The Complete BBW Hotwife

by Sadie Somerton

  §

  I knew the signs.

  The way his body tensed.

  The tightening of his ass under my hand and around the finger I was using to tease his dark opening.

  The way his groans became louder, more drawn out.

  The way his balls drew upwards, the sac tightening.

  The pulse in his hard shaft, the abrupt twitch you could only feel if you held still at just the right moment.

  I put my hand on Marie’s shoulder, raised my eyebrows at Celia.

  They understood.

  We held still, then first Marie pulled away, then Celia, until it was only me, my mouth moving away as my hand went to grip him tightly around the base of his shaft.

  For a few seconds I thought I’d mistimed it, that we’d gone too far and he was about to shoot his creamy load over Marie’s face.

  I was almost disappointed when that didn’t happen – the visual was intensely horny for me, just then.

  The moment passed, and he drew back from the brink.

  I stood, and kissed him, then pushed him gently back until he came up against the bed and had to sit, lie.

  Celia had brought the handcuffs, and we secured him to the bed frame.

  His dick lay hard against his belly, pointing at his chin, twitching occasionally. I leaned over, kissed him on the mouth again, then straightened.

  I started to undress and his eyes were fixed to me. Then a short time later he glanced across to Celia and saw that she was stripping too. Now he didn’t know where to look, his gaze jumping around the room, between me and Celia, and then to Marie, who wasn’t undressing because in that outfit why would you?

  I walked around the bed, found Celia.

  I’d told Jason all about the night I’d spent with her. The other times after that, too. But now, right before his eyes, we pressed our naked bodies together and kissed, deeply, passionately.

  Her small frame slotted into my embrace, our bodies so different, such an exhilarating contrast.

  I allowed my hands to roam. Her skin was so smooth. Her mouth soft and delicate.

  She pressed a thigh between my legs and I ground against her. Then I felt a body behind me, Marie’s strong arms folding themselves around me. Her breasts squashed into my back, her hips hard against my ass.

  I looked at Jason, and now it was my turn to let my jaw sag as hands cupped my breasts, fingernails flicked at my hard nipples, hard thigh ground up against me.

  Jason’s body strained. The muscles in his arms were tight, his back arched. His body half-turned towards us so that his dick flopped to one side, still so long and hard.

  He wanted us to go to him but I shook my head, then nodded beyond him to the doorway.

  Just as in my fantasy, another figure had appeared there, but this was a woman, not a man. Her name was Sunita. She was another friend of Celia’s. Or a friend of a friend – I had started to lose track as our plan for Jason grew. Her long hair was blue-black, her skin a deep brown, her nipples dark and full.

  Now Jason’s body twisted again, and his dick flopped over in the other direction, towards the newcomer.

  “You like?” I said softly to him.

  Sunita came into the room, and moved slowly round the bed. Marie twisted and kissed her and now Jason’s attention was fully on the four women before him, pressing and kissing and touching.

  So much so that he didn’t notice Alicia until she was all the way over by the bed and coming round to join us. Alicia had curves like mine: a full bust and an ass you could easily lose yourself in. Ruby was black, her hair cropped close to her head and her body tall and elegantly slim so that she looked like some African goddess. Melanie was short and dark, maybe Italian or Greek. Grace was like a shorter version of Ruby, slightly fuller of figure. And then came Angie, Therese, Marissa, Michelle... names finally defeating me as the room filled.

  Jason didn’t know where to look, how to respond. All he could do was lie there, straining against the handcuffs, gaze roaming across naked flesh, wandering hands, pressing bodies.

  When we were all there I looked around the room and nodded.

  We moved to encircle the bed and then, so slowly, closed in on my naked, handcuffed husband.

  When we reached the bed, we leaned over or climbed on and moved towards his straining body.

  I held back a little, watching events unfold, loving the look on Jason’s face, the wonder and excitement and pure, unadulterated lust.

  I watched as hands found him. Hands on his legs, his thighs; on his arms, his head and face; his chest, his belly.

  Hands everywhere but where his straining, impatient body really wanted them.

  Hands pressing and rubbing, fingers clawing.

  Mouths against his skin. Long hair trailing down over his body as hands stroked and teased, touching him everywhere but that hard, twitching dick.

  Sunita was the first to kiss him, their contact mostly obscured behind a curtain of blue-black hair that fell around them.

  Just then, Grace straddled one of his legs, rubbing her pussy against his knee and then up his thigh, her dark skin a sharp contrast with his paleness. This seemed to be the signal for the others. Celia moved to stand above him, looking down her body at him and then slowly lowering herself until she could grind her pussy against his face. One of the others had a mouth to his chest, working a nipple in her teeth. Another slid hands beneath him, finding his ass. I remembered the tightening of his puckered opening when I’d touched him there earlier but now, I was sure, it was more than mere teasing going on there: I’d seen her lick her finger first for lubrication.

  I moved in then. I found a space between his legs, threaded my way through tangled limbs.

  Still, no-one had touched him there.

  His dick was so hard, flushed dark with blood, so desperately in need of attention.

  I reached for it.

