Making a Hotwife Pt. 01

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This is a work of fiction. It contains themes of cuckoldry, cheating, and humiliation. It's probably more of a psychological exploration of the characters than some stories, although there's still plenty of sex. If those themes aren't your thing, and you still take the time to read it, vote on it and comment, then you're certainly more deeply disturbed than anything you'll find below. Just go to church already if that's your thing. But if you just can't help yourself, then I happily accept all the time and attention required for your hate-reading and comments in exchange for the 2 seconds it takes me to scan and delete them.

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My name's Alan. My wife Fran and I started dating in our last year of college. She was my first serious girlfriend. Our social circles overlapped a bit and I was aware of her before then, but we never dated or even really hung out. I'd only dated casually before I met her. Fran on the other hand had gone through a number of serious boyfriends before we hooked up. I had seen her around town with some of them and I remember noticing she definitely had a type. And that type was not me.

Fran is very pretty. I'm biased, but I've never met anyone who would call her otherwise. She's around 5'7 with a figure like a 50s movie star or model. She's never been athletic exactly, but she's always been active, and while she may have put on a few more pounds in the years since college they've all gone into just the right places. Her wide hips, shapely ass, and slender waist are almost exactly where they were in college, and her breasts have filled out from almost a B cup to almost a C. She has long blonde hair that's often wrapped in a loose messy bun to keep it out of the way. Her smile is radiant and her green eyes are warm and sexy, and her complexion is as pale and luminous as the first time I saw her.

Fran and I were set up by Denise, a mutual friend of ours. When Denise suggested Fran might be interested in me I had a hard time believing it at first. Which brings us back to Fran's type. All of her boyfriends before me were big — like really big — and most of them were older. There was Alex, the mechanic who seemed to always be picking her up and dropping her off in a different classic muscle car. There was Gus, a personal trainer at one of the nearby gyms. And there was Ken, the contractor who owned his own construction business. All of them were over 6 feet with big burly frames and the smooth steady swagger that comes naturally with that sort of size. Ken especially seemed to tower over Fran whenever I saw them together. He must have been at least 6'8".

As for me, I have a build that's probably closer in size (though not in shape) to Fran's than to any of these guys. At 5'7" she and I are the same height, and it's only in the past couple years that I've begun to weigh in at more than 165 pounds.

When Denise first told me Fran might be interested in going out, I didn't believe her. I pointed out that I wasn't her usual type, to which she replied cryptically, "I think she's looking for something a little different." That much was obvious, but I must have still looked confused because Denise rolled her eyes and said, "Boy you really need it spelled out. She wants a nice guy. She's tired of being a fuck doll."

So we went out. We dated for a few months before Fran agreed to have sex with me, which was both frustrating and unsurprising after what Denise had told me. But I was the nice guy, I reminded myself, so I waited. And she was worth it. Aside from being attracted to her I immediately loved how funny and warm and easy it was being around her. I fell for her in no time.

When we finally did have sex it was almost perfect. We'd made out quite a few times and we had great chemistry and felt completely at ease with each other. I took my time worshipping every inch of her, paying extra attention to each of her tits in turn before burying my face between her legs. Her cute little perfectly trimmed pussy was warm and wet and after a few minutes of soft breathy groans and gasps she had her first orgasm with a high, almost laughing moan. When she pulled my face back up to hers and with a kiss whispered, "Now fuck me," I didn't need to be told twice. I slipped on a condom and my confidence faltered briefly when I looked down at my throbbing hard four inches poised at her opening, and I wondered how it would compare to what she was used to. Then with one hand she pulled my face back up to hers and with her other she reached down and pulled my ass and hips closer.

"Mmmmhh, fuck yes," she sighed as I slid all the way into her, and I stopped worrying after that. I didn't last more than a few minutes, fucking her slowly but intensely as she devoured my mouth with hers. After I finished she grabbed my ass and pulled me harder into her, continuing to grind on my now limp dick until she came again.

