A Well-Laid Trap: The Story Of A Professional Hotwife (13 page)

She whooped. She held up her hand. “Please. No more. Don't tell me any more.”

I wasn't really sure what kind of mood Jordan was in. I also had no idea what I was feeling.

She sat down on the bed.

We were silent for along time. I was still fuming, for some reason. I mean, I had every right to be angry.

Didn't I?

Wasn't I relieved she wasn't having an affair? Didn't this make everything make sense? My mind was careening around, fitting this final explanation to all the pieces of the puzzle: it worked.

“I didn't mean to have this conversation this way,” Jordan finally said, quietly. She turned to me. Her eyes were wet. “I really didn't. I...things just got away from me.”

I was silent.

“I was making so much money, and I knew if I told you about it, you'd tell me to stop. I kept telling myself that...you know, I had sort of stumbled into it, and I could stumble out of it, or tell you about it eventually...and then we'd just laugh about it, and it'd be over.”

She looked at me. I had no idea what to say still. What she was saying made sense; it rang true.

Something was stopping me from confronting her about what I had just seen. Or even telling her I had seen it.

The other problem, the other thing that was stopping me from talking was that I knew I was turned on by the idea. I knew she
wanted
me to be indignant, tell her to stop, get mad...and I had played that part so far. In truth, though, it was ringing kind of hollow, even for me.

The truth was burbling up from inside of me.

The truth: that she was almost handing me the very best piece of news she could. This is actually what I
wanted,
with none of the ugliness of her cheating on me.

Right?

As always, Jordan was unable to deal with my silence and kept talking. She sighed. “And then, I realized, I was really good at it.”

A shiver went through me.
I bet.

“And I...then I started to kind of resent that you would tell me to stop. It just didn't seem fair to me.” She started nodding as she said this, and I could see that this was the first time she had articulated the truth to herself, and she was agreeing with it wildly. She was getting caught up in her confession. 

“That's the truth,” she said. She was dumping the words out now, feeling better with each one. “You were always working late. I felt like..I deserved something that I could make money at, and be good at, and then...the lies just got too easy to tell.”

She looked down at her hands.

“And I like it,” she said.

It occurred to me that things could go many, many different ways here.

The door was open for me to win points for being a very good and understanding husband. I could say I disapproved, and let her have her fun, her money-making, and the “fair” choice would be to let her have these things.

The door was also open for me to admit to being a bad husband. Watching her, listening to her, I realized that she had transformed into a more confident woman, into a sexier version of her old self, and I hadn't noticed. This was my chance to tell her things were going to change. And to actually change them. Because looking at Jordan, even as confused as I was, I knew that I deeply loved her. 

And then, moving around deep inside of me, was a darker love. I loved that she was doing this. Half of me was disappointed that the sneaking around was over. That the voyeurism was ending.

A part of me wanted to admit to all of that. To tell her how hot it had been when I thought she was actually having an affair. To tell her that my cock had been hard and our sex life had gotten wild because it turned me on so much to see her flirting with another man.

That it had been hot to think about her having sex with another man.

Then there was the careerist in me. Obviously, this all had to stop. Obviously. I could never have this come out, if there was anything political in my future. Even just a judgeship. This would be...

It's not illegal.

But like so many things, it was all about appearances. This house, our cars, the marble in the courthouse: all appearances. And “honey trapping wife working for PI by posing as a slut and/or prostitute” did not go with the Martha Stewart wreath on the door, or the Lexus, or that fucking black robe I so coveted.

Strangely, as soon as I got around to thinking about my career, and how off the path Jordan's new job was, what Jordan was doing became even hotter. It was as though it was suddenly injected with sexual heroine. I saw her crossing and uncrossing her legs; I saw myself watching her from across the room; I saw it all. And every part of it got shiny and wet like a big pussy.

Jordan was looking at me.

The ache in my cock was now throbbing like a freight train, dull and low, unstoppable.

I thought about saying a few things.
Jordan, I have to confess. It's hot, I like it. Jordan, I have to tell you I was following you and jerking off in the car. Jordan, I want you to be happy, so go ahead and do your job, do it well, and I'll support you.

Jordan, I think about your mouth on another man's cock all the time.

But I didn't say any of this shit. No, by then it had all piled up. Everything I'd seen, every thought I'd ever had, and then this frosting of it all just being so very dangerously
wrong.
Such a gamble.

I had been, until that point in my life, a very sensible man. Career, family, dog, suburban house, Lexus. All in spite of knocking up my high school sweetheart. It was all going my way in life, because I played it
safe.
I was moving toward her, crawling over her body on the bed, straddling her.

Kiss her on the lips, tell her you're sorry, but this has to stop.

Do it.

Do it.

Instead, I felt my hand moving up to her jaw, and grabbing it firmly. I was looking into her eyes.

Her eyes flashed back at me.

She was turned on.

“So was it you I saw tonight, at The Brown? Pretending to be...how old?”

Her eyes flashed with surprise, but only for a moment. The surprise was then replaced by knowing, teasing, mischief. “Twenty,” she said, with a grin. “I was Charlotte.”

“Charlotte,” I repeated. I rubbed my thumb over her lip. “You looked fucking hot, Charlotte. I almost didn't recognize you.”

She smiled. “That's the point.”

“And did you sext your sleazy 'mark,' Charlotte? Tell the truth.”

A look of what appeared to be genuine confusion crossed Jordan's face, and she was distracted from the sexier interaction we were having as she scanned her brain for the memory.

