For some readers, this may be TL;DR. That's fine, I get it; this is definitely not a quick stroke. For those who like a more cultivated story line and build up, you may find yourself enjoying this. Or not. No matter, I always eagerly await the publication of an installment because I know my dick will be balls deep in my wife the day of. Thanks, Literotica!
Oh, and sorry trolls, the comments are off. You'll need to spew your negativity somewhere else. Others, please PM me with constructive feedback.
This narrative is part of a multi-part story that explores the sexual exploits of a Midwestern couple who wanted a change in locale, but are experiencing much, much more. Subject matter includes hotwife/cuckold topics, and some group sex references. If you do not care for these types of tales, move on. You are your only enemy here if you continue reading.
Those that do choose to continue, please know reading previous chapters will help you better understand the characters and their journey, but is not a requirement.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are over 18.
The sun faded over the western Iowa skies as Corey Miller pitched his laptop bag onto the passenger seat of his pickup truck. Sliding behind the wheel, he surveyed the former abandoned cornfield which his construction firm had transformed into a sprawling healthcare facility with 500 beds and doctor offices. It took two years and came at a price of $150 million, but as far as he was concerned, the real cost had been the 5 months - and counting - spent apart from his wife of 28 years. Thankfully, the ribbon cutting ceremony was scheduled for mid-February, signaling the end of major construction. He could then turn in his resignation, leave the company in good graces, and join Lauren in Miami. Unfortunately, since it was only early October, he would be chained to Iowa for at least another four months.
Driving passed the chain-link construction fences, Corey waved at Jerry and Dan, two other project managers on the job. He smiled. If only they had known the dark part they had played in his and Lauren's love making recently, brought in by none other than Lauren herself. A tall tale to be sure, told from her point of view about an encounter with his coworkers in the construction trailer, which ultimately resulted in them unloading semen onto her face. Pure fiction, of course, but hot nonetheless.
The 45-minute drive to the suburbs gave the 61-year-old a chance to reflect on his wife and their relationship. In the five months since Lauren had relocated to South Florida for her new job, he had witnessed the low key, demure, and nearly frigid 48-year-old Midwestern mother change into a dynamic sexual creature who was slowly embracing some of the eccentricities that he himself had fantasized about for years. And then some. For some time now he'd been pushing her to dress more provocatively, be a flirt, and, more recently, have sex with others. In the last couple months, she had checked all three boxes. In addition, she seemed have developed her own idiosyncrasies, ranging from a newfound fondness of facials and over-the-top filthy talk while in the throes of passion. What used to be a few whimpers had graduated into a steady stream of fuck me, fuck you, fuck everything! Sometimes contrived, sometimes self-deprecating, but always, always a turn on.
Admittedly, Corey had played a major part in this transformation and much of her new behavior was a product of his own doing. Beginning years ago, he had promoted the notion of sharing her by way of manufactured tall tales while nestled safely in their marital bed behind closed doors. Lauren had always enjoyed the imaginary lovers to some extent, having an orgasm at the thought of others taking her roughly during the precious few times they did make love. It was a concept they both understood to be pure fantasy and it seemed to be destined to stay that way. Alas, an early menopause and Corey's expanding waistline and diminished stamina as he aged had significantly decreased his wife's libido. Until her recent move, that is.
Now, she had grown emboldened, triggered not by his persistence alone, but an inner force he could not quite put his finger on. It was as if something had awakened; a sexuality that had laid dormant, just below the surface. Perhaps she had suppressed it once they were married or maybe it had never surfaced before at all. It was hard to tell. During Lauren's recent tryst with the neighbor boy, she had uttered some nonsense about her pulling train in an old boyfriend's fraternity house. Whether there was any truth in that or if she was just being "in character" feeding Corey's kink, he did not know. Nor had he pursued it. Yet, it was clear he had poked a tiger, and since coming to Miami, it appeared the tiger had been inspired. At times he beat himself up over the perpetual cajoling. Husbands weren't supposed to encourage their wives to have sex with others. At least that what mainstream society claimed. He told himself it was for altruistic reasons -- for HER sexual fulfillment and happiness -- but that would not be completely honest either. No, he had enough self-awareness to know it was the damn compersion he craved, the feeling he experienced when witnessing or even thinking of Lauren with another. Yes, it was kinky, perverse, and even depraved, but God help him, he loved it so.
