January 4, 2014
As I’m away for the next week, sunning it up in Thailand. I’m going to be posting a few posts worthy or a re-look. Normal service will resume then. Hope everyone had an amazing New Year.
How It All Began - Email from a UK reader of the blog.
I first checked out hotwifeblog.com a year ago after reading an interview with the exquisite Daisy in a couples magazine. During the interview she referred to the site as a good place to go for erotic true stories. Well, she would, wouldn’t she? But, hey! I’m very glad she did.
Given that I am married to a shameless slut who has been cuckolding me for twenty years, it will come as no surprise that I have read the regular submissions to the site with great interest. Many of the scenarios described and feelings expressed are, of course, familiar to me.
As an avid diarist and record keeper, I am able to convey the details of my life as a trollop’s husband with great precision. So here’s some background and a few stat’s.
We have been married for twenty-nine years. Prior to our marriage we had been an item for three years. During those three years and for the first nine years of our marriage she never had sex of any kind with any other man. (Believe me, I would have come to know by now had it been otherwise.) Two years into our marriage I first suggested to my wife that she might enjoy having an extramarital affair. (The thrill of being a cuckold has been my greatest sexual turn-on since some experiences involving a previous girlfriend back in my teens. But more of that later, perhaps.) My wife thought the notion so preposterous that she couldn’t even be said to have been shocked. I revisited the same theme now and again over the ensuing years. At some point, naturally, she came to realise I was serious. Knowing full well that I am pretty unconventional in many respects, she still was not shocked. Nevertheless she remained reluctant. More than reluctant. Immovably opposed to the idea. As a result, my occasional attempts to cajole her were scarce and, I suppose, resignedly half-hearted. Then, seven years into this fitful and unpromising campaign, I had a piece of luck.
My wife became very friendly with one of her work colleagues, a girl some few years younger than us. The young lady was quite ambitious and thought herself to be in a dead-end job. I happened to have an executive vacancy in my company which seemed to suit her and for which she was suited. I interviewed her and took her on. She turned out to be quite a gem and soon became a valuable deputy of mine. We also became very close friends. We never had a sexual relationship but we were very open with one another on a personal level and she was fascinated by my frustrated desires regarding my wife’s promiscuity - or, rather, the lack of it. The two women continued to be good friends but the three of us very rarely met up all together. These were two quite separate relationships. And there was no hidden agenda in that. It’s simply that one, albeit very close, was very much work-based, while the other, although originally work-based, was now entirely social.
One day, in the office, during one of our occasional conversations regarding my cherished fantasy, our mutual friend decided to ’spill some beans’. She had hinted to me on previous occasions that maybe my wife was not as rigorously faithful as I believed her to be. But this opinion was always voiced in such a way as to suggest an intuition, rather than anything she actually knew for certain. Now she chose to give me some proof. A few days earlier the two of them had been out on the town and evidently ended up ‘well-oiled’. Tongue loosened by the booze, no doubt, my wife had confessed to some events which had occurred a few weeks earlier on another boozy evening when she and a few of her colleagues had hit a wine-bar after work and it had turned into a lengthy session.
I knew exactly the evening that she was referring to and remembered it, from my point of view, quite well. My wife had been given a lift home by one of her bosses, a hunky, bespectacled New Yorker in the ‘Clark Kent’ mould - highly intelligent, very successful in business, very confident and a thoroughly personable guy whom I had met briefly once or twice before. She had invited him in for a coffee. It was about midnight and I was on the verge of going to bed but stayed up to have a coffee with them. We had chatted about nothing much in particular for about half an hour and then he went on his way. Now, here’s the bit of which I had had not the slightest inkling at the time and which I now learned from my informant.
Apparently, he had pulled his car in a little way up the road a good half an hour before they had come into the house. During that time they had been stuck into a long and full-on snogging session. What’s more, she had made no bones about telling our girl friend that, if I had not been at home, she would probably have brought him into the house and gone all the way.
Those of you who visit this site will know exactly how I felt upon receipt of that information.
It would be overly scrupulous to take the view that our friend was betraying my wife’s confidence in revealing these details. She knew exactly what she was doing and she knew enough to be absolutely certain that she was doing both of us a favour with what she had told me.
