Wives with Benefits: Volume Two Page 4

  I just had to trust in our relationship, trust in our love.

  While this was all happening, my near constant arousal and Lisa’s undoubted excitement about dating translated into vastly improved sex between the both of us. Secretly chatting with interested men online got her juices going, and knowing that she was secretly chatting with interested men online got my juices going.

  She didn’t comment about why our sex lives suddenly improved. But then, I guess I didn’t either — I was acting with Academy Award-winning prowess like the unaware husband, just happy for whatever time he could get between his wife’s thighs.

  It wasn’t so hard to read her. My ability to act as though I had no idea anything was going on reassured her, so she relaxed and made less effort to hide things from me. I could tell when her first date was coming up from her body language. She was thrilled about it.

  So there I was, parked across the road from our little terraced house in South London, watching her slip out of the front door looking like a million dollars, open the gate then step nervously forward in her high-heeled shoes. She’d catch a cab from the main road, be away to some bar on the South Bank, or near the City, or in the West End, in no time at all.

  I didn’t get out of the car, not until she disappeared from view, at any rate. I didn’t call out to her, I didn’t stop her from going. I waited. Then she was gone, and I emerged, shaking like a leaf in a summer breeze, crossed over the road and ducked into our house.

  The house smelled of her new perfume, unfamiliar. Sexy. Oh, it could have been symptomatic of her going out for the evening with her friends, but on this particular night I knew that it wasn’t. She was on a date. Upstairs it was clear she’d spent time getting ready, putting on her make-up. Her new racy black lace lingerie was gone. The air in our en suite bathroom was warm and damp from her recent shower. The laundry basket held her clothes from her day in the office — and nine times out of ten, she didn’t change into something new to attend evening classes, or go to the gym, or even go out for drinks with her friends.

  Her panties from that afternoon were damp and musky with her own arousal. She’d been thinking about this upcoming date all day.

  I should have been horrified at finding out it was happening that night. I should probably have been angry that it had come to this, that my beautiful wife, my faithful and sweet-natured soulmate was going to be polluted by some stranger I didn’t even know. Only, I didn’t feel like that.

  The nerves were still there, the fear that I would lose her. But the joy at knowing it was really happening overwhelmed those black thoughts. There was trepidation at how she would be when she finally came home to me that night. If her date went badly. If the man did not live up to her expectations. If it turned out that I wasn’t actually able to handle her seeing someone else, that my arousal had been false. Or worst of all, if she had such an incredible time that she felt sad to come home to me.

  What could I do except wait? Watching the clock ticking by seemed so bittersweet, with every subsequent tick seeming to increase the chances that her date was going well, that she would go back to a hotel room with her new friend — that she was enjoying herself, that her bond with my rival was growing stronger.

  Ten o’clock.

  Eleven o’clock.

  Twelve o’clock.

  It was out of the realms of possibility that she could have gone to the gym, or that she had attended her evening classes. She could come home and tell me that one of her friends had a birthday, that they’d all dressed up and made a long night of it.

  I’d know, though.

  One o’clock. Her date had to have been a success. Was my Lisa now defiled? Oh, how I hoped so. Sleep wasn’t coming, wasn’t even close. I lay on the bed watching late night movies, and didn’t take in anything that was going on.

  I waited, and I waited.

  Finally, my mobile buzzed into life on my bedside table. A text message, from Lisa.

  >Sorry — lost track of time! Fiona’s birthday, so we were all partying a little too much! On my way home. Hope you’re asleep!!! xxx

  And there it was, the little white lie to save my feelings.

  Oh, of course she’d hope I was asleep. If we weren’t under this pretense that she was continuing her normal life, that she wasn’t actually dating now, sleeping with someone else.

  I thought about pretending to be asleep when she got home. I could pretend that she woke me coming in. Tell her how much I missed her that evening, how I hoped she had a good time with her friends. Perhaps she would be interested in a little light kissing, some touching. Perhaps she would be too tired for much else.

  Only, I needed more than that. I was craving her, body and soul.

  I went downstairs, fixed up a late bowl of cereal to eat in front of the TV in the living room. I’d be here when she got in, I’d tell her I couldn’t sleep. Ask how her evening went. Tell her how much I needed her right now. But then… would I tell her what I was really feeling?

  I was on the edge of my seat, not knowing one way or the other what I was going to do.

  Outside, I could hear the clatter of a diesel engine — the taxi pulling up at our address. The bang of the door as she exited the vehicle. The vehicle pulling away. The scrabble of her key in the lock of our front door.

  And there she was. Jesus. She looked more desirable than ever before. The pretty innocent, fresh from a night out. The blush in her cheeks, the slight dampening of perspiration in her hairline testament to something else happening.

  Oh God, my wife had slept with another man.

  I was hard as a rock, almost instantly. My heart was leaping up and down — I was overjoyed. There was no small measure of relief that I was responding to her like this.

  “You’re still up,” she said, genuinely surprised.

  “Uh-huh,” I said, leaping up to my feet to approach her.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Nope.”

