Chapter One

 

I wouldn't say that Lola is a slut, exactly. Let's just say that she has an accommodating cunt. Almost all men like her, by which I mean of course that they want to fuck her, and by and large she endeavours to oblige them if they are polite and presentable, and strike the right note; a difficult thing to define, but Lola always knows when it happens. Although, just to avoid things being too simple, every now and again she will refuse a man even if he seems to meet the criteria. It's not exactly to preserve her self-respect, because she has plenty of that. It's rather than she doesn't like being taken for granted, so on occasion she will disappoint a suitor. And she never feels obligated to give him a reason.

I remember that before the wedding we had a lot of conversations about how things were going to be. I knew that before I met her she had had a lot of affairs, though some of them would properly be described as flings or one-night stands. During our courtship, if you want to call it that, she took a rest from other men. At least, I was reasonably reassured by her promise that it was so. But the marriage service included the words "forsaking all others." Could she keep it up? Could Lola really refrain from other men for ever?

So I asked her what her idea of marriage was. Did it demand monogamy? She said she'd been thinking about this and rather thought that it should. I said I agreed, so we resolved that we would be faithful. Whether either of us seriously intended this I'm not sure. Perhaps we did initially. It was soon clear that this was unrealistic.

Lola has a healthy, some might even say voracious, sexual appetite. At first, after the wedding, I managed to keep up with it. But although my stamina was good, I began to realise that what she craved was not just lots of sex, but variety. I did my best by going through the various sexual positions and then we looked at a lot of porn and tried a lot of perversions (as we thought of them, though I've since come to believe that one man's perversion is another's bread and butter). And then, perhaps inevitably, she had sex with another guy.

She confessed it almost immediately. She'd been at a party and said she'd had one drink too many and found herself talking to an attractive man and he had offered her a lift home. On the way he'd taken a detour into a small park and stopped the car. She told him she was married and wanted to remain so. He said that was fine. All the time he had his hands on her, one squeezing her breast, another up her skirt. The one up her skirt finally reached its intended destination. She protested but, she admitted to me, not very forcefully. He manhandled her into position and then pushed her skirt right up and pulled down her knickers and fucked her, from behind. At least, she said, he put on a condom. Once he'd finished (she said he was quick) he started the car and drove her the rest of the way home.

She told me this the next day, because when she got home I was asleep in bed. She said she was sorry and asked if I would forgive her. I asked her if she had enjoyed it. She didn't say anything, so I concluded that she had. I asked, did she intend to do it again? She said, no, not with that guy, from which I concluded she might repeat the act with someone else. There was silence for a while, then she said, "The thing that worries me most of all is that you will use this as a valid reason why you can have sex with other women."

"You think I shouldn't?" I asked.

"I think it would kill me," she said. She was occasionally given to exaggerations; I could hardly believe what she had said was literally true. But I got the point. I was pleased, in a way, that she regarded my fidelity as that important.

We didn't discuss such things any more for a while, and I assumed that we were at least notionally still living in a state of monogamy. But obviously she had been brooding on it, hence two months later she brought up the idea of being a hotwife. We were lying on the bed one Sunday afternoon after a bout of energetic but relatively vanilla sex. She had a hand between her legs, slowly touching, and another hand on my cock, just holding me, not moving. It was something we would often do when we had time, talking dirty, putting ourselves in the mood for something spicier. I remember I was hoping I'd get to spank her. I hadn't done it for a while. She wasn't really into it, but she let me do it now and again.

Then she said, "You remember you once asked me if I had any sexual fantasies I hadn't told you about?"

"And?"

"There is one."

"Yes?"

"Do you know what a hotwife is?"

"Yes, I think so. Is that what you want to be?"

"Do you think it's silly?"

I thought for a moment. "Not silly, no. But it needs a little consideration."

"Yes, because I'm not sure it is a fantasy in the normal sense. It's more like a change of lifestyle."