Needless to say, I instantly ramped up my persuasive campaign and prodded away at the issue with renewed zeal, extolling the potential virtues of extramarital adventurism at any appropriate moment. Whilst she still did not exactly embrace the idea wholeheartedly, I now found her responses to the topic to be more pliant than before. It might be that, with my newly acquired knowledge of her capacity to be seduced, I was now interpreting those responses in a different light. But I don’t think so. It’s more likely that her attitude to the possibilities had shifted, maybe as a result of that very experience with the boss - however tame and inconclusive it may have been. One way or another, if I suggested that a night of passion with another man could be fun, instead of saying something like: “Oh, don’t be silly!”, she was now coming back with comments along the lines of: “I suppose it could!”
Encouraging, but still noncommittal. And before long I came to realise why. Now that I was pushing the case harder and more often, I was receiving a wider variety of objections. Eventually I think I was given the real one. Without stating it in so many words, she made me aware that her main fear involved the possibility of one specific repercussion: that if she were to play around, I might feel I had carte blanche to do the same.
My wife is and always has been a head-turningly beautiful woman. I found it quite absurd that she should ‘fear the competition’. But I sensed I was on the verge of success in this campaign and I chose to take a calculated gamble. Six years previously I had engaged in a clandestine affair with a woman whom I had met through business. And I elected to confess the matter to my wife at this precipitous stage of the game. The affair had been very hot and, indeed, very intense and I was lucky to have remained undetected. But, after three months, it fizzled out pretty well as rapidly as it had ignited. You may think that my confession, six years on, was a high risk strategy. But I was confident that she would consider our relationship as being too strong to be threatened by an event so far back in the past. And, of course, I knew that her own recent inclinations in a similar situation would have to play a part in her thinking, even if she chose not to confess them.
It turned out that she had never had the slightest suspicion of my brief infidelity. She pretended to be shocked and hurt, but she wasn’t very convincing. Without question there was a new light in her eye. It is clear that she was also perfectly ready to accept my assurance that I had never strayed on any other occasion, before or since. (Which is only fair, because it is perfectly true.) This had the desired effect of bolstering her confidence rather than shaking it. She wasn’t out for a ‘revenge fuck’ exactly. That wouldn’t stack up, given that she knew it was precisely what I wanted. It was more of a case of ‘what’s good for the goose. . . .’
Only a week or so later she went out with a girlfriend to a nightclub. They both pulled. And they both got laid. That’s how the last twenty years of our marriage kicked off. And the game gathered pace very quickly.
Here are the stat’s. During the course of those twenty years I have had sex with seven women other than my wife (two of them at swingers’ parties, four of them as a result of at-home wife-swapping evenings with other couples and one ‘visiting massage’ which my wife kindly bought me for my birthday a few years back). Over the same period of time my wife has fucked one hundred and fifteen different guys. Some of them regular, long-term lovers, others one-night stands. And that doesn’t include the four clients whom she serviced whilst working as an escort for a couple of months. (We didn’t need the money. It was just for the fun of it.) If you add those, and the six boys with whom she had sexual relationships before we met, plus me, that gives her a grand total of 126 men inside her. So far.
We are now just into our fifties and my wife’s enthusiasm for cock and insistence on variety show no signs of abating.
I have many diary entries in which comprehensive details of my wife’s activities are recorded and, should there be some interest from other visitors to the site, I would be happy to share these with the hotwife community. Such as the time when, after she’d picked up some bloke in a bar and brought him home, I peered round the edge of the door to my study to see them just inside our bedroom doorway at the other end of the landing, french kissing, her skirt hitched up, his hands all over her arse and her blouse completely undone, indicating that he’d already been at her fabulous tits. Or the time when we’d had a friend of ours over to dinner and I brought some after-dinner drinks into the living room to find her whispering and giggling into his ear on the sofa, eventually looking at me through eyes already misting over with lust and saying: “Sorry! We’re leaving you!”, before whisking him off upstairs for the night. Or the time when, by prior arrangement, three fit Greek lads burst through the front door, tied me to a chair, tore my wife’s dress and knickers to shreds and proceeded to do her in all holes, eventually finishing her off with a torrential bukkake. Or the time when. . . but I’m running ahead of myself. Let me know what you think.
Submitted by: Hornwearer - Herts, UK