I say it was almost perfect because there were two words I couldn't get out of my head as we lay there afterward. Fuck doll. Laying there next to her, I saw for the first time what those other older guys must have seen when they looked at her. College guys are fucking morons. Their image of the ideal girl is skinny legs and toned muscles, a little bounce in the ass and tits, but no jiggling anywhere. That wasn't Fran. With a slight plumpness to her limbs and the roundness of her ass and hips, she was built like a woman. And that figure on a girl of 20 must have driven those guys wild.

Fuck doll. The words painted a scene in my imagination, a scene that bore little resemblance to the one we had just enacted. Something more animal and primal. It was the difference between riding a smooth, steady wave of pleasure and being tossed about by 50 ft swells and surges.

I tried to put it out of my mind and just enjoy what I had. But every time I saw one of her old boyfriends around town, or even some guy who resembled one of them, I'd feel my gut tighten a little. I made the mistake of trying to talk to Denise about it again. That only made it worse.

"Dudes are so pathetic," she said. "You don't want the details, I promise. Let it go. Whatever you're giving her, she's chosen that over them, so just be happy."

I didn't have a name for whatever I was feeling yet, but even by that time I was pretty sure it wasn't simple jealousy or insecurity, but I didn't let Denise know that. Jealousy would have been a lot easier to cop to than whatever was really going on inside me.

Outwardly though I took her advice and let it lie. I wasn't going to outright sabotage the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Fran and I dated for about a year before I popped the question. I'd have asked her to marry me sooner but I didn't want to scare her off. She said yes and we were married in front of all our friends and family a few months later. Fran's degree was in finance and accounting, and after college she landed a job at a firm here in town. My goal was always to be a teacher, and after going through my TA period I got a permanent position teaching 10th grade math at a nearby high school.

Our sex life has always been good. Great, even, by my standards. But I was never able to shake this sense of how much greater it could be. The sounds Fran makes when I'm fucking her aren't really so different than those she makes when I'm giving her a foot rub after a long day of work, just a little louder. Every time my wife was twisting and grinding on my four inches, winding her way with little coos and sighs toward a mellow and happy little orgasm, I would hear Denise's voice promising me, "you don't want the details." Except the details were what I wanted more than anything. I couldn't help picturing my sweet wife bouncing and thrashing on one of those big, powerfully built men she had dated, wantonly and breathlessly taking his big cock, losing all control of her faculties. With me, she was always in control, and she always had plenty of breath.

That was the feeling that for me characterized our sex life the first ten years of our marriage. It was hot, and she was hot, but the furnace door was locked, and even though I knew how much hotter it was capable of burning I didn't have the key or the right fuel to stoke it. And I was pretty sure I never would.

I think it was around the end of that period, when we were in our early thirties, that I first discovered cuckold porn. I remember it was a weekend. Fran was out running errands and I was in bed with my laptop looking for something to jerk to. I didn't usually search for anything in particular on those sites. Typically I just browsed until I found a video with a woman who resembled my wife, preferably one getting fucked senseless by some brawny older guy. I stumbled on one that fit the bill.

A tall thick set man with thinning gray hair and a long thick cock was grasping the waist of a shapely, younger blonde as he rode her ass on a hotel bed. Her face and shoulders were pressed down into the folds of the bedspread and her ample and fleshy ass was bright red where the older man had obviously slapped it a few times. He was riding her with strong, full strokes, each one eliciting a high plaintive wail that seemed to come from the very bottom of the woman's lungs. The two of them were completely naked, and their bodies glistened with sweat as if they had been mating for hours.

But there was a third person in the video, a smaller man who looked closer to the woman's age. He was fully clothed and kneeling at the foot of the bed, holding one of the woman's hands in both of his. The camera was stationary, probably situated on a dresser, and from where it stood I could just make out that the man had a rapturous smile on his face. He was murmuring little encouragements to the woman, and I heard his voice crack slightly as he looked up at the ruddy, steely face of the older man to express his gratitude. My hand began flying up and down my diamond hard prick as I realized this man was the woman's husband. The clip was only three minutes of what was obviously a much longer fuck session, and it ended with the big older man effortlessly flipping the woman onto her back. He held her smooth plump legs against his chest and grasped her bouncing breasts in both hands as he continued fucking her some more. I didn't even make it that far when I blew my load into the nearest blanket.

