kind of thing.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I’m thinking of writing a piece about it. You know… everyone’s talking about the fluid nature of sexuality these days, especially among the millennials. Maybe the concept of marriage is becoming just as fluid.”

  I chuckled. “Don’t let the GOP see you talking like that,” I said. “They’d probably have a fit.”

  “From what I’ve read, and the people I’ve messaged, there’s quite a variety in how guys… you know… appreciate their wives fooling around.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable being an interviewee,” I warned her.

  “No,” she shook her head. “I wouldn’t have asked you, either. But your experiences can give me a certain… you know… background.”

  I finished up the last bite of my sandwich. “Are you surprised?” I asked her. “At us, I mean? Or at Izzie. You know, for trying this?”

  She sighed. “I’m surprised at you, sweetie,” she said. “I was surprised at what you said back at that dinner party. Wasn’t that where all this started?”

  “Uh-huh. But what’re you saying, you’re less surprised at Izzie?”

  She smiled, shrugged. “Any woman says she never fantasizes about sleeping with someone other than her partner is a liar. Izzie… well, you have to know how she was in college.”

  “And how was she?”

  Marie paused. “You really want to know?”

  “I already have some ideas.”

  “I don’t think I should tell you. Not if she won’t.”

  Jesus, the mystery. It only made me want to know even more. In this case, I suspected Marie was leaving me hanging on her story for a reason. And as our dinner came to a close, and she still refused to talk more about how Izzie was in college, came her reason.

  “Why don’t you give me a lift home, and maybe I’ll tell you?” she suggested.

  I rolled my eyes. “I would have given you a lift anyway, Marie.”

  Marie being Marie, of course the chance to gossip overwhelmed her need for caution in dealing with a friend’s relationship. As we drove home to her apartment in Brookland area in the north-east of DC, she opened up.

  “In college… I guess we discovered that we could get guys really easily,” she said. “Only, you know, I ended up meeting Barney fairly early on, and I didn’t want anyone else. Izzie… well, she didn’t want to settle on a single guy.”

  “She dated a lot of guys in college?”

  “Uh-huh,” Marie said, widening her eyes and nodding slowly, emphasizing the point.

  It was funny how I’d never got that impression about Izzie, not when we started dating, not really even until this point. When you’re a guy, and you start seeing someone new, you just want to block out everything that came before — unless you already have some kind of sharing fantasy, of course. It’s not that you have to believe she’s a card-carrying virgin, but you kind of want to view your new relationship as the first time she’s really been that way with a guy.

  “I swear, she was with someone new virtually every week,” Marie said. “I never even bothered finding out their names after a while.”

  I was feeling good. That buzzing inside, that warmth. The blood flow quickening, the manhood thickening. I liked that Izzie had played around in college. I even found myself regretting that it had taken this long for me to discover the fantasy I possessed. I guess I was a fully paid-up member of the twisted kink club.

  “And since then?” I pushed Marie.

  She laughed. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “She didn’t ever cheat on you, Oscar. At least, not until you started letting her..”

  “So what were her guys like in college?”

  “Big,” she said. “Mostly. Very big, if she could get them. It’s why I was surprised you swept her off her feet.” Marie gave me a wink.

  “Thanks,” I said, but felt even more of a stirring to hear of Izzie’s thing for big cocks. I liked to think of her playing with guys who were different than me. But I said, “I think she’s happy enough with my size.”

  “Well, it doesn’t even matter now, does it?” Marie pointed out. “If she does like big cocks, she can go out there and get some, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed.

  “Well, this is me,” she declared as we drew up outside her little two-up, two-down detached house in a fairly leafy, hilly part of DC suburbia.

  “Have a good one,” I said.

  Then, as she was clambering out of the vehicle, she exclaimed, “Oh my God!”

  “What?”

  She leaned into the vehicle — giving me a gaping view down her shirt, if I wanted it. She did have some nice cleavage in there. Even a guy obsessed with his wife is going to notice that.

  “Mr Thomas is selling his house!” she said.

  “Mr Thomas?”

  She pointed across the road. The houses on the other side of the street were built up on the hillside — their driveways sloped upwards quite dramatically. The house immediately opposite Marie’s was one of the few on the street to have no lights in the windows. A ‘for sale’ real estate sign was standing at the end of its driveway.

  “You know, from that house you get a great view of my bedroom,” Marie said with a wicked grin.

  “Is that right?”

  “You should buy it,” she said. “It’s a terrific house.”

  “You know, I don’t think you’d get to see what Izzie was up to by looking up from your house,” I told her.

  “No, but I could give you a little show at night when you were waiting for her to come home from a date,” she said. “You really do get a superb view from up there.”

  I laughed at that idea, even if Marie herself was very easy on the eye and the thought of watching her undressing through her bedroom window did tickle the interest a little.