When she raised this my initial response was to be realistic. If she was thinking about it, then it wouldn't be long before she took a step towards it. I decided that the best way to handle it was for me to entertain the idea, not rule it out but on the contrary try to manage it. I said that in principle I was not against it, but that we needed to be agreed about the rules. She said of course, and she proceeded to enumerate several right away, making it obvious that she had been thinking about it a lot. First, she said, I wasn't allowed to use this as an excuse to avail myself of other women. I was to continue to be monogamous. It was unfair, of course, but I didn't mind. It gave the thing extra spice, and anyway I was so much in love with her I didn't think about other women. All my sexual fantasies centred on her. She was enough woman for me.

She said she would choose the guys. I'd have no say in who it was. I said I did have one reservation; it mustn't be anyone we knew. She agreed to that. She said she knew that in such arrangements some guys liked to watch, but she said she wasn't going to allow that, at least not for a long time. But she said she would describe to me what happened when she got back. She also said if I was very good she might take a picture or two. She added she would prefer it if I didn't masturbate while she was with the other guy. I should keep myself "pure", which seemed an odd choice of word considering how perverse the whole thing was.

She said she would keep me informed about arrangements, giving me as much notice of her dates as she could, and when possible would text me to say when she would return. It was clear that in future she intended that sex with other men was to be a planned, calculated affair, not random events such as with the man who had driven her home. She added (it was clear she'd got a lot of this worked out already) that it probably wouldn't be all-nighters at first. She said, "I expect when I get back I'll want you to fuck me, even if it's the middle of the night", and I readily agreed to this. In fact I was getting highly excited by the idea. Fucking her fresh (if that's the word) from the arms of another man appealed to me, pervert that I am.

I asked her if she had anyone in mind and she said that she did. It was a guy she'd met through work. She told me she fancied him a lot, and we talked it over as a practical proposition. Her main concern was how I'd handle it. She kept asking me if I was sure I'd be OK. Wouldn't I be jealous? Of course I'd be jealous, I said. But wasn't that part of the point? I had a whole theory about that, which I expounded to her eventually. We'll come to that.

There were certain practicalities I thought needed to be settled, First, I asked her what sort of contraception she intended to employ. She said immediately, another sign that she had been thinking about it, that she much preferred to fuck guys bareback, but that she thought that wasn't always wise. She said she intended to use a condom first time with anyone, but would leave it off as soon as she felt comfortable doing so from a safety point of view. (She was on the pill at the time.) I asked if she intended to tell her friends about her decision. She has a best friend, Sally, whom she has known since her schooldays and who probably knows more about her than even I do. She said she might in due course tell Sally, but not for some time, until she felt completely comfortable in her new role. She said, suppose she met a really nice guy and wanted to go away for a weekend with him? I said, could we wait a while before that happened? She agreed. I asked her what if anything she would tell these guys about me. She said she hadn't thought about that. What did I feel? I replied that I thought she should let them know that she was married but that her husband allowed her total freedom. But she should tell them nothing about me personally. She agreed. She said she didn't want me to tell another living soul about the arrangement. "What, not even your mother?" I enquired innocently. She threw a cushion at me.

"What if you fall in love with one of the guys?" I asked her.

"I won't," she said confidently. "I'm in love with you."

I let it go at that. I thought there was little point in trying to cross every bridge before we came to it, and in the nature of the thing we couldn't know in advance how everything would affect us. She did a little flirting with the guy she had in mind and eventually fixed up a date with him. I watched her get ready. After her shower she stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror doing her make-up. I remember there was plenty of eye-shadow and mascara and at the end some lipstick, but just pale pink. She said she might be a whore but she didn't want to look like one.

She'd bought some new underwear. It was La Perla, I remember. Black satin, the bra balconette style, straps at the side, showing off her tits nicely. Though she was slim, her bust was by no means negligible. The knickers were not much more than a thong, and at the back showed quite a bit of her cute ass. There was a suspender belt too; she knew how much men liked stockings.

This went with a red dress, quite tight. OK, she didn't look tarty, but she wasn't a choirgirl either. Her heels were really high, showing off her very good legs. I thought she looked stunning.

