Cuckold Date Night

It was Saturday date night. My husband Paul had dropped the kids off at his parents' for the evening, and he was now stood watching me blow dry my long brown hair in front of the bedroom mirror. I was naked, my blue eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation. I wasn't going out with him, I was going out with Matthew, a guy I had met online.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked with a playful smile, turning off the hair dryer and flicking my smooth, dry locks.

"No, I don't think so," my hubby replied casually, his eyes examining my figure, taking in the curve of my hips, the swell of my breasts, and the softness of my buttocks.

"Just came for the view?" I teased him.

"Something like that," he chuckled lightly.

"Fair enough," I smiled, feeling my entire body coming alive.

Watching me get ready for a hotwife date with another man was part of the fun for both of us. For Paul, it conjured up all sorts of emotions, while for me, it was just always exhilarating. I continued my routine, reaching for the moisturiser and applying it to my skin. I moved my hands slowly and deliberately, focussing on what I was doing, But I could see from the periphery of my vision that my husband was leaning against the doorframe, watching my every move.

After running my hands up my arms, I ran them down my legs, causing my heavy breasts to gently sway away from my body. I straightened up, giggling, letting my soft flesh settle before smoothing my hands across my tummy, and then lower onto my shaven pubic mound. My fingers touched my sex lips, forcing me to emit a telling sigh.

Intoxicated on my own arousal, I wanted to rub my tingling clit and bury a couple of fingers deep inside my pussy, all while my husband watched. But I continued to moisturise instead. With only my chest left to do, I poured a generous amount of cream into my palm and rubbed it into my full breasts, with slow, tentative caresses.

God, my body was burning up, as my skin glowed with moisturiser and desire. Each motion was a tease for the both of us, a silent invitation for my husband to keep watching me prepare my body for another man, another man I'd met on a dating site.

By the time I'd finished, my nipples were hard and tight, aching and swollen. My breathing had become shorter, and my sex lips were moist and engorged, ready for cock. Yet, as the scent of vanilla filled the air inside the bedroom, my husband remained calm and collected, observing me closely.

My gaze gravitated towards his crotch. He was erect. "Enjoying the view?" I purred.

"Of you? Always," he grinned, Then came my husband's favourite part.

He walked over to my lingerie drawer and opened it with the focus of a man who wanted his wife looking her best. I watched him with a mix of amusement and affection. At thirty-eight, I still felt a flutter when he took charge like this, his body hunched over my silk and lace. He knew exactly what to do, we'd been playing this game for a while.

"What do you think of this one?" he asked, holding up a black lace bra and the matching panties, his voice steady, but I caught the slight tremor in his hands. It wasn't his nerves, it was his excitement. He loved it.

"Too plain," I replied, crossing my arms under my bare breasts, lifting them. "I want something that makes a statement. Something he'll remember me by forever."

My husband smiled, his hazel-green eyes sparkling with mischief. "How about this?" He pulled out a black balconette bra with intricate embroidery, paired with a skimpy thong. My heart skipped a beat. It was bold and daring, exactly what I was looking for.

"Perfect," I replied, taking them from him.

I slipped the garments on as elegantly as possible, our eyes locked as the lace hugged and flattered my curves. The hotwife exhibitionist was in control, not Jemma, as I adjusted the bra to fit my breasts perfectly.

"What do you think?" I asked my husband, turning slightly for effect. It wasn't vanity. It was pure exhibitionism and adrenaline.

"Honestly?" He appeared to be admiring the way the lace framed my large breasts and revealed my nipples through the fabric. The way the thin straps lined my shoulders, and how the thong followed the curve of my hips.

"Of course, honestly," I replied.

"You look ravishing, Jemma," he breathed.

"Thank you," I grinned. "Will you help me choose my dress? Something tight, but not too revealing. I want him to work for it." Paul nodded, going straight for the dress he'd bought me as a birthday present.

"This one," he said, pulling out a sleek, black, v-neck, cami. "It'll make his jaw drop."

I slipped it over my head, the fabric sliding over my body and the lingerie. It clung to my curves, accentuating my breasts, waist and hips. I then turned back to the mirror, adjusting the v-neckline to hide the bra, keeping my movements graceful and seductive before turning to my husband.

