My Hotwife Journey Pt 49
"My First BBC After Being Pregnant"

Handsome, confident, fit… I guess thats the stereotype people think of when they find out a married woman is fucking someone else.

I guess I wanted to try this stereotype. He messaged me on my socials and I realised… this was a chance I couldn’t miss. A BBC. Something I had been waiting for ever since I got back on the horse after becoming a mother again.

Every hotwife adventure I had when I was pregnant, Hubby attended. And I loved it. But I also missed going out and getting fucked properly, knowing that Hubby was at home, or work or somewhere else.

Picturing him, rock hard, trying to hide his hard cock at work, is the ultimate turn on.
It was a lazy Sunday and I knew he had flown up from Melbourne to come see me. I was excited. Why? Because I knew I was physically attracted to this guy. Everything about him. It’s weird because my husband is a very very attractive man. So when I say I was physically attracted to this guy… it means that I put him on par with my husband (well actually a little ahead because I knew this guy had a 10 inch cock).

He was waiting for me when I arrived in the lobby. We checked in together. The receptionist knew full well what this room was to be used for. I mean, I'm nearly 100 per cent certain that she recognises me by now. I guess we played the little game where we both knew what was going down but we just pretended we didn't.

We barely made it through the lobby without drawing eyes. That sundress—you know the one, barely there, whisper-thin cotton that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination—and his hands were already greedy, sliding up my thighs in the lift, pressing me against the mirrored wall before we even hit the third floor. Melbourne. He'd traveled all that way, and by the time the doors dinged open, we both knew this wasn't going to be some polite, drawn-out affair. This was going to be a fucking.

The room door clicked shut, and we didn't make it to the bed. We sat on the couch in a tangle of limbs and hungry mouths, and immediately it was obvious: this stud wasn't one of those selfish pricks who just wants to pump and dump. No, he was here to worship.

He pulled my tits out of that sundress like he was unveiling treasure, immediately wrapping those perfect lips around my nipples. And god, that tongue—it wasn't just skilled, it was trained. He worked me with the kind of precision that makes a MILF's knees weak, swirling and sucking until my back was arching off the cushions, until my pussy was already soaking through the fabric of my dress without him even touching it yet.

Then he flipped the script. One smooth move and he had me straddling him, hiking that dress up around my waist. When his hands gripped my hips and felt nothing but bare skin underneath, he groaned against my mouth. No panties. 

"Fucking hell," he growled, and the hard ridge of his cock was massive beneath me, straining through his jeans as he ground me down against it.

But he wasn't done proving himself. Not even close.

He flipped me over and spun me around. Bent me right over the arm of that couch, ass up, face down.

But here's where most men would have just shoved their cock in. Not him. Not this hungry Melbourne boy who'd come all this way for a taste.

He spread me open and went straight for my ass. No hesitation. No teasing. Just dove in like a starving man at a feast, burying his face between my cheeks and eating my asshole. Weeks of celibacy couldn't have made him hungrier than this. His tongue was everywhere, circling, stabbing deep, licking me sloppy wet while I pushed back against his face, spreading wider, giving him every filthy inch.

And I can honestly say, I have never had someone eat my ass as much as he did. Every chance he got. Every position transition. He was eating my ass. And every time he did. I pictured Hubby. This was his ass. The one he loved to eat. And now another man was enjoying it more than he has this year… that’s for sure.

The other thing he did, that was a first for me was when he grabbed my foot, lifted it, and sucked on my toes. At first I didn’t know what to think. My head flipped back. My back arched. And I went with it. If he was into it… so was I.

Then his hands were on my shoulders, pushing. Not rough, but commanding—the kind of pressure that says get on your knees, you know what you came for.
And fuck, did I know.

My knees hit the carpet with a thud that barely registered because I was already fumbling for his belt, his zipper, the heavy weight of him straining against the denim. The reveal. God, I live for this moment. The anticipation. The proof that I'm about to be ruined properly.

When I yanked his pants down, his cock sprang out heavy and thick.

"Fuck off," I breathed.

Look, I'm a MILF. I've been around. I've had big. I've had thick. But it's been a while since I've had BBC big. This was pornstar huge, veiny and angry-looking, the helmet slick already with precum. Black cock that made my two hands look small when I wrapped them around his shaft. I could barely get my fingers to touch.

"Spit on it," he ordered. "Make it wet, baby."

And I did. I drooled all over that monster cock, working him with both hands in twisting strokes, milking him, coating every inch until he was glossy and throbbing between my palms. The way he moaned—from deep in his chest told me he loved it. I mean I havent had anyone who said they didn’t.  That was me, this experienced MILF, reducing this fit stud to a panting mess with just my hands and spit.

