The Complete BBW Hotwife

by Sadie Somerton

  I feel tightening, an internal spasm deep in her pussy, as she squeezes herself around me. Then that rapid little flutter of muscles as orgasm ripples out from deep inside her.

  She throws her upper body down against me, breasts squashed against my chest, hair over my shoulder and neck. Arching her back to press her pussy down, everything still pulsing as she does all she can to draw her orgasm out for as long as possible.

  Finally, she pulls clear, my dick achingly hard, achingly close.

  Works down my body once more, hand on my dick, now lubricated with both our juices, steering it into that deep cleavage.

  Hand pumping up and down my length, sliding the head of my dick against her tits, I feel everything tighten, starting from my belly, my balls.

  I throw my head back, grinding down into the pillow, as I feel that hot surge pulse along my shaft and spray out between her breasts.

  I push up, and another jet of come erupts.

  Again, and the peak is diminished.

  Finally, she holds herself over me, working me with her hand as I soften, expertly teasing every last drop from me.

  And then slumps, head on my ribs, breasts heavy in my lap, arms to either side.

  §

  Some time later I’m starting to hurt. My shoulders and neck; my arms.

  I need to be untied, but I don’t know where she is.

  Some time after that she returns.

  I hear the door again, and then her soft footfalls.

  She leans over and kisses me, and I breathe in that familiar apple scent.

  She reaches for the blindfold and pushes it up over my forehead, and I see that it’s Lucy.

  I blink at the sudden brightness, make as if to rub my eyes but I’m still tied to the bed.

  She reaches for the necktie, frees the first knot and then the second, and now I can rub my eyes, my wrists, my shoulders.

  I look at her. She’s in a robe, her hair damp from the shower.

  She’s smiling.

  “So,” she says, “did you have fun?”

  I nod. “Did you?”

  The smile broadens. “You really don’t know?”

  And that’s when I realize, this is it. She’s not going to tell me, no matter how much I press.

  Lucy? Or Julia?

  And next time Julia comes visiting I’m still not going to know for certain.

  How should I act around her? How should I interpret every comment? It’ll be as if we’re speaking two different languages at once: the innocent interpretation of every sentence, and the one where you’re looking for the hidden references, the teasing, the flirting.

  The acknowledgement of what may or may not have taken place.

  I’ll look Lucy’s sister in the face and never know if that mouth has kissed me, has sucked me in. Will never know if I’ve come deep in that glorious cleavage. If she has that same little catch in her breath that Lucy has when she’s approaching orgasm.

  And it’s just about the sexiest thing ever.

  §

  So, what do you get the guy who’s had everything?

  You surprise him.

  And you keep him surprised for ever afterwards.

  Complicated

  I knew things had changed when Lucy gave me that Be serious look and said, “I mean it, Jason. I need you to come through here and talk.”

  I didn't get it. Not straight away.

  Maybe a part of me was deliberately ignoring things. Pretending everything was the same as it had always been. Pretending it was all okay.

  I wasn't really surprised. There was a certain inevitability about this.

  Lucy went back out into the lobby and through to the room where we had the widescreen TV and the big, luxurious sofa. We'd shared so many movie nights there, just us, a takeout and the big screen, shutting the world out.

  Right now, the world had flooded in, and when I followed my wife through I saw that Celia was already there, perched nervously on the edge of a sofa built to suck you in, knees tucked together, back straight, eyes directed anywhere but at me.

  “We have to talk,” said Lucy, turning to face me.

  Now Celia's gaze flitted towards my wife's face, a flicker of a smile exchanged between them.

  “Things have to change,” said Lucy. “Everything has just gotten... complicated...”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, finally finding my voice.

  Now Celia met my look. She was the one who answered, and her words were the ones I'd dreaded right from the moment Lucy had said we needed to talk.

  “We've fallen in love, Jason. Lucy and I.” She paused, as if giving me time to absorb her words. Then she went on, “I'm in love with your wife and she loves me and we don't know what to do.”

  §

  So there it was.

  My wife was in love with another woman.

  I should hardly be surprised.

  I'd started it, after all.

  I'd thrown the two of them together and I'd encouraged Lucy to keep pushing the boundaries, taking things further and further until there could be no pulling back.

  “How long?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

  It was three months since that night when Celia had stayed over after a glass of wine too many. The night when I'd encouraged Lucy to go back to the spare room just to make sure her friend was okay, both of us with the full knowledge that I was encouraging her to do far more than that.

  Had they fallen head over heels straight away, or had it been a gradual thing?

  They looked at each other, then Lucy said, “I don't know. I'm not sure when it stopped being just, you know, the sex, and when it became more.”

  Just the sex...

  How were we even having this conversation?

  I'd encouraged her, that's how. With me ten years older and a great deal more experienced, it had only seemed fair that my young wife should go out and explore her desires, her sexuality. Celia had been one of the early steps on this journey: Lucy had never been with a woman before Celia.

  Right up until this conversation, I'd thought it had been a one-off thing between the two of them, a bit of an experiment on both sides.

