by Selena Kitt
He knew he was at a disadvantage and struggled to get some idea of where I was going.
This is the best he could do as we resumed our ritual washings, “Wife of almost two decades, a threesome is not completely off the table, but conditions would have to be perfect for both of us. Sara, you have always been kind of a flirt, with that a thirty-year old looking body on a forty year old woman. We agreed that we might invite someone to share our bed.”
I smiled. I knew what was on his mind. I knew what I wanted.
He said, half-joking, “Sara, if I can’t satisfy you, I guess you’ll have to take a lover.”
I showed no mercy. “He will be a big, strong, take-charge guy who knows what he wants. I will be putty in his hands.”
Gene never should have gone any further, but he did. “Do you care what color he is?”
I was honest. “Race doesn’t matter, neither does nationality. I have never seen a really large penis, except in those movies you watch. There are stocky black guys and tall ones. We don’t know many Indians or Eastern Europeans or even Latinos. I guess it will be a tall, well hung Black man who wants a whore for a night. What matters is that he has a monster dick, he takes charge, and he knows how to handle me.”
My husband voiced a word I’d not heard, “So, you want to be a ‘hotwife’ for a while?”
Some time ago, if someone used the word hotwife in a word-association parlor game, my first guess would have been, “menopausal”?
The Diary of Hotwife Sara
April 30, 2014
Things went back to our normal: sex mostly average. The occasions of me not climaxing happened twice.
Our era of good feelings would not last. Gene was having a landmark fortieth birthday: he was obsessed with it. I cared more about my sexual satisfaction and his, as well.
May 10, 2014
9:00 A.M.
Dear Diary,
Today my husband is hosting his fortieth birthday party. He is giving it for himself. Gene demanded his fortieth birthday party would be at the swankiest country club in our area.
“But Gene,” I protested, “No one there will know us. We aren’t members, even.”
“We aren’t members yet.” was his reply.
He wouldn’t take ‘NO’ for an answer.
He went on, “I’ve invited our families, your friends from work as well as mine from my company. This is a special milestone for me.”
My husband continued “Greg, the vice-president I answer to, thought it was so much of a good idea, he rented the place for me. The venue will be a present from the company. He wants to meet some new people as well.
Gene was insistent, “My boss joked, ‘and perhaps we can snag a few of Sara’s people over to our side’.”
My husband threw this at me, “He’s a member at the club and would sponsor me, if I get that promotion that’s coming up.”
He would not budge.
“Gene,” I said, “This behavior comes very close to the taboo of mixing business with pleasure, with family. We both work hard to keep those things apart. One bad move and we both could be on the street, literally!”
Gene was turning forty and me, a year behind. He had taken a year off after high school, so we were classmates with the same business major, at the same college.
We both work at similar careers, but at competing companies.
The only non-intimate tension in our marriage is us working for two fiercely competitive firms. Gene and I do parallel work. We had been classmates, college chums, then lovers, then roommates. Friends would chuckle when they would see matching sets of textbooks on study tables far away from each other in our small apartment. Gene and I took the same classes, under the same professors. Imagine us doing internships at the firms we work for now!
Frequently, in the evenings at home, Gene will get a call. I expect Gene to get up, move to a quiet place and do business.
Do I ever, ever disclose any actionable business information to my husband? No. Gene used to try to wheedle a hint about a client, but I never give in.
We also share a birthday month.
Dear Diary,
May 10,
5:00 P.M.
Gene’s birthday party was on and anyone could tell I was not happy. I sulked in the foyer.
“So, what are you doing all alone, with your husband getting all the glory?” The intruder’s question startled me.
I knew this Greg character. He was my husband’s boss, a snake, a womanizer, worst of all, he was a vile stealer-of-clients. Clinicians would label him a psychopath, as he had no morals, no remorse, no scruples. This party was his idea, perhaps to steal my clients or my co-workers?
Rumor has it that he sports a big dick too.
We share a vice, tobacco.
He asked, “Right now, I could use a smoke. How about you?”
We lingered at the railing, overlooking the golf course. Greg was sensitive enough to let my mind wander. We were not a couple, just two contemplative individuals.
Greg led me to a portico off the main ballroom. We could hear the music and the crowd noise. As I reached for a cigarette from my purse, he touched my hand.
Reaching into his tuxedo, he pulled out a cigar, bit off the tip and put the Cuban in my mouth.
Looking me in the eye and lighting the cigar, he asked, “Sara. How long has it been since you tried something new?”
“That ‘something new’ will be the last,” I said as I coughed out wretched cigar smoke.
