The Hotwife & Her Bull -

This is the story of poor Carol Hendrick, a normal, healthy young woman with normal, healthy desires. Unfortunately, she followed the advice of her conservative parents and married Alan, who has a low sex drive and is unable to satisfy her. But Alan is aroused by the idea of his wife having sex with other men, so he suggests she become a Hotwife and start a relationship with a man who can serve as her Bull. In Chapter 2 we see how Carol and her Bull satisfy each other.

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We spent some time snuggling, then Carol returned home to her husband. I was sure she'd tell Alan about what happened, including all the explicit details. There was no way to know how he'd react. In theory, he'd be pleased. That's how cucks are supposed to feel when they hear their wives talk about sex with other men. But this was the first time Alan actually experienced what being a cuck meant. He might not react the way we all expected.

The next day at work I was relieved when Alan called. "Carol was very happy when she got home last night," Alan said. "I haven't seen my wife look so pleased in years, and it's all because of you."

So far, so good.

"I'm glad to hear it," I told Alan. "Carol is a wonderful woman. She deserves to be happy."

"I'm happy, too," Alan said. "I enjoyed hearing her describe what you did to her."

Yeah, I'm sure he did. But that's not something I wanted to discuss with Alan. Intellectually, I knew that a big part of the whole cuck-hotwife dynamic involved keeping Alan informed. That's what aroused him, and was a big part of the reason Alan and Carol wanted me to be their Bull.

I'd done some research on the topic. Hey, I'm an engineer. Research is what I do. I learned that there are all kinds of cucks. I felt fortunate that Alan wasn't the kind who insisted on being in the bedroom to watch while another man fucks his wife. I was not interested in doing anything like that. Some cucks never have any contact with their wife's bull, but Alan was the kind who wanted to be chummy with me. He wanted to talk about things I didn't care to talk about.

"I have a very small cock," Alan said. "Carol loved having a bigger cock in her pussy."

Too much information. Too much information.

"And I've never been able to get hard for a second time. Carol didn't realize that was even possible until it happened to you."

Too. Much. Information.

"She'd like to come over to see you as soon as possible. We're busy tonight, but she could visit tomorrow night if you're free."

This was more like something I could discuss without cringing. "Sure, Alan. I'd love to see Carol tomorrow night," I said.

"Then it's a date," Alan said. I thought it was a little strange to arrange a date by talking with the woman's husband, but this whole scene was a learning experience for me.

Carol and I were both very nervous the first time we had sex. I'll never forget how much her hands trembled as I helped her out of her clothes. All those nerves were gone the second time she came to my apartment. When I opened the door and saw her face, the expression was one of pure lust, without a trace of nerves.

"I've been thinking about this all day," she said as she walked through the door. "It's the only thing I could think about."

I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a long, passionate kiss. "I'm glad you feel that way," I said. "I just hope this relationship works for you."

"It works. It definitely works," she said.

I offered to make Carol a cocktail, but she declined. "That's something I'd like after we've had sex," she said. "I'm kind of in a hurry, if you don't mind."

"Don't mind at all," I said.

Carol draped her jacket over a coat hook near my door, and I saw that she was wearing one of the sexiest dresses I've ever seen. It featured a plunging neckline that revealed lots of beautiful cleavage. Spaghetti straps held up the dress while putting her beautiful neck and shoulders on display. The hemline was so short I could see her shapely legs from her athletic thighs all the way down to the slender ankles perched above towering high heels.

"You look great, Carol," I said. "I'm overwhelmed."

She smiled happily. "I'm so glad you like it," she said. "I bought it today. Just for you."

It seemed like a good time to kiss her again. Her tongue slipped between my lips as she returned the kiss. Everything she said and did convinced me that Carol was hungry for physical intimacy. I would learn that she'd been so starved for so long that her need for male companionship was overpowering.

I took her hand and led her to the bedroom. "You look so great that I hate to take off your clothes," I said.

"Feel free," she said.

I had Carol sit on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of her. I started by slipping off her shoes and taking time to caress and squeeze her feet. I could tell she liked that. She liked it a lot. When I was finished, I ran my hands up her legs and under her skirt. When I reached the tops of her nylons I slowly peeled them down her legs, being sure to linger on the soft flesh of her inner thighs before squeezing her shapely calves. I could tell that she particularly enjoyed feeling my hands go up under her skirt, so I did it again as I went to remove her panties. I worked them down her legs, and by the time I pulled them free of her feet, she looked ready.

