Mousy Wife in Biker Bar

By Gustav Jorgenson

***new collection of hot cuckold erotica out now: Wicked Wife Mischief ***

“Honey, you know how I have been trying to convince you to dress more, uh, provocatively when we go out?” asked Milton, gulping with nervousness as he addressed his wife, Sophie.

“Um, yes.  But you know I’m not that kind of woman, dear,” said Sophie softly, looking down at her tea as she stirred it.

“But you have such a sexy body,” urged Milton.  “You should show it off more. Look, I stopped by the mall and bought you a tube dress to try on.”  He held up a shopping bag toward his wife.

“Oh, god, are you serious?” giggled Sophie, bowing her head to avoid her husband’s inquiring gaze and pushing the hair behind her ear.  “You know I’m too shy to wear some sexy dress in public.”

“Look, can’t you just do it for me, darling?” pleaded Milton, his cock stiffening at the idea of his meek wife strutting around in this revealing outfit.

Sophie peeked at her husband and laughed nervously,  “I’ll try it on, but I won’t promise to wear it out to the bar tonight,” she said, taking the bag from her husband and scurrying off to the bedroom.

Milton followed her down the hall but wasn’t surprised when his wife shut and locked the bedroom door behind her.  She was a remarkably modest women and didn’t like for Milton to watch her change. He paced back and forth in the hall while she dressed, his palms sweating and his penis quivering at the thought of Sophie’s curves barely contained by the tight dress.

“Oh this will never do, Milton,” called Sophie through the locked door.  “It’s too tight.”

“Let me see,” said Milton, practically jumping up and down with anticipation.

“I don’t even have a strapless bra to wear with it,” complained Sophie.

“Let me see,” repeating Milton.

“I feel slutty,” whimpered Sophie in a small voice.

“Just open the door, honey, please,” pleaded Milton.  He waited for a moment, with his ear to the door, but he heard nothing.  Finally there was a click as Sophie unlocked the door and he rushed into the room.  “My God, you look amazing,” he gushed as he admired Sophie’s hourglass figure. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her large breasts seemed on the verge of spilling out of the top of the snug black dress at any moment.  The dress clung to her curves, perfectly outlining her narrow waist and wide hips and was so short that it just barely covered her crotch, leaving her shapely legs entirely exposed. Sophie was blushing furiously and alternated between tugging the top of the dress up to keep her boobs in check and then tugging at the hem to keep her crotch from peeking out.

“Oh this is just impossible,” gasped Sophie in exasperation.  “I don’t have a bra to go with this and my boobs are going to pop out any second,” she complained, pushing her heavy framed glasses back up her nose.

“Please honey, you look simply delectable,” begged Milton, getting down on his knees dramatically.  “This has been a real fantasy of mine for a long time. To show the world how gorgeous my meek and nerdy wife really is.”

“Hey, who are you calling a nerd?  I thought you were trying to butter me up,” said Sophie, taking her husband’s face in her hands, and looking down at him tenderly.

Milton said nothing and just gazed up at his wife with hope in his eyes.

“Oh jeez, not the puppy dog eyes,” said Sophie, covering her face.  “Ok, ok, I will do it for you. But we need to go someplace quiet and dark,” she said giggling in confusion.

“I know just the place,” exclaimed Milton, jumping to his feet.  “That little Roadhouse bar down by the freeway. No one will know us there.”

“Ew, I don’t know,” said Sophie with hesitation.  “That place seems a little run down.”

“I stopped in there once with some fellows from work.  It was very, uh, rustic. There were hardly any people in there.  And the beer was cheap.”

“Ok, I know this is important for you, but if I feel too uncomfortable, I want to leave right away, ok?” asked Sophie.   She gulped with anxiety at the thought of going out in public in this skimpy dress. She felt practically naked and it filled her stomach with butterflies.

“Absolutely, whatever you say,” said Milton eagerly as they headed out to the car.


When they arrived at the Roadhouse bar, the gravel parking lot was overflowing with Harley Davidsons. 

“Whoa, look at all these motorcycles,” said Sophie with trepidation.   “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Um, yeah, I don’t know,” said Milton as he parked the car.  “It looks like a biker convention.”


They sat for a moment watching the unsavory crowd milling in and out of the bar.  They were mostly grizzled men in beaten up leather jackets, all with a skeleton logos on the back.  But there was an occasional women amongst them, looking haggard and smoking cigarettes. One of the women noticed Milton and Sophie sitting in their car and approached them with a ragged smile.

Sophie rolled down her window as the woman approached.

“Whatsa matter, you two?  Afraid to come in?” asked the woman with a grin that revealed some missing teeth.  She had bags under her eyes and her breath stunk of beer and tobacco. “Don’t be nervous.  We might look rough, but we are just as harmless as kittens.” Then the women noticed Sophie’s dress and she whistled with surprising lewdness.   “Ooo, girl, look at those ta-tas. Ha, ha. Come on in, the boys will get a big kick out of you in that little black dress, I’ll tell you what.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” admitted Sophie, tugging self-consciously at the top of her dress.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will take care of you, pudding.  Just stick with me,” said the woman, opening the car door for Sophie and helping her out with a bawdy wink.  “I know all these old boys and they won’t lay a finger on you without your say so.”

“Um, thank you,” said Sophie, looking back over her shoulder as her husband quickly climbed out of the car and scampered after them.

“They call me Buttercup, what’s your name, sweetie?” asked the woman as she locked arms with Sophie and headed toward the entrance of the bar.

The dilapidated woman sported a leather jacket with the ubiquitous skeleton, a short denim skirt, and cowboy boots.  She crunched across the uneven gravel of the parking lot casually, providing support to Sophie who teetered along beside her in unfamiliar heels.

“I’m Sophie, and this is my husband, Milton,” said Sophie, as Milton caught up with them breathlessly.

Buttercup pursed her thin, dry lips and tutted at Milton, taking in his pink polo shirt, dockers, and hair plastered to one side.  “Hrmph, the boys won’t like him much,” she muttered to Sophie.

Sophie gave Buttercup a look of concern and didn’t notice that all the bikers by the entrance had stopped to stared at her.

“What’s up, hot stuff?” asked one huge bearded, bear of a man, leering at Sophie and ignoring Milton entirely.  Milton felt his arms pits growing damp with fear at the sight of this huge rough man accosting his wife and was relieved when Buttercup intervened.

“Put it back in your pants, there, Tiny,” snapped Buttercup sharply.  “Sophie here is my pal and I am takin’ her straight to Rogan.”

Tiny’s pals guffawed loudly and slapped him on the back as he cringed under Buttercup’s tongue lashing.  Milton felt his relief draining away as he considered her words. “Err, wait, who is Rogan?” he asked.

“Rogan is the boss of these mutts,” said Buttercup, putting her nose in the air as she led the nervous couple through the crowded bar, pushing through clumps of big, sweaty bikers.  “He is just going to eat. Sophie. Up,” she cackled. Milton realized that as worn-down as the woman looked, she probably was no older than he or Sophie.

All the men stopped and ogled Sophie as she passed by with her jiggling, unconstrained boobs and she kept tugging awkwardly at the top of her dress, her head bowed meekly, afraid to make eye contact.  Milton was starting to have second thoughts about this whole experiment. When he fantasized about showing his wife off to other men, he always pictured nice, upper class professional men like himself, not these rough, poorly dressed motorcycle hooligans.  In fact, Milton didn’t even feel safe here amongst these animals and stuck close to Buttercup’s side for protection since she seemed to have some power over them.

“Go get us some beers and make your yourself useful, Myron,” said Buttercup to Milton dismissively.

