don_jetman
Moderator
Independence Day
By Don Jetman
This is an account from our initial days of hotwifing. We still lived near Dave, L's
first lover as a hotwife, and spent all of our kinky sex time with him. It was the
first of his parties we attended - the first time our hotwife role playing was done
in a semi-public place. We were such newbies. Our inhibitions and insecurities were
always lurking just under the surface. Breaking our initial "rules" meant near
hysteria at times. L had never fucked him without me present, and it was an
"unwritten" rule that she wouldn't. Maybe it was unwritten so we could break it. I
think we both knew she certainly would, but we were too hesitant, too afraid of where
it might lead to admit it. In any event, this initial gathering led to our friendship
with a cast of characters who were more accepting, more like us (or who we wanted to
be) than we even imagined. This is when and where our real adventures began. Our first blundering steps down Dave's rabbit hole.
-1-
In late June we received a party invitation from Dave. It was a simple white card
with a thin gold border, containing the date, time, his phone number and address.
Just below the "RSVP" he had written, in parenthesis, "By L, please." So, he wanted
my wife to accept for both of us.
I was of two minds about the situation. On one hand, I was flattered that he would
have us as guests in his home. It showed he trusted us, and that he accepted us in
his social circle. And of course, I was excited by what he might have in mind for us.
On the other hand, it was an extension of friendship, maybe even intimacy. Were our
games leading to a closeness between Dave and my wife that I might regret? L seemed
delighted when she read the card - too delighted? But really, how could we not go?
How could I show jealousy or insecurity at this point, possibly destroying our
relationship with Dave? Revealing doubts about my wife's honesty and trust would
surely hurt her, and possibly end her willingness to play our games with Dave in the
future.
With a stiff upper lip, I agreed that we should go. She called him that same night
and accepted, speaking quietly into the phone as I pretended not to eavesdrop on
their conversation. Afterwards, she snuggled up beside me in bed. Teasing me with a
grin I knew all too well, she asked me if I minded going to "her boyfriend's" party
with her. I told her I couldn't wait. We fucked like it was our wedding night.
The night of the party, L surprised me again. I stared as she primped in front
of the mirror. She wore the flimsiest pair of black panties I'd ever seen. I saw
her glancing at me in the mirror as she fixed her hair, trying to catch me
ogling her. The material was practically transparent, like a second skin that
covered only a small portion of each ass cheek. She had obviously been shopping
earlier that week - where, I can only imagine. When she finally turned to face
me, I saw that the lacy elastic barely covered the top of her slit, baring her
entire lower belly. The material below molded her outer labia as though it was
painted over her skin. I could make out every detail of her sex. The panties
looked as though they might disintegrate if given the slightest tug. Is that
what she wanted? Was this an invitation for Dave to help himself to what lie
beneath? Obviously it was.
Her dress was new as well - another "little black dress", but one that was much
more daring than the one I was used to. I was hard as a rock as she slipped into
it, and she knew it. Form-fitting, but not too tight, it barely covered the
black panties, reaching only to the very tops of her thighs. The neckline rode
just above her breasts, baring her shoulders, arms, and neck in a breathtaking
expanse of white flesh. A tiny black strap rose over each shoulder, each
delicately assuring the neckline stayed tantalizingly in place. Without nylons
or bra, it screamed she was naked underneath. Except for the wisp of panties,
she was.
I couldn't take my eyes off her. L's breasts aren't large, but they're very
nicely shaped, with large pink areola and nipples that harden easily to
surprisingly hard, swollen buttons that always shamelessly reveal her mood. It
took me a while to notice when we were dating, but eventually I found that in
the summer, when she wore a tube-top, or went braless, when a guy came on to
her, her nipples would stiffen embarrassingly, encouraging him even more, even
though she swore she wasn't interested in the least. Even today, when we have
sex and I close my palms over her breasts, her nipples extend well through my
spread fingers. I saw immediately that she was excited - the dress of course
failed to hide the two firm points rising against the thin black fabric.
After slipping into the black heels, she was a woman no man could resist, a woman
screaming to be fucked. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little jealous.
I wanted her just as badly as any other man at the party would want her. But she
wasn't mine tonight. She would be his as though we had wrapped her in fancy paper
and a bow and given her to him as a present. "Here Dave, for you. Enjoy her." And
of course I knew he wouldn't hesitate. He would enjoy every inch of her.
Three emotions converged to torture me as I watched her put the finishing
touches on her makeup and tease a few stray strands of hair into place: raging
desire for her (physically and emotionally), a nagging raw excitement fed by my
images of L and Dave together, naked in each other's arms, and a disconcerting
angst, a relentless worry that by "giving" her to him so often, so willingly, he
might actually take her from me, and that she might willingly accept him
as her man. All this churned inside me, building in intensity, finally reaching
a rolling boil by the time we left the house. I was literally trembling as I
drove. L was so beautiful beside me, her bare shoulders glowing in the dim
light, her eyes so anxious as she turned to smile at me now and then. What was
she thinking? How much did she really want him? What were we stepping into this
night?
