A new story online today. The start is below, and the whole thing can be had for US$1 here, or free with Kindle Unlimited / Amazon Prime. It’s also included in Hot Wives & Girlfriends – Volume 3, and Hot Wives & Girlfriends – Volumes 1, 2 and 3. I hope you enjoy it
My wife bored me, in bed and out. I was bored of her body, bored of her face, bored of the way she just lay there when I fucked her and seemed to put up with it rather than enjoy it.
I wanted adventure, youth, and novelty, and that’s why I started seeing escorts whenever I went out of town.
It started kind of mild, a strip club and a lap dance, then a hand job at a massage place, but then I wanted to fuck, and the parlors and spas gave way to sleazier joints, and then I got into ordering women online when I’d be staying in a hotel, and after a while that was just what I did when I had to travel for work, which was a lot.
It was great, it really was, and I nailed and got blown by some of the best-looking women I’ve ever talked to – flight attendants, waitresses and perfume girls included – sometimes even two at a time, both of them working the pole for tips.
In the year or so I was doing this I must have fucked three dozen women, and finally got my numbers up to where I felt they should be for a man of 50, albeit at considerable expense.
Then one day it all ended when my wife found out, and this is the story of that.
I woke up in LA with a hangover and went to the minibar and drank a soda water and beer, then called room service for a pot of coffee and two orders of toast.
Something was worrying me.
I was in town checking out the hotel for work and I’d gotten too free with the weed edibles the morning of the day before, and that had led to a little lunchtime drinking in the hotel bar, which I also had to examine, for reasons I’ll outline below, and then in the afternoon there was more weed and I went back to my room and watched some porn.
It was then realized, like I didn’t know already, that I was near ground central of all the good shit, and that, things being what they are, many pornstars, active and retired, now do a little escorting on the side.
To cut a long story short: I got high, I got drunk, I went online and spent a lot of money getting one of my favorite pornstars to come and spend some time with me, my dick buried balls deep in each of her holes, then charged it to the company credit card because I didn’t have the cash on me and, with all the extras I asked for, it went over any of my personal limits.
My job is checking out hotels and other services for Bondurant Inc., a company that’s owned by my wife’s family. She’s rich, I’m not. The homes, the cars, the boat – my job itself. All of it comes from Celine. I get a salary, but it’s not enough to cover how I live, and I signed a pre-nup that don’t want to get into, because I was a dumbass who thought he’d stay in love.
Now in my defense I travel a lot, it’s part of the job, but in our ten years together, nine married, I’ve always been faithful. It just seemed the right thing to do, and when I was on the road – the company has hotels all across the US, and other interests elsewhere – I was happy with a drink, sometimes a joint, and then jerking off if I got lonely.
I loved Celine, and thought she loved me.
I never realized that we were both harboring this darkness, or that embracing it would lead us to the light, but it all happened, exactly as I’ll tell it here.
Celine’s never done a day’s work in her life, but she had her dad set me up with a job checking out hotels. Her old man owns 37 of them all over the country, and it’s my job to fly out twice a year and make sure everything’s OK.
I turn up, check into a suite, and enjoy the facilities. I get all the room service I want, am encouraged to have a good time, and all I have to do is complete a 20-page form based on an inspection, and then type up my overall impressions and suggestions. The managers know I’m coming, and the staff are in on it too, but I poke around and do my best to see what’s happening.
It’s easy and fun, to be honest, and a better job than I expected after fucking up in my twenties with alcohol and drugs.
Still, if it hadn’t been for my fuck-ups I’d never have gotten here.
After all – that was how I met Celine.
She was a few years younger than me, and coming off coke while I was there for other stuff, and we left together the second meeting and went straight to a hotel – The Girodas, in Newton, where she and her brother still keep suites.
We got high, drunk, naked and laid.
We stayed there for three or four days and when I went back to work there was nothing for me, so Celine got me a job and I took it, and thus began a great romance with us both sucking off the company tit, and I thought it’d never end, hence the lack of a pre-nup and our rather casual attitude to sobriety, which, we agreed, would be a weekday thing, or at least 9-to-5, and then nothing that stopped something important getting done.
I was always buzzing on something, and it worked. I had a job and a relationship. I felt better than I ever could straight, and Celine played along too, although her choice was weed and champagne and being holed up in her suite, and she did her thing and I did mine, and whatever that was it seemed to work, right up until the moment it didn’t.