“It’s, uh, Milton, actually,” said Milton raising a finger in objection.  But Buttercup just ignored him and hustled his wife away through the crowd.  He and a couple of other men stopped to stare at Sophie’s round buttocks, snugly encased in her tight dress.

“Look at that sweet, sweet, ass,” said one wiry biker to Milton, clapping him on the shoulder roughly.

“Yes, that’s my wife,” said Milton.  “So you might want to be a bit more respectful.”

“Har, har, respectful, huh,” laughed the thin man in Milton’s face.  “Well if you are tapping that ass, then I guess you deserve a bit of respect, cheers,” said the man, holding up his beer in a salute before taking a long sloppy draught.

Milton cast a brief glance at the beer dribbling out the corners of this fellow’s mouth and took that opportunity to scurry off to the bar and fetch some beers for himself, his wife and Buttercup.

Meanwhile, Buttercup lead Sophie to a table at the back of the bar where a group of men stood talking by a battered pool table.  One man in his forties stood out among the rest and was clearly the leader. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a square jaw. He wore a neatly trimmed beard and long hair that went past his shoulders.   His skeleton jacket has specials emblems on the front and the other men seemed to defer to him.

“Rogan, look what I brought for you,” said Buttercup, pushing her way into the group with Sophie by her side.  “Her name is Sophie!”

Conversation stopped short and the coarse group fell silent as all eyes were fixed on Sophie’s body.  Her cheeks flushed prettily and she bowed her head as the men brazenly looked her body up and down.

“Holy fuck, Buttercup,” grunted Rogen in appreciation.  “Where did you find this slutty little nerd? She is built like a goddamn brick shithouse.”  The men all broke out in raucous laughter as Sophie giggled nervously and hid her face in her hands.

“Come now, fellows,” tittered Sophie into her hand.  “You are making me self conscious.”

“Oh, darlin’, they are just playing with you,” said Buttercup, putting her arm around Sophie consolingly.  “I thought you would be used to that sort of thing with a body like that.”

“Oh, I never dress this way,” admitted Sophie, peeking over at Buttercup who gave her an encouraging smile.  “It was my husband’s idea.”

“Your husband?” cried Rogan.  “Where the fuck is he at?”

“Right here, right here,” said Milton, edging his way into the circle of ruffians with three beers clasped in his hands.

The group took one look at him in his pink shirt and khakis and broke out laughing in unison.  He glanced around the group fearfully as he handed Buttercup and Sophie their beers.

“Thank you, honey,” said Sophie quietly, taking the drink.  She turned away slightly to take a big gulp, hoping it would calm her nerves.  Her heart was pounding madly in her chest.

“Let me get this straight,” said Rogan, stepping closer to Sophie while looking Milton in the eye.  “You dressed up your timid little wife like a whore and decided to take her down to hang out with a gang of bikers?  What the fuck were you thinking, man?” Rogan shot Milton a winning smile and shook his head in disbelief.

“Ah, well, I wouldn’t say that she looks like a whore exactly,” objected Milton, holding up one finger.  His pulse was racing but he felt that he had to stick up for his wife in this group of churlish men.

“Maybe not a whore, but she sure does have the goods on full display,” interjected Buttercup.  She slipped behind Sophie and shook her by the shoulders, making Sophie’s generous bosom shimmy and jiggle.  Sophie squealed with surprise as the shaking caused her rebellious top to slip down, exposing her gorgeous white cleavage.  She caught it just before it slipped down past her nipples. While the men hooted and made ribald comments.

“Stop it, Buttercup, my boobs are popping out,” gasped Sophie, her face burning with embarrassment.


“Yup, your wife sure has a sweet set of knockers on her,” said Rogan, nodding with approval.

“Um, you all keep talking about about me in the third person,” offered Sophie softly.  She kept her chin tucked down as she wriggled her top back up into place.

“Oh, I’m sorry, little lady,” said Rogan, stepping closer.  He took Sophie’s chin gently in his big rough hand and tilted her head up so that her could fix with a piercing gaze.  Sophie gasped in response as she found herself drawn into Rogan’s cold blue eyes. “You have a lovely pair of tits. White, big, and jiggly.  Just as I like ‘em.”

Sophie gulped in amazement and felt a tickle of arousal in her belly as this big strong man took her face in his hand and spoke so suggestively.  The group snickered and muttered amongst themselves in response.

“Now, err, that’s quite improper,” objected Milton impotently as he watched this big oaf manhandling his poor wife.

Rogan ignored Milton and continued on, holding Sophie’s head up to maintain her gaze.  “Yup, your tits are making my dick real hard right about now,” he told her. “What do you think of that?”  Rogan reached down with his other hand and shamelessly adjusted the growing lump in his jeans.

“Um, I guess that’s flattering in a way,” admitted Sophie, feeling locked into Rogan’s stare.  She put her hands over her breasts unconsciously to hide her stiffening nipples.

“Come now, that’s really beyond the pale,” protested Milton.  He summoned his courage and tapped Rogan on the shoulder. “Please unhand my wife, sir,” he said, fighting the nauseous fear in his gut.

There was a collective inhalation as a hush fell over the group. Rogan released Sophie’s face from his grip and turned to face Milton, drawing himself up to full height and glowering down at the indignant husband.

“Do you have any idea who I am, little man?” asked Rogan quietly.  “I’m the leader around here. I’m the fucking alpha male. I snap my fingers and this bunch here would grab you and break you in two!”

Milton’s chin quivered in fear, but he glanced over at his shocked wife, looking on anxiously and he gathered his wits about him.  “Be that as it may,” he stammered. “Sophie is my wife and you shouldn’t talk to her that way. It’s impolite,” insisted Milton, meeting Rogan’s stern gaze though his face shook like jelly and his gut was writhing with eels.

Rogan’s face dropped in bald amazement and he turned in a full circle with his arms spread, silently imploring everyone to take notice.  A larger group formed around the little circle as bikers all crowded in, craning their heads to see and whispering feverishly to inquire what was happening.

“You know what?” Rogan asked the crowd.  “This little man has a big pair of stones on him, I’ll tell you what,” he said pointing at Milton.  “I wouldn’t have thunk it, but there it is. A big old pair of stones.” There was a pregnant pause as the group seemed to hold it’s breath. Rogan relished the moment while Milton stood there, knees shaking, and then he broke out into a broad grin and gave a deep belly laugh.  The crowd exhaled as one as Rogan slapped his knee in delight. “Which one of you tough guys would stand up to me like that? I ask you,” laughed Rogan, wiping a tear from his eye. He came over and put his arm around Milton, crushing him to his side in a an iron grip. “What’s your name, there?” he asked.


“You are alright in my book, Milton,” said Rogan as the crowd started to thin out, realizing that no violence was at hand.  “Now what’s the problem between us? Am I being too rude for you?”

“Well, Sophie is my wife, after all,” said Milton reasonably.  “It’s only appropriate for me to ask other men to treat her with dignity.”

“Dignity,” said Rogan, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow in thought.  He released Milton from his grip and rubbed his chin in thought.

“He just wants you to be more polite,” explained Sophie primly.

“Oh Rogan don’t mean no harm,” put in Buttercup, suppressing a smile.  “He just follows the old adage, treat a lady like a whore and a whore like a lady.”

“Har, har, I sure do, Miss Buttercup.  By your leave ma’am, I surely do,” responded Rogan with a twinkle in his eye as he kissed Buttercup’s hand to the delight of the group.  Bikers pounded each other on the shoulder as Rogan teased Buttercup.

“Oh you rascal, you go on, I know what I am,” laughed Buttercup, withdrawing her hand.

