My Hotwife Betty Ch 02 Beginnings

This wasn't going to be easy.

We agreed--if we were going to make this crazy idea of an open marriage work, we needed rules. Boundaries. Structure. But talking about boundaries with Betty had a way of spiraling into something else entirely. Every conversation about what she could or couldn't do with other men inevitably ended with her straddling me, whispering fantasies in my ear, and fucking me like she was daring me to say no.

The more we talked about her with other guys, the harder I got. Every imagined scenario--her lips around someone else's cock, another man moaning her name--turned into fuel for the most wild, mind-blowing sex we'd ever had. It was like unlocking this part of ourselves we didn't know was there. From the moment I accepted she'd be with other men, my desire for her became more animalistic. More euphoric. More dangerous.

But between the orgasms, reality crept in. This wasn't just dirty talk. This was real. And real came with complications. How often could she see someone? Did I need advance notice--and how much? A few hours? A day? Could I say no? Could I stop her? Should I even want to?

The question of who she could fuck was a bit of a battlefield. I was all about keeping it anonymous--random guys, one-time things, no strings. But still... the thought of some strange guy with his hands all over her made me crazy and scared the shit out of me. And yet, somehow, it still felt safer than putting a name or a face to it.

When the topic turned to friends, coworkers, neighbors--Betty was kind of into it, but that was a hard no from me. She said sticking to strangers felt limiting, but the thought of bumping into some guy at a backyard barbecue, knowing he'd had his cock in her? Yeah, no thanks. It just sat wrong with me. So, we compromised: no one from our circle. No one who knew who we were. She agreed--though not exactly with a smile.

Then came the practical, clinical stuff: condoms, regular testing, disclosure. It felt cold, maybe even a little unsexy, but it mattered. This was the line between fantasy and recklessness.

Eventually, we had something resembling an agreement. Not perfect. Not clean. But a place to start. A structure we could work within... and break, when we wanted to. Because even with the rules in place, we both knew--we were playing with fire.

With our boundaries in place Betty wasted no time seeing just how far she could push them. We had planned that Friday night to meet for a drink at our usual bar, then grab some dinner and a movie. Something ordinary. Comfortable. Safe.

But with this new thing we had in place-- safe wasn't what Betty had in mind.

I was running late--work had its usual grip on me. When I finally got to the bar, I spotted her right away. She was sitting there like she owned the place--legs crossed, relaxed but giving off this flirty energy that was impossible to miss. And next to her? Some older guy. Confident. Leaning in when she laughed. She touched his arm, played with her hair, gave him that smile of hers--the one that's sweet and a little dangerous at the same time.

I just froze. This wasn't some game or one of those late-night fantasies we whisper to each other in bed with our limbs tangled and breathless. This was real. And right then, I knew--we weren't catching a movie tonight. Betty was leaving with him.

When I walked up, she didn't miss a beat. She smiled wide, kissed me like she meant it, and with one fluid motion slid her hand down, grabbed my crotch with a gentle squeeze, leaned in and softly whispered, "I want him."

My knees nearly buckled and damned if my dick wasn't getting hard right there at the bar.

She introduced us. I shook his hand, feeling both territorial and turned on. He was tall, probably early 40s, good-looking, carried himself like he owned the place. He asked what I was drinking, then picked up the tab with this flashy gold card. That's when I caught the ring on his finger. Married.

I glanced at Betty, raising an eyebrow. She caught my meaning immediately and gave a subtle shrug. That I know. I saw it. I don't care shrug. And just like that, I felt my grip on this whole thing loosen a little more.

She looked at me again, eyes soft and full of fire--asking without words, may I? I nodded.

That nod wasn't just a yes. It was surrender.

I drained my drink and slipped off to the bathroom, heart racing for reasons I couldn't totally pin down. When I got back, they were gone. The bartender slid a fresh drink in front of me. "Your friend said to tell you thanks."

I downed it in two gulps. Then I got in a cab and went home.

The wait was agony. I couldn't sit still, couldn't focus. Where was she? Was she safe? Why the hell didn't we make "call me when you get there" a rule? My mind kept bouncing between worst-case scenarios and... well, some seriously hot ones--her bent over a stranger's bed, moaning into a pillow, gripping the sheets while he went at it.

I couldn't stop thinking about how lucky that older married guy must've felt--out of town on business, hitting the bar just hoping to find some single woman looking for a quick hookup, and instead landing a young, gorgeous married woman who wanted the same thing. No strings, no drama--just in and out.

Around midnight, the phone finally rang.

