Esposa Hotwife Novels & Stories

“Sir, there was a call from the penthouse this morning asking for shampoo. I told the caller only owners could make such requests.” The manager frowned. “Mr. Madrigal, I apologize. Our policy does state—” “I know your damn policy,” Phoenix snapped. “But your employee hung up on my wife, forcing her to go out and buy shampoo herself. When she returned, the door was locked, and she had to sit outside for six hours waiting for me to come back.” The manager’s eyes widened. “Your wife?” “Yes, my wife,” Phoenix said coldly. “And whatever I own, she owns. That makes her a part-owner of the penthouse.”

I'm Joyce, a 42-year-old housewife, and I have a secret. No, I'm not having an affair or embezzling money from my husband's company. My secret is that I'm a hotwife. I love fucking strangers. The thrill of the unknown, the excitement of the forbidden, it sets my pussy on fire like nothing else. It all started a few years ago. My husband, Mark, and I had been married for over a decade, and our sex life had become routine. We'd fuck on weekends, missionary style, with the lights off. It was functional, but it wasn't exciting. I craved more.

Warning: Explicit sexual content, cuckold/hotwife dynamics, interracial content, rough sex, voyeurism. 18+ only. "Hold that pose, babe! Perfect!" Mark crouched low with his camera, snapping rapid-fire shots of his wife Jessica as she arched her back by the pool, the new white bikini contrasting beautifully against her tanned skin. The afternoon sun caught the water droplets on her body just right, and Mark's artistic eye appreciated the composition even as another part of him appreciated... other things.

But they couldn't get any information related to my wife. "Mister Adiente has a fiancee but her name is not Hershey but Lilienne Riellecross Montefalco.. Her hair is different and her accent. She looks foreign. And she says she is from a province. In a European country." explained by the spy I ordered. I nodded. I can't be wrong. She is my wife. Annoyed, I turned to the window and let it go. I was walking in the park with our pet Chammy. When it quickly slipped away from me.

"Where is my husband?" "Well miss, how would I know where your husband is? Do I look like I keep track of missing people?" the woman replied to her. "Marissa! Why are you--" an old woman came out from the dirty kitchen, "oh dear, senyorita, you're already awake." "Senyorita?" Marissa looked at her. "What are you thinking, child! That's Senyorito Demi's wife!" scolded the old woman. "Huh!" Marissa turned pale and approached her, "oh dear, senyorita, I'm so sorry.. I thought-- sorry."

Out of all the people in the damn world, she had to get tangled up with him. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears as I scrolled further. More pictures. More headlines. More fuel for the fire that was rapidly consuming my last shred of control. “Billionaire Angelo’s Wife Spotted Cozying Up to Rival in a Nightclub!” “Angelo’ s wife Getting Handsy with a New Man?” “Trouble in Paradise? Angelo’s Wife and His Biggest Competitor in an Intimate Dance!” My jaw locked so tightly it ached. My fingers curled tighter around my phone until—

He was obviously in a good mood from his travels and did not want to start up anything physically harsh so easily. “I see that you have started to not listen to me. You are the wife and your job is to be submissive and obey. Did you not go to church last Sunday?” Noah asked, pointing an accusatory finger at Natalia. “You’re talking about jobs when you do not perform your duties as a husband, oh holier than thou.” Natalia said. “If I could have, I would have stayed even longer during my travels.” Noah said that with an edge to his voice. Natalia jumped to her feet immediately, clapping her hands.

Pretentious bitch– My eyes widened. What did I just say? “Wife?” Muttering with fake shock, she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, didn’t realise you were married.” Her eyes moved to my fingers and then to Killian’s, a bitter look flashed before her eyes. Her eyes slowly whisked to me, taking in my attire and then at my face. “Aren’t you Rara Morris? The daughter of Mathews Morris…” It should surprise me, but it didn’t. Mathews Morris was a well-known name. She’d known him, and his flaunting daughter—one he showed off at every party and gathering that could benefit him. “Glad to see you again, Rara.” She extended her hand. I took her hand unsurely.

Rage burned so hot and bright I felt my vision haze. The picture was of Stephanie naked in bed, fast asleep on Carter's chest as he kissed her forehead and one hand on her breast to cover her modesty. It almost looked believable, like a screensaver someone might have of their wife. It looked tender and loving, and worse, proof that they had consummated their marriage, meaning it would be impossible for me to annul and overturn.

They made him suck their cocks to get them hard again, his jaw aching from the girth. By dawn, Cindy was exhausted but glowing, lying in a puddle of semen. She pulled Mark close and kissed him. "I love you so much for letting me be this dirty. You're the best cuck a hotwife could ask for." Mark came untouched just from her words, his tiny orgasm adding to the mess, his heart skipped a painful beat, because his mistress will definitely punish for cumming without her permission. But deep down in that throbbing dick, he anticipated his arousal.