"Shoes?" I smiled.

"Those red Christian Louboutins," he smirked without hesitation. "They'll match your lipstick and make your legs look longer."

I laughed, a soft, knowing sound. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

He turned to face me, his expression tense. "I want you to feel beautiful and sexy, because you are. And I want him to know exactly what he's getting if he plays his cards right."

I stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. "And what is he getting, exactly?"

My husband's gaze lowered to my lips, his voice a little husky. "He's getting my wife, a woman who knows what she wants and who isn't afraid to take it."

I leaned in, kissing him softly. "And what do you get out of this?"

He pulled me closer, his hands resting on the small of my back. "I get to watch you shine. I get to know that you're out there, living, feeling, while I'm here, waiting for you to come home."

I rested my forehead against his, our breathing steady. "You're the best, you know that?"

He chuckled, sliding his hands down to my hips. "Just make sure you come back to me tonight. I'll be waiting to reclaim you."

I stood in front of the mirror one last time that night. The lingerie fit me snuggly. The black dress hugged my curvaceous figure, the neckline dipping enough to hint at what lay underneath. The red heels added a few extra inches to my height, making me feel unstoppable. My husband stood behind me, his reflection meeting mine in the mirror.

"You forgot something," he whispered, holding up a delicate silver chain with a diamond pendant.

"Are you sure?" I eyed him curiously. "You bought me that as a wedding gift."

"I'm sure," he smiled.

The warmth of his breath on the back of my neck gave me tingles as he intimately put his hands over my shoulders, holding the two connecting pieces of the necklace, his eyes peering down into my cleavage. He dangled the pendant onto my breasts and slowly pulled it up my chest. I felt it against my skin, causing a reaction between my legs.

"I'll make sure I'm home around midnight," I told him, as he carefully fastened the clasp at the nape of my neck.

"I'll be up, waiting for you as always," he replied, completing the necklace.

I turned to face him, my heart swelling with love for the only man who truly and completely understood me. "You know I love you with all my heart, don't you?"

"Yes, and I love you with all my heart too," he said, kissing my lips. "You look incredible, Jemma. So have fun and be safe. I'll be here when he get back, having spent the evening counting down the minutes." We laughed.

An hour later, I walked into a swanky wine bar and met Matthew. He was tall, broad, dark-haired, and younger than me at thirty-two, but he held a confident, handsome smile that made my pulse quicken. We'd been messaging on the adult dating site for a few weeks, where his words and desire to have me grew bolder with each message.

"Jemma... wow... you look even better in person," he said, greeting me softly with open arms and a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, Matthew," I nodded with a wry smile. "I was just thinking the same about you."

"Are you sure your husband knows about this?" he smirked, pulling a chair out for me.

"Yes, but let's not talk about my husband," I replied, friendly but firm.

"Of course, I'm sorry. What would you like to drink?"

The conversation flowed easily. Matthew worked in finance. He had no children and he'd broken up with a long-term girlfriend a few months ago. I didn't ask why. I didn't care. He already knew I was a married mother of two, married to a man who loved his wife sleeping with other men. Matthew accepted the arrangement. The thought of bedding another man's wife excited him.

Over a couple of glasses of fine wine, the conversation turned to what we were really meeting for, but I liked how he made it feel like an ordinary date. Matthew was charming and funny, his words laced with subtle innuendo, which aroused me and made my skin tingle. By the third drink, his hand had found its way onto my thigh.

"Are you ready to get out of here, Jemma?" he asked knowingly, his touch electrifying. I didn't need to be asked twice.

Matthew's apartment was modern, sparse, and with a bed that dominated the room like a promise. He wasted no time in getting me into it. But first, his hands roamed my body as he kissed me hard, passionately, pulling me in tight as if he owned me. For the next couple of hours, we would own each other.

Without words, just lust and desire coursing through our veins, we undressed one another, my expensive dress falling to my feet like a discarded piece of cheap fabric, revealing my lingerie. His eyes widened as his hands skilfully and deftly removed the bra.

"You're gorgeous," he breathed, cupping my heavy breasts in his grasp, seemingly weighing them in amazement before he closed his lips around one of my nipples, his tongue swirling as he suckled. He then switched to the other nipple, turning me on.