“Ok, Sophie, I beg your pardon, ma’am,” said Rogan, gripping his crotch as he looked Sophie up and down.  “Let me start over, can I? My name is Rogan, and it is a real pleasure to meet you,” he held out his hand to Sophie.

Sophie glanced at her husband nervously and hesitantly took Rogan’s hand.  “Hello, Rogan. I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said, feeling excitement building inside her.

Rogan put her hand to his lips and kissed it delicately while he fixed her with an intense gaze, making Sophie’s heart flutter madly.  “May I say that your dress is very flattering to your figure?” he asked. “I hope that’s not too forward.” The group snickered in response.

“Um, no, uh, thank you very much,” replied Sophie, tugging at her top to keep her breasts in check.  She could feel the group staring at her erect nipples that were poking plainly through the thin fabric.

“You know, Rogan, since you like Sophie’s figure so much, you should invite her back to the clubhouse so that she can give you a better look at it,” suggested Buttercup taking a drag of a cigarette.

“That’s a fine idea, Buttercup,” replied Rogan, rubbing his hands together.  “But you know she would need to go through her initiation first.”

“Of course, of course,” said Buttercup, frowning judiciously and shaking her head.  “No women in the clubhouse until they go through initiation. I know the rules.”

“What does the initiation entail?” asked Sophie.

“Let me try to say this politely, so I don’t offend your husband,” said Rogan while his fellow chortled knowingly all around.  “We don’t normally allow women in the clubhouse unless they show their loyalty and that they got nothing to hide.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” said Milton, the sweat beading on his forehead.

“Well men can’t come in at all unless they are full members,” said Buttercup blowing smoke in Milton’s face dismissively.

“Now, now, Buttercup, this is true.  But our friend Milton has shown his worth.  He is a solid man who stood right up to me to defend his wife’s honor, so he’s earned his entrance,” said Rogan drawing himself upright.

“Well, uh, thank you,” said Milton, feeling an unaccountable sense of relief.

“But how do I show that I am loyal and have nothing to hide?” asked Sophie.

“You got to strip down naked in front of the whole gang and then go down on Rogan while everyone watches,” said Buttercup simply, taking a puff of her cigarette.  “Piece of cake. I did it years ago myself.”

“You sure did,” said Rogan eyeing Buttercup lewdly.  “That’s a hummer I won’t ever forget.”

“Surely you’re joking,” stammered Milton, his stomach dropping at the thought.

“I can barely stand everyone looking at me in this dress.  I couldn’t get naked in front of a bunch of strangers,” gasped Sophie in distress.

“You are afraid to get naked for the gang, but you wouldn’t mind the part where you get to suck on my, uh, penis, though, huh?” said Rogan, wagging his eyebrows at Sophie suggestively. 

She bowed her head, her cheeks bright with shame, and said nothing.  She cast a furtive glance at Rogan’s bulge and had to admit she was fascinated by the idea of sucking on his member while her husband watched.  Rogan’s raw animalistic machismo exerted a great attraction over her. She found herself yearning to service the charismatic gang leader.

“Look, honey, you can wear this Mardi-Gra mask that covers your eyes and leaves your mouth free for business,” said Buttercup.  “You would be surprised how bold you can be hiding behind a mask.”

“This is just preposterous.  There is no way that I can agree to this,” sputtered Milton indignantly, shaking a scolding finger at Rogan.

“Milton, Milton, Milton,” coaxed Rogan, his inner eyebrows raised in show of sincerity.  “This is the ritual of our tribe. I mean, tribes have had rituals since time immemorial.”  The bikers chortled with mirth at Rogan’s grandiose language.

“Rituals,” spat Milton dismissively.

“Sure, when the woman disrobes before us, she reveals that she has nothing to hide from the group and that we can trust her.  Then she shows her fealty to her lord by going down on her knees before him. Once she performs her, uh, duties, then she gets anointed with my seed and she is truly one of us,” said Rogan to general guffaws of delight.

Milton looked with disdain at the fat bearded bikers wiping tears of laughter from their eyes all around him and sniffed at the stink of stale beer, sweat, and cigarettes.

“We didn’t come here so Sophie could join a biker gang,” complained Milton.  “This is ridiculous.”

“Well why did you come here, sugar?” asked Buttercup, squinting at Milton with raw malice.  “Why did you doll up your wife in that getup that would make a hooker blush?”

Milton was taken aback by the question and he was at a loss for words.

“I know why,” said Buttercup with a cold laugh.  “You wanted to show off her gorgeous body to other men.  Admit it.”

“That’s true, dear,” piped up Sophie cautiously after Milton stood there gaping for a moment.

“But, but, it’s one thing to wear a slinky dress, and it’s quite another to strip completely naked,” objected Milton weakly.  But his penis was already stiffening again at the thought of it.

“I see your little weiner stirring in your trousers there,” cackled Buttercup.  “You want to show off your woman, then show her off properly. Don’t be half-assed about it.  Just admit that you’re a fucking pervert and go whole hog.”

Milton just stared at the harridan in shock, the blood draining from his face as he realized that she was right.  He did want to show his woman off, and he would love for her to parade around naked in front of a bunch of men but he was too ashamed to admit it.  And he didn’t like the idea of the men being this rough crew of bikers. He would prefer clean cut college educated men.

“Har, har, she’s a hellcat, ain’t she?” laughed Rogan, slapping his thigh in amusement.  “You can’t fuck with Buttercup, I’ll tell you what.”

“Even if I could agree to the stripping,” began Milton, his palms slick with sweat.  “I couldn’t agree to let her give you a, a blowjob.”

“Oh, listen to you, you little prude,” scoffed Buttercup waving her cigarette around.  “You think Sophie never had another man’s dick in her mouth?”

“Let’s not go down that path,” mumbled Sophie, tapping Buttercup’s arm in warning.

Buttercup cast her a sidelong glance and changed her tack.  “Ok, look, Milton. A blowjob is nothing at all. Why it’s just a friendly gesture that a woman does for a man.  There’s nothing to get bent out of shape over.”

“Pish, posh,” said Milton nervously.

“Look Milton, I respect your opinion in this matter, but at the end of the day, shouldn’t we really be asking your wife what she thinks of all this?” asked Rogan with a broad grin.  

“Um, well, I do like the mask idea. I remember in anthropology class they talked about the transformational power of masks.  I can explore a wilder identity, channel the trickster spirits,” she said with a wan smile.

“Oh my god,” replied Milton, his face pale and his gut full of ice.  “What have I gotten us into?”

“Quit your belly achin’, we can all see the stiffy in your pants you little pervert,” laughed Buttercup.  “Come on, Sophie, you’re gonna have a ball turning this trick.”

“No, no, you take Milton, I’ll take Sophie on my bike,” said Rogan, smoothly taking Sophie by the arm and whisking her away.

“Back to the clubhouse!” bellowed a huge biker beside Milton.  And soon the whole crowd was chanting, “Back to the clubhouse,” as they parted to allow Rogan to pass with Milton’s wife teetering along beside him, clutching at the top of her dress to keep her tits from spilling out.  Then the whole gang filed out behind their leader and Milton watched in sick fascination. He really had underestimated how serious this situation was.

“Come on then, numbnuts.  Let’s go. Just follow the boys, and don’t get lost,” said Buttercup with contempt, pawing her straw like hair out of her face as she lead Milton out of the bar.  Milton walking into a wall of insane cacophony as forty or fifty Harley Davidsons all revved up at once. He clapped his hands to his ears in pain and ran to his car to follow the gang back to their secret lair.  He watched with nauseous jealousy as Rogan drove away with Sophie on the back of his bike, clinging to him for dear life as they roared away.