  Marie had been talking to Izzie for a while about moving to her neighborhood. As close as Silver Spring was, she’d always wanted Izzie to be closer. I guess these days she liked the idea of being close enough to monitor Izzie’s dating life.

  “Good night, Marie,” I said. “I guess you’ll just have to do your little strip shows for whoever buys the place.”

  “Spoil sport!”

  Chapter Twelve

  The evening it happened, I’d been speaking at a local business conference down in Alexandria — not too far away from home, but they’d given me a room for the night in the luxury hotel, so the plan was to take them up on their offer — and get a little light networking in during the evening.

  Only, as I was in the middle of the formal dinner attached to the conference, my phone vibrated in my pocket to alert me to a message — a message from my mole.

  >Tonight’s the night.

  She didn’t give me anything more than that, to begin with. Marie always had enjoyed generating a little suspense. I had no choice but to play ball.

  I replied:

  >Tonight’s the night for what?

  It was a few mouthfuls of well-cooked steak and a sip of red wine before Marie replied:

  >She’s meeting a friend. And since she has the whole house to herself all night… ;-)

  I felt my stomach fold up. Was she really suggesting that Izzie was on a date that evening? While I was away at a conference? I felt suddenly cold inside. Well, this was the game, wasn’t it? She didn’t have to tell me she was dating someone. She didn’t have to give me explicit details of
what was going on. She just had to give me enough clues to know what was going on.

  I texted Marie:

  >Who’s the guy?

  Marie was quicker with her reply this time:

  >Thought you were supposed to be monitoring her every move?

  Well, that made my insides just about freeze solid. I felt nauseous. Had I been missing all Izzie’s clues? Pride kept me from fessing up to my inadequacies. I replied:

  >Just wanted to know what you know.

  Marie said:

  >All I know is, she’s on a date tonight, and she’s intending on bringing him home. She doesn’t tell me everything, you know.

  “Everything okay?” I looked up to find the guy sitting to my right at the dinner table peering at me, concerned. I guess I must have come across as a little rude, ignoring him to stare at my phone.

  “Uh… yeah…” I said, mentally scratching for some kind of excuse or explanation. “Just had a message from work… I think I’m going to have to head back to the office, I’m afraid.”

  I put down my napkin on the table beside my plate of half-eaten steak. My stomach was going to regret not finishing up — but my thumping heart needed me to get out of there, to head home and hope to find out what my sweet wife was up to.

  I managed to say a few goodbyes to the various people I’d met at the conference and hoped to keep in contact with — not to mention the conference organizers — before shooting upstairs to my room to pick up my things. It was while I was hurling the few items I’d unpacked back into the suitcase that my phone beeped to indicate an email was being sent through.

  I was a little surprised to find that Izzie had emailed a video to me. It took a little while to download it even through the hotel’s decent Wi-Fi facility. What had she sent me?

  Once it was fully downloaded, I slumped down on the bed to watch a video she must have taken from her iPad, judging by the quality, showing our very own living room.

  The camera had been placed in a good position to catch much of the room. I saw Izzie at the front door, greeting and then inviting a guy in. He’d brought her flowers, which she loved, going all smiley and kissing his cheek as he gave them to her.

  I recognized him from his mugshot on Facebook. Ben. The ex that Izzie had been chatting up online.

  The guy was bald — or at least, shaven-headed — and about our age. He was wearing nice clothes — date clothes — an expensive green shirt, nice dark pants, solid dark shoes. Izzie, on the other hand, was wearing fairly casual stuff — her faded pink denim jacket, a floral print skirt underneath. I guessed it could be a first date outfit, but it could also have been what she might wear to work if she wasn’t intending to appear on TV.

  “I’m sorry I’m running so late,” she said, inviting him in to sit down on the couch.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” her date replied. “We’re not in any rush, are we?”

  “No, we’ve got as much time as we want. But I need to change before we head out.”

  “You don’t need to change — you look fantastic.”

  “Well, thank you, I guess!”

  Izzie was so bright and giggly, and though she was clearly excited, clearly buzzed by this whole date thing, as her husband I could also tell that she was trying to make an impression for her date.

  “You want a drink while you’re waiting?” she asked, and I saw her at the fringes of my vision, in the kitchen opening the refrigerator door.

  “Sure, whatever you got.”

  She brought a beer over to him, and perched on the edge of the couch to give it to him.

  “You are looking seriously good, Iz,” Ben was saying. “I don’t think you’ve changed at all since school.”

  My insides felt cold, and yet at the same time burning. Had this guy fucked her before we met? He had to have. Did she feel comfortable, as a result, to date him now I’d given her her freedom? How far was she planning on going with him?

  My guess was that after her Navy man, she needed more of a sure thing. She wanted a man she could guarantee would go for straight sex, without strings attached. Perhaps even a man who knew she was married.

