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Party Girl

A First-time Hotwife novella

Sadie Somerton

James Grieve Press


Party Girl: A First-time Hotwife Novella by Sadie Somerton

Afters: About the author

Published by James Grieve Press

Party Girl © Sadie Somerton 2018

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Party Girl


We’d only ever talked about it before. Never taken it seriously.

The idea of fooling around was just a thing. A game. A bit of a tease.

“What’s your biggest fantasy? Right now?” He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped. I plunged on: “What came into your head when I asked you that? No hiding, no avoiding an honest answer. What are you picturing right now?”

“You.” No hesitation this time. “Watching you. Seeing you.”

“Just me?” I knew about his fantasies; we’d played this game before.

A pause, a flick of the eyes: away, down, then back up to meet mine.

“No. Not just you.”

“With a man? A woman? Both?”

Lazy, sexy mornings. Chat. Talk. Turning each other on with our words. The best seduction is seduction of the mind, getting inside each other’s responses and desires. Knowing which buttons to press.

That’s one of the reasons things are so good between the two of us.

He gets that, like nobody has ever got it before.

Him. My husband, Ashton.

The man who, right now, as we lay tangled in bed on a lazy Sunday morning, touching and teasing and talking... the man whose fantasy was seeing me with someone else.

“You’re beautiful. There’s nothing more horny than looking down and seeing you doing... that.”

My hand, flat against his dick, rolling it slowly from side to side against his belly.

“Seeing you so turned on. Seeing you respond. That instant when you switch from curious and playful, to no-going-back-need. You turn me on so much, babe.”

That last word drew itself out into a groan as I pressed just a little harder, squeezing the first clear bead of pre-come from him.

“But in your head,” I said, teasing out his fantasy just as I’d teased out that clear salty droplet. “In your head you’d like a different camera angle, wouldn’t you? You’d like to watch, to be able to see everything.”

I thought I’d got it, understood what it was about this fantasy that appealed to him, but now I could tell I was missing something: there was more than just the visual that drew him.

“It’s the knowing, isn’t it?” I said. “Crossing the line. Breaking the rules. You know how I feel when I get wet, when I come.”

My thumb, gliding slowly across his wetness.

“It’s the thought of someone else discovering that. Going where only you should go. Is that it? Is that what turns you on most of all?”

And me... I was glad he was so distracted just then, that he didn’t follow up with questions of his own.

Because that meant I didn’t have to confess to just how turned on I was right then, at the thought of breaking those rules, of having intense, dirty sex with a stranger even as I had my hand on the dick of the man I adored.

Didn’t have to confess that as I closed my eyes I imagined someone else.

It was too complicated for me to think about just then.

Too difficult.

And God, but it was horny!


The trip to St Monique was a surprise – Ashton just sprang it on me one day.

“We fly out Saturday. I have tickets, an apartment for a week. It’ll be fun.”

It was still term-time, and usually Ashton is fully committed, but it was reading week and he had a lot of marking to do but no teaching. “I can do my marking anywhere,” he said. “So why not in the sun?”

I was easily persuaded. I’m a freelance journalist, so I can work pretty much anywhere, too. I could maybe even turn this week into work, get a travel feature out of it or something.

So that Saturday we found ourselves still half asleep, going through airport security, and eventually finding our way to a coffee shop in the hope that caffeine might achieve what the alarm clock and cab ride hadn’t.

Even over coffee we were quiet, though, and I found my mind wandering. It was only a week after that steamy morning session, and my thoughts returned to it for some reason.

It’s not that it was particularly unusual: we’re both talkers, dreamers. We don’t have hang-ups about our fantasies. Why would you?

But there had been an intensity to that morning in bed. An edge.

I think maybe it had scared me a little. Why was I fantasizing about sex with someone else when I was with Ashton? After six years together was the magic waning? Had my attraction to him started to fade?

I didn’t like that nagging worry, and kept turning it over as we waited to get the call to board our flight.

Later, as we crossed to the steps up into the airplane I reached for Ashton’s hand and squeezed.

It was the opposite of that. I’d finally worked it out.

I’d never been with someone where things were so open and trusting. Where it was okay to admit to fantasies and desires, to enjoy them together.

It was fun. It was a good thing.

It was a sign of just how secure we were together, how strong our attraction and love were.

Not a thing we would ever act upon.

At least that’s what I believed just then.



She wore those shorts again.

Not too short – she was nothing if not discreet – but they clung in a way that drew the eye, and when she moved you could see how thin the denim was, see the inner curve at the top of the thigh, see the smooth skin of her lower back as her top rode up as she went up the steps before me.

And it made me feel like some kind of dirty old man, even though I’m only four years older than Jen.

Made me think everyone must see that my eyes were fixed on that perfect ass.

Made me particularly aware of how I moved and how I stood because no woman has ever had such a powerful effect on me as Jen does, and thin linen pants and an erection aren’t the most subtle of combinations.

Made me lose the train of my thoughts, get confused and flustered, distracted.

You’d never think I was a bright young academic on a fast-track professorship, that I could stand up and make obscure academic subjects enthralling to a class of a hundred, and hold my own at conferences with my peers and betters.

With Jen... all that was gone.

With her I was a gibbering ape, a hormone-led lust-filled beast with only one thought on my mind.

And I loved it.

I fucking loved it.


Let me backtrack.

All that stuff is in my head. That’s what she does to me. Or how it feels to react like that.

