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Finley's Secrets
A Hotwife Fantasy

by Jason Lenov

Beautiful house. Beautiful wife. Beautiful life. Jacob has it all.
Well...okay. Maybe not everything. Things could be more adventurous in the bedroom. Turns out all he had to do was ask. Doing it with the lights on? No problem! Who would have thought?
Then Quinn shows up with her big, tattooed, motorcycle mechanic boyfriend Johnny. Johnny doesn't talk much. Mostly works on his bike.
Which leaves Quinn and Finley lots of time to catch up. They haven't seen each other in ages, after all. But why are they always whispering?
Who could resist listening in?
Finley wasn't always the sort of woman Jake thought he married. Finley's been keeping secrets. Secrets that could blow Jake and Finley's life apart...

Chapter One

The sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom sent a ripple of arousal through Jacob. One that was quickly followed by a wave of angst. It was Friday and Friday always meant two very excellent things, one of which had already happened.
Friday meant a delicious steak (or equally carnivorous) dinner, lovingly prepared by his beautiful stay-at-home wife, Finley. Usually with a side of baked potato and roasted vegetables or salad and paired with a wonderful Cabernet Sauvignon.
That dinner was always followed by a movie or a few episodes of a TV show. To help them digest, as Finley put it.
Jacob always let her pick the show as a thank-you for making dinner. Her normal choices tended toward romantic comedies or wholesome feel-good stories. This part was a little less fun because Jacob’s tastes veered toward the action or, better yet, horror genres. The one thing Jacob enjoyed about this time, though, was that Finley would often put her pretty, sock-less feet up on the coffee table. This gave him the opportunity to steal glances at them instead of paying attention to the entertainment.
He’d always had a thing for feet.
Their time in front of the screen would also give him the opportunity to get worked up for the second very excellent thing they did on Friday evenings.
(The did it on Tuesday’s, too, but without the steak it wasn’t quite the same.)
However this Friday, and too many Friday’s to count that had come before it, Jacob found his enthusiasm for their conjugal delights dampened. It had started as a vague unease. Something too ephemeral to pin down. The same sort of malaise that wouldn’t keep you home in bed but wouldn’t let you get much done at work, either.
In these last few Fridays it had solidified into a describable and slightly depressing shape. In one word: boredom. Boredom begat of a monotony in their habits. Sex would always go the same way: They would finish the movie.
Finley would go and put the dishes in the dishwasher and wipe down the counters while Jacob showered.
Jacob would finish his shower and slide into bed, lights out and curtains drawn. There he would wait patiently for Finley to finish her own shower, pee, then wade through the darkness and slip into bed next to him.
She would wear a robe, which she would slip off a moment before getting under the sheets. This robbed Jacob of the opportunity to ogle her beautiful body. This was something he hadn’t minded in the beginning years of their marriage. It added to Finley’s feminine mystique. But as time wore on the urge to see his wife naked had grown into an almost desperate need.
Other urges had surfaced as well. Perhaps also inspired by the lack of variety in their lovemaking. Dirty urges. Urges Jacob knew well enough to keep to himself. But testosterone being the hormone that it was, had made it increasingly difficult for Jacob to suppress these urges.
And it was on this particular Friday that Jacob had spent the duration of the movie they’d watched together (Four Parties and a Big Fat Wedding), focusing not just on Finley’s pretty feet but on how to broach the looming spectre of his dissatisfaction in the bedroom.
Which is what had caused the wave of angst to swell through him.
His pulse quickened as he saw the light in the bathroom flick off. His nostrils flared and palms started to sweat as he heard Finley shuffle across the carpet. He had to take a deep breath as he felt her warm body cuddle up to his.
She cooed next to him and nuzzled his neck.
Jacob stared wide-eyed through the darkness still lacking a plan about how to proceed but wanting very much to try something different.
“Does Mr. Winkie want to play?” Finley asked with a giggle.
Jacob cringed. What he had once found a charmingly innocent affect had become a sort of slogan for the banality of their intercourse.
Does Mr. Winkie want to play?
Finley’s question replayed in his mind with a sneer.
He loved his wife so very much. She was everything he wanted in a woman. Submissive, pious and an excellent cook. She kept the house immaculately clean.
There was just This. One. Thing.
Jacob Feeler considered himself many things. First and foremost he thought of himself as A Man. And men, in Jacob’s mind, were made of things like courage, fortitude and resolve. They didn’t run from things. They faced them head on with chest puffed out and chin held high.
Even if those things were their wife’s feelings. Steeling himself, he rolled onto his side and felt for Finley’s face in the darkness.
“Jakey? Is everything okay?”
His resolve faltered momentarily. There was still the chance to have an ordinary Friday. A Friday which, after they had finished, would probably be a perfectly satisfactory end to an uneventful week. His decision to forge on in his quest didn’t come from how he would feel that particular Friday. It came from thinking of every Friday that would follow to the end of his life that would be the same as this one.
“What is it?”
He drew in a breath, held it, then let it out in a slow exhale. “Fin I want to ask you a question.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“First I want you to know that I love you. I love you so much.”
“Okay.” There was a note of concern in her tone. “I don’t want you to think that you’ve done anything wrong. That we’ve done anything wrong.”
Silence. Then “Jake? You’re scaring me.”
“No, no! Don’t be scared,” he said, patting her on the cheek. “There’s nothing to be scared of. This isn’t a scary thing. It’s just…it’s just that I wanted…I wondered…if maybe tonight…”
“Aren’t you feeling romantic?” she asked.
“No! I mean yes! I am. I am feeling very romantic.” His cock was hard already.
“Then what?” Fin asked, sounding slightly less worried.
“Could we try something different?” Jacob blurted. The hand he’d had on Finley’s cheek shot to his face to cover his mouth.
A longer silence followed.
Jacob hoped to God he hadn’t upset Finley. She meant everything to him and if he’d made her sad because of his dirty urges he would never be able to forgive himself. “Fin? Finley? Say something. Please.”
“You want to try something different?” she whispered.
Hope swelled in his chest. Her voice, that voice that had just a few seconds before sounded so fraught with worry, had a note of interest in it. Excitement, even. “It’s not that I don’t love everything we do,” he said, his heart racing even faster at the possibility that Fin might entertain his request.
“But?” she whispered.
He cleared the tightness in his throat. “I just thought…maybe it might be fun.”
She lay quiet for a good long while. Thinking. “What kind of different?” she finally asked.
Jacob bit his finger. His cock throbbed between his legs. He wanted to jump out of the bed and shout “hurrah!” about Finley not collapsing into tears. He stifled that emotion with another cough. “What if we turned the lights on?” he whispered.
Another excruciating silence followed. “Do our bumpies with the light on?” Finley whispered.
Jacob’s hand slid toward her. Over hers, up her arm, caressing her shoulder then her collarbone. He touched her neck, then dared slip lower down her chest. Not so low to feel her breast but almost.
“Jakey,” Finley said.
This time it was hard to tell. Worry? Fear? Just apprehension? Did she need a little push, a little nudge? A little invitation to indulge in some depravity? “What do you say Fin-Fin?” he whispered. “Give tot-tot a little look?”
Silence. The soft, wet click of Finley’s lips parting. “Turn it on then.”
He shuddered. The ache between his legs swelled. Flipping over he reached out and found the light switch of their bedside lamp. Twisted.
A soft, orange glow filled the room.