Birth of a Hotwife - Part 2

Click here to read the first part of the story.

27.

Does that seem like a big number to you?

What if I tell you that it's the number of guys I've been with since I became a hotwife? Does it seem like a big number now?

What if I tell you that I've racked up that number over five years? Does it seem a little smaller? Or does it seem bigger?

If I'm being honest, I don't have much of an opinion on the number. It's definitely more than most women, but most women aren't hotwives. Most women get married and stop fucking other guys. I got married, stopped fucking other guys for a little while, and then started cuckolding my husband when it turned out that we shared a mutual affection for the idea of me being able to step outside the marriage to pursue my pleasure.

I plan on telling you about some of the experiences with those 27 guys - writing about all of them would take far too much time - but for today I thought I'd focus on how I found the first guy.

If you remember, last time I detailed the very beginnings of this lifestyle. To recap: A hot guy asked me out in the grocery store. I turned him down, but simply being asked lifted my mood to such a degree that my husband - Russell, in case you forgot - noticed. I shared the fact that I'd been asked out by a good-looking guy and before long Russell was fucking me on the kitchen counter while asking me to tell him that I wished I was fucking the guy from the grocery store.

In the days and weeks after that first encounter, the idea of me fucking someone else became the predominant theme of our sex life. At first, Russell was always the one to bring it up. I was turned on by it, too, but in those early days I still felt a little wary of introducing the idea, mostly because I didn't want to hurt Russell's feelings. I know, it's kind of silly, but as a woman you learn pretty early to be wary of damaging a man's ego, because sometimes that damage can't be undone.

As it turns out, I didn't need to be wary. Russell rarely waited more than a few minutes before bringing it up. I found the notion so hot that I always played along, too. I was honestly more than happy to fantasize about another guy - for the first few weeks it was always the guy from the grocery store - and my pussy always got exceedingly wet, which I took as proof of just how much I enjoyed what had become our mutual fantasy.

The sex was really good, too. It was like we'd turned back time to when we were first together and were desperate to fuck. There were a handful of days in that early period where Russell fucked me multiple times, which was absolute proof of just how intensely arousing the whole thing was for both of us. I never declined his desires, either. I always welcomed him into my pussy for a round of thoroughly vigorous sex as we both fantasized - and talked dirty about - me having sex with another man.

The one thing we didn't do for the first few weeks was talk about me actually doing it. As in, we never had a conversation that went beyond fantasy. We just got turned on, fucked, and then went about our life as if everything was normal.

That changed about three weeks into our little adventure. I was the one to bring it up. It was a Saturday morning and we'd just finished breakfast.

"So...this fantasy we've been talking about...do you actually want me to do it?" I asked.

"Yes," Russell answered without a moment's hesitation. "Nat, yes, I want you to do it."

"Russell, I'm being serious." I was probably being a bit unfair in treating him like he was being hasty, but it felt like he wasn't really thinking about the implications of actually going through with it. "This isn't the sort of thing you just jump into, you know?"

"I do know that. I do. And I know you think I'm being impulsive - at least based on the look on your face that's what you think - but I'm not. I think about this all the time, and not just in some fantasy kind of way. I consider what might happen. I play out the bad outcomes. I play out the good outcomes."

"So what are the bad outcomes?" I asked.

"You leaving me is the worst possible outcome," he answered in an instant. "There's also the risk of picking the wrong guy and the sex being horrible or traumatic in some way. There's the possible risk of pregnancy, I suppose, though that seems easy enough to prevent. There's also the risk of it not coming close to matching the thrill of the fantasy, and that one goes for both of us."

It seemed that he had thought about it. Quite a lot, in fact. Certainly more than I'd thought about it, as I hadn't considered the notion of the sex being terrible or traumatic in some way. I just figured that I'd have no trouble finding someone that could fuck me exceptionally well.

"Sorry," I said. "For acting like you weren't thinking about it, I mean. You've clearly given this a great deal of thought."

He reached out and took my hand. "You don't have to apologize, Nat. I don't blame you for thinking that I'm acting like a typical man and letting my dick make all the decisions. I mean, there's still a chance that I'm doing that, by the way. I know that I'm not entirely capable of thinking clearly on this subject. It just turns me on so much. Even thinking about it in a less fantasy-oriented way turns me on because all I can think about is the fact that you might actually do it, that someone else might actually fuck you, that you might actually cum with someone else's cock inside you."

