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Book One of “Tania’s Sexy Hotwife Exploits”
Written by Thomas Roberts
Artwork by Moira Nelligar
Edited by Sandy Ebel
Copyright Thomas Roberts 2018
This book is intended for ADULTS ONLY and all characters at over 18 years of age.
This is an erotic work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is accidental and damned amazing.
There is sex, lots of it. There is wife cheating and all kinds of goings-on. If that offends you, please don’t read this book. But if you’re looking for a fun, dirty read, this is it.
“Have you ever heard the term ‘hotwife,’” Tania, my wife of two years, asked. We’d been lying in bed, quietly reading before going to sleep when her question caught me by surprise.
“No, is that something in the book you’re reading?” I asked, turning to look at her.
She shook her head ‘no,’ causing her blonde hair to stir. “It’s something my ex talked about. I don’t know why it just came to mind.”
“I think you’re pretty hot,” I said. “And you’re my wife... so.”
Tania smiled at me. I still found it hard to believe I was married to such a perfectly beautiful woman. Just as I found it hard to believe another man let her get away.
“It’s something else,” she said before going back to her book.
That simple question stuck with me, and a few days later I searched for the term on the internet. After wading through several pages of hotwife videos and story links, I found something useful, a link to an article entitled Here Is Why A Husband Gives His Wife Permission to Be an Adulteress.
I went on high alert. Did this mean Tania had fantasies of sleeping with other men?
I held my breath as I read, my anxiety level rising until I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I held my eyes closed to calm myself, but the image of my wife in bed with another man flitted across the inside of my eyelids.
Did this mean Tania wasn’t satisfied with our marriage? Was she telling me she needed more in bed than I was able to provide? The questions piled up in my mind until I found myself back at the beginning. Did this mean she wanted to take a lover? Did this mean she wanted me to watch her take a lover?
I couldn’t concentrate. Her simple question was causing me so much anxiety and dread, I had to talk to her.
“Is this what you want?” I asked Tania that evening after reminding her of the “hotwife” question she’d asked.
“This is what my ex said he wanted,” she answered. “But I didn’t trust him. I thought he was only interested because he wanted to fool around with another woman. Besides, we didn’t have the right kind of relationship.
“What’s the right kind of relationship?” I asked.
“Open to each other, I guess. Honest communication. No hidden agendas. A relationship like ours,” she answered.
“One final question then since this is all new to me. I’ve never heard the term ‘hotwife’ before. I’ve heard the term ‘cuckold,’ but what I’m reading makes me think there are several kinds of ‘cuckolds.’” I was leading up to something. “So, here’s my final question—are you interested in being a hotwife?”
Tania gave me a long searching look. “Are you just asking because you’re curious or because you have something in mind?”
“Open and honest, remember,” I said. “I just want to know everything there is to know about you.”
“Okay, fine. Open and honest. I could have been interested under the right circumstances,” she said.
I pondered her answer as we watched a lame television drama. “What were the right circumstances?”
“You said one question.” Tania hadn’t even looked at me.
Our conversation ate at me. I even had a harder time concentrating, and in my spare time, I was on the internet investigating hotwives, cuckolds, and extra-marital affairs. What I learned scared me. There were men who enjoyed it when their wives had affairs. There were even men who liked watching their wives have sex with other men.
The internet was full of stories, pictures, and even video clips. I had no idea so many men wanted their wives to cheat on them. It turned out to be one of the most common fantasies of American men. It was even a common fantasy for women. Who knew?
The thought of Tania spreading her legs for another man sent chills down my body, it made my stomach upset to even imagine such a thing. My heart would pound every time I mentally replayed our conversation. I’d hold myself so stiff, my muscles would ache as though I’d been working out. I decided to confront her again.
“You said you might have considered being a hotwife under the right circumstances,” I began.
“Look, if you’re leading up to something the answer is ‘no,’” she said, walking away from me.
“I’m not leading up to anything. You brought it up, and it’s been eating at me. At the time, what would have been the right circumstances,” I said as I caught up with her.
Tania gave me a searching look, she even touched the front of my pants, I guess to make sure I wasn’t erect.
“Okay, you want to know what would have been the right circumstances, back when I was married to Steve?”
“Yes. It doesn’t mean anything now. I’m not Steve.”
“First, I would have had to know he could handle the sight of me with another man. I would have needed to know he wouldn’t freak out and start a fight or want a divorce. Something stupid like that.
“Second, I’d have to have been completely satisfied he wasn’t using it as an excuse to screw around on me. Those two conditions stopped everything in their tracks. I couldn’t trust him not to do something stupid.” She looked as though she’d said enough.
“What else?” I said. “There had to be more to it.”
