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This all started back in October when Tracy had a work trip to Vegas. She was there for a conference, schmoozing with clients and vendors in those tight pencil skirts and low-cut blouses that hug her D-cup tits just right. One night, over drinks at the hotel bar, she hit it off with this beer distributor. He was a big guy—tall, built like a linebacker, with a cocky grin and hands that looked like they could manhandle her in the best way. Tracy texted me updates throughout the evening: “This guy’s hilarious… and hot. Keeps buying me shots.” Then: “He’s touching my thigh under the table. Should I let him?” My heart raced as I typed back from home, cock already throbbing in my hand: “Go for it, babe. Flirt hard. Tell me everything.”
By midnight, her texts got bolder. “He’s inviting me up to his room. Says he wants to ‘distribute’ more than beer. Can I hook up? Please?” Fuck yes. I agreed instantly, my mind flooding with images of her on her knees for a stranger. “Do it. Be my slutty hotwife. Send pics if you can.”
I waited anxiously, stroking myself slow to edge the anticipation. An hour dragged by—then two. Finally, my phone buzzed with the first picture. There was Tracy, my gorgeous wife, on her knees in a dimly lit hotel room, her makeup smudged and lips parted in a wicked smile. A thick as a beer can, uncut cock—veiny, glistening with precum, the foreskin pulled back just enough to show the swollen head—rested heavily on her flushed cheek. She was looking right at the camera, eyes sparkling with mischief, like she was saying, “Look what your wife is about to swallow.”
The second pic came 20 minutes later. Tracy bent over the edge of the bed, her skirt hiked up around her waist, black lace thong pulled to the side. That same fat cock was buried balls-deep in her shaved pussy, stretching her pink lips wide. Her ass cheeks were spread, showing every inch disappearing into her wetness—juices dripping down her thighs. His hand gripped her hip, thumb pressing into her skin. She must have set the timer or handed him the phone because her face was turned back toward the lens, biting her lip in ecstasy.
The third and final pic sealed the night. Tracy sprawled on the bed, sheets tangled around her legs, her body glistening with sweat. Cum everywhere—thick ropes splattered across her pretty face, dripping from her chin onto her heaving tits. One glob hung from her nipple, another pooled in her cleavage. Her eyes were half-lidded in post-orgasm bliss, tongue darting out to lick a stray drop from her lips. That fat cock was in the frame too, spent and shiny, resting on her thigh like a trophy. “Babe! He exploded all over me. So much cum”
I lost it, shooting my load all over my stomach as I stared at the evidence of her infidelity.
That wasn’t the end, though. He became a regular. He started texting her dirty pics of his own, flying out to visit when “business” brought him near us. Ha And then, the real escalation: he took her on her first official hotwife vacation. A weekend in aspen, just the two of them—skiing, parties and nonstop fucking. But that’s a story for another night
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