  I had no idea that they had been getting together since then, but they must have been: just the sex clearly referred to more than a one-off occasion.

  It must refer to enough occasions for their relationship to have gradually shifted from one thing to something so much more.

  “Jason?” Lucy stepped towards me, put a hand on my arm. “Jason, are you okay? We need to talk. We need to work out what to do.”

  I met her look. Said, “Do you still love me, Lucy? Or is this a mutually exclusive thing?”

  She threw her arms around my neck, buried her face against me.

  “Oh, Jason,” she said. “Of course I still love you!”

  I nodded. “Then in that case,” I told her, “we'll work it out, won't we? We'll just have to.”

  §

  I wish I was as confident as I sounded, just then.

  Having a beautiful, younger wife who is in the thick of exploring her sexual desires is a complicated thing.

  I won't deny that it turned me on.

  Of course it turned me on.

  Whenever she had some kind of encounter planned, she would always tell me.

  Ha! I'd thought she always told me, but clearly that had not been the case – where Celia was concerned, at least.

  But yes, she would tell me. Tease me with it, her seduction of her latest lover also a part of her long-term, on-going seduction of me.

  She would tell me what she planned to do, often in great detail, and then, when she was away from me, I would know exactly what was going to take place. She was going to him. Or her. Or them. She would be meeting her latest lover right now. They would be getting naked around now. They would be doing this, they would be doing that.

  Sometimes, even, she would call or send me a text message to make sure I knew where things had reached.

 
I would spend the evening, or the night, as horny as Hell, touching myself, then stopping, playing, taking myself to the edge, and then drawing back.

  And then afterwards, when she had come back to me, she would give me that look, tell me she'd been bad again, ask if I really wanted to know about it.

  Sometimes she couldn't wait to tell; others, I had to tease it out of her, but always – or nearly always! – she would share the details.

  Eyes fixed on mine, she'd lick her lips, reach for my pants, hook her fingers into the waistline and tell me what it felt like to hold another dick.

  She'd start to unzip me and tell me what it was like to be face-fucked by a complete stranger.

  She'd wrap her fingers around my shaft, widen her eyes in a look of sudden innocence and ask if she was telling me too much – she could stop right now if I was shocked...

  It was my fault: I encouraged her. For so many reasons: that it was good that she explored, that I would never be the one to hold her back, and above all that it was hot and sexy and we both enjoyed it.

  And I forced myself to put all the fears aside.

  The concerns that she might get into trouble of one sort or another, that things might go wrong, get out of control.

  The fear that she might just find something better. I keep myself in shape and I'm by no means small, but there was always the worry that she might view me less positively when she had been playing with bigger dicks, fitter bodies, better lovers.

  But it wasn't just the physical.

  Worse than that: what if our own spark died as a result of her exploration? Sex, making love... in most relationships that was one of the things that reinforced the love, cementing the bond over and over again. Were we undermining our marriage by behaving in this way?

  What if she fell for someone else? For one of her lovers?

  Someone like... Celia.

  §

  “So how is this going to work?” I asked.

  Lucy moved away from me, went to sit on that big sofa with Celia. The two weren't quite touching, but were still sitting closer than most people would.

  It felt odd standing there before them. As if I were on trial or something. I moved across to an armchair and sat. Now it was my turn to perch awkwardly, not feeling I could allow myself to sink back into the seat.

  I looked at the two of them. Lucy, nervous, those big eyes wide as if about to brim over with tears. I realized I was as in love with her now as I'd ever been.

  And beside her, Celia, her frame so much smaller and more delicate, her features finely drawn.

  Both of them beautiful, but in quite different ways.

  They made a lovely couple.

  My mind, teasing me, flashed an image of them naked tangled, limbs slotting together. The two of them kissing, their hands exploring.

  I blinked, looked away.

  “I don't know,” said Lucy, finally. “I really don't know. I just knew we had to be open about this, just as we've always been with each other. I love you, Jason. I love Celia, too. I'd never have thought this possible until now. How can you love two people at the same time? I guess... I guess I need time, is what I'm saying. I need to work out what's in my head, what I want.”

  And that was the very worst thing of all.

  If Lucy didn't know what she wanted, then it left open the distinct possibility that what she might decide she didn't want was this.

  Our marriage.

  Our life.

  Me.

  §

  Was this where I came to reap my just desserts? You can't have your cake and eat it too, and all that.

  I blamed myself.

  Had I pushed her away, simply by encouraging her to look elsewhere? Had I got too caught up on the vicarious thrill of sending her out there and hearing her stories while she just went off and... found something better?

  Later, she came to me in my home office.

  We'd chatted a bit more, but mostly inconsequential stuff. Perhaps she'd imagined that saying things out loud would give us some answers, but instead it had just made the questions seem so much tougher. I'd left them to talk – or whatever, my cruel mind taunted – on the pretext of having some emails to answer, and a short time later I'd heard their voices getting louder then fading, then the front door opening and closing.

  Had she gone? Just like that? Left me already...