Tania looked like she’d had enough of the conversation. “I’d have to like the guy. No, more than that, I’d have to want the guy. He’d have to turn me on.” Now the conversation was done.
The problem was that she worked with a guy who fit the last two conditions. She liked him. She liked him a lot, and I knew he turned her on. He was just her type, in a strange way. He was black, and he looked like the kind of guy Tania had been attracted to before we were married.
My wife was working as a host/model on a dedicated cable television channel selling women’s clothing and miscellaneous other feminine stuff. She got the job based on her looks and her amazing ability to speak extemporaneously, with just a television camera as a visible audience, as she sold the companies’ wares. She also got the job because I’m a rather large minority owner in the company she works for.
There had been other gorgeous women with talent who wanted the position and even though Tania had what it took, she was initially judged to be not tall enough. I just put my thumb on the scale, so to speak, to help them see the advantages of hiring my wife. Tania never knew.
My wife was gorgeous and blonde with perfectly clear skin and a bright smile, but she was only about five-feet-two-inches tall. It was feared the other models and designers on the show would tower over her. It had also been feared her oversized breasts would be worse than a distraction to the largely female audience. But Tania proved to be so likable on screen, in the end, none of the physical issues mattered.
Somehow, the company made a ton of money selling women’s clothing and other crap women usually didn’t need. The business model amazed me. They bought a boatload of junk and sold it, one product at a time, on nationwide cable television.
For instance, they might find a deal on a half container of women’s sweaters, all basically the same but in different colors and sizes. They would push those sweaters on the air until they couldn’t sell any more of them. All the while talking about the plush feel of the material and the superior craftsmanship even though the only really outstanding feature was they sold them for twice or three times what they paid for them.
Tania’s job seemed to be to gab non-stop about how wonderful the latest offering was or model whatever outfit they were pushing by striking poses while the camera focused on her. Sometimes the camera focused very closely as she talked about whatever it was she was selling and pointing out seemly nonexistent but superior features. I noticed she never wore any of the clothing she sold when she wasn’t on the air.
The show had made her a star of sorts. Women called in from all over the country to talk to her, and they always ended up buying whatever she was selling. It was uncanny and damn amazing.
At first, I watched her almost every day. I took enormous pride in my stunning wife parading around on television. I wanted to tell the world, “Look at her, look at the woman I’m married to.”
Now, I was busy researching hotwives, and cuckolds even looked at cock cages, online. What a sick bastard. Why did it all give me a tinge of excitement?
I began by reading hotwife stories. Most weren’t well written, but they helped me understand how it all, sort of, worked. What I had a hard time comprehending was why a husband would want his wife to sleep with other men. The stories were mostly just fuck scenes strung together without answering my main question—why would a husband want to watch his wife in bed with someone else?
A couple of stories briefly tried to explain the excitement for the husband caused by the tension between his jealousy and his desire and how this tension could lead to a better sex life for the couple.
I struggled with the way cuckolds were depicted. It appeared there was a continuum ranging from equal partnership to submissive femininization. As difficult as it was for me to imagine, I decided if Tania and I ever did anything like what I was reading, we’d have to be equal partners.
I understood what the wife got out of the arrangement—lots of sex with different partners and without commitment—but was the sexual tension between jealousy and desire enough for the husband? Would the wife just be hornier because of all the men desiring her? Thinking about Tania with her legs wrapped around another man and a big hard cock inside her was making me crazy with hurt and jealousy. I couldn’t help feeling as though she’d abandoned me.
I sat in my office wondering, not for the first time, why Tania had married me? I wasn’t particularly tall, I didn’t consider myself handsome, and I certainly wasn’t black which seemed to be her preferred color of man. My primary qualification in life was my inheritance. I was rich. Did Tania marry me for my money? There had been plenty of rumors, and I had purposely used my money as a “wedge,” so to speak, to get her attention. There was the possibility she was, beyond all logic, in love with me.
Tania was clearly out of my league physically. She was just the kind of woman a man of my means would be expected to have on his arm. Besides her appearance, Tania was smart and had gone to all the right schools. She had the ability to charm anyone in person, just as she did on the shopping channel.
I first met Tania when she was working as a waitress. I’d been with a number of women before Tania, but I had always been careful to stay clear of gold-diggers. It probably wasn’t surprising, given my wealth, most of the women I met were only interested in money. I had been introduced to some eligible, well-spoken potential matches, but I just hadn’t connected with any of them. Despite my standard of living, I’m a pretty normal man. I’d rather talk about the Giants infield situation than government economic policy and its effect on the long-term yields.
I met Tania right after her divorce, hustling and flirting to earn enough in tips to keep her beat up old Caravan running. She’d been looking for a real job at the same time, but she still needed money to live, and waitressing was always available.
