Hotwife, Happy Life Pt. 01

We had finally turned a corner in our marriage and it really started feeling like old times. Well, as close to old times as we could manage considering a nearly 20-year relationship, kids, infidelity, and having just stepped back from the precipice of divorce. My husband and I were both fully on the same page, working hard to save our marriage. The fruits of two years of labor -- counseling, brutal honesty, confessions and lots of pent-up emotions have finally paid off. The ebbs and flows of intimacy and trust were now a surging river of love and acceptance. I accepted his transgressions and he accepted mine. We learned a lot about each other and like a rubber band stretching to it's maximum, threatening to break, we snapped back together and I think we're stronger than ever.

A couple of years back I got drunk on a girl's night and hooked up with a guy at the bar. He was young and slick, not to mention gorgeous. He was with a group of similarly studly young men who were clearly on the prowl. They had been flirting with our group throughout the night at the bar. All of us were married and in our late 30's, which we made clear early on, but none of us would ever admit that we really liked the attention. Some of the ladies flirted pretty hard to the point in which I figured something crazy was going to happen, but we parted ways before anyone jumped from that cliff. We headed to the club a couple of blocks up the street to dance and drink our faces off. I was at the bar getting another cocktail when I felt his strong hands around my waist and a big cock grinding against my ass. Next thing you know I was being held against the wall of the bathroom stall, legs in the air, cumming all over Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome.

Weeks went by and the guilt overwhelmed me. Hubby knew something was amiss because our normally active sex life had immediately dried up. I feared diseases and getting caught cheating because I gave my husband something, but the reality was that my libido was killed by the guilt of knowing what I did to our marriage. I was terrified of his response. I was terrified that the kids would find out eventually. I thought about everyone in my life finding out what type of whore I really was. Ashamed and disgusted with myself, drowning in anxiety, I dried up like worm on the sidewalk after a summer afternoon shower. Following nearly a month of refusing his touch, my husband finally confronted me. I had prepared for the conversation as much as I could, but how it unfolded was especially devastating and ultimately liberating.

I evaded his questions until it was obvious what I did. He's a very smart guy -- one of the smartest people I've ever met. Trying to hide my infidelity from him as we talked was futile and I knew it. Once he figured out I had cheated, I confessed every part of my actions, only sparing the gory details of the admittedly great sex. To my surprise, his anger subsided as my confession gave way to the full testimony of all of my sins. I didn't stop with Mr. Big Dick Bar Stud. I went deep. I told him about the stripper at my bachelorette party who ate my pussy. I told him about time right after our first child that I felt ugly and unfuckable when an ex started texting me out of nowhere. Nothing happened between us other than texts, but I did send him a couple of naughty pictures. I told him about playing naked drinking games with our friends when he was at home watching the kids. I told him everything I could remember about all the times I flirted harder than I should. I pulled no punches. I dumped the motherload of my failures as a wife into his lap.

In our extreme emotional state, we agreed to never lie or hide anything ever again. Sure, it was something every couple says at one point or another, and we were no different, but this time was unique. I had just confessed every infidelity and after crying together for a bit, he started making some confessions of his own.

We both sobbed as he described having sex with a stripper at my cousin's bachelor party some 15 years ago. I felt sick as he talked of how flirting with his assistant turned physical almost a decade ago. I remember her well and it especially hurt because I always really liked her. She seemed like a very sweet girl who was very innocent and ambitious. I first met her when I came in to take him to lunch one day and there was this beautiful girl alone in his office. We chatted and I just loved her. I used to joke with him about how he better not get any ideas and he used to pan that there's no way she'd be interested. Apparently, she was.

