I had my first threesome with two men, while my husband watched

Daniel slid inside me and I arched my back towards him, moaning breathlessly, my ass rising to meet him. I was on my knees, leaning over the back of the plush hotel chair as he began to fuck me slowly, deeply. Peter was in front of me, his rock-hard dick filling my mouth, one hand running through my hair while Daniel’s gripped my hips from behind.

“That’s too good,” Daniel pushed out through clenched teeth, still thrusting deep, filling me up.

The thrusts got faster. The intensity built. I gasped loudly and Peter bent towards me, taking my face in his hands.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on mine. Behind me, Daniel tightened his grip around my hips, holding me in place as he drove into me. Peter nodded slowly, watching my face contort with pleasure. “That’s it, you can take it... good girl.”

Then he kissed me.

Peter’s tongue was in my mouth, Daniel was still fucking me from behind, and that was it.

I came hard.

Two hours earlier, J and I had been sitting downstairs having a drink in the bar of the Manchester hotel. We were tucked into a corner booth when Peter walked in, looking just as good as I remembered. He took my hands to help me to my feet and I greeted him with a hug.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes sliding appreciatively down my body, over the summer dress cut in around my waist and dipping low around the curve of my breasts. He shook J’s hand warmly, then sank into the booth opposite us.

This wasn’t the first time the three of us had met. The first had been on a stag/vixen date in Leeds a few months earlier. The attraction had been instant, and the chemistry insane. J had enjoyed the view, glass of whisky in hand, as Peter and I screwed our way around the hotel suite.

Such a good night.

Peter was exactly my type: tall and sexy with a killer smile and, as it turned out, very good at fucking me. I knew I wanted to see him again. So, when work took me to Manchester alone a couple of months later, not too far from Peter, J suggested I give him a call.

I absolutely love a stag/vixen date - being fucked in front of my husband is my ultimate kink - but there’s something about a solo date that’s completely intoxicating too. Meeting a man alone, fucking in a hotel room while my husband is waiting at home to hear from me, to see the photos and video afterwards; it adds another jolt of adrenaline, another layer of intensity.

That second time, Peter and I met in the hotel bar, both dressed for the occasion: him in a white shirt and dark trousers, me in heels and a little black minidress that showed off... well, pretty much everything. We flirted our way through a couple of rounds of drinks. Soon his hand was on my knee, mine was on his chest. When we kissed in our dark corner of the bar, his hand slid a little higher up my thigh, and I knew it was time to head upstairs.

We were naked within minutes. Alone now, we were more vocal than the first time we’d been together.

“Ohh, you’re so wet,” Peter murmured with a low moan when his fingers first slipped inside my lingerie.

We teased. We tasted. And then I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he gasped as he finally sank into me.

My head rocked back as that first wave of pleasure hit. He lifted my legs, my knees over his shoulders, and fucked me slowly at first. Teasing. Then faster. Deeper. Eventually he dropped my legs and fell over me, driving into me harder as my moans got louder.

He made me cum once.

Then again.

Then again.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You like how deep that is..? Mmm, that’s it. Yes, you can take it. Good girl...”

Fuck.

When he finally came, I was riding him, my fingers in his mouth and my hips rocking hard on top of him as he groaned beneath me. The fact that my own husband had suggested this night made it all the sweeter.

Afterwards we drank wine naked in bed, chatting and enjoying that strange intimacy you get from being naked with someone who isn’t your wife or husband, who you don’t actually know that well... but who you just really enjoy fucking.

An hour later, we were at it again.

When J and I watched the video back together the following night, naked in bed, he joked that the second session could have been turned into a drinking game, and that if he’d taken a shot every time Peter made me cum, he’d have been annihilated.

He wasn’t wrong.

Which is why, when I told J later that there was something else I really wanted to try - my first threesome with two men - Peter was the first name that came to mind.

I’ve played with more than one man before, but always as part of a larger group or with J himself involved. I’d never been the only woman playing with two men while my husband sat back and watched.

It was on my lifestyle bucket list.

Peter knew someone he thought I’d like. And that’s how, a month later, I found myself back in Manchester. Same hotel, same bar, seated between Peter and my husband, and waiting for someone else. The conversation was casual, as J's long fingers stroked my thigh while Peter sat opposite, discreetly caressing my foot beneath the table. Then Daniel arrived. Also gorgeous. Also tall. Also with a fantastic smile. He greeted us, kissed me, and took a seat next to Peter. And that's where we stayed, for the next hour and a half as the four of us drank cocktails and swapped lifestyle stories. And I enjoyed the absolute fuck out of the situation. There I was, feeling confident in my revealing summer dress, sitting in a booth surrounded by three absolutely gorgeous men and knowing exactly what was about to happen. Saturday nights don't come much hotter than that.

Did anyone else in the bar know? Possibly. We were certainly getting a few cheeky smiles from the staff. And if there had been any doubt about our plans, I suspect most of it disappeared when we asked the waitress for another round of drinks “for the room,” then all stood up together and headed towards the lifts, several pairs of eyes following us across the room.

As a Hotwife, I’ve discovered there’s always a moment in the night when the reality of the situation kicks in; when the horniness of what’s happening is met with a sobering dose of ‘...seriously?!’ For me, it's usually when we arrive in the hotel room. I excuse myself to the bathroom, close the door, slowly peel off my ‘date’ clothes and step into the lingerie I’ve chosen for the night. One last check in the mirror - a photo sent to J if he's not with me - smooth the hair, top up the lipgloss...

And then I have to open that door again. That’s where the nerves get me every time.

