The Hotwife Key Party: Willow (Chapter 7)

Willow had gone from nervous to excited, and it thrilled him. But the idea she’d orchestrated this was ludicrous. “Oh, get out of here,” he said.

“Adrian, sweetheart,” she said, sympathetic to her husband’s naivete, smoothing her hands on his shoulders, showing him patience, pretending to be his superior. Oh, shit. He suddenly believed it. “I accepted the invitation to this party before you ever received the gold card. That invitation was a formality.”

He showed her no expression, replaying all the events leading up to them standing right here now, seeing the humor in it, all the times she’d made him beg to come to the party, all the extra chores he’d performed, all the back rubs, foot rubs, and oral sex he’d performed. He started to smile. Then it went away. “Wait, did you know Dragan Kursan was going to be here?”

She was taken aback. “No, no way, Adrian. I just mean I knew I’d come here. I didn’t know a thing about it. I ran into Hugo at the dog park, and…”

She went on to explain herself in a satisfactory manner, and the laughter started for real.

She said, “I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

“What I think is funny,” he said, “is all the chores and blow jobs you’ll have to perform to get me to go into that room with you.”

She rolled her eyes and smirked, knowing he would make her stick to it, and knowing she deserved it. She said, “Happy birthday, baby. I love you. I’d do anything for you.”

He held her skinny waist and looked into her eyes. “Happy birthday, Willow. I love you and I’d do anything for you, too.”

She dipped her chin and furrowed her brows. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Lead the way.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Willow.” They kissed and his hands went up and down her naked skin showing through her dress’s cutout sides.

She turned and reached for the door, holding his hand. Then turned back, whispering, “And it’s Kursar, not Kursan. Please don’t embarrass me in there.”

He entered the room laughing hard, then stopped laughing when he saw Dragan in the real, live flesh. The enormous man stood bedside, and they’d caught him undressing. He still wore pants, but he’d removed his jacket and shirt and stood now topless, wearing only two full-sleeve tattoos on his lean but muscular body.

He stopped what he was doing, shirt still in his hand, putting that hand on his husband, saying, “You must be Willow’s Adrian.”

In the man’s presence, his normally small stature shrunk even further. Willow was tall in her heels, this man with his shirt off a fairytale giant. But he stepped forward with the confidence of a man who dominated writer’s rooms and executive’s offices and had wooed and won the gorgeous woman he was sharing with this famous athlete tonight. “Good to meet you, Dragan. Willow’s told me a lot about you.”

Dragan was caught off guard, holding out his huge hand to shake Adrian’s saying, “She did?”

“No, not a word,” he said, “but I overheard your reunion on the camera.”

They shook hands like a child greeting an adult—but Adrian showed the man no fear. He said, “I’d ask about the weather up there, but I’d hate for you to think I’m unoriginal.”

“Not at all, Adrian. I’m a fan. I watch Precinct K.”

Willow cleared her throat. “Okay, guys, break it up. We’re here for me.”

Adrian laughed and guided Willow to step in front of him, between him and towering Dragan. He held his wife’s hips, saying to Dragan, “My wife was a little hesitant coming to this party. We’ve never done a single thing like this before. But I have to tell you, she’s not hesitant anymore. She’s very glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad, too,” Dragan said and touched a knuckle under Willow’s dainty chin, getting her to look up at him. Then to Adrian he said, “Where are we at? You want to join in, you want to hang back and watch? Dealer’s choice.”

“I’ll hang back. I want to watch.”

Willow said, “He’s going to be judging us.”

Adrian went to the foot of the bed, heading for a seat. “If I’d known I was coming in here, I’d have brought my flip board, you know, like the one with the numbers the gymnastic judges use to show their scoring?”

“Believe me, something tells me he’ll stick the landing,” Willow said, wry but seductive, looking up at Dragan.

Dragan said, “You two are quite the team.”

“A real Burns and Allen,” he said, taking a seat in the soft leather toffee chair.

Dragan said, “Who’re they?”

“Before your time,” Adrian said.

Willow said, “You’re younger than Dragan, Adrian.”

“But they’re my genre. I’m sure Dragan could tell me who won the basketball high scores back in the day.”

Dragan shook his head. “No.”

Willow regarded him over her shoulder, advising him to be quiet by saying his name.

He zipped his mouth shut, then said, “I’m not even here.”

Dragan put his huge hands on Willow’s small shoulders, looking over her head to Adrian. “Where would you like me to start?”

No hesitation: “Take her clothes off.”

Dragan looked at Willow and cocked his head in a you-heard-the-man way.

Willow didn’t look back this time, instead lifted up one heel to her butt and began to undo one of the leather straps at her ankle. She put the other hand on Dragan’s bare stomach to steady her balance.

There would be no more interruptions, and now he truly blended into the background. He watched.

Watched his wife remove her three-thousand dollar shoe and drop it to the floor, step down and lift the other foot. Without those shoes, she was even tinier in Dragan’s presence, standing under the man’s chest in bare feet. Her fine hands worked the chunky crystal buckles loose on the belts that crossed her hips, then she turned and showed Dragan her back, indicating for him to unzip her. Now she faced Adrian, and he didn’t know what to do, whether to act like he was here or not. But as Dragan unzipped the back of her dress, Willow bounced her eyebrows and smiled, pulling her arms from the dresses sleeves, peeling it down, revealing she wore no bra, sliding the clingy fabric down her yoga body—revealing she wore no panties either. He clutched his heart, and she smiled, standing naked, facing him, her huge lover for the night towering behind her without a shirt.

