Hot Dates 2: Living as a Shared Wife Read online

  Hot Dates 2:

  Living as a Shared Wife

  Kirsten McCurran

  ebooks by Kirsten McCurran

  Hot Dates 2: Living as a Shared Wife

  Meghan is Wild

  Ana’s Forbidden Fantasy

  Hot Dates: Becoming a Shared Wife

  Emma's Escape

  Blank Canvas

  The Wedding Party

  Devil's Bargain

  Sydney's Sin

  Truth or Treat

  Bound By Two

  The Coach’s Wife

  Flirting With Trouble

  Swinging Saved Our Marriage

  Her Other Husband Series

  A Snap Decision/Kissing In a Tree

  Kelly Crosses the Line

  Kelly Can't Help It

  Kelly's Last Date

  Substitute Wife

  Swapping Around the Christmas Tree

  Sex Equity

  Stormbound: Seduced by the Neighbors

  Because He's Watching

  Eve & Friends Series

  It Started With a Joke

  It Started With Mistletoe

  It Started Over Coffee

  It Ended With an Announcement

  about the author

  Kirsten McCurran has a vivid fantasy life which she uses to fuel her erotic fiction. She is especially interested in stories of couples who go to the edge of acceptable behavior and then step over. She firmly believes that one never knows what they would do in a given situation until they are put there—and she explores those sexy results. Kirsten is the author of over 20 ebooks and lives in the suburbs—where the neighbors would be scandalized if they knew what’s going on in her head—with her husband and two children. She would love to hear feedback on her work and can be reached at [email protected], goodreads or through Twitter @kirstenmccurran.

  HOT DATES 2: LIVING AS A SHARED WIFE

  © 2015 Aphrodite Omnimedia. All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced for distribution by any means physical, mechanical or electronic without the explicit written permission of the copyright holder.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and locations are fictitious or used fictitiously.

  Cover Design by Kenny Wright

  Cover Image © prometeus. Licensed from Bigstock.

  one

  I sat at the bar in the pricy restaurant and sipped at my martini. One shiny black pump was hooked on the chrome ring around the bottom of my stool, while the other bounced nervously. I had been sitting at the bar for over twenty minutes and had been approached twice, but rebuffed both men—even though the second one was pretty cute. For once, I was not sitting at the bar waiting to be picked up. No, this time I was waiting for a date, and he was late. I was only willing to give him another ten minutes—maybe a little longer, for my husband’s sake—before I called it a night and got out of there. I knew Dave would be very disappointed if I came home early and told him there was no date.

  It was strange to look over my shoulder and not see my husband lurking on the other side of the bar. We had always worked my hot dates that way. I would sit at some unfamiliar bar—the farther away from home the better—and wait for a handsome man to try and pick me up. If I thought he was interesting, or if he was hot enough for that not to matter, I would let him get past the first drink and flirt shamelessly with him. The men never knew I was married, and that my husband was right there, getting off watching the whole thing. Sometimes, the guy really had me going and I would just go out to the parking lot and fool around with him. Dave would try and sneak close enough to watch. I got such a dirty thrill knowing my husband was right there, watching. It wasn’t the same thing as coming home and telling him about it later—or giving him the video I’d secretly recorded. If it was to be a more civilized encounter, I would go home with my new friend—that had only happened three times—and Dave would head home, waiting for his wife to return from her one night stand to share all the dirty details.

  Tonight was different. Dave was at home with the kids and I was on my own. A thrill from playing without a safety net tickled my tummy. Dave being there was like a safety blanket. I’d had to use that safety blanket once when we’d let things get out of hand. We were inexperienced and hadn’t considered all the variables. At the time, I had different limits and we hadn’t really considered what would happen when some guy I’d been teasing all night didn’t want to stop where I did. We’d gotten smarter since then, and the limits had changed. I didn’t know if I would say we’re an experienced “hot wife” couple—we learned from the internet that “hot wife” was the accepted term for what we did—but we had been playing in this world for close to a year now and we had definitely learned from our experiences. But tonight there was no net. Tonight, we were trying something new.

  Dave was the one who first suggested that maybe I try to go out on a date, instead of going to a bar and waiting to be picked up by some horny stranger. The subject arose because of a mistake—I crossed my own line and fucked another man for the first time. It had been all heavy petting and blow jobs before that night, but Zach and his friend were cute and having a cute, younger guy want me pushed all the right buttons. I went home with the roommates. At some point that night Zach got a hold of my phone and put his number in it and I made the mistake of telling my husband. Dave thought Dani should text Zach and tell him what a great time she had. Rule #1 of our hot dates was to use a fake name and make up a persona for the evening. I was not Dana—long married mother of two crazy rug rats from the suburbs—on hot date night. When I met Zach I was Dani, just divorced and easing back into having a life of my own.

