Hot Dates 2: Living as a Shared Wife (15 page)

“I’ve got the feeling it doesn’t take much to get you wet. You were ready for it before we even got back to the hotel room last time, Diana.”

I slid down in the seat, pushing myself at him. “And you were driving me crazy then, too. Ohh, that feels so good, baby.”

“Take off your panties.”

It was not a request and I did not hesitate in complying with his order. Just that edge in his voice sent chills down my spine. I pulled my tiny panties past my heel and placed them in his outstretched hand. I was still reclined low in the seat, with my legs apart, and after he stowed my panties in the center console Carlos returned his hand to my pussy. He had free reign to explore me now and slid two thick fingers up inside me. I cried out and gripped the armrest tightly. My eyes fluttered closed and I focused on his touch, trying to forget where we were. Although I’d become accustomed to the risk of fooling around in public, I was thankful for his tinted windows to hide me from prying eyes. With my legs spread like that, anyone looking down from an SUV would be able to see me fully exposed.

Carlos fingered me slow and steady, enough to drive me crazy, but not get me off. I pushed myself at him, but he refused to take the hint. He enjoyed toying with me too much. I reached out and felt him through his slacks. That thick cock lay along his right thigh, rock hard and ready for me. I considered straddling him and fucking him while he drove. It was so dangerous, but I was so horny.

“You want to come, don’t you?” he asked. He seemed amused.

“Yes, baby. You have me so horny.”

“Does your husband do this? Does he make you dripping wet like this?”

“No,” I lied. Dave had just done the very same thing while we waited for Travis, but it was important for Carlos to be top dog. And it wasn’t entirely a lie. My husband didn’t have the kind of absolute control Carlos had. There was no doubt the cop could keep me like that all night, where Dave would lose focus and let me come because he was too turned on himself.

“I think you need a man to take charge, Diana.”

“Only if you’re going to take care of me. You can’t just torture me.” I rubbed his cock harder, but I knew I wouldn’t just get him off as I had Dave. Carlos would not lose control.

“Like this?”

Carlos slid his drenched fingers up my wet furrow and attacked my clit. The stiff little nub was so slick he had trouble staying there, but he knew what to do. He almost pinched it between two fingers as he furiously rubbed me there. He wasn’t gentle, and I didn’t want him to be. He seemed to instinctually know what I needed. It was overwhelming and my cries quickly turned to screams. I pitched forward in the seat, trying to curl into a ball as the intense climax hit me. It didn’t just hit me—it slammed me, like a speeding train. I stayed tensed like that for I don’t know how long, with his hand trapped between my thighs. I finally fell back in the seat and stared up at the lights passing in the moon roof while I caught my breath.

“See, Diana, I know how to take care of you. You just need to leave yourself in my hands,” Carlos said.

“Yes. Anytime,” I mumbled, still floating on my cloud. He pressed his soaked fingers to my lips and I greedily sucked them. I like to taste myself—it was a trick I used to do to drive Dave crazy—but I hadn’t done it in a while. It was hot that Carlos did it without asking, like there was no chance I would deny him.

I was still slouched in my seat with my skirt around my waist when we pulled up in front of The Columbiana Lounge and I barely had it tugged down when the valet opened my door. I turned bright red when he had to wait for me to fix the zipper on the side. Retrieving my panties was out of the question. I just hoped he didn’t notice the big wet spot on the black leather seat. I felt extremely vulnerable in the tiny skirt with no panties, and I think Carlos liked that.

“You like to dance, don’t you?” he asked.

“Sure, but I’m a little rusty.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure you know how to move.”

The club didn’t look like much from the outside, just a low building with beige stucco walls and its name in cursive pink neon on the wall, but it was jumping on the inside. A bar lined the long back wall and there were some bar-height tables scattered around, but the bulk of the room was taken by a massive dance floor, with a DJ, perched high in the corner, spinning tunes with a strong, Latin beat. Booths were scalloped into the walls on both sides, with their own tables and upholstered in red leather. The club was packed with a clientele that looked to be largely Hispanic, with a few black people mixed in and maybe only handful of white people. It’s something you rarely experience if you’re white and live in the suburbs, the feeling of being a minority in a crowd. I honestly couldn’t remember ever being in that position, and I hope it doesn’t sound too racist to admit I was a little nervous. It just didn’t feel like somewhere I belonged. If Carlos wasn’t at my side I probably would have turned around and walked out, but he held my hand firmly and pulled me through the crowd. Multiple people greeted him, not a few of them women, so I had to assume he was a regular at the club. All of the women who knew him were very attractive and seemed to be wearing as little—or less—than I was, and I felt oddly jealous.

“Hey Livie, I’ll take a Modelo,” Carlos said when he caught the bartender’s eye. “My friend will have a mojito.”

“Haven’t seen you in a while,
lindo
,” she replied. Livie was a Spanish girl in her early 20s with long, jet black hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her uniform was tight jeans and a vest that barely contained her tanned tits. Carlos didn’t give them more than a glance.

