Part 1: Hotwife Coffee

It all starts with meeting an old friend for coffee

I sat sipping my iced coffee across from my best friend Cheryl on the sidewalk patio of a coffee shop in Brooklyn. “So, I have something I want to tell you, something private just between us.” Cheryl said while trying to suppress a giddy smile. We’d missed our last couple of weekly coffee chats, it’d been almost a month since I’d seen her and she looked amazing. Her dyed red hair looked like she’d just walked out of the salon. She was dressed in a fashionable and body conscious jumper that looked great on her but that I didn’t think I’d ever have the confidence to wear. There was something more, she was positively glowing. “I’m a hotwife.” she said, and quickly sipped at her iced oat milk vanilla latte.

Hearing her refer to herself as hot surprised me, though I couldn’t disagree. “Well, yeah, Cheryl, You are one hot wife. Joel is a very lucky man.” I responded.

“Ha, you’re so sweet.” she replied with a laugh that let me know something was going over my head. I wasn’t insulted. We were old friends and I’d heard this laugh before. Cheryl was more adventurous and more worldly than I was. She’d spent more time in clubs and I’d spent more time in books. She often had to catch me up on new words, phrases, trends and memes. “Not a hot wife, though I am definitely that, a hotwife, one word. Joel and I… well, listen this is just between us girls.”

“Yes, of course, always.” I reassured her. This second confirmation that this was just between us seemed unnecessary as we’ve long kept each others secrets but it did let me know that I was about to hear something extra juicy. “Please, tell me about Joel and his hotwife.”

“Joel has enjoyed hearing me talk about, fantasize about, having sex with other men. It’s mostly been just pillow talk, but I can get him hard as a rock in a hurry by describing what I’d do if I had my chance with the older guy who moved in next door, or the grumpy waiter at the 24 hour diner we went to after seeing a movie, or with the two guys who so conspicuously eyed me up and down as we squeezed past them on the train.”

“Joel? Really? Wow, I always figured he was fairly vanilla.” I giggled. I’d heard about their sex life before, like I said, we were the keepers of each other’s secrets, and Cheryl gave him high marks, a capable and well equipped lover, but aside from crossing things off a fairly pedestrian straight couple fantasy list, anal, a female, female, male threesome, a bit of public touching in the back of a mostly empty movie theatre, I knew him to mostly be a meat and potatoes, blowjobs and doggy style, kind of lover.

“I know, I was surprised too. It started about a month before we were married. We were doing a wine tasting, and the sommelier was just blatantly eating me alive with his eyes and flirting with me right in front of Joel. He was quiet and I worried he was getting jealous, but then I noticed he was hard as a rock! He was standing there, tight lipped as usual, sipping wine and he was staying very close to the barrel that served as a table so that nobody other than me had the right angle to see the bulge stretching the fabric of his chinos.”

I leaned in and my eyes grew big.

“Eventually Peter, the sommelier, turned around to grab another bottle and my fully erect husband seized the opportunity to straighten himself, guiding his cock upright, and under his belt, still hard as can be, but now less conspicuous. I snuck a light pat to let him know I was aware of his arousal, and he leaned and whispered in my ear that he wanted to get back to our room. We excused ourselves, and walked quickly to the car.”

I loved how Cheryl included every detail, teasing me with a long story, making me wait to know if her story was going where it seemed to be going.

“He had to drive.” she continued, “as I’d had more than a tasting of the wine. Peter was quite generous with his pours. ‘What’s gotten into you?’ I asked, petting Joel through the fabric of his neatly pressed pants. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you liked seeing that guy devouring me with his eyes back there.’ and he moaned! He actually moaned and pushed his cock forward against my hand. Being a bit tipsy on white wine, I just kept talking and described what Peter would have liked to have done to me, and Joel’s response was get more and more turned on. I got more graphic as I rubbed his cock through his pants, until finally he pulled over. I didn’t need instructions, or even encouragement, I undid his pants, and took his cock into my mouth and was swallowing his cum almost instantly. He came fast, hard, and loudly, moaning, and thrusting his hips forward. It was all I could do to swallow it all, and I think you know I’m fairly well rehearsed in this.”

“So, Joel got turned on thinking of you fucking a sommelier? Wow. Was he a particularly hot sommelier?” I interrupted.

“Not particularly hot, but he was a type. Broad shoulders, square jaw, tall, very stereotypically masculine. The kind of guy you look at and just assume he’s packing a big one, if you know what I mean.”

I knew what she meant. “Okay, so this makes you a hotwife?” I asked.