Finding it, she laughed. “I'm surprised at you,” she said. She slid her nightie up and over her arms, forcing me to release her face as she did. She fell back onto the bed, folded over with her knees at either side of her, like a yoga pose.  “You don't recognize your own wife's tits?”

I cocked my head.

She let a finger flutter over lips as she winked at me. “Stock photo,” she said. “I swear guys will fall for anything. Arest takes care of that crap, anyway, not me. My job is done.”

I looked at my wife, her devious smile, her lithe body contorted sexily.

“And you're never tempted?”

Her eyes flashed again. “To do what?”

“Be a very bad girl.”

I was already unbuckling my pants, and Jordan was watching me, a finger in her mouth, a grin on her face.

She suddenly had an idea, and sat up, folding over and turning to face me on all fours. I had taken my cock out, and it was aching to the point of being sore.

I grasped her by the head, much the way I imagined the guy at the bar would have, and pushed her mouth down to my cock. She did not seem to find this unexpected, and her mouth opened for me, taking me all the way into her throat. “Would you let that guy at the bar fuck your mouth like this? Make you gag?” I said.

Jordan responded by bobbing her head up and down on my cock, letting me push her head down to the base of my dick. Her throat emitted a sticky, gagging sound, and she seemed to exaggerate it. Her mouth seemed extra wet, and she let me push her onto me and hold her there, filling her mouth in a lewd, animal way.

I pulled her head up and pulled her to her knees. I pulled her hair back and turned her face up at the ceiling. Her face was wet with saliva, and I relished the messy sight of her. With my other hand I ran my fingers over her tits, and when I reached her nipples I squeezed them until she winced. But her mouth was smiling. “Or would you let him go even further?” I asked her.

She only gave me a smile as an answer, and I pushed her back against the sheets again. I reached down and pulled her at her knees, untangling her legs as I did. I jerked her toward me, and twisted her body. As though she were a rubber doll, I moved her legs up and over, until she was on her stomach. She rose up to be on all fours, and I grabbed her hair again.

She pushed her ass backward and slid her pussy onto my cock herself. She was soaked, and I cut into her with ease. I was so hotted up that I would have happily fucked my seed into her right then and there, but she herself pumped my cock a few times and then slid off. My cock was so stiff it was suspended in the air, and she only had to move her body to line up the dull pink ring of her ass with the tip of my dick.

I didn't bother to ask her if she was sure. I was an actor now, and I let a drop of spit fall from my mouth and onto the crack of her ass. Its having missed only made me hotter, as the spit dribbled along her crack and she pushed back against the tip of my cock.

She was the one who pushed against me. I felt the tip of my cock enter her, and she bucked like an animal, before throwing her head back and arching her back. Her ass seemed to spread open for me, and my cock began to sink inside of her. She squealed, and I felt her clench around me, but I didn't stop. She was too hot, too silky-smooth, too tight around my cock. I let go of her hair and grabbed her hips. I was halfway inside of her and she was panting, sweat pouring down her back. The sounds she was making were impossible to tell apart as pain or pleasure. But she continued to push against me, sending me deeper inside of her.

Finally, I pulled on her hips and buried my cock inside of her.

She screamed, and I let her writhe on all fours like that. I enjoyed the inside of her like I had never enjoyed anything before.

And then, feeling bolder than ever, I said:

“Tell me you want an ass full of cum.”

She whispered it, and her voice was strained. “I want an ass full of cum.”

I moved slowly, feeling her pleasured agony as I did. I fucked her few times, letting her moan and scream as I did. Sweat covered her entire body now like the sheen on a well-run horse.

I leaned over her back, and pushed her hair away and off to the side. She struggled against me, even without me moving, evidently in some pain even if I was just inside of her, filling her. The sensation was exquisite.

“Tell me, bad little Charlotte, how you want an ass full of another man's cum.”

She moaned in response, and I moved my cock slowly inside of her.

“Tell me, or I'll keep my cock inside of you all night. You wouldn't want that would you?”

My own boldness was surprising even me, but it was also so hot I wouldn't have been able to stop myself even if I had had second thoughts.

Jordan panted, and she shook her head slightly. 

“Tell me then.”

“I want some other man to fuck me full of cum,” she breathed. “I want you to show me how he would do it.”

“That's it. Say it again.”

“I want another man to fuck his cum into my ass.”

“Hard. Like a little whore.”

“Hard like a little whore.”

I began to fuck her then, as I have never fucked her before. I slammed my cock as deep inside of her as I could, until I felt myself tipping over the edge. I filled her up, and then I bent over her, against her back, my shirt soaked through with sweat. “Make yourself come,” I said, guiding her hand between her legs.

I kept my hand over the back of hers as she nimbly worked her fingers between her dripping folds, and used her forefinger to very quickly bring herself to a gushing, pulsing orgasm. Her ass tightened around my cock, as she came, and she screamed until she was spitting on the pillow.

The sensation was almost too intense for me, and my abdomen convulsed from pelvis to chest.

I leaned back on my heels, panting.

Jordan collapsed on her stomach, and then rolled over.

I lay down next to her. We panted like that for a few minutes.

She put her hand up to her forehead.

“Okay...” she said. “What the hell was that?”

Her tone was half-humorous, but partially serious. It was true: we obviously needed to talk. And there was more to talk about than just her new job.

I closed my eyes.

“Fuck, Jordan.” I said. I turned to her. Our faces were very close to each other. There was an electricity between us, one that I hadn't felt for a long time. My cock, incredibly, had not gone to immediate, tired hibernation. My mind, incredibly, had not gone immediately to my cases, to the mounting work, to the office beckoning me with all of its problems. I was still on Jordan, still
with
Jordan.