Making a Hotwife Pt. 01

If she noticed she didn't mind. Fran reached down and grabbed my ass and started pulling me harder into her with each thrust. Her breathing was getting faster, and she started moaning and talking dirty back to me.

"Mmmm, fuck yes, you like this wife's sweet pussy?" she purred. "You like how this sweet married pussy feels?"

I felt my cum start to rise at the detached way she was talking about her pussy. "You enjoying fucking this little married pussy? MMmmmmmhhhhh, that's it, now cum inside this hot married pussy. AAhhhh, fuck baby, fill that married pussy up."

That was enough to push me over the edge, and as the orgasm washed over me I drove my dick as far inside her as I could, finally losing my sense of its depth within her warm and wet folds. When the wave had subsided I opened my eyes to see Fran still watching my face thoughtfully, as if she was studying some new phenomenon she hadn't witnessed before.

"Thanks sweetie," was all she said after I leaned in and kissed her. I rolled over back to my side, and we both drifted off without another word.

Even jerking off seemed to change for awhile. I no longer needed to go searching for cuckold porn to help me get off. Having been that close to Ike, and having seen him that close to Fran, was all I needed now. From that one glimpse of him hovering over my wife with his hand on her back, her face flushed with what could as easily have been arousal as loathing, a thousand wild scenes and images unfolded and spiraled through my imagination.

Things kind of leveled out over the next few months. The situation with Ike didn't seem to get any worse, and if anything it appeared to improved slightly. Fran's mood seemed to regain some of her former serenity, and the thaw in the bedroom continued. I still didn't ask about Ike and she didn't talk about him. I figured either he had mellowed and stopped making her job difficult or she had grown a thicker skin and gotten used to ignoring him. The latter seemed more likely, judging from her demeanor. Overall she appeared more cool and collected, if a little more distant than in the past. Ike even began to fade from my fantasies, and I found myself returning to videos of other bulls and hotwives for inspiration when I was alone. That struck me at the time as probably for the best. Ike was in some ways a little too real. He was essentially my wife's boss. And having seen him up close, there was something frightening about him. The men in my fantasies were a kind of domesticated stallion, wreaking a controlled havoc on a couple's sex life within the corral of their marriage. No one who had met Ike would describe him as controllable. While they didn't seem very remarkable at the time, looking back at them now I can see those few peaceful and normal months were definitely the calm before the storm.

That storm broke about six months after Fran started working with Ike.

I had been out of town for a week for another teacher training. I knew my plane would be in late, so I had told her I'd get an Uber home from the airport. It was around 2:00 AM when I got home. All the lights downstairs were out, but I could see from the street that the light in our bedroom upstairs was still on. I thought maybe she'd left it on while reading, or perhaps she had decided to wait up for me after all.

She didn't come down when I entered the house, but I could hear foot steps through the ceiling. I lugged my suitcase up the stairs and opened the bedroom door to find Fran in sweatpants and a T-shirt, pacing back and forth beside the bed. Her hair was wet and I could still smell a mix of steam and soap coming from the bathroom. I greeted her, but the fact that I had arrived from anywhere in particular didn't seem to register with her. She had a frantic, panicked look in her eyes, which were slightly red and swollen as if she'd been crying.

"I fucked up," she said, her voice breaking and her eyes beginning to well with tears. "Baby I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I fucked up so bad." She sat down on the edge of the bed.

I went to her and tried to get her to tell me what had happened, but she just kept apologizing and repeating that she had fucked up so bad. My mind was flying through a list of possibilities: she'd wrecked the car, she'd forgotten to mail the mortgage check, she'd accidentally poisoned the cat. None of them could have explained the terror-stricken expression on her face. I started to wonder if she had hit someone with her car and then driven off. Before my mind spiraled any further I knew I had to calm her down and get her talking.

I brought her a cup of water from the bathroom and made her drink it, and then I took her hands and promised her that whatever had happened we'd figure it out together. That calmed her a little, but the fear in her eyes didn't recede.

She took a deep, quivering breath, and said with a tremor in her voice, "I had sex with Ike tonight." Then she buried her hands in her face again and sobbed.