I smiled as I felt myself being lured down a path of desire, mostly because Russell was clearly traveling that path ahead of me. "Is that what you like thinking about?" I asked. "Me cumming on someone else's cock?"

He nodded. "That's not the only thing, though. I like thinking about someone else cumming while he's inside you. I mean, I like thinking about you making someone else cum in a number of ways, if I'm being honest, but there's something so hot about your pussy making another man cum, about him fucking you and having this incredible orgasm because you're so hot and because you make him feel so good."

Russell wasn't alone in finding that notion arousing. I certainly did. What woman wouldn't get at least a little bit turned on at the idea of making a man feel so good that he had a massively pleasurable orgasm while inside her?

"Is it turning you on to think about that?" I asked.

Russell nodded.

"And it's a little bit hotter because we're talking about me actually doing it?"

"Yes," he said. "Are you...I mean, are you actually thinking about doing it?"

I nodded. I'd been thinking about it for the past week. I'd been indulging in little fantasies of what it would be like. I'd been worrying a little, too, though as I mentioned I hadn't followed the path of worry nearly as far as Russell had.

"I was thinking we could sort of dip our toes in the water," I suggested.

"How do you mean?" Russell asked.

"A dating profile," I said with a smile. "Tinder, I was thinking. We'd take some pictures - no face, just body to start - and I'd make it clear that I was looking for something really specific. Not a relationship. Just someone to fuck me. I'd say that I was looking with my husband's knowledge."

"You could say that you're a hotwife, or looking to become one," he suggested.

"A hotwife?" I asked.

There was a flash of embarrassment - at least that's what I think it was - on Russell's face before he looked away for a moment. "Yeah, I've been...well, doing online research, I guess you could say. Into this fantasy. I wanted to see if other people were into it."

Now, of course, I know all about the lifestyle Russell and I were about to embark on. But in the moment, neither of us knew anything so it made perfect sense that he'd have put some work into researching it.

"Are they?" I asked.

He nodded. "It turns out it's actually pretty popular."

"And a hotwife?"

"That's the term in this, well, lifestyle, I guess. It's a woman who sleeps with other men outside her marriage, and whose husband remains faithful," he explained.

"And that's what you'd do?" I asked. "Remain faithful to me while I have sex with other people? That's what you want?"

He nodded. "I can't even...I don't know that I can explain just how badly I want that, Natalie. I want to be a cuckold."

"Is that what the husbands are called?"

"Yeah. I've seen some references to the husband being called a stag, too, and his wife being a vixen, but hotwife and cuckold seem to be the far more popular terms," he explained.

I remember really enjoying the notion that we'd essentially stumbled into a lifestyle, or at least a way of playing in our marriage that lots of other people were into. It made it feel safer for some reason, I think because there was some proof that it was a workable thing.

"Well, I like the notion of being a hotwife. I like the term, too, to be honest. Hotwife. It has a nice ring to it," I said. "So, would be up for taking a few pictures of your potential hotwife so I could make a Tinder profile?"

I'm not sure I've ever seen such a delighted look on Russell's face. "Yes. I'd love that, Nat. What kind of pictures?"

"Well, I was thinking we'd do three or four. Maybe one in a date night type of outfit - a nice top and a pair of jeans, maybe. Maybe one in a tight dress. Maybe a few lingerie pictures? I know that's probably a little unusual, but I'm not looking to date. I'm looking to fuck," I said.

That delighted look on Russell's face transitioned to pure lust as he no doubt thought about me fucking someone else, or perhaps he was just thrilled at the idea of me taking lingerie pictures so other men could look at them while fantasizing about fucking me.

"That all sounds really good, and if you get a lot of awful responses you could always take the lingerie pictures down," he suggested.

I stood, leaned over, and kissed him softly. "Let me go get ready. Then you can take some naughty pictures of your hotwife." I made sure to reach down and give his cock a quick squeeze through his pants and I was delighted to find him sporting an erection. I considered fucking him right there on the kitchen table, but I figured the photo session would be a lot more exciting if we were both swimming with desire.

