Hotel Hotwife

Returning to my hotel room, following a day of meetings, where I involuntarily inherited a load of actions to take away with me, I sat down on the edge of the double bed and called my husband, Paul. Holding the phone to my ear, I listened to the familiar voices and chaos at home, as he tried to juggle the children fighting over who spoke to me first.

We got there in the end, and I got to enjoy the children's cute chatter and laughter, a comforting reminder of home and family life. I listened to what they did in school that day, my blue eyes a mix of affection and sadness for not being with them. I then spoke to my husband for a while, recounting my own long, boring and mentally exhausting day, while twirling a few brown strands of hair with my finger.

"Why don't you go down to the bar and grab yourself a glass of wine and a bite to eat?" he suggested. "Enjoy the break from the noise at home."

"I'll probably have a shower and then order room service," I replied, undecided.

"Go down to the bar, Jemma. You never know, you might find a hot guy to take back to your room for the night," he chuckled mischievously.

"Behave yourself," I laughed.

"I'm being serious," my husband said. "Then you can tell me all about it when you get home."

"Yeah, you'd love that, wouldn't you?" I giggled down the line.

"You know me too well, my beautiful hotwife," Paul gave me a dirty chuckle.

"I told you not to call me that," I tutted at the private nickname he liked to call me.

"I'm sorry," he laughed, then the children were heard squabbling in the background. "Right, I have to go. Enjoy the peace and quiet, but I was being serious, Jemma. If you meet someone... you have my blessing."

"I know, but it's not happening. Not ever," I laughed once more. "Goodnight. I love you."

"Spoilsport," Paul jokingly moaned. "I love you too. Goodnight."

It was only 6.30pm, when we finished the call. I put my phone down on the bedside table and stood in front of the mirror, mulling over going down to the bar or ordering room service. But as I examined the reflection of my thirty-four-year-old, five-six, curvaceous figure, I flicked my long, brown hair behind my shoulders, framing my face of subtle makeup, and thought about my husbands hotwife/cuckold fantasies.

It started before we married. He just started asking me about previous lovers and particularly, one night stands. I hadn't had many of those, but they were his favourite. Not wanting to remember past lovers, I made up lots of sexy stories instead, incorporating some truth with the sex descriptions. Although it took me until my mid-twenties to realise it, I was an exhibitionist at heart. Paul loved it. It drove him wild in bed.

Whether it be wearing something provocative for a night out with the girls, wearing sexy lingerie to work, or sunbathing topless on a beach, he loved other men looking at me. I enjoyed it too, I'm human, after all, but I didn't want to have sexual relations with other men... did I? Of course, the thought of it was exciting, we all have naughty fantasies involving other people.

Clothed in a grey, plaid pencil skirt and a long-sleeved, white blouse, which hugged my curved hips and accentuated my ample bust, respectively, I thought about the men during the meetings that day. Their eyes had wandered up and down my bare legs and fixed briefly on the fullness of my breasts. I smiled at the not too distant memories and decided I would go down to the bar after all. Not to pull, but just to see if I could. It would certainly spice up the marital bed back home.

With a mischievous smile on my face, I slipped my black, low court heeled shoes back on, but left my jacket hanging up. The bar was quiet for the time of evening, with just a few patrons in the restaurant and a few more scattered around the bar. Mostly businessmen, I noticed, as I sat at a corner table and ordered a large glass of Pino Grigio and a chicken caesar salad.

After my meal, I went upto the bar for my second and last glass of wine, only for a man to approach me, which rarely happened to be fair. Most men just look and smile. In fact, I could count on one hand how many men had tried to buy me a drink when I worked away and stayed in hotels. It was flattering and unwanted, so I always declined, not wanting to encourage them.

But I decided to fuel this guys ego and then tease my husband about it when I got home. His name was Simon, and he looked about fifteen to twenty years older than me, but I didn't ask. He had styled grey hair and a handsome face, oozing life experience and confidence. He was delighted I gave him my name and allowed him to buy me a drink.

Simon introduced himself in an educated accent, but he didn't sound posh or snobby. His voice was quite smooth, actually, and he was tall and slim, wearing a well-fitted, navy pin-striped suit. He thanked me for allowing him to join me, slipping off his jacket as he kindly told the barman to add my drink to his tab.

"So, Jemma, a long day, or like me, are you simply fed up of hotels?" he asked, sitting.