  A few feet away from her in the close confines of our hallway, I could smell her perfume, the earthiness of perspiration — and something else. Sex. It made me shiver. Oh Jesus, Oh Jesus. It had really happened. My heart did a little pirouette inside my chest.

  The brightness in Lisa’s face at seeing me again faltered as I approached, her brow furrowed with sudden doubt, she took a step back toward the door. “I should… I should take a shower,” she said. “Dancing with the girls… you know… it got a little sweaty.”

  I didn’t give way. She looked frightened.

  I leaned in for a kiss. There was a flicker of shock in her eyes, before she suddenly seemed to realize there was nothing else she could do but kiss me. She tilted her head, presented her soft lips for me. Sighing quietly as we touched, and as I sucked gently on her bottom lip, the tension melted away from her shoulders — she was either reminded of my unconditional love for her, or that even if I did find out what she had done that night, it was all done with my ultimate approval.

  I breathed deeply, enjoying the sweetness and the soft warmth of her lips — and the strange scent about her, the tang of another man. His cologne, his sweat, his body.

  “I know where you’ve been,” I said simply. What better could I give her than the truth?

  “You know?” those deep brown eyes peered up at me, questions in her dark pupils, surprise at my discovery of her first ever adulterous date, fear at how I felt about her.

  “Who was he?”

  Surprise in her eyes turned to shock.

  “Are you angry at me?” she said quietly, stroking a few strands of hair out of her face, behind her ear.

  God her breasts looked amazing in that dress. Their roundness, only just held by her lacy bra. A slight sheen of perspiration on her upper chest, perhaps.

  “Of course not,” I said, giving her a broad smile.

  She returned a weaker, cautious smile, offering gratitude for my presumed understanding. “When did you find out?” she asked.

  “I knew it was happening,” I sai
d. “You’ve been… preoccupied… for a while.”

  She nodded, seeming apologetic, meek. She stroked my arm, looking into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you didn’t want to know…”

  I stroked her cheek gently with my other hand. “No,” I said quietly. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to know everything.”

  Shock in her eyes again, but then I kissed her again, slipping my tongue in her mouth, tasting the unfamiliar nature of her lips and her tongue, showing her in no uncertain terms that I loved her, I wanted her, that she turned me on like no one else ever could.

  As I kissed her, I reached around to ease down the zip on the back of her dress. Slipped the straps of the dress down over her shoulder.

  She broke away from our kiss as the thing fell away to the ground. “I need to take a shower,” she stressed. But I shook my head.

  “I want to know everything first,” I said.

  “Everything?”

  I ran my hand down her other cheek, softly, as I kissed her again. Then I was stroking her chest, her breast.

  “The thought of you being with someone else…” I said, blurting it out, but not really seeing any other way to put it, “…I guess it’s become a bit of a turn-on.”

  “A turn-on?”

  I noticed the way her chest heaved, rising and falling with heavy breathing. I noticed that her stockings were gone, her legs bare.

  “I can’t really explain it,” I said with regret. “I think of you… flirting with other guys… dating someone else. Taking him back to a hotel room…”

  One of her eyebrows rose. “And that turns you on?”

  Her hand moved to my stomach, then dropped to find the hard shape concealed in my PJs. It made her quietly gasp.

  “Did it happen?” I asked her. “Did you sleep with him?”

  She hesitated, understandably. A long pause born out of fear that this was all some kind of trap.

  Then she nodded.

  A pulse of searing heat surged through my chest at that, and my manhood bucked against her hand. Feeling it move made her let out another little gasp.

  “He’s called Paul,” she said, her hand now starting to stroke my hardness. “He’s a lot like you. You’d probably like him.”

  Her pretty face was full of surprise, wonder, amazement.

  “What did he think about our… arrangement?” I asked her.

  “He understood our reasons. I guess he just thought it was hot I wanted to sleep with him.”

  “So he was nice, then? Attractive?”

  She nodded. “And smart. Kind. Ambitious. Motivated.”

  I stepped back, and she went with me, through to the living room, onto the couch. She sat and curled her legs beneath her, and I sat with her, arms encircling her as we kissed some more. The longer I spent embracing her, the more attuned I seemed to become to the scent of sex that surrounded her.

  “Did you have a good time, though?” I asked her. “Did you go… somewhere? A hotel room?”

  She nodded, smiled. “He took me to his place. He has a flat in Bloomsbury.”

  “Very nice.” I ran my fingers over her shoulders, over her thighs. Feeling her warm, soft skin, which seemed slightly clammy from earlier activity.

  “Was he good… in bed?”

  “That’s the kind of thing you want to know, now?” Her hand squeezed my hardness, and it was clear to her I did. “He was a little kinky, I guess,” she smiled. “But it looks like you’re a little kinky, too, huh?”

  “I’m guessing it’s not the same kink.”

  She shook her head. “He’s not married, hasn’t got a girlfriend.”

  “So what was it? What did you do with him?”

  She laughed. “He liked my feet. Said I have pretty feet.”

  “You do.” I laughed with her. It was unexpected. I guess all people have different tastes.

