Watching Whitney: A Hotwife Fantasy Read online

  Watching Whitney

  A Long Distance Hotwife

  Lexi Archer

  Copyright 2014 Lexi Archer

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Individuals pictured on the cover are models and used for illustrative purposes only.

  First digital edition electronically published by Lexi Archer, December 2014

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  "Come on baby, just a quick one?"

  "I told you I don't have time," Whitney said. But the smile on her face told a different story. This was all part of the game and we both knew it.

  "Are you sure you don't have just a little bit of time baby?" I asked.

  Whitney glanced to the side of her monitor. I'd only been in her apartment one time when I helped move her in for her summer internship, but I was pretty sure that was where the door was. She looked back at the camera in her computer and bit her lip with a smile. God she was so hot. This whole long distance thing for the summer was killing me.

  "Okay, maybe I do have just a little bit of time," she said.

  Whitney disappeared from the front of her monitor for a moment. I heard her jiggling a door handle, followed by a click, and then she was back.

  "Now where were we?" She asked with a naughty look to the camera.

  I leaned forward in eager anticipation until my nose was less than an inch from the screen. Whitney fixed her beautiful green eyes on the monitor and reached down to put her hands at the base of her thin white tank top. Green eyes locked on the camera. She smiled. My cock twitched and grew.

  I licked my lips. It had been way too long.

  "I suppose you've been a good boy," Whitney said. "And I know how hard that must be for you since we've been separated for the past month."

  "You have no idea," I whispered into the microphone.

  "And you were nice enough to give me this little gift before I left for my internship," she said.

  I groaned as she pulled one hand away from her shirt causing it to fall back down slightly. She held her left hand up and waved it in front of the camera. The light of her monitor reflected off of the diamond on her ring finger. Her hand went back down to her tank top and pulled it up revealing a black bra underneath. She tossed the shirt to the side. I drank in the sight of her tanned and toned stomach leading up to those perfect swells infuriatingly encased by that bra. Going from getting to see her almost every other night to cold turkey was driving me insane.

  "And I'm really looking forward to your visit next week," she said. Her hands moved to the front of the bra and worked at the clasp. I groaned again. A front clasper. I fucking loved front claspers. Once I'd figured out how they worked.

  Her bra made that familiar pop that I loved so much as the clasp opened and the tension was released. Her straps loosened ever so slightly with one falling down her shoulder. She looked over at the strap and then turned her back to the camera and bit her lip again. My cock was rock hard in my boxers and I reached down and started idly stroking.

  "Oh no," Whitney said with mock worry painted across her face. "It looks like my bra is malfunctioning. What ever will I do?"

  "I've got a few ideas of what I'd like to do if I was there in the room with you," I said.

  With a practiced motion that she knew drove me insane Whitney popped the bra to the side and shrugged off the straps while keeping her hands over her tits. She winked at the camera.

  "It's a good thing I don't need a bra to keep my modesty, right?" she said.

  "You tease."

  Whitney stood, her hands still covering those amazing tits that I would give anything to see, and leaned down so her face was right next to the camera.

  "Well maybe if you keep being a good boy you'll get to see everything when you come visit next weekend."

  "Come on Whitney. You can't just leave me hanging."

  Whitney smiled that knowing smile. "Where's your other hand right about now?"

  "You know exactly where it is."

  "Is it wrapped around that big hard cock that I miss so much?" Whitney asked with a pout on her lips.

  "Yeah," I gasped as my hand did just that. Hey, if she was going to make the suggestion then I sure as hell was going to oblige.

  Whitney stepped back a little so her face and her tits, still covered by her hands, were in frame. Hair spilled down around her face reflecting the light from her desk lamp. Her green eyes twinkled in the meager light as she looked into the camera.

  "You naughty boy," she said. Her hands moved in a circular motion rubbing around her tits but never quite exposing them. "Are you thinking about touching your fiancée's tits right now?"

  "Oh yeah," I said. My hand was really moving now. All she had to do was move one of those damned hands and I would be over the edge.

  "Naughty boy," she said.

  Whitney stepped back so her whole body was in frame. She shimmied her hips and, keeping one arm over her tits, used her other hand to pull down her pants revealing a pair of bright blue panties underneath. Her free hand disappeared into those panties and I could make out her hand moving up and down her slit that I so desperately needed to touch. Her chest rose and fell more and more rapidly in time with her fingers moving up and down inside her panties.

  "I'm imagining this is your cock inside me. I need a cock inside me so bad right now," she said.

  "God I wish that was my cock inside you," I said, pumping my own cock and drinking in every moment as she continued fingering herself.

  "I'm so horny. Going without for so long like this is torture. I don't know if I can wait until next week!" she gasped.

  Wait until next week? What did that mean? It's not like she had a choice with me stuck out here and her stuck at her internship, right? It's not like she had other cocks lined up trying to get inside her, right?

  Right?

  "But you'll just have to wait until next weekend," she said.

  Right.

  "I want you to save everything for then. You have no idea how much I want you right now. How much I need that cock inside me."