"I don't spend much time away from home, but there isn't much else one can do on a weekday in a hotel," I replied nonchalantly.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he grinned. "I take it you have family at home?" he quickly added, nodding at the rings on my left hand.

"Yeah," I said, glancing at them, feeling a mix of pride and mischief. "What about you?" I nodded at his wedding band.

"A wife, but my children have flown the nest," he smiled, a smile that hinted he was still available if the opportunity arose.

As the conversation flowed effortlessly between us, his charm soon washed away my judgement of him being a cheater. Simon was funny, intelligent, and his compliments were subtle and flattering. I also found it amusing that he believed he could tempt me to stray, based purely on his chat-up skills, which were good to be fair to him, but he had no idea that I was using him to later tease my husband.

I obviously wasn't going to tell him either, but I did accept another drink at his expense. I was feeling tipsy and desired, excited to return to my room and work my husband into a frenzy about another man hitting on me. Then came the innuendos and the 'I want to fuck you' look. Simon's gaze lingered on my lips, my neckline, and my legs. He stole glances at my chest, but mostly he looked into my eyes, particularly when speaking.

Buzzing from both the alcohol and the attention, I became sexually aroused. I could feel my skin was warm and my heart was beating faster. It was exciting, different, and a lot of fun. I hadn't experienced this kind of attention since before I met Paul, because I never allowed it, despite my husbands never ending desire for me to screw another guy.

Excusing myself to use the bathroom, I took a moment to gather my thoughts and text my husband, suddenly feeling like I was cheating on him. Simon hadn't asked me to leave the bar with him, but I sensed it was only a matter of time. At that point, I really didn't know how I felt about it, how I would answer him if he asked me up to his room.

Sat on the toilet, inside a cubicle, with my skirt and knickers around my ankles, I texted Paul, updating him on my evening. He replied with suspicion, doubting I was telling him the truth. When I swore that I was, he told me to go for it. I texted back again, letting him know that Simon hadn't made an official move on me yet. Then my husband replied once more, calling me his hotwife.

Before returning to the bar, I stood alone in the ladies' room, in front of the mirror. I was flushed with nervous excitement. I realised I wanted to have sex with Simon, not because I quite fancied him, but because I could, and I reckoned it would be damn good sex too.

I fussed my hair for a few moments, placing it to fall down the front of my shoulders and then behind, trying to decide which looked more sultry. Finally deciding to keep it as it was, behind my shoulders, I went into my purse, for my red lipstick, and touched up my lips. Last but not least, I undid another button on my blouse for effect.

As I walked back to my seat at the bar, Simon grinned as I approached, his eyes skirting up and down my legs and body. His grin grew wider when he noticed an extra button was undone, showing a bit more cleavage. I picked up my drink and took a big gulp, suddenly feeling like a cheating slut rather than a wife. I had kids at home in bed, but a husband who wanted me to get fucked.

"Would you like another drink, Jemma?" Simon asked in a frisky tone, placing a hand on my knee. The first time he touched me. I looked at his hand and shivered, not sure what to say. "Maybe we could take a round of drinks up to my room and continue our conversation on the balcony?" he smiled.

"Or maybe we could sit on my balcony?" I suggested, my tummy churning.

"Which ever you prefer," Simon nodded, his smile still etched across his face. "Let me use the toilet first."

"Ok," I blushed crimson, knowing we were going to have sex. I texted my husband from the bar, who told me he loved me, trusted me, and to have a great time.

Simon returned, ordered two more drinks, and then we left the bar together. The knowing smirk I received from the barman meant I never booked that hotel again. I wouldn't be able to face him if I did. The elevator ride was tense and quiet. We both knew what was going to happen. I almost backed out. I couldn't handle the tension.

"Have you ever done this before, Jemma?" Simon asked quietly as I slid the keycard into the door to my room.

"No," I quivered. I hadn't taken a strange man back to my hotel room before, not ever.

"I can tell," he said, stepping inside the room with me. "Relax, we're only going to have some fun together," he added.

As soon as the door closed behind us, Simon took my drink and placed it down with his. I started trembling, feeling like I was cheating on my husband, but I was also crazy with lust. The two together almost paralysed me. I guess I was expecting to have some level of confidence and gusto. But I was too nervous.

"You're a beautiful woman, Jemma," he whispered, cupping the side of my face.

"Thanks," I muttered, trying to catch my breath.

"You're a woman with needs, so don't think of it as cheating on your husband," he whispered once more and kissed me.