Flowing fluidly, Matthew lay me down on his bed, his mouth trailing down my body, his hands tugging at the waistband of my thong. He heaped more high praise of appreciation, when he bared my smooth, married sex to his gaze. I usually kept a neat bush down there, but he'd told me in our chats that he loved going down on a shaven pussy.

"Oh fuck, Jemma," he groaned, his hands gripping my thighs as he spread them wide. "You're already soaking," he pointed out, running his tongue up my slit and around my aching bud, moving it in circles.

I gasped and bucked, cupping my breasts, caressing myself as he went down on me like a man on a mission. His fingers entered me slowly, gradually moving in and out with vigour, as he lapped at my pussy, tasting my juices. One of the best feelings of being a hotwife is being desired by other men, knowing I'm free to let go without hurting my husband. No cheating, just raw desire.

"Yes!" I cried out, pressing a hand on the back of his head, close to the edge. "Make me cum... ohhhh... yes! Fuck! Yes!"

Matthew laughed after I gushed into his mouth, a low, dark sound, before he slid up my body to kiss me deeply. I tasted my essence on his tongue as he groped my breasts and rolled my taut nipples. The flavour of my scent was sharp and intoxicating. I then returned the favour.

I had him roll over onto his back, his eyes revealing the anticipation inside him. His cock was a nice size, a little longer and thicker than my husbands. I wrapped my hand around it, feeling it throb in my grasp as I wet my lips, tracing my tongue over my full, red lipstick. I then opened my mouth wide and took him in, sucking his cock.

"Oh fuck, yes," he groaned, his hands tangling in my long brown hair as I bobbed my head, my tongue twirling and twisting around his weeping gland, driving him nuts.

As I sucked him deeper, tasting his pre-cum, I fondled his balls gently, massaging them until they swelled in my hand, hoping he was going to produce a big load for me to take back home to my husband. Another thrilling part of being a hotwife, being able to return home safely with another man's sperm swimming around deep inside me.

"Fuck, you're good," Matthew panted, thrusting his hips, driving his cock into my mouth. I hummed in response, applying light pressure to his puckered hole with my finger, while I relaxed my throat to take him deeper, taking him to the brink of climax.

"I think you're ready to fuck me now," I cooed, his cock warm and slick with saliva.

"Damn right, I am," he growled. "I want you to ride me first. I need to see you."

I met his gaze, saw the hunger in his eyes, the lust of a man now, who knew exactly what he wanted. I took it as a challenge, a test, and straddled him slowly, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His hands gripped my waist, guiding me as I lowered myself onto his cock.

"Oh, that feels so good," I sighed, filling my pussy.

He felt so thick and hard inside me, I had to come back up to go back down again, feeding myself every inch until I'd adjusted to his girth. I emitted soft groans, my head tilting back. Matthew groaned with me, his eyes fixed on my full breasts jiggling with the movements, my nipples hard and proud.

"Yes, that's it," he groaned, his hands tightening on my hips. "Now, ride that cock."

I began to move, my hips rolling in a slow, rhythmic motion, my vaginal walls clenching around his length. Every movement had my breasts bouncing. I could hear his breathing becoming ragged, feel his hands sliding to cup my buttocks, urging me to keep riding him, as if I needed encouragement. I didn't.

"Fuck, Jemma! Those tits!" he grunted, watching them move as I sped up.

"I'm glad you like them," I smiled, leaning forward, my hair falling from my shoulders, my breasts, with the pendant necklace, brushing into his face. "Suck my nipples and help make me cum," I demanded, placing my hands on his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. "I love your cock inside me."

"Fuck, you're hot," he growled, squeezing my breasts together, sucking harshly on my tight teats as I picked up the pace.

I quickly lost myself in the sensation of it all, the way his cock stretched me as I bounced up and down on it, combined with his mouth sucking on my tits, as if he were trying to feed. It was exactly what the hotwife inside of me needed. A dirty fuck.

"Fuck, you're something else, Jemma," he moaned, breathless. "Bend over, I want you from behind."

