Wives with Benefits: Volume One (16 page)

“You’re sure?” she said, one final check.

I looked her in the eyes and said, “Have fun, honey. I love you.”

*

I sat there for a while, just taking in the weirdness of the empty space opposite me at the table. I never really thought it could ever come to this. Of course, I’d always had a small glimmer of hope — what’s the point in a sexual fantasy if there’s not some faint chance that it might one day come true? But I’d file that in the same category as winning the lottery — it would be nice if it happened, but I’m not going to go buying up hundreds of lottery tickets to try to up my chances.

But now, here it was, and I was perched opposite an empty seat. Her chicken caesar salad was still sitting there on the table, almost untouched.

Bridget had gone, and she’d taken a box of condoms with her. She was on birth control as well — we never used condoms ourselves — but this was something else entirely. Protection, because she was fostering the intentions to potentially sleep with a stranger.

I felt a little too shocked to be entirely turned on just then. It was too weird.

“Everything okay, sir?” the server was suddenly hovering at my table, noticing my empty plate and the apparent loneliness of my booth.

“Uh, yeah,” I looked up at him, and suddenly felt the need to hide away in my own little space. “Can I get that in a box to go, please? My wife got called away…”

*

Time just seemed to tick slowly by as I proceeded upstairs, to lock myself safely in our room to wait. To start with, I was relatively relaxed, accompanied by nothing much more than a gentle flutter in my stomach. I guess I felt it would take some time, at least, for Kurt to make the moves on my wife.

I stripped down to my boxers and slipped under the bedsheets to watch a movie on the small TV afforded to our room.

I even managed to find distraction in the movie, up to a point.

Then, perhaps forty minutes or so after Bridget had taken her leave of our dining table, I felt this sudden burning hot feeling in my stomach, as though someone had just filled it with molten lead, as the thought hit me that if she was still there with Kurt, something might very well be happening right now.

If it was a room like this, there was precious little space to just sit and share drinks and chat as relative strangers. Sure, there was a tiny little table with a couple of chairs in the corner, but this was no five-star Hilton Hotel. These rooms were designed for travelers to stop in for a night and sleep, nothing much more.

Was she lying with him on the bed, letting him put his hands all over her as she tenderly kissed him?

My heart was suddenly pounding, and my cock stiffening up as I lay there in bed, propped up against the pillows.

It was exciting, but at the same time I felt an unnerving sense of fear. It wasn’t entirely rational, but it was a powerful cocktail of feelings, and there was nothing I could do about it. Thoughts flew around my head — a muddle of the positive and negative.

What if she came back changed, somehow? Different than she was before, in a bad way. Hating me for leaving her to another man, mistrusting me for not being more possessive, more jealous. What if Kurt was not the clean-cut type she’d thought he was, and things turned ugly? He could attack her, and in court I’d probably have to testify that she’d gone up to his room with the intention of potentially sleeping with him.

What if she’d felt somehow pressured into this, and she came back afterward blaming me for it all?

What if she had a bad experience, and she came back with the decision that she’d never do anything like that again?

At the same time, if I could only suppress those ill feelings, the paranoia and the fear, I could also imagine that she was up there having an incredible time. Giggling and flirting with him, thrilled at another man appreciating her beauty without the marital obligation to complement her. Touching him, kissing him, and allowing him to do the same to her, and feeling so wicked in stepping outside the comfortable monogamy of her marriage that it made her feel like a teenager again, fooling around with a boy when polite society frowned on anything like that until she was older and preferably married.

I could think of how she’d been in that restaurant — her flushed cheeks, those hard nipples, and the way she’d sat slightly awkwardly on that seat, perhaps because being hit on by an attractive man had made her that tiny bit moist down there.

I could look at our room and imagine her in an identical one somewhere else in the building, some guy called Kurt sat on the edge of the bed as she pulled down his pants, and held his big, hard cock in her hands.

I could imagine him stripping her off, running his hands all over her naked body, stroking his offensive weapon along her soft, inner thighs before lining up to slide it inside her wet, inviting sex.

Fifty minutes, or maybe an hour she’d been gone. There was no way she wasn’t doing something with Kurt. Then as I waited, my watch ticked on so very slowly, but never failing to stop, and suddenly it was two hours after Bridget had gone upstairs, and then three. I won’t say that wait was easy — I seemed to go through phases, some patches feeling ecstatic with what was going on, aroused beyond belief, then at other times the doubts crept up on me, leaving me cold and uncomfortable.

During the difficult times, I’d just need to catch hold of some thought, some little shred of evidence that might lead me back into the light. So when I suddenly started thinking that three hours in his company must have meant she was falling for him — that perhaps she would sleep with him until morning and then sheepishly tell me, if she came back to me at all, that she had to be with him now, permanently — I glanced at the box of caesar salad she hadn’t eaten at dinner, and told myself that maybe she just got hungry, and had Kurt order in some room service. Then the next moment, I was thinking that if she spent this length of time with him, they must have been fucking like rabbits — and suddenly I was hard as a rock once again, and loving every moment of this strange, strange wait.

I paced, I flipped around through the TV channels and perused all the other on-demand movie previews. I went for walks, every half hour or so, wondering if the two of them might adjourn to the bar later on, having fucked each other to a standstill. Or so they could stock up on more condoms. But they never showed up.

I guess I was a little disappointed that she didn’t send me any text messages — but for the most part, my smartphone was showing no bars, perhaps because of the snowstorm whirling around us, so I guessed that if she had tried to send something, it hadn’t got through.

