by Selena Kitt
That got so risky that Gene put his foot down.
Gene said, “I love you and I want to keep you safe. I‘ll pay for the taxi to pick you up here and deliver you back.”
That stage lasted a month or so, until the cabs started arriving after daylight and once, days later.
Gene knew when it was over before I did.
Greg told Gene face-to-face, “This happens when your whore falls in love with you. Sara keeps calling me, going to my house uninvited. You can have her back; I am through with her.”
Greg told Gene about the final straw, “She snuck aboard my cruiser. She said she did it just to inhale my aroma on the master cabin sheets.”
“Unfortunately,” Greg told his second-in-command, “I was squiring some new clients (those two couples from Ireland) around and offered them an overnighter on my cabin cruiser. We were half-way to our island destination when Sara stumbled up the companionway.”
September, 2014
Dear Diary,
I met Gerald after Greg abandoned me on that pier fifty miles from home, after the ‘boating accident’, as I call it.
Gene and I were laying low. Greg forgave me and Gene kept his job. I played the dutiful wife who rejoiced in her spouse’s successes. I mentally pushed my hotwife role to the back of my mind, thinking it was just a fling.
My performance reviews were better than Gene’s. I thought it ironic that I didn’t use my newly-learned fellatio skills on Gene. Maybe I would be in line for a promotion at my company as well, doing it the merit-based way, of course.
Husband got my pussy on a regular basis, but after Greg, it wasn’t the same.
Gene’s promotion meant no extra cash coming into the home, because club membership dues were so high. We couldn’t afford the re-decorating I’d planned or anything else.
Junior entered First Grade; Gene worked a few more hours per day and was gone for a few days at a time.
I stayed pure.
Until Gerald. Gerald was the bartender at the club.
It was late summer. Junior was away at his grandparents’ place in New Hampshire. Gene would be in Seattle for a week and I was bored, stuck at home.
I went to the club. Drinking during a thunderstorm added to my excitement. We’d had days of beastly hot weather and a front was coming through. The television in the lounge made that awful beeping sound, warning of an impending storm, giving details of when the storm would be near us.
I know it is trite, but to say that storm was of Biblical proportions is not an exaggeration. The lightning struck so close to the club, a picture fell off a wall. The next thunder clap rocked the whole place. Trees smoked on the fairway.
Everything went dark.
The temperature dropped from the nineties to the sixties. Crews struggled to get the awnings down, the plastic roll-ups secure. The front’s cold wind went right through my outfit.
Someone joked, “Whoever left the freezer door open, go close it.”
I was in trouble. I’d had more to drink than I should, the power out went out, roads flooded. The club was closing.
Gerald to the rescue.
My bartender/friend/future lover was the coolest, calmest man in the house, “I’ll see that you are safe.”
When the rain slackened, he led me to his car. I had no raingear, nothing but a flimsy summer blouse and designer jeans.
I got in; he drove and talked. I listened.
Gerald was honest. “Greg told me about you. He said you were a fine piece of pussy, but needed to be trained. He told me I could have you.”
I was incredulous. “Greg said you could have me? What if I don’t want you?”
My chauffer responded, “You want someone. You want a fat black dick. You want to suck it, fuck it, and let it fuck you anywhere it wants. You want to feel again what you did with Greg.”
The dare the hotwife caved to: “I am going to drive you to your house. If you want, get out of my car.”
I chose Gerald’s option: “Or you can come to my place, but if you do, you’ll be my hotwife. Know your cunt belongs to me. And your asshole and everything else that used to be Greg’s.”
I knew my place. I stayed in the car and we drove to his place.
As soon as we were underway, Gerald picked up the phone and hit a few buttons. “Yeah. She is with me now. You have a key, so come on in when you get there. NO. I will not save any hole for you. You get satin seconds.”
I am not stupid. He was faking. I had faked and lied to Gene, so more untruths didn’t faze me.
Gerald lives in an older, ritzy part of town. His expensive car matched the neighborhood. We parked in front a four-floor walk-up. Imagining a trek up the stairs, I opened my door to get out and started to take off my heels.
He barked at me! “Leave the heels on. You are on display and I may farm you out tonight. My people need to know they are fucking a classy lady. Fucking a whore, but a classy one.”
I pleaded, “At least, tell them I am your hotwife.” That word connotes status in his community.
My driver responded, “Earn it, bitch.”
With that, he ripped my $200 blouse wide open so that my push-up bra and nipple tips were in sight of the men on the stoop. That is how I entered his apartment: proud, with my blouse soaking wet and wide open, my heels clicking on the steps and my tight jeans the object of attention.
I was dazzled by the upscale artwork and furniture. He was still in his ‘work clothes’, meaning a tuxedo. His closet, I learned, was full of designer labels and clothes for any occasion.
