The Complete BBW Hotwife

by Sadie Somerton

  “It’s okay to think about it. It’s okay to talk.” Then: “What are you thinking?”

  I hesitated, then: “I’m thinking how he looked... how he looked at me. Hungry for me. Eyes all over me.”

  It was Jason’s turn to grunt a response. “And now I’m thinking of you,” I went on. “What are you doing? Is this turning you on? Where are your hands?”

  “I’m holding the phone.”

  “That only takes one hand.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the other?”

  “Flat against me,” he said, a gasp in his voice. “Pressing hard. Rolling just a little from side to side.”

  I could see the scene in my mind. Jason sitting back, legs slightly apart, one hand pressing down in his lap.

  “Get it out,” I said. “I want you to play.”

  Another grunt. I closed my eyes, and saw him freeing the buttons of his jeans, easing them down across his hips until his manhood sprang free.

  “Wrap your fingers around it. Stroke it.”

  “I am,” he said. “I’m wet. Sliding against the palm of my hand. Are you...?”

  “I am.”

  I slipped my free hand inside my gown, found the smoothness of my pussy and started to press soft flesh.

  “I’m wet, too,” I said. “Very wet.” I gave a soft gasp. “Two fingers inside me just isn’t enough.”

  I could hear something rhythmic, like percussion, in time with his rapid breathing. He was pumping that shaft now, his fist tight.

  “He kissed me.”

  A pause.

  “He did?” There was a new uncertainty in his voice, and I wondered if I’d gone too far, admitted too much.

  “Only briefly. On the lips, mouths closed. He tasted of bourbon and he smelled of musk and citrus. His stubble scraped.”

  My hand... rolling from side to side as Jason’s had been on his dick.

  My fingers, middle and third, slipping in and out.

  So wet!

  “He had his hand to my cheek. His eyes locked on mine.”

  That rhythmic thing again: his breathing, the sound of his arm moving, his fist pumping.

  “He made me so, so wet, Jason...”

  He gasped, and I heard a muffled scraping as he must have fumbled with his cell-phone. I could visualize the scene so clearly, the jet of hot semen spraying up from that tight slit-hole in the end of his dick, a creamy streak up across his belly and ribcage.

  Those two fingers were pumping in and out now, and each impact of the flat of my hand against my mound sent a jolt of pleasure through my clit, faster and faster until my whole body heaved, I clamped my thighs together as if to trap my hand, and a huge wave of tightening stole through my pussy, over and over again.

  Finally, my breath started to slow, and I realized I was still clutching my phone to my ear.

  “Oh my,” I said softly. “Was that...? Did you...?”

  Knowing full well that it was, and he had.

  §

  It was a shared fantasy, that was all. A few shared images to fuel the phone sex. Maybe something to revisit when I got home from this conference.

  Nothing more.

  I genuinely believed that until Jason sent me a text message a few minutes later.

  He’s in room 508. xxx

  I read it and re-read it. Was he joking? Had he really tracked Bradley’s room number down? I couldn’t remember if I’d even mentioned his name. I must have, I guess.

  And was he really telling me to... to go there?

  My heart was racing, and I was more excited than I would ever have dared admit.

  You sure? xxx

  I waited long seconds for him to respond.

  I am. Tell me about it later. xxx

  §

  My husband knows me so well.

  He knows that I’m a multi kind of girl. That first orgasm, as we talked on the phone and I visualized what Jason was doing, and we talked about my encounter with Bradley... He knew that one orgasm would not be enough. He knew it would only have whetted my appetite.

  He knew I’d still be breathing hard when his text message came through, maybe even still playing.

  That first orgasm: it was an appetizer, no more.

  Minutes later I was there, standing before the door. Room 508.

  I raised my hand and, before I could stop myself, I knocked.

  Only then did I let the doubts come rushing to the surface. What if he hadn’t been serious? What could he possibly see in me? Maybe he’d just been being polite. What if he was with that blonde with the plastic tits and the legs that went on forever? What if this wasn’t even his room and Jason was teaching me a cruel lesson? What if...?

  The door opened and Bradley stood there, one hand in his tousled dark hair. Shirtless, those shoulders square and broad, a thin covering of dark hair running across firm pecs and down the line of the breastbone to a belly that rippled in all the right places. The belt undone, hanging loose, the top button of his pants undone, too, parting to reveal a thickening of that belly hair, the white line of his shorts.

  I looked back up to meet his dark eyes.

  I don’t know how long I had let my eyes roam, but he didn’t seem to care.

  I’d put on my long faux fur coat, a pair of heels and not much else. The coat hung loose, parted at the cleavage, offering glimpses lower down.

  I put my hands on my hips, and my coat settled a little more, and his eyes were drawn down to my breasts again.

  “That kiss,” I said. “I’m sorry, but that wasn’t enough.”

  And then I reached out and put my hand to the side of his face, just as he had done earlier to me as he held the elevator doors open with his foot.

  My touch was gentle, but somehow enough to draw him in, bring his face to mine, his lips to mine, so that I could taste the bourbon and breathe that musk and citrus once again.

