The Secret Hotwife
“Ohhh yes, listen to your fucking mouth on my cock… such a good girl…”
“Take these jeans off,” Joe growled into my ear.
I slid to my knees on the floor as he towered above me, tugging his jeans down with me until they were off one leg, then the other. His erection sprung out, long and thick, already hard. He stood over me, completely naked now, his eyes dark with lust. The message was obvious. Without breaking eye contact, I took the entire length of him into my mouth in one slow, deliberate move and he groaned loudly, his head falling back. His hand gripped the back of my head and he pulled me closer, his ass clenching as he thrust deeper.
“Good girl,” he murmured, nodding slightly as his eyes locked on mine. “Good. Girl.” he repeated, each word punctuated with a deep, deliberate thrust..
A moment later, his hand slid beneath my chin and he guided me upright by my throat, pushed me back onto the bed so forcefully I bounced a little.
I blinked. I hadn’t minded it.
In seconds he was kneeling between my legs, a condom already on. I felt the weight of him, the strength of him, pinning me down. His fingers wrapped easily around my wrists, pressing them into the mattress above my head. He lowered to kiss my neck, a soft growl in my ear as the head of his cock circled me.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me..?” he asked, voice thick and husky.
My stomach flipped deliciously.
“Yes,” I breathed.
And that was all he needed. He pushed into me in one smooth, deep plunge and I gasped with pleasure.
“Oh yes... good girl. What a good girl…” he growled as he pressed me into the bed, my ankles up by my shoulders, his hands pinning mine either side of me as he fucked me deeply.
If this is what good girls get, I’ll be a good girl every day of the week...
...oh wait, that’s exactly what I am.
I might as well introduce myself. Hello everyone, I’m the Secret Hotwife, and I… am a very Good Girl. If there were meetings for Good Girls Anonymous, I’d be standing up at every session without fail.
A couple of years ago, I’d never have called myself submissive; the connotations of that word so black and white in my head. Submissives, I thought, crawled around wearing dog collars and taking orders, or else lay on their backs whimpering helplessly, waiting for something to happen to them. None of that ever appealed to me. It looked like humiliation, degradation even.
Then J and I started talking more openly about sex, exploring this lifestyle together, and I got an education. A serious one. There’s an entire spectrum of kink and pleasure out there. And yes, for some couples that includes dog collars and degradation - if it’s between consenting adults, I say good for them!
But for me? I’ve realised that, for all my “control freak” tendencies in the real world, I absolutely love when a man takes control in the bedroom. When he tells me exactly what he wants me to do. When his voice and body leave no room for doubt.
I’ve also discovered I have a serious praise kink. The first time a guy called me a good girl in bed, I was finished. It was our first lifestyle experience, and I can still remember kneeling between this tall, muscly Irishman’s legs as he purred, in that sinful accent, “Ohhh yes, listen to your fucking mouth on my cock… such a good girl…”
Ridiculous. In the very best way. I’ve been a good girl ever since.
And it goes beyond doing as I’m told. I’ve learned I love being pinned down and taken - with consent, obviously. I love being picked up (One of my lifestyle highlights involves being bicep-curled and carried to bed by a sexy 6’6” man.). I crave being bent over and spanked. My husband is a powerful 6’3”, so I get more than my fair share of being pinned down, picked up, and having “good girl” murmured in my ear. And I seek out sexual partners who give off the same energy.
This particular night with Joe was a bit more overtly dominant than I was used to, but my body was certainly responding. He seemed to operate on a system of punishment and reward. He kissed me passionately as he held me firmly in place. He made me squirt all over his hands, then ordered me to take off his jeans. He buried his head between my legs, teasing me until I was shaking, then turned me over and spanked me hard. He growled in my ear like an animal as he thrust into me. He moaned loudly and told me I was beautiful as he fucked my face.
It was a fun night with a great guy, but it also showed me something important - that what I really enjoy is reciprocity. I love handing over control, but I also love the moments where I take it back. Pushing a man’s head down between my legs when I can’t wait another second… teasing him and feeling how hard he is for me… watching his expression when I’m riding him, slowly, deliberately… My husband still talks, with a sparkle in his eye, of the time I threw him to the kitchen floor and rode his face.
The best sexual experiences, I find, have ebb and flow.
Not that I’m interested in dominating men the way they dominate women. I’ve never spanked a man - and I’m not about to start - but I have clawed his back as he’s fucked me, or firmly pulled his hair as his tongue has been between my legs. I’ve never called anyone a “Good Boy” in the middle of sex, but I have gasped “Don’t stop…” and gripped his ass with my hands to keep him driving into me deeply. I’ve also never pinned a man down and fucked him (I don’t think I even could, at least not the kind of men I want to be fucking) but I have ridden the tip of a man’s cock, letting him feel how warm and wet I am for him, teasing him until he’s begging me to take him fully inside. In those moments, his hands on my hips, we both know he has the power to pull me down exactly where he wants me - but he doesn’t. Because, right then, I’m the one in the driver’s seat, and there’s a real appeal in that.
Control in sex is thrilling, especially when it’s passed back-and-forth like a baton. It makes sense that men use their physical strength and ability to overpower as tools in their domination kit - very hot - but women? So much of our power, I think, lies in teasing. We’re the ones sending the sexy photos before a date. We peel off lingerie slowly, revealing ourselves to the men we want piece-by-piece. We perform stripteases, letting men see and touch only what we choose. We tease their cocks with our tongues, knowing they’re aching for that moment we finally take them all the way in. We withhold and we torture because being craved and desired is a power like no other.
And men aren't complaining. For them, seeing a woman they desperately want - a woman who wants them just as much - taking exactly what she needs from them, on her own terms… that’s utterly intoxicating.
And that's what it really means to be a good girl. It's not about surrender. It’s about knowing exactly when to give control away… and exactly when to take it back.
See you next week,
- The Secret Hotwife
