The Cuckold and the Hotwife

The Cuckold and the Hotwife

Author's note: as ever, no AI was used in writing this story, which features adults acting entirely consensually. DM's and email feedback happily received and will get a reply. HG xx.

Morgan and I have witnessed many marriages fail amongst our friends, and we've concluded that there's a common factor at play: an inability to adapt and change. People seem to think that their relationship will, or should be, the same in their forties and fifties as the carefree sex-filled partnership they had when they first met in their twenties. You know, before kids, mortgages, ageing parents and pressures at work came along.

Of course, sometimes it's unilateral: one person changes so much that the marriage can't survive it, no matter how hard the other person tries. I remember taking a tray of spooky Halloween cakes that Morgan had baked around to our next door neighbour, Carolyn, one morning, only to find her passed out on the kitchen floor, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels by her side. I sat with her all morning until Brad came home. A week later she was stopped by the police and charged with drink driving. She had her two young two kids in the back. They were OK, but her actions proved unsurvivable for Brad and Carolyn's marriage.

More commonly, though, both partners change to some degree, as does the world around them. Morgan and I met through work when we were in our twenties, at a time when we were fizzing with sexual energy, when we had no health issues, no children to look after and only ourselves to please. If I'd told Morgan back then that she'd become a football mum, driving a Toyota SUV and wearing sweatpants that had been washed once too often she'd have laughed, before playfully slapping me.

You see, Morgan was always incredibly highly sexed, which was wonderful for me, at least before domesticity, age and family took their toll on me. It wasn't long after Josh and Emily completed our little family that Morgan's fishnets, leather boots, skirts and other sexy garments lay undisturbed in her wardrobe. We just got out of the habit of having sex, feeling submerged under the weight of life's everyday activities.

I use the word 'we' quite deliberately, since it wasn't only her that changed. Sure, Morgan exchanged corsets for T-shirts, and stilettoes for Converse trainers, but I was no different. I acquired a little timber around my middle, had a dodgy knee caused by years of playing football and more interest in the stock market than in sex with my wife. That said, we treasured raising our children, we created a beautiful home, and we never lost the love for each other that we'd had from day one. We just lost our way in the bedroom, I guess. I remember listening to a radio station playing a song by the Arctic Monkeys, with the lyric: You used to get it in your fishnets, now you only get it in your nightdress. I felt a pang of sadness, because it was true, but didn't do anything about it.

I had always been astonished by Morgan's sexual appetite, and a little in awe of it, because her sex drive far exceeded my own. We learned to deal with it by incorporating lots of foreplay prior to penetration, so that she had several orgasms from my tongue and fingers before I might enter her. Nevertheless, I often wondered if I was really enough for her. I remember once when, soon after ejaculating inside her, she lay on the bed masturbating quite brazenly. "I need a little bit more, Rich," she said.

One Christmas, I ended up late in the evening on the sofa chatting to my mother, who is a very wise woman who's very keen to offer me advice. Everyone else, including my Dad, had gone to bed and the house was quiet. I opened a nice bottle of wine and poured us a glass each. "Richard," she said, "there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Oh god, mother, do we have to?" I protested, imagining that we were about to get into another row about politics. Mum is very leftist in her views, while I'm the opposite, and I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye.

However, she had a different topic in mind. "I'll get straight to the point," she said, fixing me with that Listen To Your Mother stare of hers. "Have you and Morgan let things slip in the bedroom? I mean, where are you on a scale of red hot to freezing cold?" I was rather taken aback, since my mother had rarely ventured into my personal life, other than to chide me about my waistline.

I decided to be honest, and replied, "Well, you know how it is, Mum. Life gets in the way, doesn't it? OK, since you ask, we're closer to tepid than boiling hot. We do still have sex, but it's rather routine. I'll spare you the gory details."

She sipped her wine, put her hand on my arm, and said, quietly but firmly, "Richard, I want you to do something for me. Tomorrow, after we've taken Josh and Emily back home with us, you and Morgan will have the house to yourselves. Make a fuss of her, Richard, seduce her, make her feel wanted. Show her that you still fancy her. Trust me on this, my boy: use it or lose it. And listen, if the night goes well, your father and I will be more than happy to have Josh and Emily while you two enjoy a date night. We love spoiling them in any case."

As it turned out, Morgan and I had one of the sexiest nights either of us could remember. I made a big fuss of her, insisting that she have a long bath while I prepared some tasty treats downstairs. I set the table, lit candles, put on some nice music, and opened a bottle of Champagne. For her part, she dug out her high heels, stockings and her favourite leather corset. It was all we could do to get through dinner before rushing upstairs for sex.

She sat on the bed, legs parted, before slowly unbuttoning the base of her corset, revealing her beautiful pussy, which she always kept totally smooth. She began stroking her lips, eyes closed, telling me how incredibly horny she felt. As I stepped out of my trousers and boxers, she pointed her legs in the air to reveal the bright red end of a butt plug nestled in her bottom. "I took a long bath, used my douche, and thought: why not?" she purred. "This plug feels so good in my ass. I'd forgotten just how nice it feels to be full back there." She eased her breasts from under her corset and began to play with the bars that pierced each nipple. "Eat me, Richard, and make me cum," she murmured.

I got fully undressed and planted tiny kisses on her pale, creamy thighs, tummy and vulva. Morgan sighed with pleasure, and pulled my head towards her glistening pussy lips. I ran my tongue from the puckered skin surrounding her butt plug up to her clit, which was just starting to poke out from under its hood, demanding attention. I took it between my lips and massaged it with my mouth, making her squirm with delight.

For several minutes, I lapped gently at Morgan's pussy lips, enjoying the secretions flowing from her and her ever-louder moans and groans. "Oh yes, baby, right there," she breathed. "You are so good at this. I could lie here until next Christmas, mmmm." I was in no hurry. Slowly, step by step, I raised the pace and pressure on her pussy, sensing her breathing becoming deeper yet a little ragged. As I nibbled on her now-engorged clit she cried out, "I'm close, Rich, don't stop! God, I'm going to cum!"

She grabbed the back of my head, pulled my face tight to her crotch, and yelled out loud, ordering me to bring her to climax. "Fuck, that's so good!" she howled. Suddenly, she exploded with her orgasm. "I'm cumming..... ooh... mmmmmm........ aaaah, FFFFUCCK!" she yelled, bucking and twisting on the bed as I hung on grimly, wanting to prolong her climax for as long as possible. Fluids seeped from her pussy as she rode out her orgasm, still holding my face tightly between her legs.

Finally, she released her iron grip on my head, allowing me to slide up the bed next to her and kiss her passionately. My hand came to rest on her belly and she took it, directing it down to her sopping pussy. "More, I want more," she muttered, using her hand to ease my fingers inside her pussy lips. As my fingers found her G-spot she tensed, and gasped. "Oh fuck, yes. Right there. Don't you dare stop until I tell you!"