She was wonderful to talk to, we clicked right away. She was not only the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, but she also had a first-class education, admittedly in fashion, but still... She could carry on a conversation about any number of topics. I monopolized her time the first week.
There was something about Tania that pushed a psychic button inside me. It wasn’t that she reminded me of my mother as some have suggested. My parents had passed a very long time before I first met Tania. What I remembered of my mother was of a remote, cold woman who seemed to resent having a child. But, I was young, and memories are not reliable even in adults.
Tania was anything but cold and remote. She was a warm person who made every customer feel special, I admired how effortlessly she made it seem to care about them. The more I saw of her the deeper my affection grew. We’d talked about different things as I’d order food. We’d had some real conversations and I liked her.
I was attracted to her beauty, every man in the restaurant noticed her and some stared openly. Others were tongue-tied by her and unable to do anything other than to point at what they wanted in the menu. She treated them all equally well.
She was asked out by several men over the first few days I ate in her section. Tania was kind to each man, but she didn’t accept any of the invitations either. I had to make myself stand out from the crowd to have a chance. I wasn’t the obvious physical choice, so I was going to use my one advantage, money.
That fifth day she served me, I left a one-hundred-dollar tip. The next day I made sure to sit in her section again.
“You can’t leave me a tip like that?” she said. “I have to give it back to you. It’s too much.”
“I won’t take it,” I said, smiling at her.
“But why would you do something like that?” she wanted to know.
“I have it, and you need it. It’s really that simple,” I answered, tripping somewhat over the multiple uses of the ‘it.’
She looked at me suspiciously. “You don’t want anything for the money? You just wanted to give it to me?”
“Well, I would like to order something to eat,” I said. She still looked suspicious as she pulled out her pad. That day, I left her another one-hundred-dollar tip.
“You can’t keep doing this,” she said the next time I sat in her section. “People are starting to talk. They think I’m sleeping with you.”
“We both know you’re not, so let ‘em talk.” I was studying the menu.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want a tuna fish sandwich on toasted whole wheat,” I said. “Light on the mayo.”
“No, what do you want for the big tips?” she smiled.
“I want to know your name.”
Pointing at her name tag, she said, “Tania.”
“May I call you Tania?” I asked.
She was smiling as she answered, “Yes, and what should I call you, kind sir?”
“You may call me Tim,” I said, sticking out my hand.
Tania looked at my hand for a moment before shaking. “It’s nice to meet you, Tim.” That day, I left her a two-hundred-dollar tip.
“Tim, what the fuck are you doing?” she demanded.
“How about if I take you out to dinner and maybe stop leaving tips that are causing you so much distress?” I asked.
“Dinner? You want to take me to dinner?” she demanded.
“Yes. Just dinner. Nothing else.”
“You promise? Just dinner, no expectations, and that’s it?”
“Yes, Saturday’s good for me,” I said. “Oh, it’ll be a somewhat fancy place. Just so you’re prepared.”
That Saturday, I picked her up in my Mercedes. Tania didn’t have the money to really dress up, but she’s the type of woman who can look great in just about anything. We talked casually as I drove.
“Where are you taking me? There aren’t any restaurants out here,” she said as I pulled into a small airport.
“Didn’t I mention it? We’re not eating here, we’re eating in Las Vegas,” Tania just looked at me, her mouth hanging open as I pulled up to a small business jet I owned.
The pilot greeted us at the door and told us everything was ready. The weather looked great, and we should be in Las Vegas in about two hours.
Tania and I made ourselves comfortable in the soft leather seats as she looked around the airplane in amazement. “You own this?”
“Yes, the pilots are on my payroll. I find it much more convenient than flying commercial. Now, we have some time. Tell me about yourself.”
On the way to dinner, Tania told me about her ex-husband and the divorce. She didn’t have children, and she was trying to make it on her own. I developed a mental picture of the ex as a big, obnoxious, thug. Maybe with a body covered in tattoos along with a drug problem.
A limo met us in Las Vegas and took us to dinner on the strip. Over our expensive, celebrity chef prepared meal, Tania told me more about herself. She’d gone to prestigious schools and had a first-class education. She just hadn’t been able to land the right job to take advantage of her degree in fashion.
I briefly wondered what the right job in fashion would be except perhaps as a buyer? It seemed like a restricted field, but what did I know?
Later, at her front door, she looked at me, her eyes wide as I held out my hand to shake.
“I remember our deal,” I said. “No expectations. I had a wonderful time, and I’d like to see you again.”
“If this is what you do on our first date, what do you have planned for our second?” she asked, smiling at me.
“I don’t know yet.” I was smiling back at her as she took my hand in hers. “I’ll have to come up with something you’ll like.”