The first time we made love I was careful to stick with the missionary position because I thought that was the best way to begin an affair with such an inexperienced woman. But Carol seemed a lot more comfortable and less innocent. Maybe she'd like something more adventurous.

I stood up, took one of her hands, and placed it on my belt. She got the hint, unbuckling the belt, lowering my zipper, and pushing my pants down my legs. When she lowered my boxers she saw I was only half hard, so she took my cock in her hand and began stroking up and down. That made it so hard that Carol had to smile. "Is this for me?" she asked.

"There's no other hot babe in this room," I said.

I removed the rest of my clothes and laid down on my back. Carol's dress was so sexy that I thought it would be fun to make love without taking it off. I pulled her over on top of me, getting her to straddle my body. Her wet pussy rubbed against my hard cock, and she began rubbing up and down enthusiastically. Pretty soon my cock was so wet we were sliding against each other. I ran my hands over the fabric of her dress before rubbing the outsides of her legs and moving my hands under her skirt again, reaching for the warm skin of her bare ass.

"Bill, you're making me crazy," she said.

"I'm just starting," I said.

I reached as far up her dress as I could, feeling everything from the small of her back to her flat, warm belly. Carol was rubbing her wet pussy against my cock so vigorously I decided she was ready for what comes next. I took my cock in my hand, placed it against the entrance to her vagina, and pushed inside. Her eyes went wide when she felt my cock slide into her tight pussy.

It didn't take long for her to realize that riding me like a cowgirl gave her control over how deep and how fast we did it. Soon she was slamming into me with so much force it stimulated her clit in a way she'd never felt before. She was moving so fast it was almost a blur from my perspective. Her blond hair fell over her face as she gasped for breath. I gradually realized she was about to cum.

Carol cums very easily

, I thought to myself.

It's hard to imagine that she never climaxed with a man before doing it with me. How is that possible?

As strange as it may have seemed, Carol began to cum. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, gritted her teeth, and hissed as her orgasm took hold. We hadn't been having sex very long, and I wasn't close to cumming. But it wasn't long before she fell forward, lying on my chest as she recovered from her orgasm. I withdrew my cock, deciding that I didn't need to cum immediately. My climax could wait. I was sure Carol would want to have sex again soon.

I unzipped the back of her dress and she laid on top of me. Pretty soon we were working together to strip the dress from her body so I could finally see her naked. I put the dress on a hanger so it didn't get wrinkled, then unclasped her bra and pulled it off.

Carol had a happy expression when I laid down next to her. She wrapped her hand around my hard cock and stroked it. "Don't you need to cum?" she asked.

"Sure, but not this second," I said. "Let's take a little break first."

We talked about some inconsequential stuff for a few minutes, then Carol asked a question she'd thought about all day. "Would it be OK if I spent the night?" she asked.

"Fine with me," I said. "But what would Alan think if you don't come home tonight?"

"We talked about it. He likes the idea. He thinks he'd like sleeping in an empty bed and thinking about me here with you."

Crazy, right? It fits with the whole cuckold mentality, I guess. If Bill is aroused by the idea of Carol having sex with me, it's only logical that he'd be aroused by the idea of a sleepover. Carol expected me to say yes. She had an overnight bag stashed in her car.

We had sex again, and this time I climaxed along with Carol. This whole Hotwife-Bull scenario became familiar and comfortable very quickly. We established a routine that worked for both of us. Carol was so starved for sex that she acted like someone who'd just gotten out of prison. That long period of near-celibacy left her wanting to have sex with me as often as possible.

We agreed that she would spend the night on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. I liked to date my girlfriends on Fridays and Saturdays, and neither one of us wanted our relationship to interfere with my ability to have conventional relations with women.

As time went by I learned more about what Carol thought about all this. At first, she and Alan led me to believe that Alan was the one who instigated the whole thing. It turned out that the idea came from a therapist they were seeing when they realized their marriage was in danger.