It was Betty. Her voice was soft, satisfied. "I'm fine. I'm at his place. He's calling me a cab. I'll be home soon." There was a pause. "He was good."

When we hung up, I looked down--and realized I was hard again. Achingly hard.

It felt like forever, but eventually I heard her key in the lock. She stepped in with a kind of glow, her lips just a little swollen, her hair tousled, the scent of sex still faintly clinging to her. She had clearly been very well fucked. I knew at that moment; I needed to reclaim her.

She walked straight to the bathroom. I followed without thinking--like I was on autopilot. She was drying her face, hands, moving in this slow, easy way that made my blood boil. I stepped behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pulled her tight against me. I kissed the back of her neck, breathing her in, letting my cock grind up against her through my jeans--hard, desperate, and needing her bad.

She met my eyes in the mirror. There was a small smirk on her lips when she asked, "I'm freshly fucked by another man... are you sure you want to do this?"

I pressed harder into her, groaning low and rough. "More than I've ever wanted anything."

I needed to fuck that old married guy right out of her. Not out of anger. Not out of jealousy. But because she had let another man into our story--and I needed to write the next chapter in the way we always did best.

I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the ache in my chest, or the heat burning low in my gut. All I knew was that I needed her--needed to feel her, taste her, reclaim her.

Betty was still glowing, her skin flushed, eyes heavy-lidded from pleasure. The room carried the faint scent of sex--not ours-- and weirdly, that didn't push me away. If anything, it pulled me in.

Without a word, I led her to the bed. She looked at me like she wanted to say something-- to ask something, maybe to warn me-- but I didn't give her the chance. I threw her down and spread her legs, the heat of her skin pulsing against my hands. She was still tender, still slick with the echo of someone else's touch.

I kissed the inside of her thigh, and she shivered. She wasn't stopping me. Her fingers sank into the sheets, her breath caught in her throat. And when I tasted her pussy, still wet, warm, and tender from the good hard fucking the old guy had given her, something inside me shifted. I shouldn't have wanted it. I shouldn't have needed it. But I did. Desperately.

Then she said it, her voice barely a whisper-- "He came inside me."

I was furious--she'd crossed a line, broken one of our biggest rules. Yet, I still wanted her. Badly. The desire didn't go away--it got worse. I went back to her, to the sweetness and the salt, the raw intimacy, and the messiness of it all. She let out this soft moan, arched into me, fingers tangled in my hair like she couldn't bear the idea of letting go.

I devoured her, licking and nibbling her clit just the way I know she likes it. Finding her g-spot with my finger as I drank her in. Shaking and writhing now, she came with a cry that filled the room, trembling and breathless. And before she had a moment to float back down, I undid my belt, kicked my pants off, and plunged my cock inside her in one deep, aching thrust.

She gasped--half surprise, half need--and I lost myself in her. It wasn't just fucking. I was claiming her with each forceful thrust. She clung to me, her pussy gripping my cock and her hips meeting mine with wild, desperate energy.

It didn't take long before I was seeing stars and couldn't hold back any longer. When I came, it was like something broke open in me--a mix of release, relief, and deep love like I had never felt before. We lay there afterward, tangled and spent.

Then, at the same time, we both whispered--"Wow."

We lay there for a long time, just breathing. My chest was pressed to her back, one arm draped over her, my hand resting between her thighs where our mess still lingered. The silence wasn't empty--it was loud with all the things we didn't say.

Her breathing had slowed, but I could feel her heart still racing beneath my palm. Mine too. We were both still riding the aftershocks, but the reality of what we'd just done... of everything that led to it... it was beginning to settle in.

She turned her head slightly, her voice barely audible. "Are you okay?"

I hesitated. Was I?

"I don't know," I admitted.

She nodded, as if that made sense, because of course it did. This wasn't simple. This wasn't clean. We'd crossed a line tonight--not just her with him, but me with her. I tasted another man inside my wife. And I wanted it. I genuinely wanted it. That terrified me.

"I didn't plan for it to happen like that," she said softly. "It just... did."

I moved closer, pressing my lips to her shoulder. "Did you like it?"

She didn't answer right away. But then, "Yes. I did."

The truth stung. But instead of pulling away, I wrapped my arm tighter around her. At that point, her honesty mattered more than my pride.

"I think I need details," I said, my voice low, more curious than I meant it to be. "Not just what happened--but what you felt. What got you off. What didn't. And..." I hesitated, then let it out, "what the hell was with you picking up a guy that much older?"

Betty raised an eyebrow, amused. "Ah... so that's what's bugging you," she teased, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Did you not notice how ridiculously hot he was?"