  “You’re so sweet,” I heard her say, beaming ear to ear, tilting her head a little, flirtatious and yet modest.

  “And your husband…?”

  “He’s out of town.” She put her hand on his, patting it and then stroking it while he kept it inoffensively on his thigh. I couldn’t see the guy’s face, from the camera angle, but he had to be responding to Izzie’s clear suggestion.

  Sipping his beer, he said, “Never thought you’d be the type, Iz.”

  She laughed. “The type?”

  “You know what I mean. Thought you’d be more the responsible wife type.”

  Another laugh. “I’m not sure I’d want to be described like that!”

  “You’re a big-time journalist these days, I guess you’re responsible in a different way.”

  “You’re not doing so badly yourself,” she said. “You made the cover of the New York Times last fall, right? I saw that.”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t happen all the time…”

  “Still. Impressive.”

  “I never got married,” Ben said.

  “I never thought you would.”

  “It’s working out for you?”

  She paused, and I knew she was still figuring out how much to tell him. Then she said, “It’s great. He’s great.”

  “Does he know… you’re seeing me tonight?”

  She flashed a naughty grin — and I could tell, even without seeing his face, that her date was in to that. “He doesn’t have to know everything about me,” she said, avoiding a lie.

  She brushed her hair out of her face, behind an ear, and now leaned forward to stroke his knee. “I’d better get changed,” she said quietly, seductively, as though at any moment he could stop her and persuade her to spend their date right there on the couch.

  “Whatever you want,” her date said, and she rose to her feet.

  “Won’t be a minute,” she said, and walked toward the camera — toward the iPad. From where he was sitting, he couldn’t see the thing that must have been propped up on the bookshelf somehow. He couldn’t see her pick it up, either, and take it with her upstairs.

  I did. I saw her carrying it, I saw her set it down in the bedroom upstairs — on her bedside table.

  She picked her phone out of her bag on the dresser, and I saw her tapping out a message. She was smiling as she texted whoever it was — and I know she hadn’t been texting me. Was this when she’d told Marie about her date?

  Replacing the phone in her bag, she stared into the mirror just to the side of the camera, and now removed her jacket and the white tank top she’d been wearing underneath, leaving her in just a bra and that floral skirt.

  Now I saw her opening her underwear drawer in the dresser, and retrieve various items of black lace. My heart skipped a beat or two at that, and it suddenly seemed a little more difficult to breathe in there. God, she had such a purposeful look in her eyes, it sent a shiver down my spine, and a warm throbbing in my manhood.

  She was going to wear special lingerie for this guy, whoever he was?

  Izzie stooped to remove her shoes, then off came her bra. Her nipples were like bullets — she was really aroused by all this, it was clear enough. Down came her floral skirt, which she carefully folded up and dropped on the chair in the corner of the room. Then down came her black cotton panties, which she dropped in the laundry basket.

  I watched her dress in her new underwear, the fancy black lace panties, matching bra. When she started putting on a suspender belt, and pulled her panties up over it — for easy removal, I knew — I stopped the video.

  Jesus. I had to get home.

  I grabbed my things and rushed out of the room, checking out as rapidly as I could — and issuing the hotel receptionist with some story about my wife being taken ill back at home. Then I was out of there, a screech of tires as I pulled out of the parking
lot for the journey back to Silver Spring.

  *

  I guess part of me was frightened, as I drove home, that she was really doing this. That my wife was dating one of her exes, and I couldn’t control any of it. She was dressing up all sexy, she was going out to flirt with the guy, in the knowledge that I was safely packed away in Alexandria. She was fully intending to bring Ben home with her after dinner, and cheat on me.

  Was it cheating? Not if I’d given her permission. But I’d given her permission to see guys even if I didn’t pick up on her clues. That was nearer to cheating. Still, there was a dark excitement in that thought, for me at least.

  I was almost out of breath as I drove home — and I was really just sitting there squeezing the gas pedal with my foot, not exactly exerting myself.

  At the same time, I was hard as a rock as I sat there. It was an incredible thrill to think that Izzie might really do this. That she would have the excitement of dating somebody different, of flirting with him, of having him lusting after her.

  I really did want her to do this, to go all the way, after so many months — years — of thinking about it.

  When the traffic snarled up, and I was locked bumper-to-bumper at a frustrating standstill, I pressed the play button on the video on my iPad, watching Izzie rolling one black stocking and then the other up her shapely legs, fixing them in place mid-thigh, then attach the garter belts.

  She looked incredible.

  She put a pair of breathtakingly high heels on — black, naturally — then a black necklace around her neck. I watched her spritz with perfume, I watched her twirl for the benefit of the camera — for her watching husband — and finally touch up her make-up.

  Only then did she finish the outfit by pulling on her little black dress, as though she wanted to give me the maximum amount of exposure time, watching her in that extravagant lingerie.

  And that was the end of the video.