My Hotwife Journey Pt 57
“14 Cocks in 14 Days: The Second Guy”

Not much of a backstory to this one, honestly. Sometimes the stars don't align in some grand, swept-off-your-feet romance. Sometimes it's just me, glass of wine in hand, thumb swiping through my DMs, when I land on a dick pic that makes me stop. Actually stop. Not just a mindless scroll-by, but a proper pause.

Because let me tell you something right now: whoever said dick pics don't get you anywhere is a fucking liar. A good dick pic? One that's well-lit, nicely framed, showing off a cock that makes my mouth water? That'll get my attention every single time. I love a good dick pic. Yeah… that’s me telling you to keep sending them. 

So we got chatting. And he was ready. Keen. Eager. Whatever you want to call it, this man was not messing around. But there was something different about him. Something that made him stand out from cock number one.

He loved to film.

Not just a quick phone propped up on the bedside table kind of film. He was all about the angles. The close-ups. The shots that make you look down and think, fuck, we look good. He wanted to capture everything. Every thrust. Every gasp. Every position. And when he told me the real reason why? That the thought of filming himself fucking me so my hubby could watch it back later really, truly turned him on?

My pussy went from interested to soaked in about three seconds flat.

So once again, I found myself booking a hotel. Another room. Another key card. And a thought crossed my mind as I typed in my card details: if I'm actually going to pull off 14 cocks in 14 days, this is going to be a very expensive two weeks of hotels. Maybe I should start a loyalty programme. Or at least pick a chain with decent points.

I checked in, sent him the room number, and waited. And when he walked through that door with his phone in one hand and that hungry look in his eyes, I knew this was going to be a very different kind of day two.

Two down? Not yet. But we were about to be.

We didn't even make it to the bedroom. Not even close. He grabbed me by the waist the second the door clicked shut, pulled me toward the armchair in the corner of the living room, and sat me down. Or rather, sat himself down and pulled me onto his lap. Then he leaned in, lips brushing my ear, and murmured, "I'm going to fuck you right here. In this chair."

And fuck, if that wasn't the hottest thing I'd heard all day. Because here's the thing about that chair. That's hubby's chair. That's the chair he sits in when he watches. The chair he sinks into with a drink in one hand and his cock in the other while another man uses me in front of him. And this guy knew it. He knew exactly what that chair meant and he wanted to claim it anyway. Filthy. I loved him already.

We kissed. A lot. His hands were everywhere, gripping my arse, sliding up my ribs, pulling me tighter against him until I could feel how hard he was through his jeans. And speaking of which, let me paint you a picture of this man.

He was gorgeous. Tattooed. He had olive skin that practically glowed under the hotel lighting, smooth and warm beneath my fingers. And his body? Ripped doesn't even cover it. Muscles everywhere. Shoulders that could throw me around like a ragdoll. Abs I could do my laundry on. A chest that made my mouth water. The kind of body that makes you think, god clearly has favourites.

We stood back up and kissed some more before I did what I always do… got down on my knees.I freed his cock from his jeans and fuck, it was beautiful. Big. Thick. Hard and straining, already leaking at the tip. I wrapped my hand around it, looked up at him, and took him into my mouth. Slow at first. Teasing. Letting my lips slide down inch by inch while my tongue worked the underside. Then deeper. Wetter. Sloppier. I sucked him the way I always do. Like it's my fucking calling in life.

He was groaning, head thrown back against the chair, one hand tangled in my hair while I worked him over. But I wasn't done with him yet. Not even close.

I pulled his cock out of my mouth with a wet pop, looked up at him with a wicked grin, and turned him around. He knew what I wanted. He got onto all fours on that chair, knees spread, arse in the air, and I leaned in and did what I do best.

I ate his ass.

Let me tell you something. This is my secret talent. My hidden weapon. The thing that makes men's toes curl and their brains short-circuit. My tongue circling his tight hole, teasing, probing, then going deeper. Wet and slow and relentless. He was gripping the back of the chair, knuckles white, muttering "fuck, fuck, fuck" under his breath like a man who'd just discovered a whole new world of pleasure. I could've stayed there all night.

But then he pulled away. Spun around. And before I knew what was happening. He pushed me down onto that same chair. Face down. Arse up. Hubby's chair. And he buried his face between my legs from behind, his tongue finding my soaked pussy like a man who'd been starving for it.

When he finally pulled his tongue from my arse, I was trembling. But he didn't give me a second to recover. He bent me right over the chair, grabbed my hips, and slid his cock inside me in one long, deep stroke. No hesitation. No teasing. Just straight in, balls deep, and I let out a moan that probably had the neighbours pressing their ears to the wall.

He fucked me doggy right there over hubby's chair. Hard. Deep. Every thrust pushing me forward, his hands gripping my hips so tight I knew I'd have finger-shaped bruises by morning. That chest pressed against my back, his breath hot on my neck, his cock hitting that perfect spot over and over and over.

Then he pulled out, spun me around, and sat me back down in the chair. He grabbed my legs and hooked them over the armrests, spreading me wide open. My pussy was at perfect waist height and he stepped right back inside me like he owned it. This angle? Fuck. He was hitting my G-spot with every single thrust and I could feel that pressure building deep inside me. That unmistakable, overwhelming pressure that means I'm about to make a mess.

And I did. I squirted everywhere. All over his cock, all over that chair, all over the floor beneath us. My whole body shook as it ripped through me and he just kept fucking me through it, groaning as he felt my pussy gushing around him.

But he wasn't done with me yet. He pulled out, knelt down, and slid two fingers inside me. Curled them. Pressed right against that spot. And made me squirt again. And again. The chair was soaked. I was a shaking, dripping mess and he had the biggest grin on his gorgeous face like he was the proudest man alive.