I don't think I've ever come so hard in my life. I immediately watched the video again and then again, and then I clicked the link for the "cuckold" tag beneath it.

This was all more than 10 years ago, so there wasn't the glut of cuckold porn that's available today, but there was enough to occupy me for the rest of the afternoon. I must have come 3 more times into that blanket before I heard the front door open and Fran calling upstairs to announce her return. I had just finished coming again, and I hurriedly pulled my sweatpants up and wadded up the blanket before she opened the bedroom door.

"Whatcha been doing?" she asked with a little smirk and a glance at the laptop and blanket.

"Oh you know, just thinking about you," I said, glancing sheepishly up at her.

"Yeah right," she said, rolling her eyes. "Clean up and come help me bring the groceries in."

Cuckold porn became the only kind I cared to watch after that. Sometimes the husbands weren't in the videos but were instead the ones holding the camera. Sometimes the wife was alone with her bull and the husband would have to listen to everything over the phone. And sometimes the husband would only get to see everything by video later, or sometimes just listen to the wife talk about it in bed.

Not long after my new discovery I bought a dildo for the first time. It was pink and veiny, 9 inches long and thick. I ambushed Fran with it one night as we were getting ready to have sex. I felt bad, but I didn't want her to shoot down the idea without seeing it. Her first reaction was interesting, to say the least. She didn't shoot it down outright, which I took as a good sign. She seemed stunned, or almost like she wanted to appear stunned, to deflect from something else.

"It's a little big, isn't it?" she said, with a wide-eyed stare and a little grimace that I think was intended to convey distaste, but which struck me as feigned. She kept up the act a few minutes later as it slid into her for the first time. It was fascinating to watch the struggle on her face as she tried to maintain an expression of reluctance and aversion even as her pussy grew wetter than I'd ever seen it, hungrily pulling all nine inches inside her. She came quickly, pulling my face roughly toward hers and mashing our mouths and tongues together. She gave a low, animal groan into my mouth as she finished, then she pulled the massive tool out of her and pulled me by the hips into its place, wrapping her legs around me as I fucked her with quick short strokes. I came even faster than she had. We used it on occasion after that, referring to it as "our friend" but we never talked about it afterwards, and with one exception I was always the one to suggest we include it.

The exception was a Valentine's Day, and it was the hottest sex we had ever had up to that point, even though I barely touched Fran the entire time. We'd gone out to dinner and had a few drinks. Back in our bedroom, I was rapidly removing my wife's clothes when she grabbed my wrists to stop me, and with a wicked drunken little smile she said, "I think we need our friend."

She stepped over to the dresser and pulled out the silken pillow case that we kept it in. I watched in mild shock as the mask she usually wore in its presence slipped from her face and she gave the head a little kiss, while the fingers of both hands wrapped greedily around the thick shaft. She let her tongue swirl lightly over the head for a moment before glancing up at me as if she had just remembered I was still there.

"Get your clothes off and get on the bed," she said in a tone she had never taken with me before. As I quickly disposed of my pants, shirt and shorts she slid her dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She discarded her panties as quickly but left her lacy black bra on for the time being. I was already on the bed when she climbed on. She took up a doggy style pose on her side of the bed, positioning a small fluffy pillow under her torso. With the hand holding the dildo she reached between her legs and positioned the thick, hard cock at her opening.

"I just want you to watch, and then come all over my ass when you're ready," she said in a flat husky voice that left no room for discussion.

I knelt beside her, not speaking, hardly wanting to move for fear of breaking the spell that had suddenly made my wife so lustful over this object toward which she had for so long maintained a charade of revulsion.

"Hhooooooh, fuck," she moaned as she moved the bulbous head teasingly across her slit. Her lips were already glistening with her juices, and the rosy pink head of our friend was quickly coated in them.

"Mmmhh," she sighed, letting the first three or four inches sink into her, "oooh, fuck, that's it."

After another couple inches, the silicone toy had already penetrated deeper inside my wife's pussy than I had ever gone, and almost half of it was still visible.