It was only when she'd enjoyed another three orgasms courtesy of my fingers that she finally relaxed, got on all fours, and said, "My cunt needs filling, big boy. Keep that lovely plug in my bottom while you fuck my pussy hard. I want what's in your balls, baby. Every last fucking drop." By this time my poor cock was on a hair trigger, desperate for release. I plunged into her, making her growl like an animal, and began thrusting powerfully into her warm, dripping pussy. "Cum in me, bull! Fill me up!" she ordered, and I knew I was close.

Very soon, I passed the point of no return and spurted deep inside her. "Take my cum, you horny bitch!" I cried, lost in the moment. "Take it like the slut you are!" I knew Morgan loved such crude language, so followed it up with a string of expletives that I can't now recall, although I do remember her encouraging me to plant my seed deep inside her. Eventually, I collapsed on top of her back and we rolled on the bed, glorying in our shared sexual joy.

Before long, I needed to pee, and tottered to the ensuite to take care of things. When I returned, I was surprised to see Morgan playing with her butt plug, wiggling it in her bottom, while massaging her swollen clit with her other hand. "Oh hello," I said, jokingly, "is someone still feeling horny? What are you thinking about, young lady?"

"Oooh, something sexy," she said, "but you wouldn't like it." I noticed that her eyes were closed and that she was touching herself more vigorously. "It's just a fantasy that I can't seem to shake, and its turning me on."

I was intrigued and fascinated with how she could still be feeling horny. What could she be imagining? "Go on, tell me," I said. "What depraved scene are you picturing?"

"No, I shouldn't say," she murmured, her face becoming flushed. "One person should never tell their partner their fantasy, 'cos it spoils it. Like I say, you wouldn't like it. What's in my head won't work in yours." She continued to masturbate and I could tell she was getting more and more turned on.

"Try me," I replied. "Seriously, I want to know, you naughty thing, you."

"Oh well," she sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn you. I'm imagining a scene where you're sat in a corner watching me get fucked by another guy. I'm cumming all over the place because his cock is so huge and he's soooo fucking good." She began to rub her clit much faster, and her back arched with desire. "Oh god, I'm going to make myself cum just thinking about it. FFFUUCKKK!" For the umpteenth time, Morgan erupted with another orgasm, her busy fingers rubbing furiously over her clit. "Oh god, so good!" she cried.

Morgan was so engulfed in her orgasm that she did not notice my cock, which was hard again and pointing to the ceiling. I was in my forties, and it was unheard of for me to get a second wind, so to speak. However, something in her description had obviously pressed a button inside me, and I found myself stroking an erection that was equally as impressive as earlier. "Fuck, Morgan, that is so damned hot!" I groaned.

My wife turned towards me. "Wow, soldier, looks like I've hit a spot or something," she giggled. She reached for my cock, eased it into her mouth and began sucking me. After a while, she peered up at me and said, "I have to ask, Rich. Does the thought of me getting screwed in front of you really turn you on? Be honest with me, baby."

There was something genuine in her expression, almost serious. No, actually, it was serious. I wondered how long she'd been nurturing this fantasy. I decided to be honest, as she'd asked. "I can't lie, Morgan," I replied. "Yeah, the thought of you getting it from another guy while I watch is really fucking hot. I'm serious; my dick's a giveaway." I was still rock hard and could feel another climax approaching. I knew she could feel it too.

Morgan began to masturbate me faster and faster, while drooling over my cock's head. She was clearly as excited at the idea as I was. "Does it turn you on, baby, the thought of your football mum wife getting nailed in front of you?" I groaned my agreement. "What if it was a nice big black cock? Hmm? Would you like to see his cream oozing from my cunt, yeah? Would you lick me clean after he'd finished?"

Suddenly, I lost it. The mental images she'd planted in my mind, the sweet tenderness of her tongue on my cock and the intense masturbation she was giving me destroyed any resistance I could offer. "Yes, oh fuck yes!" I bellowed. Cum spurted over her face, creamy ropes splattering on her chin and cheeks. "Oh god, to see you getting fucked hard while I watch would be amazing!" I yelled. "Let's make it happen, I mean it..........." Even as I spoke the words, I knew we had crossed a line. What I did not know at that point was whether Morgan believed me, or whether both of our words would simply be dismissed as sexual fantasy that neither of us would ever enact. After all, many of us utter something when in the throes of sex that we don't really mean.

Three days later

New Year's Eve was just around the corner, and Morgan sent me out to Marks & Spencer to buy some treats for a nice dinner for the two of us. I'm normally quite tight-fisted, but when shopping for a special occasion I often buy too much food, just to be on the safe side. I bought some lovely seafood, some cold meats, cheeses and expensive wine, plus some sweet treats and salty snacks. In truth, there was enough to feed an army, and it cost a fortune. Mum had offered to have the kids overnight, meaning that Morgan and I would have the house to ourselves again. "Keep up the good work, Richard," she'd smirked, with a knowing smile. I swear that my mother is some sort of psychic. Either that, or she'd had hidden cameras rigged up in our house. I wouldn't put it past her.

As I was loading the tonne or so of food and drink into my car, another vehicle swung into the space next to me. Why does that always happen? There's a hundred spaces available, but no, some moron has to choose the one next to yours. I was about to give the driver my best filthy look when I saw that it was our friend Brad, as in Brad and Carolyn. Well, not any more, since they were going through a divorce. Carolyn, it turned out, loved a guy called Jack Daniels more than she loved her husband and children.

"Hello mate," I said, cheerily, "season's greetings and all that. You shopping for New Year's Eve? How's things?" I eyed Brad carefully: he didn't look his best. There were bags under his eyes, he hadn't shaved, and he looked stressed and tired. That said, he was still a very handsome guy, with a muscular frame from years of playing club rugby, and natural good looks that Morgan had often commented on. When we discovered that he'd kicked Carolyn out, Morgan commented that Brad would soon find a replacement, joking that she might even join the queue herself.

"I can't lie, Richard," he replied, "things aren't great. Carolyn's gone to live with her parents and my mum and dad have got the kids over the holidays, so it's just me rattling around the house on my own. I'm bored stupid, if I'm honest, although I'm getting really good at Sudoku, and I've found some very good porn online. Anyway, I thought I'd come here and get some bits and bobs to cheer me up on New Year's Eve. I expect they do some very nice meals for one." He chuckled, but it was rather a sad laugh, and I could hear the bitterness in his voice.

"Look," I said, "tell me to bugger off, but why don't you come round to ours for New Year's Eve? I've just bought enough food for a dozen people, and Morgan would love to entertain. Well, she'll want the latest on Carolyn, I suppose, but she'd love to see you. You know she's always had a soft spot for you." Brad made suitably polite noises about how he didn't want to be in the way, nor be a burden, but in the end agreed to join us. He promised to get a haircut, have a proper shave and apply some nice cologne.

When the doorbell rang at seven o'clock on New Year's Eve, I was impressed how swiftly Morgan made it to the front door, given that she was wearing very high heels, a tight knee length black leather skirt, and a translucent top that was very nearly see-through. She'd chosen a black bra that pushed her breasts together to create a very sexy cleavage. With her hair tied back and her bold makeup, she looked hot, very hot. The football mum had given way to a horny MILF.

