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A Hotwife/Cuckold Story
Copyright © 2017 - All Rights Reserved
THIS IS AN EROTIC WORK OF FICTION. Any resemblance to persons living or deal is accidental and damned amazing. THIS WORK IS NOT MEANT FOR ANY PERSONS UNDER THE AGE OF 18.
The hotwife genre appeals to me. These are the books I like to read and these are the stories I like to tell, so thank you to the people who read my books.
Be warned, there is sex in this book, lots of it. If that offends you, please don’t read any further. But if you are looking for a fun, dirty read. This is it.
I was stunned when I joined my buddies from work at an upscale downtown bar. We’d decided to go out for a few drinks after work and Monaco’s was the third place we hit. It wasn’t like us to go to a place like Monaco’s. We usually hung out at typical cop bars near the precinct.
My buddies didn’t notice, but I did. My wife of five years, Annette, was sitting in a quiet booth in the back with a man I’d never seen before, only they weren’t just sitting. They were kissing passionately while one of his hands appeared to be busy, out of sight, under the table.
I’d seen Annette’s face many times just before she orgasmed, and she looked like that right now. She was holding his head in both hands while she repeatedly kissed his lips, until she lowered her head and convulsed against his chest.
The man made a show of licking his fingers, much to my wife’s delight. Her face had that ‘after orgasm glow’ that I recognized as she smiled at the sight of him.
They quickly paid their bill and got up to leave. My friends had not seen them; they were too engrossed in arguing about Sunday’s football playoffs. After saying a quick see you guys later, I followed the couple out of the bar and watched, caught between horrified and horny, as he helped my wife into his car.
Before driving away, they engaged in another round of heavy kissing, giving me time to find my car and pull in behind them as they drove away. Instead of heading north toward the office, where Annette worked and where our home was located, they headed south toward a string of motels that lined the highway out of town.
I allowed other cars to come between us a few times and even turned off my headlights once when I knew it was safe. I didn’t think he was watching his rearview mirror very closely. Annette’s head disappeared, and he started driving slower than normal, even weaving within his lane.
The couple pulled into a motel that adjoined a national restaurant chain, allowing me to park next door and watch them without driving into the motel’s lot. The motel was the older type; guests parked in front of the door to their rooms. He was only in the motel office for a few minutes before returning to his car and driving the short distance to their newly rented room. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was having a hard time catching my breath. I watched them holding each other as he unlocked the door and they disappeared inside.
As I neared hyperventilation, I lowered my head, shocked to see the large bulge my cock was making in my pants. It excited me to watch the woman I’d loved since grammar school go into a motel room with another man.
I’d had this fantasy before—the one where I watched my wife fuck another man. We’d even used it to liven up our love life, and Annette seemed to be into it. But lately, there hadn’t been a love life. For some reason, my cock just hadn’t been working right. The erection I had at the motel was the first I’d had in a year. For months before that, I hadn’t been able to hold off orgasm for more than a stroke or two, sometimes cumming before I was even fully inside. I ran my hand over my hard-on, enjoying the wonderful feeling of being hard again, before I decided that I wanted more.
I made my way across the short distance separating the restaurant from the motel and, checking to make sure I was alone and invisible from the restaurant windows, I tried to look into the room that my wife had entered just minutes earlier.
Each room had a window that looked out into the parking lot. The windows were equipped with heavy drapes, but the drapes were old and often left a slight gap where the two halves didn’t match up. Luckily, there was a gap in the drapes to the room my wife was in.
The gap was small, only an inch or two. Not enough to see much, but large enough to see my wife, wearing just panties, walk from the bathroom in the back to the bed just under the window. I drew back a foot or two. I didn’t know if she’d be able to see me peeking at her. My precaution was unnecessary however, as Annette’s eyes were fixed on the bed, along with her smile.
My wife’s breasts looked wonderful through the slight gap in the curtains. She has average sized breasts—I think she’s a C cup—and they’re amazingly soft and wobble when she walks. Her pink nipples were puckered hard, a sign of her arousal. I’d seen my wife’s boobs every night for years, but it amazed me how wonderful they looked through the motel window. I lost sight of her as she lowered herself onto the bed.
