Spouse for Sale

by Ben Boswell

  Spouse for Sale: The Making of a Hotwife

  Ben Boswell

  Spouse for Sale: The Making of a Hotwife All Right Reserved © 2019 by Ben Boswell

  Cover image © iStockPhoto. Used under license. Cover design by Kenny Wright

  First digital edition electronically published by Ben Boswell, August 2019

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without explicit written permission of the copyright holder.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Foreword

  This is my second “short” in a planned trilogy of hotwife tropes. The first was Party Crasher , which had the wife walking in on her husband’s bachelor party, chasing away the hired help, and taking things into her own, um, well, you get the idea. The story in this volume plays with the fantasy of the wife becoming an escort. I’ll leave it at that for now, though I will have some additional thoughts about this fantasy in my author’s commentary. The reason I placed the word “short” in quotes above is that this one was planned to be about 10k words, but came in at 25k. Basically a shortish novella rather than a short story. That happens. Stories and characters take on a life of their own.

  I’m having fun with these stories. They bring me back to my roots, so to speak. When I first started reading/writing these stories, most of what was available online were shorts. I mean, really short shorts, as in 8-16k characters rather than words. At that length, the trope or the cliche, actually carries most of the narrative weight. You can’t get into any character development -- the wife just is who she is -- and still have space for the actual, you know, sex. And the trope is the shortcut. She’s addicted to big cocks, or black men, or the dominant boss, or whatever, and there is no explanation, development, or backstory.

  I don’t think I can quite write that sort of story anymore. It leaves me feeling unsatisfied. But by the same token, I think there is something about writing within a well-worn rut that is comforting. It reduces some of the narrative pressure, and allows me to just mess around at the margins. The trope forms the melody, and I get to add the riffs. It does require some suspension of disbelief on your part, dear reader, but I hope you’ll indulge me.

  Assuming people like this story… and I think they will… I may actually write more than three of these “shorts.” To that end, I’d like to solicit feedback from you. If there is a “classic” hotwife setup that you’d like to see me explore, please let me know and I’ll try to add it to my writing list. You can reach me, as always, at ben.boswell.author@gmail.com or on Twitter @BenBoswellAut.

  As with Party Crasher , I have some author commentary after the main story and an old story that has only been edited for typos. It is barely 1200 words, and was the kind of story I wrote very, very early on. I hope you’ll find that additional material entertaining as well.

  I’d like to thank Kenny Wright for the cover design and comments on an earlier version. Also Gary S and Robert C provided copyediting assistance and additional comments. Thank you all.

  Ben Boswell

  August 2019

  Spouse for Sale

  Chapter One: Vegas Encounter

  I was sitting on one of the leather sofas in the Lily Bar at the Bellagio. It was an oasis inside the casino. Surprisingly quiet, with cool Jazz, one of the rare spots in Vegas where it is actually possible to have a conversation.

  Despite the elegant surroundings, the patrons were the usual Vegas mix. Off to my left, was a group of giggling twenty-somethings. No one was wearing a sash, so probably not a bachelorette party, but judging by the cleavage and short skirts, they were probably just having a few drinks before hitting a club. At 11:00pm, the evening was just getting started. To my right, a middle-aged couple, probably from Ohio or Wisconsin. She was in flowered pants and a loose white blouse. He was wearing plaid shorts and a golf shirt. Between the two of them, they probably weighed close to 500 pounds. By the piano was yet another Vegas cliche, an older man, maybe sixty, pale and pasty and sitting with a very attractive, Asian woman less than half his age. Despite his persistent pattering, she looked bored, though she managed to shoot him an occasional, encouraging smile.

  And then there was her. She was sitting at the bar. Mid-thirties, pretty with chin-length chestnut hair framing a rounded face. Blue eyes I noticed even from across the room, full lips, and a cute button nose. She was wearing a slinky blue, mid-thigh dress. Matching heels dangled at the end of her long, shapely legs. When she twisted in her seat, the dress revealed an impressive amount of cleavage.

  I’d been watching for a while. A couple of men had approached her. Things seemed to be going well, with her laughing and flicking her hair, and otherwise giving positive vibes, but then in each case, there was an abrupt end. Some conversational dead end. The first man scurried away, the second backed away reluctantly. I would have loved to have been able to listen in on those exchanges.

  Then a third man joined her. He looked to be in his fifties. He was dressed casually in black pants and a thin, grey sweater pulled up to his forearms. He was trim and muscular. He offered her a drink and she accepted. She’d already had a few, so maybe she was loosened up, or maybe she was really into him. Her body language with the other men had made her seem available, but with this man, she seemed eager. She hung on his every word. They laughed together, and she brought her hand down and grazed his forearm. They locked eyes meaningfully. She licked her lips. He leaned in, his hand moving to her bare knee. I thought he might try to kiss her, and I wondered if she’d let him. To anyone watching he was obviously a stranger and they would know she’d let herself get picked up.

  Instead of a kiss, he spoke into her ear. She flushed slightly, but gave him a smile when he pulled back. He grinned. His thumb traced circles on the inside of her knee, sliding higher up her thigh. She leaned forward in turn and spoke in his ear. His eyes widened, and his eyebrows rose. He seemed pensive for a moment. Then he nodded, and she now seemed surprised. She swallowed hard, and plastered a smile on her face. He spoke some more, and she nodded and nodded again, agreeing to something, though it was impossible to know what from my vantage. His hand had disappeared up under her dress, to her inner thigh, or even higher. His kissed her cheek, and placed his hand on hers. Then he rose, and I could see the bulge in his pants, and the card he’d placed in her palm.

  She watched him leave and took a gulp of her wine. She looked around the bar guiltily, blushing, either embarrassed or excited or both. I decided to take my shot. I sat down in the now-open seat next to her. She gave me an amused, challenging smile.

  “You seem to be popular tonight,” I said.

  “What’s your name?” She asked.

  “George.”

  “Nice to meet you, George. I’m Ally. So, what are you looking for tonight?”

  “Um, nothing. I mean, I just --”

  She put her hand on mine. “Sorry to rush things along, Baby, but I actually have a commitment coming up in a little more than an hour. Plenty of time to have a little fun, but you know, time is wasting.”

  “Um, okay.”

  She squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes. “Time is also money.”

  “Yeah, right. I mean, of course.”

  “Are you a cop?” she asked.

  “No…. why?”

  She chuckled. “I just like to ask that, even though, obviously, if you were a cop you could lie. So are you lying?”

  “Doesn’t that cause the same problem as before?”

  “I don’t think you’re a cop.” She looked at her watc
h. She leaned in close. “I have a little more than 45 minutes. Are you staying here?”

  I nodded.

  “So, consider this a clearance special. We go upstairs, have a little fun, but we need to go right now.”

  “Okay.”

  Whispering in my ears, she said, “$500.” Then she pulled back to look in my eyes.

  I nodded.

  “Yeah?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  I paid off her tab, and we walked out of the bar. There were a lot of eyes on us, well, mostly on her I presume. I let her lead the way, checking out her shapely ass. Once we got to the elevator, she waited for me.

  “Floor?”

  “Um, 22.”

  “You’re not sure,” she teased.

  “No, definitely 22.”

  And then once off the elevator, she let me lead her to the room. Inside, she shut the door behind me. She nodded toward the bathroom “Please put the money on the sink.” Then she continued into the main room. I followed in after her, but she stopped me. “My gift?”

  “Um, okay, sure.”

  I reached into my wallet and pulled out five crisp hundreds. I offered them to her, but she nodded again toward the bathroom. I placed them down.

  “You’re new at this.”

  “Um yeah,” I admitted.

  “Don’t worry I’ll take good care of you.” She turned. “Unzip me?”

  I pulled down her zipper and she shimmied her shoulders out of her dress. She turned to face me and eased off her bodice. Her breasts looked delicious in a sleek, black satin strapless bra. She eased her dress down over her hips exposing a matching thong.

  “Do you like what you see?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Worth the $500?”

  I nodded again.

  “You can feel free to tip after if you have fun. But now, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

  She unbuttoned my shirt, keeping eye contact with me the whole time. She pulled my shirt open, and ran her fingers through the hair on my chest. As I slipped my arms out, she began working on my belt, and then my zipper. She tugged at my pants and they dropped to the floor. She rubbed my cock through my boxers.

  “Hmmm, another gift for me? Looks like I’m a lucky girl, tonight.”

  Ally reached behind her and unsnapped her bra. She tossed it aside. Her breasts were lovely. Large, natural, with a bit of hang, they were a woman’s tits.

  “Do you like them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Touch them.”

  I cupped them and felt their heft. My thumbs circled her plump, red nipples. As I did, she stroked me through my shorts, until my cock was rock hard and jutting outward.

  “Do you want me to suck it?”

  I nodded.

  “You can do better than that, George. I’m not your wife. You can tell me what you want.”

  I swallowed hard, and then forced out the words. “I want you to suck my cock.”

  She grinned. “See, was that so hard?”

  Ally dropped down to her knees. She pulled down my boxers and stroked my prick. “Now, this is hard,” she said.

  She reached behind her, grabbed her clutch, unzipped it, and fished out a condom.

  “Do we really need to use that?” I asked.

  “Safety first.”

  She unrolled the rubber onto my prick, which looked unfamiliar encased in latex. I hadn’t had to wear one since college. But I soon forgot about that as she took me into her mouth. She bobbed up and down several times, taking me deeper with each swallow, until the rubber glistened with her saliva. She stroked me firmly and made eye contact. Then she kissed and licked up my shaft before swallowing me deeply again.

  “Hmmm, that’s nice,” I sighed.

  “You have a nice cock. Do you want me to finish you like this? Or….”

  She returned to sucking my cock. It was tempting. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a blowjob to completion. And if not for the condom, I might have gone for it. I ran my hand through her hair, and let her go on for a while.

  “Or…” I said.

  She smiled and stroked me. “Go ahead, George, say it.”

  It shouldn’t have been so hard, but the words stuck in my throat. Finally I choked it out. “I want to fuck you.”

  She stood up, still jerking my shaft.

  “I want to fuck you too. How do you want me?”

  “Huh?”

  She laughed. “Missionary? Doggy? Cowgirl? Reverse cowgirl?”

  “I… um….”

  “Do you want to bend me over that desk?” She paused, then added. “Your money, your choice.”

  “I… ah… Doggy…. No. Reverse cow… ah… girl.”

  She chuckled. “Ah yes, definitely a fan favorite.”

  She led me over to the bed and pushed me onto my back. Standing close, she slowly wiggled out of her black thong. She had a closely trimmed triangle above her shaved slit. She licked her fingertips and slid them between her puffy labia.

  “See how wet you made me?”

  I stared mutely.

  “Do you think this tight, little pussy will feel good around your big, hard cock?”

  I nodded.

  She grinned. “You’re not much of a talker. Are you sure you want this?”

  I began to nod, but then forced myself to speak. “I’m just not used to… you know.”

  She climbed onto the bed and straddled my thighs. I stared at her ass. She grabbed my prick and began rubbing it against her slit.

  “Asking for what you want? Well, that’s the beauty of a girl like me. I’ve heard it all… and done it all.”

  I groaned even before she slowly lowered herself onto my prick. She was so tight and hot that I almost lost it immediately. I looked away and forced myself to breathe, even as she began to rock slowly on my prick, but I managed to pull back from the edge.

  She chuckled. “Go ahead and watch. That’s the best part, isn’t it?”

  She winked at me over her shoulder and then leaned forward. I felt her nipples brush my shins, and I watched as she rode me. Seeing my cock sliding in and out of her wet pussy was electrifying. In that position, she was completely open, shameless. Her little, puckered rosebud beckoned me. I reached out and palmed her thrusting ass, teasing her anus with my thumb.

  “Oooh, dirty boy,” she cooed. “You can touch that, but anything more will be extra.”

  “Oh God,” I sighed at the thought of my dick going into her ass.

  She bounced on me faster. I groaned again.

  “That’s it, Baby, come for me. Come in my tight, little pussy.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Mmmm, Baby,” she cooed. “You’re making me come. Making me come so hard.”

  My cock slurped, slurped, slurped into her snatch.

  “Yeah, that’s it, that’s it,” she moaned. “Come for me. Come for me.”

  “Oh God,” I moaned again as my balls tightened and I shot what felt like a gallon of come.

  She chuckled and rose off me.

  “Mmmm, was that good, Baby? Was that worth the money?”

  “Oh, my God, you’re amazing.”

  She got up. “Remember that when you tip.”

  I laughed. She didn’t. “Um, okay.”

  She went into the bathroom. I heard the water turn on, and she returned a moment later with a towel. She carefully removed the condom and wrapped it in a tissue. Then she wiped down my cock and balls.

  I smiled at her, admiring her lovely body. She bent down and picked up her thong and began to slip it on.

  “Uh, what are you doing?” I asked.

  She smiled and continued to dress. “Sorry Baby, I’d love to stay, but I told you I have another appointment.”

  “What?”

  She picked up my pants and tossed them to me, nodding at the back pocket. Then she stepped into her heels.

  I chuckled. The tip. I pulled out my wallet and peeled off another couple of hundreds.


  She pocketed those.

  “Thanks, Babe.”

  Then she leaned over and wrote her number on the notepad beside the bed.

  “If you’re ever back in town, give me a call.”

  I watched in surprise as she turned, strode toward the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hallway.

  I got up and stared at the door. Fuck that was hot. But… where had my wife just gone?

  Chapter Two: Origins

  We were 24, drunk, and playing Truth or Dare in my small bedroom in the apartment I shared with two other guys. Ally was in my small section in law school. I was immediately attracted to the smart, hot, brunette in tight jeans. She took a little longer to come around on me, though she did, at least enough to accept my invitation to a private study session. We were supposed to be studying Torts, but were instead studying each other.

  “Your turn,” I said.

  “Dare.”

  She gave me a cute, slightly crooked, tipsy smile, and fixed me with a challenging gaze. Challenging me to give her a real dare, and not just to take another shot or a request for a handstand. I decided to roll the dice.

  “Show me your breasts.”

  She blushed and laughed. “Not my boobs? Or hooters? Or even tits?”

  “You’re delaying.”

  She pointed to herself and mouthed, me?

  “Yes, you.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” she said coyly.

  But I was pretty sure I had her. “So you give up?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I smiled at her.

  “I don’t know George. Do you promise never to tell anyone? I’d hate to be known as the girl who can be dared into taking off her top.”

  “Pinky swear.”

  She giggled. “Are you sure you want to see my breasts?”

  “Show me your tits already.”

  “Okay, but you have to promise you won’t try to touch them,” she said with a laugh.

  “I can’t promise that.”

  A smile. She crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt, and in one motion pulled it over her head. She was wearing a cute, sleek, pink bra, with a little bow in the middle. I felt a rush of heat. It was the kind of bra girls wear when they’re planning on getting topless with a guy.

  “You okay there?” she asked. “You’re breathing a little hard.”