I complied, loving it from behind myself. I put my hands flat on the bed and my arse in the air. Matthew gripped my hips with one hand and positioned his cock with the other. I told him to make our date worth it, and fuck me hard. I wanted to be his slut. He thrust into me just how I loved it, filling me.

"Oh fuck, Jemma, that is some good MILF pussy," he groaned, pounding me at once.

He pulled me back with so much force, he made me cry out with intense pleasure. He wasted no time. His thrusts were deep and relentless, driving his cock into me like I was the last woman on earth. I loved it, feeling every inch of him fucking me hard and deep.

Each time he pounded into the back of me, pushing us both closer and closer to the edge, my breasts swung violently. Matthew was doing just fine, but in my wanton state, I demanded he fuck me harder, fuck me like a slut. He growled aggressively, gripping my hips. He squeezed so tight, I would find bruises there the next day, but it was all fine.

I bit my lip, my manicured nails scratching at his bedsheets. We were close, so close, our bodies trembling on the brink of orgasm. But just when I thought I was going to explode, Matthew flipped me over onto my back, his hands grabbing my breasts.

I gasped as he repositioned himself, managing to stay on his knees and thrust his cock back inside me. I raised my legs and shifted closer, then he gave it to me hard once more. As he fucked me and squeezed my breasts, I rubbed my clit, our eyes locked, panting and groaning at each other.

"Oh yes. I'm gonna cum," he warned. "I'm gonna fill you up, Jemma."

"Yes, do it," I urged him, wrapping my legs around his waist, clenching my walls around his cock. "Give it to me. I want to feel you coming deep inside me."

"God, I wish you were mine!" he grunted.

"I am right now," I managed to smirk.

Then, Matthew's body tensed as he thrust one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside me, filling my pussy with his warm load. It sent me over the edge too. My body convulsed as I cried out, scrapping my nails down his back, leaving my mark on him as he left his inside of me. A great date night.

Matthew collapsed on top of me, his cock softening inside my body. His weight felt heavy but comforting, his heart beating against mine, even our breathing was in sync. He raised himself slightly to kiss my breasts, unable to get enough of them. I smiled, running my fingers through his hair, letting him savour our last moments together.

"That was great," I sighed.

He lifted his head, his eyes staring into mine, a small smile on his lips. "Just great?"

I chortled, smoothing my hand down one side of his handsome face. "Ok, maybe it was better than great," I confessed.

"I have to see you again, Jemma. I've never met a woman like you before," he said, kissing me softly.

"You have my number," I smiled, kissing him back, but I knew I'd unlikely meet him again. It was never worth the risk of the guy becoming attached. I always valued them as nice guys, but I belonged to my husband.

We spooned for a while, kissing and caressing, while Matthew's sperm leaked out of me and soaked into his bedsheets with my own juices, leaving a wet patch of evidence that would take hours to dry. I then told him I needed to call a cab and go home.

It was half past midnight when I walked through the front door, with the scent of sex and my date oozing from my pours. Paul, my one true love, the only man my heart would ever belong to, was waiting for me in the living room, brimming with anticipation.

"How was your night?" he asked, his voice calm as he looked me up and down.

I walked towards him, my high heels clicking against the hard flooring. "He was good, very good," I whispered, taking off my dress.

He watched me intently as the dress he choose for my date fell from my body for the second time that night, revealing the lingerie he had also picked out for me to wear.

"Take it all off, but keep the heels on," he instructed quietly.

With a devilish smirk on my face, I removed the lingerie and stood naked in the heels before my husband, feeling Matthew's cum between my legs. My husbands eyes examined me, his hands cupping my warm breasts, moving to my hips, pulling me closer.

"You're mine again now," he whispered hoarsely, breathing in my used scent, pressing his lips against my neck, his hands roaming over my body as if he needed to familiarise himself with his wife again.

"I've always been yours," I reassured him, part of the game.

"You're still swollen," he observed, cupping my pussy, rubbing his palm against my clit. I gasped, still sensitive from the sex I'd thoroughly enjoyed with Matthew. "And you're still dripping," my husband added, inserting a finger inside my body.

"Take me as I am," I sighed, arching my back where I stood, my eyes closing as he slowly fingered me and took a nipple into his mouth. My body responded to his touch like it always did.