  "I think I have a pretty good idea," I said. "About as much as I want you right now. I can be there in five hours if I start driving now."

  Whitney smiled. "You know I have plans tonight. Movie night! Besides, waiting will make it all the more fun when you do get out here."

  I let out a disappointed sigh as she pulled her hand out of her pants, her fingers slick with her wetness. She brought her fingers to her lips and sucked on them as she stared through the camera to me.

  I was on the edge. I could have gone over. But no. If she wanted me to wait then I was going to wait. I was going to save everything up for the moment I walked through the door of her apartment next week and we got to spend the weekend fucking each other senseless.

  "I know," I said. I backed down, feeling my cock twitch as it tried to go off. I clamped my thumb around the base of my cock to make sure there wouldn't be a round in the chamber as the tingle tried to rise in my cock...

  And went nowhere.

  Plus I had to be at work early the next morning and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't appreciate me calling off just because I decided to drive a couple of states over to bang my fiancée. Well, my boss might understand why I did it, but he'd still have to fire me.

  "Until then you just going to have to use your imagination naughty boy," Whitney said. "Now I have to go get ready. Love you babe!"

  "Love you too," I said.

  Whitney reached down
and pressed a button on her computer, but nothing happened on my end. The chat window stayed open as she stood, her hands still making that hand bra in front of the monitor. I was about to say something when she dropped her hands exposing her glorious tits, the best and most gorgeous pair of breasts in the world as far as I was concerned. And not just because they were on my fiancée.

  Objectively they were just a wonderful pair of breasts.

  Shit. Whitney must have turned off the monitor but not bothered to turn off the computer. Now my fiancée was many things. Extremely intelligent, insanely attractive, a hilarious personality, but computer skills were not high on the list of things she was good at. Which meant that she sometimes did silly things more likely to be pulled off by an 80-year-old grandma than a 20-year-old college junior smart enough to be recruited by a major company for a prestigious all expenses paid internship.

  Like turning off the monitor and thinking that turned off the computer.

  I quickly muted my microphone as I had a little "angel and devil on the shoulder" moment. It wouldn't do for me to cough or something and give away the game while I was still deciding whether or not I wanted to take advantage of this unexpected bounty of boobies that my fiancée's technical non-savvy had brought. Did I say something and get brownie points that would probably translate into some fun next weekend?

  Or did I just sit back and enjoy the show?

  It's not that I minded her little games and teasing, far from it. And under normal circumstances I would speak up, but at this point one month into her internship I was like a dying man crawling through the desert who just found an oasis.

  The devil on my shoulder, or maybe it would be more accurate to say the rock hard devil down below, won this fight.

  Not that there was much cause for celebration once the battle was won. Whitney quickly and matter-of-factly shrugged off the rest of her clothes, no slow and sensual show when she didn't have an appreciative audience, and disappeared off the side of the screen into the bathroom attached to her room.

  I stared at her empty room. Her bed was on the right side of the screen set back a little from her computer desk and the barest edge of her television was visible on the other side next to the bathroom. I thought about closing the connection and being done for the night, but then for the second time in the last five minutes I had another one of those angel and devil on your shoulder debates.

  It's not like I had big plans tonight. Mostly I'd be sitting here working on a paper. But if I left the connection open and she didn't realize the computer was still on I could turn on the microphone later in the night when she came back from whatever it was she was doing and give her a good scare.

  Hey, it might be a cheap joke, but those were my favorite.

  I moved the chat window over to my second monitor, opened up the word processor I'd been dreading and ignoring for most of the night, and started my paper. I'd been putting it off for the better part of a week, but I really needed to get most of it out of the way if I wanted to have a clear conscience and a good time during my visit next week.

  Stupid summer classes.

  Occasionally a noise or a flicker of movement pulled my attention from the paper over to the chat window, but it was always some paper flapping in the breeze from her desk fan. But I was in that paper writing mood where any distraction was welcome. Anything to avoid the futility of trying to describe the genius of Shakespeare to a professor who was a world-renowned Shakespeare expert. I was especially willing to be distracted if there was a chance the distraction was Whitney prancing in front of the camera wearing practically nothing, or as close to nothing as it didn't matter.

  But I wasn't so lucky. The microphone on her laptop was sensitive enough to pick up the sound of her rattling around in her bathroom, and there was a good 10 minutes when I had to turn down the volume on my computer because her hair dryer was blasting, but otherwise nothing.

  The rattling stopped and I caught movement on the monitor that wasn't from any paper. Whitney appeared onscreen looking like a million bucks. Just like she always did when we were getting ready to go out for the night.

  God I missed her so much.

  Her hair was done up, falling down across her shoulders and looking amazing. It also looked like she put on some makeup, though I was of the firm opinion that she didn't need any to look gorgeous. The only confusing thing was her outfit. It definitely didn't match all the effort she'd put into hair and makeup.

