The Hotwife Summer (7 page)

A man pounded on the door.

“Just a fucking minute,” I said.

A discussion ensued outside the door. I couldn't follow the Italian. I placed a washcloth on my face.

You need to act.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

No
, I thought slyly. What I needed was
not
to act. I f I never left early, then Summer would know it was off. We had to go home sometime.

I straightened my jacket and looked at myself again. I walked tall up the stairs and into the garden. Where Sandro and my wife were -

Gone.

The word
gone
flooded my mind, the way blood seeps from the floor in a horror movie. With it came the image of Summer, her arm linked with Sandro's, walking down the streets. Back the way we had just come, her skirt dancing around her bare thighs. Her hair streaming around her face, her lips open in a generous smile. All the same things that I had treasured so much as we walked down here – but now she was giving them to Sandro.

And Sandro, his bright smile and his perfect hair, his blue eyes moving up and down her body. Smiling, pretending to listen. All the while thinking about what her pussy would feel like when he slipped his cock inside of it.

I spun around in the middle of the restaurant, looking for signs of them. The waiters were busy waiting, the diners were busy dining. Incredibly, no one cared about my problem. No one had noticed them go, or cared that they were gone, and that my life was unraveling before my eyes.

My heart was racing as I pushed my way hastily out of the restaurant. The headwaiter glared at me as I left. “Did they pay the bill?” I said, not wanting to get arrested.

The man's lips quivered, just a little, at the edges, and turned up into a smile. He looked down quickly, as though he had just suddenly gotten the very big joke that was all on me, as if he knew everything that had just played out before him. He flipped a page of his reservation book for no reason. “The bill has already been paid by Signore Cervi,
sir.
”

I fled.

I ran until I was out of breath, which didn't take long. I knocked people out of my way as I did, and many of them shouted at me in Italian. I slowed to a brisk walk.

I knew that I looked ridiculous. Frantic, pathetic. My eyes were devouring the streets in search of Summer's white dress, but it was Rome, and it was summer, and every woman was beautiful and wearing a skirt that was caressing their legs.

I threw myself down the subway steps like a drunk.

As the windows filled and refilled with scenes of Rome and rock and Rome and rock, the train going in and out of the city's holes like Sandro would go in and out of my wife, I thought of what had just happened.

Summer must have thought I decided to leave early.

Now she was heading back to the house.

What excuse had she given Sandro? What had she told him to get him out of the restaurant so quickly? How much had he wanted to fuck my wife that they took only seconds to pay the bill and disappear from the restaurant?

My mind was spinning. How long had I been in the bathroom? Longer than I thought?

Or was this a plan the two of them had made, was this all an elaborate ruse of Sandro's...to make me think I was pulling the strings, only to find out it was him all along? Maybe Summer was with him, helping him, cutting me open...

I saw the ticket controllers making their way down the train, and realized I had no ticket. I got off one stop early, and spun wildly on the platform trying to decide if I should wait for the next train or run to the apartment.

I felt like I had gone through a terrible time machine, one that worked like a washing machine and sloshed everything together. The street where Sabrina had lived was not far from here, looked like this one, and smelled the same.

No, it didn't look like this. This was not the past. This was not the same thing.

I started running again when I reached the quiet street where our apartment was. I fumbled with the outer lock, I threw the door open. Anyone seeing me might have called the police. I was wild, confused, drunk.

I froze.

I reached out, and took the sticky note from the stairwell door.

It was, of course from Summer. The post-it was American in every way – Europeans did not deign themselves to leave post-its on doors. It was a bright orange, taken from our drawer. The color of my own notes for my research. There was little doubt that it was hers.

Still, my mind tried to tell myself a thousand lies as I read it. This wasn't English (it was) and it wasn't her handwriting (it undoubtedly was).

Remember your promise.

I crumpled the note in my hand.

The first flight of stairs: I ran. Fuck my promise. I promised before I knew it was Sandro she was going to fuck.

The second flight, I walked.

Did it matter that it was Sandro? It didn't matter to her. We were going to do this anyway. Nothing about our own arrangement had changed.