I noticed that I’d be on the road, or even back in Newton, and I’d start to count not just how many women I’d like to fuck, but how many women I’d risk it all with Celine for. Some days I’d see two dozen on a simple walk to a coffee store, even outside of LA. One time on a trip about a year ago I was in a bookstore and nearly every woman under 40 looked better than Celine, and I made my purchase, went straight to a bar, and then a few drinks in decided to hit a strip club and be done with it.
I had a great time, and went back the next day and got a lap dance, and then a massage with a happy ending on the way to the hotel, and I was thrilled to be back in the game, older, wiser and more goal-directed.
It was the next trip I really started sleeping with prostitutes.
The first time you pay for sex, like the first time you buy drugs, is more scary than fun, and without the thrill of getting home and taking a hit and knowing that everything’s going to be OK. No, paying for sex sucks, but once it’s become a possibility the second time happens a little faster, is a little easier, and you don’t rush so much, maybe even choose the right girl, or least not someone you don’t want.
With a little practice, which gets easier to imagine after the second or third time, you can go into it knowing what to expect, learn to enjoy the fear and rush before it all goes down, and even see yourself taking up this habit. The fourth or fifth time you just do it, the same way you’d go in for a haircut in an unfamiliar town. By the tenth or so you’ve got it down pat, and you can really start enjoying it and trying to learn more.
I soon started going online and making appointments ahead of time, reading the escort reviews and even adding some of my own.
I became something of an expert, and when I went to LA I knew what I was capable of doing, and it would have gone off without a hitch if I’d remembered to get enough cash or stay within my budget.
Yeah – I spent more than you might make in a month on a night of sex and put it on the company card.
I was such a fucking dumbass.
I’m not going to tell you who I hired, because she wants to keep that side of her business on the low down, even though you can see her getting reamed online any time of day or night.
She’s Asian, in her early 30s, or so the bio says, and spent about three years at the top of the game. If you think you might know her, you probably do. She was big, and still a regular in “who’s the hottest Asian” discussions.
I knew her from the movies and always liked her a lot, not just her look but her enthusiasm, and to meet and fuck her was, to use a tired phrase that in this case is perfectly apt, a dream come true.
For my money I got the full girlfriend experience – drinks, kisses, hugs, the lot, including anal and facials, whatever I wanted bar S&M and bareback.
It was pricey, so I had a plan and made a list.
When it was over I thought that was it, my sexual peak, that I’d never have a night like that again.
I was wrong, though. I’d get a flood of them.
Sex in your 50s is the best.
After LA I had to fly up to Seattle, and then down to San Francisco, and then it was home, back to Newton, the dull as fuck college town my wife and her family seem wedded to, despite all the alternatives open.
Celine knew I was coming, and my routine after a few days on the road. I got in, got high, went straight to the bedroom, got undressed and got in the shower.
When I got out she was sitting on the edge of the bed, a drink in her hand and a great outfit on, a skirt slit up the side and a top that was cut low enough to show off the hang of her tits.
“We going out?” I said, drying myself off and looking forward to doing nothing for a while.
“I ordered Thai. I ate, but there’s plenty left, some beers too. Why don’t you relax a while, get the road off you, then come and find me.”
“And what are you going to be doing?”
She pantomimed smoking a joint and sucking cock.
It was good to be home.
I ate and had a beer in a bathrobe, and when I was done I took a fresh bottle with me and found Celine in the living room. She was holding a bong and watching something on TV, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket next to a black leather bag on the coffee table.
“Want me to suck your cock?”
“Yeah, I do.”
The idea that my wife was going to suck a cock that not long before had been up a pornstar’s ass was very appealing to me. There are few times when I actually feel smarter than Celine, but this, I felt sure, was going to be one of them.
There was a wooden chair and she told me to sit on it. She went over to that leather bag and pulled out three sets of handcuffs, held them up and let them swing. They looked like the real thing, but padded inside.
Celine locked both my ankles to the chair legs, and my left hand to the back, leaving the right free to get a drink, have a smoke or feel her tits. While she was doing this she would lean in and kiss my thighs and chest, and there was nothing I could do but relax and enjoy it.
I loved not having to think about Celine’s orgasm, and how I could just sit there and get blown, and I loved it even more that she was coming on to me again, that maybe we could save our sex life.