  When my hand brushed against the shaft he gave a muffled cry. I coiled my fingers around the base of his dick and pulled it upright, presenting it to my friends.

  Ruby lowered her mouth onto it instantly, taking it in smoothly until her lips were clamped around the base, her face nestled in his lap. She started to rock and twist her head, and Jason’s body bucked in response.

  I dropped my head and started to lick at his balls as Ruby drew her head upwards, then thrust back down again, sharply.

  I felt hands behind me then, parting my thighs, exploring my sex.

  So many of us crowded in here... not everyone could reach Jason... Suddenly the dynamics had changed, shifted from purely being about playing with Jason to... hands and mouths, hard limbs... teeth on one of my nipples... a mouth pressing against my pussy, taking me from behind...

  As I watched, one of the girls – Melanie, I think – lowered herself onto Jason’s erect dick. Her ass came down before my eyes, as she settled astride him. I could still get to his balls, so I swept against them with my tongue, licking up over her perineum and ass. And behind me, a tongue drove deep, making me groan.

  Melanie started to ride him, drawing herself up and then sliding down again. I followed her with my mouth, my tongue sweeping along the underside of his shaft, over and over again.

  In my mind I’d run over this time and again, but it had been impossible to really understand how it might go until now. Impossible to know how it would be... my mouth on dick and pussy and ass, while all the time someone’s mouth was pressed hard against my own pussy, tongue alternating between driving deep and flicking at my clit.

  I lost myself to it, to all that contact, all those many, many different sensations.

  Lost myself until I realized how close he was, how his movements had changed, how he was straining even harder, thrusting even deeper.

  The next thrust took him over the edge. My mouth on the base of his shaft, I felt the throbbing, the pulse as he shot his load into that pussy. I kissed his shaft as it started to subside, and he pushed up again, as another wave of orgasm took him.

  As ou
r movements started to slow, our bodies slump, his juices and hers started to run back down his dick and I licked and sucked both of them until they were clean.

  That was when hands took me, turned me, spreading my legs.

  Briefly, that mouth had moved away from my pussy, but now it returned. The change in position had given my lover – Grace, I saw, her shaved black head moving hungrily – easier access and now she licked me with long sweeping motions. Other lips clamped around my nipples, tongues flicking, and now Celia kissed me, her tongue driving deep.

  The kiss was what took me over, turning the myriad sensations into a single tense knot deep inside. A knot that started to unravel, to spread, taking over my whole body until I felt my pussy clenching hard around Grace’s tongue, a deep trembling of the muscles inside me as orgasm swept through my body and my many lovers skillfully drew the moment out until finally I slumped, exhausted, at my husband’s side.

  §

  Later, much later, we lay together again.

  I’d lost track of him for much our time there. So many different combinations of bodies and positions. But now we lay together, while all around us others still tangled, some moving, others as drained as we were.

  He kissed me then, and held me, and then he said, “So. Your biggest fantasy. You. Men. All around you. I could arrange that for you, babe. All you have to do is say the word.”

  “Mmm,” I said. “I might hold you to that, you know. Just not today. Or tomorrow. I think we might both need a little time to recover from this, first of all.”

  The Man Who’s Had It All

  It has to be every guy’s fantasy, hasn’t it?

  You’re married to the hottest girl ever, head over heels in love.

  And she has the mind of a harlot.

  She wants to explore. She wants to try things.

  She wants to share it with you.

  Before I met Lucy I never knew what the term ‘hotwife’ meant, but now I do.

  It means her.

  Lucy.

  The love of my life.

  §

  I’ve been with Lucy three years now. At first I worried that the age difference was too great.

  Only in her early twenties, at times Lucy seemed such an innocent. There was so much she hadn’t done. Places she’d never been, experiences she’d never had.

  I felt guilty that marrying her might shut her off from so much that life had to offer.

  You need to live a bit first, don’t you?

  I know I had, and I thought that was part of the problem. I’d seen ten years more of life, and I’d packed a hell of a lot into that time!

  We hit on a solution, though.

  A solution that was simple and clear: Lucy would be free to explore whatever she chose. No secrecy, no lies, and certainly no guilt.

  The only rule was that she must tell me everything.

  In detail.

  Usually with her hand wrapped tightly around my dick.

  So she told me about the time she’d spent with an old flame, the nearly guy she’d never quite hooked up with at college.

  She gave an extra squeeze as she told me how it felt to hold another man’s dick, that delicious mix of rudeness and thrill, the sense that something so wrong could be so right.

  A slide of her thumb across my glans, lubricated with pre-come, as she told me about kissing him, about lying back on his bed and looking down the curves of her body to watch the movements of his head as he went down on her.

  Straddling me and pressing, as she told me about a brief encounter with a colleague, a knee-trembler in a vacant office, hard and fast over a desk loaded with boxes and abandoned paperwork.

  Or the night her friend Celia had come to stay, when I’d heard them together, seen glimpses through a door Lucy had left partly open. And then later that night when Lucy had come to me and her mouth had tasted of her friend’s pussy.

  Every guy’s fantasy?

  No. Let me correct that.

  It’s every guy’s fantasies, a whole bunch of them rolled together, one after the other.