The therapist suggested they open their marriage, something they tried without success. Carol had a few dates with guys she met online, and they all looked at her in a way that gave her the creeps. She didn't want to spend time with men who saw her as a piece of meat married to a wimp. Carol knew me from work, she felt attracted to me, and she knew Alan and I were friends. It was her idea to ask if I'd be her Bull. Alan simply agreed.

One thing that puzzled me was how a vixen like Carol ended up married to a guy with such a low sex drive. Carol explained that her parents were old-fashioned conservatives who made it impossible for her to date anyone as long as she lived at home. Believe it or not, she didn't date at all in college. If she had, she might have experienced sexual relationships that would have helped her recognize what kind of husband she needed.

When she graduated and moved out of her parents home, she had a few dates with men who were a lot like Alan. It seemed that she was so scared of sex that she gravitated toward the kind of guys who weren't very passionate. That's why she dated Alan; he was a nice guy who made her feel safe and loved, but she didn't understand that they lacked the sexual chemistry a marriage needs to survive. Her parents approved of Alan, partly because he seemed to lack a sex drive.

After a few years, Carol realized something was missing from her life. A therapist figured it out almost immediately. When the therapist suggested opening their marriage, everybody discovered that Alan was aroused by the idea of Carol having sex with other men. They were skeptical of the idea that making Carol a Hotwife could work for them, but it felt natural from our first encounter.

As Carol learned more about herself and her needs, we discovered that she was yearning for things that went beyond sex. When we were together, Carol liked to think of herself as being my property. She liked to refer to herself as my "fucktoy." Now, I never felt anything like that myself, and Carol knew it, but she liked the fantasy, and so did Alan. It didn't require me to do anything objectionable, so I began treating Carol like just another piece of ass. I could never maintain the facade for long, but I could do it long enough to scratch that itch for her.

One way the "fucktoy" fantasy evolved was that Carol asked me if she could come over to my apartment a few hours early to do housework. I thought it was pretty odd that she could get sexual gratification from doing dishes and laundry, but the logic was clear. She and Alan liked the idea of Alan coming home to an empty house, eating a microwave meal, then sleeping in an empty bed and thinking that Carol spent the afternoon cleaning my home, cooking my dinner, then having sex with me.

The whole thing went up a notch when I got home from work one evening and found Carol dressed in one of those sexy French maid outfits. "Whoa! This is a surprise," I said.

"I hope you are pleased, monsieur," she said.

"Uh... sure. You look hot, Carol. Very hot. It's a nice surprise. Of course I'm pleased."

"Sit down and I'll fix you a cocktail," she said.

"... OK...," I said.

She looked excited as she skipped out of the room and into the kitchen, where she had the makingw of my favorite drink. That maid outfit was, shall we say, "interesting." The skirt was so short Carol's slightest movement gave me nice views of her ass. She was wearing a tiny black thong that didn't cover much in the front and covered nothing in the back, so the view was amazing. There was a plunging neckline that displayed ample cleavage. She knew this, of course, and when she served my drink she made sure to bend over so much I could look right down her dress.

She wore a nametag that identified her as "Yvette." Whatever, dude.

For the next several hours, "Yvette" spoke in a fake French accent that was so good I figured she must have rehearsed. She later told me that she practiced singing along with the French-Canadian entertainer Celine Dion, trying to duplicate that accent. This seemed like a lot of effort to me, but it played into a fantasy that Carol wanted to pursue as far as she could. When I went into the kitchen I saw that she'd done a lot of meal prep. The plan for the evening was for us to have sex, then for her to fix me a fancy meal. She'd spent the afternoon cleaning my bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom; cooking dinner was the obvious next step.

But we both wanted to have sex first. I don't like to make love on a full stomach. Fuck first, eat later. Carol sidled up next to me, twitched her cute little butt, and said something in French that I couldn't understand. It turned out she took French in high school and college; I studied Spanish, meaning she'd have to make her fantasy work with nothing but a French accent.

"Is there anything I can do for you before dinner?" she asked. "Anything at all? I am happy to do whatever will make you happy."

Carol was laying it on so thick it was hard not to laugh. But my feeling is that it's my job as a man to go along with whatever fantasy she wants. If she enjoys thinking of herself as an oversexed French maid, I can work with that.