“Work’s been busy. You know how it is. This is Diana.”

“Nice to meet you,” Livie replied. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and I got the feeling I wasn’t the first girl Carlos had introduced to her. Was this where he brought all the wives he fucked—and was Livie jealous? She served our drinks up quickly and Carlos handed her a twenty.

The mojito was strong, grabbing my attention on the first sip. I suddenly remembered I hadn’t had a real dinner and knew more than a couple of those would knock me on my ass. The strong white rum burned my throat going down, but in a good way. Carlos and I toasted and his arm slid around me, his hand coming to rest on my butt.

“I thought you might need a drink after the way you were screaming in the car,” he said.

“I did get a little overheated,” I agreed, though I did not appreciate his smugness. His confidence was one of those things that was both arousing and a little infuriating.

“So,
blanca
, I’m guessing you’ve never been to a club like this.” It was the first time I’d heard him break into Spanish slang and I chalked it up to our surroundings. I heard a blend of English and Spanish all around us.

“No, I have not. This isn’t the sort of place we usually go.”

“So what do you like to dance to, stuff like Lady Gaga?”

“Maybe, if I go out with my girlfriends. My husband hates that kind of music, though. If we go out, it’s usually rock music, or maybe country.”

Carlos laughed and nodded. “This is a different thing altogether. I think you’ll have fun tonight if you let yourself go.”

I leaned into him, my hand on his chest. I toyed with the buttons of his shirt and slipped my fingers between them so I could feel his smooth, hard chest. I was already thinking about ripping that shirt off of him. “I’m sure you’ll show me a good time,” I said.

“It’s a good thing you already know how to move your hips. Let’s see how the rest of you does.”

He drained his beer and set it down on the bar behind us. I was not going to down my mojito that quickly, so I carried it as he pulled me toward the dance floor. As massive as it was, the dance floor was still very crowded. I know nothing about Spanish music, so I had no idea who the DJ was playing or what style it was. All I knew was that it had a fast, complicated beat that took some concentration to catch. I glanced at the people around us for guidance and tried to mimic what the other women were doing, but it was hard to really move with my clutch in one hand and my drink in the other.

Carlos noticed and lifted the mojito to my lips, ordering me to drink it. He tipped it back so that I had no choice and as quickly as I could swallow, I still ended up with some spilling down my cleavage. We were still near the edge of the dance floor and he placed my glass on one of the high tables, then pulled me deeper into the crowd.

Drinking the mojito that fast went right to my head and I felt light and easy. Carlos found a space for us in the crowd and we both moved to the tricky driving beat. A lot of it was footwork, which wasn’t the easiest in those heels, but I’d like to think I made up for my clumsy feet with my hip work—especially when Carlos and I were grinding together. He held my ass firmly, keeping me pressed to him. He slid his hand up my back, his touch hot on my skin. The strappy top left a lot of exposed skin and barely covered my black strapless bra. He fingered the clasp on my back and for a second I was afraid he was going to unhook it.

“You should have left this in the car too, Diana,” he said, leaning in close to be heard. His breath on my ear made me shiver.

“Not in this top, buddy. My tits would be bouncing all over the place.”

“That’s the point,
chica
.”

I felt awkward enough with no panties—no way I would have gone braless. I was already trying to be careful with how I moved, which the tight little skirt made difficult. It was not designed to let me move like that. The only thing that helped me relax—besides the mojito—was that the other women in club were wearing as little as I was.

Carlos guided my body with his expert hands and soon I was moving to the sexy music like a pro. There was just something inherently sexual about the Latin beat that made my body pulse and had me thinking about nothing but sex. A lot of that was probably due to the way Carlos moved to the beat. That man was sex personified. Just watching the way he twisted and turned his body had me melting into a little puddle, but then he was touching me and I thought I was going to pass out. His hands were everywhere on my body, but I didn’t mind that he was touching me like that in public because it just seemed natural when we were moving to that music.

He could not have chosen a better preamble to taking me home and screwing the daylights out of me. I could feel his thick root pressing into me through those tight slacks and I knew he wanted me just as badly. I could not wait to drag him back to my husband’s fuck pad.

“We need more drinks,” Carlos announced. He pulled me close and gave me a long, hot kiss. I was ready to follow him when he announced he would be right back. I tried to tell him I just wanted water, but I didn’t think he heard me.

I was ready to just stand there and wait for him to return. Those heels were starting to kill my feet. But the jostling crowd had a life of its own, and it was not ready to let me stop dancing. Carlos was soon replaced by a tall, sexy Latino man and without a thought I was moving against him the same way I’d been dancing with Carlos.

This stranger and I were touching and grinding like lost lovers. I was so overheated from Carlos that it just felt natural to keep moving and touching. The man cupped my ass and instead of slapping him, I just moved closer. His shirt was open and I put my hand on his sweaty chest. He was not built like Carlos, but he had a nice body. I let him turn me, and with hands on my hips, he grinded into me from behind. His cock felt impressive and I let him know it by backing right up into it. His hands were so close to my burning sex and I was all too aware of it. I felt like such a cliché—the white girl who goes crazy from the Latin beat, but I guess there is truth in clichés.

