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A Dark BBC Hotwife Story
Artwork by Moira Nelligar
Copyright Thomas Roberts 2017
This book is intented 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.
I looked down at my beautiful wife Brianna balanced naked on her hands and knees, a thick leather collar around her neck. She was so powerful at work—one thousand people jumped at her every command—but tonight I’d be leading her around by a leash and offering her to a room full of black men, and one woman. They’d be able to use her any way they wanted to; no hole would be off limits.
As I bent to attach the leash to my wife’s collar, she looked up at me with bright eyes. She was excited, her breathing fast, and if I checked I would have found her pussy dripping wet. I slipped the blindfold over her eyes. The men waiting for her were all large black men, chosen for the size of their cocks. Brianna knew this. She knew I’d been putting this party together for some time, just for her.
A natural blonde, Brianna was careful to leave a blonde landing strip above her pussy to prove her Scandinavian ancestry. The other woman in the room also had blonde hair, but I doubted it was her natural color. She wouldn’t be led around. She was one of the participants, one of the people to whom I would offer my wife’s body. Gloria would use Brianna’s mouth, and my wife was salivating at the thought.
My wife had average sized breasts and hard eraser-sized nipples. Her light areolas where puckered in anticipation. I knew she was impatient to start but I wanted her to wait. I wanted the anticipation to build in the living room next to us. I could hear the guys talking and drinking, and when they got loud enough I’d lead my offering to them on her hands and knees. I’d use the cuffs on her wrists and ankles when the time came. They all had eye and snap hooks attached. Brianna loved to be restrained; it added to her excitement, freed her to give up control.
Brianna was the CFO and COO of Metking Corporation. During the rest of the year she was a tall blonde ice queen that dressed in designer suits and sat in a corner office. She was the woman all the male office drones feared and lusted after. They couldn’t decide which was better: Brianna’s ass in her tight-fitting skirt, something they could actually see, or the mental picture of her naked body in heat. The one thing they agreed on was that it was career suicide to be noticed by her in the wrong way.
It was only a few weeks ago that Brianna was on a national cable business show, a show regularly watched by millions of people, talking about the economy and her company. There was a chance, however slim, that someone in the room next door could have seen it. On the floor at my feet, the corporate ice queen would be wearing a black sleeping mask over her eyes to prevent her from being recognized.
I was the quivery sex animal’s husband. As I bent down to stroke her hair, I whispered, “Easy, my pet. Are you ready to eat pussy?”
Brianna emphatically nodded her head up and down, hissing a long, “Yesssss.”
I ran my hand over her back and dipped it into her swampy pussy. “Are you ready to be fucked while you eat pussy?” I asked.
“Yessssss.” She knew she couldn’t give orders tonight. As I squeezed lubrication on her asshole, my wife pushed back against my hand and tried to draw my fingers inside.
The first time I saw my future wife was at work. I was a semi-lowly drone working as an accounts receivable manager—a waste of my advanced degrees. Brianna was the number two person in the finance department, the CFO in all but title. Everyone in the department, male and female, was in awe of her, this tall blonde ice-queen. Never a hair out of place and able to freeze any of us with a glance. No one had ever heard her raise her voice; she didn’t have to. She was the most intimidating person I’d ever met.
Also, she was beautiful. Tall for a woman, blessed with blonde Scandinavian beauty, she was always perfectly dressed in designer suits. Average size breasts and trim hips, she walked through the department looking like a model on a runway. Not that we looked at her except from the corner of our eyes. Work seemed to speed up and all non-essential talk ceased as people scurried back to their desks, their coffee forgotten.
As a department manager, I had several meetings with Brianna, usually in the company of other people but occasionally one-on-one. In person, she had the same intimidating appearance, but her voice was warm and soft. I had to carefully hide the erection she provoked. It felt wonderful, but the last thing I needed was to get on her bad side. Brianna was two levels above me, so most of my work was with the person who reported to her. I knew nothing about her personal life. She didn’t share details like that with a person at my level. We weren’t friends.