We came together in a passionate embrace and then he pushed me against the wall, our tongues exploring each others mouths, our breathing erratic and short. I slipped his jacket off and he kissed my neck, unbuttoning my blouse. Simon moved so quickly, I didn't put up any resistance. He pulled my blouse out of my skirt and then down my arms, exposing my full black bra.

"Mmm, you are one sexy woman," he breathed, his eyes fixed on my abundance of soft flesh. "With a splendid pair of tits."

My response was caught in the back of my throat as he kissed me again, and with ease, unzipped my pencil skirt, pushing it down my body and legs. I looked down at him and giggled as I stepped out of it, leaving me standing in just my black shoes and lace black underwear. Simon then stood up and stepped back, his eyes roaming over me, taking in my generously curved figure. His hungry examination heightened my arousal.

"You're stunning, Jemma. A beautiful, voluptuous brunette," he murmured, his voice thick with lust and desire.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I purred.

I grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards me, unable to take anymore of his superlatives. I felt sexy but I didn't share his view of myself. I was a mid-thirties married mother of two. I wasn't exactly overweight, but losing a few pounds wouldn't hurt. I kissed him to shut him up and to keep the sexual energy raging, because I feared getting itchy feet if he praised me too much.

As we kissed like a pair of horny teenagers, Simon put his hands on my breasts, caressing them over my bra. Instinctively, I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, opening his trousers to get a hand inside, groaning at how hard he was. My touch caused him to kiss me harder, as I squeezed his erection through his boxer shorts, feeling excited and naughty to be touching another man's cock.

He slid his hands round my back and unhooked my bra. I felt the weight of my breasts spill free as my bra joined my blouse and skirt on the floor. He instantly cupped them in his hands, weighing and caressing them like succulent fruit before he started sucking on my nipples, telling me how lovely my breasts were. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, trying not to think about what I was doing. I just wanted to feel.

The pleasure and excitement I felt was intense. Within a couple of hours of leaving my room, I was back inside it, topless, with a stranger greedily mauling my breasts and driving my libido crazy. I knew I needed to learn how to tame this new sexual liberation, it was frightening as much as it was exhilarating. But I wanted Simon, a stranger, an older man, to fuck me hard inside my hotel room, to make me come.

I managed to free his cock while he feasted on my breasts and nipples. It was thick and rock hard, pulsing in my hand, eager to fuck my married pussy. I was never going to resist him from that point. I wanted him as much as he wanted me, and we were going to give it to each other. He brought his head up and shoved his tongue down my throat again, his hands squeezing my breasts together.

"I want you on that bed, Jemma, tasting every inch of your hot body, but first I need you to taste me," Simon urged, pushing me down onto my knees.

Without hesitation, I knelt before him and stroked his cock in my face, thinking about how I was going to share this experience with my husband. God, even his nest of pubic curls were grey. It was kind of sexy, and so was his cock. So hard and veiny. A bit bigger and thicker than my husband, but not the biggest I'd ever had. None of that really mattered, anyway, not once I licked it.

"Ohhhhh, there's a good girl," Simon groaned.

I looked up but he had his eyes closed, groping my breasts and rolling my taut nipples, while I traced my tongue up and down his length, tasting his shaft before I took him into my mouth and sucked his cock. I concentrated on the head first, gradually taking him deeper until my nose pressed into his pubic hair. Groaning, he put a hand behind my head and thrust his hips forwards gently, slowly fucking my mouth.

I sucked him off like that for a few minutes, tasting salty droplets of pre-cum on my tongue. I moaned like a slut and dug my finger nails into his buttocks. He responded with a sharp hiss and sped up the movement of his hips, fucking my face as he gritted his teeth and tweaked my nipples. His reaction and dominance turned me on even more. I slipped a hand inside my knickers and began to move my clit around and finger myself.

I almost came, but so did Simon. He pulled my head back and hauled me to my feet, kissing me passionately as he led me towards the bed and then laid me down on the mattress. My breasts exposed, my chest rising and falling, my brown hair spread out around my head. Our eyes locked but no words were exchanged. Just an intense stare off which did all the talking for us, as he quickly removed his shoes, socks and suit.

Simon then loomed over me, his presence dominant as he climbed on top of my body, kissing my lips, face, neck, and breasts, swirling his tongue around my nipples. I closed my eyes and thought about my husband again. God, I really wished he was there to see it, to watch me submitting to a man I only met in the bar a couple of hours ago. It made me think of all the guys I had declined drinks from over the years.