The flash of a sign signaling the post office ahead caught Corey's eye. Crap, almost missed it! He slowed the old pickup truck and guided it into the parking lot. Grabbing a small plainly wrapped box from the middle console, he jumped down and approached the night drop. His hand shook slightly as he pulled opened the drawer and placed the tiny package on the tray. Hesitating longer than he should have, he allowed the lid to close, listening to the parcel drop into the void. He looked up at the rosy twilight sky and sighed. It was going to be another lonely night.
Lauren walked into the lobby of her apartment building and bent over, hands on knees and slightly wheezing. Out of breath from a long early evening power walk, she walked aimlessly around the white marble floor as she willed her body to cool down. Miami in October could still be quite warm and this day was no exception. She had to remind herself she was not a young chick anymore.
An older bespectacled gentleman working the concierge desk looked at her appreciatively. One of the perks of the job was being able to observe female residents come and go, all under the pretense of "keeping an eye on them for their safety". His eyes drank in her tight black bike shorts and pink sports bra. Small firm ass and tiny tits. The apartment building was not lacking pretty woman, but this one was exemplary. Older, but more in shape than most.
"Good evening, Mrs. Miller. You have a package waiting. Would you like to pick it up now?" he asked, maintaining an air of professionalism.
Lauren nodded as she approached the desk, taking a long sip of water. The man handed her the package, discreetly glancing at the tiny nipples hardening from the cool air blowing from the floor vents. "Thank you, Harvey," she replied, closing her hand around the small box, noting the familiar handwriting on the brown paper wrapper.
The attendant watched the perfect buttocks shift up and down beneath clingy polyester as their owner sauntered to the elevators. He was acutely aware the woman's husband only visited from time to time and was not yet a permanent resident. That was risky. Leaving a fine piece of ass like that alone in a sinful city like Miami was only asking for trouble.
Lauren entered her 23rd floor apartment with only two things in mind: a hot shower and a good meal. Looking down at the package, she noticed it was postmarked three days ago from Des Moines. Sweet Corey. He was forever sending her little things for the apartment; a candle here, a knickknack there. Unfortunately, this one would have to wait. Plopping the box on the kitchen island, she stripped off her sweaty clothes and jumped under the steady stream of warm water. It was Friday night, and she was in a good mood. Her taste buds had been tantalized for weeks by the smells of a new Italian restaurant around the corner and tonight she was set on some good pasta.
After showering, the 48-year-old donned a long sleeve, red satin scoop-neck dress and simple two-inch high heels. It was of modest length, stopping mid-thigh, but clingy enough to highlight her curves and small chest. Classy without being over-the-top.
Meandering into the kitchen, Lauren picked up the nondescript package from the kitchen counter and unwrapped it. Inside was a small white jewelry box held together by a blue ribbon. This immediately piqued her curiosity. She could count on one hand the number of times Corey had given her unsolicited jewelry. Carefully wiggling off the top, she peeled away the fluffy white cotton to reveal a short gold chain nestled within. It was too short to be a necklace. A bracelet perhaps?
Lifting it from the box with an index finger, she peered at it quizzically. It had a rather sturdy clasp and two small letter pendants hanging in the middle: "H" and "W". Lauren stared at the chain with a blank look. What the heck? Those were definitely NOT her initials. Moments later a faint recollection crept in. During her research into understanding Corey's hotwife kink, she recalled that some women wear an anklet as a way of sending a subtle message to potential partners that they are available and have the consent of their husbands to "mingle".
"I'll be damned," Lauren shook her head, grinning. He's getting bolder, I'll give him that.
Corey was huddled over a barbecue grill in his backyard nursing a t-bone steak to perfection when the video app on his phone rang. His face lit up at the sight of his lovely wife.
"Hi babe. TGIF! Hope they took it easy on you this week," he said cheerfully. He too was in a good mood. "Wow, you're dressed nice. What's the occasion?"