The third flight of stairs, I was re-energized again by my hatred for Sandro, for the way he had so smugly stolen Sabrina right from under me.

The last flight of stairs:

Did I care about Sabrina? Sabrina was gone. If Sandro hadn't stolen Sabrina, I never would have met Summer.

My face grew red with anger.
But it was the way he had done it.

I opened my palm and looked at the crumpled note.

The thing was, and I didn't admit this to myself at the time of course – the thing was, I was grateful to have the note. The note made it so that I could avoid the real humiliation, and the darkest one: I was too afraid to stand up to Sandro, anyway.

I took out my key, and slid it into the door silently. I turned the lock slowly, and with it my chest turned inside. Like I had swallowed a ball of molten lava.

When the door clicked, it sounded like the clanging of the doors of the Vatican gates. I stopped, but my own heart, knocking against my chest, drowned out every other sound in the hallway.

I placed my hand on the wood door. It was new, the landlord had told me several times, knocking on it and smiling with his ear to it, as though he was expecting something inside of it to answer him.

I blinked away the memory of the landlord's smiling face.

I pushed against the heavy wood, and stepped into the small foyer.

Remember your promise.

I stepped out of my shoes. Since coming to Europe we had decided to be as European as possible, and we placed our shoes by the door. There were slippers there for me, but I ignored them and began to shuffle down the hall on my socks. Silently, remembering my promise.

My face burned as I looked at Summer's shoes: one, tipped over in haste, near the shoe rack. The other standing upright, a few feet down the hall.

The scene drew itself for me. Summer trying to get her shoes off, and Sandro too hungry for her to keep his hands off her. Did he lift her with his big, muscular arms? Is that how her shoes had fallen, straight down, to land with a clank on the tiled floor? And then what? Against the wall, his lips pressed to hers?

I imagined the look on her face as his hard body pressed her against the wall. So much muscle, all of it hard as a rock, all of it animal and beautiful. And against her thigh, his stiff cock, bigger than mine, bigger than she had imagined, bigger than any cock she had ever had.

I reached the end of the hallway. I heard their voices, both of them speaking in the low, sultry murmurs of two people who know they are about to fuck and are just dragging it out.

I tipped my head to the side, to look past the wall and into the small living area.

Summer was propped on the coffee table, perched like a beautiful cat. Her legs were tucked under her and to the side, and she was holding a glass of wine. Her eyes, which were resting with a dreamy, bedroom glaze on the man in front of her, lifted immediately and met mine. A knowing smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she took a sip of her wine.

Was her hair out of place? Messy, like Sandro had grasped it in his hands?

The knife of alternating pain and erotic heat turned slowly in my abdomen. If I wanted her to stop, this was my last chance. I could shake my head, bring my hand to my throat and make a slit over my neck.

But I did none of those things, and before I could think any more about them, her eyes were back on Sandro. Her smile, the one she had cultivated in Italy and which she had given only to me, blossomed up for him.

She turned ever-so-slightly, and set her wine glass down on the table. Her mouth was moving and I could hear the seductive tones of her voice but not what she was saying.

I had a hard time tearing my eyes away from what she was doing, even though it time to go to the place we had agreed that I would hide to watch her.

To watch my wife with another man.

The excitement prickled through me and filled my head like a strong drink. My cock twitched and strained against its own skin. My wife, who now was brushing her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward, was going to let another man fuck her for my pleasure.

“Oh yeah?” I heard Sandro say. I could easily imagine the expression on his face, even as I tried to imagine what Summer might have said to him. What dirty, conniving things was she saying, in her sultriest voice, to lure him to the places she wanted him?

My body moved itself, while my mind remained where it was, trapped in loops of disgust and pleasure. The truth, it would seem, was that I wanted this.

Even if it was Sandro.

Even if it was Sandro.