By Don Jetman
This is an account from our initial days of hotwifing. We still lived near Dave, L's
first lover as a hotwife, and spent all of our kinky sex time with him. It was the
first of his parties we attended - the first time our hotwife role playing was done
in a semi-public place. We were such newbies. Our inhibitions and insecurities were
always lurking just under the surface. Breaking our initial "rules" meant near
hysteria at times. L had never fucked him without me present, and it was an
"unwritten" rule that she wouldn't. Maybe it was unwritten so we could break it. I
think we both knew she certainly would, but we were too hesitant, too afraid of where
it might lead to admit it. In any event, this initial gathering led to our friendship
with a cast of characters who were more accepting, more like us (or who we wanted to
be) than we even imagined. This is when and where our real adventures began. Our first blundering steps down Dave's rabbit hole.
-1-
In late June we received a party invitation from Dave. It was a simple white card
with a thin gold border, containing the date, time, his phone number and address.
Just below the "RSVP" he had written, in parenthesis, "By L, please." So, he wanted
my wife to accept for both of us.
I was of two minds about the situation. On one hand, I was flattered that he would
have us as guests in his home. It showed he trusted us, and that he accepted us in
his social circle. And of course, I was excited by what he might have in mind for us.
On the other hand, it was an extension of friendship, maybe even intimacy. Were our
games leading to a closeness between Dave and my wife that I might regret? L seemed
delighted when she read the card - too delighted? But really, how could we not go?
How could I show jealousy or insecurity at this point, possibly destroying our
relationship with Dave? Revealing doubts about my wife's honesty and trust would
surely hurt her, and possibly end her willingness to play our games with Dave in the
future.
With a stiff upper lip, I agreed that we should go. She called him that same night
and accepted, speaking quietly into the phone as I pretended not to eavesdrop on
their conversation. Afterwards, she snuggled up beside me in bed. Teasing me with a
grin I knew all too well, she asked me if I minded going to "her boyfriend's" party
with her. I told her I couldn't wait. We fucked like it was our wedding night.
The night of the party, L surprised me again. I stared as she primped in front
of the mirror. She wore the flimsiest pair of black panties I'd ever seen. I saw
her glancing at me in the mirror as she fixed her hair, trying to catch me
ogling her. The material was practically transparent, like a second skin that
covered only a small portion of each ass cheek. She had obviously been shopping
earlier that week - where, I can only imagine. When she finally turned to face
me, I saw that the lacy elastic barely covered the top of her slit, baring her
entire lower belly. The material below molded her outer labia as though it was
painted over her skin. I could make out every detail of her sex. The panties
looked as though they might disintegrate if given the slightest tug. Is that
what she wanted? Was this an invitation for Dave to help himself to what lie
beneath? Obviously it was.
Her dress was new as well - another "little black dress", but one that was much
more daring than the one I was used to. I was hard as a rock as she slipped into
it, and she knew it. Form-fitting, but not too tight, it barely covered the
black panties, reaching only to the very tops of her thighs. The neckline rode
just above her breasts, baring her shoulders, arms, and neck in a breathtaking
expanse of white flesh. A tiny black strap rose over each shoulder, each
delicately assuring the neckline stayed tantalizingly in place. Without nylons
or bra, it screamed she was naked underneath. Except for the wisp of panties,
she was.
I couldn't take my eyes off her. L's breasts aren't large, but they're very
nicely shaped, with large pink areola and nipples that harden easily to
surprisingly hard, swollen buttons that always shamelessly reveal her mood. It
took me a while to notice when we were dating, but eventually I found that in
the summer, when she wore a tube-top, or went braless, when a guy came on to
her, her nipples would stiffen embarrassingly, encouraging him even more, even
though she swore she wasn't interested in the least. Even today, when we have
sex and I close my palms over her breasts, her nipples extend well through my
spread fingers. I saw immediately that she was excited - the dress of course
failed to hide the two firm points rising against the thin black fabric.
After slipping into the black heels, she was a woman no man could resist, a woman
screaming to be fucked. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little jealous.
I wanted her just as badly as any other man at the party would want her. But she
wasn't mine tonight. She would be his as though we had wrapped her in fancy paper
and a bow and given her to him as a present. "Here Dave, for you. Enjoy her." And
of course I knew he wouldn't hesitate. He would enjoy every inch of her.
Three emotions converged to torture me as I watched her put the finishing
touches on her makeup and tease a few stray strands of hair into place: raging
desire for her (physically and emotionally), a nagging raw excitement fed by my
images of L and Dave together, naked in each other's arms, and a disconcerting
angst, a relentless worry that by "giving" her to him so often, so willingly, he
might actually take her from me, and that she might willingly accept him
as her man. All this churned inside me, building in intensity, finally reaching
a rolling boil by the time we left the house. I was literally trembling as I
drove. L was so beautiful beside me, her bare shoulders glowing in the dim
light, her eyes so anxious as she turned to smile at me now and then. What was
she thinking? How much did she really want him? What were we stepping into this
night?