If things were different, I wondered if we could have been more than that. I’m not bad looking and, even though Brianna always looks taller than anyone she’s talking to, she’s shorter than I am. I knew she was in the company fitness center most mornings; I saw her there but we didn’t talk. I admired her figure whenever I was sure she couldn’t catch me. As she worked out, a dark stain would appear on the crotch of her yoga pants. It was probably just sweat, but a guy can dream.
Brianna was the subject of much male speculation in the finance department. Was she married? She was not. Was she a lesbian? We didn’t know. Was she dating anyone? She worked all the time, even weekends.
She was climbing the corporate ladder fast and was obviously very good at her job. We both had advance degrees from Ivy League schools, but it would take me years to catch up to her, if ever.
* * *
We both attended a conference on the other side of the country. I was sent because it had something to do with the area I managed and Brianna attended because big shots from government and other companies would be there. I saw her at a distance between sessions. We didn’t fly out together and we didn’t talk, we were just in the same place at the same time.
I saw her one more time before the conference ended. A group of us took up one of the booths—people from different companies at about my same corporate level. We shot the breeze, drank and gossiped, compared our companies. Each of us wanted to get our thumbs on the pulse of the job market, just in case. I saw Brianna walk in (everyone saw her walk in) as she joined a table of CFOs. My heart pounded as I watched a fit older man hug her and share a brief kiss.
For the rest of the night I kept one eye on Brianna’s table until she and the older man excused themselves and left together. I pretended to go to the men’s room and spied on them in the lobby. I watched in fascination as they briefly spoke, Brianna smiling at the older man, and walked to the elevators together. My imagination ran wild with possible scenarios until I really did need to use the men’s room and give my hard-on an opportunity to deflate.
Early the next morning, the last half day of the conference, I turned on the television just in time to hear that an airplane had flown into the World Trade Center in New York. I watched in horror, along with millions of others, as events unfolded.
I made a crucial decision. It seems unfeeling now but I called a car rental company and reserved a premium vehicle for a one-way trip to the East Coast. I thought it was likely that all flights would be cancelled, and when the second plane hit my awful prediction was confirmed. Within minutes, every other car was taken. I watched the television with a growing sense of dread and fascination as I packed to leave. Because the rental car company had a location at the hotel, I received a call telling me that my car was there in valet parking.
If I’d waited even a few more minutes to reserve it I’d have been stranded at the end of a very long line. The lobby was jammed because the remainder of the conference was cancelled. All flights were grounded and nobody knew what to do next. I checked out using the television prompts, so all I had to do was collect my car and leave. The first person I bumped into on my way to the door was Brianna.
She was standing in the lobby, her wheeled suitcase beside her, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and looking as lost as everyone else. The television in the lobby bar was showing the scene in New York, the volume turned up loud. “Connor,” she said, looking frightened. “What are we going to do? My flight is gone. Yours, too.” Her hand went to my chest, her face a map of anxiety and worry. “This is awful. Not just the flights, but all those people. I’ve worked in the WTC, I know some of them.” She was close to tears. “And we can’t get home…”
I never thought I’d be standing in a hotel lobby hugging Brianna, but I was. She was shaking like the proverbial leaf, but not crying—at least not yet. I stroked her back and held her tightly. “Brianna, um…look,” I said. “I have a car. I reserved it early, before anyone else did.” She looked up at me, hope on her face. “The car’s here and I’m planning on driving home. It’ll take four or five days, but if you want you’re welcome to join me. Maybe share the driving?” Now there was hope on my face.
“Connor. I don’t know what to say. You’re a life saver. Of course I’ll join you. And it’s now an approved company expense,” she added.
For the first day, we drove east and listened to the radio as it faded in and out. If we weren’t listening or trying to find a station, we talked about what had happened and what it meant. When we ran out of speculation, we talked about our backgrounds and who we were.
“Are you married, Connor?” she asked.
“No, never been,” I answered.
“Haven’t met the right girl yet,” I said.
“You’re not gay. How come some woman hasn’t gotten her hooks in you? You’re a good-looking guy,” she said.
Brianna thought I was good looking, holy shit. I glanced over and caught her smiling at me. “How come your not married?” I asked.
“Same reason. I haven’t met the right guy.”
Just then we passed a sign for a legal brothel. “