Then she turned to face Dragan, and he regarded her naked back, while this other man saw her front. Dragan’s hand went on her. Her shoulders, her tits. Adrian groaned at the sight, stomach tightening, seeing the effect of Dragan’s touch on his wife’s body. She sighed and her posture sagged, her limber spine snakelike, her scapula rippling under her tanned skin.

The summer before Willow turned eleven, she got an infection from a deep cut on her leg, jumping off a cliff in Minnesota, and the lake water had algae or bacteria or something. The infection put her in the hospital, and Willow’s mom, Eva, always said it was real touch and go for a while, and they’d thought they would lose her. She survived, but out of the hospital, the infection had traveled. It induced a bending of her spine—she’d said she was a hunchback. Juvenile kyphosis. They didn’t even realize it was from that lake jumping infection until a year later. Willow never liked to talk about it too much, and he could understand. Having to wear a back brace through high school would be brutal. Four years of her life she’d spent buried in books and not allowed to be a free tomboy like she had been before the infection. Once the brace came off and she went to college, she’d made up for that lost time.

And look at her now. No hunch, no skinny legs. No knobby knees. Nope, just an awesome partner in his life that he adored and cherished. Fit and fine and funny. Her muscle strong and vibrant, her hair gleaming in blonde caramel, her skin shining with vigor. And, not to be base, her ass was perfection. Perfect round cheeks, not too wide, not too skinny; just bounce and heft and taut skin.

He couldn’t wait to fuck her after Dragan did.

Dragan lifted Willow’s chin and this time they kissed. Willow went up on her toes and he stooped over her. Their mouths connected, and he had to shift his erection in his pants. It made him so fucking hard to watch this.

Maybe he’d wanted to watch via tablet so he wouldn’t add to Willow’s anxiety with his lusty proximity; maybe he felt guilty for wanting this in the first place and wanted to avoid any ire once the act began. But now his wife was invested. Willow wanted to sleep with this famous ball player. What he was watching right now wasn’t for him. It was for her, too. Their gift to each other for their birthdays.

They kissed a long while, Willow touching Dragan’s face the way she would his own face when they kissed. She was passionate and sharing. Not, as he’d expected this to be tonight, which would be dispassionate, mechanical, stunted. This was ten times greater than he ever could have imagined. Willow’s head worked left and right, her cheeks hollowed as she sucked Dragan’s tongue, making small feminine sounds of arousal in her throat that were driving him wild. He was aching to see her hands move to Dragan’s belt and work to get the man’s pants off and unleash whatever kind of sea monster swam in his underwear. Though Willow’s favorite part of their dirty talk had always been this other fantasy-man’s sexual endowment, now that this was no longer dirty-talk fantasy but hot-blooded reality, Willow took her time, not rushing to get his tool in her hands.

At last their kiss broke, his wife naked and putting one knee on the bed, her eyes luring Dragan to follow her. And he followed, Willow turning, backing onto the bed, folding her legs up and bringing her knees near her chin—never one losing connection with Dragan’s icy blue gaze as she scooted on her butt higher up the bed.

She said to Dragan, “I still can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Me neither,” Dragan said, voice low, his sex drive activated, his demeanor changed, everything focused on seducing and bedding her, prowling after her onto the bed, lured by her sexiness.

All of this played out less than a dozen feet from Adrian, and he sat as engaged and focused as his wife’s lover for the evening was.

Willow said, “What are you going to do to me?” Her voice was breathy and needy.

Dragan said, “Everything.”

Willow exhaled, riled by the pornographic possibilities.

“Adrian,” Dragan said, his eyes on Willow’s. “What does Willow like?”

The juvenile but honest answer would be her new thing is blowing wet raspberries on her pussy, but he tempered the truth by saying, “She wants to show you her pussy. She wants your mouth on it.”

Willow’s eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip, aware of her husband but as though unnoticed, his voice like a command from the heavens.

“Open those long legs, Willow,” Dragan said.

Willow looked consumed by ecstasy, under the wild command of a man she dreamed of when she was a young girl, now in her bedroom and licensed by her husband to do whatever he pleased.

Now Dragan said, “Open those legs, Willow. I want to see that prom queen pussy.”

Willow’s reaction was hard to gauge. Like she wanted to go into a girlish giggling fit and she was on the verge of orgasm, all at the same time. It was a sight he burned into her memory. One he was sure he would jack off to countless times and one he would mimic for her when he wanted to tease her.

With her arms out behind her on the bedding, her breasts bare and nipples erect, his wife’s knees parted, and she brought her legs open wide, showing Dragan her perfect pussy, groomed but fuzzy, pink and shining with her excited wetness. Her petals were engorged and receptive, waiting for the mouth of the man who, at one time, adorned the wall of her school locker.

Dragan lowered his huge head between her legs and his lips kissed her glistening labia. Willow emitted a mewling exhale, her eyes rolling up. She collapsed onto the bed, her hands going to Dragan’s head, her long fingers weaving through his thick head of hair while he ate her out.