Synopsis
"Only the utterly impossible can ever be plausible again." I'd have sworn Isabella could never become a hotwife, a toy for black men--but I'd been wrong. Now two lusty well-hung studs--a recently released convict and his buddy--are banging my wife, leaving me home alone to wallow in my cuckold angst!
~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~
We danced, and in the mass of bodies I became separated from her. I found her dancing with the same thug, so I attached myself to another group and watched Isabella flirt with him. Until I lost track of her again.
I sat at our table and waited for her to return. Isabella reappeared, looking normal, or as normal as she could look if she'd been dancing for an hour. She'd already had several drinks, and she gulped down two more rapidly. The loose strap had fallen lower and part of her breast was exposed.
Near 1:00, I suggested we go home. Isabella excused herself to go to the restroom, and I told her I'd meet her by the front door. Instead of going directly to the door, I followed her again, through the club, and found her with her tattooed friend. This time there was no hesitancy, he pulled my wife close, and they kissed.
The intimacy of their kiss was like a kick to my chest. It hurt to see my wife's lips on another man. I throbbed with excitement.
Isabella was wearing a short club skirt, without panties. I was amazed at the effect it had on me when he pulled her dress up to caress her naked skin. This time when he pushed his leg between my wife's thighs, I could see her muscles flexing as she humped against him.
Her hands caressed his chest and stomach, finally stopping at the bulge in his tattered jeans. Her hand stroked the length of him before my wife pulled her head back and looked into his eyes. His face showed no emotion as his lips moved. What was he saying to the married woman humping his leg and caressing him?
Isabella nodded her head yes,' a couple of times and kissed him passionately when he put his hand under her skirt and between her legs from the front. My wife buried her head on his chest as he continued to stroke her, the muscles of his forearm flexing.
Isabella said something and started to pull away, but before he let her go, he held his hand in front of her face. My wife just looked at it for a moment while he talked, then she sucked his middle finger into her mouth. When she'd sucked his finger clean, she licked between his fingers and the palm of his hand.
When she turned to go, I hurried to the front door, just in time to meet her as she came out of the crowd.
In the car, I put my hand on her leg and pushed her dress up. "How many times did you talk to him?"
"Talk to whom?" Isabella asked.
"Mr. Tattoo," I answered.
My wife turned and smiled at me. "I have no idea what you're going on about."
I chose to take it as a joke as we pulled into traffic. "I saw him touching you," I was caressing her bare sex, by this point she was very wet.
"Still doesn't ring a bell," she said scooting down in the seat to give me better access.
"How far did you go with him?"
"You say he touched me; did I enjoy it?" She asked.
"You humped his leg," I said, burying a finger inside her.
"Oh, that guy, I gave him my number. I expect to hear from him," she said.
"Does he know you're married?"
"Yes, he doesn't care," Isabella said. "But I do."
