I Married a Party Girl 2

By Ben Boswell and Kenny Wright

Her best friend, Ashley, is a bad influence. Her husband, Brad, may be worse. Enter the one man from her party girl past who she could never resist, and their hotwife games get real.

What had started as a fun game of one-upsmanship takes a new turn when Kenzie accepts a new job in a new city, working with an old lover. Can Brad keep his cool as Kenzie lets her past fully consume her? Find out in this exciting conclusion to I Married a Party Girl.

The first book is required reading to fully follow this one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Boswell
• Release date: Mar 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005368074

Ben Boswell

I am your typical family man with a wife and kids and an overactive imagination. I am longtime reader and author of erotic fiction.I write in genres that I find exciting and arousing. Most of my stories are in the naughty wife, wife-watching genre, though occasionally I venture into other subject matter.Reader feedback is what keeps me going. Please leave reviews wherever you purchased my books, and if you want to discuss my stories further, please feel free to contact me at [e-mail] or visit my blog at benboswell.com. You can follow me on Twitter @BenBoswellAut.

Book preview

1

Brad, have you seen my hairbrush? Kenzie called from the bathroom. I can’t fucking find it anywhere."

She emerged a moment later, giving the room a harried sweep. The possibility of taking a job out of town had remained a source of stress in the weeks leading up to today—interview day.

For Kenzie, anyway. Not for me.

You mean the brush that you always use before bedtime, and always leave on your bedside table? I asked.

Yes! Kenzie barked in frustration. Where is that damn thing?

This was novel. Kenzie didn’t usually get nervous. Or at least she didn’t normally show it. Now she was becoming a total basket case. I glanced at the nightstand, where her brush sat in plain sight. A better man than me would have picked it up and handed it to her, but I can be a real asshole.

Just go into the interview like that, I said as I openly checked her out. She hadn’t put her dress on yet, treating me—most likely unintentionally—to what she’d wear beneath. The black demi-bra was new, lifting and pushing together her full tits, making them seem even larger. The panties matched, black and fringed in lace. And then there were the thigh-highs, nude colored, also topped in lace, hot as hell. They won’t even notice your hair.

That didn’t even earn me an eyeroll, which really underscored how distracted she was. When she spotted her brush at last, she hurried over to it. Despite her state of undress, she didn’t saunter or sway. She was all business, her demeanor the same as when she loaded the kids into the van when we were in a rush.

Looks like you found it, I said, my eyes locked on her ass and the way her thong plunged between her plush, round cheeks as she returned to the bathroom.

It was only when she was out of sight that she found her sass. You’re an asshole, she called out.

I chuckled. I’ll get the coffee going.

It had been a week since I’d learned about the phone interview. William & Crawford, a big executive recruitment and placement agency based out of Atlanta, wanted to start recruiting younger talent to expand their pipeline. Kenzie had built her career around doing just that, only on a much smaller scale.

Kenzie was still on the fence about it, and for two very good, if not very different, reasons. First of all, it was based out of Atlanta, and we lived in Chicago with our two kids. She’d only agreed to the in-person interview after they’d assured her that she could telecommute at least 50% of the time.

The second reason for her hesitancy—and the real thing I suspected was bothering her—was Deshawn. Back in her early 20s, when I’d first met her, she’d worked with Deshawn at Hooters. Reading between the lines, I’d figured out that things had been pretty hot and heavy between them, but she was hot and heavy with a lot of guys back in those days. I still didn’t understand the cause for concern…

My personal cause for concern involved Ashley, Kenzie’s BFF and the reason an ex-boyfriend—or whatever Deshawn was—was even a problem. Ashley was a hotwife to her husband, Dave, who enjoyed watching her with other men. Last year, during a visit to Atlanta, I’d stayed with them and, much to my surprise, witnessed the game in action.

It changed… well, it changed everything.

I wasn’t Dave. I wasn’t a cuckold. But I had to admit, I got a thrill out of the idea of the hotwife version of Kenzie. I mean, she was always hot, and for over a decade my wife, but somehow the idea of another man out there was exciting. Maybe I liked the competition aspect. Maybe it was just that it reminded me of how thrilling it was to be the guy who takes home the girl all the other men are eying.

She stalked out of the bathroom again, her dark hair now swept up into a high bun. It left her neck bare and drew attention to her elegant, dangling earrings. Despite the markedly unsexy way she crossed the room, my imagination still turned this scene into one of her doing this in front of her ex, prancing around him and showing off all of her smooth, bared skin.

I got up, making to follow her into our closet. Sensing my motive, Kenzie didn’t even bother looking over at me. She just issued a don’t and disappeared into the closet.

I grinned but didn’t follow. Saving it for your new coworker?

In any other situation, in any other time, she’d have a witty retort. It was a softball for her. You got it. Next dick in this mouth’s going to be very big and very black. But I didn’t get that. Didn’t get anything. I wasn’t even sure if she heard me.

How do I look? She emerged from the closet wearing a gray, high-waisted pencil skirt and a black blouse, the sleeves stylishly rolled up.

Hot.

Now the eye roll came. Seriously, Brad—

You look great, Honey. Stop worrying. You’ve got this.

She wrung her fingers, twisting her wedding band nervously.

Baby, you’re going to be great. And what’s—

The worst thing that can happen? she said with a scowl. Yes. You’re nothing if not persistent when you want something.

