Dear Hot Husband:
It was 2019, we were living in Atlanta. It had been a few days since we discussed the idea of finding someone you could enjoy without me. I went ahead and made the plans, sharing only the time and date, and encouraged you to just go with it.
When she entered, you took her jacket. The night was unfashionably cool. Beneath she wore a pink mini-dress and platforms – a kind of 90s dream come true. The shiny material clung to her curves, and you pained at the sight of her beauty. Her hair was long, cascading; her smile, warm and tormenting. She was joyful and comfortable from the first moment, which I knew you’d appreciate.
“Hi, I’m Molly.”
You gave her a quick tour of our one-bedroom apartment. The candles were already lit, dinner waiting to be served, but culture kicked in, and you brought out wine and les amuse bouche. You let your French charm do the work.
When you took a seat at the dining room table, cheersing to one another above the flicker of candlelight, she could sense your nervousness.
“Your wife seems to know you quite well. She was really excited about tonight.”
That eased you into conversations about us, our sexuality, and the wonderful world we live in together. She was awed by the sentiment you hold for the relationship.
You served her my favourite – parmesan chicken and sauteed vegetables. She devoured the meal, and you appreciated her appetite. You were curious: what else was she hungry for?
As if reading your mind, she leaned in and said, “Shall we make ourselves more comfortable?” Before you could answer, she glided over to the couch and took a seat.
Now at ease, you took the space beside her, knees grazing, eyes locked. You asked, “What do you enjoy doing with your clients?”
She gave a grateful smirk and expressed her love for restraints – specifically around the wrists. Her skin was very sensitive, so touch was important, be it grabbing, spanking or massage. As a Dom who gets off on women’s pleasure, your arousal set in. “What else?” You asked.
“I like feeling full, here and here.” She pointed to her mouth and between her legs. You love learning people’s limits, so this sent you over the edge.
You leaned in and whispered: “I have an idea.” You walked back to the dining room table, and pulled the bench out from against the wall. It was bar height, dark wood, the seat padded with leather. You placed it in the centre of the living room, and asked her to lie on it face down. You peaked her curiosity, and before she obeyed, she slid her pink dress off, revealing nothing but lace panties beneath.
The leather was refreshing and the bench was the perfect length for her to comfortably lay on. From a drawer you took out a small bottle, squeezed massage gel into your hands, and began to rub her shoulders. In long, deep motions, you worked your way from the top to the bottom, gently pinching and tickling between her thighs, teasing the area around her panties. She moaned as you did this.
Your touch made her tingle and ache, and when she couldn’t take it anymore, she turned over, removed the lace barrier between you two, and invited you in.
Your dress pants fell to the floor and you slid yourself inside of her in one smooth motion…
She grabbed at your dress shirt, pulling you deeper. You could feel she needed more of something…
I like feeling full.
You kissed her then: thrusted your tongue between her lips, held her jaw in your hands, before pulling away entirely. You asked her to wait a moment. You disappeared into the bedroom. From there you could hear her panting still. When you reemerged, you revealed a pair of leather handcuffs:
“How do you feel about a little wrist restraint?”
She pleaded for it.
You took her hands and bound them in the empty space beneath the leather padded seat. Right as you were about to re-enter her, she asked, “can I taste you.” You moved to the side of the bench, and she turned her face towards you, confirming your recall: “I want to feel full.”
When she took you into her mouth, you placed your hand between her legs, and played in her wet. She moaned and snorted, releasing vibrations of pleasure against your cock. The heat and tension in your body rose with the cadence of compounding pleasure. You could feel by the way she began swirling her hips that she wanted you inside of her again – maybe to finish?
You listened to her, and the two of you surrendered to the harsh flow of your bodies’ requests. Pounding. Sweating. Reaching a level so fierce, it felt joyfully primitive and ugly.
Then came the release. Hers first; you followed suit.
You collapsed onto her twitching torso, and she giggled – a byproduct of the intensity.
You both lied there for a few moments before unlocking the handcuffs. You took her in your arms, and carried her back to the couch. You offered a throw blanket, so she didn’t get cold, and a glass of water. Sitting back down beside her, you checked in: “How was everything?”
“Incredible,” she confirmed.
You waited another moment and then asked, “Is it okay if I speak to my wife now?”
Molly took a final sip of her water before exhaling, “Of course. Molly is gone.”
I leaned forward, out of the blanket, and wrapped my arms around you; role play over.
What a beautiful memory, maybe the next one will be real…
Love from your Quean xx
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2 thoughts on “Dear Hot Husband: Your Date with a Sex Worker”
I love your ability to slip into someone else’s role.
Role playing can be very stimulating.
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Agreed! Thanks for reading
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