Of coarse I messaged her once I got to the car, Like all men my mind was alive with the possibilities, I often think women must love the notion of men’s testosterone fuelled madness, I briefly wonder how many car crashes I caused in such a way.
A few days passed, then “Da-ding” My phone went off.
“What did you think of the charm..? ??” unsure how to replay I stuck with “I loved everything I saw” after minutes a picture appears. Those gorgeous shapely legs naked all but for the Anklet. “Yes just as I remember, lovely” I reply. 5 minutes passes with no reply “Da-ding” My phone went off again. A picture of Charlotte her face hidden behind the camera, her shoulders bare the skin of her neck seemed flushed, her fitted blouse rumpled wonderfully contrasting Her red tussled hair “Did I not make and impression” biting my lip I reply “quite the contrary, I have thought of little else” and then nothing, for hours. I enjoyed the thought of the innocuous naughty thought in her mind that day.
That’s the thing about a HotWife it’s the knowing, the absolute certainty that they are lusted after. The envy the lust and the want that that particularly unique type of women can enjoy. Ever the bold man I messaged charlotte that, noting it was read later that evening. I wondered what she was doing, surprisingly I dint think to go to the opticians that seemed an odd thing to do to me. That evening about 7 I got a message.
“where are you?”
“home, you?”
“I feel like a drink…”
“where”
“here” she messaged me a pub in the forest
“when?”
“half an hour”
“what would you like?”
“You chouse”
My mind is alive with the possibilities sometimes a drink is a drink after all but a man is always hopeful.
I arrive at the pub, its nice do all the covid check-in and sit at a table outside, its an old mill and it’s a lovely evening, Ive ordered her a Prosecco. In the back of my mind, I am thinking she could not turn up. Its happened to us all.
“Hello Craig”, I look up to see Charlotte. She would appear to be ever so slightly flustered; my eye is drawn to her full lips that have a light colour to them with plenty of balm which has plumped them out, her lips slightly part as she looks at me. I note Smoky eyes taking my measure, with long real lashes.
“Hello” I rise gesturing her to sit, she comes to hug. And it feels amazing having her pressed to me, her smell is the thing that strikes me that faint citrus tang in the air again, mixed with something more sexual. She is wearing a slightly see-through button up blouse that I can see the outline of her nipples through as she sits the white lace of her bra pulls taught, I can see the patterns through the blouse and we chat about all the mundane things people talk about. After a polite amount of time, I break the ice, enquiring how long she has been a Hotwife. This is always interesting. You have women that are rediscovering SEXY. Women that have always been “available” are rarer or at least in my experience. I had never been a women’s first before. until now.
It transpires the Charlotte and her husband Adrian have been thinking about this for some time, I am always intrigued by that. I tend to think that there is always one partner who is more into it than the other. This isn’t always the case but it is common. Would you believe that Charlotte had been wearing the Anklet some much she had forgotten about it. She explained that the pictures she sent me were taken the day I approached her. Adrian a had been so turned on that she had been qualified that they had some of the best sex they had had in ages.
There was that lip bite a few times as she described the effect it had had on her as well as her husband. That oddly flushed colouring of her face and neck coupled with a distant dreamy look as she spoke to me. The women was radiating lust. Not being crude I didn’t make any suggestions although I have known women to enjoy the boldness of such a thing. I gently stroked her arm as she nursed her drink. We made eyes at each other as she pursed her lips and took another sip. She has well manicured nails and a simple band on her finger, I notice as she strokes my fore arm lightly with her red nails. Her eyes take on fixed set to them she takes up her clutch.
With that she had to excuse herself, ordered another drink as I waited “Da-ding” My phone went off. I tend not to look at my phone when I’m out so I sat quietly as my drink arrived and Charlotte returned. She sits on the same side of the bench to me, siting astride the bench facing me this time mirroring my stance she is cooching up towards me. Her eyes are thoughtful as her legs make contact with my own. For the first time I catch the site of a small tattoo on her wrist, small unfaded but faint. “I think you should check your phone” she breaths as she takes up her drink again brushing my arm.
Frowning I explain that I don’t when I’m with people. One of those bitten lip looks again. I check my phone. Its picture of her in the ladies again face behind the camera, it takes a split second for me to clock what’s in her hand. Its white, some kind of hanky?? Pointedly her hand brushes my thigh. Its like all the blood in that leg is redirected to my cock, almost in time to the throb. She drops something into my lap. Its not a hanky, the fine pattern of flowers in lace on a pair of French knickers, her French knickers.
My hand close’s around them there warm from her hand but they aren’t dry, my hand curling around the warm bundle. I brush her legs, our eyes meeting as she sips her drink innocently. My fingers trace the journey up her legs. I feel the pattern in her stockings her skirt riding ever so slightly with the tied of my explorations. I steal a glance at the seamed black stockings she is wearing and notice the hint of her stocking tops flowers aren’t the only thing growing at the moment. she has no underwear on I am tantalised beyond belief, er legs are open and facing me. She has no underwear on. All I would have today is move forward and I would feel all of her, open exposed.
I look back up at her The thought of that is almost to much for me, she is trembling I feel her unfamiliarity with a stranger’s grasp. I admire her moxy to have the balls “so to speak to do it”. She isn’t drinking the Prosecco she looking straight at me, not breathless, not panting her breathing is shallow. Her bust rising and falling like the tides. Her breathing is almost sync’d to the strain of my trousers. The situation is giving her a brushing of colour and blush to her cheeks which has heighted since she handed me her underwear or rather since she watched me understand what she has given me. Her respiration heaves once me again let me note the patterns of her remaining underwear, as I contemplated those baby brown eyes, her nipples are evident.
A few delicious moments pass, then “Da-ding” My phone went off.
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