“Be patient. There’s more.” she said, and then she took a long, slow sip of her drink while maintaining eye contact with me, teasing and enjoying driving me crazy. Finally, she set her drink down and continued. “After that it became a common thing that we’d see a man looking at me, or holding a door for me, and I’d concoct a fantasy for Joel about what I might do with this man if given the opportunity. This became our favorite form of foreplay and our sex life was better than its been in years, and as you know, it wasn’t lacking, but now, my God, we were going at it like twenty year olds!”

“About 6 months ago we were on the west coast. I had a conference to go to in San Francisco so we decided to take advantage of my company picking up my airfare and hotel room to have ourselves a little vacation. We were walking through North Beach when a young man invited us in to a poetry reading. We went in and quickly regretted it, realizing we were the only audience members. Five hungry poets sat around waiting for someone to hear their verse, and they snapped to attention as we entered. I wanted to run. We’d been innocently enjoying the city and we’d stumbled into a trap. It’d be too awkward to leave once they started, as we’d be taking the show with us. We sat down and ordered an espresso for Joel, and a glass of red for me. The poetry reading started. We faked smiles and laughs, and sympathetic nods through the first three, and then a handsome black man in his thirties, older than the other readers, took the stage. Maybe he was better than the others, or maybe I was feeling my second glass of wine and enjoying that he was practically slobbering as he read very horny poetry and very obviously aimed his reading at me. I could hear Joel’s breathing and I knew this was going to get me laid and laid well when we got back to our room. I started to construct the fantasy in my head, preparing to share a story with my husband to earn myself a good proper fucking.”

“The poet’s name was Bryce, and as he finished, I lied, ‘I’m sorry guys. We have tickets to another show and can’t stay longer.’ and then I lied more, ‘I wish we could. Your poems were all quite lovely.’ and we stood and walked out. Bryce stared at me intensely, arrogantly as we made our way to the door.”

“‘Do you want to fuck him?’ Joel asked as soon as we were back out on the sidewalk, amongst the strip clubs, bars and restaurants. ‘Wow, not even waiting to get back to the room before the dirty talk starts.’ I replied, hoping it was arousal and not annoyance I heard in his voice. ‘He’d definitely like that. How do you think he’d take me?’ I asked teasingly. ‘Do you want to? If you want to you can.’ my husband said in a low voice, his face flushing red. I could tell he had to push himself to add ‘I want you to.’”

“‘You want me to fuck him? Really?’ I asked, and I smiled to let him know I was okay with what he was saying. ‘Yes’. he answered, flatly. ‘You can do it in our hotel room. I’ll wait in the bar.’”

“Now it was my turn to blush. ‘Wow, I mean, isn’t this the kind of thing we should discuss first, plan out?’ I was worried about being reckless with our marriage, but I was also now very turned on. ‘Do you want to fuck me in that ally?’ I asked, figuring we could at least cash in on just the thought of what he was suggesting.”

“‘Would you like to fuck him? It’s okay. We can try it. Text me if you need me to come interrupt.’ I got wet hearing him sound so determined, even having a plan. ‘Okay.’ was all I could seem to get out. I walked back toward the cafe in a daze. My feet felt heavy and my head was buzzing as I tired to figure out how I’d go about luring Bryce out. As luck would have it he was coming out the door with his Moleskin notebook in his hand as I reached the cafe.

“Hello.” he said with a smile. He hadn’t been subtle in expressing his desire for me, and my walking back toward him alone wasn’t subtle either.

‘I have a room nearby.’ was all I said.

‘Oh? Did you want to hear more poetry?’ he asked with a smile.

‘I think you know what I want. Let’s go.’ I didn’t want to get to know him. I didn’t want him to think I was looking for anything other than a fuck. I guess I didn’t want me to think that either.

‘And what about your guy?’ he asked.

I thought about my safety. Though something about Bryce made me feel like I wasn’t at risk, I didn’t want to throw caution aside anymore than I already was. ‘He knows, and he’ll be nearby.’

‘Is he planning on joining us? Because I don’t know…’ he started.

