Save the Last Dance

Just to be clear upfront — this is a "hotwife" story, not a "cuckold" story. It does contain some (consensual) rough sex and bondage.

While it started as a short story, it kind of grew into a novella. There is some plot, but rest assured this isn't a story where the sex doesn't begin until page 95 of 100. The sex begins soon enough! (And the teasing warmup begins even sooner.)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Unlike the real world, STI's don't exist and Tiffany's method of birth control is 100% effective. In reality, the lifestyle depicted here would present a large health risk, and a low but non-zero pregnancy risk.

Fantasy is fine, but real women in the real world are quite unlikely to share Tiffany's sexual tastes.

Copyright © 2024 by EightBits.

All Rights Reserved.

Save the Last Dance

Prologue

"Do you think I'll have any luck tonight?"

Her husband took his eyes off the road for just a moment to glance over at her, then answered, "That dress looks like it was painted on you."

Tiffany shifted her butt a little bit forward. Leather seats looked great, but when your dress was as short as legally feasible, the leather wasn't very comfortable against bare legs.

"I don't think luck will be required, babe," he added with a smile.

She smiled back, then looked down.

Yeah, this dress shows off my breasts nicely.

"Ok, good point. This dress does kind of make its own luck, doesn't it?"

She and Grant were on their way to an upscale hotel in downtown San Diego, about an hour's drive away. It was a night out for them to indulge one of their shared interests. Like most happy couples, they had a few of the common shared interests, things like travel and mystery novels.

Tonight's shared interest however, was much less common. Tonight they were going to let a stranger pick up Tiffany at the hotel bar.

Tiffany, of course, thoroughly enjoyed these little one-night trysts.

When it came to technique and stamina, the guys she picked up had nothing on her husband. Even so, she had a very healthy sex-drive and loved the variety. She also had to admit that — being raised Catholic — there was a strong thrill-of-the-forbidden element.

Grant didn't join in the actual sex with the guys she met, but he found her carnal escapades exciting nonetheless. He was actually the one who'd originally thought it would be fun for them, and he'd been right. Their sex, while always great, had been even hotter than usual the last few nights as the anticipation built.

Despite their banter, her question about luck wasn't whether any of the men at the bar would find her attractive. This wasn't the first time they'd done this, so they had plenty of objective evidence to back up Grant's sweet, yet admittedly subjective belief that Tiffany was stunningly hot.

No, the question was whether or not Tiffany would find herself attracted to any of the guys at the bar. Her standards weren't impossibly high, she wasn't looking for a movie star. On the other hand, the right combination of physical attraction and an acceptable personality still had to be there; once or twice their expeditions had gone no further than her getting a few free drinks.

I may be a slut, but that doesn't mean a girl can't be at least a little choosy.

They were almost to the hotel. "Are you going to stick around and wait for me?" she asked.

It wasn't a genuine question. They went through a variation of this exchange every time, part of the game.

Feigning reluctance, Grant answered "I guess I could. If you want me to."

Her grey eyes glistening, she said, "You know I do," then added mischievously, "Unless I fall in love with the guy."

He chuckled. "Just don't forget who's taking you home."

Turning serious, she squeezed his hand. "You're the only one I want to go home with. The guy may get to bang me for a few hours, but I'm yours forever."

Grant, who had always been allergic to taking anything seriously, laughed and said, "A few hours? Way to aim high babe!"

She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, and stayed there, quietly enjoying a few moments of warm closeness until they pulled up in front of the Maru Oceanfront hotel, and gave the car to the valet.

The Bar

Grant leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Have fun."

Tiff gave him a quick kiss, and then he watched as she went through the revolving door and into the lobby. Her walking away was a sight he never tired of, and the tight red dress she'd chosen for tonight's endeavor made watching her even more irresistible.

He waited a minute, then he also entered the lobby, where he found a comfortable chair and pretended to do something with his phone. He was also watching a fair amount of well-dressed people arrive, most of them carrying canned goods. That seems like weird thing to be bringing to a party. At least he assumed it was going to be a party, since they were all clustered outside the doors to the hotel's main ballroom.