I walked away when I heard the voices of people coming toward me. An elderly couple was walking down the sidewalk toward their room. We said hello to each other as we passed. As soon as they disappeared, I returned to Annette’s room. After a quick peek through the gap revealed nothing interesting, I leaned on the wall as though waiting for someone.
By listening carefully, I could make out some of what they were saying through the cheap motel walls. I already felt a lump in my chest sitting on top of my stomach. It was the same sensation I would get watching a horror movie.
“Gary, you’re so hard. Oh God!”
It was my wife’s voice. The lump in my chest moved into my stomach, and I felt like I might throw up. At the same time, my rebellious cock was fully erect, feeling like it was ready to cum just from excitement.
His name was Gary. I racked my brain for any Gary’s in my wife’s life. I could not remember her mentioning anybody by that name at work. I drew a blank.
Annette talked dirty in bed with me only when she was very excited or we were using a fantasy. Now, she couldn’t seem to stop talking.
“Gary, honey, fuck me. Fuck my cunt. Make me yours.”
My cock erupted in my pants. I wasn’t even touching myself, and I’d just had one of the best orgasms I’d ever experienced.
“I’m cumming, honey. Shoot inside me. I want to feel you cum.”
And the hits just kept coming.
I made my way back to my car, the jism in my pants beginning to cool and become uncomfortable. I knew they’d stick to me when I took them off. From what I’d heard, I had some time to get home and get changed.
As I was walking, two other vehicles parked in front of rooms close to Annette’s. It was a good thing I left when I did. As a police department detective, I was required to have my shield and a service weapon with me at all times. My shield was on a chain around my neck, hidden inside my shirt, and my gun was in an ankle holster. If I’d been spotted and the police had been called, I would have been caught spying on my own wife and would have had a lot of explaining to do.
Annette had always been the more adventurous one in bed. She was the one to make up stories we could tell each other to heighten the mood.
One of her favorite stories to tell me, while stroking my cock, was how she was seduced in a bar while I watched. Each time she told that story, it became more elaborate. How he kissed her and felt her up in the bar, until finally, I was watching him stuff his giant cock into my wife’s cunt—her exact words—and how she could see my hard-on as I watched. How watching me cum while watching her cheat made her cum so hard, she’d almost pass out.
Then he’d flip her onto her hands and knees—at this point Annette would get on her hands and knees—and he’d push his erection inside her. In real life, I’d kneel behind my wife and thrust inside of her while she tried to finish the story by telling me how hard he’d fuck her and how she’d scream out his name. She always used a different name in bed, and she’d always orgasm.
I felt deserted. I also felt a bitter, cold sadness, but after seeing her in the motel, I needed to find out more. I planned to search for evidence of my wife’s infidelity. I was building an airtight case, methodically and calmly, before I confronted her. I didn’t want a divorce; I loved her with all my heart. But my hard-on told me loud and clear that I wanted to watch.
Annette and I met in grammar school. She was the cute little dark-haired girl that sat on the other side of the room and was always so shy around boys.
Even then, she had large, bright eyes the color of emeralds. I didn’t know what an emerald was then, of course, but I do now. I thought her hair was black, but as I grew up, I realized that it was more of a unique, luminous, blue-black color. Her skin always looked golden to me; it still does. She looks like she has a light tan year-round.
I wasn’t exactly a lady killer. In fact, I firmly believed that girls had cooties, and, at that age, the sexes did not mix. Except Annette lived only two houses away and our mothers had arranged for us to walk the five blocks to school together. Every morning, I’d walk to Annette’s house and wait inside while she finished breakfast and her mother got her ready for school.
I know we talked during our walks, but I have no memory of what we talked about. It was natural, I guess, that Annette and I became friends. We played together some, although she wanted to play with dolls and I didn’t. I do remember that much.
In the summers, we’d play outside together. Annette was enough of a tomboy that we could have fun. She was even the first girl I ever kissed, which we did on a dare from some older girls. We were still very young, and all I remember was how close her face seemed.
In high school, it seemed natural that we’d date. After all, we’d known each other most of our lives and our parents were close friends. Also, we were in a large school where the only people we knew at first were each other.