Milton, followed the motorcyclists for just a short drive until they came to a innocuous dirt road that led back into the woods for a few hundred yards.  There they came to a large asphalt lot and a modest wooden lodge building. Milton parked his car and squirmed through the crowd of milling bikers to get inside.  They looked at him strangely but stepped aside to let him pass until he got to the front door where his path was blocked by Tiny, the huge fellow that Buttercup had chided on the way into the bar earlier.

“You can’t come in here, little man,” said Tiny, towering over Milton threateningly.

“Rogan said I could,” insisted Milton defiantly, and everyone within earshot hushed when he said it.

“Oh, yeah, is that right?” said Tiny.  “How about if I call him up here and ask him myself?”

“Please do,” said Milton and several big men whistled with surprise at his brashness.

Tiny deflated slightly and seemed a bit querulous as he poked his head back into the lodge and called for Rogan.

Rogan appeared instantly and beamed when he saw Milton.  “Milton, come in, come in. I am glad you found the place.  I want you to stand up front next to me so you have a good view when I put my cock in your wife’s mouth,” he laughed, pounding Milton on the shoulder heavily and leading him inside.

The front of the lodge was one big hall with folding tables and chairs all around.  There were deer heads mounted on the walls and huge cases stocked with automatic weapons of all kinds.  When Milton saw the arsenal, he recalled suddenly that motorcycle gangs were often involved in serious crime like drug smuggling and his heart started pounding with anxiety.  At the back of the hall Milton noticed a full bar as Rogan lead Milton to the center of the room.

“Bring out the slut!” bellowed Rogan as the gang formed a ragged circle all around them.  “No offense intended of course,” said Rogan conversationally to Milton as an aside.  

Sophie suddenly appeared at the edge of the crowd, wearing a slightly tattered Mardi Gras mask with peacock feathers that covered her eyes.  Buttercup lead her hesitantly to the center to stand before Rogan and Milton.

“Take off that dress, little lady and show the boys what you got,” said Rogan.

“I don’t think I can do this, Rogan,” stammered Sophie, glancing over at her husband nervously.

“Oh, come on, now,” said Rogan reaching over and pulling her under his arm affectionately.  “Looky here, the boys are all eager to see some poontang,” he said gesturing around the room at the collected ruffians surrounding them.  Milton looked at the feral gang licking their chops expectantly and gulped in apprehension. “Besides, no one will recognize you in that mask.  Heck, no one here would recognize you even without the mask.”

“That’s true, but I still feel weird doing this in front of so many strange men.  Can’t we go in a back room and do it with just you and I?” she asked glancing around the room at the dirty bearded men all around.

“Hey, hey, there will be time for that later, little darling,” laughed Rogan, sharing a knowing glance with Buttercup.  “You heard, that, Milton? Your little wife can’t wait to go one on one with me.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m not sure I’m ok with that,” stammered Milton.  

“Why don’t you introduce her to some of the boys, so they won’t seem so strange to her,” suggested Buttercup with a sly grin.

“Good idea, come on Sophie,” said Rogan, leading her over to one of the big bikers while Milton and Buttercup tagged along behind.  “Sophie, this is Tiny. Tiny, meet Sophie.”

“Howdy, ma’am,” said Tiny, bowing his head politely.

“Sophie her is just dying to show you her snatch, you know,” said Rogan conversationally.

“Rogan!” exclaimed Sophie in surprise, blushing madly behind her mask.

“I’d be much obliged to see it, ma’am,” said Tiny.

“Go on, show him,” urged Rogan, hiking up the hem of Sophie’s dress to expose her pink panties.

“Oh my god,” gasped Sophie, glancing around the room nervously.

“You don’t have to do this, honey,” said Milton, trying to hide the fear in his quavering voice.

“No, no, I will channel the trickster spirit,” mumbled Sophie as she pulled her panties down, exposing her dark curly bush to the huge biker.

The fellows on either side crowded around eagerly to see, hooting and whistling in excitement while Milton’s stomach dropped in dread.

“Lookit that snatch, willya, boys,” chattered Rogan, bending down to inspect Sophie’s pussy closely while she gingerly held up the hem of her dress so all the bikers could get a good look.  He reached out boldly and ran his fingers through her pubic hair, fluffing it out slightly and sending a thrill of arousal through Sophie’s body like an electric shock.

“Now, don’t touch,” mumbled MIlton ineffectually while his own phallus stiffened at the sight of this stranger fingering his wife’s genitals.

“Hush up, Milton, don’t be a party pooper,” hissed Buttercup.

“Get that dress off, Sophie, don’t hold back now.  Look how much the boys are enjoying themselves,” said Rogan expansively.  

Sophie eyed the slavering bikers crowding all around her with trepidation.  But it dawned on her that she had a strange sort of control over them as they gazed, mesmerized, at her crotch.  It excited her to hold such sway over this rowdy bunch and she willed herself to pull her dress up higher. But she struggled and couldn’t get it off over her head.  She turned instinctively to her husband and asked, “I can’t get this off, can you unzip me, dear?”

“Um, yes, I guess so,” said Milton as he fumbled to pull his wife’s zipper down and the bikers sniggered at him.

“That’s better,” said Sophie and she wriggled out of her dress and stood naked before the group of bikers while they all looked on in awe, silenced for a moment as they drank in the sight of her nude form.

“Ho-ly shit!” cried Buttercup finally.  “Girl, if you ain’t a stripper, you missed your calling!”

“No, I’m not a stripper, I’m a CPA,” giggled Sophie, giddy with all the attention as her nipples hardened in the cool breeze.  It felt so odd to be standing naked before all these men. She felt her vagina grow moist in response to the lustful stares of the bikers all around.

Rogan shook his head in admiration and strode forward toward Sophie.  “Look at this figure, boys. Perfect hourglass!” he said, standing behind Sophie and running his hands down her sides, past her narrow waist and over her broad hips.  Sophie gasped with pleasure as the gang leader ran his calloused hands over her tender body.

“Nice narrow waist,” he said, gripping her by the waist firmly and making her squeal with pleasure.  “Good, baby-birthing hips,” he continued, sliding his hands down over her soft hips. Milton looked on in sick fascination as his wife was man-handled and put on display for all this hoodlums, his penis throbbing stiffly in his pants.  “And check out these titties!” Rogan cupped Sophie’s huge white breasts in his hands and pinched her pink nipples between her fingers while the men all cooed with appreciation. He ground his stiffening bulge up against her delicate bottom and Sophie felt his penis prodding between her butt cheeks.

“Let’s see the ass!” begged Tiny, gripping his jock shamelessly as he looked Sophie up and down.

“Show em, honey, show em that ass,” said Rogan, taking Sophie by the shoulder and spinning her around forcefully.  She gulped and bent over slightly so that the men could get a good look and Rogan reached around to slap on round cheek playfully.  “Nice bounce on that ass,” he commented, patting each cheek in turn. “Nice and round. You are a lucky man, Milton,” he said looking over at Milton with an impish grin.

“Err, yes, I know,” said Milton, struggling to hide his erection from his wife to no avail.

“Ooh, honey, you look like you’re really hard,” said Sophie.

“No, I’m, uh, not really,” lied Milton.

But Sophie reached right over and pinched the bulge in Milton’s pants to determine his arousal for herself.  “Yes you are,” she purred. “You like this!”

“Bend over a little more, Sophie,” commanded Rogan, and Sophie obediently complied, putting her hands on her knees and jutting her bare ass out toward the circle of admiring bikers.

“Shit, look at those pussy lips puffing out like that,” said Rogan, pointed to Sophie’s swollen labia, peeking out between her milky white thighs.  He poked a finger into her cunt from behind and Sophie gasped with pleasure.