Grant was always concerned that the guys that approached Tiff would notice him watching, and suspect he was her husband. He didn't want to add to that by arriving in the bar close to when she did.

Don't want to wait too long though. Watching her let some guy "seduce" her was a big part of the fun.

When his desire to not miss anything in the bar outweighed wanting to be discreet, Grant pocketed his phone, and made his way into the hotel bar. This was their second time coming to this hotel, and they'd returned because the bar had been so classy. Quiet, subdued lighting, and the tables and chairs weren't crammed in, making it possible to have a private, or at least semi-private conversation.

In addition, the clientele was a notch above what you'd find in your classic "meat-market" bars, being mostly visiting executives, salesmen, and the occasional airline pilot.

Grant spotted Tiff, and even though they'd driven here together, and it had only been maybe ten minutes since she'd left him by the car, he felt a little twinge of excitement at seeing her.

She'd chosen a small, two-person high-top table, one that was a little bit off by itself. He knew she wanted to be visible. A pretty girl with big boobs in a red dress would be an absolute beacon to the horny hopefuls. She'd also want to have some privacy so a guy would be a little less inhibited than he might be with other patrons at his elbow.

He found a stool at the bar that gave him a good view, but that wasn't too close. He'd also made sure that she — and any guy that joined her — would be in profile. He wasn't close enough to overhear them, but being able to see their expressions and body-language would at least give him some sense of how their conversation was going.

She had a drink in front of her, no-doubt a "virgin" something-or-other. Guys would soon be buying her drinks, and they'd agreed that her actually getting drunk was a bad idea, so she didn't want to start out tipsy. She let her gaze wander around the bar, and even though it swept past him without any hesitation or sign of recognition, he knew she'd seen him.

It wasn't long before the first guy approached her. There wasn't anything wrong with him that Grant could see, but after a brief exchange he moved on, obviously disappointed, yet taking it well.

Shortly after the first guy had been shot down, a waiter delivered a drink to her table. Whatever it was, she didn't like it. She took just a sip and then pushed it away from her.

A minute later, the guy who had sent it came to her table. Grant placed him in his early fifties, which would make him almost two decades older than Tiff, not that she'd care that much about the age difference. He didn't look like he spent much time at the gym, his cheap-looking suit no longer fit him well. His wife may have been looking for a purely physical encounter, but she wasn't totally shallow. If he had a great personality, even if he didn't look like Brad Pitt, Grant knew the guy still had a chance.

The guy did not have a great personality. He was so loud, that even from the distance Grant was at he could hear most of what the guy was saying. He started out with "You've got some hooters, girl", and went downhill from there.

Tiff listened expressionlessly for a minute or two, doing nothing beyond a curt nod, or a quick shake of her head. Grant heard "...wanna get out of here?"

Tiff spoke her first — and last — words to the guy. He couldn't tell just what she said, he just saw her expression as she said it. Judging by the barely-suppressed laughs from some of the closer tables, it must have been scorching. The guy turned away, face frozen, and wasted no time in finding a seat at the bar as far from Tiff as possible.

A third guy made his run, with much less of a show, getting shot down and then retreating with grace.

The other guys in the bar took note of the failures. An older guy at the table next to him said to his buddy, "She's probably a lesbian", and Grant rolled his eyes. There was a ten or fifteen minute lull where no one seemed to want to be the next one to risk their self-esteem. Grant got a second drink, and sat back to see just who would let their lust overcome their fear and decide to try their luck.

He'd drank about half of it, when a new player joined the game, entering the bar, and making a beeline for his wife. This guy was tall, looked in shape, and was wearing a expensive-looking suit. He also looked to be in his mid-twenties, making him maybe five years younger than Tiff. Still, he was above the age where she would consider it "icky" to fuck him, which for her was twenty.

The tall guy wasted no time in asking if he could join her, and Tiff smiled and nodded. Once seated, they chatted for a minute and then he motioned to the waiter. After the waiter showed up, he ordered drinks for them both, wisely asking Tiff what she wanted.

