The Secret Hotwife
“You teasing me?” he gasped. I gave him a slow nod, as I started to ride the tip of him slowly, and his eyes widened a little. “Ohh yes, yes baby…”
He had amazing lips. I’d already suspected he would be fun to kiss, and I was absolutely right. His arm was slung low around my waist and, as we kissed deeper, his long fingers stroked my thigh. His other hand slid up my stomach until it reached my breast, cupping it firmly. His thumb found my nipple then and I moaned softly into his mouth. If people were watching, neither of us cared - and of course they were watching. It was a Sunday, so the bar was quieter than normal, but there were still plenty of people around.
At the soft rattle of drinks being placed on the table in front of us, our mouths broke apart. I looked up to see the towering form of my handsome husband standing over us. He smiled, and I grinned back.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the wine glass he proffered as he sank onto the seat next to me. The three of us clinked our glasses together.
This weekend marks one year of non-monogamy for my husband, J, and I; one year of date nights like this, and so much more besides. But even with a year of experience under my belt, moments like these - two sexy men sitting either side of me, both with their hands on my skin - can still sometimes feel surreal.
Oh, did I say surreal? I meant fun as fuck.
This was our second time meeting Connor; the first had been a couple of weeks earlier, the three of us grabbing a quick drink one evening after work. We’d chatted lightly about this and that, and there’d been that delicious snap of chemistry as he held my gaze that told me we should meet again.
He was younger than guys I’ve met in the past. Much younger.
“How old are you?” I’d asked with a wry smile when J went to the bar. He told me and my eyes widened. He laughed. God, his smile was sexy. He was definitely younger than I’d thought; the kind of guy J and I saw at the gym wearing tube socks and over-ear headphones - a surefire way to spot somebody in their twenties - while we were there sporting trainer socks and AirPods. But then he leaned in closer, told me I was beautiful, and delivered that kiss, at which point I decided that anyone old enough to have developed moves like that was good with me.
After the second drink, we paid up and made the short walk back to our hotel. I walked between the two of them, holding J’s hand briefly before he, ever the voyeur, dropped back and let the two of us walk on ahead. I took Connor's hand in mine as we strolled, and somewhere behind us I could feel J’s appreciative eyes on my ass. It was a gorgeous night, too warm for clothes, really...
We bought a round of drinks in the hotel bar and took them to the lift to go upstairs. The bar staff watched us go and we all waited until the lift door slid shut to share a chuckle. This is our favourite hotel and J and I stay here a lot. We’ve taken this lift upstairs with quite a few different people over the last 12 months - men, couples, even a big group of scantily-clad people after we decided to turn our suite into an after-party one night, following a lifestyle social last October. Seeing the staff’s faces is always part of the fun.
Up in the room, Connor didn’t waste any time, the chatter and joviality of the last hour forgotten as more pressing matters, ahem, rose to the surface. He dropped his drink on the table by the bed and crossed the room to kiss me - a serious kiss, the kind where you’re caressing parts of each other you definitely couldn’t get away with caressing in even the darkest corners of a wine bar. My arms around his neck, I leaned my pelvis in towards him, feeling him already hard through his jeans. As J settled into a chair, a glass of bourbon in his hand to enjoy the show, Connor's hand found the slit in my dress and slipped inside, tracing up my thigh, to my ass. He pulled back, a grin on his face.
“You’re not wearing underwear...” he murmured.
I shook my head, a small smile playing at the corner of my mouth. He lowered his head and kissed my neck.
“Fuck that’s hot…” he breathed into my skin.
I unfastened his shirt as we kissed until there was nothing but bare skin, then my fingers stroked down his chest to his stomach, and round to his back, exploring, admiring his body that was hard in all the right places.
He reached down then, scooping me up as if I weighed nothing (a power move most women will never tire of) and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He squeezed my bare ass in his hands as we kissed. Rather appropriately at that moment, the opening chords of Pony by Ginuwine trickled from my nearby phone - courtesy of the Spotify playlist I’d put on when we arrived in the room - as this muscly, shirtless man held me aloft, slowly and sensually pumping me up and down on the bulge of his erection.
Songs, like moments, don’t come much sexier than that.
I lowered myself to the floor and sank to my knees, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them - and his boxers - down. His erection sprang out, more than ready for me, and he slid his fingers through my hair as I took him in my mouth. I knew without looking over my shoulder that J would be filming us on his phone; he loved this part, seeing his Hotwife on her knees with a cock in her mouth, lips parted, tongue swirling, and I knew he wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.