“Oh, Rogan!” she moaned, arching her back to offer herself to him.  “You musn’t!”

“You’re mouth says no, but your twat is soaking wet,” he chuckled as he sunk a finger deep into her sodden snatch.

“You really shouldn’t finger my wife like that,” admonished Milton, nursing his own hardon.

“Ok, Milton, ok,” said  Rogan. “You are right. Do me a favor though, will you smell my finger?”  The men all around broke out in raucous laughter and Milton blushed with embarassment as Rogan held out his index finger toward Milton, still slick with his wife’s juices.  “Too squeamish? Oh well, I would have thought you’d have smelled this plenty. Anyway, it’s time for Sophie to suck on my dick and prove her loyalty. Tiny, throw down your jacket so Sophie don’t skin her knees on the concrete.”  Tiny eagerly complied, whipping off his jacket and laying it delicately at his leader’s feet. “Now come kneel before me, little lady,” said Rogan offering her his hand.

Sophie, took Rogan’s hand and gazed deep into her husband’s eyes as the gang leader chivalrously helped her to her knees before him.  

“That’s right, look your husband in the eyes and unzip my fly,” commanded Rogan, grinning evilly over at Milton who could only gulp helplessly in return as he watched his wife obediently unfasten Rogan’s belt.

“I’m just going to suck it a little bit, dear,” explained Sophie to Milton as she yanked down on Rogan’s fly and his stiff penis came popping out, hitting her in the face unexpectedly.

“Oh my goodness, it’s so veiny!” she exclaimed naively while the bikers all chortled and poked each other in the ribs.

“I hope it’s not too scary,” said Rogan gently, putting his hand on Sophie’s head and guiding his dick toward her mouth.

“No, I like it, it’s rough and tough looking,” she tittered to the delight of the crowd before eagerly taking Rogan’s glans into her mouth and sucking fitfully on it.

“Ahh, yeah, that a girl,” he sighed in pleasure, looking over at Milton with satisfaction while Sophie vigorously fellated him.

Milton looked on in enthrallment while Sophie licked Rogan’s veiny shaft, slurped on his swollen head and lapped obediently at his hairy balls with the bikers shouting encouragement all the while.  

“Look at her go!” exclaimed Rogan, turning to Milton and gesturing down at his wife’s passionately blowjob.  “She sure is eager to prove her loyalty to me!”

“Yes, err, she is being quite thorough, isn’t she?” admitted Milton sadly while Sophie tugged urgently on Rogan’s shaft while sucking hard on the head of his cock.

“Yep, that’s enough, now lay on your back, and spread ‘em for me,” said Rogan suddenly.

“Wait, the deal was for a blowjob only!” squawked Milton shrilly.

But Sophie eagerly lay on her back while another biker gallant tucked his jacket beneath her head as a pillow.  She looked up at Rogan with a smoldering gaze of desire and spread her legs for him ardently.

“Oh, yeah, you are right,” said Rogan, snapping his fingers and swinging his stiff cock around.  “I forgot. Sorry, Sophie. We had a deal after all. Only a blowjob. No fucking.”

“Uh, no, please, I want it,” grunted Sophie, spreading her labia for him desperately, exposing her pink inner snatch while the bikers crowded around and hooted like deranged primates.

“You want what, Sophie?” asked Rogan, pretending ignorance, while he stroked his rod and gazed down at her moist hole, spread open in supplication.

“I want you inside me!” she gasped, squirming in anticipation and arching her back to make her pussy more available to him.

“Sophie, how could you?” cried Milton in despair.

“Please, Milton, can’t we do it just this once?  I’m so horny!” begged Sophie, thrusting her pelvis back and forth in yearning.

“Well, it’s up to you my friend,” said Rogan, slapping Milton on the shoulder heavily with one hand while he held his stiff quivering phallus in the other.  “Want me to plow your old lady for you?”

“Oh, jesus,” groaned Milton, covering his face with his hand.

“Is that a yes?” coaxed Rogan, bending down to peer up at Milton.

“Ugh, yes, do it and get it over with,” mumbled Milton, pushing Rogan away.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say,” said Rogan, dropping his trousers and climbing onto Milton’s waiting wife.

“Oh, God, yes! That’s so good,” cried Sophie lustily as Rogan slid his thick cock inside her.  The bikers all clapped and cheered at Sophie’s exclamations of passion while Rogan started pumping away.

Milton looked down at Rogan’s back as the big biker thrust his manhood in and out of Sophie’s tight hole.  His muscular buttocks were framed by Sophie’s pale thighs and calves, spread wide to receive him. Her thin white arms encircled the his broad, tan back as she clung to him and her head was tossed to the side in abandon while she grunted and moaned loudly under each pounding jab of the biker’s dick inside her.  Milton was spellbound watching his meek little wife gibbering madly as an orgasm overtook her.

“I’m coming inside you baby!” shouted Rogan as he ground his pelvis down upon her, pushing himself in even deeper than before to loose his seed.

Milton watched in a daze as Rogan climbed off of Sophie and raised his arms triumphantly to the cheers of his gang, his dick slick with cum and slowly deflated as he turned proudly in a circle.  Then he came over and shook Milton’s hand, grabbing it and pumping it cordially.

“You and your wife are always welcome here, my friend.  That’s the tightest snatch I’ve had in months, I’ll tell you what.  And she really appreciates a good fuck, if you know what I mean. She really shows her gratitude,” gushed Rogan.

Milton just stared at him dumbfounded and said nothing.  Tiny and another fellow bent down and helped Sophie sit up.  Her cheeks were flushed with arousal and her mask was nowhere to be seen.  The big biker whispered in her ear and she nodded happily. The next thing Milton knew, she was on all fours, sucking Tiny’s cock while a small wiry biker was dicking her from behind, gripping her hips and humping away like a little dog.

“Jesus Christ,” exclaimed Milton at the sight.  

“Oh, don’t get bent out of shape,” chuckled Rogan, bending down to retrieve his pants.  “Of course the boys are going to take turns with her. It’s to be expected. She’s loving it, look at her.”

Milton look on in a daze as Sophie grunted and moaned with pleasure while she sucked and fucked bikers two at a time.  In return, they spurted jism in her mouth on her ass, inside her womb, in her hair, on her back, on her boobs, in her face, and basically all over her until she was practically coated in cum.  Milton found himself kneeling before her at one point while she sucked his own penis mindlessly, barely aware that she was servicing her own husband, in her stupor of lust. He looked down as her lips, slick with the semen of other men, wrapped around his shaft and he shot his own load right down her throat which she gulped down greedily.

She looked up then in gratitude and recognized Milton.  “Oh, it’s you! You sure gave me a healthy mouthful there!  You must be enjoying the show. I’m glad you finally took your turn.  I didn’t want you to be left out,” she said sweetly.

“Uh, yes, thank you,” said Milton at a loss for words, shocked at the chunky globs of ejaculate dripping from Sophie’s hair.

After some indeterminate amount of time, all the bikers had taken one or two turns fucking and jizzing on Sophie and they all milled around drinking beers and chatting good naturedly, basking in post-orgasm good spirits.  Buttercup came over and helped Sophie to her feet and she was soon drinking beer and conversing with the bikers still completely unselfconscious about being naked and covered in semen. 

Milton approached the group where Sophie was laughing with Tiny, Rogan, Buttercup and some other thugs.

“Err, shouldn’t you cover up or something, dear?” asked Milton nervously.

“Ha, really, darling, it’s hardly a time to feign modesty after I’ve had messy sex with practically every man in the room,” laughed Sophie, tucking a cum-soaked lock of hair behind her ear.