  We kissed briefly, and then my hand steered him lower until his face was buried in my generous cleavage. Stubble scraped on that delicate skin and then – oh my! – he turned his head, pushed the coat aside, and clamped hard lips around a nipple. Sucking it hard between his teeth, he started to flick at the tip with his tongue.

  I buried both hands in his hair, held him there.

  His hands stole round behind me, inside the coat. Found where thigh becomes hip, slid further around to cup my ass, squeezing and stroking.

  I felt dizzy with the intensity of it all, that sudden rush of sensations swamping my senses.

  Some time later I realized we were still in the doorway. Another guest might wander past at any moment.

  I put one hand to his shoulder and nudged him back into the room.

  The moment briefly interrupted, he peered up at me, his face flushed.

  He stepped back, coming to stand with his back against the wall.

  “But...” he said. “But you’re married. What about...?”

  I pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s fine. Who do you think helped me get hold of your room number?”

  His eyes widened at that, but he still seemed hesitant. Odd that bad boy Bradley should still be playing the gentleman with me.

  I smiled, and repeated, “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

  Then I reached for him, and his eyes widened even further. There really is not a lot a guy won’t do you when you bat your eyelids at him, bite on your lower lip and ... just... squeeze.

  §

  The feel of another penis in my hand after three years with Jason was such a turn-on.

  There wasn’t much difference in length, but the way he felt in my hand was so different. Bradley’s shaft was heavier and broader, the ridge on the underside more pronounced, the head more bulbous.

  His balls hung loose, swinging as my hand twisted and pulled at that fat shaft. I reached down with my free hand and took their weight in my palm, pressing my middle finger up behind them, making Bradley gasp.

  I studied the way he responded, the wa
y his jaw sagged and his eyes widened, the way the muscles in his cheeks tensed, the tightening of the tendons in his neck.

  I dropped to my knees and examined his smooth purple glans, shiny with clear juices.

  Savoring this encounter. Taking in every detail.

  For later, for Jason.

  I dipped my head closer so that the head of Bradley’s dick slid across one cheek and into my hair.

  Rolled my head so that it slid back again across my pursed lips.

  Opened my mouth, took him in.

  His shaft was so broad that my jaw ached, stretched so wide. I held him there, and started to pump my fist along his exposed length.

  I sucked, my mouth tightening around him. Tasting his saltiness, that hint of something sweet.

  His whole body tensed when I sucked.

  I drew him deeper into my mouth, almost gagging with the sensation of fullness. I needed that fullness elsewhere...

  But first... I started to bob my head, my mouth tight around him. One hand hard around the base of his shaft, the other still cradling his balls, a finger pressing up behind.

  His hands were in my hair now, all thoughts of protest long gone.

  He wanted to fuck my face, come in my throat, but no...

  I pulled away, tipped back on my heels, and now the coat fell wide open.

  “Oh, Lucy,” he said softly, looking down at my exposed body.

  I still held his shaft in one hand, and now I steered him into place so that he had to bend at the knees, leaning over me with one hand against the wall. His shaft came to lie between my breasts, the slippery head against my breastbone.

  He started to thrust, sliding between my breasts, his balls slapping hard against me.

  I looked up at him all the time, remembering what he’d told me down in the bar. The eyes, always the eyes.

  I watched as his eyes widened in that split second just before he came for the first time. The eyes locked on mine as he thrust between my breasts, held himself deep in my cleavage, the head of his dick emerging. The eyes widening even further as I felt the first hot jet of semen shooting up my neck...

  And then I broke that contact, reached down to take him in my hand, dipped my head and sucked him into my mouth, even as he began to soften. Another pulse of semen filled my mouth and I swallowed, sucking him gently, feeling the change and shift as his hardness slowly subsided.

  Then finally, letting him slip out of my mouth, accepting his hand – still the gentleman! – and standing. Kissing him, so that he could taste himself on me, in me.

  Letting him lead me into the room, to the bed. Lower me, start to kiss across my shoulders, my breasts, my belly, and down. Steering one of my legs to rest across his shoulder so he could bury his face against my smoothness.

  His lips.

  His tongue.

  That scrape of stubble.

  On me. In me. Everywhere.

  §

  Let me introduce my husband.

  He’s ten years older and he would do anything for me. He loves to indulge me, to explore who I am and what I desire. Nothing is too much trouble for Jason.

  In particular, he loves to hear about my adventures.

  He loves it when I tell him how another man’s dick feels in my hand, or elsewhere.

  He loves it when I tell him about another man’s semen spraying over my face, or running down between my breasts.

  He loves me to tell him about burying my fingers in another man’s hair, holding him in place, just there. Steering his face against me, his tongue flicking insistently at my clit or sliding between my labia and driving deep.

  He loves to hear how many times I come, because he knows me so well, and he knows that once is never more than an appetizer for me.

  He loves me to hold his dick as I tell him these things, so that I can feel his every response.

  “Tell me,” he says, when I return home to him. “Tell me all about it.” And so I hold him and I tell him, and every so often I bat my eyes and squeeze until his eyes go wide and he gasps and he says, “Keep going. Tell me more, Lucy. Tell me everything.”