  It wasn't like me to be so paranoid. I'm a confident man – to the extent that I'm sure some people would describe me as arrogant.

  But I'd never been in this position.

  I wasn't equipped to handle it.

  Then I heard movement, footsteps, and then the door edged open.

  Lucy peered round, raised her eyebrows. “Busy?” she asked.

  I shrugged. No point trying to hide my mood from her: she always had been able to read me like a book.

  She came into the room, pushed the door shut and leaned back against it, and she'd rarely looked more beautiful. Those long lines of her body, the curves that she sometimes loved and sometimes just felt so self-conscious about.

  “We'll work it out,” she said. “I don't ever want to lose you.”

  “I've never felt so relieved in my life,” I said.

  She smiled at that, and moved across the room towards me. When she came round the end of my desk I swiveled my chair to face her.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked her.

  A slight raising of the eyebrows again, a smile briefly tugging at her features.

  She came to stand against me, legs parted either side of mine. She reached for me, touched my cheek with her knuckles, ran the hand down my jaw, my neck.

  “I'm thinking...” she said.

  The other hand went down, fingers hooking into the waistband of my pants.

  “I'm thinking I need me some of this...”

  I almost said ‘no’ to Lucy for the first time ever. I wasn’t in the mood. I was too unsettled by what she’d told me. This just wasn’t the right moment.

  She popped the first button, slipped her fingers inside the waistband of my shorts. Her fingertips slipped through the tangle of coarse hair, came up against the base of my dick.

  I moved a hand to cover hers, but it froze in mid-air as she pressed further, wrapped those fingers and a thumb around my engorging shaft and pulled it upright until it lay exposed against my belly.

  I let my hand drop, gripped the side of my office chair, knuckles whitening as she dipped her head.

  Soft wetness pressed against me, engulfing the underside of my glans. Her tongue pressed hard and she dragged her head down, sliding the length of my dick, pulling my pants and shorts lower as she worked her way down.

  I raised myself, and helped her pull them down around my thighs, then slumped back into my seat.

  With a long sweeping motion, she dragged her tongue back up my length and swirled it around the head of my dick.

  I knew this wasn’t right. Not the time to give in to such simple distractions. Too much filling my mind.

  She pulled at my pants and shorts, tugged them lower, down to my ankles now and then free, so she could spread my legs.

  And slowly, she slid down my length again, the flat of one hand pressing down hard on the head of my dick, grinding it wetly against my belly.

  This time when she reached the base of my shaft she kept going, her tongue gliding across my balls, pressing and probing.

  When she sucked one ball into her mouth and drew her head back, gently tugging, I tipped my head back and cried out.

  Her tongue slid smoothly, gliding across that delicate skin, round and round.

  Now, when I opened my eyes and looked down, I met her look, along the length of my body.

  As I watched, the hand that had been pressing down on my dick started to move. One by one, each finger slid up across my glans, over and back down, until she had reversed her grip. Now she pulled my dick upright, away from my body, wrapped tightly in her fist.

  Her lips drew back and she released the b
all she’d been sucking and, slowly, she drew her fist down my shaft, the skin gliding smoothly over the rock-hard core.

  Then she drew her hand up again, until thumb and forefinger slid over the wet head of my dick, and then, slowly and tightly, back down.

  There was something about what she was doing, the pressure and grip, the eyes-locked intensity, the soft lips pressing against my balls, that made this one of the most intense things I’d ever experienced.

  And then she pressed down with her mouth, her tongue working lower until it pressed against the sensitive skin between balls and ass.

  She started to lap at me, the firm tip and the fleshy body of her tongue gliding down and then flicking back up.

  Pressing further each time, until – oh my God! – the tip of her tongue found my puckered opening, a brief moment of intense pleasure before it flicked away again.

  Next time, when her tongue worked down and found that opening, it lingered, pressed, and then started to flick rapidly, around and across.

  And all the time, that slow hand, working my length.

  When she started to press deeper with each flick of the tongue, I felt my vision begin to blur. With both hands I gripped the sides of my seat, as if otherwise I might fall.

  What was it that made this so intense?

  It must be the conversation. My fears. The fact that we’d had that exchange in front of Celia, the root of all those worries.

  It was like when she was away... when I knew why she was away. That was a fear thing, too; an adrenalin rush coming from being scared and not knowing where things might lead.

  The fear was a thrill, an extra layer of excitement. A thing we shared, that marked us out as different.

  And now...

  She started to lick my ass with long sweeps of the tongue, matching the rhythm of the hand wrapped around my shaft.

  I wasn’t going to last much longer. There was so much sensation in those synchronized movements, so many nerves being triggered.

  She ground the heel of her thumb against the underside of my dick, and when it slid up against the head I almost climaxed.

  I groaned aloud again, my back arching, my pelvis thrusting up, away from the chair.

  She paused, squeezed, held me tight, her tongue pressing against my dark opening.

  Kept me right at the edge, so long that I was sure I was going to tip over and shoot my load up into the air.