The Anklet: (Hotwife, Hypnotism, Cuckolding, Interracial, BBC) by Lexi Rush

Author:Lexi Rush [Rush, Lexi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

I attach the Queen of Spades to her magical anklet.

Heather says, “What are you up to now?”

“You’ll have to see for yourself…”

Heather chews on her lower lip (igniting my libido), then saunters to her seat at the bar, oozing confidence.

I’m stunned at how she’s changed in one freaking day!

I would never have thought it possible. But it’s not only possible, it’s happened—and is still happening.

No turning back.

As she ambles to her same stool at the bar, I click on my cell’s stopwatch and order another Scotch.

At the 1:06 minute mark—and before my attentive Waitress brings my drink—a young guy says what looks like can I sit beside you? to Heather. She flashes a bright smile and if her body language could speak, it’s an enthusiastic yes. He can’t be legal drinking age, dirty-blond wavy hair in a light polo shirt that matches Heather’s top. He’s a combination preppy and surfer-dude. My first impression is: this guy has no chance with Heather—she’s not into snooty Millennials.

Surfer Prepster does the two more signal to the bartender and says something that makes Heather giggle. I’d laugh my ass off if the bartender asks for his ID, but so far, he hasn’t. Harlequin’s living up to its Cougar Bar billing; I reset the stopwatch, wondering how long until they disappear.

The bartender sets both drinks down and nods to Surfer Prepster—sans the ID check. I wonder how this kid can run a tab; there’s no way he has a credit card.

They raise, then clank glasses and say something more than cheers, then both gulp their drink. Heather wipes her lips, leans in and whispers in his ear—and her hand grabs his crotch!

His eyes explode and he chokes on his Adam’s Apple. I squint and could lose my own eyes as reality sets in. So much for the coy innuendos—let’s play flirty pool games. I guess he’s her type…and she’s in control. That’s the thing that surprises me the most. Gone is the shy little ladylike wife; enter Hotwife Cougar. Lucky bastard!

Heather’s hand is still down there but now is slowly caressing his inner thigh. Their wordless communication belongs in a RomCom—or at least in an ad for this Cougar Bar. He chugs his beer, sets it on the bar and stands, then barks a command. I’m not a lip reader, but it’s let’s go. She turns and he helps Heather off her bar stool, not hiding his gape of her cleavage as she reaches for her purse. He wraps his arm around her and they both stroll away.

Again, gone is the I’ll go over there, then you meet me discretion. Anyone viewing this encounter would think my wife was a pro; but I know she’s doing it pro-bono.

And I’m harder than a rock—again—wondering if I should call The Guinness Book of World Records.

They disappear and I glance at my cell for a text. Nothing yet, but my stopwatch reads 4:55. I chuckle…not that long ago, this would have set a world record for a miler.

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