She had only been working there for a few weeks when she began pursuing him. At first, he was clueless, but her flirtations became more and more aggressive. The best we can figure, she had already started the courtship when I met her that day. She began standing close, complimenting him on his cologne, and telling him how lucky I was. Gross. He said in retrospect he really should have noticed when she started leaving her blouse partially unbuttoned and her skirts kept getting shorter. One day she noticed him gazing at her cleavage as she bent over his desk and made her move. She embarrassed him by asking if he liked what he saw and as he tried stammering his way out, she shut the door and lifted her skirt to show her panties, telling him that he made her wet. I believe him when he says he never fucked her because he had no reason to lie at that point. However, they did pretty much everything else. Kissing, touching, oral. "3rd base, but no home runs." It didn't matter, it hurt just the same.

Eventually she ended up being fired along with a different Director after getting caught fucking him by the cleaning crew after hours. Like I said, she was ambitious. Come to find out, she was fucking her way up to the e-suite before getting caught, landing a couple of VP's as well as most of hubby's director group; not that it seemed to be helping her career. Maybe fucking leadership just really did make her horny.

Beyond that he had little to confess that was bothersome. I knew he'd go to the strip club with clients, and I've been with him before, so I know about lapdances. I knew he was flirty with cute girls tending bar or in the checkout line. A big surprise for me was that he collected phone numbers with no intention of calling, just to make himself feel attractive. If he had confessed this to me before this conversation, I would have lost it. Considering everything we were admitting to, it really seemed benign. His explanation made perfect sense. Ever since my first training bra I've had the boys' attention and for guys, I guess they get their validation 'in the hunt' as he says. 'Scoring a kill' wasn't getting his dick wet, just getting a number was enough to make him feel powerful.

A major shift occurred that day. Our policy of brutal honesty held up and began created major problems. All of a sudden, all the little things we've ignored forever that pissed us off were now frequent topics of conversation. Conversations we never had in our two-decade relationship, but probably should have, became almost a daily routine. There was a major pile of shit we had built around our foundation and it all came out. I know for me; it was both miserable and liberating. No more hiding or holding anything back, but the shovels didn't just throw things over the fence in one direction. It all came right back over and sometimes the loads were heavier than we expected. Having all of your wifely flaws and inadequacies catapulted back in your face day after day takes its toll. Very quickly, our relationship was eroding apart and we decided counselling was in order.

Our therapist really helped us. Weekly meetings, some incredibly productive, some not at all, but we endured. We slagged through it not really being able to see the progress most of the time, but we came through the other side remembering why we loved each other in the first place. He was brilliant, hilarious, and as a whole, a dominant force in every conceivable situation. We fit together like a set of Legos. I filled his gaps and he filled mine (no pun intended). Peas and carrots as they say. We were once again best friends who were absolutely wild for each other. And the sex? The first year of our recovery, non-existent. Over the last year, it really flourished. Our brutal honesty brought about delving into our fantasies and very quickly, acting them out. A little bit of kink for me and a little bit of role play for him. We bought toys and outfits and other gear, using them regularly to fulfil each other's desires. Our sex life was always good, but now it began blossoming into something really special. I swear to god I've never had so many orgasms as I've had in the last six months.

My little kinks were minor, but we found role playing was a major driving force that worked for both of us. One of our goto's had become reliving our darkest marital moments in a fantasy situation. It all started by accident when he asked me to surprise him with a new role play scenario and he would surprise me with a new fun toy. He showed up with some nipple clamps and I showed up with, "Chrissy, the Office Whore." I wore business attire two sizes too small and seduced him on my home office desk. He was shocked considering our history, but I honestly hadn't really thought about it. I was just racking my brain for ideas and found some dumb article that had suggestions. We already did the slutty maid, the hot personal trainer, and the handyman with a hard-on... and there it was. The Office Romance.

We both ended up so hot and bothered we didn't stop at one. It became a thing. We started having 'office sex' consistently for weeks. We talked about how close we were getting towards dangerous territory so we kept things vague. I never asked him about the specifics of that fling and he never mentioned how close things were hitting home. We both felt as if this was a deviation from our brutal honesty policy, but agreed that pure accuracy in this area wasn't totally necessary as long as we expressed how everything was making us feel. He acknowledged the hint of danger excited him as I'd graze the edge of reality and I admitted the flashes of jealousy in having him relive those times was pretty hot. The touch of danger and rush of jealousy added to the energy and made both of us cum much harder. I was fine with everything staying exactly how it was when I received that first text message.