I kept a copy of Annette’s school picture from those years; it shows a dark haired, serious young lady. She was tall and skinny, all elbows and knees, it seemed. It took time for me to grow enough to catch up with her in height.
We dated throughout our high school years, and we learned how to kiss; we practiced a lot. We were “going steady,” and I considered myself lucky; I was dating my best friend. We had little of the drama that the other couples had; we knew each other too well. I was as welcomed in her home as I was in my own, maybe more.
Looking back on that time, Annette was more in control of our relationship than I was. It just seemed natural to me because she’d always been the boss, even when we were very young.
We both did well in school, but after graduation, we went our separate ways. I went into the Army, and Annette went to college and then on to graduate school. We promised to keep in touch and that we’d always be together, but, of course, after a while, we didn’t talk as much. The emails became fewer, and we drifted apart.
Not all the way apart, though. We still said we were a couple, even as we tested our wings. At least, I know I did, and I’m pretty sure that Annette dated other men.
In the end, nobody measured up to her for me. They didn’t look as good, I couldn’t relate to them like I could to Annette, and I knew that she was the woman I wanted.
When I got out of the Army, I applied for a position with the police department and was accepted. That night, I took Annette out on a date, our first in a while, on the pretext of celebrating my new job.
I was scared to death. I had no idea how my plan would go. I had purchased an engagement ring that day. I didn’t even know if Annette was seeing anyone else, but I just wanted to make my intentions clear. If she wasn’t available to me anymore, well, I guess I’d have to live with rejection.
Every time we’d seen each other, it was like no time had passed. We could even pick up the last conversation right where we’d left off, even if it had been a year and we’d stopped talking mid-sentence.
“Jimmy, you’re quiet. You’re never quiet. What’s going on?” We’d had our appetizers and the first glass of wine. Annette was looking at me with a puzzled, concerned expression on her face. “I thought we were celebrating.”
She was so beautiful; no longer the gangly girl from school. She’d grown into a gorgeous woman. Tall, with the same sleek blue-black hair worn long, and she’d kept herself in wonderful shape.
She’d completed graduate school and was working for an investment banking firm. I wasn’t clear about what an investment banker did.
We were still the same height, although I seemed shorter because she wore heels. I still had the same wind-blown, sandy blonde hair, but I’d already noticed that some of it had gone missing from the top of my head.
“I have a question to ask you. If you don’t want to answer right away or you want to think about it, that’s okay.”
Annette’s hand was covering her mouth, her green eyes opened wide. “Jimmy?” she asked through her fingertips.
I opened the ring box and put it on the table, attracting the attention of the older couple sitting next to us. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the older lady smiling and trying to get her husband’s attention.
“Annette, I love you. I’ve loved you since we were in grade school. I’ve never wanted to be with anybody but you. You’re my best friend. Will you marry me?” It wasn’t so bad once I’d started talking. We’d said thousands of words to each other over the years. I was asking my friend a question—did she want to spend her life with me?
“Oh God, Jimmy, of course I’ll marry you! What took so long?” We almost tipped the table over hugging each other. The older lady started to clap, and soon the entire restaurant knew what had happened.
We drank free Champagnethat night, followed by free mixed drinks as we extended invitations to half the restaurant to be at our wedding. We left with a pocket full of business cards and contact information scrawled on napkins.
On the sidewalk, I drew Annette close. Even wearing her winter coat, it felt right, natural that we were together. Every few steps, Annette looked at the ring on her finger. I’d even guessed her exact ring size.
We were at her apartment—I still lived with my parents—when Annette turned to me. “Jimmy, I’m still a virgin. I’ve never been with a man that way, and I think tonight should be the night I take care of that little problem.”
We barely made it to her couch before kissing led to her fumbling with my belt.
“Annette, God, look what you’re doing to me.” My cock was already a hard tube on the inside of my left thigh. Annette looked down and smiled before looking me in the eye and caressing my erection.
“I’ve never felt a man’s cock like this before. It feels really good. Just wait until you see what you’re doing to me.” She was smiling as she said it, all the while running her hand over my hard-on. I had to stop her before I came.
Taking me by the hand, she led me to her bedroom. As we kissed, she fell backward onto the bed, and I landed on top of her. Now my erection was pressing on the heat between her legs.