Brad was clearly impressed, judging by the way his eyes popped out on stalks and the way his speech stuttered. "Oh, M-morgan, w-wow," he mumbled. "You look great!" He clutched a bottle of Champagne and a bunch of flowers, which Morgan passed to me. Brad offered the usual air kiss but Morgan insisted on a full kiss on the lips, reminding him that it was still the festive season and that we were all friends together. She made a big fuss of wiping her lipstick from his mouth with a tissue.

Brad had, as promised, made an effort to tidy himself up. His hair was neatly trimmed, he'd had a shave and applied moisturiser, and wore a crisp white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was, I knew, exactly the type that Morgan fancied, right down to his well-cut denim jeans and polished leather shoes.

"Baby, get Brad a drink while he tells me all his news," Morgan instructed. She sat a touch closer to our friend than was strictly necessary, and placed a hand on his knee. "Now, tell me as much or as little as you want about things," she purred. "Relax, you're among friends here, isn't he, darling?" I concurred, and went to the kitchen to fix drinks for the three of us. As I opened a bottle of wine, my erect cock bumped against the kitchen drawer. It was fairly obvious what Morgan was doing, and I was excited to see what would unfold.

As the evening passed, Brad relaxed and unburdened himself to us over the dining table, although he directed his attention much more at Morgan than at me. He related how, after Carolyn had been arrested and charged with drink driving, she'd sworn on their children's lives that she'd never touch booze again. For a few days, she stayed clean, until one afternoon Brad came home from work to find her reeling around the living room, AC/DC blasting from the stereo and the kids hiding upstairs. "She doesn't even like fucking AC/DC," Brad said, mournfully.

We'd eaten our fill of food and there were several empty wine bottles on the table. Morgan laid her hand on Brad's arm, then ran a finger along his exposed skin. "It's such a sad story, Brad," she said. "Rich and I were wondering what we could do to take your mind off things. You know, something to help you forget real life for a while."

Brad was a smart guy, and I was fairly sure he knew what Morgan was offering, but he chose to play it cool. "What did you have in mind?" he asked. Morgan smiled, stood up, and led him into the living room before sitting next to him. She traced her fingers over the large bulge in his trousers, while rubbing her nipples through her thin top.

A wide grin spread over Brad's face as Morgan pulled down the fly of his trousers, eased his boxers to one side and allowed his erect cock to spring outwards. She stared at it for several seconds, before breathing, "Oh my word, Brad, that is a beautiful cock. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to see it. May I suck it? Please say I can." She leaned forward and delicately licked the droplet of pre-cum from the tip of his quivering dick.

I was sat in a large armchair facing the two of them. Brad shot me a quizzical look and I realised I should clarify what was about to happen. "Relax, mate," I told him. "I love watching my wife with another man, seriously. Help yourself, buddy, she's as horny as fuck. Trust me, I'm happy watching." My words seemed to reassure Brad, because he pushed Morgan's head onto his cock, causing gurgling noises to fill the room as she took him deep down her throat.

For several minutes I watched Morgan worshipping his cock, which I had to admit was an impressive organ. Brad was longer and thicker than I was, with a mushroom-shaped head and a huge, veiny shaft. He was very neatly trimmed down below although not completely hairless, unlike me and Morgan. Suddenly, my wife stood, pulled Brad to his feet, and ordered him to get naked. She kicked off her shoes, stepped out of her leather skirt and removed her top and bra. Facing him, she gently masturbated him while asking, "What do you think of these tits, Brad? Would you like to kiss them? You can slap them too, if you like. I love that."

Brad seemed fascinated by Morgan's piercings, and spent a long time sucking, nibbling and pulling them, something I knew that Morgan adored. She pushed him down onto the couch and straddled him, forcing her breasts into his face. "Bite those nipples, Bradley, make them sting!" she ordered. I was enthralled by this display of wanton lust from my wife, and sat, still clothed, stroking my cock and enjoying the show. I'd wondered how I would feel watching Morgan with another man but any doubts I'd had were banished: I loved watching her receive pleasure so much.

Morgan reached behind her and wrapped her fingers around Brad's cock. He was so large that she could only just encircle him and stroke him. She leaned in and began kissing Brad longingly, while murmuring instructions to him. "When I tell you to, I want you to stick that lovely cock of yours in my pussy," she purred. "I'm so ready for you, so wet. I need my cunt filling and stretching. Will you do that for me, sweetheart? Will you promise to fuck me really hard, and stretch my little pussy to its limits? Hmm? Will you?"

Before he could respond, she opened her legs a little, raised her bottom in the air, and slid his huge cock inside her, before sitting down on him in one motion. A small yelp escaped her as she told him how good it felt, and how full she was. I sat, transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside her pussy, sliding past her glistening lips as he penetrated her over and over again. Soon, they settled into a rhythm, with her bouncing on top of him while he pounded his dick harder and harder inside her.

Although her back obscured his face, I could tell that he was getting close to his orgasm, and she to hers. Just as I thought they would both climax, Morgan slid off of him, moved to the other end of the couch, got on all fours, and said, "Empty your balls inside me, Brad. Be my horny bull and fill me with your cream, I'm begging you. I need my cunt filling up so much. Please, Brad, cum inside me!" As he stood behind her, she began to rub her clit furiously, determined to enjoy her orgasm.

I was impressed how long it took Brad to cum, since he must have been extremely aroused. He ploughed into my wife over and over, making her scream and yelp with delight, clearly enjoying being her bull. "Beg for my cum, you horny bitch!" he cried. "Tell Richard how much you want another man's seed inside you!"

"Oh god, I do, I want it so much!" Morgan growled. "I need to filled with hot spunk, right now! I'm a cum slut and I need to be fucked like one!" She fell silent as her orgasm took hold, before yelling her climax so loudly that I feared the neighbours would hear. "I'm cumming, stud!" she yelled. "Cum in me, baby cum hard! Oh god,,,,, yes,,,,, oh my fucking god yes, YYYYYYEEESSSS!"

As Morgan bucked and twisted, Brad pinned her to the couch, bellowing crude words to her. "Here it is, bitch! Here's my cream! I'm cumming inside you, you little whore! Mmmmm, oh my god, FFFFFUCKKK!" He buried his cock all the way inside her, slamming his balls against her thighs and hammering repeatedly into her, cursing her and telling her what a cheap whore she was for letting another man fuck her in front of her husband.

To my astonishment, Morgan came a second time. I think she was massively turned on by the kink of being fucked in her own living room in front of her own husband by a man that three hours earlier she had hardly known. Brad was still lodged firmly inside her as she rubbed her clit hard enough to deliver another climax.

Eventually, Brad flopped beside her on the couch and they kissed, more tenderly this time, mumbling words of gratitude. However, Morgan wasn't finished. "Richard, get behind me and lick me clean," she ordered. "Scoop Brad's cum out with your tongue and feed it to me." I was, once more, amazed at my wife's kinkiness, but instantly complied. Warm, creamy cum oozed from inside her as she used her muscles to squeeze it out. I'd tasted my own cum before but never another man's, and certainly not as it flowed out of her pussy. She greedily sucked my tongue, eagerly swallowing Brad's freshly-served spunk.