I headed for the bathroom to get ready. I wasn't going to show my face, but I wanted to make sure my hair looked good since it would show up in the pictures. I did some quick styling - I kept it long and a little bit wavy - and then changed into my sexiest pair of jeans, three inch black heels, and a delicate, semi-sheer white blouse with a white lace bra underneath. Honestly, I looked really good. It was the kind of outfit that would have just about every man that looked at my profile practically begging to hook up with me.

"Russell!" I called out.

He came running - literally running - and his eyes devoured me the moment he stepped into the bedroom. "Nat...holy shit, you look so hot."

"Yeah?" I asked. "Is this the kind of outfit that would make a man want to fuck me?"

Russell nodded and I couldn't help but smile at his obvious erection.

I handed him my phone and said, "Take some pictures."

I struck a variety of poses as Russell snapped pictures with my phone. I channeled my inner hot girl, showing off my assets as best as I could as my body buzzed with a mixture of excitement and pure lust. I got hotter and hotter as I thought about guys on Tinder seeing my pictures and wanting to fuck me. I even thought about them masturbating to the pictures and the idea of fucking me and it wasn't long before my pussy was utterly soaked.

"Let's take some lingerie pics," I said.

I stripped out of the blouse and jeans, stepped back into the heels, and modeled a white lace bra and panty set for Russell. I was certain I looked good - I'd checked in the mirror, of course - and Russell seemed to agree as he just stood there and stared while I posed.

"Do I look good?" I asked playfully.

"Better than good. So much better than good," he said.

"Do you want to fuck me?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Good. That means that other guys will want to fuck me, too," I replied. "That means I'll have lots of options to pick from for when I become a hotwife for the first time. For when you become a cuckold."

He liked that. In fact, it seemed like he loved that. I wasn't really familiar with the terms or their meaning at the time, but it was obvious that Russell had a deeper familiarity and that he found something thrilling about the notion of being a cuckold.

"Take some pictures," I said.

Russell lifted my phone and snapped a wealth of pictures of me in the white lace lingerie and heels. Again I channeled my inner hot girl, posing in every way I could think of to try and get the perfect image. If was going to commit to being a hotwife, I wanted to do it well, and to be honest, I liked the idea of really hot pictures meaning that I got to choose from some really hot guys. There's nothing wrong with wanting to fuck a hot guy, right?

We took pictures in a tight, low cut red dress and a black lace bodysuit, and by the time we were done my pussy was utterly soaked. Like, completely and utterly soaked. It was incredible. Russell was turned on, too, and he was all over me the moment we finished and he set my phone on the bed.

I was in the black lace teddy and his hands felt so good on my body. He kissed my neck and played with my tits and rubbed my clit through the thin lace of the lingerie and I was tempted to let him fuck me, but I wanted to delay our pleasure just a little. I wanted to get the profile up first.

"Come," I said as I wriggled free from his grasp and crawled into the bed. "Let's set up my profile."

I looked through all the pictures and picked four favorites. I downloaded Tinder. I uploaded the pictures and typed out a brief, informative profile that laid out exactly what I was looking for.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"Yes," Russell replied.

I went live with it. I put myself out there. I published my pictures and my profile. I made it clear to the world that I was looking to become a hotwife. I set my phone down, turned to Russell, and kissed him. I reached between his legs and stroked his cock through his jeans. Our tongues entwined and he moaned as his fingers found their way to my pussy and rubbed me through the lace of my bodysuit.

Then my phone buzzed. Then it buzzed again, and again, and again, and again. I turned away from Russell and picked it up. I smiled. The messages were rolling in. There was interest. There was lots of interest.

I know that every woman on Tinder gets lots of interest from guys. I absolutely know that. That didn't stop it from boosting my confidence, though. Just seeing all those messages was incredible. It turned Russell on, too. He looked at the long list of guys that wanted to fuck his wife and he moaned. He played with my pussy. He kissed my neck. He made it clear that he wanted me.

I couldn't help but read some of the messages. Most were disappointing, but I was prepared for that. I've dated, after all, and most men can't be bothered to come up with a decent way to introduce themselves at a bar, let alone on an app.

