Having experienced two incredible encounters with different Bulls, you could say my appetite for my new ‘hobby’ had been well and truly whetted. The apprehension I had initially felt for this lifestyle was slowly being eradicated and had been replaced with a greater curiosity and thirst for more meetings. My husband being very intuitive, was riding the wave of my excitement and continued to seek new men to introduce me to. He wasn’t doing this as a way to pressure me into new situations but instead was doing it to protect my feelings and emotions.
Before marriage I had only had a couple of sexual partners due to exclusively being in long term relationships. Having never dallied in one nights stands, I had always engaged in sex where love had been the foundation. As a result, there was a genuine fear, in both of us, that I would not be able to detach sex from love and would therefore develop feelings for my Bulls. Prior to embarking on this adventure, we had discussed at great lengths, that if feelings of this nature were ever to develop, we would walk away from the lifestyle. We had entered it with the hope of enhancing our relationship and strengthening the intimate bond between us, yet we knew, that there was also the risk of it destroying everything we had created up until now. As a way to reduce this risk, my Stag decided the best course of prevention would be distraction. Throw as many men at me as possible so that my emotions would be preoccupied!
On my return from my erotic adventures in a distant land, my husband announced that he had found another potential Bull for me to meet. Initially, I wasn’t interested as I was still on a sexual high from my first ‘no strings attached’ fucking session. However my faithful Stag demonstrated once more, how well he knew me, by appealing to my physical taste in men. One by one, he teasingly revealed the credentials of this possible new playmate, each titbit snatching my attention; he was sporty; powerfully built and deliciously tall! Traits that are quite different to my husband. My curiousity piqued, a photo was presented. I instructed him to share my contact details.
We hit it off immediately through texting and it soon became apparent that we had a number of things in common. After only a couple of evenings of conversing, we had already traded a number of pictures and flirtatious quips; it was clear that we were attracted to one another so a date was quickly set. Unlike my previous first encounter with a ‘Potential,’ this was going to be an evening affair so felt more like a date than a social meeting. A bar centrally located and equal in distance from both of us, was selected as the venue.
On the night of the meet, I was once again dressed by my Stag, something that had now become a ritual for us. As I applied my makeup, the butterflies started to form in my stomach, a feeling shared with my husband as he watched me intently. We didn’t say a great deal to one another as I prepared myself for the date; our nerves were palpable. Instead, we communicated through little gestures: A kiss on the shoulder, a hand placed upon the small of my back, a strand of hair being delicately tucked behind my ear whilst my hands were occupied with other tasks. Words of support weren’t needed, these physical acts spoke volumes. As the time came for me to leave, I made the usual comment about my possible imminent death at the hands of an unknown axe murderer and kissed my husband goodbye. As I closed the door, I cheekily muttered ‘don’t wait up for me’ and set off on my latest adventure.
Unlike my previous meet, the journey was a brief one. It still provided however, more than enough time for my nerves to almost reach breaking point. I say almost, for this time, a greater feeling of excitement was experienced as I was fuelled by the confidence gained from my former encounter. As I approached the bar, I received confirmation that my ‘Potential’ had arrived before me. This filled me with relief and dread. Relief that I wasn’t being stood up, dread that I had no escape. I entered the bar and clocked him immediately. He had his back to me but I was instantly taken aback as to how tall he was! On paper, I knew his height, but in person, I felt dwarfed by him, which is no mean feat as my height is above average for a woman. If this meet was successful, his stature would easily surpass that of any previous lover. We politely greeted each other, ordered our drinks and found somewhere to sit.