  Girls’ Night

  I really hadn’t set out to be bad, that night with my old flame Bradley, but things had just got out of hand.

  You know how it is. A girl’s away from home for a couple of nights. She bumps into an old friend, maybe flirts a little. There’s a kiss, but that’s all there is until the girl’s husband tracks down the old flame’s room number and encourages things.

  That’s how my husband is. He likes me to have fun. All kinds of fun, as long as I tell him about it afterwards.

  And afterwards... back at home. I told Jason everything. In detail. Holding him firmly in my hand as I talked. Squeezing and stroking, occasionally dipping my head. Telling my husband how another man’s dick had felt in my hand, in my mouth, balls-deep in my pussy. Straddling Jason, pinning his hands up above his head, my breasts over his face and my pussy grinding down against the length of his shaft.

  Telling him.

  Then, later, the heat of the moment had shifted to something... awkward.

  Lying at his side, one leg curled across his hips, his dick soft and wet beneath my thigh, I started to think about the things I’d said in the heat of passion.

  His dick was so hard!

  He held me by the hair and fucked my face so hard I gagged.

  He came all over me, and then watched as I trailed a finger through his juices and licked it clean.

  It turned me on so much!

  I stretched my neck so I could kiss Jason on the jaw, just then. Soft and tender.

  It had been a moment of madness, that night with Bradley. A one-off. As I lay in bed with my husband once more I wasn’t sure I could cope with that kind of intensity again – not the intensity of the event itself, but of the aftermath.

  At that moment I knew it would never happen again.

  But then...

  “Have you ever kissed a girl?”

  I peered at Jason. He had that look. That mischievous smile.

  “N... no.”

  “Have you ever thought about it?”

  Beneath my thigh I felt a sudden pressure, a softness filling out, shifting.

  “Well... I guess.”

  “Tell me. Tell me what you thought. What you imagined.”

  When Jason asks that kind of question I always try to answer him straight.

  “I thought... Well, it’s fantasy. Sometimes I see someone, on TV or on the street. There’s a spark in their eyes, and you can’t help but wonder... what it would be like, you know?”

  He nodded, arching his back a little. The pressure beneath my thigh had become a hardness. I pressed down, and he gasped.

  “You like?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “You like the thought of me with a woman? So tell me then: what do you think? How do you see it going?”

  That was when I knew. Bradley hadn’t been a one-off. He’d only been the start. Because when you’ve been bad once, you’re always going to be bad again...

  §

  Most people are blind to the opportunities all around them. They never really see that those looks, the flirty comments, the hints... sometimes that’s all they are, but surprisingly often these things are opening gambits, a tentative testing of the water.

  I was as blind as everyone else, to start with.

  But think of all those times you’ve been with your lover and an apparently passing comment or a brief look is all it’s taken for you to know exactly what he or she is in the mood for.

  The world is just like that.

  All you have to do is pay attention.

  Next time you’re out and about, just watch for the signs. A look held for a moment too long. Eyes that roam. A hand held and squeezed. A brief pressing of legs. A parting kiss. Each of these things might be a tipping point. What might happen if you hold that look, squeeze back, hold your lips against soft skin a moment too long?

  All you have to
do is be brave enough to try.

  §

  Celia is everything I’m not.

  She’s five two, to my five seven, and she’s the kind of skinny that still manages to curve in the right places. Fragile and delicate and, naturally, a stunning beauty, with her pale skin, big blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones, all framed with glossy blonde hair that has just a hint of a kink to it. Her laugh is infectious, her personality engaging.

  The only aspect of being Celia I was happy not to share was that she was recently separated from her long-term boyfriend. The thought of breaking up with Jason is too awful to contemplate.

  “Maybe you should have her round,” Jason said one day over breakfast. At the time I didn’t make the connection with our bedtime conversation. I still don’t know if my husband’s suggestion was entirely innocent or if he had other motives from the outset.

  But at the time: “That’s sweet,” I told him. “Maybe I will. It’s been far too long since the two of us did anything. Maybe take-out and a cheesy film that we’ve seen before, so we can talk over it if we have to. I’ll ask her.”

  “Lovely,” said Jason. “Just the two of you. I’ll make myself scarce.”

  So maybe he had planned it all along. The smile on his face just then really should have told me.

  §

  We ordered Chinese, and opened a bottle of Pinot Gris while we waited for delivery. We talked about families and mutual friends, about TV programs we both watched, about the weather. We got onto vacations, but Celia’s last trip had been with Harry and...

  “Look, can I just say this out loud and then we’re done with it?”

  I nodded, and waited for Celia to go on. We were sitting on a deep sofa in a spare room Jason and I keep for watching movies together, a cozy, slightly private place where we don’t normally have guests. It had seemed the perfect room for a girly evening with Celia.

  “It’s really lovely of you to do this, Luce. I’m having a great time. But if it’s a sympathy thing, well... I don’t need sympathy things, okay? Harry and I have split up, but it had been on the cards for ages. If anything, I feel far better now than when I was still with him. I really don’t need sympathy and friends rallying around and all that. Okay?”