He pulled a joint out of his pocket. “This is something that’s you might enjoy even better.”
I took a toke and cupped it. “These are legal in this state, I hear.”
He was quick! He caressed my hand. “And something else new?”
I answered as I exhaled, “That, I take it, is, a double entendre.”
I enunciated every word and paused dramatically. I’d had a few drinks before leaving home and a few more at the bar. Now a few tokes on strong weed.
“That, my sweet, is not an answer.” He mocked my enunciation and dramatic pauses. His smile was so disarming, he put me at a disadvantage.
I thought, “Maybe the rumors about this Greg are not true. He is being a cute now, flirting with an underling’s wife.”
My belvedere escort disabused me of the charming notion. “Gene may go far with my company. I’m in line for a promotion and I’d like to take Gene with me.” (Hint! Hint!).
I took another hit and kept the joint.
He took another puff of his cigar, exhaled and met my gaze.
Then the senior vice-president looked off in the distance, puffed and deftly took my left-hand.
He offered me a sip of his cocktail. The liquid helped wash the cigar and pot taste down.
He kissed my wedding ring and said, “No one is stupid enough to try to come between you and Gene, or ever hurt Junior. However, I know you and Gene are having some troubles in the bedroom. Gene tells me everything.”
I thought, “I didn’t know that our problems were public knowledge or that he talked about us at work.”
The alcohol and the pot were no help for me, trying to square this party moment with my love life.
Greg continued, “Everyone here knows you outclass him. His secretary thinks he is impotent. I don’t believe her. She reported to me that he has long lunches with clients and is not averse to ‘horizontal closure’ if the need arises.”
Greg claimed, “He chases every new skirt that comes through our door. He seems hungry for strange pussy. A secretary from another section claims he fucked her but couldn’t make her cum.”
Sensing my disbelief, he added, “My people tell me everything. It seems he can’t get you off either.”
That was not news to me.
In our kitchen one morning, I had said, “You talk as if you know more about your client’s personal life than their work credentials.”
That stung him.
I was jolted back into reality with Greg’s next question, “How
long has it been since someone has made you scream?”
Something came over me.
I felt woozy. I flashed onto a remembrance of a film noire movie scene: two industrial behemoths are arguing, poking cigars at one another. I felt Greg’s equal. Or maybe he hit a nerve?
I finished the roach, blew the smoke in his face. I smirked and popped the roach into my mouth to swallowed it.
“And you think you can make me scream?” What a tipsy challenge that was! And risky, too.
“Come with me,” he ordered.
I followed as Greg led me into one of the private offices.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I chose this room because its only entrance is the locked door behind us. The windows are opaque and the walls thick.”
He sat down at the huge desk and put his feet on the table, hands behind his head. “I am going to make one request. If your cunt is clean-shaven, show it to me. If it is not free of all hair, I expect it to be bald the next time I see it.”
My hands hung at my sides. The news of my husband’s philandering was a shock. My mind mesmerized by a man so bold. I mentally tried to count the drinks: one strong one at home, two at the bar here, now this cocktail. I know what happens when I smoke and drink at the same time.
I struggled to focus.
Greg was getting pushy, a trait I do not like. “I will not touch a pussy that has hair on it. Do you understand?”
I twisted my head to the side quizzically, not believing what I’d heard.
I thought, “Fuck! Sara! What are you doing here?”
I had no answer. Greg did.
He beckoned me over to his chair. “Strip!”
That was easy. I pulled my black strapless dress over my head and stood there in bra, sheer panties and heels.
“Leave that nasty, hairy pussy hidden. Take off your bra and squeeze those beautiful breasts. Pinch the tips of your tits.”
I thought someone had turned the air conditioning to a much colder temperature because my nipples got really hard. The cold A/C did nothing for my flushed body.
“Kneel.”
My fellatio skills are not good. Gene was grateful whenever I granted him a blowjob. I never thought about what Gene did with the cum that spurted out of him.
Greg was different. He was a porn-movie director. “Pull you lips over your teeth. If you bite, I slap your face, hard. Put the knob in your mouth and tickle the underside with your tongue.”
This man was in control. He followed up, “Your ass is perfect in those lowrider panties.”
He slapped it, hard! “Move your ass like you want a dick in your cunt right now. Make the guy watching us want to fuck you too.”
I moved my ass like I do to tease Gene.
I heard Greg say, “I will make you a much better cocksucker, I promise. For now, swallow as much as you can.”
Even when he put one giant paw around the base of his dick, several inches protruded. The other paw went to the back of my head.