My husband then pulled away, staring into my eyes as he undid his belt and dropped his pants, pulling down his boxers next, showing me how hard and ready he was for me. I watched him remove his shirt then sit down on the sofa, stroking his erection.

"Did you ride his cock?" he asked.

"Yes," I grinned, stepping between his legs, his gaze fixed on my hairless mound and sticky, swollen sex lips.

"You shaved for him, didn't you?" He looked up to meet my gaze.

"Yes," I nodded, feeling a tad guilty.

"I like it. Now, ride me like you did him," my husband demanded, reaching for me.

"Yes, sir," I smirked.

Our hotwife-cuckold dynamic has never been about humiliation. I'm not a cuckoldress in our eyes. Paul has the confidence and control to share me with other men, both knowing it's just sex, both knowing we get something exhilarating from it. There's no lasting jealousy. I'm simply a hotwife. I've never really liked that term either. I'm his wife, and his wife only.

I straddled him, placing my hands on his shoulders, my body lowering onto his cock, filling my soiled pussy completely. Joining our body's together, consummating our marriage all over again, we gasped as one. We then kissed passionately, my hips moving in a slow sensual rhythm.

"Faster," he grunted. "Show me how you rode his cock."

My husband gripped my hips, his thumb rubbing my clit as I leaned right back and placed my hands behind me on his knees. It felt great to be home, his cock buried deep inside my pussy, knowing another man had been in his place less than an hour ago.

"I want to watch you," he muttered, rubbing my clit hard, thrusting his hips upwards, fucking me as I rode his throbbing cock.

"Like this?" I panted, opening my eyes to look into his.

"No, I want to watch you getting fucked," he confessed. "I want to see the look on your face when another man's cock is inside you."

"Are you sure?" I breathed, moving my body quicker, clenching my inner walls around him. "You always said you're not sure if you would be able to handle it."

"I can... and I will..." he groaned, his voice hoarse.

"Ok," I replied, my breathing quickening at the thought of my husband watching me for the first time. "When? Who?"

"I don't know yet, but would you fuck a black man?" he croaked, ramming his length into me as I bounced on it.

"Oh fuck! I'm gonna cum!" I cried out. "Yes! Yes, I would," I admitted.

"Ohhh, keep going, Jemma! Make us cum!" he urged.

I'd never really considered meeting a black man before, simply because I didn't know that many of them, but mainly because interracial sex wasn't part of our kink. Or maybe it was for my husband, and he'd just neglected to share it with me. I found black men and Asian men as equally as attractive as white men. It's about the person for me.

I rode my husbands cock hard, grinding my hips in his lap, using all of my strength and every muscle to overwhelm his cock. We were soon crying out in unison, our body's rocking and trembling. As my orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave, Paul roared his, filling my pussy with his sperm.

There really is something mind-blowing about having two different men ejaculate inside me in the same night, especially when the second one is my husband. Those who don't understand it, never will. Those who do, will understand what I'm saying, whether you're the husband or the hot wife.

"Welcome home, my love," Paul breathed, coming down from his blissful state.

"And it'sgreat to be home," I smiled content. "You always know how to give me the best of welcomes," I added, hugging each other, breathing in the familiar scent of my man.

The next morning at breakfast, before he got ready to go and collect the children, I asked my husband if he meant what he'd said about me meeting a black man. Paul smirked at me confidently. God, he was one in a million. I felt so lucky to have him.

"I meant it," he nodded. "I want to watch you for the first time, and I want it to be with a hung black guy."

"Since when?" I wondered curiously.

"Since I watched a porn flick on the internet... of a white wife on holiday in Jamaica with her husband," he confessed.

"Oh, and I don't suppose this has anything to do with our up and coming holiday to the Dominican Republic, does it?" I grinned knowingly.

"Maybe," he chuckled, guilty as sin.

"As you know, our holiday to Spain is and will strictly be our family holiday with the kids, but the Dominican is our anniversary holiday. The kids will be home with your parents," he hinted mischievously.

"You really are something, you know that?" I blushed, laughing.

"No, Jemma... it's you who is something," he said, leaving the table with a huge grin on his face.