I had been kneeling in front of her. I stood up and took a couple steps back and dropped into the armchair near the wall. The room spun for a moment, but it wasn't a chaotic or disorienting feeling. If anything it was the opposite. A lot of things that had seemed vague and distant in my mind suddenly came into perfect focus and were close enough to touch. I looked up at Fran. I couldn't believe that the wife in front of me was suddenly aligning almost completely with the wife of my fantasies, the one on the bed on all fours holding my hands and moaning ecstatically while Ike fucked her mercilessly from behind. I thought it if ever happened I would feel a lot of conflicting and contradictory emotions, but all I felt was exhilaration. If there was any emotion tempering that one it was caution. The situation was precarious, and I knew that whatever I was thinking my face needed to reflect something more palatable to Fran.

My mind raced with a thousand questions, but I started with the basics.

"Where?" I said, quietly, after glancing at the disheveled state of the bed. Fucking him for the first time in our bed seemed less than ideal.

"At his office," she said flatly.

"Did he force you?" I asked. I knew the answer to that, but I had to ask.

Fran swallowed hard and shook her head.

"Jesus. I thought you hated him, Fran. You kept talking about how much of an ass he is."

"I know. I'm so sorry baby, I don't know — I'm just so sorry," and she started to cry again.

I reached out and took one of her hands, which seemed to quiet her a little.

"Just tell me what happened."

"I can't — I mean you can't really want me to —"

"Just tell me," I said rubbing her fingers with my hand. I tried my best to make my face look concerned rather than aroused.

Between sniffles, and with a voice that was still shaking, she related the evening.

Fran and Ike had both stayed well after everyone else had gone home. There was a particularly large payroll snafu from earlier in the year that still needed to be sorted out, and a lot of paystubs to sift through. Ike had food delivered from a nearby Italian restaurant. It was nearly 9:00 when she finished her work. Ike came in with a bottle of bourbon and a couple of glasses.

"I didn't really want any, but he insisted," she said, staring at her hands.

So — he got you drunk?" I asked, hoping to rule it out rather than have it confirmed. To my relief, she shook her head.

"I only had a couple sips."

While she sipped her drink, Ike stood behind her and began rubbing her shoulders. Another time she might have asked him to stop, but it had been a long day and her neck and shoulders were very stiff and sore. As he massaged her tired muscles he told her how grateful he was for all the work she had put in at the office, and he apologized for being so difficult.

"He can be such an ass, but he also knows how to turn on the charm when he wants to," she said, glancing up at me. I was still rubbing her fingers, and I nodded for her to go on.

Pretty soon her eyes were closed, and between the bourbon and the sensation of his hands and the soothing tone of his voice, she somehow barely noticed his hands getting lower on her back. Then they were under her sweater, and his lips were on her neck.

"I should have stopped him. I don't know why I didn't. With the Bourbon, and his hands feeling so good, and -- " she paused and glanced up at me and said "— and I think, I could hear your voice saying 'It's ok,' —"

I knew she was looking to shift some small part of the blame to me, and I wanted to let her, but I didn't want to tip my hand too early. I said nothing and waited for her to continue.

"Things happened pretty quickly after that," she said, trying to truncate the story.

"Tell me," I said, gently rubbing both her hands in mine. Her brow furrowed, and I thought she was going to argue, but she took a couple more deep breaths and continued.

"He pulled my sweater off and then my bra. His mouth and hands were everywhere. He laid me back on the desk and shoved my skirt up to my waist. He stood there between my legs and took it out."

She stopped, obviously not wanting to go on.

"It was big?"

She nodded, looking down at her hands in her lap.

"And you liked that? You wanted it?"

"Alan, come on —" she said, furrowing her brow.

"You're seriously going to keep pretending, even now?"

"No. I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to say."

"The truth."

"It's complicated. I wasn't lying to you, I really don't care that you're — not bigger. I love you the way you are, I love what you give me. Just sometimes — "

"Sometimes," I repeated, rubbing her hands again. "How long long did you — did he — "

"I don't know. I lost track of time I guess. Awhile."

"Did he wear a condom?"

Furrowing her brow a little, Fran shook her head and breathed out a ragged sigh. "He didn't have one at the office. I told him I was on the pill. I'm so sorry, baby —" and her voice broke again.