The venue was not particularly busy but there was enough atmosphere that had conversation not been free flowing, we could occupy ourselves easily enough to avoid awkwardness. This was not an issue. Just like our texts, we were not lost for words. We found topics of conversation easily and continued to find more and more things in common and in doing so, it became evident that there was more than a spark between us. He was very tactile by nature and would often touch my leg or shoulder and give me playful punches when I made a sarcastic comment. We were getting on incredibly well. Fuelled by several alcoholic beverages, he declared that he was desperate to kiss me. After a cautionary glance around the room to be sure no one would recognise me, I agreed. Without any hesitation he leaned in and kissed me. It was sensual yet hungry at the same time. Having never been one for public displays of affection (PDA), I returned the kiss in equal measure but tried to maintain control despite the lustful energy coursing through my veins. I was failing! Our kiss became deeper and more passionate as our tongues found each other. For what felt like an age, our tongues entwined and lips met. When the time came to stop, we separated like pubescent teenagers, grinning from ear to ear, trying to hide our embarrassment as we remembered where we were. When I had jokingly quipped to my husband ‘don’t wait up for me,’ I never imagined that I would actually mean it! This was only meant to be ‘get to know you’ drinks, but it was clear that we wanted to get to know one another in a far more physical sense.
Last orders were abruptly announced and we now had a decision to make. Do we call it a night and part ways or move things to another location? Neither of us were willing to say goodnight just yet. We moved on to another bar. Throwing caution to the wind, we walked hand in hand, being desperate for any physical contact we could steal from one another. The alcohol had given me a greater sense of confidence and for a moment, I had almost forgotten that I was a married woman out with a man who was not my husband. I soon remembered this fact, which made it all the more exciting. We arrived at the next venue and once more found a seat. We went straight for a sofa tucked away in a corner. No longer concerned with PDA, the kissing resumed as passionately, if not more so, than before. Once more however, time was not our friend. Last orders were once more called and still we were not ready to part ways. We had nowhere to go. My house was not an option due to my family being there and neither was his, due to a housemate who would not take too kindly to our unconventional situation. There was one option and once more I felt like a teen. We were heading for his car.
Being the early hours of the morning, the streets were mostly empty. He gripped my hand eagerly as he led me to his car. We climbed in, and out of habit I instantly fastened my seatbelt. A foolish thing to do, as it was clear we weren’t going anywhere. We tried to summon up small talk but it was obvious that we were both in the mood for something more physical than chitchat. Almost in unison, we met across the handbreak and resumed kissing. As I write this, I realise the metaphorical imagery of the handbreak as it had well and truly been released. Once more our tongues took up their passionate dance but were this time were accompanied with searching hands. My hands stroked his legs as his went on the hunt for my breasts. Conveniently for him, my dress was low cut, providing easy access to my heaving chest. His touch was electric. As his hand slipped beneath my bra, it was as though he had a direct line to my crutch. Without laying a finger on the area, I could feel how wet I was for him. How I wished we had the privacy of a bedroom. As his hand played with my breast, mine traced the outline of his cock. Once more I was pleasantly surprised by his size. I unzipped his trousers and freed his hardened penis. Now I could truly take in its size. I was certainly not disappointed,
My strokes to his leg moved to his cock. As I moved my hand along his shaft, his hands moved to my crutch. I was no longer the only one aware of my excitement. He could feel it for himself. I could easily have fucked him in his car but part of me could not overcome the location; Whilst I may have been acting like one, I was not a teen and was terrified of a knock on the window! The other part of me wanted to save myself so that I could give a true demonstration of my skills in the privacy of a bedroom. I made a compromise to myself. Instead of fucking him, I engaged my mouth. I leaned further across the car and placed his wanting cock in my mouth. As my lips and tongue ran along him, I couldn’t help but compare him to the other Bulls. We had a new contender for the biggest. With each movement, he uttered his gratification and appreciation. I knew I would not have to work him for long, before he would reach his climax. I rubbed my tongue along the tip of his penis before I attempted to take his whole length in my mouth. I succeeded. I repeated the process but made each movement quicker. I could feel his body beneath me stiffening with each movement. He was getting very close. I continued to speed up until he could take no more. His cum filled my mouth. I have encountered many ‘firsts’ on my journey as a Hotwife. Here I experienced another. I swallowed, something not even my husband has been privileged to.