Then he grabbed a pillow, tossed it onto the coffee table, and laid me back on it. The cold, hard surface beneath me, his hard body on top. He fucked me on that coffee table like it was built for this exact purpose. Deep, deliberate strokes while I dug my nails into those shoulders. Then I pushed him back, climbed on top, and rode him right there on the table. His hands gripping my arse, my hips grinding down on every inch of him.

We somehow made it to the couch. I don't even remember moving. I just remember being on top of him again, riding his cock slow and deep, my hands on his chest and tongue in his mouth. And this time, I didn't stop. I rode him until his breathing went ragged, until his fingers dug into my hips, until he grabbed me and pulled me down hard one final time and unloaded deep into my pussy. Every warm, thick rope filling me up while I milked him with every clench of my walls.

When he finally finished, I slid off him, got back on my knees, and took his cock in my mouth. Sucked him clean. Every last drop. Tasted both of us on my tongue. Looked up at him with a satisfied smile while he lay there, wrecked, on that couch.

2 down. 12 to go. Or so I thought.

Because I still had his cum dripping down my inner thigh, warm and sticky, when he looked at me with that cocky grin and said, "Give me 10 minutes."

Round two.

He wanted round two.

I looked at him, genuinely speechless for probably the first time in my life, and he just smiled. "This time," he said, nodding toward the bedroom. "On the bed."

I couldn't believe it. Most men are done after one round. Rolling over, reaching for their phone, making some excuse about being tired. But this one? This tattooed, olive-skinned, ripped fucking machine was already planning his next attack on my pussy while his first load was still leaking out of me.

And he wasn't lying. Not even a little bit. He got up, grabbed a drink, took a slow sip like he was just recharging his batteries, and then walked to the bedroom. Laid himself down on that bed, hands behind his head, cock resting against his thigh. Then he looked at me with those dark eyes and said it.

"Suck my cock."

Not a request. An order. And this hotwife follows orders.

I crawled onto the bed between his legs, wrapped my hand around him, and took him into my mouth. Within seconds he was hard again. Just like that. Like he hadn't just emptied his entire load into me 5 minutes ago. I smiled around his cock and kept going. Slow. Worshipping. Lips sliding up and down his shaft, tongue tracing every ridge, every vein. I wasn't just sucking him. I was adoring him. And he noticed.

"You worshipping my cock like that is a huge fucking turn on," he groaned, his hand finding the back of my head.

So I kept going. Took him deeper. Let the spit drip down his balls. Looked up at him with those big eyes while his cock hit the back of my throat. I could've stayed there all night honestly. There's something deeply satisfying about having a man that hard, that needy, purely because of your mouth.

But he wanted more. He pulled me up, positioned me over him, and I slid down onto his cock in one slow, deep motion. God, he felt even bigger the second time. I rode him slow at first, grinding my hips, feeling every inch, my hands on that tattooed chest. Then faster. Harder. Bouncing on him while he gripped my waist and thrust up into me.

Then I turned around. Reverse cowgirl. His favourite, I'm guessing, because the second I spun around and he had a view of my arse bouncing on his cock, his hands were on my hips instantly. Gripping. Guiding. Watching himself slide in and out of me. I leaned back, one hand on his thigh, the other rubbing my own clit while I rode him.

And we were nowhere near done yet.

After reverse cowgirl, he pulled me off him and slid me to the edge of the bed. My head hanging right off the end, hair pooling on the floor, looking up at him upside down. He stepped up, guided his cock to my lips, and slid it straight down my throat. No warning. No gentle start. Just a deep, wet, face-fucking that had my mascara running and my throat burning in the best possible way. He held my head still and thrust slow and deep, watching himself disappear past my lips over and over.

Then he pulled out, leaned right over me, and buried his face in my pussy again. His tongue on my clit, two fingers sliding inside me, curling against that spot. And with my head still hanging off the edge, I grabbed his hips, pulled him down to my mouth, and ate his arse again. Tongue circling, probing, going deep while he moaned into my pussy. The vibrations of his groans against my clit had my legs shaking. We stayed like that for a while, a filthy sixty-nine of mouths and tongues and fingers, both of us devoured and devouring.

But eventually my head couldn't take it. The angle, the pounding, I tapped his thigh and he pulled away immediately. Got back on the bed, hovered over me, and kissed me. Deep and passionate. The kind of kiss that tastes like both of us. Tongues tangled, his hands in my hair, my nails dragging down his back. Then he slid inside me again. Missionary. Slow this time.

Deep, deliberate strokes while we just... kissed. Like we were making love instead of fucking. It was intimate and intense and my god, it was hot.

But that slow, tender stuff didn't last. Because he flipped me over. Face down. Pressed my body flat into the mattress with his weight on top of me and fucked me in prone bone harder than he'd fucked me all night. His hands pinning my wrists above my head, his cock slamming into me so deep I was screaming into the sheets. I was completely at his mercy and loving every second of it.

Then he leaned down, breathed hot against my ear, and growled, "I'm ready to cum."

So I pushed him off, climbed on top one last time, and rode him. Hard. Fast. Grinding down on every inch, my hands on his chest, my tits bouncing in his face. I could feel him throbbing inside me, getting closer, his fingers digging into my hips as he pulled me down harder.

And then he unloaded. Again. Second time. Deep inside my pussy, pumping me full while I milked every last drop out of him with my clenching walls.

I collapsed on the bed next to him, both of us drenched in sweat, my pussy overflowing with his cum for the second time that night. Completely spent. 

2 rounds. 1 man. And I still had 12 cocks to go.