Clinically, Gerald was a bigger, better lover than Greg and far better than my husband Gene.
In the months I would be Gerald’s hotwife, he never rushed anything. In bank lines or traffic, he was the calm one. When we went out to eat (Always breakfast, because he worked most nights.) he would linger over a plate for an hour. I learned to eat slowly as well.
That first night, it took him long minutes to take my clothes off. He studied every part as he exposed it. Of course, I shave my pussy daily, as a hotwife must. My time with Greg had taught me to double my exercise regime. I weighed what I did in Twelfth Grade. The lightning strikes seemed to measure my disrobing. The room lit us up like an old black and white television show and we were the actors.
Gerald insisted I take my time to undress him as well. His body is well-toned, despite a non-aerobic occupation. He had been a rugby player at his college. What struck me first was his neck, clearly a size 19 that made him look the bull. Beyond that, his smile, his shaved head and easy manner bespoke calm strength.
It took a while, but we were finally naked.
I’d not been so nervous before sex since Ninth Grade. With Gene, I am in charge. Tonight, I was shock. Taking Gerald’s long, fat dick would not be a problem. I already knew my pussy could take it. I was getting better at sucking dick as well.
Gerald teased, “Greg only gives your best blowjob a B.”
I answered, “Tonight, I have a chance for a B+ or even an A-.”
Gerald laid me down on his bed. It was one of those that gave no support whatsoever, no super-firm. It was more like a featherbed. I sunk down, the heaviest part of my body, my ass, in the valley.
He laughed. I laughed. “Turn over and stick that beautiful ass in the air.”
When I complied, I felt the extra human weight. He leaned forward until I felt the dickhead at my pussy entrance. Greg had taught me to sense what my man of the moment wanted: either moaning or silence, brisk moves back, begging to stop, begging to go faster, words of encouragement, praise, cursing, asking to be called what I was.”
I screamed, “Fuck your whore/slut. My hot white pussy needs your fat dick. I need more of that black pole!”
With that, the motion increased, exponentially. I thought Greg had done well teaching me to stick my ass in the air and jerk the pole inside my cunt back and forth.
I did my best to accommodate his girth and his vigor, but he was too much for me and I couldn’t keep
up.
“You ain’t shit as a whore. You can’t fuck.” He said as he pulled out and flopped on the bed. Neither of us got off… literally!
Gerald reached for his phone, “You can come up now.”
The door opened and what best be described as a sixty year old short black man hobbled in. His clothes were disheveled, his odor apparent.
He walked over to my side of the bed.
Gerald told him, “She’s a bum-fuck. She needs a lot of training if I am going to keep her.”
Jasper (I learned his name later.) stuttered at me, “Suck it. See, see if you can do that.”
Jasper’s tool was interesting, to say the least. No longer than Gene’s six and a half inches; no thicker than normal. Constant masturbation over the last fifty of his sixty years had rendered his penis almost immune to stimulation.
My hotwife aura rose like a goddess.
I started with that corona around the head. Flicking the head, pulling on his balls, doing long tongue strokes on the shaft got some hip movement; that got some action.
I circled that part just under the head and squeezed. Jasper lunged forward. I tightened my grip. More of a thrust.
“You must jerk off a lot. How many times a day?” I asked him point-blank. He pretended he didn’t hear me.
“You’re going to like this.” I told him that looking straight into his eyes.
Gerald put his big hand on the back of my head.
I used my teeth to gently pull on his dick, just under the head. He groaned. I did it again and his hand joined Gerald’s.
Now I could swirl my tongue on that part and lowered my mouth to his base, nuzzling into his hair. I got his dick to slide into my throat. I felt the head pop into my gullet. With practice, I could jerk him off with my throat.
Jasper lasted a long time, then he shot three drops of cum. I smiled and swallowed.
Gerald told Jasper, “Now go away and watch my car. No one else comes here tonight.”
I wondered, “Is he going to keep me?”
Then my host rose, went to the freezer and pulled out a bottle of expensive vodka. He took a swallow and handed it to me. I swigged just a bit. The events of the last hour had sobered me up and I needed something to get me through the night.
A kinder, gentler Gerald kissed my lips, my neck, my ear, then back to my lips. I realized that this guy was going to take his time.
I put two pillows under my ass. The next time he entered me, it was missionary, slow, loving. When he pushed all the way in, I raised my ass off the bed and he went in further. We started to move. I realized I was being more than fucked: I was being explored. He pushed in, then went side to side and I felt him gauge my reaction. I reciprocated, but with enthusiasm. I remembered when I had earlier not done enough, I knew I would not just lay back and be fucked.
This time, Gerald used his penis to talk to my vagina. It spoke with jolts, with shoves, with probing up and down, then side to side. He pulled all the way out and I raised my ass to get that dick back inside. My vagina answered his gyrations with moves that reciprocated, counter-proposed or enthusiastically supported.