*

She’d left our table at eight. I swear, it wasn’t until one in the morning that I heard that unbelievably welcome sound of the key card being slipped in the slot, and the door opening to admit my prodigal wife.

“You didn’t stop me,” she said, sounding totally surprised, and somehow full of awe.

“You wanted me to?” I asked.

She took a step into the room, letting the door close behind her. She looked incredible — wearing exactly what she’d been wearing before, her black t-shirt, no bra, jeans. But her hair was a little mussed, and there was a glow about her that I couldn’t quite determine and yet made her seem so unbelievably desirable to me.

“No,” she said, and I could tell she was sounding me out, trying to quickly ascertain whether I was angry or disappointed with her, that she’d gone through with it. “I just thought… well, I never thought you’d just let me go like that.”

“After all those times we played it over between us?” I gave her a wry smile, and pushed myself forward, so I could sit on the bed and potentially get up to greet her.

“I was so nervous…” she laughed, stepping toward me, her face seeming to relax, the anxiety melting away as she saw the look of pure ecstasy and excitement in my face at her return, at what she had done.

I could smell her perfume, even from a distance. She’d spritzed again before coming back to me.

“You were so brave,” I said, my smile so broad it hurt my face.

Another laugh, more natural now. “I kept him chatting and drinking for absolutely ages, you know that? Until I figured you weren’t going to call up to the room.”

She stepped in front of me, and along with her perfume I could detect something else — an earthiness, a musky scent that told of my wife’s wickedness. The scent strengthened slightly as she dropped her jeans, and stepped out of them to reveal her plain white cotton panties. Jesus. I felt as though I were sitting on a cloud, it didn’t quite seem real. Bridget really had just slept with another man.

“And then?” she put her hands on my shoulders and climbed onto my lap, kneeling either side of my thighs on the bed. I added, “You were gone for hours — I assume you didn’t just drink and chat?”

“No,” her lips curled up into a naughty grin. Hands on my shoulders, she gazed into my eyes, “After everything we've talked about, and the fact you didn’t call up… I had to assume you’d be disappointed if I didn’t take my opportunity.”

I breathed her in, inhaled the lingering traces of their sex, and ran my hands over the contours of her back, her behind, her thighs. God, she was so beautiful. More so, even then when she left our dinner table. The way she looked at me — confident in her own desirability, appreciative of what I’d done in giving her this experience, hungry for me to reclaim her and share fully in the night’s adventure with her — it was breathtaking.

“You assumed right,” I said, and although I’d been though many moments that night where I’d half-hoped she might come back having decided not to give herself to another, I now knew that I’d have been disappointed if she had turned down her handsome stranger.

She pushed me back, down flat on the bed, shook her loose hair aside and sank on me, her lips pressing to mine. The taste of her mouth seemed oddly unfamiliar to me, but it only drove me on to suck on her lips, to touch my tongue against hers, as passionate and forceful as I’d ever kissed her.

This pretty mouth had pleasured another man that night. It was so wrong seeming, and yet so dangerously exciting. My good girl of a wife had turned bad.

Her body felt so good, so hot. As our kiss continued, sheltered under a tent of her golden hair, I felt a slight clamminess of her skin that did not seem to have come from a shower. She was fresh from exercise, of course. It struck me that her coming back to me like this was quite bold for her. We’d talked about it during role-playing, and at first she’d failed to understand my dark little desire to have her back from an adventure with at least a hint of evidence that she’d done what she said she had. But this was reality. She was normally such a pristine, fussy person.

“He let you use his shower?” I asked.

“We shared it at one stage,” she grinned. “But I guess after that we just ended up getting dirty again.”

She kissed my neck, “So you were okay? Waiting?”

“It wasn’t so bad,” I said. A white lie, but I got the feeling that next time, and hopefully the times after that, it would get easier and easier to wait for her. “I got to imagine what you might be up to.”

Another enchanting smile. “You are crazy, you know that? I could never handle knowing you were with someone else.”

“It’s not about me wanting someone else. That’s not my fantasy.”

I pushed her hair back away from her face and kissed her again. So sweet, her mouth still laced with the liquor she had been drinking, but something else also, which made the jealousy smolder gently inside me, and spurred the innate need in me to reclaim her as my own.

“I thought I’d started understanding it,” she said. “You know, why you’d want it this way. But when I was with him, I tried to put myself in your shoes, and it just… well, didn’t quite compute.”

“I just get off on how beautiful you are,” I said, “and how sexy you are, and how hot it is to think of you getting that new relationship energy… of misbehaving… of being so god-damn dirty…”

I’m grinning like somebody handed me the best Christmas present in the world. A Ferrari F40, a Ford GT40, An E-type Jaguar.

And I swear, as I attempted to explain myself as I had many times before while we’d simply pretended, and she’d been confused about my motivations, I saw something click in her eyes now, as though she finally accepted I was telling the truth, I wasn’t hoodwinking either her or myself. This was just how I was wired.

Then she took on a sudden change of tone, sounding almost devilish as she said, “You know I was such a bad girl up there, sweetie, you have no idea…”

“Maybe you should tell me, then,” I said. “Give me some idea.”

She kissed me again, hard. Different from before, it was more assertive, taking what she wanted from me rather than giving me what she thought I wanted from her.

“I sucked his cock,” she whispered breathlessly during a brief pause in the kiss. Trying to shock me, almost certainly, but I sensed in her bravado that she now fully appreciated that this kind of revelation would only turn me on, not horrify me. “I stretched my lips around it, and took it in my mouth,” she added, then resumed that forceful kiss, giving me no option but to take it, knowing what had been inside her mouth earlier that night.