I kissed her goodbye; she made it be on the cheek, so as not to spoil her make-up. There was a taxi outside. "Don't wait up," she said with a laugh as she got in.

I tried to keep myself occupied in the evening. I cooked myself something and watched a little TV and read a book, but my mind was on her all the time. Were they having dinner first? Was she flirting with him? Had he kissed her yet? I had asked her what she had told him about me. "Nothing," she said. "You're a mystery." Sometime after ten I wondered if they'd got to it yet. Would he be good in bed? Would he have a big cock? In which position would he fuck her? How many times?

Around eleven o'clock I went to bed. Just as I was going to put the light off I got a text. It was from her. "Adultery is fun," she said. I started to worry that she hadn't taken more persuading. Had she been waiting all this time to fuck other men? Was she bored with me? I managed to get to sleep after half an hour of such thoughts.

In the morning she still hadn't come home. This surprised me a little, but it was Sunday, so there was no particular reason she should hurry. I mooched around all morning, trying to make the time pass until she came back. Around two in the afternoon she came in the front door, looking unruffled. She kissed me on the cheek; she wasn't wearing make-up so it could have been on the mouth, but it wasn't.

She sat back on the sofa. I was agog to hear all about it, but I didn't want to seem too eager. She asked if I would make her some coffee, so I did. I sat with her on the sofa, not saying much. Conversation was desultory. Then suddenly she said, "Do you want to fuck me?" I said yes and got to my feet. We went up to the bedroom and she quickly got out of her clothes and slipped between the sheets. She reached out and took me in her arms. "Don't say anything yet. Just fuck me," she said. So I did. My cock was as hard as I have ever known it, and I think I did a good job.

Afterwards we lay naked on the bed and talked. She told me how the evening had gone. She told me exactly what he did and how she responded. It was mostly vanilla, just straight fucking, though from her account energetic and enthusiastic. I asked her if he had a big cock. She said yes, fairly, a little thicker than mine. I'll explain later the exact nature of my reactions to this and to everything she told me. Suffice it to say now that her words were sweet agony. I was jealous, and the jealousy excited me.

She told me how many times they had done it, in what position, how many times he had come in her, how often she had cum herself; three times in all, none of them simply through the actions of his big cock, but through a combination of her own acts and his performance of oral sex (which, she said, was excellent; more anguish for me). They had woken once in the night and done more fucking and once again in the morning, since when she had had a shower, so there were no traces of his body on hers. Though next time, she said, looking me in the eye, she might come home to me still smelling of cum. "You'd like that, I think," she added.

It was interesting how alert she was to the nuances of my responses. She had sensed, from the beginning, that the whole idea turned me on, and she worked out how she could use this to gain control. She didn't want me fucking other girls, and so she would make sure I got plenty of excitement from her activities. As time went on she used all kinds of wiles to keep my interest, to squeeze out every drop of my arousal by the scenarios she performed.

I made to fuck her again, but she demurred, twisting the knife in the wound by saying she was a little sore. So we got up and took a shower, though not together. We passed the rest of the day quietly enough, but my mind was racing. I was aroused, far more than I expected.

Later, we discussed it further. She said she wanted to do it again, with the same guy. But after she had, she told me, she was going to try other guys. "I warn you," she said, "I think I could get a taste for it. You know what they say. You encouraged me to do this; but be careful what you ask for."

I wasn't sure I had exactly encouraged her. I simply hadn't objected. Anyway, I let her know that I was OK with what had happened. I held back from telling her just how excited I was, and what exactly my feelings were. I don't think I'd quite worked them out yet. My head was a mass of conflicting emotions.

The second time she did it with the same guy she sent me a photo. It was taken in front of a mirror. She was facing, with the guy standing behind her. His face was hidden. Both were naked. The guy had one arm around her tits, pushing them up from underneath. His other hand was between her legs, cupping her cunt. She was laughing.