"I don't want you to be sorry," I said, gently but firmly. "I just want you to be honest. I've already told you how I feel about this."

"This isn't a fantasy. Ike isn't a fantasy. You don't know him. I don't know what to do, baby," she said, her face once again breaking into a tearful grimace. "He's a client. A really important client. If the firm finds out, I'll get fired."

"Maybe it was a one time thing for him."

Fran shook her head and got up and walked over to the night stand. She picked up her phone and handed it to me with an email on the screen.

"He sent me this right before you got home."

Franny,

I enjoyed tonight. From the look and sound of things you didn't mind it either. I'll put my cards on the table Franny. I'd like to see a lot more of you and do a lot more of that. Preferably outside the office, but we can content ourselves there if that's all we've got. I know you know I'm married, but my wife understands me. She's always known I have appetites she can't satisfy. From what I've seen, you're in the same boat with that little hubby of yours. I don't want to break up your marriage or mine. But I think we're past the point where we can ignore each other, and I don't see any other way forward. So it's just a question of how. I have thoughts, but let me know yours.

Ike

I read the message several times.

"Was it good?" I asked almost in a whisper as I handed her back the phone.

"Yes. It was good. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Do you want to do it again?" I asked, not answering her question. I could see her start to protest and I cut her off. "If there were no repercussions for us, and no repercussions for your job, and nobody else had to find out, would you want to do it again?"

"You're still talking about a fantasy," she said, with a note of exasperation in her voice, but also what sounded like a faint note of resignation.

"Just answer. Be honest with me. If everything else would be fine, would you want to do it again?"

Fran sniffed, then glanced at me and back at the floor. She gave a helpless little shrug and nodded weakly. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"Then that's it. It's time to stop pretending. And like he said, it's just a matter of how."

We got in bed and talked for another hour, then we turned off the lights and we fucked slowly and tenderly. Before we drifted off to sleep, I convinced her to let me draft a response to Ike, promising not to send it unless she signed off first. I was finishing it up as she woke beside me the next morning. Her eyes were wide and her breathing shallow as she read it.

Hello Ike.

This is Fran's husband Alan. She gave me permission to respond to you. Fran told me everything that happened in the office the other night. We talked it over quite a bit. I want to say first of all that I'm not mad. I mean I wasn't crazy that it happened behind my back. But I can accept that you gave my wife something she needed. I love Fran more than anything, and I want her to have what she needs. I also agree that nobody's marriage needs to suffer for this. I can accept you and Fran meeting up from time to time so you can give her what she can't get from me. But I have a couple rules. First is I want to be there. Partly to make sure she's okay, and partly just to be close to her while she experiences what I can't give her. That part isn't up for discussion. To be clear, I'm not suggesting a threesome. I don't want to participate beyond maybe holding her hand. I just want to be there. Second rule is, not at the office. I don't want my wife's career affected by any of this, so let's keep that separate. Third, not at our house. We would prefer to keep our private life uninterrupted by this arrangement.

If you think you can handle those conditions then I'll let you and Fran sort out the next time and place. If not, I'll have to ask you to just keep things professional with my wife from now on and let the other night remain a one time thing. Let us know.

Alan

Her face was wan and almost frightened as she handed me back the phone.

"I don't think he's going to respond to this the way you hope," she said.

"If he doesn't like the terms that's his problem. How did it sound to you."

Her eyes still looked full of fear and reluctance, but she shook her head and said, "If you're really ok with this, and this is what you want —" she paused and scrutinized my face "— then ok."

In retrospect, I should have listened to her. I was like the man who watches a news clip of someone being swept away in a flood and says "Why not just hold onto something?" Fran had felt the current. I hadn't, so I hit "Send".

"That's a lot to think about. He'll probably need a couple days," I said, sitting up and pulling off the covers. I stood up and stretched for a moment and was putting on my glasses when Fran's phone emitted the swoosh of an incoming email. She looked at it, took in a deep breath that made her chest heave, and handed it to me.

Sure. Friday night, Southside Motor Inn, 8:00.