  I kissed her mouth, and squeezed her gloriously round behind, then I was slipping off the couch, knees to the floor in front of her, kissing my way down her chest, breathing in a slightly stronger scent, a male scent. Her lover.

  “He wanted me to touch him with my feet,” she said, seeming calm, quietly overjoyed as I continued to kiss my way down her body, celebrating her despite the fact that she’d just slept with another.

  I kissed my way down her thighs, over her knees, her calves.

  “He wanted me to stroke his… thing… with my feet…” she said, but now she wasn’t laughing, she was sighing as I kissed the upper slopes of her foot, then a toe or two, breathing in the strange scent of the man who had touched her there.

  “His ‘thing’?”

  “His cock. What d’you want me to call it?”

  She did have pretty feet. I could see anyone with that particular kink being bewitched by her. I, myself, was apparently bewitched that she’d used them to pleasure another man. But lifting them now, to kiss, to stroke with my cheeks, only exposed her shapely thighs to me, and the sight of her black lace covered sex.

  “It wasn’t only your feet, though,” I asked her, stroking her legs before steadily kissing my way back up her shins.

  “No,” she admitted.

  There was a look of fire in her eyes as she parted her thighs. In that expression alone I could tell she’d had an adventure that evening, and was now turned on both by remembering it all — and by my interest in it.

  I kissed her inner thighs, pressing my face into her soft, warm flesh, the intoxicating scent of her arousal and of their sex so strong it made me a little giddy.

  “I can… I can go clean up…” she murmured quietly.

  “No,” I said, my lips brushing over her velvet skin, edging closer and closer to her sex, that spicy scent growing stronger and stronger.

  “Tell me how it went,” I said, breathing in deeply, inhaling her wicked bouquet.

  “What d’you want to know?”

  She let out a low, deep moan as I touched my lips and my nose against the warm, damp lace of her panties. Feeling her heat and her wetness through them, confirming without doubt that another man had been inside her, a man had come inside my sweet wife.

  “Everything,” I said. “Tell me everything.”

  She moaned again as I moved up, kissing around her stomach, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin.

  “His name is Paul,” she said. “He’s a university lecturer at UCL. Senior lecturer. He doesn’t make much, but gets a nice flat out of it.”

  “In Bloomsbury, no less.” I felt pleased. An academic. Good genes, one could hope.

  “He’s close to being offered a professorship, he thinks.”

  I slipped my fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulled on them gently. Lisa gave me that look of surprise and wonder again — the silent questions on her lips: do you really want this? You really want to see? You really don’t want to wait for me to take a shower? This really turns you on, honey?

  “It started off a lot like some kind of job interview,” she smiled, lifting her hips so I could peel her underwear from her body. “I guess after a little time it became more… personable…”

  “You liked him. He seemed trustworthy?”

  I slipped her panties off, pressing them to my face, breathing in that intense smell of sex before dropping them on the floor. Holding her feet again, her dainty feet, I couldn’t see them without imagining them curling around some other man’s cock, stroking it, rubbing it.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Doesn’t go out on many dates — but he got tested, just as I asked.”

  I kissed the soles of her feet, her high arches. “So you had dinner…”

  “Thai place. Very nice. Expensive. He paid.”

  Kissing up her legs, I gazed upon her as her thighs parted and her beautiful sex was revealed to me. I felt my chest filled with heat, my heart racing. My wife’s glorious pussy, freshly fucked by another man. Her soft triangle of brown hair dewy with her juices, her pussy lips puffy and red and glistening after taking another man’s cock.
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br />   “You talked to him… about everything…?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Now I dropped slowly onto her, my cheek skimming against her thigh as I approached her open flower, stunned by it, shocked by it, completely transfixed by it. This sweet pussy, which had been mine alone for ten years, now filled by another. His come was still inside her. Hopefully working its magic.

  “He was intrigued, actually,” she said, then groaned as I kissed my way around her pussy, though not quite on it. “He wanted to know all about how you were taking it, how you thought about the whole… strategy.”

  “And you said?”

  “I said you’d taken a step back, you didn’t want to know what went on, just when I find out I’m pregnant. I guess I didn’t know how you really felt.”

  I let out a little moan of my own as I kissed and licked along her outer lips, being careful not to disturb anything, though I guessed it was way past time when she might have leaked his come. Nevertheless, detecting the unmistakable smell of another man’s come, more indelible proof of my Lisa’s infidelity, it made me shiver. I should have been repulsed, enraged, horrified. I was only fascinated, spurred on, craving her.

  “You were with him quite a while,” I said, stroking her rosy lips with my nose, nudging up against her clit.

  “Dinner went on a while,” she said. “We were chatting. I guess… flirting. It was strange… after the small talk was out of the way, I knew I was about to sleep with him.”

  “Exciting, huh?”

  “Mmm…” she moaned as I enveloped her clit in my hot mouth. “I liked the way he looked at me… he wanted me…”

  Her breathing was deepening as I licked and sucked gently on her little sensitive button. It seemed so depraved to me, and yet that depravity only drove me on, only thrilled me more, my face soaking in her juices, in the scent of her sex, in the lingering traces of her infidelity.