Hotwife Tasks Novels & Stories

I don't get how behind the walls when we are ready to go to bed, we can have some amazing sex but comes the day he treats me like his own personal maid. The morning after I came back, he told Mrs. Tally to put me to work. Mrs. Tally is the head lady in the packhouse. She takes care of the agendas for the food, the cleaning, and pretty much everything. There's a total of ten or so ladies who I have become fond of, and I care about so much. When he is undetected they don't hesitate to take over my long list of tasks. They clean and help with the chores in the house, run errands for me, and pamper me without him knowing.

“Eira, look at him. What kind of attitude is that? “We’re just asking him to cook a meal. He’s acting as if we owed him something. “You must’ve spoiled him rotten over these past five years!” He turned to me and thrust his chin out haughtily. “Vedran, I advise you to remember your place. “You eat our food and live under our roof. Isn’t it only fair to do some chores? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” I laughed. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Your roof?” I rose and walked toward them. My gaze was fixed on Eira. “Eira, tell me. Whose villa is this, exactly?”

Someone knows something about you that even you don't know. Her phone buzzed again. This time, there was no caller ID. A message appeared. Congratulations on your wedding, Sophia. She stared at it. Another message arrived. You should ask Damien why he is so desperate to make you his wife. Sophia's breathing became shallow. Then a third message appeared. And before you walk down that aisle, ask him what really happened to your father. Sophia's hand trembled as she stared at the messages. Serena noticed. “What is it?”

"Not that I don't want you to do that. I just really can't believe that a lazy brat, Ava Whitlock, is doing her wife's duty." "Gosh, I'm just doing this, for the sake of our families and to my company as well. I don't want you to think that I'm useless in your life. So just let me do what I'm doing. Besides, I don't have a choice. We don't have a maid. So, no one else will do the household chores but me, right?" "Okay. At least I won't have too much trouble explaining to you. Good thing that you already know what those responsibilities are inside and outside the house. So, does-"

“The woman at the front desk, you’re fucking her, right? If you really want to make this right, then why do you still have the audacity to bring her again and fuck her at the house I lived, Jack?” “That’s not true.” “I have pictures, and that woman was more than willing to share your fair share of escapades. My self-esteem’s at its lowest and I’ve been asking myself, on top of the many questions I have already, why did my husband cheat? Is it because I don’t look beautiful enough? Am I not sexy enough? Do I bore him already?” “No. That’s not true.” Jack attempted to go near Hyacinth. She raised her hand to stop him.

Amythest regained her balance and walked over to the window. "How come you didn't tell me about your husband?" In hushed tones, I inquired. She scowled and drew her brows together, as if she didn't understand why I was interested in his husband. She moved away from me and said, "Umm.... he works as a body bulder." I turned around to face her and showed her my biceps once more. Despite the fact that I am not a bodybuilder, I do have abs and biceps. With a thud, she walked into the washroom, rolling her eyes. She shut the door in my face, as though I was invading her personal space. I slapped my face in humiliation and attempted to inquire about her love life.

I stared at the lady in a stunning blue dress and glass stilettos. She slowly took off the shades she had on, revealing her piercing brown eyes, and my heart stopped. Vivian’s expression mirrored mine as her eyes bulged out in shock. She gasped audibly beside me. “Ms. Ophelia… THE CEO of Westbrook Limited.” Her assistant ushered behind her. My jaw dropped involuntarily. Standing before me, looking more elegant and poised than I ever imagined, was my ex-wife—Ophelia.

Her fingers shook as she picked it up. She'd always known the passcode. Never used it—until now. On his chat app, she opened a group thread with his buddies: [Jared, 1000 days of celibacy today, right? You have to come out and celebrate!] [No way. Three years married and still no action?] [Lucia might be a bumpkin, but with that face and body? You've seriously held back?] [Obviously. He made that vow to Alice—stay pure for her. Jared's never broken a promise to Alice.]

Back in my room, I showered quickly. Then I sat on my bed with my laptop and forced myself to work for a while. Emails, documents, anything to burn the time. Finally, I closed it. I lay back and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow, I’m bringing her home. Whether she likes it or not. **** Waking up the next morning, I sat on the edge of my bed for a long moment. Today. It was finally the day. The day I bring my wife home. I dragged myself to the bathroom and freshened up.

“You kidnapped someone.” Compared to me, this man was quick to anger. Everything he wanted, he had to have. “She is my wife.” A truly fucking sentence I hated. He always said Cassandra was his wife, never thinking whether he actually deserved her. “Are you trying to pressure Cassandra into putting me in jail?” I snorted. “You have a lot of problems to deal with.” I quietly searched for every way to get Cassandra out of that house: looked into her missing-case, and documented the violence he had committed both at home and in business.