It was easy to delete the disappointing messages, though. What was thrilling was to read the ones where the guys had put in some thought. I was particularly enthralled with the guys that talked of being with married women before and of how much they enjoyed fucking another man's wife and giving her something that her husband couldn't. I wasn't at all disappointed with Russell's performance in the bedroom, and yet I found myself drawn to the notion of a man trying to fuck me better, to show me a kind of pleasure I hadn't experienced with my husband.

"Some of these men are quite confident they'd fuck me better than you do," I said without really thinking about it. I was just so caught up in the excitement of it that the words spilled from my lips.

Russell moaned. He unsnapped my bodysuit and worked two fingers into my pussy. He entered me with ease as I was truly soaked with desire.

"Is that something you want?" I asked as Russell acted like he was about as horny as a man can be. "Do you want someone to fuck me better than you do, Russell?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I want...I do, Natalie. I want you to have great sex with someone. The kind of sex that makes you want more, that makes you desperate for more, that makes you want to go back to him over and over."

His fingers felt good, but in the moment it was his arousal, his lust, his desire that turned me on more than anything. I wasn't really sure what that kind of sex would feel like - Russell was good in bed, after all - but I'll admit that I was more than willing to entertain the idea of finding someone that could fuck me better. I mean, what woman wouldn't want that?

I brought up another message. It was from a man that claimed to have experience with hotwives and cuckolds. It was, he said, his favorite kind of sex:

Hey gorgeous. Love your pics. Insanely hot.

I've played with hotwives before. I can give you what you want. I can fuck you like you deserve to be fucked. I can fuck you in a way that your husband doesn't, or can't. I can make sure you're both happy. I'd be more than willing to let him watch, too. We could even let him participate if you're up for it. In my experience, cuckolds love to participate.

I've got nine inches. It's pretty thick, too. I promise it will make you feel things you've never felt before, and I promise I'll be gentle at first. Before long, though, you'll be screaming in pleasure. I guarantee it, and I guarantee your husband will love that you took a big cock.

I'm happy to chat. I'm happy to meet up at a coffee shop before we get to the good stuff. Let me know.

Is it really shallow of me to have felt an instantaneous sense of intrigue - and desire, if I'm being honest - when he mentioned his cock? Russell's average. Quite literally, in fact, at a little under six inches. Is it terrible that I actually got a little bit wetter thinking about taking a really big cock?

"Read this," I said as I handed the phone to Russell.

I unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock as he read it. I stroked him and kissed his neck. I moaned and to be honest, I moaned like I was already getting fucked by that nine inches because that's what I wanted Russell to think about. I couldn't help myself.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"You should message him back. You should meet him for coffee," Russell said breathlessly.

I kissed his neck and moaned. "Do you want me to be with someone bigger than you, Russell?"

He moaned and took his pants off. He kicked them aside with surprising force. He rolled on top of me, pulled his shirt off, and guided his cock into my pussy. I moaned and arched my back a little as he filled me. It felt good. Really good. My clit was super sensitive and every thrust was like a little explosion of pleasure going off between my legs.

"Is that what you want?" I asked. "Do you want your wife to fuck someone with a bigger cock, Russell? Do you want someone else's big dick to fill my pussy?"

"Yes!" he said. "Fuck, Nat, yes, I want that. I fucking love that idea. It's so fucking hot."

I was already close to cumming and I'm pretty sure Russell was too. Most of the time a woman doesn't want her man to cum really fast, but in that moment I had no problem with it.

"I'm going to message him. I'll meet him for coffee. If we click, I'll fuck him, Russell. I'll take his big cock. I'll see if he's true to his word and can give me something you've never given me. I'll see if he can fuck me better than you do. I'll cuckold you, Russell. I'll cuckold you with his big cock."

Russell fucked me with incredible strength and pace and then he came inside me as he unleashed an incredible array of grunts and groans. I came too. I came hard, in fact. Really hard. It was spectacular, and it was fueled by this incredible sense of desire that we'd discovered.

I cuckolded Russell with that guy and his nine inch cock. He was the first of the 27 men I've cuckolded Russell with over the past five years and next time I'll give you every dirty detail of that first encounter, and a few of the encounters after that.