“Ha, ha, yes, quite,” stammered Milton as the group broke out laughing.

“Here, we got something for you to wear though,” said Rogan, gesturing to  Buttercup with his beer.

“Oh, yeah,” grinned Buttercup, producing a leather vest.  She held it up for display the back which had the skeleton logo of the gang along with the words “Property of…” at the top and then “Official Fuck Slut” at the bottom.

“Wow, that’s classy,” teased Sophie.  “Is that for me?”

“Yup,” said Buttercup, helping Sophie into the vest.  “You are property of the club now.”

“That’s wonderful,” muttered Milton sardonically.  “Your friends will be impressed.”

“Oh my god, imagine if I showed this vest to my friends?” gasped Sophie with a laugh.  “They would be simple scandalized.”

“And they wouldn’t even believe that it was true,” agreed Milton glumly.

“Thank you so much, I will always cherish this,” said Sophie, kissing Buttercup on the cheek with a twinkle in her eye.

“You got to be careful, wearing that in public, though,” warned Rogan.  “That vest grants any member the right to stop you and demand sex wherever you may be and you are required to comply.  That’s the deal. In return, you receive our protection.”

“Uh, ok, got it,” laughed Sophie.  “I feel so safe now,” she told her husband, suppressing a smile.

“Yes, so do I,” said Milton, eyeing the gun racks in trepidation.  “Look, I think we should be going now.”

“Ok, dear, I agree, I am simply exhausted from all that sucking and fucking,” chirped Sophie with a sly grin.

“Uh, yeah,” replied Milton, rubbing his head in confusion.

“How does it feel to be such a massive cuckold?” leered Buttercup, giving Milton a sneer.

“Lay off him, Buttercup.  He was a good sport. But you come here, Sophie,” said Rogan, grabbing Sophie and giving her a deep passionate kiss.  “You are a damn good fuck, little lady. Don’t be a stranger now. I want to see you back here soon so that I can use you for sex.”

“Yessir,” replied Sophie, saluting smartly.

“Darling, it warmed my heart to see you down there fucking all those boys like a champ.  I feel like you became a woman today,” said Buttercup, holding Sophie at arm’s length and looking her naked body up and down.  She shook Sophie’s shoulders and make her cum-slicked boobs jiggle and bounce, the sight of which made Milton’s penis stiffen again slightly and he noticed all the other men of the group paying particular attention as well.

“Gosh, uh, thank you, Buttercup,” said Sophie awkwardly, crossing her hands over her sodden bush.  “Um, did you see my dress anywhere? It’s time to go.”

“Oh, honey, that old thing is all trampled and torn, you should just scoot out of here in your birthday suit,” said Buttercup, shaking her head.

“Really, wow, ok,” said Sophie, looking at her husband with a raised eyebrow.

“I guess it doesn’t matter much at this point, just duck down in the seat and I will pull right into the garage when we get home,” said Milton, throwing up his hands.

Several more men stopped Sophie to kiss and grope her as she and Milton made their way through the crowd toward the door. Milton stood by watching uncomfortably as random men took their liberties with her, pinching her nipples, grasping her bare buttocks, and fingering her twat as she giggled and pushed them away affectionately.  Finally they made it out into the cool night air and Milton breathed a sigh of relief.

“Ooh, the semen feels cold out here, I can feel it all over,” commented Sophie matter-of-factly as she reached back and delicately extracted a sticky mass from between her butt cheeks.

“Thanks for sharing,” replied Milton snarkily.

“Don’t be like that, darling,” pouted Sophie as they approached the car.  “It’s not my fault things got a little out of hand this evening.”

“A little out of hand?” croaked Milton, opening the door for her.  “That’s the understatement of the year. Ugh, do we have anything to put on the seat.  You are going to get, uh, jism all over everything.”

“Oh, well, just take the car in for detailing tomorrow,” she replied breezily as she flopped down on the seat.

Milton was pensive on the ride home and Sophie was elated, riding an intense endorphin high of the sort she had never known.

“That was the most incredible experience of my life,” chirped Sophie as the streetlamp light intermittently illuminated her naked body.

“I’m still trying to come to terms with it,” admitted Milton, struggling with a combination of jealousy, shame, and arousal.  “I actually feel pretty nauseous right now.”

“Poor baby, I will make you a nice mint tea when we get home,” said Sophie, patting Milton on the hand to comfort him.

He smiled crookedly at his caring wife and it struck him how odd it was to contrast their quiet domestic little life with Sophie’s nude, cum-slick body and her greasy motorcycle vest.  When they pulled into their driveway, Milton realized that the garage door opening wasn’t working, so they had to park there in front of the garage.  

“Do you want me to run in and get you a robe?” asked Milton, 

“Maybe not, I don’t see anyone around,” replied Sophie, looking up and down their silent suburban street, deserted at this late hour.  She climbed out of the car and was about the scurry into the house when she practically bumped into their neighbor, Harold, smoking a cigarette in the bushes that separated their two yards.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” gasped Harold, trying to hide his cigarette nervously.  Then he realized that Sophie was naked except for her vest and his eyes bulged out of his head.

“Harold!  Does Diane know you are smoking out here?” cried Sophie in shock.  “I thought you quit last year.”

“Please don’t tell her,” begged Harold, unable to pull his eyes away from Sophie’s tits bouncing with her indignation.  “Um, why aren’t you dressed?”

“Don’t change the subject, Harold, this is a serious matter,” said Sophie, trying unsuccessfully to pull the vest closed to cover her boobs.  She resorted to crossing her arms over her chest to hide her stiff nipples. “You promised your family that you would quit smoking.”

“It’s a terrible addiction, Sophie, you don’t understand,” protested Harold as he stared at Sophie’s exposed bush, visible in the moonlight.

“Harold, stop staring at my vagina and look me in the eye,” demanded Sophie.  “You owe it your loved ones to care for you health.”

“You’re right, dear, but let’s harangue Harold about this tomorrow,” said Milton diplomatically, slipping around the car and leading his wife back toward the house.  

“And stop staring at my bottom!  You should be ashamed of yourself,” scolded Sophie over her shoulder as Harold gaped in amazement at the message on the back of her vest and then down at her round, ripe, rump.

“I’m, I’m sorry, Sophie,” called Harold.  “I mean, I beg your pardon!”

“The nerve of that man!” cried Sophie as Milton let her into the house.  “Leering at my body like that with a filthy cigarette in his hand as he slowly makes a widow of his poor wife.

“Well, darling, be reasonable, I mean, you are practically naked,” said Milton, taking a paper towel and dabbing at the cum on Sophie’s chest.  “Darling, you are mess, you need to go jump in the shower and wash this grotesque biker seed off yourself.”

“It’s not grotesque, I like it,” said Sophie, capturing a glob that dangled from her nipple and putting it her mouth seductively.  “Tastes like ox roast,” she said devilishly.

“Oh my god, you terrible,” laughed Milton in shock.

“Do you think Harold wants to fuck me?” asked Sophie over her shoulder as she headed off to the bathroom.

“Well I could hardly blame him if he did,” said Milton, trailing after her down the hall.

“Hhmm, go tell him that I will keep quiet about his cigarette if he comes over and scrubs my back in the shower,” said Sophie as she turned on the shower faucet.

“Uh, wait a minute, are you serious?” asked Milton, his penis awakening again at the transgressive idea.

“I sure am, unless you are too afraid?” asked Sophie with an arched brow as she tossed her vest aside and stepped under the steamy stream of fresh water.

Milton stood indecisively for a moment and then headed back out into the night to make Harold an offer that he was sure he wouldn’t refuse.