Grant saw him notice her wedding ring. For some of these adventures, she'd leave it at home and pretend to be single, and for some she'd leave it on. She said that each way attracted a different type of guy. Tiff was, after all, looking for variety...

In response to what Grant assumed was her being asked if she was married, Tiff shrugged and gave him an answer that seemed to satisfy him — he didn't leave. He knew those wouldn't be her actual words. She had two basic responses, again based on what type of guy she was after that night. One was about how her husband and she were actually separated, and it was a marriage in name-only at this point. If she felt in the mood for somebody more ethically flexible, she'd just say, "Do you care?" and leave it at that. Pretty sure that was tonight's answer.

Things seemed to be going along well, and Grant started to hope that Tiff had found what she was after. This guy seemed to have her engaged, and while he wasn't what Grant would call excessively handsome, he had the kind of looks that he knew did it for his wife, complemented by a good haircut and neatly trimmed beard.

The drinks arrived, and they kept talking. I saw Tiff do that flippy thing with her long blonde hair that women do when they are attracted to a guy.

He looked to have said something funny, and Tiff laughed, then leaned forward to touch his arm, giving him a nice view down her abundant cleavage. Yeah, this one's doing well.

Obviously, all of that wasn't lost on this guy. He shifted his chair closer to her, and now their legs were interleaved. When a girl lets a guy put his leg between hers, he assumes there's a good chance she'll let other things follow.

By the time she finished her drink, her new companion had his hand on her knee, and Grant saw her "accidentally" brush her boob against his upper arm.

Grant knew that husbands were supposed to fly into jealous rages when they saw their wives behaving like that with another man, however he felt nothing but excitement.

The guy tilted his head, Tiff nodded, and he signaled to the waiter for another round. Tiff wasn't a big drinker, so if she was comfortable enough with this guy to let herself have a second drink, Grant figured that, plus all the casual touching, meant this guy was in for sure.

And then... he pulled out his phone and began tapping at it. Grant frowned. Unbelievable. One of the hottest women you're ever going to meet is sitting there, literally yours for the taking, and you're messing with your phone?

Even though Tiff's face wasn't showing any annoyance, he knew she wasn't pleased. She, like most women, found confidence in a man sexy, but not when it rose to the level of arrogance.

The guy put his phone away, and must have launched a charm and apology offensive, because Grant could see Tiff slowly relaxing, then smiling, then giggling, and putting her hand on his leg. Ok, nice recovery. Idiot.

They continued chatting, and right as their drinks arrived, Tiff said something that made him laugh, and she pulled her phone from her tiny purse, quickly typed something, then tucked the phone away and smiled at him. She even gave him another arm-touch.

Grant's phone vibrated, and he looked down at it. Not surprisingly, a message from Tiff: "Josh. Wants 2 do bad thngs 2 me" It ended with a smile emoji, which meant she was looking forward to those bad things. He suppressed a grin. He knew just how much Tiff enjoyed finding a guy who might go beyond five minutes of missionary position with the lights off. Grant hoped this Josh guy wasn't all bark and no bite.

A live band had been setting up, and Tiff had only taken a couple of sips from her new drink when the band started playing. This was another reason they'd come back to this particular hotel. In addition to the live band, the bar also had a modest dance floor. Tiff loved to dance. He didn't have to be able to hear her to know what she was asking her companion.

Standing up, Josh took her hand as she got down from the tall chair, which was good as she had on red four-inch stiletto heels that matched her dress. Grant never understood how she could walk in them, let alone dance. They did make her legs and her ass look great though. From the covert glances from the guys who were there with their wives or girlfriends, and the not-so-covert stares from the single guys, he wasn't the only one who thought so.

Grant enjoyed seeing how other men — and some women — looked at his wife when they were together. Any guy is lying if he says he doesn't like that "yep, and she's with me" feeling. He still felt it now, even though he wasn't the one she was walking over to the dance floor with. She might have been with another guy, but she was still his wife, and he knew it even if none of the other watchers did.