She lit a joint and put it in my hand, set a lighter, beer and ashtray within easy reach, and then went down and started sucking my cock.
This was a nice throwback to how our lives had been, and I closed my eyes and thought about fucking someone else, maybe some other pornstar who I’d look up next time I was in LA, or what I’d do next time I had a trip to Miami, where they had these girls…
I was in this stoned reverie of young mouths and cunts and tits and ass, getting ready to cum any time I wanted, when the doorbell rang and Celine took her lips off my cock. I opened my eyes and saw her stand up, straighten her outfit, and check the clock.
“Right on time,” she said.
I felt a sense of panic.
Celine left the room to get the door, and I was stuck handcuffed to that chair, robe open and my dick up and swaying, high as fuck and wondering what the surprise was.
What happened was – to put it bluntly – a big black guy walked in with my wife holding his hand and grinning.
“Hey lover,” she said, “I know everything. You’re fucked.”
The two of them walked up close to me, and I admit I was worried this guy was there to beat me up or something, because Celine’s family know people from crime, and I was sure she could find someone who’d hurt me if that’s what she wanted.
I must have looked terrified.
“Hey man,” the guy said, friendly. “I’m just doing a favor here – no hard feelings.”
“What is this?” I said.
“You fucked a whore in LA, dumbass, and I know it’s not the first time. Who starts with a pornstar? I bet you fucked them all, from $50 up.”
I shifted uncomfortably in the chair.
She had a point.
“Look,” I said, “I was –”
“Save it for the judge. Now how many guys do you think I’ve paid for sex since we got married?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“None, dummy. Now ask me how many men I’ve fucked.”
“Good question, and to be honest, I can’t remember. More than 20, sure, but less than 50, I guess, and not all one-night stands. But Mike here? Tell me, kid, how many times have we hooked up?
“I was just thinking about that, and I think it’s five times just me and you, and I did you and Tiffany that weekend, so six, I guess, plus that time you took me and Matt out to the resort.”
“You see?” Celine said. “You’re useless – I don’t even need you for sex.”
She lit a joint, hit it and passed it to Mike, who inhaled and then gave it to me. The whole thing was very civilized, like there was an underlying order and politesse, and this gave what came next a surreal air, as if we were all play-acting, and the feelings, so real at the time, were just part of the game.
What I mean to say is that things got really intense, really fast, and then ramped up even harder.
“Mike here has a nickname,” Celine said. “LP. I used to think he was into vinyl, but it means large penis, am I right? LP with the donkey dick.”
Mike laughed and started to get undressed, was quickly in his underwear, which contained a bulge that looked obscene.
Celine ran her hands over his shoulders, down his chest and along his abs, into his shorts, grabbing his cock.
I was 50, balding, out of shape and lazy, the kind of man who had to pay for sex, while Celine looked like a filthy milf who lived off champagne, salad and young cock.
“He looks great, eh? You’re in for quite show.”
The guy pulled down his shorts, stepped out of them, and stood up.
His cock was like a salami and hung halfway down to his knees.
It looked fake, but it wasn’t.
I should know – I saw it cum all over my wife’s face.
“I’ve heard it’s the biggest dick in town, is that right?”
“That’s what they say,” Mike said, “but I’m sure there’s bigger out there. Not everyone likes to show it off like me.”
“How big is it, really?”
“Twelve inches, tip to root, a little over / under on the day.”
Celine turned to me with his dick in her hand.
“And I thought he was just a DJ.”
She then got down and started really enjoying the size of that cock, and they were both so close that I worried she’d slap me with it, but she just kept going over that long dong with her hands, making it grow, until soon it was poking up, rock hard. As long as her forearm and as thick as my wrist.
“Pretty nice, eh?” she said, and I felt sick with shame but couldn’t look away – this guy had the best cock in town, no doubt about it, and there was my wife, sitting down next to me and jerking it off slowly and gently, getting ready to take it into her mouth.
I took a few slow, deep breaths and tried to work out what was happening.
Our marriage was probably fucked, I knew that, and there was no point in trying to talk things through here. Far better just to sit back and enjoy the ride, or watch Celine not enjoy hers.
I reached for a joint with my free hand and lit it.
I inhaled and counted to four, then exhaled and blew the smoke into my wife’s face.
I could live with this, whatever happened, I just wanted her to hurry up and start sucking that cock.