"Well," she said, as she turned and sat on the couch. "There's an hour until midnight. Rich, why don't you sort out some more drinks, while Brad eats my pussy. Then when his tongue gets tired, you, dear husband, can take over. Let's see how many orgasms you two can give me in what remains of this year. Come on, boys, the clock's ticking!"

Later on, Morgan and I lay together in bed, each marvelling at the sexy events of earlier. I was unsure whether we were supposed to talk about what we'd done, perhaps reviewing it like a pair of sports pundits after a game. Marks out of ten, perhaps? We'd waved goodbye to a very happy Brad, who'd disappeared into the night with a grin plastered across his face.

Literally as soon as he'd left, we raced upstairs like a couple of randy teenagers. "Get your ass on that bed, bitch!" I yelled as I chased her naked buttocks up the stairs. "You're mine, and I'm going to reclaim you!"

Morgan leapt onto our bed, lay on her back, pointed her open legs to the ceiling, and grinned at me. In a rather daft rural English accent, she said, "Oh squire, oh my lord, I'm a wife who's strayed, sire. I need to be reclaimed, and that means a pussy full of your cum to replace the other gentleman's seed. Take me, squire, reclaim your pussy. It belongs to you, remember."

I decided to enter into the spirit, and adopted an aristocratic English gentry accent. "Very well, woman. You have indeed strayed, and you need to be reminded who owns your pretty little cunt. And that, my dear, is me. Brace yourself!" The sex we enjoyed was hot, brief, urgent and yet full of love. As I came inside my wife of twenty years, we wrapped our arms around each other, glorying in the shared sensations of possibly the sexiest night of our lives.

Whether we would repeat our naughtiness with Brad, or indeed anyone else, was the question that hung in the air between us. We needed to talk, and we both knew it. We ended up having a conversation that put both of our minds at rest, and which went something like this:

Me: "Are you OK, baby? Did you enjoy that? The whole evening, I mean, not just my bit at the end, even though I was magnificent."

Her (giggling): "Oh god, it was all much more than OK, Rich. Tonight was fucking amazing! Thank you."

Me: "No regrets, then. That's good. But why are you thanking me?"

Her: "Because you let me go crazy, and be a horny bitch. I've needed that for so long, Rich, and it felt so good. I love our life together, but I've been feeling sexually frustrated for some time, and we both know it. But tonight, wow! Not many husbands would let their wife do that, would they? And it can't have been much fun for you, baby. So yes, thank you."

Me: "Are you kidding? I loved every second! The look on your face when he came inside you was something I'll remember forever. Watching you experience intense sexual delight was just the best thing ever, seriously."

Her: "Wow. I didn't realise you'd be so into it. I thought you would just go along with it to please me. Listen, Richard, no bullshit, please. Did you really love it? Because if you did, I want to do it again. Please don't just say what you think I want to hear."

Me: "All right, no bullshit. I fucking loved watching you get nailed, and would love to do it again too. Let's have it right, Morgan. You need more sex than I can give you, but I want you to be happy. Tonight was such a win-win that we might just have hit upon something that works for both of us. Bloody hell, Morgan, I've become a cuckold!

Her (sleepily): "I love you, Rich, very much. Don't forget that. Goodnight, cuckold."

Me: "Sweet dreams, hotwife."

Two months later

I burst through our front door, late on a winter's Friday afternoon, cursing the traffic. "Hey, Morgan, it's me," I called, sensing she was upstairs. "Sorry I'm late. The damned traffic was impossible! Have the kids left yet?"

I heard her steps as she came downstairs, and gasped as she entered the living room. She looked every inch the horny MILF that she actually was. High heeled ankle boots gave way to a pair of impossibly tight and shiny black leather jeans, with a figure-hugging sleeveless black leather waistcoat on top. Her hair hung around her shoulders, and she had applied goth-inspired makeup, with dark red lipstick, black eye liner, and pale foundation. The leather slave collar she wore added to her sizzling look. It took all of my self-control to prevent myself leaping on her there and then.

"You like?" she asked, doing a little twirl. I nodded enthusiastically. Every other Friday night had become our date night, and tonight was one of them. My parents had, it seemed, already collected Josh and Emily, and Morgan had got ready whilst waiting for me to get home. Soon we would jump into the car, head for a nice hotel an hour or so away, and see if we could find ourselves someone to join us for some fun. Brad was no longer an option since he'd acquired a new girlfriend who was, he'd told us, the real deal.

I embraced her, holding her tight and kissing her over and over. "Oh yes," I said, "I do like, very much. And I'm fairly sure that there'll be some young buck at The Grand Hotel who will think the same way. Does my sexy hotwife need some hard young cock, tonight, I wonder?"

"God, I do, Rich," she groaned. "I gave myself an orgasm in the shower after your mother took the children, but it's just made me worse. I need a proper seeing to." She giggled, then added, "Oh, and I've got a little surprise for you, but you'll have to wait until later."

We arrived at the hotel around seven p. m. We'd stayed there before, because not only was it a luxurious country house hotel with a fabulous restaurant, it also seemed to attract a large number of good looking guests. Many of the guests were staying there prior to a flight the next day from the nearby airport at Gatwick, in the Sussex countryside. We liked the fact that The Grand Hotel was far enough from home to avoid meeting anyone we knew, and that it attracted people who'd be vanishing to distant parts of the planet the next day.

Heads turned as we checked in and took our overnight stuff to our room. Somehow, I didn't think those people were gawping at me, although I was wearing a very smart jacket, shirt and trousers. No, the stares were for Morgan, who looked sizzling in her leather boots, jeans, waistcoat and collar. Even the young waiter in the restaurant was unable to prevent himself stammering and blushing as he served us a very nice meal. Morgan giggled that the lad would be returning to the kitchen nursing an erection. She wasn't being conceited: she looked hot and she knew it.

We retired to the wood-panelled bar after dinner, and settled down with a couple of glasses of Scotch whisky. We'd found before that a casual approach worked well, especially if Morgan found excuses to walk across the bar now and then, showcasing her delicious bottom and sexy figure to anyone who cared to look.

Sure enough, after a few minutes a handsome older gentleman approached out table. He was, I estimated, in his late fifties, with neatly trimmed silver hair, a strong, clean-shaved jawline, and sparkling blue eyes. He was quite tall, and his elegantly tailored suit did not disguise a lean, athletic frame. He was every inch the silver fox. I glanced at Morgan, wondering how she would react to someone who wasn't her usual young buck type, but she had fixed her gaze on him and was clearly impressed. "I'm sorry to bother you, folks," he said, speaking in a calm, English accent. "I just wondered if you'd recommend that Scotch you're drinking."

As cheesy opening lines went, it was right up there, but Morgan was obviously undeterred. "It's very nice," she cooed. "It's Laphroaig. Why not treat yourself to one, and join us?" Over the last few weeks, I'd learned that Morgan was quite direct when it came to meeting potential partners. This gentleman had wandered into her gravitational field and she wasn't about to let him escape. He smiled, and approached the bar, waving at the barman for attention.