The band started out with a song to slow-dance to, and Josh was taking full advantage of it. There was certainly no puritanical hands-breadth-between-them rule in effect here. Tiff was pressed up against him, their faces inches apart, as they smoothly moved around the dance floor.

This was as close as Grant got to getting to watch another man having sex with his wife, and the erection he was getting from it felt good, even though it was frustrating not to get to take advantage of it. He was satisfied knowing that when they got back home tonight, the sex would be spectacular.

Towards the end of the song, Josh let his hand drift from her narrow waist, and down onto her ass. He wasn't squeezing it, just touching it gently, sending a "this ass is mine" message to any other guys watching. A combination of a declaration and a boast.

Enjoy that ass for tonight, thought Grant happily. All you get to do is borrow it. I'm the one it belongs to.

Of course Grant knew that her ass, and Tiff in general, didn't actually belong to him. Marriage wasn't ownership. However, "I'm the one who is allowed physical access to her body per a mutually agreed-upon long-term lease with no monetary consideration, and predicated upon her current permission, while recognizing her as a fully self-actualized person" just seemed to him to lack the same flavor.

Switching it up, the band started playing something fast, and several more couples made their way onto the dance floor. Grant was pretty sure that some of the guys had developed a newfound interest in dancing for the sole purpose of getting a better view of Tiff.

Tiff's bra had been chosen more for looks than for practicality, and her amazing boobs were quite bouncy as she seductively gyrated to the beat of the music. Josh seemed to be enjoying the show, as he was the one Tiff was dancing at. Grant wondered if seeing her boobs "in action" was a suitable consolation for no longer having them pressed up against him like they had been during that slow dance. It should be. Especially since later on, if you play your cards right Josh, those boobs will be pressed up against you again, but at that point Tiff will be naked.

They danced one more slow dance, with Josh's hand making its way onto her ass even more quickly this time, then returned to their table. Grant knew that as much as she enjoyed dancing, she wouldn't want to be sweaty. Well, at least not before she was in bed.

They talked and flirted while Tiff drank her second drink, with more and more touching. PG-rated touching — they were in public place, after all. Even so, by now it was thunderingly obvious to anyone who saw them that the night was going to end with them in bed together. She finished the drink, and it looked like Josh offered to buy her a third, but Grant was happy when she shook her head no, glad she wasn't letting her excitement overcome her good judgement.

Two drinks in her, Tiff was now staring into Josh's eyes, and Grant saw her lick her lips suggestively. Josh appeared to ask her a question, and with flick of her eyes over towards Grant that was so quick even he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it, she slowly nodded "yes".

She took the lucky guy's arm, and they walked out of the bar. From Grant's vantage point, he could see them heading for the elevator bank. It was the one that served only the suites of the upper floors, and he was happy that Josh's appearance of class looked to be authentic.

Grant ordered another drink, and settled in to wait an hour — maybe two — before he'd get to hear the details of her experience. While the waiting was frustrating, he also enjoyed the excitement of imagining what his wife was doing with the stranger whose room she was probably walking into just about now.

How would it start? Would they kiss, then slowly shed their clothes as things progressed, taking their time to get to the actual sex? Would they each strip their clothes off franticly, then leap into bed? Or would Tiff already be on her knees, her soft lips forming a perfect "O" around the hard cock sticking out of his fly?

He couldn't wait to hear the story.

The Suite

Tiffany walked along with Josh as they headed towards the elevators. They made small talk, the flirty, teasing, and somewhat dirty discussion they'd been having in the bar feeling out of place in the brightly-lit lobby. It wasn't crowded, but it didn't feel intimate like the bar had.

He started talking about cars, and Tiffany had a momentary sinking feeling, as that was always the go-to topic for the kind of guy she always shot down quickly. As he'd done with his gaffe with the phone, Josh seemed to read her, and performed a course correction.

In the bar, he'd sheepishly said, "Sorry," after pocketing his phone. "I know that was terrible timing. I really needed to send a quick text. I promise you now have the one-hundred percent of my attention that you deserve."