When she came back she gave me a graphic description of how he liked to fuck her from the back, doggie-style. She said his cock went in so deep that way, and that he would also force his thumb into her ass. I asked her if he had fucked her ass yet, and she said she was saving that. But before she met him a third time, there was another guy. This was unplanned. She had gone for a girls' night out with some friends. She admitted she had drunk too much and that this man had come on to her, and she told herself, well, you're a hotwife now, if you want to fuck him you can. She said she felt an immense surge of freedom at that moment, a sense that she was at last in command of her own body and could choose to bestow it on whom she wished. So she let this guy get a hotel room and she spent the night. She didn't text or anything, but I put two and two together, so didn't worry, and then she called me the following morning. She talked quietly, because she said the guy was in the shower. She said he was quite old, about fifty, and very experienced. She said he seemed to know everything about how to make a woman cum.

When she got back she put on her little girl act. I must say I always found this very cute, and she knew it. She said she had been very bad not to let me know where she was. She said she'd let the man fuck her naughty place, meaning her ass. She asked me if I thought she deserved to be punished. By this time I was very aroused. "Yes, you do," I replied. I grabbed her and put her across my knee. When I pulled up her skirt I found she wasn't wearing knickers. I asked why not; I remembered she had been wearing pink ones when she went out. She said she couldn't remember; she had lost them at some stage of the evening. I spanked her bottom till it was red, something I rarely did, then took off my belt and spanked it some more until she begged me to stop, and after a little more I did. Her ass was a mix of red and purple by then.

I put her on the bed on her knees. By this time she was calling me Daddy, as she did sometimes when she wanted to play. She asked if I wanted to fuck her naughty place, because it was ready, and I did, quite hard. Afterwards she cried; evidently she had conflicted emotions, like me. Guilt and lust, to name but two.

Gradually, with small, incremental steps, she changed the dynamic of our relationship. Prior to her taking the step to adopt a hotwife lifestyle, I would say that by and large we were on an equal footing, sexually and in most other ways. Financially, the major decisions were joint decisions. Whether we needed a new car, whether we should move to roomier accommodation, what sort of holiday we could afford, all required input from both of us. Questions concerning our work were for each to decide for themselves. And though we had friends in common, there were also friends who belonged to one or the other.

Perhaps the major decision which we made together was whether to have children. Having with enthusiasm decided for it, we set about starting a family in the usual way. But despite a lot of effort and medical consultations, it never happened. Gradually we adjusted to the disappointment, though perhaps never completely. I have always had a suspicion that Lola's choice to become a hotwife was in some measure a compensation for the disappointment of not having children. Perhaps it was an attempt to fill a gap in her life. I have never put this point to her for fear that she would take it amiss, that I was implying that being a hotwife was a substitute for something else rather than a positive choice. I don't in fact think that; once she had made the decision, Lola entered into her new life with total enthusiasm and commitment.

I should say that up to that point, decisions about our sexual life were also made in concert. She consulted me about which form of contraception she used, we would talk a lot about what kind of sex we liked. I told her what moves I found sexy and she reciprocated, I told her what clothes I thought made her sexually appealing, she told me how she liked my hair styled, whether I should be clean-shaven (which I was), and we discussed any body modifications each of us was inclined to. For the record she had a little rosebud tattooed on her ass, on the right cheek. Those familiar with Orson Welles's great film Citizen Kane might pick up an allusion here.

On the whole, most of the initial moves in the bedroom had been taken by me, but always with an eye to how they might be received. If I thought she was in more of a submissive mood, I would be dominant, and her mood would influence whether I genuinely felt so. If, a little more rarely, she was in an active mood, I would be influenced to be less dominant. Generally, we dovetailed nicely.

Cleary the decision to become a hotwife and take on lovers was one which she made on her own. True, she sort of asked for my approval, but I very much had the impression that it was a fait accompli. If I had strongly objected, I honestly don't know what might have happened. And so from that moment on, as I have said, the dynamic of the relationship changed. Not overnight; it would be a long time before the game played out and it became possible to see what the conclusion might be. But the die was cast, even though I was slow to see it at the time. I could perceive, of course, that it was already a big step, even if the consequences might not be apparent yet.