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Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE (Traci Wilde)


Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE by Traci Wilde

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I'm a kinky wife but hubby's not into it. I love being bound, hubby able to do anything he wants, to inflict any sensation he desires–pleasure, torment, sensual desire & agony, denial & release–so I decided to tie myself, hanging naked when he got home one day. Problem is, he wasn't alone & he shared me with his big black friend. Since then hubby's has tied & shared me brutally over & over & over...

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 02 / 2018

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 19500

Style: Erotica -    Menage/Group Erotica, Erotic Domination - M/F

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Click Here For All Books In This Series

Current all-time sales ranking: #7577


Excerpt..

Sometimes, you have to take things into your own hands, grab life by the horns and see where it takes you.
Then again, sometimes that gets you in horrible trouble.
I think the latter might be the case for me, because I hear the voices, approaching, outside for now, but in the carport, nearing the door, and soon they'll be inside my house.
The problem with that?
Well, it's twofold.
First, the key issues is there are "voices." Plural. As in more than one person. I was expecting hubby, alone.
Second, I'm hanging here, in my living room, my arms stretched overhead, held firmly by the leather cuffs I snapped around my wrists, hooked onto the rope hanging from the ceiling. My feet can barely touch the floor – my ankles are bound to a spreader bar that's between my feet, stretching my legs nearly as wide as they can go, and I have a ball gag in my mouth. A big, brought red one, with the accompanying straps wrapped around my head, buckled securely, probably a little too tight actually.
And I'm as naked as the day I was born.
This was supposed to be a not-so-subtle hint for my husband. Instead, I'm hanging here, about to be embarrassed beyond description, wondering what my hubby will do when he sees me like this, when his friend – whoever it is – sees me like this.
I groan, panic starting to rise, my breathing becoming quick and shallow. A shiver runs through me, and I'm suddenly scared. Not that anything bad will happen – even at its worst its only play – but scared with the dread that comes from something you have to do, or experience, even though you'd do anything to change it, avoid it. I have no idea who is outside with hubby, but I'll never be able to face them again, I know that.
I lift my feet, which isn't easy to do with the damn spreader bar holding my legs so far apart, and kick downward, seeing if I can jerk the rope loose from the ceiling hook.
Nothing.
I curse under my breath as I hear the door open, Matthew walks in, chatting away with…oh god, it's Daryl, one of Matthew's work colleagues and a work-out buddy at the gym.
They freeze in mid-sentence, both their mouths hanging open. The two of them stand there, staring, not a sound escaping their mouths.
I feel my face burning now, heat radiating from my skin. I suspect my face is beet-red.
"E EEE OOO," I cry out, trying to say "Get me down."
Daryl closes his mouth for just a second as a bit of saliva starts to drool from the corner of this mouth, then his mouth pops open again. Matthew gathers his wits a little quicker. I notice he glances around, sees the little toys I had laid out next to the television – a scourge (one of those whips that have about 15 little ends), some nipples clamps, a vibrator, and a few other select little items I've collected.
Matthew's gaping expression slowly changes to a smirk.
"E EEE OOOO," I repeat.
Matthew drops his gym bag on the floor, walks over to me, slowly runs his fingers down my chest, between my large, hanging breasts. "Well now, my dear Jessica, you didn't have to go to all of this trouble for us," he says, a naughty mischievousness in his voice


Excerpt..

Sometimes, you have to take things into your own hands, grab life by the horns and see where it takes you.

Then again, sometimes that gets you in horrible trouble.

I think the latter might be the case for me, because I hear the voices, approaching, outside for now, but in the carport, nearing the door,
and soon they'll be inside my house.

The problem with that?

Well, it's twofold.

First, the key issues is there are "voices." Plural. As in more than one person. I was expecting hubby, alone.

Second, I'm hanging here, in my living room, my arms stretched overhead, held firmly by the leather cuffs I snapped around my wrists, hooked
onto the rope hanging from the ceiling. My feet can barely touch the floor – my ankles are bound to a spreader bar that's between my feet,
stretching my legs nearly as wide as they can go, and I have a ball gag in my mouth. A big, brought red one, with the accompanying straps
wrapped around my head, buckled securely, probably a little too tight actually.

And I'm as naked as the day I was born.

This was supposed to be a not-so-subtle hint for my husband. Instead, I'm hanging here, about to be embarrassed beyond description,
wondering what my hubby will do when he sees me like this, when his friend – whoever it is – sees me like this.

I groan, panic starting to rise, my breathing becoming quick and shallow. A shiver runs through me, and I'm suddenly scared. Not that
anything bad will happen – even at its worst its only play – but scared with the dread that comes from something you have to do, or
experience, even though you'd do anything to change it, avoid it. I have no idea who is outside with hubby, but I'll never be able to face
them again, I know that.

I lift my feet, which isn't easy to do with the damn spreader bar holding my legs so far apart, and kick downward, seeing if I can jerk the
rope loose from the ceiling hook.

Nothing.