But he was too good for his own pleasure.

"Stop," he groaned, grabbing my wrists. "Fuck, stop. I'm not blowing yet. Not even close."

The control on him. The discipline.

So I took it as a challenge. I moved him back to the couch and decided to return the favour.

I pushed him into the same position he just had me.  And I didn't hesitate. I buried my face between his cheeks with the same ravenous hunger he'd shown me, eating his ass like it was the last meal I'd ever have. I stabbed my tongue deep into that tight hole, licking and slurping, working him with the expertise only a woman my age possesses. I wanted him to feel exactly what he'd made me feel—that electric, filthy gratitude of being truly devoured.

Then his fingers tangled in my hair—not a suggestion, but a fistful of control—and he pulled me off his cock with a sharp tug that sent electricity down my spine. "Spit," he commanded, dragging me back to that glistening monster cock. 

And I did. I lubed up his cock,  coating that BBC until it was dripping, sliding my hands up and down to work it into every vein, every ridge. He watched me with dark eyes, jaw tight, that alpha energy radiating off him in waves.

He sat back down and he finally gave me what I wanted.

Struggle I did. I straddled him, positioned that massive head against my soaked entrance, and sank down. The stretch was obscene. I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as my pussy lips spread around his girth, taking him inch by thick inch. He filled me completely, bottoming out with a wet slap that made us both groan. I rode him there on that couch, grinding my clit against his pelvis, milking that BBC with the practiced roll of my hips that only a MILF knows how to deliver.

But he wasn't done directing this show.

With a growl, he lifted me off and asked me to get on all fours. Face down, ass up. I arched immediately, presenting myself like a good slut. He mounted me right there, doggystyle on the living room furniture, and drove back into my pussy with one brutal thrust that knocked the air from my lungs. The sound of his hips slapping against my ass filled the room, wet and filthy, as he pounded me into the upholstery.

After that we moved to the bed. Not before he once again devoured my asshole. 

He marched me to the bed, cock still hard and heavy, and pushed me onto the mattress. What followed was a masterclass in athletic, stamina-fucking. He folded me in half, pushing my legs back until my knees were near my ears, stuffing a pillow under my hips to angle my pussy perfectly for that deep, cervix-kissing penetration. Then he flipped me again, hanging my head off the edge of the bed so my throat was a straight line, and fed that BBC into my mouth while simultaneously bending down to devour my pussy and ass in a filthy 69.

My throat bulged around his shaft as he thrust downward, face-fucking me with that same relentless rhythm while his tongue worked miracles on my clit, circling my asshole, eating both holes with a hunger that had my eyes rolling back. I was completely at his mercy, suspended between his cock down my throat and his mouth destroying my pussy, drowning in the sheer excess of being used by this, fit god who'd traveled all this way just to break me in half.

I’ll be honest, other than when he ate my ass, for the first time in a long time I was getting fucked so good I forgot about Hubby and what he was doing at home. I was here. Enjoying the moment.

After a while he finally told me he wanted to fill me up. And I wasn't complaining. His cock had brought me to orgasm multiple times and I was well and truly ready to finally milk him.

And I knew he was ready because his pace changed. And fuck, after he'd fucked three—or was it four? —orgasms out of me with that tireless stamina, my pussy was wrecked, swollen, and absolutely desperate to milk him dry. He slowed his thrusts, gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks, and before I knew it… he was painting my insides with his cum. 

He didn't ask for permission. Didn't check if I was sure. This Melbourne bull simply took what he'd earned, what he'd traveled hundreds of kilometers to claim. He slammed into me one final time, balls deep, pinning me helpless beneath his weight as his BBC jerked and throbbed inside my married pussy. I felt the first hot pulse explode against my cervix, then another, and another—a thick, heavy flood of black seed painting my insides, flooding my womb, marking me as his territory completely.

He kept thrusting through it, milking every drop from his balls into my unprotected pussy until I was overflowing, until I could feel the warm mess dripping out around his shaft, pooling beneath my ass on the sheets.

When he finally pulled out with a wet, filthy sound, I didn't rush to clean up. No. I told him to find my panties—the lacy ones I'd specifically packed in my bag for this reason. To slip back on and make sure I kept his cum inside me. I could feel his massive load immediately soaking into the fabric, heavy against my swollen lips.

Perfect. I got exactly what I wanted. A good fuck, an orgasm (or four of them) and a story and a treat to take home to Hubby.