  I didn’t know how I felt about communicating with Zach. It was outside of what we’d done, and I didn’t know if it was a good idea. I had always thought of our hot dates as one night stands. We were looking to play around a little—and then move on. I had only really started doing it because it was such a strong fantasy for my husband, not because I felt any need for other men. I certainly didn’t want a relationship with another man. Just managing Dave drives me nuts sometimes! But Dave thought it would be fun to keep playing around with Zach. He knew the younger guy really got me going. I couldn’t deny that after he watched the video of Zach fucking me silly that night. My husband encouraged me to just try texting with Zach to see where it went and I agreed, although I still had no intention of ever seeing him again. The texts were flirty and I even sent him a couple pictures—never with my face. Zach kept asking to see me in the flesh again, and I kept putting him off. But then Dave started saying I should see him, and the pressure from both guys was too much. I asked Dave exactly what he wanted.

  “Do you really want me dating some other guy?” I was exasperated.

  “I don’t want you to have a real relationship or fall in love, but I think it would be hot if you met up with Zach again,” Dave said.

  “But that would be like a real date, wouldn’t it? If we planned to meet and then did something like dinner?”

  “Maybe if it was more like a booty call,” he suggested.

  “You want me to be a booty call to some younger guy? Nice.” I don’t know why I was angry. Being Zach’s booty call was actually pretty hot. Texting with him over several weeks had me thinking about that night with him and how good it would feel to fuck him again. I was just afraid of what it might mean. And here was my husband telling me to go ahead and do it.

  “Don’t even pretend it doesn’t turn you on as much as it does me.”

  I smiled. “Okay, it turns me on a little. But I don’t want it to be anything more. I don’t want to have a boyfriend.”

  “I don’t want that either.”
/>   I think part of my problem was that I didn’t really know what my husband wanted. He’d tried to explain his wife sharing fantasy to me, but I still don’t think I really understand it. I’ve accepted it, and I enjoy playing along, but I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand what drives him to want his wife to fuck other men. I get the voyeuristic thrill, I understand it’s hot to know other men want his wife, but I just don’t understand the deep satisfaction Dave gets from having this fantasy fulfilled. How can he want his wife, the mother of his children, to fuck other men? Even if I’ve made my peace with it, I can’t say I really get it. But that didn’t stop me from indulging him—and enjoying it.

  So one night, after the kids were in bed, I texted Zach and asked what he was doing. Dave stayed home with the kids and I drove across the city in my practical family car to meet my lover. My husband was so turned on while I was getting ready that he couldn’t keep his hands off of me. And when I came home a few hours later, I didn’t make it past the foyer. Dave fucked me right there on the steps while I told him about my night with Zach. I’ve seen Zach three or four times since then, always late at night, after the kids are tucked in. And when I come home I dutifully give my husband the little hidden camera device we use to record my encounters. We usually watch the videos together, and we get so turned on we end up fucking, but I know Dave watches the videos when I’m not around. I think he watches them a lot. I can’t lie, I do find that a little odd.

  My booty calls with Zach led to Dave suggesting that maybe I try to go on proper dates. He stressed that he didn’t want me to have a boyfriend anymore than I wanted it, but he thought it might be a safer way for me to meet men because I’d be getting to know them a little bit at least before I met up with them. But I also know that part of it was that he wanted me to go on hot dates more often than our schedule allows. Arranging overnight babysitting for a night on the town isn’t always so easy. The grandparents are accommodating, but we don’t want to abuse them. That means we don’t even get out to play once a month. If I went out and Dave stayed home with the kids, we could do it more often. I was not thrilled at first.

  “Dave, I like that we do this together. I’m not sure I want to go out and meet men without you there,” I argued.

  “You have fun meeting up with Zach.”

  “That’s different. I go over to his place late at night for sex and then I come home. I already know Zach, there’s not a getting to know you phase. I don’t know, I just think it would be weird to go on real dates with men.”

  “You’ve done a lot of stuff you never thought you would—or could, and you’ve loved all of it. Why don’t you give it a chance? If you hate it, you never have to do it again. But I think it would be hot for you to flirt and text with a guy for a little while before you meet him. I think the anticipation would be sexy.”

  I could see Dave really wanted me to try it, but I wasn’t so sure I was up for it. I’ve always been a people pleaser, and there was that part of me that didn’t want to let him down, no matter what my reservations were. Would going on one date really kill me? “I guess we could try it. But how are we going to do it? I’m not putting an ad on Craigslist. I don’t want to get decapitated.”

  “There are dating websites for this sort of thing. Have you heard of AshleyMadison.com?” Dave’s answer was a little too quick. He’d obviously been thinking about this and done some planning

  “Okay. Show me.”

  And that was how I ended up sitting at a bar waiting to meet a man I’d been chatting with online. His name was Terrance—Terry for short—and he was a thirty-five year old divorced marketing executive, or so he said. I’m skeptical of anything men tell me online.

  Dave and I had created my AshleyMadison.com profile, and it was a mix of truth and fantasy. Yes, I am a married thirty-six year old mother of two and I do live in a nice house in the suburbs. I am 5’3”, with a curvy, 110-pound figure, 34C boobs and long, highlighted brown hair. And I do love to fuck men outside of my marriage with no strings attached. But the rest is a lie. My name is not Diana and I am not trying to meet men behind my husband’s back. I do not live in the suburb listed in my profile. I have some lingerie photos in my profile that Dave had great fun taking, but nothing with my face, so Terry doesn’t really know what I look like—even though I have seen pictures of him. I told him what I would be wearing—a tight black dress with a red color panel in the front—and that my hair would be down. There weren’t any other women in the restaurant bar resembling me, so he should be able to pick me out easily.