  That’s what it’s like to be married to a hotwife.

  To be married to Lucy.

  §

  After a time you realize something.

  When this thing had started, it was all about making up the lost ground: that big gap in experience.

  A chance for Lucy to play catch-up.

  But at some point the rationale had shifted.

  It’s not about making up ground any more.

  It’s about the fun. The thrill.

  It’s about who we are as individuals, as a couple.

  We both get off on it.

  When Lucy’s away somewhere and I’m left alone it’s a strange mix of pain and excitement. She’s away with someone else. Fucking him. Or her. Or them.

  It scares me, always. You never get away from the fear that she’s going to find something better.

  And that’s a part of what gives it the extra edge. The risk. The fear.

  Sometimes she texts me or calls me, tells me what she’s going to do or what she’s actually doing. That heightens everything: that heady mix of fear and arousal.

  Then, when she comes back to me – she always comes back to me – it’s like make-up sex on the grandest scale imaginable.

  That grip on my dick – she has the most amazing touch! – as she tells me about her adventures.

  The flood of relief that she’s here, she’s mine.

  The understanding, again, that what we have is an incredible thing, and that we can only live this life because our love is so strong.

  And then the moment when all of that is – briefly, at least – nothing, when her touch takes over, when all you know is the sensations where your two bodies make contact and nothing else matters.

  That.

  §

  Then one day you’re lying together in the aftermath, all hot and wet and tangled limbs, and she says to you, “You know, Jason, you’ve been so wonderful supporting me. Encouraging me to go out and try things. Setting me up with people. Sharing. You make me feel so loved. So sexy.”

  “You are.”

  A simple statement of fact.

  Lucy has curves, which sometimes means she’s lacking in confidence when she compares herself with some of her stick-thin friends, but in my eyes she’s perfect. A woman should have that shape. Should have breasts that are full, an ass that’s shaped like a real woman’s ass, legs that have curves to them rather than stark, straight lines.

  Give me Marilyn Monroe or Queen Latifah over the latest anorexic supermodel any day!

  She rolls her eyes. Goes on: “I really love all this, Jason, but do you know what? I think it must be your turn by now. Time for you to do something new. Fulfill a fantasy. So tell me: what would you like to do? No limits. What’s your biggest fantasy?”

  Marilyn Monroe and Queen Latifah aside, she had me there.

  I’ve lived a full and rich life in my thirty-something years.

  I’ve been around.

  Lucy had put me on the spot. I’m living my fantasy right now.

  It’s so hard to answer her question. What do you offer a guy who’s had everything?

  So I kiss her, soft and gentle.

  Pull away, and she’s still waiting for an answer.

  “What do you want, Jason?”

  I shrug.

  “Surprise me,” I say. “I want to be surprised.”

  §

  She left it for a couple of weeks, close to three.

  I thought she’d forgotten. Thought that maybe she was a bit frustrated with me: such a vague, unhelpful answer in response to what had been a sexy offer. Turning it all back onto her.

  Then one evening she leads me upstairs by the hand, that look in her eye.

  We enter the bedroom and she pushes the door shut with a foot, turns me to face her.

  It’s hardly the first time she’s behaved like this, decided she’s in the mood and just helped herself.

&nbs
p; But that look... There’s something about this that’s different, and a part of my mind starts to race.

  Has she remembered? Has she come up with something? What’s going on?

  She reaches for my shirt, finds my necktie and works the knot loose. Tugs on one end and even something this ordinary feels different now: something sensuous about the fabric dragging under my collar and pulling free.

  She balls it up and tosses it onto the bed, then reaches for my shirt again, finds the top button.

  I raise a hand to touch her face but she shrugs it away. Gives a quick, sharp shake of the head: no touching. She’s in charge.

  I like that.

  Don’t get me wrong: I’m not a man who craves submission. I’m one who seeks variety. One who enjoys the full richness of what’s possible.

  I love to sweep a woman off her feet. To have my way. When it’s so urgent, when the need is so overpowering that you just have to cut the preamble and have her. Now. When that’s all she wants, too, when being dominated is the biggest turn-on of all for her.

  But sometimes...

  That stern look in her eye, telling me just to follow her lead. To yield up even the thought of trying to take over.

  The buttons undone, she pulls my shirt back across my shoulders, tugs it down my arms, tosses it aside.

  Hand on my chest, she guides me back until my legs come up against the side of the bed.

  A gentle push and I sit, lean back, taking some of my weight on my hands behind me.

  She drops to her knees and I follow her look to my lap, where my erection strains hard against my pants.

  My shoes, fine Italian leather, fashionably distressed. A tug of the lace and she pulls one free. The other soon follows.

  Socks, pulled loose at the toe, then gently slid down over my ankles, my feet, discarded.

  Such a fucking turn-on! The simple act of being undressed, nothing more.

  She leans forward, finds the buckle of my belt, teases it free.

  Where is she going with this? I still don’t know what she has planned. Still don’t know if this is her following through on her offer, and if so, just where it might lead.

  I put myself in her place. What would I come up with? Just what can you give a guy who’s had everything?