‘No, he isn’t joining us. I don’t want to talk. Just come back to my room with me, and fuck me.’ I snapped. This was all the foreplay I’d need. I was incredibly turned on at talking this way to a stranger. I led him to the hotel, and into the elevator. As the elevator doors closed I saw my husband enter the hotel and turn to go into the bar. Our eyes met for for just a second. The instant the doors were all the way closed, Bryce pulled me to him and kissed me hard, and aggressive. His lips were soft and his breath smelled of coffee in a way that reminded me of Joel. I frequently complained about Joel’s coffee breath, but I liked the tiny scrap of familiarity now. I thrust my tongue into Bryce’s mouth and pulled him close to me. I was scared and ravenous and I leaned into the ravenous so that the fear didn’t take over. We jumped apart as the doors opened again. A maid entered and smiled knowingly at us which only turned me on more knowing that someone else knew what I was about to do. I felt like she knew everything, knew this wasn’t the man I’d checked in with, knew we were strangers, knew we were turned on close to bursting as we made our way to privacy so we could consume one another. She got off on the next floor. Bryce laughed. I was too nervous to laugh. We reached my floor and I all but ran to my room, fumbled to get my card out and open the door as Bryce’s large hands slid over my hips.” And then Cheryl laughed at me again. I was listening intently, on the edge of my seat and she could clearly see that she had my attention. “Shall I continue?” she teased.

“You’d damn well better!” I snapped.

“Well, then he fucked me! First I sucked his cock, which was bigger than Joel’s and different. It tasted different, the texture of his skin was different, it was shaped different. That was the most notable thing about the fuck, the difference, that he wasn’t my husband. He had a condom, something I’m embarrassed to admit I hadn’t even thought of, and he put it on and bent me over the tall bed. He fucked me hard from behind, with one hand on my shoulder and one pulling my hair just hard enough. I was enjoying it but I wanted him to cum. I wanted to get back to Joel, to make sure everything was okay. I’ve been with enough men to know, if you tell them to cum, they usually do. The way to a man’s heart may be through his stomach, but the way to his cock is often through his ears. ‘Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me hard. Come on! Cum in me. Give it to me, give me your cock. Cum!’”

Cheryl and I both giggled like kids realizing the two older women seated at the next table as well as the young woman filling their water glasses all heard her and were dead silent clearly listening intently. “Please, do go on.” one of the senior ladies said, with a smile.

Cheryl was only too happy to oblige. I loved her complete lack of shame or embarrassment at moments like this. “He was loud as he came, almost yelling, ‘Fuck. Fuck yeah. Oh fuck.’ Another difference as Joel is quiet beyond a low, restrained moan. We sunk, covered in sweat, down to the floor and caught our breath. He offered to write me a poem. He wanted to bask in this moment, but I hurried him back into his clothes and out the door. ‘Write a poem about your one night stand, dear. You were wonderful but it’s time to go.’

I texted Joel. ‘He’s gone. Come up now, quickly. I can’t wait to have your hands and lips on me.’ I was nervous, scared even, more so now than I’d been at bringing a stranger back to my room. What if Joel decided he didn’t like this? What if we’d done something we couldn’t take back, broken something that we’d be unable to fix? Joel opened the door and I saw worry on his face too. ‘Was it okay?’ he asked, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was still naked, sitting on the floor next to the bed, looking absolutely ravaged.

‘It was. Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘I am so turned on. I want you to tell me all about it, and I want to fuck you.’ He put emphases on the word ‘all’. I smiled big, as I stood and slid onto the bed,

‘Come here, you.’ I said, and he crawled onto the bed next to me. I told him every detail, the nervousness, the maid, the difference in the stranger’s cock, he seemed especially turned on hearing that Bryce had a large cock. Unlike my fun with the poet, with Joel I didn’t hurry. We teased and pet, and kissed and stroked and eventually we had the best sex we’d ever had.”

“Wow. So, is this…” I tried to remember the term, and to decide if it was offensive, “Is this a cuckold fetish?”

“I don’t think so, not exactly. I think cuckold tends to have a humiliation or shame aspect to it, which is fine but not our thing. Hotwife is the term I’ve learned for women whose men like to have their wives seduce and fuck other men, and then come home to them. It’s like, well, Joel is very confident as my lover, as my partner, and seeing me be desired by, and fucked by other men, it’s like a straight line to his libido somehow. I’ve never felt sexier and we are having so much fun. Honestly, it’s been great.”

“Cheryl… Can I tell Blair?” I asked.

“Oh? You want to tell your boyfriend what a big slut your best friend is?” she asked, grinning.

“Oh, trust me, he knows. I want to see how he reacts?”

“Ha! What have I done? Yes, yes, you can tell Blair… if, only if, you promise to tell me how he reacts.”

“You know I tell you everything.” I said, and this was true. We finished our drinks, and I hurried home, reading about “Hotwife” and “Hotwifing” on my phone on the train.

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This was the first chapter in my continuing sage. Read part 2 here: