The Hotwife Summer Read Online Free PDF Page B

close to me but not touching.
    “That's the thing,” she said, and she added a little frosting of bimbo to her voice. “I burnt my cream filling. There's almost no coming back from that.” She fluttered her eyes up at me. “But I managed to work something out.”
    “Did you?” My voice was hoarse.
    She shrugged, and suddenly she was looking at me as though I were an idiot. She popped the tomato in her mouth and crushed it. “Of course,” she said casually. “I am actually a terrible, terrible cook.”
    There was a silence between us, and I could have cut through the sticky tension and heat with a knife.
    “Do you want to know how I'm passing all of my tests?” she said. Teasing.
    A sickening and exciting, electric and cold shiver gripped my entire torso. I could barely find a way to make my head move up and down.
    “It's very naughty,” she said. “Do you still want to know?”
    She was doing that light twisting. Fluttering her eyes. She was putting on a porno-grade act. It was almost as if she were somehow siphoning off my thoughts and my fantasies, and turning them to real life.
    She placed her hands on my belt, where it buckled, and now her mouth was close to mine. “Are you sure?” she said, her lips just centimeters from mine. “This is your wife, the one who raises your children. Kisses you goodnight. Maybe you don't want to know all the dirty things I've done with my mouth to make the grade in my cooking class.”
    Her fingers were working the belt out of the loops now. Unzipping the zipper, with her eyes never leaving mine.
    Yes, I wanted to know. Yes, I wanted them to be dirty.
    When she had freed my cock from my boxer shorts, it was so hard that it stood at attention, straight out. As she slid to her knees to show me how she made the grade in her cooking class, she let the tip of it trail from her navel, between her breasts, along her neck, and to her lips.
    She looked up at me. “The chef,” she said sweetly, “has a lot bigger cock to swallow. So it will be even easier for me to show you what I do.”
    I could not actually believe she was saying this stuff.
    Really, actually saying it. I pinched my own arm to make sure I hadn't just passed out on the armchair drinking too much wine while I waited for her to come home.
    “Do you want me to tell you more about his big cock?” She was smiling. “Or do you just want me to show you what I do?”
    She reached up as she was saying this, and held my cock to her mouth almost like it was a microphone and she was speaking into it. She brushed it over her lips, letting the dabble of precum stain them like gloss.
    I had to squeeze myself like an accordion to get the words to leave my mouth. “Show me.” My voice was barely a whisper.
    Is that what I wanted? Maybe I wanted her to talk some more.
    She looked at me hopefully, and then it seemed like she was reading my mind. Her hand moved back and forth very slowly on my cock. “The first time I sucked his cock,” she said, “I was a little bit surprised by how big it was. It's been such a long time since I've seen another man's cock.” She looked now at mine, as though examining it. Her hand continued to move up and down my shaft. “But maybe I expected it to be that big. He's just...the kind of man you expect to have a big cock.”
    I sucked in my breath.
    “Why's that?” I managed to say.
    I was so glad I didn't have to ask her to keep going, to keep saying exactly what she was saying. Whether it was truth or fantasy, she had figured out that I wanted to hear it. I wanted every word to leave her mouth as sticky and wet as another man's cum.
    “He's just so...commanding,” she said. “He takes what he wants. He gets what he wants. I guess you just expect a man like that to have a big cock.”
    “How big?”
    Now her eyes met mine. “So big,” she said, and every word was wet and full in her mouth. “I could barely. Get. My. Mouth. Around. It.”
    She looked at me, her face some strange