Have you ever had a sexy Irish guy whisper “Good girl…” in your ear as you’re cumming on his cock..?

I have. And yes, it’s every bit as good as it sounds.

Let’s go back a little…

Back when the idea of Hotwifing was still just a fantasy for my husband, J, and I, I knew that if we were serious about making it a reality, the first time would need to be amazing. I didn’t want the bad porn version of the fantasy, I wanted the fantasy - lust-filled, and with toe-curling attraction. (Would a six-pack and a big cock be pushing it..?) I’d heard stories from other ENM couples who’d rushed in, and wound up wading into the lifestyle with a lukewarm experience. I wanted more. I wanted chemistry, connection, someone I fancied the ass off, someone who made me feel amazing, who got the fantasy, someone I liked, someone my husband liked, yadda-yadda… the list went on and on.

There were many times in those early months that I almost decided my expectations were unrealistic.

‘I’m never going to be able to find anybody who checks all those boxes.’

‘Fantasy is fantasy, this is reality.’

‘I need to lower my expectations, or wind up disappointed… right?’

Wrong.

The first time I had sex with someone other than my husband, the night I officially lost my Hotwife virginity, was one of the most erotic nights of my life.

Don’t worry, I have details…

I met Mark on an app called Feeld early on in the summer. As any woman who’s been on Feeld will tell you, the ‘likes’ and connection requests rack up fast, and keeping up with them takes a little investment of time. It was during one of these quick culling sessions that I came across Mark’s profile. His pictures were good - friendly face and a great body - his bio was short and sweet, and on a whim I clicked the little heart button to accept his connection.

The first messages between us were friendly and flirty. He was familiar with Hotwifing and with Stag/Vixen - where the husband enjoys his wife having sex with another man while he watches; his own personal porn show. The chat was good, things got pretty flirty pretty quickly, and so we decided, since Mark lived close by, that the three of us should meet for a drink. We made plans to meet at a quiet little cocktail bar in a nearby city.

The night of the first meet, when Mark walked in, I was pleasantly surprised to see he looked exactly like the photos he’d shared - and in fact he was even better looking in person. We’d met with a handful of other guys for drinks by that time, and either the vibe hadn’t been right, or the chemistry was non-existent in person, so it gave me a flutter of excitement to see this tall, good-looking guy with a great smile walk in. We stood up to greet him and - I kid you not - when he opened his mouth and this sexy Irish accent rolled out, it felt like the Hotwife gods were smiling down on me. (This is coming from someone who has pretty much worn out the Irish section of her Dipsea account…) I felt the first pangs of the attraction I’d been waiting to feel.

My husband, J, will tell you that my enthusiasm for Hotwifing stepped up a lot after meeting Mark. We had serious chemistry, and by the end of that first evening I could already imagine how good it would feel to slide into his lap and kiss him. That was the night that things started to fall into place for me with this lifestyle, sitting between these two gorgeous 6”3 men; my husband - who I both loved and lusted after - and this guy I’d just met, whose lip I just wanted to take between my teeth. It was next-level sexy. We ended up spending a few hours together that night, all of us drinking and chatting, Mark and I flirting, and we even stole a quick kiss as the taxi was pulling up.

We really enjoyed the build-up with Mark. The messaging between the two of us moved to WhatsApp where it got even hotter once we’d met in person. We flirted, we teased, we talked about what we wanted to do to each other, sent photos, videos, voice notes… all the while, mine and J’s sex life was going through the roof. It felt like we were in a constant state of arousal.

We spent much of our second meet kissing - initially for the benefit of J who had missed the first kiss, though once we’d started it was really hard to stop, and to keep our hands off each other. Mark’s hand stroked my thigh beneath my summery skater dress as he chatted to J, and my fingers grazed the bulge that was straining slightly against his trousers. He squeezed my knee meaningfully and his eyes drifted down to the curve of my breasts, taking in my nipples which stood hard and visible through the thin material. By this time, we’d been chatting for close to two months, and we all knew this was going to happen. I was so ready to be naked with this guy, and I would say the feeling was mutual. We booked a hotel suite for the following weekend.