Gustav Jorgenson’s cuckold stories:
Wicked Wife Mischief: NEW! Tales of Erotic Liberation
Slut Wife, Happy Life: Naughty Wife Tales
Exhibitionist Wife Tales: 15 stories of wives cheating in public
Most Popular collection: Gustav’s Selected Shorts
Giant chunks of cuck erotica: Wives Cheating Vol 1-5 Box, Collected Longs
Hate reading?  Try an audiobook:
Slut Wife, Happy Life Audiobook
Hard Times, Hot Wife Audiobook
“What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy?” Audiobook

The Clueless Husband

By Gustav Jorgenson

***new collection of hot cuckold erotica out now: Wicked Wife Mischief ***

Sarah knew she was lucky to have a husband who made so much money that she could stay at home and didn’t need to work, but sometimes she got bored.  There were only so many lunches with the ladies of the rotary club one can attend in a week. Also, her husband Stephen worked so hard that he frequently was too tired to have sex.  So there she was, a bored and horny housewife, a combustible combination.

It was a warm day in late September when northern California got it’s yearly heatwave.  Sarah used to call this time of year an “Indian Summer” but she knew that didn’t sound right in the politically correct Bay Area, so she tried not to use that phrase.  But it was hot so she put on her bikini and was going to head out into the backyard to read a romance novel in the shade when she realized that the landscapers were there working.   She looked down at her tiny swimsuit which didn’t leave much to the imagination and then out at the short, stocky latino men, brown skinned and sweating in the sun while they pulled weeds in her flower beds and mowed the lawn.  

It didn’t really seem proper to go parading half-naked in front of the workmen like this, thought Sarah as she hesitated.  Samuel would definitely throw a fit if he caught her doing that. He could be so jealous sometimes. But then again, he wasn’t due home for hours yet, and Sarah rather liked the idea of giving these little mexican landscapers a bit of a thrill.  After all, someone ought to appreciate her sexy figure if her husband was going to be too exhausted to pay attention to her. So Sarah put on a wicked grin and nonchalantly strolled right out the sliding glass doors and into the back yard past the workman in her skimpy bikini.  Her boobs were bouncing and her ass cheeks were half hanging out, so she tried to hitch up her top and pull her bikini bottom down to cover her rear better as she walked barefoot and self-conscious across the cool green grass. She felt her cheeks blushing as all work ceased and all the dark brown eyes of the lawn gang were fixed on her swaying figure.  

“Caramba!  Mamacita!” exclaimed one fellow in amazement, dropping his hoe as he weeded the flower bed.

“Calmate, pinche cabron,” hissed another fellow working by his side.

Sarah giggled in response.  Her Spanish was rusty, but she knew that the second fellow had said a bad word.  “¡Hola! Ser educado en torno a una dama,” she said to the one that swore. She was telling him to be polite around a lady and he took his hat off in apology and looked up at her, interested that she could speak his language.

“Lo siento, señorita. Lo siento,” he said, apologizing profusely. 

“Señora, Estoy casado,” she replied with a smile, letting him know she was married.

“Eso está muy mal,” he teased, suggesting that he wished she were single.

Sarah was a few inches taller than little landscaper and as they contemplated each other, she was struck by the differences between them.  She was tall, thin, and pale, and he was short, dark, and thickly muscled. He reminded her of a mexican meatball, and he had that twinkle in his eye that some latino men had when they fancied themselves a lady’s man.  She didn’t normally go for ethnic types. She had only every dated white guys, but she found this little fellow to be charming. He had an infectious smile.

They conversed for a few minutes in Spanish while the other guys went reluctantly back to work, gazing over enviously now and then as their pal chatted up the sexy mistress of the house. Sarah found out that the man’s name was Oscar and that he was from El Salvador, not Mexico.  She told him that he must be tired from all this hard work, but he just waved dismissively and told her that his family had a farm back home and that was real work, this was nothing. He told her about their goats and pigs, and plowing the fields with a donkey, and bragged that farm work had made him big and strong.  He pulled up his shirt sleeve and made a muscle, inviting Sarah to feel it. She laughed and obliged him, and she had to admit he did have quite a rock hard bicep.

She noticed that Oscar kept looking at her body as they talked and after she squeezed his muscled arm, he put his hand in his pocket hastily.  She could swear he was trying to keep a hardon under control so that it wouldn’t show and she decided to tease him a bit.  

“Don’t you like my bikini, Oscar?” she asked him in Spanish, cocking a hip at him flirtatiously.

“Oh, yes, you look beautiful,” he gushed, sweat beading on his brow as his hand rustled vigorously in his pocket.

“What have you got in your pocket, Oscar?” she asked innocently, still in Spanish.  “Is it something for me?”

He blanched when she said it, and she thought that she had gone a bit too far, but then she realized that Oscar was gazing over her shoulder at the house.

Sarah turned in time to see her husband Stephen storming out through the back sliding glass door.  His face dark with rage.

“For Chrissake, Sarah, what the hell do you think you are doing?” he shouted.

“I uh, was just talking to Oscar here, did you know his family has a farm in El Salvador?” stammered Sarah in shock.

Oscar ducked his head and hastily dropped down to his knees and started frantically pulling weeds.

“That’s fucking marvelous, I am so goddamned fascinated to hear that,” bellowed Stephen.  He was still wearing his suit from work and was standing over the little workman in his dirty t-shirt and jeans.  Stephen towered about the landscaper both physically and in terms of status.

“Don’t shout, Stephen, you are scaring him,” scolded Sarah.

“Don’t shout?” he sputtered in indignation.  “Look at yourself Sarah, half naked, fraternizing with the help.  What are you thinking?”

“It’s a nice day out, I just wanted to get some sun,” she said defensively.  She covered her crotch with her romance novel self-consciously.

Stephen looked at his shrinking wife before him and his anger cooled somewhat and hardened into a steely resolve.  “Alright dear, alright,” but these little Mexicans are being paid to work, not to ogle my wife,” snapped Stephen. “You, Jose, get up, come with me, we are going to go have a little chat with your boss.”

“Now Stephen, don’t be rash,” said Sarah, looking at her husband in fear.

“Sarah, you are soft.   You are a woman. But these workers need a firm hand.  I’m not paying them to slack off and hit on my beautiful wife,” said Stephen, and he gave Sarah a hard peck on the cheek which she wiped off as he turned away from her.

“Come on, get up, Don Juan,” demanded Stephen, gesturing to Oscar impatiently.

“Qué quieres?” asked Oscar, looking from Stephen to Sarah with a worried expression.

“He doesn’t speak English, Stephen,” sighed Sarah. “Él quiere ir con él,” she explained to Oscar sadly.

Stephen gave his wife a strange look when she spoke Spanish to Oscar but noticed that the landscaper was complying.  Oscar stood up and brushed the dirt from his jeans and dutifully followed Stephen into the house. Sarah trailed behind, wringing her hands anxiously.  She felt terrible about getting Oscar in trouble with her frivolous flirtation and she hoped she could intercede on his behalf. Stephen ran through the living room and yanked open the front door to shout for the supervisor, Manuel.

Manuel was a big fat man in his fifties with graying hair and the face of a gorilla.  He took his time coming into the house.  

“What’s the matter, boss, what’s the matter?” he asked impatiently.  “We have three more jobs to do today, I’m trying to get done here so we can move on.”  Manuel saw Oscar standing on the plush carpet and gave a start, then he saw Sarah standing there in her bikini and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.  “¿Que pasó?, Oscar, ¿que pasó?”

“Nada , lo juro,” insisted Oscar, holding up his hands defensively.

“Can we speak English here, please?” demanded Stephen, straightening his tie and running his hand through his thick dark hair.  “I caught your man here slacking off and chatting with my wife. I pay you men to work, not to flirt with my woman.”