Moving down my body, Simon kneaded my breasts and kissed my navel, licking around my belly button, groaning his arousal into my flesh. My own arousal was palpable. I was panting with anticipation, then his fingers went inside the waistband of my knickers and began to pull them down, exposing my neatly trimmed dark curls. I knew I was drenched. I could feel it between my legs.

It was torturous excitement at its best, as he kissed inside my thighs and slowly removed the last item of clothing from my body. I kicked off my shoes and then felt the fabric of my knickers slide over my feet. I never saw those knickers again. In a kind of weird and exciting way, I never found them before I checked out. I'm convinced Simon stole them. Oh well, each to there own, I guess.

Once I was naked, he spread my legs then came back up my body, kissing inside my thighs again, licking my scent off me. I squirmed with so much anticipation, ready to burst by the time he reached his goal, and began to pleasure me with a skilled tongue. He softly explored my married sex before he delved into my wetness, moaning against my aching mound, forcing my back to arch.

Loud sighs and urgent moans escaped me, as I writhed on the bed, desperate to orgasm. I cried out as he licked and fingered me, my hands tangled in his mature, grey hair. I clamped my thighs against his head, bucking my hips, rubbing my wet pussy against his face, moaning his name, begging him to make me come. Nothing else mattered.

Simon had stamina, I'll give him that. He lapped at me incessantly and his fingers thrusted relentlessly, just inside my opening. I was on the brink of something special, my breathing ragged, until finally, I convulsed in orgasm, gushing my juices, and finally releasing all of the energy that had built up inside of me. It was fantastic, lying there, recovering in a blissful state of ecstasy, enjoying the tremors as they gradually subsided.

I'm so glad I didn't have to ask. Simon slipped away for a moment, producing a condom from his wallet. I wondered if his wife knew her husband carried one around with him. I doubted it, but who was I to judge? Maybe his wife was like my husband? He tore the wrapper open as I slithered under the duvet, watching him roll the latex sheath over his cock before he excitedly joined me in bed.

He slipped in after me, and climbed on top, his body touching mine, kissing me as he positioned himself to enter me. I was about to have sex with man outside of my marriage for the first time. It made me think of my husband once more, until Simon stared deep into my eyes. I noticed his were blue like mine. I must have missed that earlier at the bar. He smiled, telling me how sexy I was, while rubbing his sheathed head along my slit, making me sigh breathlessly.

"What do you need me to do, Jemma?" he smirked, pressing into my hole.

"I need you to put it in," I panted. The bastard knew I was married, yet gagging for his cock to fuck my brains out. He didn't know why though. That was my business.

"With pleasure," he said, pushing inside me with one thrust, our groans filling the room.

God, it felt amazing. His cock was a good size, thrusting in and out of me under the duvet as we kissed, like husband and wife, ironically. As he began to move faster, grinding against my pubic bone, I closed my eyes and moved my hips rhythmically with his. It felt surreal, getting fucked in a hotel by another man, but it was also intoxicating.

I tossed the duvet aside, so our bodies could breathe, and Simon quickened the pace, fucking me harder. I put my hands on his buttocks, feeling them pumping between my legs as we moaned in unison. It wasn't enough to make me climax, but it was still good and pleasurable. He then pulled out and told me to get down the bed, on all fours, facing the big mirror on the wall.

I willingly obeyed, saying nothing when he spanked my fleshy bottom and thrust himself into me hard. But I couldn't look at our reflections for long. I dropped my head and pushed back. Simon grunted, instructing me to look up and arch my back. When I didn't, he grabbed my hair, pulling it hard, and rammed his cock deep, forcing my back to arch and my head to go back. It felt so dirty.

"Yes! That's it, Jemma!" he growled, pounding me hard and fast from behind. "Look at how hot you are when you're getting fucked!"

Jeez, I thought, gasping loudly inside my hotel room. Was he my husband in disguise? Simon loved the control. He pulled my hair and fucked me as if he was conquering me. I stared hard at him through the mirror. I looked like a complete slut. My face was screwed up in ecstasy and my large breasts we're swinging violently. But it made me come on his cock, and boy did I come hard.