The landlord had apparently blown all of his money on the door he took such pride in, because the closet in the bedroom was blocked off by a rickety, folding door that seemed to swing in every direction except the one you needed. A material that was not quite cloth, not quite rattan, and not at all new, covered the frame of the strange door. We had enjoyed making fun of it since we arrived, but now the door redeemed itself. It swung silently back to place, slightly open so that a long crack of the room was visible from inside. The strange material had large gaps in it from place to place, so I could easily follow the action in the room with little difficulty.

It was spacious in the strange closet, and there was even room for a chair. I sat on it it now. I tried to slow my breathing, which seemed incredibly loud.

My cock was a fat, swollen slab of meat when I touched it, and I could have easily jerked myself off in ten seconds without seeing another thing. Just imagining Summer's lips parting to say the word
fuck
next to Sandro's ear.

The promise was that I would let her be in control of everything. That I would not interfere, once things were going. It was Summer's show, and I would let it happen.

I took my hand away from my cock, and let the throbbing pain wash over me. I had to wait.

I could hear their bodies moving in the hallway. They were colliding with each other, kissing. The sounds were wet and animal, like two wild boars coming through the bushes.

I closed my eyes.

C
HAPTER
8
: In the Closet

When I opened my eyes they had arranged themselves in the room next to the bed.

Summer gave him the seductive smile, and traced her pink tongue over her upper lip. Slowly. She was looking right at him.  

Her hand moved down her dress. It was tight against her body until it flared at the bottom, and it was impossible not to watch her shapely hand as it followed her curves, like she was giving a preview of all the places he could go.

Then her other hand fell to her side, and they both lifted the dress from the bottom.

It peeled from her body in one smooth motion, turning inside out as rose up. First her thighs, shapely and feminine, ending in white lace and satin boy-cut panties, so thin that I could see the dark mahogany of her curls through the material. Up went the dress, and her stomach appeared.

Her breasts, encased in matching white satin and lace, filled the cups of her bra and were pressed together as she pulled the dress over her head. They were toffee-colored from her tan and the light of the late Roman evening. When she shook the dress away, her hair spilled over her shoulders, equally silky and shiny, like her lingerie.

Sandro had moved closer to her, and I could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. He pulled his own shirt off, and I was treated to the view of his toned and muscled back. I watched Summer's eyes moved over his body with pleasure.

She moved, in two neat steps, back to the bed, and tucked her knees underneath of her to get onto it in a kneeling position. Her eyes were on Sandro's face now, probably meeting his own eyes. She was reeling him in like a very big fish.

But Sandro, I knew, needed no extra reeling. He could see what I could see: the round, full flesh that filled the white satin cups, the hips that held up the silky panties, just barely. He knew what was underneath them, and that he would feel her pussy wrapped around his cock, wet and hot, in just a few minutes. 

Could this actually be happening?

Sandro was unbuckling his belt with one hand. With the other he reached behind Summer's head and worked his big, strong fingers into her hair. He pulled on her hair to tip her head back, to face his gaze.

Summer, who had only moments before been the leader of this seduction, was now being taken into his control. I knew how it happened; I had seen it before. Sandro the snake-charmer, Sandro the alpha wolf. Sandro with his blue eyes that let nothing and no one escape.

Summer responded by opening her mouth lightly, and smiling. But her own power was gone. It was plain to see that now Sandro would be the one to call the shots. And Summer loved it. She was giving herself over to him completely.

I knew the look. Sabrina's face, as it had also changed, was burned forever in my mind.

Now I wanted to stand up and knock down the crazy closet door. A dark turn had taken place, and I was feeling more pain than pleasure turning in my chest. Click, click, click, like a medieval torture device, and now I had clicked too far.

But it was too late, and I could see that. Nothing would come of stopping them now. Summer was seduced, just like that. Just like all women were seduced by Sandro.

Maybe it was nature. We were all just programmed to play the sexual role we were meant to play, and there was something about Sandro that no one could fight against or resist. Because he
was
the better man, he
was
the alpha male. Look at him. His David-like body, his blond hair, his blue eyes. He was strong and healthy and perfectly symmetrical. He should get whatever mate he wanted.

Summer gasped in one of those hyper-sexualized, porno gasps, and her mouth broke open in a welcoming smile. 

