by Selena Kitt
Diary, you know all bulls are alpha males. As such, Brad is welcome in my home. He does not need an invitation: just shows up when he pleases. I turn myself inside out to please him. If we are out of his brand of coffee or beer or whatever, I send Gene to fetch what Brad wants.
Brad played football in college and knows a lot of people in the NFL. He will come over to watch a game and even bring friends. Or play video games or just hang out…. mostly with me, though.”
Part of the hotwife lifestyle means that if the bull brings over an erotic movie or just wants time with me, we go to the master bedroom. Gene might be allowed in, but mostly he watches to see that Junior doesn’t come investigating.”
I come out of our bedroom and find my husband. I hug, him, sit down for a moment, and tell him I love him. I thank him and tell him how great my bull was, how much Brad dumped in my cunt or ass, and how hard I came.”
If I ask, Gene will lick my sore pussy. Sometimes, the last thing I do is give him a blow job. As soon as I sense he is about to cum, I stop. I go back to my lover and Gene finishes himself. I still don’t like the taste of my husband’s cum.”
My girlfriend/confidant/diary might ask, “How do you two get along?”
My counter-question, “How do we three get along? After our son goes to bed, I will snuggle with my bull, smooch a bit, and sometimes involve Gene in the conversation. It’s not sex all the time. Brad is in town on business and those hotels get lonesome.”
“I will service my lover. Gene will service him. He knows that if Gene refuses, I will drop him.”
To the question, “Is there anything you can’t get used to?”
I have an answer.
“The music: hip hop, funk, played loud, with the nasty words offends me, but I try to blot it out.
May 30, 2015
Morning
Dear Diary,
Happy Birthday to me!
This time I left the preparation details for my party to my mom and a few girlfriends, all of whom are ‘in the know’.
I caught Gene in the hallway, “Sweetie, darling,” I began, “I am going to go over to Brad’s apartment around noon. He has a very special gift for his hotwife and you don’t want me to bring him over this evening.”
Startled, Gene said, “’Him’ is a gift? What’s going on?” Husband’s response, he delivered in a more passive than inquisitive way. He knew I would not budge.
I explained, “This is what’s going down. You know the pro football player Brad introduced me to? He is back in town. Brad says he wants to watch his friend fucking a pregnant white girl. Is that all right?”
“Does it matter?” he replied, then whined, “But our friends will be here at six, so please don’t disappoint our guests.”
I countered, “When I am not disappointed and I don’t disappoint Brad, I will come home.”
“Five o’ clock is the latest,” said my husband, trying to set some kind of boundary.
I tried to hug my husband.
Impatiently, he broke away, “Just be home and dressed by five.”
He knew I was pregnant, with a baby girl in my womb. He’d peeked into that special drawer last month where I keep my hotwife tees. I am beginning to ‘show’.
I was more excited about an afternoon with a football star than my evening with family and friends.
It was worth it. Brad’s guest and Brad’s horny-self had fucked me silly.
A hotwife must know her place. While Brad was buried deep in my pussy and I was cleaning the QB, the player asked him a question about some team or another. Brad kept on pounding me while answering the QB in great detail. My job was to be a fuck-pig for them and stay out of it.
May 30, 2015
6:00 P.M.
When I got back from Brad’s, it was close to six. There were a few pictures on Gene’s phone. My favorite is of me on my back on top of the QB, our heads and cheeks touching, with his long black pole sticking up past my cunt, the dark shaft on my hairless cunt, between my open white legs. The black dick head extended across my puffy belly to my button. I am smiling like an angel.
Any time Brad talked to me, it was to give pointers. “That’s right, all the way down your throat.” Or “As soon as I cum, stay put. I’m letting my friend stick his pole in you right after.”
I soaked in my tub. Putting on make-up took more time than I planned. The football player had marked my tits, my cunt, even my neckline. They painted arrows, filthy sayings and amateur phallic symbols all over my body. Those pix are on Gene’s cell as well.
I thought, “Oh well, folks already know I get randy in bed, so a few love bites might be excused.
I dressed for my birthday party. From that drawer of special tees, I chose for tonight’s party, “IT’S NOT HUBBY’S BABY! A pink arrow pointed down to my swelling tummy.
I am giggling, oohing and ahhing, smiling at my parents, cuddling our six-year old son (as much as he can tolerate in public). Next comes me opening presents and having the time of my life. My top is ‘remarkable’.
June 3, 2015
10:00 P.M.
Dear Diary,
I planned on a surprise going-away gift before Brad left town. I went to his place to deliver.
When he opened his door, he was not alone.
The End
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Swap Meets Volume 2 © June 2016
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