  I checked the time on my phone again and then shot my husband a text.

  -No show so far. He’s got a couple more minutes and I’m out of here

  Dave’s response was a frowny face.

  As I was putting the phone back on the bar, there was a light tap on my shoulder.

  “Diana?”

  I turned and tried to mask my disappointment. Plastering on a smile, I said, “Yes. Terry?”

  “I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure.”

  I turned on the stool and hopped to my feet. In my stiletto heels he was barely taller than me. Online he was six feet tall. He was also about ten years older and thirty pounds heavier than the photos in his online profile. I knew within seconds that this date was not going to end the way he—or my husband—wanted. Terry asked if I wanted to have a drink at the bar before dinner, but I’d already had two, and really, there was no point in dragging this out.

  Dinner seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly. I tried to streamline it as best I could, skipping appetizers, but it dragged on as if Terry had bribed the waitress to serve us slowly. I listened to him drone on about work and his boat, about how his marriage ended despite his trying his hardest to keep it alive. After that, he buried himself in his work, and that’s when he decided he just didn’t have time to date and looked for alternatives. He asked what brought me to Ashley Madison.

  “You know, the typical,” I lied. We’d already discussed this in our online messages, but I guess he wanted to hear it again. “We’ve been together a long time and after all those years I guess we got complacent. My husband is always busy with work and I got tired of being home alone.”

  “I’d never leave a woman like you alone.” Terry’s gaze flicked down to my breasts as he spoke, and then back to my eyes. I pretended not to notice. My dress was not low cut—I didn’t want to be too obvious—but it clung to my curves. I have to admit, I did look pretty hot in it.

  “I guess he’s just started to take me for granted. I try to get his attention, and he still doesn’t notice.”

  I was borrowing liberally from things girlfriends had told me about how their marriages had turned stale. Dave and I had never gone through a phase like that—thank God—we had always been hot for each other. But we were on fire since we’d started these hot dates. It was like we were teenagers again. Sometimes I wished I could be honest with my friends about what was going on in my personal life. I might have even suggested taking a lover to a friend or two, but I didn’t have any girlfriends who were close enough to confess that my husband liked me to fuck other men. I don’t even know how I would bring something like that up in a conversation. Over martinis at happy hour?

  “Just the other night, after the kids were in bed, I came into the bedroom and closed the door. I never do that with two little ones. I took my time undressing and sort of lingered in front of him. I even made sure I was wearing sexy underwear. But he never looked up from his phone.” I looked across the table at Terry and I could see he was trying to picture me in my underwear. He had some idea from the pictures in my profile, but I’d like to think seeing the real thing would have blown his mind. The lacy black balconette bra I wore under that dress really did make my tits look phenomenal, and the tiny thong was all I could wear without showing a pantyline. I know this was probably torturing him a little bit, but he deserved it after leading me on. “I even sat on the bed next to him and got flirty, but he still didn’t pay
attention. I guess that’s just what happens after fifteen years of marriage.”

  “He must be blind, Diana,” Terry breathed. Only one of his hands was on the table, and I shuddered to think what he was doing with the other.

  “Thanks.” I smiled. “I’ll be honest. If he’d taken notice and given me what I needed I might not have gone through with this.”

  Terry chuckled. “I guess his ignorance is my gain.”

  You wish, I thought.

  The small talk continued through the main course and Terry looked disappointed when I asked for a Diet Coke instead of more wine. He probably thought I’d be more pliable if I was drunk. He was probably right, and that’s why I stayed sober. The waitress asked if we wanted dessert and the words were hardly out of her mouth when I blurted out, “No.”

  Our goodnight was awkward. I could tell Terry wanted to know if I would come back to his place for a nightcap. I will not lie—my online flirting with him implied I’d be willing to go and have a one night stand with him, but that was before I met him. That was when I thought he was someone else. Before he could say anything, I told Terry that I really should be getting home. He looked crestfallen. I kissed his cheek, lied and said I’d be in touch, and turned on my stiletto heel and got out of there. I walked quickly and forced myself to keep my eyes forward, afraid that Terry might follow me to my car.

  Once I was in the Prius, with the doors locked, I was hit with disappointment. The weeks of flirting online and texting with Terry had been a lot of fun, and while I was nervous to meet him, I was also excited about what the evening might hold. I felt kind of like a loser that I had to go home and tell Dave nothing happened. It wasn’t like I always met someone when we went out for our hot dates, but this seemed like more of a sure thing. I could go to a bar and drop my line in the water, but I didn’t fancy doing that without my husband there. I was all dressed up with no place to go. A smile quirked the corners of my mouth when I realized that was not quite true. I pulled out my phone, but I was not texting Dave to tell him the evening was a bust.