Sandro let his pants fall to the floor.

I watched Summer's eyes as they fell, like autumn leaves, stopping here and there on the chiseled body, before they landed on his cock. His big, perfectly-shaped, cock. 

She reached out with her hands to hold it. Her white hand squeezed him through the silky material of his boxers, and she opened her mouth in an even wider, even more pleased smile.

I rubbed my eyes. The image was burning like acid. I could not believe I was seeing this. I watched Sandro's fingers moving over Summer's skin –
my Summer –
and as they inched down her body to the hem of her panties, I felt like I was being flayed.

What's more, I couldn't tear myself away from what I saw.

Sandro peeled away his boxers, and his thick, long, Italian cock sprung forward. Summer's hand immediately grasped it, and she gave him a gasp of pleasure again. I could see her hand on his shaft, barely able to wrap around the circumference.

Not like me
, I reminded myself, not sure what I was doing.
Not like my cock that she could easily grasp in her hand with her fingers on her palm.

Sandro's was the biggest cock I had ever seen or imagined, even after so many years of watching porn. It had not changed since it had been seared into my memory the night he had taken Sabrina from me. It matched his physique of masculinity and perfection: his muscles were huge, veined, enormous, and so was his cock.

The cock my wife now held in her hand with a smile.

My eyes were glued to Summer's hand. She began to move it, rubbing it back and forth, from base to tip, making a neat little circle over his head,
like she had done with me.
I looked at her face. She was staring straight into Sandro's eyes, as though she had no idea I was there. Was she teasing me now? Making me want her to look at me? Or had she forgotten about completely when she took Sandro's big cock into her hand.

“You like that, little girl?” Sandro groaned.

Summer leaned closer to him. Her voice was serious, and edged with a feral sexiness when she said:  “I love. Italian. Sausage.”

It should have been funny, but it didn't make Sandro laugh, nor me. His cock flexed in her hand.

I watched in horror as she backed her knees and legs out behind her, coming to a position on all fours that gave me a stunning view of her tits, hanging below Sandro's ass. There was just enough of an angle that I could still see half of her face, looking up at him. Seducing him. Her mouth was opening...her red, full mouth. Her wet mouth, and all of the hot, soft flesh inside of it.

I closed my eyes. I tried to tell myself again that the best thing to do was not to watch. Did I really want to see my wife suck on Sandro's enormous cock?

When I opened my eyes my pulse raced, and all of my blood gushed directly into the tip of my own throbbing cock. I could feel the precum oozing out of the end of it, like one painful, slow orgasm. Summer had her mouth stretched open, and her lips were wrapped around the base of Sandro's huge dick.

She had just opened up and taken it all in.

I stared at her lips, spread over him, her lower lip against his ball sack.

I love. Italian. Sausage.

She began to bob her head back and forth, slurping and gulping and licking and sucking at his cock like it was the greatest thing she had ever put in her mouth. She bestowed so much attention on it that I almost forgot that Sandro was even in the room. I just watched her mouth and her lips, working their way all along his shaft, kissing his thick Italian snake of a dick. She licked at him like a kitten while he sucked in his breath. She swallowed him whole, and the bulge of his cock pressed out of her neck and moved down her throat.

The deepest cut came from her eyes, which she lifted submissively to him. Meeting his eyes, letting him consume her. Sucking his cock with her eyes locked on his.

How long did this go on? It seemed like forever. I was dripping precum and holding my cock like it was injured, trying not to burst.

Sandro, unable to take her teasing any longer, grabbed her suddenly. He lifted her up by her hair to a standing position. He ripped her panties away, shredding the fine lace with a single jerk. He turned her around and pushed her forward onto the bed.

This is when Summer finally treated me to one of her smiles.

He'll like it rougher than that,
I remembered her saying.

I wondered if they had been fucking all along. Rehearsing. Rehearsing my humiliation. Laughing at me together.

Summer smiled for me, and winked. She licked her lips, but I wasn't sure if it was Sandro or for me. Her eyes were turned toward him now, pulling him in.

My eyes moved to where Sandro's hands had gone.