"Hey babe, how you been?"

I ignored it. I figured it was a wrong number. Then I got another, with my name.

"Who is this?"

"Sorry, I wouldn't expect you to have my number after all these years."

And then it came. My adorable husband sends me a picture from a pay as you go phone he picked up at a gas station. It's him. Hair slicked back, gold chain, sunglasses, and shirt unbuttoned halfway looking like the mid-40's version of at least four douchebags I dated in college. He knew my old type as we joked about it for years... and he nailed it. I sent him an 'lol' before realizing what he was doing. We texted back and forth like that for a while, but never talked about it beyond that. I tried that first day when he got home, but he shushed me right away and dismissed it -- "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He played his part as an ex trying to get back in my pants and I played my part as the married woman flirting way too much, but unwilling to do anything except send some pictures. It really worked us both up. We left the role-playing back at the office and started role playing behind the scenes, as if we were hiding it from each other. He'd fuck me like he was trying to claim me against all others and I fucked him like he was just some guy I used for sex. After he'd ask me what I was thinking of or if there was anything I'd like to tell him, but I never broke character. I told him everything was fine and he had nothing to worry about. We had a great time with it for a while. It was naughty, dirty, and totally safe. We did end up discussing it after a while, still taking care not to break character or get so detailed it would upset the fantasy situation. By that time our communication as so strong we could keep it quite vague and still understand each other. It was somehow healing to share those dark relationship moments with the person who you're actually supposed to be fantasizing about instead of some homewreckers who don't really care about you.

I decided we needed to expand our horizons and go deeper. I snuck into the shower while he was watching a game one night. I got dolled up with heavy makeup and slutty lingerie, sprayed my entire body with perfume, walked into the room, turned off the TV, and told Alexa to play stripper music (which doesn't work, BTW, I had to finally tell her a song specifically -- Pour Some Sugar on Me, for the record). I gave him my best version of a strip club lap dance, pulled his cock out and shoved it in as he did his best faux protest act. I was really surprised at how it made me feel. I felt hot. I felt sexy. It was dirty and I felt like a total whore. I felt like I was being used and it felt incredible.

Our sex normalized a bit after that. We weren't doing as much kinky or role-playing stuff, but were still going at it like animals. Him and me, one on one, with no special additives. It was great for both of us. We both still liked extras here and there, but we also realized we don't need them. Sex is just good and we were both pretty damn good at it. Everything just synced up with us -- friendship, marriage, sex, everything. We were sympatico.

I didn't even realize where we were at first that night. I tried putting that memory behind me, but my husband remembered. We were out with another couple and both of us girls wanted to dance. We dragged our reluctant husbands to the club -- the same club in which I hooked up with Mr. Bathroom Stall Guy.

"How do you feel being back here?" my husband inquired.

I felt a little queasy as I immediately realized what he was asking. I told him I was ok, but he could feel my uneasiness. He comforted me and quickly made me forget in the best way possible. He danced with me. My husband cannot dance. He's got two left feet and sometimes it looks like one of them may be broken or made of rubber or something. He tries for me which melts my heart every time and this time he went all out. At one point he was going so hard with the theatrics a circle formed around us and I got horribly embarrassed. As the night wore on, he didn't give up and I fell in love with him over and over again.

We got drunk and we danced and danced. We got flirty and before we knew it, were making out in the corner of the club like the college kids.

"I want to fuck you in this club," he screamed in my ear over the pounding music.

"Do you know a place?"

His wide grin eased my turning stomach. We were having such a good night and our role playing never hit this close to home. We'd brush against the edges of reality without ever crossing them. This time it was very on the nose. This didn't feel like it was going to as much of a role play as it would be a reenactment.

"Hey, I'm for real. I want to fuck you here. It's the only one we haven't tried, right?"

