The buzz of excitement that followed my first Official Hotwife Date was almost tangible.
Though my affair was well over a month old, Monday evening's date had been the first time my lover and I had met with my husband's full knowledge; the first time he had fucked me with Pete's not-entirely-unreserved-but-helplessly-excited acquiescence.
After over a year of almost nightly persuasion, my husband had finally 'got what he wished for' and now his formerly-faithful wife of over twenty years was actually having sex with another man. Not just in our bedroom fantasies; not just in his overactive imagination; this time another man's erect cock was actually penetrating my body on a regular basis, making my husband a cuckold while delivering some of the best sex of my entire life.
I had confessed my adultery in bed one Sunday night in December when my previously secret affair with Tony, one of our closest family friends was nearly five weeks old. The confession had been as unplanned as the affair and had nearly cost me my marriage but, after one night in the spare room and two more somewhere I was yet to discover, my extraordinary husband had returned.
In probably the most emotional conversation of our long relationship, Pete had not only accepted that he bore some responsibility for my infidelity but that, under some conditions, he could accept it. To my amazement, my husband had told me I could continue to meet and fuck my new lover.
To borrow a phrase from my writing; I had become a Hotwife and my husband a Cuckold.
Monday had been the first time Tony and I had met under these new conditions. Pete had helped me get ready for my date and had even insisted on driving me to my assignation. Hours later, pale and trembling, he had picked me up from Tony's apartment, dishevelled, freshly-fucked and with another man's semen literally oozing into my panties.
Pete had inspected my well-used body carefully in our bedroom afterwards, his eyes wide in horrified excitement as the reality of what had happened rushed in on him. His wife of over twenty years really was having sex with another man; the evidence of infidelity on my body had been unmistakeable. Although Pete had been disappointed at the lack of bodily fluids between my thighs, my gaping red vagina had been clear proof both of my recent insemination and of the considerable disparity in girth between my two lovers' erect cocks.
Pete had then had taken me so wildly and so forcefully that, in a mix of pleasure and pain, I had enjoyed the first orgasms at his hands for nearly a year, after which my husband had added his semen to my lover's inside my body.
Later, Pete told me in no uncertain terms that the time between dropping me off and picking me up had been both the best and worst times of his life. The hours of agony had been almost unbearable; knowing I was being touched by another man's hands; that my lips were being kissed by another man's lips, that my body was being invaded by another man's cock; that another man's semen was being pumped into the place only his should ever be.
When I had joined him in the car afterwards he looked like a man who had starred into the mouth of Hell. But he had told me in bed afterwards that along with the agony of this torment had come a level of arousal he had barely glimpsed before, even during our fantasies. The sickening feeling in his belly and the steel-grey dullness of pain in his mind had been accompanied by some of the most powerful erotic images and emotions imaginable.
As he had told me in a hushed voice, the blend of agony and ecstasy had been exquisite.
I have to say that when I got back into the car after my date having just received two doses of Tony's semen and looked at my cuckolded husband's face, it was hard to see any sign of ecstasy. Evidence of agony was there in abundance; Pete had looked simply terrible; pale and ghostly. His hands were trembling on the steering wheel, he could barely speak and for a long time he couldn't bring himself to look at my face.
As we drove through the dark streets back to our home I wondered whether our marriage could ever recover from what had just occurred. But to my relief, once we were back in our bedroom and my husband had reclaimed me physically and violently, it quickly became clear that not only had the evening been an unexpected success, there would probably be more evenings like it.
So my first Official Hotwife Date had gone well. There was a lot to learn but we were still married and ready to learn our lessons together.
***
Work was really busy throughout the Tuesday but Pete and I managed to exchange a few texts as we went along. From the tone of his messages it was clear that he was having at least as much difficulty concentrating as I was. I exchanged a few messages with Tony too. Predictably he was keen to know how Pete had taken the whole thing but I didn't tell him any more than he needed for reassurance.
Though both men now in some way owned my body, only my husband owned my soul.
It felt really strange being in the normal environment of work all day, trying to appear the same outwardly when my personal life was going through such a transformation. Once or twice when I was most distracted, colleagues asked me if everything was alright. I'm sure I flushed pink every time but fortunately at my age this could be put down to the menopause. Whenever I went to the Ladies Room I looked in the mirror for signs of having become a fallen woman too but apart from the carefully concealed 'hickey' on my neck there were none.
Why I should feel more exposed having become a Hotwife than I had felt when I was having an affair is a mystery - it was with the same man after all - but that's how I was all day. It really did feel as if I had become a character in one of my stories, the big difference of course being that this time, I couldn't simply decide what the ending was going to be and make it so.
I had to live this Hotwife life for real!
When I got home that evening, Pete had bought me flowers and was cooking a meal, something that hadn't happened for a long time. Over dinner, at his insistence, we talked about my date again and again, Pete asking for more and more detail each time. For me it was exciting to re-live the evening and to know my husband really was alright about it.
Though it was clearly painful for him to hear, Pete kept asking how much bigger Tony's cock was than his, how it had felt to be stretched by it and how it made me feel now. As of that morning the answer was clear; it had been really great at the time but I was sore, my hips ached and my tummy was in some discomfort now.
He wanted to know intimate details about what Tony had done to me in bed too, what I did to him in return and in what way Tony's technique was better than his own. He asked how many times I had climaxed, how strong the orgasms had been and what I had said when I came. Had I talked dirty? What did I want to do with Tony next?
The truth was that after my first climax very early on, most of the sex was just a blur, albeit a wonderful, sensual blur in which I came several times more. In the end, I was forced to invent a few naughty stories just to get Pete off my back.
I also had to explain that I hadn't gone to bed with a tape measure under the pillow just to measure my lover's cock and report back to my husband! Perhaps all men are like this but the way Pete asked and asked was almost self-flagellation on his part; as if he wanted the pain; he wanted to hear how much better a lover Tony was and how much bigger his cock was!
If I' had thought about it, all this was quite in keeping with one of my very earliest online discoveries; that cuckolding was actually a form of masochism for the man concerned. Certainly the way my husband was behaving suggested this was right in his case but my husband's insistence on knowing everything was, if nothing else, exhausting. It was actually a relief when the phone rang and Pete, who was 'on-call' at the hospital, was summoned in.
After he had gone to work I had the house to myself; peace at last, and a little time for reflection about what had happened and of course what might happen next.
Before leaving, I had asked Pete whether, now he had tasted what it felt like to be knowingly cuckolded, he was content for the affair to continue. After a moment's thought, he had said quietly and calmly that he wasn't sure. The first date had been so harrowing that he didn't know if he could handle such intense emotions over and over again.
"Do you want it to stop now?" I asked as unemotionally as I could, remembering my promise but silently praying for the right answer.
"N... No..." he replied a little less certainly than I had hoped. "At least not yet."