As I screamed into the mirror, he fucked me harder, his cock ploughing through my inner walls as they contracted forcefully around him. He spanked my buttocks again and again, increasing the intensity of my orgasm. I'd never experienced anything like it before. I'd had hard sex with my husband and other guys, but Simon was a complete stranger, another woman's husband, using me, using each other. It was as raw as raw could be.

"Are you into anal, Jemma?" he asked once I had stopped announcing to everyone in the hotel that I was engaged in hard, dirty sex.

"No!" I panicked, quickly rolling over and away from him.

"Relax," he chuckled. "I'm not going to try anything without your permission," he reassured me. "Now come here and spread your legs for me. I need to cum."

"I'm done," I told him, having lost the momentum over his anal question. But I knew I had to make him cum. Well, I didn't, but I kind of did. "Sit on the end of the bed."

I slipped off the mattress and got down on my knees, prepared to give him a tit-job and a blowjob. Once he'd ejaculated over my breasts, I could kick him out, shower and then phone my husband to tell him what a naughty little wife I had been. Simon readily agreed, sitting down on the end of the bed, grinning at my big boobs as he removed the condom and dropped it on the floor.

"Your tits are so big and beautiful," he said, watching me as I wrapped them around his cock. "They'll look even better when they are covered in my cum," he winked.

"Let's find out, shall we?" I giggled, moving my breasts up and down his shaft, suffocating his cock with my soft flesh.

Simon grinned at me, at my glistening rings, and then at me again. I felt like telling him about my situation, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. So, I let him believe he had enticed a younger married woman to cheat on her husband with him. After all, we were both satisfying the desires of our egos. Besides, that one belonged to me and Paul.

After a few minutes, Simon began to groan. His hands gripped the end of the mattress, and he told me to stay still. I cast a devilish grin up at him as he began to thrust his cock between my breasts. I squeezed them tighter together and told him I couldn't wait to feel his cum blast over my chest, which was mostly true. I was talking to him, but thinking about my husbands reaction.

"Mmm, yeah! A big load for your big tits! Simon grunted, pumping his hips off the bed.

"I hope so," I teased, running my tongue across my top lip.

"God, I wanted you the moment I saw you in the bar," he panted, his entire body beginning to tense up.

"And now you've almost had me," I breathed seductively. "Come on, give me your cum."

"Ohhh, you dirty bitch!" he roared, his face beetroot as he fucked my tits hard and fast.

"Mmm," I moaned playfully, pressing my breasts tighter together. "I love a hard cock between them, covering them in cum."

"Uhhhhh, fuck! Here it comes! All over your big tits! Uhhhhh! Take it, Jemma! Take it!"

As his cock throbbed between my breasts, I stretched my neck back and felt the first jet of warm liquid hit my throat. Simon's groans echoed around the room while his sperm covered my neck and upper chest. He then stood up and vigorously stroked himself off over my breasts, coating them with the big load he'd promised. I warned him not to get my face and he didn't, but he did shove his spent cock in my mouth when he'd finished.

I sucked the head, tasting his cum and my juices as he softened between my lips. He then fell back onto the bed, panting up at the ceiling, telling me how amazing it was. Not wanting to ruin his fun, and hoping to be his next boast to his friends, I stood up with his cum on my breasts and politely told him he had to leave. He chuckled, asking if I needed to call home. I blushed and told him I did.

"Does your husband know what you get up to, when you stay away from home?" Simon wondered, putting his clothes back on.

"Does your wife?" I threw it back at him.

"No," he answered honestly. "I mean, she might suspect, but she never asks."

"Well, neither does my husband, and I intend to keep it that way. I really need to call him before 10pm," I urged, throwing a bath robe around me.

"You were incredible, Jemma. Here's my business card, incase you decide to stop at the hotel again. I'm here every month for two nights. I hope I see you again."

"I'll think about it," I smiled, seeing him to the door. He kissed me again then left.

I closed and locked the door behind him and burst out laughing. I was in shock. I texted my husband and told him what I'd done, too nervous to call him. Paul immediately rang me instead. He once again questioned if I was teasing him, so I sent him a photo of my cum-covered breasts. The bath robe had absorbed a lot of it, but the evidence was still there, another man's load on his wife's tits.

Before I showered, we had phone sex for the first time in years. I came twice, telling my husband every little detail about what Simon did to his hotwife. Paul ejaculated over the phone, telling me to shower in the morning, but I wasn't doing that. I showered before I slept, standing beneath the hot water for over half an hour, reflecting on what I'd done. Was I really a hotwife or just a slut?