"Sure," I admitted. "But come on--he had to be at least forty."

"Thirty-five," she corrected, too quickly.

I stared at her. "Betty. He's over ten years older than us."

She grinned. "So?"

I shook my head, the mix of jealousy and intrigue twisting inside me. "Fine. Tell me how it was. With him. I want to know everything."

Her expression shifted--softer, more serious. She looked at me like she was searching for something behind my eyes. "Are you sure? No going back after this. You might not like it."

"I need to know," I said, breathing a little heavier. "I can handle it."

She studied me a second longer, then drew in a breath. "Okay," she said. "You asked. So... you want to know that his cock tasted amazing? That he was bigger than you--a lot--and yeah, I felt every inch. That he took his time, really made me feel it, and made me come again and again?"

The words hit like a slow burn. I swallowed hard. I'd asked for this. I had wanted this.

I tried to laugh it off. "You're saying he was bigger than seven inches?"

She didn't flinch. "He said nine. I believe him. But it wasn't just the length--it was the thickness. Like he was sculpted just to... fill me."

That hit me harder than I expected. "And you liked that?"

Her voice softened. "Yeah. I did. I liked how full I felt. How deep he got. But more than that--it was how he handled me. He didn't rush. He took care of me. I felt..." she searched for the word, "cherished. In a very physical, primal kind of way."

I was quiet for a second, letting that sink in. "Did it hurt?" I asked finally.

"A little," she admitted. "But not in a bad way. There was pressure, sure. But it was the kind that made me feel alive. He was attentive. He listened. Adjusted when I needed him to. He was really good."

I nodded slowly, the insecurity rising like a tide I couldn't stop. "So... was he better than me?"

She leaned closer, eyes locked on mine. "No. He was just... different. The whole vibe was. But you?" She exhaled hard. "You fuck me like you know me. You hit my spot every single time. He just happened to have a body that gave me a certain kind of high. But you--what we have--it's chaos. It's love, rage, hunger, all tangled up. It ruins me. And I want that. I need that."

I stared at her, the knot in my chest loosening just a little.

"I think I just... love how it feels," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not just the guy. Not just the sex. The whole thing--the letting go, the permission, how new it all feels. But that doesn't change what we have. Nothing could."

"I hated not being there," I admitted. "Hated picturing it. But then... when I saw you after, all lit up like that, still wet from him... I've never been more turned on. And yeah, it freaked me out a little too."

She turned to face me with a hint of a smile, her eyes locked on mine. "Yeah. I could tell."

I swallowed hard, heart hammering, nerves on fire. "That's what makes me crazy," I said. "Knowing someone else fucked you--but you still come back wrecked and raw, and I'm the one you fall apart for. But holy fuck, Betty, I want more. I want to see it. I want to watch you give in to someone else... I want to see you fall apart for someone else... and then after losing yourself completely--for me."

She climbed on top of me, straddling my hips, her voice low but sharp with heat. "You really want to see me fall apart for someone else?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I want to see everything--the second you give in, that look in your eyes when you let go, the way you sound when it's not me fucking you. And when he makes you come, when you moan his name, I want you to look at me while you do it. I want to feel that sting. That fire. And then I want to take you back. Make you mine all over again."

She smirked, biting her lip--challenging me. "Then you better ruin me after. I mean, you better wreck me so bad I forget how to stand. Make damn sure I feel who I belong to."

I leaned in, my mouth brushing hers. "Oh, you know I will. Just like I did tonight. I'll fuck every last trace of him out of you. I'll fill you up so deep, you won't want to remember anyone else."

She let out a breathless laugh, dark and hungry. "Good. Because I want you to watch me lose it. I want you burning while he touches me... and then dragging me back like you own me."

I stared up at her, heat rolling through me, something dark and possessive curling in my chest. "Oh, I will drag you back," I said, my voice rough. "But not because I have to. Because you'll want me to. Because even when he's deep inside you--even when you're saying his name, you'll be thinking about me--about the way I hold you after, the way I ruin you slow, the way I love you when it's over."

I traced my hands up her thighs steady, with purpose. "You can fall apart for him all you want. Hell, you can beg for it. But the second it ends? You'll be aching for me. Because no one gets you like I do. No one ever will."

She leaned down, close enough for her breath to brush my lips, eyes wild and lit up. "Then fucking prove it."

I flipped her onto her back, slow and deliberate. Hovered over her, eyes locked, heart thudding with something deeper than just hunger.

"I will," I said. "Every time. Every. Fucking. Time."