He had a point, or so it seemed in my drunken haze. He kept kissing on my neck and rubbing my ass long enough to convince me. We snuck into the same stall I had used some two years prior as he demanded, and he laid into me. I thought we were sure to get busted and kicked out of the club the way he had me howling in there. Lots of commentary from the outside as we carried on. He fucked me just like Mr. What's His Face per my direction and for the first time in my life I actually squirted. ALL over everything. When he was about to cum, I dropped to my knees on the wet, disgusting floor and jerked him off onto my face. I don't know why I did it, but I felt so dirty, disgusting, and hot in that moment I kind of went crazy. I tried to go full pornstar mode, wiping my face and mouth and licking my fingers. He helped me clean my face (and knees) with toilet paper before we left the stall and regrouped with our friends, his pants still soaked in my ejaculation, looking like someone doused him with a drink. We went home shortly thereafter and didn't speak a word of it until the next day.

"Dirty bathroom sex is kinda fun, eh?" he asked as I scrambled some eggs.

"It sure was last night!"

He wrapped his arms around my stomach and kissed my neck, "did you do all that with 'the guy' that night?"

"Oh my god no."

"Ok, tell me."

He continued softly kissing my neck and began touching my tits through my satin robe. At first, I objected. I had already told him everything. I mean, I guess not everything. Details that I felt were meaningless now seemed like required information. I felt his cock swelling as he pressed against my ass and began rubbing my pussy through the silk fabric.

"He fucked me like you did... like I told you to, but he didn't finish. He was fucking me and I started feeling sick, so I made him stop. Then I left."

"That's not nearly as hot as I had hoped. Tell me how hot he was," he purred into my ear.

He was grinding hard against my ass and pulled open my robe, lightly touching my moistening womanhood.

"He was pretty good looking. I don't know."

"I want to hear it all. I want to hear how great he was. You told me he was young and good looking, but nothing else. I want to hear it all. How tall? Eyes, hair, his abs... his cock. Tell me everything."

His finger snuck into my panties and parted my dripping lips. He began aggressively sucking on my neck, breathing heavy, and biting aggressively. I dropped the spatula into the pan and began gyrating on his granite hard prick barely contained in his boxers.

"He was tall. Well over 6 feet. Maybe 6-5. He had a strong build, lean, but muscular. Like a swimmer. His entire body was hard as wood and I could feel his abs through his shirt with my fingers. I could feel them griding against me as he held me up against that wall."

"Fuck yes," He panted. "More."

"He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a bit of stubble. He couldn't have been more than 25. His hands were so big and he was so strong. He made me feel sexy..."

He pulled my robe off my shoulders, moved me against the counter and pressed his member between my legs. I clamped down with my thighs as his helmet almost pushed into my wetness. He worked it around for a few seconds before sliding it in. As he worked himself in and out, I shoved the pan of burning eggs to the other side of the stove and reached back to spread myself for him, accepting every inch. I held my breath and he immediately pulled out, dropping his boxers to the floor.

"Tell me about his cock. Was it big?"

Before I could object, he gripped my ass and slammed back into me. I felt myself gush as he aggressively filled my depths. He wrapped my hair in his hand and pulled me back into him, slapping himself against me.

"Tell me about his big cock, you whore."

Deep and deliberate, I could feel myself succumbing to his will. He kept pulling, slowly pounding me harder and harder. I was a whore. I was his little whore. He was taking me and I was losing control. Every thrust deep into my womb made me feel like that little stripper whore on the couch. Every slap of his body against my ass made me feel like that cumslut in the bathroom stall. The grip on my hair made me want to be the whore he desired.

"Yeah! Yeah! I AM your little whore! Fuck me!"

He yanked my hair so hard I could feel the skin stretch on my face. He chewed on my neck as he grabbed my throat and hissed into my ear, "You little fucking whore, tell me about his big dick."

My body began to shake and quiver as the orgasm rolled through me.

"FUCK YES! YES IT WAS! HIS COCK WAS BIG! THICK! LONG!"