'Hello?' I exclaimed, my voice dripping with curiosity and anticipation. 'Where are you?' I questioned, my tone conveying both excitement and intrigue. The man on the other end of the line, Jean Paul, was anything but modest. His lack of discretion was evident as he bombarded me with possessive inquiries.
Where was I? What was I doing over there? Jean Paul may not have been my husband, but there were moments when he liked to play the role of my man. However, he was nothing like you, John. You, my tolerant, open-minded, liberal spouse, were a world away from Jean Paul's controlling tendencies.
In a casual manner, I revealed my lunch plans, nonchalantly mentioning my reservation at Chez Paulette's rooftop terrace. However, Jean Paul was far from nonplussed. 'Jesus, lunch... and it's already after two o'clock,' he exclaimed, his disapproval evident in his tone. My declaration of freedom in the midst of lunchtime only added to his disapproval, deeming it decadent. To make matters worse, he found the restaurant far too expensive for his liking.
But I count my lucky stars that I married you, John, and not him. You are a man made for enjoyment and exploration, not control.
'Listen!' I urgently whispered into the phone, my voice laced with a hint of fear. 'There's a man peeking at me from across the way.' It had come out of nowhere, catching me off guard. Jean Paul's alarmed response was immediate, 'What? Where?' The tension in his voice was palpable as I described the man's intrusive actions, his gaze moving between my legs, my bosom, and even the lamp above my head. The man's sunglasses shielded his eyes, making it impossible to discern his intentions. In that moment, my mind wandered and wondered, what do men truly observe when they encounter a woman?
'Is your face turned towards him?' Jean Paul inquired, his voice conveying concern and an undercurrent of possessiveness.
My answer was met with silence, the truth hanging heavily in the air. 'Yes, my face, my bosom, my legs... it's all on the same side with me,' I replied, a playful tone entering my voice. It was a jest, an attempt to lighten the mood. But Jean Paul didn't respond with a smile. Instead, his emotions swirled within him, a potent mixture of excitement, anger, jealousy, and curiosity. His breathing changed, becoming deeper and more unsteady. I could almost imagine his heart pounding, his desire taking hold. Just like you, John, with your current state of arousal.
'What are you wearing?' Jean Paul's voice was almost charged with urgency, his words revealing a vulnerability within him.
'A white shirt with buttons,' I replied, my voice teasingly coy.
'Below that?' he asked with nervous anticipation.
'A skirt,' I revealed, knowing that every word I uttered was affecting him.
'Which skirt?' he asked with a hint of desperation.
'My denim skirt,' I responded, savoring the effect my words had on him.
'Goddamn,' he muttered, a mix of frustration and desire in his voice. 'Are you wearing panties?'
The pause on the other end of the line was deafening. 'No,' I finally confessed, relishing in the power of my confession.
'Hello?' I called out, breaking the silence.
'Murielle... Jesus... Fuck,' Jean Paul cursed, his voice filled with a mix of anguish and longing.
'I am wearing panties,' I teasingly admitted, reveling in the knowledge that I had toyed with his desires.
And so the tale continues, another captivating chapter in the Hotwife Monologue Series, narrated with passion and emotion by the talented Nikki Delgado.