Our new friend returned to our table and set down three glasses of Scotch. "It's the least I could do to thank you for your recommendation," he said. "I'm Tim, by the way. It's so nice to meet you." I was immediately intrigued. We had never had fun with an older person before, and I wondered whether Morgan would be interested in Tim. "I'll just have the one glass, though," he said. "I'm flying to Boston in the morning, and they're very strict on breathalysing us these days, quite rightly."

Morgan appeared confused, and said, "Well, nice to meet you, Tim. I'm Morgan, and this is my husband Richard. Sorry, but why on earth would they breathalyse you? We've never had that when flying."

"Ah yes," Tim replied, "but when you're the pilot, it's kind of mandatory." His little joke broke whatever ice was present, and we all laughed, and clinked glasses. It transpired that Tim was staying at The Grand prior to his morning flight from Gatwick. Instantly, his easy manner, trim physique, and understated English accent made sense. I could easily imagine him addressing his passengers: "We will be cruising at thirty-seven thousand feet, and should have you on the ground in Boston at five p. m., where it's a clear sunny afternoon. Please settle down and enjoy the flight, ladies and gentlemen."

Morgan was, I could tell, very interested. "So, Tim," she said, "you must get really bored hanging around hotels like this, waiting for your flight. But I bet you have glamorous young cabin crew throwing themselves at you, don't you? I mean, I heard the trolley dollies love to get friendly with the captain." I resisted the urge to kick my wife under the table, because she was being rather forward.

Tim, however, seemed unflustered. "Oh, I tend to leave the youngsters to their own devices," he laughed. "In any event, I prefer someone a little bit more experience to socialise with. Someone in, say, their forties, who knows what they want. Will you excuse me while I use the bathroom?"

As soon as he was gone, Morgan turned to me and said, "I want him, baby. He's so handsome, and very sexy. Can we do the note thing? I'm sure he'll say yes. God, I'm getting wet just thinking about it." She reached into her purse, retrieved a small blank card and a pen, and wrote: "Tim, we are in room 313 if you would like some adult fun. No strings, husband to watch, wife is up for anything. Your choice. Morgan and Richard, xxx."

We'd been waiting in our room for about fifteen minutes, had decided that Captain Tim was not interested, and were about to return to the bar for a fresh attempt when there was a soft knock on the door. Morgan leapt to her feet, raced to the door, opened it, and dragged Tim inside before the poor man could even speak. She pushed him against the wall of the hallway and began kissing him frantically, running her hands all over his shoulders, buttocks and chest. He responded eagerly, squeezing her ass encased in tight black leather and pulling her towards him.

I was sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, and Tim appeared to notice me for the first time. "Sorry to ask, but are you OK with this, Richard?" he asked.

"I really am, Tim," I answered. "It's our thing, you see. I love to watch Morgan getting fucked by another man, genuinely. She'll do anything, you know. You'll need all of your energy, though. She's a very horny woman. Oh, and she loves dirty talk."

Morgan guided Tim into the centre of the large, traditionally styled bedroom, and fell to her knees in front of him. "Show me your cock, Captain," she breathed. "I want it in my mouth." She unzipped his trouser fly, and eased his penis from his boxers. She stared at it for a few seconds, before commenting, "Mmmm, very nice. I knew it would be." She traced her tongue along his shaft before swirling it over the purple head of his cock. "Yummy," she purred, and began to swallow, lick and suck his erect dick. I reached for my own cock, which was rock hard, and began to stroke myself, entranced as always by my sexy wife.

Tim reached his hands around Morgan's head, and pulled her mouth onto his stiff cock. With his eyes closed, he began to thrust his cock deep into Morgan's mouth, making her gurgle and cough. Strands of saliva dangled from his cock onto her chin and mouth. "You like your face being fucked, do you, my dear?" he growled. Morgan simply nodded and carried on sucking him, before taking his shaved balls one at a time in her mouth. "Stand up, and strip for me, my darling," he commanded, his dominant sexual self becoming more apparent by the second. "Let me see the merchandise."

I was beginning to realise that Morgan was neither submissive nor dominant: she was a little of both. At times, she would order a man to do what she told him, and would command him to please her. However, should a man take control, she would melt in his arms and obey just about anything that he demanded. Captain Tim appeared to be a dominant, and Morgan was more than happy to submit to his instructions.

Morgan kicked off her boots, peeled her skin tight leather jeans downwards, and pulled down her tiny G-string. Tim reached between her legs, and said, "Hmm, dripping wet, just as I thought. You're a bit of a needy slut, aren't you, beautiful?"

"I am, Captain, very much so," Morgan breathed. "I need a big, strong, horny man to treat me roughly and fuck me hard."

As Morgan unbuttoned her waistcoat, Tim rolled her pierced nipples between his fingers, and replied, "Well, young lady, you are in luck. I'm very hard, very horny and can give you what we both know you need. I like those bars through your nipples, my dear. Very sexy. Any more jewellery I should know about?" He reached behind her, cupped her buttocks in his hands, and extended a finger towards her butthole. "Oh, hello, a butt plug," he announced. "Tell me, sweetheart, what is that doing there?"

"I like the way it makes me feel full, and it's so nice when it wiggles around," Morgan explained. "Plus, it keeps my asshole nice and stretched, should you wish to use it." I could not believe what I was hearing. Morgan and I had enjoyed anal sex on a handful of occasions, but I never thought that she particularly liked it. Now, here she was, offering her back passage to a complete stranger.

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"Well, you are quite the slut, aren't you?" Tim smiled. "Excellent. Just how I like a woman to be. Tell me, my darling, would you like me to eat your pussy and make you squirt all over my face? Does that, you know, interest you at all? You see, I rather like the idea of destroying your tight asshole, but we must get you warmed up first, mustn't we?"

The look of desire and adoration on my wife's face was priceless. She never allowed her gaze to stray from Captain Tim's piercing blue eyes as she fell onto her back on the bed, legs wide apart. She wanted him so much, and I was thrilled by the look of sheer lust on her pretty face. She gasped as he ran his tongue along her moist pussy lips, pausing to wiggle the jewelled end of the butt plug buried in her bottom. Tim seemed determined to enjoy pleasuring her, and proceeded very slowly, very sensitively and with great skill. This was, no doubt, not his first rodeo.

Of course, I didn't have a stopwatch on me, but Tim must have sucked, nibbled, licked and tongued Morgan's pussy and clit for at least half an hour. Steadily, he built her arousal, adding his fingers to his tongue and lips and pushing the big plug into her time and again. Morgan's breathing became ragged and feverish as she lay back, revelling in the delicious sensations delivered by her mature lover.

Eventually, Tim slid two fingers inside Morgan's pussy and began to massage her G-spot, all while maintaining his attention on her lips and clitoris. "Oh fuck, Captain, that feels amazing!" she hissed. "You're going to make me cum doing that. Oh god, it's so good!" Tim smiled and increased the pace at which his fingers worked, adding a third and even a fourth. For a moment I thought he would insert his entire fist inside my wife, but he used his thumb to massage her hard, erect clit. A grin spread across his face as his thumb made contact with Morgan's clitoris. Her squeals of delight told him that she was closer than ever.

