Behind His Back
The beginning to this twisty and somewhat disturbing hotwife tale
“What’s the catch?” he asked, leaning over the woman under the boardwalk.
“There isn’t one,” Emily said. “I just want to get laid. Is that so weird?”
“I guess not, but come on. You’re hot, and we just met…”
She cut him off with a kiss because talking was apparently not his forte. A few right words were all fine and dandy, but a talker was something else. And besides, it was early in the day, and she was after a physical sensation, not an emotional one.
“You are so hot,” he said, pulling back to watch her peel her tank top off over her head. His hand found her breasts at the same time hers found the string to his swim trunks, and less than four minutes after meeting him, Emily had the man’s cock in her hand. While he was far more gentle than she would have asked for, he was strong and handsome and undoubtedly eager.
Eager could work.
Before he could say anything else, she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth. It was less than five minutes, and she was sucking his cock already.
If only Tom knew.
The man was hard in an instant, and she smiled as she worked both hands up and down his length, coating him with enough saliva to make the next part easier.
“Come here,” he said, pulling her up to another kiss. His mouth was rougher than a moment before, and she assumed that his desire was making him a bit more reckless. Something she thoroughly enjoyed. He pushed her bikini bottoms down around her knees as he parted her thighs and slid two fingers against her wet skin. When one entered her, she stifled an actual moan. He kissed her neck and then down over her breasts before spinning her around and tipping her forward.
“Fuck me,” she said, reaching between her legs to take him in hand. He struggled to move her just the right way, but she was an expert and had no trouble angling herself and him in just the right way for him to fill her entirely in one thrust.
Less than seven minutes after meeting him, and he was already inside her.
“Oh god you feel good,” he moaned, pulling on her hips.
Emily put both hands–her wrists crossed–on the pylon in front of her as she pushed back onto him. His cock was shaped just the right way, and it was thick enough as to almost hurt. He fucked her harder as she let her mind go just as she always did.
It started with her high school English teacher as usual. It moved quickly to her youth minister and then the kid on her hall her freshman year of college. Next was the one professor she had slept with, and then two members of the rugby team she pretended were brothers. They never corrected her.
“Don’t stop,” she groaned, returning long enough to feel him again. His fingers dug into her skin as he pounded into her and for a brief and glorious second the images vanished, and all she knew was that she was being fucked by a stranger with a perfect cock and rough hands. She stared at the sand between her toes as she felt every bit of him within her and it was almost enough.
“Fuck me harder,” she said, letting the words carry her away. “You feel so fucking good, and your dick is so much bigger than my husband’s.”
“Than who?” he exclaimed, nearly stopping, but unable to hold himself back.
“It doesn’t matter. Just harder. Fuck me harder; I want to come on your big cock.”
“You cheating slut,” he said, instantly slamming into her before holding himself deep within her. “God, but you’re perfect.”
“Yes!” she screamed, feeling him bottom out within her, her cunt holding him tightly as she began to come. Her knees buckled, but he held her up as she clenched and shook. He pulled out of her and then thrust more just at the right moment to make her come again, her fingers now between her legs as she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed back.
“Should I pull out?” he gasped, entering her in long slow strokes.
“No,” she moaned, trying to reach back and hold him there. “Inside me. Come inside me.”
“Oh god,” he yelled, pulling her to him so hard that she nearly fell. And then he was erupting within her, filling her with his come as he kissed the back of her neck and bruised her hips with his tightening fingers.
“Keep going,” she said, feeling one last orgasm roll through her as she imagined everything all at once. I’m fucking a stranger, she said to herself; her mantra set to repeat. I’m fucking a stranger, and Tom doesn’t know. I’m fucking a stranger; he’s coming inside me, I’m letting a stranger fuck me and come in me, I’m fucking a stranger…
And then he was done, his hands resting her back on the ground as he gathered his breath. Emily braced herself for the impending loss, holding her breath as he pulled out of her. Her toes were covered in the early morning surf as the tide came in, and she didn’t move for a long time.
“Um, thanks for a good time?” the stranger said, stumbling back. She could hear him fumbling with his shorts, but still, she didn’t move. It would be best if she didn’t see his face again. She would be far less likely to recognize him if they bumped into each other later.
“Thank you,” she said, reaching down to find her soaking wet bottoms. They had fallen into the muddy sand, but since she had little choice, she pulled them on anyway. Without looking, she turned towards the ocean, adjusted her top, and then ran down through the surf and hurled herself into the open arms of the lonely sea.
This is a somewhat odd take on the hotwife genre, although you have to get through to the end to see the full picture. I suspect I might annoy some fans of the genre, but hopefully I’ll delight a few as well.
You can read more here.