While my new friend held me from behind, a beautiful, dark-skinned woman slid in front of me, joining our dance. She was tall and lean, and her dress was so low-cut that it gaped open when she moved to the music, her breasts threatening to spill out. Her wavy hair went dark to light in an Ombre-dye job and framed both her pretty face and her perky tits. She caressed my bare arms, sliding her hands downward so she could take my hands. She placed my hands on her hips and moved closer so that our bodies were pressed together.

I smiled and gave myself to the music. I didn’t want to think about how horny I was while pressed between those two sexy strangers. The man behind kept pressing his hard-on into my ass and the small of my back, making it hard to think of anything but sex. The girl in front of me held my hips as well as we ground together. We were so close and from the look in her deep brown eyes I was sure she was about to kiss me. I even closed my eyes as I could feel it coming. She grazed her lips over mine, and being the little slut I’ve become, I chased her lips until she shared a longer kiss.

Being with other women is not something I’ve ever pursued. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to be a part of my husband’s kink. Dave has never brought up seeing me with another woman instead of men. And while I can appreciate the sexiness of women, thoughts of being with one don’t grab me like being with a man does. But that doesn’t mean I’m not open. I had a good time being with our friend Lisa years ago, when I was with her and her boyfriend. She made me come hard, but I was probably just as focused on her boyfriend—and Dave watching the three of us. And now here I was, years later, kissing another woman, and really turned on by it.

The kiss did not last long, but she whispered, “You’re lips are so soft,” before pulling back. Her voice carried the soft lilt of a South American accent. She did not pull back far, but kept grinding me in front while the man did the same in the rear. Those two probably could have dragged me off to some corner of the club and had their way with me and I would have happily surrendered. The only thing that snapped me into reality was when the beautiful stranger began pulling up the zippers on the sides of my skirts. I put my hands over hers and she laughed musically.

“Give her a break, guys. Diana doesn’t even know you yet,” Carlos said, appearing out of nowhere.

I thought he might be angry that I was letting some strange guy grope me like that—I somehow knew the woman wouldn’t be a problem—but he was smiling. It was only upon his arrival that the two released me. Carlos handed me another mojito and I was so overheated that I sucked down half of it right away.

“She was having fun,
papi
,” the girl said. She moved to Carlos’s side and seemed to rub herself against him like a cat. In her heels—they were even higher than more own four inches—she easily had the height to kiss his cheek—leaving a dark red lipstick mark. She smiled at me, and added, “We were having fun, weren’t we,
chica
?”

I took another sip and answered, “We were. I guess these are friends of yours, Carlos?” I realized the man was still beside me and had his arm draped casually over my shoulders.

“This is Gabriela—” he started.

“Please, it’s Gabi,” she interrupted.

“And Javier. We’re all friends. Guys, this is Diana,” Carlos finished. By the way Gabi was hanging on him they seemed like more than just friends. I had no right, but my jealousy flared again. I looked for a wedding ring on her hand, but did not see one. I had left mine on for a change, since Carlos knew I was married. Something about going on a hot date wearing my rings felt even dirtier.

Javier turned the arm over my shoulders into a hug and kissed my cheek. It seemed almost innocent after the way we’d just been dancing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. Unlike Gabi, he was not accented. “Maybe we should take a little break. We have a table.”

“Excellent,” Carlos agreed.

They had one of those booths along the wall staked out, with Gabi’s coat stretched out along the seat and their drinks on the table. Carlos held out his arm, and I slid into the booth, doing my best to kept my skirt from riding up. It felt good to finally be off my feet. Gabi slid in from the other side and I ended up between her and Carlos. Although there was plenty of room, somehow I ended up snugly between their two hot bodies. When Carlos put his arm around me, he ended up caressing Gabi’s bare shoulder. Gabi had some colorful tropical looking cocktail and she drained it like it was nothing but fruit juice. Javier sipped his cocktail more judiciously.

“How do you two know each other?” Javier asked.

I didn’t quite know how to answer that, and thankfully Carlos jumped in. “I met Diana at McCauley’s wedding,” he said.

Javier nodded, but I could swear he was staring at my wedding ring. Did he know of his friend’s predilection for screwing married women?

“So you haven’t been seeing each other long?” Gabi asked. That seemed to please her.

“We’re just sort of hanging out,” I replied.

I didn’t want to give the impression Carlos and I were really dating. It felt odd to be sitting there, talking to other people while out on one of my hot dates. It was like that first time I met Carlos, and I wondered if part of the thrill of sleeping with other men’s wives was showing them off. Usually when I met a man it was an illicit affair where we tried not to be noticed before we snuck out to go be alone somewhere. There was still that fear in the back of my brain that I was going to run into someone I knew while out with another man—no matter how unlikely it was.