Cheating Wife Phone Sex Roleplay

Of all the games we play, cheating-wife phone sex is my favorite roleplay. I know that sounds terrible. Let me explain before you judge me, because the truth is almost embarrassingly sweet: my boyfriend and I have been together for years, we're disgustingly happy, and the hottest thing in our entire love life is pretending I'm betraying him.

Here's how it works. He goes into the bedroom and closes the door. He is now my husband, asleep, oblivious, snoring away. I stay out in the living room with my phone, and I call him. He answers on the second ring, and he is no longer my boyfriend. He's my lover. The man I'm risking everything for.

The first time we tried it, I was so nervous I almost laughed through the whole thing. I sat on our couch in the dark, phone pressed to my ear, and whispered that I couldn't talk long, that he was asleep in the next room. My boyfriend, my lover, told me in a low voice that he didn't care, that he'd been thinking about me all day, that he needed to hear me. And just like that, the nerves melted into something molten. I was whispering. I had to whisper. And whispering every filthy thing I wanted made it ten times filthier.

I told him what I was wearing, which was nothing under his favorite robe. I told him I was touching myself on the couch while my husband slept twenty feet away. I described sliding my hand under the silk, finding myself already soaked, and I did it for real, right there, biting my lip to keep quiet. He told me to go slower. He told me if my husband woke up and caught me, he'd have to listen to me finish, and the thought of getting caught like that, exposed and mid-pleasure, made my hips lift right off the cushions.

We've refined the game since then. Now there are rules. I have to stay quiet. If I make too much noise, my lover hangs up and I have to earn the call back. You have no idea how hard it is to stay silent when he's describing what he'd do to me if he were there instead of on the phone. He tells me he'd come through my window. He tells me he'd take me on the living room floor with my husband's snores coming through the wall. He tells me he'd cover my mouth with his hand and not let me make a sound, and I'm lying there in the dark with my own hand pressed over my own mouth, shaking, tears of frustration and need leaking out of the corners of my eyes.

Last Saturday we played the long version. He'd been gone all day, and by the time we started I was already wound so tight I could barely think. I locked myself in the bathroom, because in the story my husband had gotten up for water and I had to hide. I sat on the cold tile with my back against the door, phone to my ear, robe fallen open, and whispered to my lover that I was so close it hurt. He talked me through it, his voice rough and low, telling me exactly how he'd finish me if his hands were on me instead of his voice in my ear. I came with my teeth sunk into my own knuckle, my whole body convulsing silently on the bathroom floor, and I had to sit there for five full minutes afterward because my legs wouldn't hold me.

When I finally came out, my boyfriend was waiting in the hallway. He'd heard everything through the door, of course. That was always part of it. He looked at me, all flushed and wrecked in the open robe, and he didn't say a word. He just picked me up, carried me to our bed, and made love to me like he was proving something, slow and deep and devastating, his eyes locked on mine the whole time.

Afterward, lying in the wreckage of our sheets, I asked him if it bothered him, the game. If pretending I was cheating ever felt too real. He laughed and pulled me closer and said the only thing that would bother him is if I ever stopped telling him my filthiest thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder what the neighbors would think if they knew the screaming wife next door was faking an affair with her own boyfriend. Then I remember the way he looks at me when I pick up the phone, and I stop wondering about anything at all.

So I won't. Tonight he's going to be my sleeping husband again, and I'm going to sneak out to the living room, and I'm going to call my lover and whisper that I can't talk long.

I already know I won't be able to stay quiet. I never can.