As he knew she would, Morgan exploded with a shattering orgasm. "Yes, oh my god yes!" she yelled. "I'm cumming, oh my god! Yes, yes, yyyyyyyesss, oh shit yes!" Finally he tipped her over the edge and she climaxed. Fluids sprayed in all directions, some drops landing on the carpet in front of me. Morgan writhed and twisted, yelling obscenities as her orgasm went on and on. "Fuck, so good!" she howled. "I'm your slut, Captain, all night long, oh my fucking god!"

Whether Morgan had one long, rolling orgasm or whether it was several in succession was impossible to tell. Either way, she came and came and came again as Tim clung on and kept rubbing, sucking and stimulating her. It was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen, and I sat back, mesmerised, as my wife groaned, squealed and howled her way through her sexual ecstasy. At long last, she calmed down, and Tim came up for air. "Well," he said, in that calm, authoritative voice of his. "That should have relaxed your pretty asshole, shouldn't it? Shall we find out?"

Morgan had obviously prepared for having her ass fucked, since she produced a bottle of lube from her purse on the bedside table. She got on all fours, her face directly opposite me, and fixed me with a sultry gaze. "Remove the plug, Captain, lube your cock and stick it in me," she cooed, staring straight at me. "I need my ass to be fucked so badly. Split me in two, big boy." My mouth dropped open in shock and delight. My beautiful wife was telling a stranger to invade her most private place while I sat, only feet away, watching.

Tim did not mess about. His dick was still rock hard, and since he'd been pleasuring Morgan for many minutes, I imagined he was extremely aroused. He crouched behind her on the bed, slathered lube on his cock, and pulled the plug from her back passage. It made a slurping noise as it slid out. He dribbled some lube into her expectant hole, and positioned his cock at her entrance. She closed her eyes, anticipating his invasion. He was careful, and eased himself inside her tight hole gently and slowly. "How does that feel, sweetheart?" he whispered. "Is that OK?" and, "tell me to stop if it hurts."

Morgan was consumed by bliss. She told me later that it was a little painful at first, but that once he was deep inside her, the most incredible warmth began to flood through her. "Jesus, Captain, that feels so amazing!" she moaned. "I'm so full, and your cock is huge. I love it!"

Tim told her that he was now inside her all the way to his balls. "It's showtime, my dear," he murmured. "I'm going to fuck you into next week." His crude words were, it seemed, exactly what Morgan wanted to hear. She encouraged him to use her, to enjoy her back passage and fuck her as hard as he liked. As he hammered into her, I saw her eyes roll back in her skull as she surrendered to the exquisite, fizzing sensations exploding from her ass and radiating everywhere in her body.

"Don't stop, Captain!" she hissed. "Use my slutty ass for your pleasure. Fuck me, Captain, fuck me hard. I'm your anal slut, and I love it!" I could scarcely believe what I was watching, as Morgan pushed her hips towards Tim in order to maximise her penetration. She made a series of animalistic noises, somewhere between a howl and a grunt, as our pilot grabbed her hips and thrust into her with increasing speed and power. "Fill me up, Captain!" she implored. "I want your seed deep inside me."

I was surprised how long Tim held off before cumming, given that he'd been pleasuring her for so long beforehand. As he reached the point of no return, Morgan managed to rub her clit as he pummelled her. I saw her face flush, and her eyes closed, as the two of them magically came together. Tim didn't hold back in his language. "Take my cream in your bowels, you filthy girl!" he cried. "Take it like the whore you are! Oh god, I'm cumming! Yes, oh yes, yes Morgan........ FFFFUCKK!" he bellowed, his balls pumping hot spunk deep into my wife's insides.

For her part, Morgan was just as crude. "Yes Captain, oh god yes. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much!" she whimpered. "Oh my god, it feels sooooo good!" Her face contorted and I genuinely thought she would pass out, but instead she simply uttered a low cry, like a rutting animal, that I'd never heard from her before. "Nnnnnggg! Aaaaaah!" she growled, unable to form coherent words.

Tim remained buried in her ass for several minutes, until eventually he pulled out and lay beside her on the bed, panting. Morgan circled her butthole with her fingers, savouring the dribble of cum that oozed from deep inside her. Now and then, she put her fingers to her mouth and licked Tim's cum from them. "That was amazing, Tim," she breathed. "Thank you so much. Do you offer this service to your paying passengers?"

Tim laughed, and stroked Morgan's hair. "No, Morgan, I don't. Oh, well, apart from the first class passengers of course. They can have anything they want, you see." His joke seemed to relax all of us. "Listen," he said, "I'm going to leave you lovely folks in peace. I have an early start." He dressed quickly, kissed Morgan on the lips, and shook my hand. "That was fun," he said, and handed me his business card. "I'd love to do that again sometime. Goodnight, sexy people."

The moment he left the room, Morgan sat upright, fixed me with that lustful stare of hers, and said, "Well, I have one hole full of cum, but my pussy is feeling neglected. Why don't you remind me who my holes really belong to? Time to reclaim me, big boy." I pushed her onto the bed and she raised her legs, pointing her toes at the ceiling. "I'm all yours, baby," she purred. "What just happened with Tim was merely sex. Now, I want you to make love to me."

Over the next few weeks, winter turned into spring, and Morgan's words came to mean more and more to me. She made it very clear that she loved being a hotwife, and that our regular adventures with men were as thrilling as ever for her. She made sure that I never once felt jealous, embarrassed or humiliated by our encounters. For my part, I reassured her that I got as big a kick as ever watching her with other men, and wanted to carry on with our new lifestyle.

One evening, my mother had stopped by for a cup of tea and a catch up. Morgan was out at her regular Zumba class. Since we'd embraced our new lifestyle, she had signed up for dance classes and taken out gym membership, as well as swapping out pizza for salads, and soft drinks instead of wine. Morgan had always looked great, even though she made little effort to work on her body, but these days she looked genuinely fabulous.

My mother didn't miss much, and commented, "I don't know what your secret is, sweetheart, but my daughter-in-law is looking wonderful, and so happy. Can I take it that things have progressed in the bedroom from tepid back to red hot?" I reassured her that, indeed, our sex life was better than ever, but omitted any detail. After all, telling my mother: "Oh yes, Morgan gets fucked by all sorts of men while I watch, and we both love it. She's become a proper hotwife," would probably give her a stroke or something.

One evening in early summer, Morgan and I were cuddled together in bed, behaving ourselves since Josh and Emily had not long gone to bed either. It was a warm evening, and we were both naked. The bedroom door was locked in case either of the kids burst in unannounced. "Rich," Morgan began, "there's something I want to ask you. Something a little bit, umm, naughty."

"Oh, very well," I grinned. "Suck my cock if you must. I'll be quiet so as not to wake the children. Try not to slurp too much though, just in case."

Morgan slapped me playfully, and looked up at me. There it was, that glow of sexual desire that I saw in her eyes so often these days. "Listen, big boy. If you agree to what I have in mind, I'll suck you off in return. I mean, one good turn deserves another, doesn't it?" She proceeded to describe, in some detail, what she would like. At one point, her hand slid between her legs and she began to play with herself, no doubt picturing her request in her mind. "Please, baby, think about it at least," she urged. "I'd die a happy woman if it happened. Actually, you could make it my birthday present, couldn't you?"

