This is a novel of twenty-five chapters. I suggest you begin reading at Chapter 1. The novel deals with hotwifeing and cuckoldry. If those are subjects you aren't interested in, you may reconsider reading this. Please read my statement regarding anonymous comments in my biography.
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Chapter 8
It would turn out that we wouldn't see Mark again for over two months. It wasn't that we didn't want to get together, just the opposite, but we got busy, then he did, then vacations hit and Mark had to go to Europe for business, and there simply wasn't a time. There were a few occasions that Mark and Molly could have met by themselves, Molly decided not to. "I think it's just as well that we let it cool down, dear. It got a so intense that weekend, I scared myself a little."
Nearly every day, we'd get one or two enquires on SLS. After consulting with Molly, I figured out a procedure to handle them. First we changed our profile to state that we were only accepting very select males and providing a template for emails: they must be polite, spelling would be graded, we didn't need to know the size of the tool, simply the man's height and weight, age must be over 40. I told them we preferred men over five feet ten, but it wasn't a hard and fast rule.
Most of the guys didn't bother to read our desires, if I got a note that was obviously out of the ballpark, I'd flash out an answer, 'thank you but no.' If they didn't respect our reply, they got blocked so they couldn't email us further.
We had other proclivities that I paid attention to. If the man was not a paid member, I was immediately suspicious; it wasn't impossible to get past that barrier, but I figured that if he wasn't serious enough to lay a couple of bucks down, he might not be real. If the man said he was married, but the woman didn't play, he was immediately rejected as a probable fake.
And lastly, I very much preferred a profile that had pictures in which we could get an idea of the look of the man. A facial picture got extra credit, a picture of the man's supposed assets got a demerit. If that was the only picture, he was rejected.
With the restrictions, I received only a few a month that I felt were worth presenting to Molly. She'd take a day or two, then would give me permission or not to continue correspondence. When I did, I looked for signs of impatience, many men wanted us to meet at the drop of a hat. If three or four emails went by and the man was still gentle and polite, I'd report back to Molly. This winnowed the herd down to about one per week that I talked to Molly about, perhaps two, often none. Molly sometimes looked at the site without me, interested in what I was going through, perhaps fantasizing, although she never tried to overrule me or suggest I look at that one a little harder. She let me run the show.
When I'd show a profile to Molly, she'd look at the entire situation, what the man had on his profile, his pictures, certifications from other people, and the emails that went back and forth. And then, more often than not, she'd reject the guy. Sometimes she had a good reason, but other times I was baffled by her elimination. "It just doesn't feel right, dear," she'd explain.
Our own sex life was at a high. Before Molly became a hotwife, we'd get it on maybe five or six times a month, and mostly it was a simple release of accumulated pressures, lasting ten minutes or less. Now we were banging at least three times a week, and we seemed more interested in pleasing each other. Sometimes we'd make love for a half hour, it would seemingly be over, then we'd start talking about a past or possibly future escapade, and we'd start going again. Molly's orgasms seemed to last longer and mine were more powerful.
July, hot and still, was morphing into August. We'd been to a party on a Saturday night, six couples, dinner, talk late into the night. The gentlemen had been enamored with Molly, she'd been her usual self, gay and not afraid to touch a man during a conversation. I'd let myself have one or two glasses of wine too many, and Molly decided she'd better drive home. On the way, she told me, "Hey, guess what Stan did tonight? He got me alone in a bedroom, and kissed me."
"He did! Stan?" Stan and Liz were old friends of ours, fifteen years at least. "What did you do?"
"Oh, I let him kiss me, kissed him back, he was a little slobbery, and then he reached for my teat. I let him cop a feel through my dress, but when he tried to go a little further, I stopped him with the 'what are we going to tell Liz and Don, this is a really bad idea' line. He was as drunk as you are, but he got the idea, we came back out to all of you."
"Wow. Would you ever think about doing it with him?"
"I always thought he was pretty good looking, if things were different . . . well, I'm never going to let myself be alone with him again, an affair like that could really mess things up."
When we got home, we tried to make love, but I'd had too much to drink, it wouldn't work right, and I had to settle for helping her as she used a vibrator to bring herself off.
The next morning she came back to bed sometime after ten, her breath tasted of coffee, mine probably tasted of the sewer. She laid with me, her hand was on my peter, which now decided to be just fine. "I'm horny," she announced.
"Climb on," I offered.
"Nope. You were bad last night."
"You were the one who kissed Stan."
"Um, hmm. So I had the chance to be good with two guys last night, but neither one worked." Yeah, she had a point there.
"So you're horny, but I'm not getting any. That doesn't seem right."
"It isn't," she teased, "when you put it that way. But what if we get one of the guys you've been emailing to come over and make me unhorny?" My dick got even harder. We put the plan into place. I was chatting with three potential men on SLS at the time, Molly would send out invitations for that afternoon or evening to all three, if anyone could play, there would be fun for all.
By the time I'd pulled myself together, taken ibuprofen, and ingested my second cup of coffee, she'd sent out the feelers. One of the guys had other plans, he was sorry, and as we were finishing the crossword puzzle, the computer went 'ding!' and we got a response from Eric, he had the whole day free. After a couple of emails back and forth, it was decided we'd meet him at the Bleu Turtle in two hours, he'd be at the bar wearing a green shirt. Molly was excited, I helped her take a shower, and played with her clit until she was nearly at the point of fulmination, then I stopped.