In reality, I’m a steady kind of guy. Great career, nice family, nice house, and a drop-dead gorgeous wife. I’m in a good place.

I’m the steady one, when it comes down to it. It’s usually Jen who leads us into adventure: travel to exotic places, trying new things, meeting new people.

This time I wanted to surprise her, give her some of that back.

A term-time, drop-everything vacation was certainly not what she had expected, but I think, more than anything, she picked up on my mood. She knew that I wanted to please and surprise her. That this trip was going to be fun.

I followed her up those steps, eyes on her ass and then looking away. Smiling. A stupid fucking grin all over my face.

And she knew.

At the top she paused, looked back, and it was in her eyes. She knew exactly where I’d been looking.

I raised an eyebrow and she smiled, the moment gone almost before it had started.

We had seats a few rows back, Jen by the window, me by the aisle. While I put our cabin bags into the overhead locker, Jen paused to pull her sweatshirt over her head.

She always did that: brought a sweatshirt because you never knew how cold the airplane might be, then took it off for the flight because she didn’t actually need it.

We sat, and she folded the sweatshirt on her lap, then leaned across and kissed me on the jaw, her nose brushing my ear.

As the plane filled around us I got my iPad out and started to work. Lost myself in marking for a while.

Until she started to do that thing.

The tease.

The brush of her bare arm against mine. The press of a thigh.

That moment when she innocently leaned across me to peer along the aisle, her forearm resting across my lap.

That contact... The weight of her arm. My dick started to fill out immediately and she gave a slight roll of the arm before pulling away, glancing at me, smiling.

That look in her eye.

I had to shift in my seat. Find ways to adjust where everything lay without drawing attention to myself – a fumble with the lap-belt, the heel of my wrist steering things into a different position, aligned sideways, obscured by the belt.

We’d talked about this before: Jen’s natural curiosity, wanting to know what it’s like to... well, to have a dick. For it to be so obvious when you respond. To get an erection in a public place.

She liked to do this to me. Turn me on when there was no possibility that it could go any further. Make it difficult for me to stand.

She’d brush against me, touch me discreetly, murmur things in my ear.


Like now.

The press of a thigh again. Just briefly. Just enough.

Leaning in as we lifted above the clouds. Softly in my ear: “Are you still hard?”

I hadn’t been, but within seconds again I was. I dropped an arm to my lap to cover up where my pants tented in my lap.

I looked at her, that eyebrow raised again. Trying for stern, even though she said I was never any good at stern. But this time...

The tease: two could play at that game. We both loved the mind-games, always had: seduction of the head, the power of the mind, of words.

I leaned in, my mouth almost touching her ear. Said, “Your turn, babe. Tell me. What’s in your head right now?” Echoing the conversation from the previous Sunday in bed. “What’s your biggest fantasy? No hiding, no avoiding an honest answer. What’s in your head, babe?”

She hesitated. Blue eyes fixed on mine. Sucking that lower lip back between her teeth.

She looked away, then back at me. And then, so softly I could barely make out her words, she said, “Cock. One I’ve never touched before. Reaching for it – that moment of first contact. Taking its weight in my hand. Feeling how the skin slides against that hard core. All the little responses. Exploring.”

She was good. Even as she spoke I couldn’t work out if that was really what had been in her mind, or if it was what she wanted me to hear: she knows my fantasies, knows how to turn me on. Right then she knew that her words would be making me hard. Harder.

I closed my eyes briefly, visualized. Wondered how I would feel, if the fantasy were reality.

Opened my eyes and she was studying me.

“You’re there, too,” she went on. “Watching. Out of reach. Eyes fixed on what’s happening. Watching as I draw that big hard cock closer, rub it across my lips...”

I looked around, convinced that everyone must know, must be able to hear, but no-one was looking.

I was so turned on. So powerless to do anything.

But it was different for Jen. She could be discreet.

That sweatshirt, neatly arranged in her lap.

That hand, tucked underneath. Was it...? Did she have her hand between her legs? Squeezed between her thighs? With her hand like that, there, the heel of her thumb would be pressing... against herself.

A slight nod of the head.

She’d seen the direction of my glance. Confirming my suspicions.

That lower lip, sucked between her teeth again.

The look in her eyes.

My dick was hard, throbbing. Aching for her.

And all I could do was watch. Watch and know what was in her head.

Think of her with another man.

Is that a bad thing? To a lot of people, yes, perhaps.

But just then... her hand buried beneath that folded sweatshirt, the slight widening of her eyes. Both of us so turned on.

The twitch of that muscle in her jaw... She was close.

Jesus, she was close already! Just the pressure of her hand, our words, the thoughts in her head – and the knowledge of how I must be feeling too, watching her, knowing, powerless.

Her jaw dropped just a fraction, her eyebrows raised, her whole body tensed. All subtle things. Discreet. Restrained.

She’d just climaxed. Sitting there next to me, people all around us.

She’d come.

Wet and pulsing, just starting to subside from the peak. Squeezing her thighs together against that hand, that pressure, as she drew out every last moment of orgasm.

And then the tension subsided, and she leaned against me, head on my shoulder.


“How much longer is this flight?” she asked.

“Four hours.”

Another four hours, my dick aching and hard.

Wanting her.

Needing her.


“Mmm,” she said, her hand sliding back underneath that sweatshirt. “Four whole hours...”


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