"OOHhhh, FUCK yes," she groaned, as her trembling fingers pulled the toy out and then immediately pushed it back in, this time all but an inch or two disappearing inside her. After doing that a couple more times she started keeping six inches or so inside her, rapidly pulling out and pushing back in just the 2 or three inches at the base.

After a few minutes she was fucking herself furiously, apparently oblivious to my presence beside her.

"HHUOOO GOD YES, FUCK YES, fuck me just like that," she whined between gasps, directing her begging pleas to the giant, lifeless but life-like silicone cock that was disappearing in and out of her beautiful pussy. I wanted to reach down and grab her lovely heart-shaped ass and take control of the fuck tool that was ravaging my wife. But her command from a few minutes earlier rang in my ears, and it was clear to me that I probably couldn't do a better job than she was doing herself.

Instead I followed her orders and quietly jerked off as I knelt inches away from my drunk and bent over wife, watching her get fucked masterfully by some big, burly phantom of her imagination and his very real cock.

HHHUUUUHHOOOO GOD, OOOHHH FUUUCK!" Fran wailed a few minutes later, collapsing forward onto the pillow, her legs shaking and her trembling fingers still loosely gripping the base of the cock so that it remained buried to the hilt inside her. A second later I gave a groan of my own and unloaded several bursts of come all over my wife's still heaving backside. I collapsed next to her a moment later and I finally allowed myself to touch her, reaching out with one hand and rubbing my come into her soft fleshy ass.

"Mmmm, thanks baby, that was nice," she said with a little giggle. We didn't bother cleaning ourselves up. We just pulled the blankets over us and were asleep a few minutes later.

The next day she acted kind of embarrassed about it.

"Sorry about last night," she said, staring at her coffee. "I know you were probably hoping for a little more action on Valentine's Day. I don't know what came over me."

"Are you kidding?" I said. "That was the hottest thing I've ever experienced." I went up behind her and put my arms around her waist, feeling closer to her than I'd ever felt. But the sober light of morning had brought back the old charade, and she made a little yuck face and pulled away.

"All right, whatever weirdo," she said.

And that was how it went for awhile. Our sex life was mostly the same, and mostly, from my perspective at least, pretty great. Part of me really wished I could just let it go and be happy satisfying her to the extent I was able. But from time to time the demon, in the form of that thick 9-inch dildo in the dresser drawer, would drive all the thoughts of contentment out of my head, calling to me until I gave in and took it out and loosed it upon my beautiful wife, reminding me, as if I needed it, how much hotter that fire could rage.

But after that Valentine's Day she was never so unguarded again, and it was always up to me to take it out. And always afterward it was as if nothing had happened, nothing had been revealed. It was frustrating at first, but I soon realized that it was part of the deal for her. If she needed that bigger cock in order to have those wild uncontrollable orgasms, to let loose the fuck doll and feel more like a woman, she also needed the space afterward to wave it away and pretend it wasn't the case. And for awhile I was happy letting her have both.

I think things changed one night when we were sitting on the couch watching TV. I'd been out of town for a week for a teacher training, and I was enjoying having a quiet evening back at home with my wife. Fran was leaning against one of the arms of the couch with her feet up on my lap. I was rubbing them slowly, pushing my thumbs deep into one of her arches while she flipped through social media on her phone. Suddenly her phone gave a little buzz and a chime, and a moment later she made a face and grunted softly.

"Ugh," she said, almost under her breath.

"What's wrong?" I asked, moving my thumb in a little circle on the ball of her left foot.

"My boss just sent me a message about a new client our firm has taken on. It's a construction company. I guess they're assigning them to me, starting next month. I met the owner the day. His name is Ike. He's just —" she shook her head and muttered "ugh."

I kept up a steady pressure on the ball of her foot. "Do you know him? What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know him, but I know his type. Just a big boorish guy, kind of sexist, calls women sweetheart and darlin'. Takes up way too much space in every room and every conversation he's in." She paused and closed her eyes while I continued rubbing her foot, and then added, "I dated a few guys like him. Before you."