That was on a Wednesday morning. Fran wasn't scheduled to work at Ike's office again until Monday, so we both decided to take the rest of the week off. We mostly stayed in bed and fucked like rabbits all day Wednesday and Thursday. The sexual release that came with acknowledging openly her needs and mine after years of pretending was mind-blowing for both of us.

"Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry I tossed that cock sleeve," I whispered as she rode me. "You could be getting fucked by that big cock right now."

"Mmmmhhh, I'm still a little pissed at you for that," Fran murmured. Her eyes were closed and her mouth hung open as she ground against my 4 inches. I was so hard and she was so wet that my dick felt lost inside her.

"You needed that big cock didn't you?" I said, egging her on. A smile spread across her face as she continued to grind. "You love your husband, but you need to get fucked by that big cock."

She started grinding faster on my dick and smiled bigger and brought her face close to mine. "Yes, I fucking needed that big cock," my wife almost hissed into my mouth, "but that's ok baby, I went and found myself a bigger one." I could feel her trembling as she kissed me fiercely and devoured my mouth with hers. We both came a few moments later, the most intense orgasm we'd ever shared.

Thursday night Fran surprised me by asking me to sleep in the guest room. She said she was so horny she'd have a hard time not jumping me if I was next to her, and she thought it best to have a 24 hour break before we met Ike. I had read cuckold stories where the wife denies the husband sex before meeting her bull, sometimes even locking the husband's dick in a chastity cage. I wanted to think that's what she had in mind, but really I think she just needed a psychological buffer for herself.

Friday was a blur. She met me downstairs that morning wearing a knee-length white and yellow sun dress with straps that showed a fair bit of cleavage. She asked me if I thought Ike would like it, and I gulped and nodded and made myself some coffee. I made myself scarce after that. I knew that if I saw much of her I'd want to touch her, and if I touched her I'd want to jump her. So I holed up in my office for the rest of the day working on lesson plans. We had a light dinner together around 6:00. We watched an episode of something while we ate so we wouldn't have to talk. Around 7:30 we left for the motel.

We got to the motor inn about 10 minutes early and pulled into a parking spot a few feet down from the door that said 108, the room number Ike had texted to Fran earlier that day. We sat in the car for a few minutes staring at the green room door lit from above by a weak and flickering bulb. The brownish curtains were drawn shut, but they weren't completely opaque and an orange lamp light could be seen within. I was a little disappointed that Ike had chosen such a seedy location for our first official get-together. I made a note about maybe adding a new rule to our agreement: no more flop houses.

"It's not too late," Fran said, still staring at the door, her face suddenly acquiring a touch of the panicked look she wore that night she told me everything. "Alan you can't unsee this. I don't think it's going to be like your fantasy. Ike isn't some imaginary cardboard cutout. He's — I mean if this is what you want — if we want to do this — we can find someone else. We could find some stranger, or —"

She was balling up her fists, and her shoulders were drawn up in a tense pose. It was 80 degrees outside, but her hands were freezing as I reached out and took them in mine.

"Ike is who you chose," I said firmly. "Maybe if were were having this conversation a week ago —" She shot me a hurt look and opened her mouth to say something, but I went on before she could.

"But this isn't about Ike," I continued. "With him or with someone else, we were always going to arrive here, and it was always going to be frightening. I think the fantasy has been pretending otherwise."

She looked at the room door again and then back at me with eyes that looked resigned but unconvinced and not at all calm. With a trembling hand she reached down for the car door handle and said, "Remember that I tried."

Fran knocked on the door, and a few seconds later Ike answered. He ushered us in without taking his eyes off my wife long enough to acknowledge that I had accompanied her. The room wasn't large, but the bed was a king-size.

On the dresser across from the foot of the bed there was a bottle of Bourbon and another of Scotch, along with several glasses. Near one end was a picnic cooler, which I learned later was full of ice and bottled water. Ike handed Fran one of the glasses containing several fingers of brown liquid.

"I remember you took a liking to this the other night," he said. Had she drunk more than she admitted to me that night? Had they been in the office longer than she let on? Fran took the glass appreciatively, if nervously, and downed it all at once. Ike smiled hungrily at her as she set the glass down and took several deep breaths that made her chest heave beneath her sun dress. He handed another glass to me.