He was behind her, and he had his fingers dipping into her pussy. She closed her eyes and mewled.

She was dripping wet. The sides of her upper thighs were smeared with her juices. Through Sandro's legs I could see his fingers, nimble chef's fingers, pulling apart the lips of her pussy with expert ease. His forefinger had found her clit, and pinched it outward so that the rawest part was exposed to his fingertips.

Summer made a sound I had never heard before.

Just like Sabrina, she was gushing and twisting in his hands, reduced to a puddle by his expert fingers. 

She bit her lip, and tossed her hair. I watched for the second time as Sandro turned a woman I loved into a panting, stamping, whinnying horse.

He slid his wet fingers up, up to the little circle of her ass.

She wouldn't.

She arched her back, and moved her ass up higher for him. Toward him. His finger moved in a sweet circle around her contracting anus. As he did, it seemed to open for him like a magic door.

I knew he was looking down at her, sweaty and panting like an untamed mare, and thinking about how easy it was to make her open up for him. To claim her, and fill her up with his cum in any hole he wanted.

My cock was going to rip open. There was a puddle of precum on the chair now.

Summer crawled forward onto the bed, allowing Sandro to place his knees on the edge. So he could get inside of her with that big cock.

She reached her hand behind her and found it, stroking it like she couldn't bear to stop touching it.

“Fuck me,” she breathed. “Put that big cock inside of me and fuck me full of your cum.”

Then she lowered her head to the bed, and turned it slightly, so she was looking toward the closet. Toward me. But her hands moved from behind her knees, up her thighs, and to her ass.

She was pulling herself open for him.

For a moment Sandro, too, took some time to enjoy the view: her oak-highlighted hair spread out over the sheets, a few strands stuck to her skin by sweat. Her perfect ass, rounder than ever, tilted to him in an act of utter submission. Her hands on her buttocks, pulling apart her flesh to spread open the dripping pink flower and her tiny, virgin asshole. All of them glistening with her juices. Swollen with her excitement. Feverishly hot.

Sandro held his cock, and moved it over her clit, making her twist and beg a little. “Oh god,” she said. Please just fuck me!”

When he began to push the tip of his cock inside of her, she squinted her eyes and opened her mouth, crying out in agonized pleasure.

“Oh!” she squealed. “Oh, oh, oh it's so
big!
This is just what I wanted!
”

Was that for me? Or was it just what she wanted?

“Oh, yes. Oh fuck, your cock feels good,” she said. Her voice scraped away at my heart, licking at the inside of my ribs with torturous pain.  

Summer moaned and howled as Sandro sank deeper and deeper into her. I could see her pussy stretch out, the petal deforming into pencil-thin pink lines as the hard cock pushed them open. Further and further, filling her up and gaping her pussy wide. Then he moved slowly inside of her, and his fat, hairy balls crashed gently against her clit. She was so wet the juices were soaking his scrotum with cum.

Summer moaned, her hands picking up fistfuls of the sheets.

Could they have planned this, to make it look so much like the past? The similarities were awful and beautiful all at once.

In and out, purple cock against her pink and white skin. Every sound of his cock moving through her slippery, pussy splattered around the tiled room more than once. And for a few minutes there was only that: the pumping of Sandro's cock in and out of my wife, and the slippery sounds of her engorged, wet cunt.

“Come for me,” Sandro said, and it was like I had been taken back in time. “Come for me and get my cock wet. I'm going to fuck you in the ass, and you want my cock to be wet, don't you?”

I didn't know if I was seeing Sandro with Sabrina, or Sandro with my wife. If I was watching my life disintegrate now, or twenty years ago.

Until Sandro took the palm of his hand, and slapped Summer's ass. “Ride it!” he said.

Did he know I was here? Would he turn around and sneer at me as my wife obeyed his command, and rose to all fours to work herself over his cock?

Summer began to pump furiously at him, and the whine in the back of her throat built up to a scream as she plunged herself over his cock until she arched her back and threw her head back. I watched as her creamy cum pushed through her stretched pussy lips and onto Sandro's cock.