I curse under my breath as I hear the door open, Matthew walks in, chatting away with…oh god, it's Daryl, one of Matthew's work colleagues
and a work-out buddy at the gym.

They freeze in mid-sentence, both their mouths hanging open. The two of them stand there, staring, not a sound escaping their mouths. />
I feel my face burning now, heat radiating from my skin. I suspect my face is beet-red.

"E EEE OOO," I cry out, trying to say "Get me down."

Daryl closes his mouth for just a second as a bit of saliva starts to drool from the corner of this mouth, then his mouth pops open again.
Matthew gathers his wits a little quicker. I notice he glances around, sees the little toys I had laid out next to the television – a
scourge (one of those whips that have about 15 little ends), some nipples clamps, a vibrator, and a few other select little items I've
collected.

Matthew's gaping expression slowly changes to a smirk.

"E EEE OOOO," I repeat.

Matthew drops his gym bag on the floor, walks over to me, slowly runs his fingers down my chest, between my large, hanging breasts. "Well
now, my dear Jessica, you didn't have to go to all of this trouble for us," he says, a naughty mischievousness in his voice


Excerpt..

Sometimes, you have to take things into your own hands, grab life by the horns and see where it takes you.


Then again, sometimes that gets you in horrible trouble.


I think the latter might be the case for me, because I hear the voices, approaching, outside for now, but in the carport, nearing the door,

and soon they'll be inside my house.


The problem with that?


Well, it's twofold.


First, the key issues is there are "voices." Plural. As in more than one person. I was expecting hubby, alone.


Second, I'm hanging here, in my living room, my arms stretched overhead, held firmly by the leather cuffs I snapped around my wrists, hooked

onto the rope hanging from the ceiling. My feet can barely touch the floor – my ankles are bound to a spreader bar that's between my feet,

stretching my legs nearly as wide as they can go, and I have a ball gag in my mouth. A big, brought red one, with the accompanying straps

wrapped around my head, buckled securely, probably a little too tight actually.


And I'm as naked as the day I was born.


This was supposed to be a not-so-subtle hint for my husband. Instead, I'm hanging here, about to be embarrassed beyond description,

wondering what my hubby will do when he sees me like this, when his friend – whoever it is – sees me like this.


I groan, panic starting to rise, my breathing becoming quick and shallow. A shiver runs through me, and I'm suddenly scared. Not that

anything bad will happen – even at its worst its only play – but scared with the dread that comes from something you have to do, or

experience, even though you'd do anything to change it, avoid it. I have no idea who is outside with hubby, but I'll never be able to face

them again, I know that.


I lift my feet, which isn't easy to do with the damn spreader bar holding my legs so far apart, and kick downward, seeing if I can jerk the

rope loose from the ceiling hook.


Nothing.


I curse under my breath as I hear the door open, Matthew walks in, chatting away with…oh god, it's Daryl, one of Matthew's work colleagues

and a work-out buddy at the gym.


They freeze in mid-sentence, both their mouths hanging open. The two of them stand there, staring, not a sound escaping their mouths.
/>

I feel my face burning now, heat radiating from my skin. I suspect my face is beet-red.


"E EEE OOO," I cry out, trying to say "Get me down."


Daryl closes his mouth for just a second as a bit of saliva starts to drool from the corner of this mouth, then his mouth pops open again.

Matthew gathers his wits a little quicker. I notice he glances around, sees the little toys I had laid out next to the television – a

scourge (one of those whips that have about 15 little ends), some nipples clamps, a vibrator, and a few other select little items I've

collected.


Matthew's gaping expression slowly changes to a smirk.


"E EEE OOOO," I repeat.


Matthew drops his gym bag on the floor, walks over to me, slowly runs his fingers down my chest, between my large, hanging breasts. "Well

now, my dear Jessica, you didn't have to go to all of this trouble for us," he says, a naughty mischievousness in his voice


Keywords - click on word to search for more titles

bondage  BDSM  spanking  wife share  wife swap  hot wife  MILF  cheating wife  humiliation  
double penetration  gangbang  anal sex  interracial sex  erotica  public sex  stranger sex  objectification  MILF  

Best Selling Books This Year By Traci Wilde

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Best Selling Books This Year By Traci Wilde

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Kinky Wife Tales: Sharing Jessica With EVERYONE

Author Information

Traci Wilde is a member of the After Midnight Press cooperative, penning hot, steaming, erotic shorts stories and novels deep into the night.

Here's what her colleagues at After Midnight Press have to say about her: "The name seems to fit, as our self-described wild-child sometimes draws from her own real-life experiences for her tales."

That's not to say every story she writes happened, but quite a few of them have a basis in real-life events. She's single (and says she will always remain so), lives in North Carolina at present (though she moves around every so often), and counts among her hobbies running, watching the stars at night, and...well, having sex. Often.

 

Website:
http://aftermidnightpress.blogspot.com/

Contact Traci Wilde


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 Publishers Suite   

Affiliate Program

Contact Us

Terms and Conditions

Protection Policy

Privacy Policy

Refund Policy

This Site Owned By Fiction4Adults - Copyright Ó 2015