I'm one of those people who, given a request, likes to do his research. For example, when I decided we needed a new lawnmower, I spent weeks comparing the different models, looking online and even visiting garden centres before making my purchase (Stihl, as it turned out). I researched Morgan's request diligently, visiting several venues to judge their suitability. Eventually, I found just what I was looking for, and arranged for my parents to babysit, telling them that I was whisking Morgan away for a birthday surprise.

We'd never visited the Warsash Country Club before, even though it was only five miles from our house. Well, to be accurate, we'd never visited it as a couple. I'd actually been there earlier that week, and had noticed a display board giving details of forthcoming functions at the club. The one that caught my eye said: "Friday 17th, Warsash Rugby Club annual dinner and prizegiving."

As I escorted Morgan into the entrance lobby, the dinner had already started, judging by the roars of laughter and applause coming from the main function room. "Let's get checked in to our room," I suggested. "Then we can come down to the bar, get a drink, and see what's what." As I followed my wife up the main staircase, I was reminded of how toned and attractive she had become. Her exercise regime and diet meant that she looked sensational in knee-length boots, stockings, short black leather skirt and a black leather corset-style top. There was a flash of her creamy thighs between her stocking tops and the hem of her skirt. I smiled to myself. Men would be attracted to her like bees around a honeypot.

I'd taken a peek at the rugby club's seating plan, menus and running order, and knew that the speeches and prizegiving were due to end around ten p. m. At five to ten, I suggested that we make our way down to the bar. I'd asked Morgan to go with the flow, telling her to trust me, which she did, of course. I ordered glasses of wine for us both, and left her sat on a bar stool, chatting to the barman, while I took a seat near the back of the bar area. Morgan must have had an inkling of my plan, and sat, sipping her wine, looking like a horny lady who could use some company.

Sure enough, loud voices signalled a group of gentlemen approaching the bar. One voice in particular boomed across the room. "Come on lads, I'll buy the first round," it said, "it's my duty as skipper." I looked up to see four strapping men entering the bar. All were attired very smartly in dinner jackets, complete with bow ties and polished shoes. I estimated their ages to be from their mid-twenties to mid-thirties. They were loud but not rowdy, but fell silent as they spotted Morgan sat in the middle of the bar. "Manners please, gentlemen," the skipper said, as he stood next to Morgan.

Morgan must have realised what I'd planned, and could have slid off of her bar stool and retreated to our room. Of course, being Morgan, she had no intention of doing that, and turned to address the four men assembled around her. "Good evening, boys," she purred. "Oh look, my glass is empty. Who'd like to buy me a drink?" As she spoke, she smoothed down her leather skirt and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears.

The group's leader was the first to speak, as the others gawped at my wife. "Hello, darling," he said, in a gruff south coast accent. "Me and the boys were going to get a tray of tequilas. Would you care to join us? I'm Henry, by the way, and these reprobates are Fat George, Stewie, and Toby, who's the baby of the group. What's your name, sweetheart? You here by yourself?"

Morgan introduced herself, and proceeded to air kiss each man, getting a little closer than was polite on each occasion. She told me later that she was afraid they would think she was a sex worker, because such women were not unknown at the club, and she was, after all, dressed like a whore. She ignored Henry's question about being in the bar on her own, and said, "So, guys, have you had a good evening so far?"

The men were initially very respectful, although they'd formed a semi-circle around Morgan that said to anyone watching: "Back off. She's ours." I, of course, was watching, although I could clearly see that my wife was in no danger. As the tequilas flowed, the men became increasingly bold. Henry draped his arm over Morgan's shoulder, Fat George allowed his hand to rest on her skirt, and Toby, the youngster, squeezed Morgan's bottom on several occasions. She didn't flinch, causing the group to exchange looks that contained a mixture of surprise and lust. I noticed that Morgan encouraged the men to down their shots while taking none of her own.

Around an hour had passed and Morgan was getting more and more physical attention from the group. Stewie had asked for a kiss and had been rewarded with a long, lingering smooch from my wife. Fat George's hand had moved much higher up between her legs, and Henry was openly caressing her breast. Although Morgan seemed to be loving the attention, I decided it was time to intervene.

I stood up, strolled across the bar, and, in a loud voice, said, "Good evening, gentlemen, I trust that you're enjoying getting to know my wife?" There was a stunned silence, before Henry muttered something about how no offence was meant, and how they were just being friendly. "Hey, relax, chaps," I said. I lowered my voice, even though the bar was now empty. "Listen, it's Morgan's birthday, and she's asked me to organise a special treat to celebrate it. I'd love it if you gentlemen would agree to be her treat.

"Morgan is, and she won't mind me saying this, a bit of a slut," I said, noting their eyes widening. "She would love to continue entertaining all four of you in our room upstairs. As for me, I like to watch, you see. Don't judge me, please; it's our thing, you understand. Anyway, I will take her up to room 107 now, and if you give us five minutes, we would love to see you all up there. Of course, if you decide you'd rather not, then I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

Morgan offered me her hand and I led her to the stairs. As she took the first step, she turned and blew the men a kiss, leaving them in no doubt about her consent. As we entered our room, I laid her on her back on the bed and reached into my suitcase, retrieving a pair of wrist cuffs and a blindfold. "There'll be no escape for you, young lady," I murmured, as I cuffed her wrists above her head. I removed all bar her stockings, then slipped the blindfold over her eyes. "Those rugby boys are going to have a fine old time with you, darling," I added.

Morgan wriggled and arched her back, anticipating what was on its way. "God, I want them so much, baby," she said. "I hope you enjoy watching it, too." I noticed a secretion trickle from her pussy and over the butt plug she'd been wearing all afternoon. She bit her lip seductively, and I waited for the knock on the door.

Sure enough, after exactly five minutes there was a soft tapping on the door. I opened it and all four men trooped into the room, their eyes widening as they spotted my wife, near-naked and ready to be used by them. Henry, the group leader, drew me to one side, and said, "Richard, you're definitely sure about this, yes? If you change your mind, we'll stop immediately and leave, OK?" I gave him the assurance he needed and sat in the large armchair in the corner of the room.

"So, gentlemen," I announced. "She's all yours. Morgan loves everything, by the way, and the large butt plug you see in her bottom is there merely to prepare her tight hole for you, should you wish to use it. I've put bottles of lube either side of the bed. So, without further ado, have at her, guys." I unzipped my trouser fly, released my rigid cock and started stroking it. I didn't feel foolish nor humiliated. I just felt incredibly turned on, and eager to see my wife receiving sexual pleasure.

The men stripped rapidly, and I was not surprised to see that they were all erect. How could they not be? Before them was a luscious woman cuffed and blindfolded, waiting eagerly for their attention. Fat George and Toby perched on the huge bed either side of Morgan's head, their cocks extended towards my wife's face. Henry and Stewie pulled her legs apart, and began to lick her pussy and wiggle the jewelled plug nestled in her ass. Without needing to be asked, Morgan took the cocks either side of her in her mouth, alternating between them.