"Yvette, I am very tired. Would you help me change clothes? I would appreciate that," I said.

"Of course, mon ami," she said.

We went back to the bedroom, and "Yvette" helped me remove my shirt, shoes, and pants. By this time there was a noticeable swelling in the front of my boxers. "Yvette" pretended to be surprised.

"Mon Dieu!" she said. "Is that because of me?"

"Of course it is," I said.

"I am so sorry, mon cher," she said. "I did not intend to make you uncomfortable."

"There's no harm done," I said. "But I could use some relief. Could you do that for me?"

This was beginning to feel like a bad porn movie, but it's the best we could do because we were making up the dialogue as we went along. "Of course, mon cher," she said. "I will fix everything."

With that, "Yvette" got down on her knees, pulled down my shorts, and sucked my cock into her mouth. She hadn't been a very good cocksucker when we started our unconventional affair, but she learned quickly. Carol had always refused to suck Alan's cock, so he got a special thrill when she told him she did for me what she wouldn't do for him.

She'd learned the importance of maintaining eye contact and doing her best to look like she was smiling despite having a mouth full of cock. It wasn't long before I was hard as granite.

"You have a very nice penis," she said, pronouncing the word in the odd way the French use. "Could you put it in my petit vagin?"

"That would be wonderful, my belle," I said.

I reached down and shoved the dress off Carol's shoulders. All she wore under the dress was her tiny black thong that covered almost nothing. "Take that off," I said, pointing at the thong. She slipped it down her legs and off her feet. I gently pushed her down on the bed.

"Please be careful, mon cheri," she said. "You have such a grande coq, and my vagin is so teeny."

"I'll be gentle," I said. Carol was trying to look fearful and hesitant, but it wasn't working. She needed a big serving of cock, and her little fantasy couldn't change that. We both knew exactly what she wanted.

I figured that this was a good time to give her another serving of old fashioned missionary sex. She never seemed to get tired of that. I liked that position because it makes it easy for me to act like a dom. Laying on top of Carol and holding her down let her enjoy the feeling of submitting to me. Alan was such a mild-mannered guy that Carol was desperate to spend time with someone who made her feel dominated. I enjoyed acting as though she had no choice about what I did to her. I suppose Alan liked it too, but I try not to think about that kind of stuff.

"Spread your legs," I said. "Wider. Spread them wider."

Carol obeyed. She was so turned on that I could smell her fragrant pussy. "You smell like sex," I said. That made her grin. She knew I loved the way she smelled when she was aroused. My bedroom always smelled like sex by the time Carol left in the morning, and I always let her know how much I liked that.

I reached down and massaged her pussy, getting my fingers nice and wet, then putting them in her mouth. She enjoyed being "forced" to taste herself. She also enjoyed feeling me stimulate her clit. Carol didn't need more foreplay, but I gave it to her anyway.

Finally, I took my cock in hand and placed the head at the entrance to her "petit vagin." It was getting harder for "Yvette" to keep talking in that fake French accent, but that didn't matter much because we were getting to the part that didn't require much speaking.

I shoved the head of my cock inside her. "Ohhhhh!" she said when she felt it. I withdrew, then pushed in a little bit deeper. I love to tease Carol, and I'm pretty sure she likes it too. It always makes her have particularly strong orgasms if I make her wait.

So I pushed in a tiny bit more, withdrew, then did it again. I wanted to shove my cock all the way up to her tonsils, but I didn't. I like going slow. Taking our time. There's no reason to rush something as pleasant as orgasms. It felt too good to hurry.

But Carol always got to a point where she wanted more. "Give me your coq, s'il vous plait!" she said. Am I the only one who thinks it was time to give the whole "oversexed French maid" routine a rest. Mon Dieu!

I was less than half way inside "Yvette" when she began to climax. Feeling her squirm beneath me and shaking her head from side to side made me want more. But I resisted the temptation to just start pounding her pussy. I stopped moving in and out as I waited for her orgasm to end. The muscles in her vagina throbbed as waves of pleasure wracked her whole body. "Uhhhhhh! Uhhhhhh!" she said. Carol was always a noisy lover. Always. Sometimes she was so loud I was sure the tenants of the next unit could hear us. I did not care. I cannot describe the enormity of the fuck I did not give.