“Hold on,” he commanded.
I did.
With a dozen strokes, he shot a load into my mouth.
“Don’t pull back, ever!” That was an order.
I swallowed some. It wasn’t bad.
“Taste me,” another order.
I tasted cum for the first time, I think. I swallowed more.
Next demand was a nasty shock, “Clean my dick.”
I answered my new master. “Never done this, but I’ll try.”
Starting at the tip I sucked and cleaned his seeping sweet saltiness as far down as I could. I liked the taste of this man’s jism. Then I went to his hairy, cum-covered balls, lapping up what I could. I used my lips to comb the juice from his long curls. The hand holding his still-hard member scooped up our fluids from my cheeks and pushed them into my mouth.
As we walked into to the party, the pot made me giggle.
“And?” Greg asked, with raised eyebrow.
“This is funny,” I started. “Gene told me about a hotel pool men’s room in Stockholm. He saw a sign, an X over a blow dryer over a man’s middle. It meant it is not smart to use a blow dryer on your testicles. I made sure you didn’t need an electric blow dryer.”
Just as we entered the ballroom, Greg said, “I am moving Gene up with me, if things go as planned.”
Shortly thereafter, Greg was President of the company and my lover, Gene was a V.P. I would be a knowing accomplice and facilitator for our new lifestyle.
June, 2014
Dear Diary,
Our anniversary dinner was on. I’d promised Gene some action that night, so dinner was going to be special.
We were on time at the club. For some reason the table wasn’t ready, so we snuggled in a bar booth. My husband talked about our first date, my wedding and the honeymoon, plans for the future.
As my mate babbled on, I was dazzled that he was ignoring how he got the job and that I was being fucked on a regular basis by his boss. I told Gene that Greg made me cum again and again. Gene was infatuated with my affair and begged me for details.
By then, I knew that the new company president/club president could manipulate, even micromanage reservations.
I leaned into my mate, took his hand in mine and said, “Gene, you know where we are: you and me, and me and Greg?”
He nodded but did not seem upset. His vision was on the after-dinner activities.
We were seated late.
Greg showed up at our table, unannounced.
My glance at him revealed the obvious: he engineered this visit to embarrass and intrude.
Nevertheless, I whispered to Gene, “Invite him to dine with us.”
Gene knew I had visited Greg at his home and on his boat. My husband knew all about our little games. He quizzed me after I returned from a rendezvous, wanting all the sexy details. I told him some of the things we did; Gene especially liked hearing about the new positions, the orders I followed. When I told him I was to disrobe at the door and crawl to his boss naked. I begged to be fucked.
Gene got a hard on when I said, “Your Black boss got me hooked on posing, starting by taking pictures with his phone.”
I told Gene the truth about the first time I went to his boat, “First, I just modeled the underwear he bought me. That night, I exposed a bit of nipple to his camera, then went to bare-breast posing.”
After our second date, I told my husband, “Greg told me to shave my pussy completely, so I did. He also says he owns my pussy and you can’t fuck me anymore.”
I was surprised when Gene asked, “Will you still give me a blowjob or at least jerk me off?”
On our next assignation, on Greg’s boat, we took some selfies together. When Gene saw the pictures on his phone, he was shocked at how long Greg’s dick was and how well I took it.
I lied. “I don’t mind when Greg shares me.”
Gene believed my exaggeration, “We call the game ‘Phone a Friend’ like that game show shtick.”
Gene got upset. “Names. I want the names of the guys Greg finds to fuck you. Are they my co-workers, clients, strangers?”
I ended our first hotwife fight, “Gene. What I do now is my business. If you want to hear any more, be content with what I give you.”
He caught the double entendre of what I give him in bed (jerking him off sometimes, but he cleans his own cum) and me getting him his promotion.
During dinner, Greg pulled out a present and handed the gift to me.
“Go put it on,” he told me.
When I returned, I was wearing my anniversary present tee: IT’S NOT CHEATING IF MY HUSBAND KNOWS.
August, 2014
Dear Diary,
My first bull, Greg, followed through on his promise and Gene now has his job as V.P. Greg is the C.E.O. He taught me to deep -throat, take his member up my ass, do a DP. I even tossed his salad a few times.
It is no secret why Greg and I broke up. Gene knew before me.
I didn’t love Greg, but I love the hotwife lifesty
le. A bull takes charge of the whole family. We went on dates: wild, expensive outings lasting until daylight. After dark, I would drive to Greg’s place or to Black clubs. I loved the trendy cocktails and vintage liquors we ordered. I almost wrecked my car once.