"Going to the new Italian place down the street. Looking forward to a good meal without cooking for a change."
"Alone? I mean the dress and all."
"Yes, alone," Lauren replied. Narrowing her eyes, she held up the anklet. "Unless you had other plans for me."
"Ah, yes," Corey tittered. "So, you got it. What do you think? Do you like it?"
"High-quality gold. You have good taste."
"Nothing but the best for you."
A few moments of silence followed.
"You know this is a clear invitation for men to hit on me," Lauren stated flatly. Then, remembering her commitment to helping him evolve his fetish, she added softly, "I'm assuming that is what you want."
"All I want is for you to be satisfied."
"You are so full of shit," Lauren snorted, twisting the chain around her fingers. She watched quietly as he sprinkled some spices on the meat. After a minute, she spoke up. What the hell, she was in a funky mood.
"Would you like me to wear it tonight? I'm not convinced anything will come of it, but who know? Maybe some Italian stallion will take notice.""
Corey looked back towards the screen and raised his eyebrows. " Really? I wasn't sure you would."
"You sent it to sit in a jewelry box?"
"I...I guess not," Corey gulped. "I sent it because it was hot picturing you in a bar, the anklet advertising your availability, men trying to pick you up..."
"You mean, like a hooker," she pondered, "except the milk's free."
"Um, well, now that you put it that way..." Corey stammered. He was losing this one. "Just forget it, babe. I thought you might find it hot too. I can send it back. No harm, no foul."
Lauren deliberated her response. He clearly intended for her to wear the gift with hopes for a specific outcome. She was willing to indulge some of his fantasies -- after all, she derived pleasure from them as well - but was this taking things too far? Still with few friends in the area, any man approaching her in Miami would more than likely be a stranger. That posed a danger these days in itself. Still, she wanted to satiate Corey's needs, let it swim around in his perverted brain. What's the chances of a single man at an upscale restaurant hitting on her, much less one recognizing the anklet's significance? Besides, it might be a naughty thrill.
"No need to return it," Lauren cooed as she bent over to secure the chain around her ankle. A photo of his wife's tanned foot appeared on Corey's screen. The shiny gold anklet lay beautifully against the smooth skin. "You seem to forget that while this started as YOUR kink, I'm the one that engineered the rendezvous with Max and Tommy. Let's see if anyone notices, shall we?"
Corey groaned at the thought. There was no doubt in his mind someone would. His cock twitched its involuntary approval.
Harvey's eyes followed the slim beauty through the lobby as she walked towards the revolving door leading to the driveway. The tight ruby red dress complemented the straight jet-black hair flowing to the middle of her back, a hint of gold flashing from an ankle chain as she passed underneath the bright lights. He grinned. Classy outfit or sweaty workout clothes, this woman always looked dialed in.
The Italian restaurant was just a few steps around the corner from the apartment building. Its foyer was adjacent to an ornate hotel and hungry patrons crowded in to await a coveted table. New restaurants were always difficult to get into, so Lauren was thankful she had the presence of mind to make a reservation the previous week. The maître d' welcomed her with a warm smile and invited her to wait for her table in the restaurant's bar which was located in the hotel lobby. Knowing she was about 30 minutes early, she did not protest and instead carefully walked up the stairs towards the bar. The dress was comfortable but tight and did not allow for much leg room. In fact, she had difficulty lifting her butt into place on the bar stool, much to the amusement of the bartender. He seemed to take much delight in watching the hemline rise on her thighs as she crossed her toned legs.
"What can I get you, Miss?"
"A dry martini please, and two more inches on my heels," Lauren quipped as she surveyed the lobby. An opulent four-star hotel, it was housed within an older building which the owners had tried to preserve. Being a Friday, most businessmen had checked out hours ago, and now the majority of the guests were families looking to blow off steam over the weekend. Downing the drink - a bit more rapidly than she should - the shiny gold chain around her ankle became a source of self-awareness. In Lauren's mind it was a billboard announcing, "slut wife here", but in reality, it was barely noticeable. As the alcohol began to calm her nerves, she realized it would be a stretch for anyone in such an upscale place to recognize the anklet's significance, if they noticed it at all. Part of her just wanted to eat and go back to her apartment to veg. Yet, deep inside, she felt Kuhimo tugging at her libido, excited at the possibility of connecting.