"Oh god, darling, that is so fucking nice," Fat George growled. "You're a great little cocksucker, sweetheart." On the other side of the pillows, Toby made similar appreciative noises. Henry stood, walked around to the pillow end of the bed, and scooted behind Morgan's head, allowing him to reach forward and play with her pierced nipples while she masturbated his cock with her cuffed hands. He pulled and twisted her nipples hard, making Morgan mewl with pleasure. Stewie, meanwhile, was lapping repeatedly at Morgan's swollen, damp pussy lips, paying special attention to her large and visible clit, which rose, aching for attention.

Henry eased Morgan's fingers from his cock, and said, "Steady, girl, not too fast. Don't make me cum just yet. Me and the boys have decided to give you a cum bath after we've fucked you until you're sore. How does that sound, bitch?"

"Fuck, that's so hot, Skipper," Morgan breathed. "I would love that. I need all my holes to be used first, though. Say you will, guys, promise me you'll use me like the slut I am."

Her words acted as a catalyst to the men. Any reservations or even politeness that they'd had vanished, and I sensed the tempo in the room lifting significantly. Henry straddled Morgan's face and thrust his sizeable dick down her throat, making her gag and gurgle. "Take my cock in your slut mouth, sweetheart!" he cried. "I'm going to bruise your fucking tonsils!"

Stewie, at the other end, was on his knees, his cock poised at the entrance to Morgan's pussy. In a broad Scottish accent, he growled, "Here you go, darlin', here's eight inches of Scottish sausage!" He plunged his cock deep into my wife's sopping pussy, ramming his entire length inside her before pulling out and thrusting back inside her once more. Toby, the youngest of the group, crouched beside him and began to rub Morgan's clit as his team mate hammered into her pussy.

Morgan had never found it difficult to cum, so I was not surprised when the combination of Henry's cock in her throat, Stewie's in her pussy and Toby massaging her clit sent her over the edge. She emitted a guttural, low scream, partly muffled by the cock in her mouth but unmistakeably the sound of a thunderous orgasm. I sat, transfixed, as my wife bucked and writhed, extracting every last delicious ounce from her climax. As soon as she began to relax, Toby reached down and pulled her butt plug from her bottom, with a loud plop. "Boys, another hole is open for business," he quipped.

I will admit that, after that, things became something of a blur. I wasn't drunk, not even close, but it was tricky to keep track of four horny men feasting on Morgan's body like wild dogs devouring their prey. Morgan, I could tell, loved every second. At one point, she had cocks in her mouth, pussy and ass at the same time. Her hair was pulled, her nipples twisted and her breasts slapped. She kept urging the men on, telling them she was a toy for them to use and that she couldn't get enough.

I do remember Henry straddling her tummy, facing away from her, and fingering her swollen pussy. He easily slipped three fingers inside her, located her G-spot, and began to rub faster and faster. "Fuck, I'm cumming again!" she yelled. The continual stimulation all over her body had left Morgan's responses on a hair trigger, and she was having climax after climax, often with very little stimulation. Henry, however, was a man on a mission, and was determined to get his entire fist inside my wife. He was a big man, with large, coarse hands, but Morgan was so stretched, so wet and so elastic that his entire hand slid inside her.

Morgan screamed, and I worried that there might be complaints from other guests. "Oh yes!" she howled. "God, yes! Put your fist in my cunt and stretch it out! Oh shit, that's..... so fucking....... good!" Her words tailed off as she emitted a silent scream, lost in the throes of yet another orgasm, unable to speak. Henry kept his fist moving inside her, splaying his fingers to stimulate every inch of her pussy walls. Morgan came again and again, and I lost track of time as he made my beautiful wife delirious with pleasure.

I also remember Morgan having two cocks in her mouth at once, and will never forget the sight of her riding Fat George, reverse cowgirl style, with his cock deep in her asshole while she rubbed her pussy furiously. Her eyes were closed as she savoured several minutes of pure sexual ecstasy. "George, your big cock feels so amazing in my butt!" she enthused. "I feel so full. It's delicious!"

Remarkably, none of the men had ejaculated, just as Henry had promised would happen. At his signal, they crouched on the bed, two either side of her, and began to masturbate in unison. "Come on gentlemen, let's cover this slut in cum," Henry hissed. "It's what she wants. Open wide, sweetheart." Morgan opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and tensed, waiting for four cocks to unload their spunk over her face, hair and chest.

Toby, the youngster, was the first to cum, followed quickly by Fat George. They held their cocks over my wife's chest and face, spurting thick ropes of cum onto her, into her mouth and even in her hair. "You beautiful bitch," Fat George groaned as he came, "you fuckin' love this, don't you?" Morgan could not reply, so consumed by lust was she.

I was amazed at the volume of spunk that the men produced. Cum splattered all over my wife, formed into small puddles and trickled down to her tummy and around her back. Stewie was next. In his Scottish accent, he moaned, "Here y'are, lassie. I'm gonna cum all over your pretty face, y'understand? Close your mouth and brace yerself." He was true to his word. Milky white cum shot from his cock, spurting all over Morgan's face, adding to the streaks and puddles already there.

Finally, it was Henry's turn, but he had other ideas than simply a cum bath. He straddled Morgan's chest, lowered his cock into her willing mouth, and said, "Let's give this whore a taste of Warsash rugby, shall we? Don't spit, bitch, swallow it down like a proper slut." Noting the envious looks from the other three, he said, "Captain's privilege, boys, sorry." In an instant, he erupted in Morgan's mouth, sending pulses of hot cum flooding down her throat. She swallowed, faster and faster, before showing him her tongue. "Good girl," he chuckled.

Suddenly, it was over. Morgan lay on the bed, covered in cum, panting with exhaustion, and glorying in the sensation of having been thoroughly used. The men dressed quickly, shook my hand, kissed Morgan goodnight, and headed for the door. Henry was the last to leave. "Thank you, Richard," he said, as he shook my hand. "Morgan is amazing, and you are a very lucky man." As he pulled the bedroom door closed behind him, he peered at me and laughed, "Same time next week, then?"

Morgan offered me her arms, and I undid the cuffs that bound her wrists, before sliding the blindfold from her eyes. "Hello, gorgeous," I murmured. "How are you feeling? I bet you're ready for a hot shower, aren't you?" She told me that she was a little sore, that her jaw ached, and that her throat was definitely bruised. Her voice was hoarse from screaming her orgasms.

Later she lay in my arms, fragrant and clean, and clearly exhausted. "I know you'll say I don't need to say it, Rich," she said, "but I'm going to anyway, because it's important. I love you, and that will never change, no matter how many men I enjoy." She kissed me, and snuggled into my chest.

"Thank you, my love," I said. "It's so nice to be told that. Tonight was incredible, and you were stunning, so good. As birthday presents go, was that OK?"

"Oh, much more than OK, baby," she replied. "Actually, I don't see how we could top that."

"Really?" I answered. "Well, you just wait until you see what I'm getting you for Christmas."

The End.