  Whitney claimed that she was going to some sort of movie night. Now I'll grant that I was making an assumption when I heard the phrase "movie night", but I figured that meant going out to one of the theaters in town with her roommates some of the people she'd met on the job. But those pajamas definitely weren't something she'd go out in. Not even when we were on campus where dressing down in the skimpiest clothes possible was in fashion.

  She wore a thin pajama tank top that showed a generous amount of cleavage. Thin spaghetti straps ran over her shoulders. The shirt's bottom came up just enough to expose the bottom part of her belly button and a narrow band of smooth tanned skin. Her pants were a matching pair of shorts short enough to leave nothing to the imagination. Exactly the kind of shorts that I love to see her putting on when I was staying the night in her dorms because they were so much fun to get into.

  Maybe she decided not to go out after all?

  Either way it didn't seem like the kind of outfit she'd wear to the movies. Well, I had seen her go out wearing something equally skimpy, but it was jean shorts and a tank top that were designed to be worn out. The skimpy fashion wasn't odd so much as that it was skimpy pajamas she was wearing and not skimpy shorts and a tank top.

  Still, I wasn't going to complain about that view.

  Even curiouser. She walked over to her TV and rummaged around in a spot where she put her DVDs when I helped her with move-in. I couldn't see, but it sounded like she was putting a DVD in her player. Then she was over on the other side of the room futzing around with her bed. Whitney had these pillows that she swore by. They were normal pillows but with little arms sticking out of the side and a heavier stuffing so you could lean back and turn your bed into a makeshift chair. She threw a couple of those on the bed and stood with hands on her hips inspecting her handiwork.

  Definitely not the behavior of someone who was going out for the night.

  I was tempted to turn on the microphone and ask her what the hell was going on. Far from going out with friends, it looked like she was preparing for a night in with somebody. Maybe one of her roommates? Yeah, that had to be it. Whitney disappeared into the bathroom and I turned my attention back to my paper.

  My attention was diverted to the chat window again when I heard knocking. So. Somebody was meeting her in her room.

  I couldn't see Whitney since her bathroom door and room door were out of view of the camera, but I heard her making her way across the room. The door opened.

  "Hey Sam," Whitney said in a cheery voice.

  Sam? I didn't remember hearing about any roommate named Sam, but at least one hadn't arrived yet when I was helping her move in. Maybe it was someone she hadn't mentioned. Sam was a girl's name too after all. No need to panic quite yet.

  "Hey yourself," Sam said.

  Okay, maybe it was time to panic just a little. Because either Sam was a girl with an unfortunately deep voice, or that was a guy that just greeted my girlfriend at the door to her bedroom.

  What. The. Fuck?

  I maximized the window and leaned in closer. Surprisingly, there was hardly any quality loss when I made the chat window full-screen. It was amazing how far webcams had come.

  Whitney appeared skipping across the room and threw herself onto one of the pillows on her bed. A built guy with shaggy blond hair - Sam, I presume - followed her walking a little more nonchalantly.

  I squinted at the screen. This Sam guy was carrying two somethings in his hands that I could barely make out. Was that… Alcohol? What was this strange guy who I didn't
know, and who I never heard mentioned up until this point, doing in my fiancée's room carrying two six packs of some clear booze?

  Well, I guess what he was doing in that room was pretty obvious to just about any guy on the planet. The real question was: did Whitney have any idea what he was up to? Judging by the way she was smiling at him she didn't. At least I hoped she didn't. Better for her to be naive than deliberately straying.

  Whitney picked up the DVD remote and patted the bed next to her. Sam put one six pack on the floor and sat the other on the edge of the bed, then hesitated.

  "Are you sure you want me sitting on the bed?" he asked. He gestured just off-camera to the right. "You've got that chair. I'd be fine sitting there."

  "Don't be silly," Whitney said. "I can trust you, right?"

  My head echoed with a silent scream of impotent rage even as my heart sank down into the pit of my stomach. Great. My fiancée was a couple of states away, some strange guy she just met was in her room, and she was talking to him like he was one of her girlfriends that she could trust to hang out without making a move.

  Fat chance.

  Some might say that I was being a jealous asshole and not trusting my fiancée, but they couldn't be farther from the truth. I trusted Whitney, and I trusted that she wanted to stay faithful. Who I didn't trust was this strange guy bearing booze. Especially since Whitney was never a huge drinker to begin with.

  This meant trouble.

  Sam shrugged and climbed on the bed next to Whitney. He leaned back against the wall and pulled out one of the drinks from the six pack. I couldn't quite make out the brand, the cam on Whitney's computer wasn't that good, but it looked like one of those clear fruity drinks that was high both on taste and alcohol content. And strategically targeted to get girls drunk at college parties. Sam twisted off the cap and handed one to Whitney.

  "I can't believe you've never had one of these before," Sam said.

  "I was never much of a drinker," Whitney said.

  Well it's time to fix that."

  He twisted off the cap his own drink and they clinked bottles. Sam took a swig of his drink, but to my surprise Whitney threw her neck back and chugged half the bottle before setting it down and letting out a satisfied sigh. She held the bottle out in front of her as though seeing it for the first time.