It didn't seem there was much chance of that at the moment. Those waiting in the bar were mostly couples. The few men that were by themselves sat at the rail fiddling with their phones, lost in their 3-by-5 virtual worlds. A hostess from the restaurant eventually came up the stairs, giving her a glimmer of hope that a table was ready. This was dashed when another name was called. Looking at the bartender, she waved down another drink.
Predictably, a beautiful woman in a form-fitting dress alone in a bar on a Friday night is bound to be noticed. Over the next 25 minutes, several men -- who were ostensibly just passing through - tried to strike up conversations, but once they noticed the wedding ring, the banter ended, and they moved on. Either they had not noticed the anklet, were unaware of its meaning, or were simply scared off.
Lauren continued to sip the martini. Her reservation time had just passed. Succumbing to the boredom, she began surfing various shopping sites on her phone while quietly bopping her head to the piped in sounds of 80's music. She was completely immersed in a review of some designer shoes when a nearby voice startled her.
"That was a crazy decade for music, wasn't it?"
Looking up from her phone, she discovered the voice belonged to a very distinguished looking gentlemen about her age.
"What was that?"
"The 80's," the man said, sliding onto the stool beside her. "It had everything. Punk rock, new wave, hair bands, the beginning of grunge."
"I suppose it did," Lauren replied, pushing the bangs from her eyes to get a better look at the stranger. He had a distinct accent. English? Australian? Whatever the nationality, he was certainly well put together. Good complexion, meticulously coifed hair and nails, expensive collarless shirt and slacks. Not particularly buff, but not soft either. All around, very charming with a kind face.
"I'm Ethan," he offered, holding out his hand. "Just in from the U.K. on business next week."
Her fingers disappeared into his grasp as they shook. He had the most intense color of blue eyes she had ever seen.
"Lauren. Just in from around the corner. And still waiting for a table."
He ordered a bourbon and politely asked if another drink would do. A nod of her pretty head told him two things: she was still thirsty, and she was open to conversation. A good start.
"Lovely name. Although I would have guessed Hell on Wheels."
Ethan pointed down at her ankle. "HW?"
Lauren coughed as she wiped some of the martini from her chin. So much for no one noticing.
"Um, a gift from my husband."
"I see," the Englishman replied. "Funny, you'd think he'd know your name by now."
That got a sly smirk from the pretty face. Excellent, he thought. After traveling the world for 25 years he knew all too well what the anklet likely signified. But one had to be careful not to offend. If wrong, it could mean a drink in the face. If correct, many such women were skittish to begin with and demanded discreetness. Some needed the right amount of coaxing.
"Between that chain and the size of the diamond on your finger, he must love you very much."
Lauren looked down at her wedding ring and fiddled with the band.
"Yes, he does, very much."
"Good. A solid marriage is an important institution."
That was certainly an interesting statement, Lauren thought. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly and not hitting on her at all.
From there, the pair launched into a lengthy but pleasant conversation ranging from favorite 80's bands to how life in Britain differed from that in the United States. Lauren hung on the man's every word, smitten by his good looks, accent, and stately presence. She had completely forgotten about dinner. Then the unthinkable happened. Her stomach growled. LOUDLY, ending with a fading whine, like a cat dying a terrible death.
Ethan laughed. "Hungry, are we? How long have you been waiting?"
Covering her mouth in embarrassment, Lauren looked sheepishly at her phone. "Now almost 20 minutes past my reservation." Out of the corner of her eye she saw the hostess heading back towards the bar. "Maybe that's me now."
But it was not to be. The woman motioned to another couple, who quickly gathered their belongings and followed. As the trio passed by and disappeared into the restaurant, Ethan slipped in behind them. Lauren sighed. "Buh-bye, blue eyes," she thought to herself, taking another sip.
Two minutes later, the dapper Englishman bounded back up the stairs into the hotel lobby.