That, of course, was the other thing about this whole arrangement. I did want her to take it. And why did I want her to take it? It wasn’t the job or the potential earnings—although those were sweet. No, I wanted her to take the job because of all the opportunities it gave her to continue our game.

I just want you to be happy, I said. And by happy, I meant naughty in all the ways that being in such close proximity to Ashley and Deshawn could bring.

Kenzie simply grunted.

The trepidation continued even in the car ride to the airport. She fidgeted. She was quiet. She kept looking out the window as if contemplating the possibility of fleeing every time the car slowed even a little.

Hey, think of this as a free trip to see Ashley, I said as we approached O’Hare.

I’m not even staying the night. No tease. No, Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?

I licked my lips, tried to find another angle here, another means of encouragement. I think that her hesitancy partly fueled my own persistence—what you can’t get and all that.

I started to form some new way to tell her it’s just an interview when she took a deep breath. The kind of breath you only take when you’re going to give someone bad news. The kind of breath that portends a cancer diagnosis. Or, I think we should see other people. Though in our case, we kind of already crossed that bridge.

Brad, I need to tell you something.

Uh oh, I said. Is it really that bad? I don’t have cancer, do I?

That took her by surprise, and she laughed—kind of forced, sure, but I’d take it. Another deep breath and she said, Okay, maybe I’m being a little melodramatic. But…. and she trailed off.

Oh, God, I do have cancer! It’s not dick cancer, is it? I really love that little guy.

She guffawed. God, you’re an idiot sometimes…. Well, always, but I only notice it sometimes.

That’s a sign of true love. So, come on, Kenz, out with it.

So… I haven’t been completely honest about something.

Deshawn?

She seemed a little surprised, but I could see her nod out of my peripheral vision.

You’ve told me you had sex with him multiple times, so I’m not sure what revelation you have that could be so bad.

So… I don’t think I really did a good job explaining our relationship.

Was he your boyfriend? You weren’t, like, engaged, were you?

She laughed. He’s not the engagement type. Or wasn’t back then at least. I wasn’t either. So, no, not a boyfriend, but also not just a….

Fuckboy?

Brad, you’re not helping. I don’t know exactly what a ‘fuckboy’ is technically. But it was more than just random hookups.

Friends with benefits?

No. I mean, we were friendly, but it’s not like we ever hung out together when we weren’t banging. What I mean is that it was more… intense.

But you weren’t in love? I asked, feeling suddenly a little uneasy.

No, she replied. But there were times when… things felt very urgent. When being around him, I’d get a little dizzy.

Not great as a waitress.

Ha. I never spilled beer on anyone… at least not by accident.

We were arriving at the airport. I almost thought about pulling into the parking lot to continue our conversation, but inertia led me into the departure drop off lane.

You’re worried those old feelings will come back if you see him? I asked.

No. I don’t know. It’s just… I wanted you to know that.

I pulled up at her doorway. Baby, you’re going to do great. And I’m not worried about some guy from a million years ago, even if back then he got you all hot and bothered.

She smiled a little wanly. Okay.

I kissed her. Knock ‘em dead. I’ve always wanted to be a kept man, and frankly, Baby, you’re falling down on the job.

She shook her head and laughed. I watched her walk into the terminal, admiring how nice her ass looked in her grey pencil skirt and high heels. And when I looked up, I noticed the Uber driver ahead of me was doing the same thing.

2

When I got home, I made the kids a snack, and then sat at the kitchen table. My phone buzzed.

: Plane on time. I’ll text when I land.

: Safe trip.

I flipped over to the thread I had with Ashley and read over our past texts. I knew I couldn’t confide in her. She had her own agenda, and it didn’t necessarily involve my personal best interests. But the problem was, she was the only person who really understood the situation. So I texted her.

: She’s on her way.

: I’ll take good care of her.

She added a devil emoji.

: Why didn’t you tell me about her and Deshawn?

: What? That they fucked? You knew that.

: She says it was more than that.

She let me stew for a few minutes before responding.

: Yeah, she was a little obsessed. Ten inches of steel-hard black dick will do that to a girl.

: What did she do?

: Now that, you’ll definitely have to ask her, not me. But you’re not worried about any of that, are you, Stud?

I stared at the phone.

: How are you and Dave doing?

She didn’t answer right away. I kept checking my phone for a reply as I did chores around the house. But none came.

My phone rang. I groaned. Only telemarketers call. But when I pulled it out of my pocket, I saw it was Kenzie. She’d texted earlier that she’d landed safely and was headed to her interview, but only a bit over an hour had passed, barely enough time to get a taxi and arrive at William & Crawford.

Hey Babe, need another little pep talk? I said.

Oh my God, oh my God, he’s here, he’s here.

Who, Deshawn? You knew he worked there, and—

"I’m interviewing with him. I knew he worked here, but not that I’d be on the same team."

It’s okay. It was a long time ago. And even if they offer you the job, you can always say no.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, I could hear her breathing heavily.

You can always say no, I repeated.

That’s the problem, Brad. That’s the problem. I heard someone muffled in the background, then, Well, they’re calling me in. Here goes… whatever.

She didn’t even say goodbye. She didn’t wait for me to say it. She was there one moment, and then she was gone, an empty