It’s exactly one year ago to the day that he saw me do this for the first time: the night I lost my official Hotwife virginity. Back before we started on our non-monogamy journey, I’d spent my adult life believing that sex lived at two extremes; with connection and intimacy with someone you cared about on one side, and a meaningless fuck on the other. What this year has shown me is that there’s a whole spectrum of possibility in between. I’ve seen firsthand that chemistry and intimacy don’t belong exclusively to love - they can flare up in a crazy sexy moment with someone else, even someone you don’t know well - in a bar, in a club, in a hotel room - without having any impact on the love and sexy connection you share with your husband or wife.
In short: intimacy doesn't break when you share it, it multiplies.
When Connor pulled me to the bed, after having kissed and licked every inch of me, pushed my legs up and slid himself inside me, he wasn’t the equivalent of a human sex toy. And that matters, because my initial resistance to this lifestyle was partly rooted in that fear - that it would all feel mechanical, like fucking a good-looking dildo. But it didn’t. I may not have known much about Connor, but there was an undeniable mutual attraction, and some pretty serious chemistry. I liked his sexy smile, his voice - low and softly-spoken, almost a little shy - the way his eyes locked on mine as his cock filled me, the curl of his lip when the sensation of me wrapped around him hit just right, the flex of the muscles in his arms as he squeezed my hips and pulled me towards him...
And that was everything I needed to know.
Connor walked a perfect line between being a gentleman and… well, to be blunt… fucking giving it to me. One minute he was all eye contact and laying his hand gently over mine as I splayed my palm on his chest while riding him, the next he was bending me over, slapping my ass, and pounding me hard as he knelt up on one knee.
He also, as it turned out, had youthful stamina on his side. Ten minutes after he came the first time, he was hard again. I was lying on the bed, drinking wine, and chatting to both guys as they sat in nearby chairs, when Connor came to join me back on the bed, and began teasing my ass with his fingers. I met J’s eyes and he winked at me cheekily as I slid my wine glass down to the floor.
Moments later I was sitting on top of Connor, circling myself on the tip of his cock, his hands on my hips as he tried to coax me down onto him. I shook my head slowly with a small smile, and watched as a grin spread across his face.
“You teasing me?” he gasped. I gave him a slow nod, as I started to ride the tip of him slowly, and his eyes widened a little. “Ohh yes, yes baby…”
Seconds later I sat back, sinking all the way down until every centimetre of him was inside me and he groaned loudly.
I came hard that night; hard and often. By the third time we had sex, the room was hot, we were both sweaty, but nobody was ready to call it a night.
“Oh God, oh yes, oh baby…” he groaned as he pumped into me, his hands squeezing my ass. He flipped me over, taking my leg over his shoulder as he settled between my legs again. He slid back inside me, fucking me deep; slow at first, then faster, building pace. Once again I could feel the familiar wave of pleasure beginning to crawl up my body.
“Cum for me,” he commanded, his voice still soft, his eyes on mine. “Cum on my dick…”
It was all I needed to push me over the edge and I came noisily on him. Seconds later, he followed suit, his face contorting into a grimace of pleasure.
Minutes later I was kissing him goodbye at the hotel door, and with a wave to us both, and a promise we’d meet again, he was gone. As the door closed, J came up behind me, spinning me to face him, and kissed me deeply. I had his shirt unbuttoned within seconds. After an incredibly fun and sexy couple of hours, we both felt this same primal need to be back together; to kiss, to fuck, to reclaim each other. It’s a moment between husband and wife not quite like any other; a reminder of who we each belong to, and why we do this in the first place. Reclaim sex on the night, we’ve found, is usually urgent, intense, fast and hard, filled with teasing questions from J and breathless answers from me. It’s the culmination of the night’s sexual tension. Reclaim sex the next morning, as we’re both half-awake in our hotel bed and being flooded with the memories of the previous night, is slower, more sensual, filled with our own personal brand of intimacy and connection. Both are deeply satisfying, and sexy as fuck.
One year in, I'm delighted to report that non-monogamy hasn’t diluted our intimacy one little bit. It’s deepened it, layered it, and made it so much richer, to the point that I can be fucked breathless by someone new, and then come home and be devoured all over again by my husband. And he can do the same. And that’s our intimacy, the one that always carries us home to each other.
Year two? Bring it on.
See you next week
- The Secret Hotwife