We were making love.
When that monster moved back and forth again, I pushed my pelvic bone up toward his pelvic bone. That action resulted in his moving even further. He took his time grinding me until I thought I would climax right there.
He sawed into me, up and down. I whispered, “I can feel that hot pole rubbing against my ass chute. You can have it any time you want.”
Gerald grunted, “I can feel my balls rubbing your asshole. Open those cheeks wider and I’ll grind those balls all the way up your ass.”
Finally, at last, he started those piston-like moves, increasing in vigor and speed until I felt his whole body go stiff. Technically, they call it a peristaltic movement. Men feel it every time they piss, but to ejaculate the thicker, hotter jism is paradise. I welcomed his fluid eagerly, squeezing that pole to keep it inside me forever.
I got the surprise of my life. Gerald rolled off me and left me momentarily.
I thought, “Geeze, I did the best I could. I he going to just flop again and leave me hanging?”
He was just turning his body around. He parted my legs and spread my swollen lips.
The rain outside had become a gentle tapping. Gerald rained kisses on my tits, my belly, my cunt lips. When his lips pulled on my clit, I grabbed his head with both hands and ground his mouth into my mound.
That gentle, loving ministration was enough for me to fall in love all over again. I forgot Gene. I wondered who the hell Greg was. Gerald owned this hotwife forever.
On the way home at dawn, I reran the evening. Gerald had planned the Jasper encounter to intimidate me and humiliate me. At the time, though, I did as I was told. His plan worked.
November, 2014
Dear Diary,
When Gene got home from Seattle, he sensed the sea-change. Part of it was good, because I was treating Gene with a new respect. Dinner was on time and good. Family mattered and my husband did not question my hesitation at being intimate.
After a week with Gerald, We had the talk.
When our boy went to bed, I caressed and stroked my husband. “My new beau insists that if you and I have sex again, you are to wear a rubber. He says he is the only person who can cum in his pussy.”
I continued, trying to console Gene. “Greg cut you off completely. I did it for Greg, because he is your boss and we had to do what he said. That hurt you.”
Gerald had coached me to behave in ways that kept our marriage together, but showed my husband who was in charge of my body. I was to dress provocatively at home and flirt, but chatter about Gerald and what we were doing.
“I promised Gerald we would use protection.” Those words were the only consolation I could muster.
Outsiders to the hotwife lifestyle do not understand.
I was good with promising, “Most of the time I’ll suck you off or jerk you off. Vaginal sex will be protected and saved for special occasions.”
“Be graphic,” my lover advised. “Tell him all about me, my dick, my expensive furnishings and vehicles. Let him know he is not my equal, in bed or out of bed.”
I felt adventurous, if not romantic. This time of year, we used the inside fireplace area to cuddle, talk and fondle each other.
“Junior is in bed. Let’s try something.” With that, I reached for Gene’s sweats and pulled them down to expose his flaccid penis. I turned on the charm and started to jerk him off while looking in his eyes.
“You like me being a hotwife, si?” He nodded.
“You like imagining some big black dick pounding your wife’s poor swollen cunt?”
He stiffened.
Husband was hooked when I said, “You know I can straddle Gerald and take his fat dick all the way up my cunt and have another stud stick his dick all the way up my ass. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. They wouldn’t stop, even if I screamed bloody murder. If my ass-dude isn’t careful, he can wreck me for days. They don’t care.”
This hotwife was not afraid to tell her husband another lie, “You know, I like it when he whores me out. I get to pick the john.”
We pull over and I say ‘Hi. You want a quick blow-job’? We get in the back seat of Gerald’s Mercedes and we go around the block a few times. When the guy cums, I swallow it and make a noise. That is Gerald’s signal to reach back and hold out his hand. Whatever the guy gives him, Gerald takes.”
Gene was breathing hard now.
Then I did something that confirmed our hotwife relationship. I licked my palms, spitting on my hands and his dickhead. I started to wank him off like girls do boys in high school.
I started in on my lifestyle, “You like hearing me talk about fucking guys, don’t you?”
He moaned, thrust and suddenly, cum spurted onto my thumb and fingers. Just like the girls in high school, I got up, leaving him in a mess, and got us a soda.
February 28, 2015
Dear Diary,
Yesterday was Friday.
I announced over our drinks, “I have a date with Gerald at five tomorrow. I want you to find a sitter who can spend the night. Drive me to Gerald’s place. Wait for me to come out. I will have my cellphone ready, should an emergency arise.”
Saturday, we arrived on time and I gave Gene a good-bye peck on the cheek. Wait in the car,” I told my husband.
The boys on the stoop gave me my usual catcalls. Later on, I looked out the hallway window to make sure our car was still there.