There’s something so hot, that I just can’t put my finger on, about your husband watching you get dressed up and ready to go and meet a guy you want to have sex with. I’d heard other women talk about the sexiness of this process, but that night I really got it. I could feel J’s eyes on me as I crossed the room naked, slipped into my dress, dabbed perfume onto my neck, teased gloss onto my lips, thinking about Mark kissing it off…

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. We were all pretty comfortable in each other’s company by then, but there was an added layer of anticipation that night as J and I walked hand-in-hand to the bar where we were meeting. Mark was already there and he looked handsome as hell. The atmosphere was so charged as we sat making small talk over glasses of wine. We all knew what was going to happen and it was the most intoxicating combination of butterflies, nerves, and horniness. Finally we headed back to the hotel and upstairs to the suite and, while the guys busied themselves pouring drinks, I slipped into the bathroom and stripped off my dress. I changed into lingerie and looked at myself in the mirror. I felt good. After all the build-up, after so much thinking and fantasising about this, it was honestly kind of surreal to be there, knowing we were really about to do this, but I was so ready. I turned, put my hand on the door handle, psyched myself up and left the bathroom.

I picked up my wine glass from the desk, crossed the room and sank onto the end of the bed, completely naked except for a sheer body and stockings, trying my best to act like this was the most natural thing in the world to be doing. The guys both looked back at me, drinking in the outfit change.

“You can’t honestly just walk out here looking like that and sit over there,” said Mark, who was reclining in one of the chairs at the bottom of the bed.

“I think I just did…” I said coyly, taking a sip.

Now I could easily just gloss over the details of what happened next by saying something vague like ‘and the rest of the night passed by in a sexy blur…’ but the truth is, thanks to J, we have hours of footage from that night - and thank God we do, because it’s sexy as hell to watch.

I honestly can’t remember how I got from the bed to Mark’s lap, but I remember clearly how turned on we both were as we kissed in those first few minutes, our tongues probing each other's mouths, his hands running up my thighs to the bare skin above my stockings, his teeth on my nipples, the heat from the skin of his hard stomach as I kissed his neck while unbuttoning his shirt.

That sensation of kissing Mark, his hand between my legs while my husband watched, the feeling of J’s eyes on me… the eroticism of that moment is exactly why people do this.

The soundtrack to that night was punctuated with snatches of ridiculously sexy murmurings in that horn-inducing Irish lilt, and the clinking of the ice in J’s glass as he moved around the room, soaking up the view.

I remember how good it felt when Mark finally lowered his head between my legs and took me in his mouth, his tongue teasing me as his fingers dug into my thighs; how erotic it was to kneel in front of him, in the chair opposite J, and slide my tongue along his cock; how sexy his groan was as I sank my mouth down on him; his hand in my hair and his thumb brushing my swollen cheek as he told me that my mouth felt exactly like he thought it would; my involuntary moan when he pulled me up, kissed me, and asked me if I wanted to get fucked…

I’d thought for weeks about how good it would feel to fuck him, but it was every bit the fantasy when he finally pinned me down on the bed and slid himself inside me, watching my face as he filled me up slowly and deeply, murmuring in my ear how good I looked, how wet I was, asking me if I liked being fucked by someone else while J watched.

I did. I really, really did.

I don’t know if I can really explain, after 15 years of monogamy, how it felt to be touched by another man in that way; riding his cock, feeling his tongue on my body, his powerful hands on my ass pulling me deeper onto him. To feel another man fill me up, to hear his moans and feel his orgasm shudder through me… my body felt completely lit up with pleasure. For the next three or four hours, we licked and sucked and kissed and fucked each other. We screwed slowly, we pounded fast and hard, I rode him, he took me from behind… 

…and (ladies, please don’t hate me, but…) it turns out that, no, a six-pack and a big cock wasn’t pushing my luck at all. Mark really was the whole package.

I lost track of how many times he made me cum that night, and when Mark finally left the hotel in the early hours, looking completely spent, my entire body felt sore and swollen and fucked and… absolutely amazing. No matter how late it was, I was ready to get my hands on J and he was ready to reclaim me (more on this later) - his official Hotwife.

I had a hell of an introduction to the Hotwife lifestyle; that night set the tone for everything that followed, so it just goes to show, good things really do come to those who wait…

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