The first few times, the nerves were enormous. I still remember my first ever Hotwife date, listening to J and the sexy Irish guy chatting in the next room, mixed with the strains of Pony playing on my iPad, and me standing with my hand physically resting on the bathroom door handle, trying to persuade myself to turn it. I shook my head at myself in the mirror, a breathless laugh escaping. That was the moment the enormity of the night had hit me - after years of fantasising and imagining, I knew that once I opened that door, it would be reality.

And I wanted that, I really did. I was ready for it...if I could just open the door.

Experience has changed that. Every incredible date, every fantasy that turned out to be even better in reality has chipped away at those nerves. They’re still there, of course, but these days it feels more like adrenaline. I know that after walking out of that door, I’m in for an amazing evening. And that night, standing in the bathroom listening to three male voices talking and laughing in the next room, knowing that every single one of them was waiting for me... yeah, I was nervous. But fuck, I also couldn’t wait. I took a breath and turned the handle.

When I opened the door, all three heads turned. The reaction was immediate: appreciative noises, low whistles, murmurs of approval. Exactly what a lady wants to hear.

The bedroom had a large bed with two chairs positioned around a table at its foot. Peter and Daniel had already claimed those, while J sat opposite. For a moment I simply stood there: three men, all looking at me, all there because of me.

There’s a particular kind of power in that. Maybe a little intimidating too, but I knew exactly what I needed to do. I walked straight towards Peter and lowered myself onto his lap. His hands immediately found my thighs, and then we kissed. There it was again: that spark of electricity I remembered from our previous dates. His tongue in my mouth, his hands moving over me - and then Daniel’s hands began caressing my legs from the chair beside us.

And I could feel J’s eyes on all of it.

Soon, all three of us were standing. I kissed Daniel in front of me while Peter pressed himself against me from behind. Hands were moving everywhere as clothes started disappearing.

“Fucking beautiful,” Daniel murmured, taking my face in his hands and kissing me deeply while I unbuckled his trousers. I reached back and ran a hand down Peter’s body, feeling how hard he already was against me as his lips began to kiss my spine.

I’ve discovered something about myself since we started playing with other people: being kissed by one person while somebody else is fucking me absolutely ruins me. Mouth, fingers, cock - whatever is happening elsewhere, add someone kissing me into the mix and my brain admits defeat. There’s nowhere else for my attention to go at that moment - I’m not thinking about how I look, or about what’s going to happen next. I’m not thinking at all, I’m just completely occupied, every single part of my body touched, and pleasured, and engaged.

And apparently my body’s response to that is extremely predictable. I cum. Hard. Every time.

J was sitting just a few feet away, watching his wife enjoy every second of the experience we’d spent the past few weeks talking, flirting, and fantasising about. I knew he’d be hard. I knew he loved the view. And that only made the whole thing hotter.

At some point I sank to my knees between Peter and Daniel, moving from one to the other, licking and sucking while their hands ran through my hair, over my breasts and around my body. Then we moved to the bed. One of them stood at the head of it so I could take him in my mouth while I rode the other. Then they swapped. Positions changed. Strong hands seemed to be everywhere, pulling me closer, turning me, moving me exactly where they wanted me.

I lost count of how many times I came.

At one point I was lying on my back with Peter between my legs and Daniel in my mouth, the room increasingly hot and the three of us drenched with sweat, when Daniel suddenly pulled back.

“Hydration break,” he announced with a smile, and everyone burst out laughing.

He wandered off to retrieve his drink while Peter apparently decided this presented an excellent opportunity, pinned me back down and started fucking me again.

By the time Daniel returned to the bed, I’d come again.

Behind them both, I could see J and knew exactly how much he was enjoying this - seeing his wife, naked and shiny with sweat, nipples hard, legs spread, breathing heavily from exertion and pleasure. I knew he wasn’t merely okay with what he was watching, I knew how much he loved seeing me like this, and I knew exactly how hard we were going to fuck later because of it.

Eventually, completely spent, the three of us collapsed together. Peter had cum deep inside me. Daniel had cum all over me. We were all sweaty and breathless, and I felt high with pleasure. My first ever MMF threesome was exactly what I’d hoped it would be.

And then, there were chicken wings. Because apparently this is what my sex life looks like now: one minute I’m living out a fantasy, the next we’re all half-naked, eating chicken wings and drinking red wine into the early hours while watching England play Mexico.

I fucking love my life.

Eventually Peter and Daniel left, and the door had barely closed before J and I were naked again. And judging by his reaction, watching his wife being shared by two men had looked every bit as good to him as it had felt to me.

It’s funny isn’t it, that sex is usually presented as something that becomes less adventurous when you find your person. When you’re young and single, experimentation is expected. You meet new people, discover what you like, explore first times, make questionable decisions, collect stories.

Then you fall in love, get married and apparently you’re supposed to have completed the sexual-discovery portion of your life.

Why?

I’m in my forties and I’m still having firsts. Not despite my marriage, but because of the relationship J and I have built within it. There are so many experiences husbands and wives are encouraged to have together - travel, careers, buying homes, having children - so many adventures, which makes it all the more baffling that sex is the one place where society seems hell-bent on handing us a script and saying: this is where your shared exploration stops. J and I deciding we weren’t particularly interested in that script is one of the best decisions we’ve ever made.

So there I was, in my forties, having my first threesome, while my husband watched. No guilt. No deceit. Just another incredible first.

Hours after it began - after incredible sex with all three men, countless orgasms, a bottle of red wine, some chicken wings, and one England win - I climbed into bed with my husband, both of us buzzing from the night we’d shared.

And perhaps that’s my favourite thing about this lifestyle, discovering that becoming a Hotwife isn’t simply about having more sex, it’s the revelation that I haven’t run out of first times yet.

And I have absolutely no intention of doing so anytime soon...

See you next week.

- The Secret Hotwife