Manuel looked Sarah up and down lecherously and it made her skin crawl.  She wished she had a robe to throw on.

“You can hardly blame him, she’s looking pretty good to me, too,” he laughed, wagging his bushy eyebrows at Sarah and making a kissy face at her.  

Sarah turned her face away in disgust and Oscar caught her eye so that he could shrug in apology.

“What? What?” sputtered Stephen, shocked at the man’s insolence.

“Oscar said he didn’t do nothing, and I believe him.  Oscar’s a good man. He was in the army you know,” said Manuel.  “It’s not his fault if your hussy wife goes around with no clothes on.  What’s a man supposed to do? Tie his dick in a knot? Those are men out there, boss, not sissies.  They like to see a nice body just like any man would. If you want them to work, then keep your wife inside until they are done.”

“Animals!  You are all a bunch of filthy animals!” gasped Stephen in indignation.  “I should find a different landscaper.”

“You’ll have to find a crew of queers if you want them to work while she’s traipsing around,” laughed Manuel, not intimidated by Stephen in the least.

Sarah was mortified and wanted to get away from this scene right away, but she also wanted to apologize to Oscar about this whole episode.  Suddenly she got an idea.

“Oh, Oscar, didn’t you say that you needed to use the bathroom?” said Sarah loudly.

“¿Que?” said Oscar, not understanding her.

“Come along, I will show you where to go,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the stairs that lead to the second floor.

“What are you doing?” demanded Stephen when he saw his wife leading the confused Oscar upstairs by the hand.

“I’m showing poor Oscar where the bathroom is,” said his wife.

“Let him use the one downstairs,” said Stephen with exasperation.

“There’s too much shouting down here,” sniffed Sarah as she hustled Oscar upstairs.

Stephen was too distracted to complain further as Manuel dug in his heels.

“Look boss, we have a contract, you can’t just go firing us for a little thing like this…”  The sounds of the argument faded somewhat as Oscar and Sarah ascended the stairs and stood on the landing.  Sarah looked over the banister and could see the tops of Stephen and Manuel’s heads so she lead Oscar down the hallway a bit.

“Why did you bring me here?” asked Oscar in Spanish, his face a mask of confusion.  “Your husband is going to be suspicious.”

“I know,” admitted Sarah.  “But I felt so terrible about the way my husband was acting, that I wanted to apologize.”  She held her arms open to receive a hug. “No hard feelings?”

Oscar looked her body up and down for a moment then glanced over at the banister that overlooked the living room below.  The sound of Stephen and Manuel’s voices was still discernible as they argued. He embraced Sarah eagerly and they stood for a moment in a friendly embrace.  Sarah felt a tingling in her belly as Oscar’s scent hit her. He smelled like earth and sweat and it was making her aroused. His grip was strong but gentle and she could feel his erection pressing against her thigh as he grew harder and harder.

“Oh, Oscar, I feel that,” she told him.

“You like that?” he asked her, looking up at her with a crooked grin, his chin resting on her bosom.

She reached down and gripped his rod through his jeans making him yelp in surprise.  But once he realized what was going on, he quickly gripped Sarah’s boobs in his hands and started pinching her nipples through her bikini top.

“Naughty boy,” she scolded him as she continued squeezing the hard bulge in Oscar’s jeans.  “My husband would be very angry with you if he saw you do that.”

“Oh, no, he would understand, I’m sure,” laughed Oscar.  “I think he likes me.”

Sarah laughed at that and then unzipped Oscar’s fly and pulled out his stiff penis.  Stephen was being such an awful prick about this whole thing that she didn’t feel very guilty about it.  Besides, it was incredibly kinky to be giving the landscaper a handjob while her husband argued just downstairs.   Oscar’s prick was dark and veiny and he grunted with pleasure as she stroked her hand up and down his shaft. He stopped fondling her knockers and started rubbing her pussy, trying to locate her clitoris through the thin fabric of her bikini bottom.  Sarah caught her breath and felt her pulse quicken and her crotch growing moist as she and Oscar brazenly fingered each other’s genitals just 50 feet away from her angry husband.

“Sarah, what the hell are you doing up there?” called Stephen from downstairs and Sarah’s heart leapt into her throat.  She put her fingers to her lips and reluctantly released Oscar’s dick as she turned and ran back to the solid banister that overlooked the living room from the landing where she stood.

Sarah leaned over the railing and called down to her husband.  “I am keeping an eye on this fellow. I don’t want him stealing anything,” she said in a false whisper.  Just then a fiendish idea came into her mind and she slipped her bikini bottoms off and dropped them to her heels.  Stephen and Manuel could look up and see her from the waist up but her lower half was concealed by the banister.  

“Oh come on, Oscar is a good man, he wouldn’t steal anything,” insisted Manuel, clearly shocked at the very suggestion.

Sarah giggled and wiggled her bare rear at him and Oscar quickly got the hint and he crept up behind Sarah and poked his penis between her round butt cheeks, nudging around with the head of his penis, trying to find the entrance to her labia.  She gasped with surprise as his glans found her slippery twat and he sank himself into her, crouching behind her to stay out of site of the men below. Luckily Stephen was distracted and didn’t notice her gasp.

“Hmm, I’m not so sure.  I don’t trust these Mexican immigrants, they have nothing to lose,” said Stephen rubbing his chin.  “Better for her to keep an eye on him.”

“Jesus man, he’s not even Mexican, he’s from El Salvador,” complained Manuel.

“No difference,” sniffed Stephen dismissively.

Meanwhile Oscar was pumping away furiously, sliding his fat cock in and out of Sarah while her knuckles whitened as she gripped the banister with all her might.  She gasped again as she tried to hide her arousal.

“What’s the matter dear, you seem pale,” asked Stephen finally taking notice of his wife.  “And you are shaking.” He forehead creased with concern.

Sarah bit her knuckle struggling to control herself as Oscar thrust into her from behind with more and more urgency, making her sway forward and back.  She gasped and moaned in spite of herself. “I, I just can’t believe how racist you are being, Stephen,” she panted. Then she cried out with a show of emotion.  “Ungh, it’s just, oh god, I can hardly take it.”

Manuel and Stephen exchanged a confused look at Sarah’s sudden outburst of emotion.  She seemed to be on the verge of tears.

“I’m, I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean for you to get so upset,” stammered Stephen contritely.  “I mean, I am just a jerk sometimes I guess.”

Oscar reached around and fiddled with Sarah’s clit until she was on the verge of orgasm.  She gripped the banister even tighter than she had thought possible and bowed her head, shaking as the climax overtook.  From where he stood, it seemed to Stephen as though his wife was literally weeping and he gave Manuel another awkward look.

“Women! Go figure,” said Manuel with a shrug.  “But you are racist though.”

“That’s it  baby, that’s it,” whispered Oscar.  “Now it’s my turn.” And the little landscaper from El Salvador pumped load after load of his hot seed up inside of Stephen’s tall gorgeous wife while the pompous cuckold looked up at his pale and shaken wife with trepidation.

“Oh yeah,” agreed Sarah, to both Stephen and Oscar.  She stood up straight and wiped her face dramatically.  “Ok, uh, I need a minute to myself right now. I just can’t believe what just happened here.  I want you to think about what kind of man you want to be, Stephen,” she told her husband. Then she ducked away from the banister and scurried down the hall arm in arm with Oscar as the couple cracked up with frantic nervous giggles.

“Oh my god, did you really cum inside me?” asked Sarah in shock, feeling Oscar’s generous load already start to ooze out of her.

“Just a little,” he admitted with a modest shrug.

“Oh shit, you have to get back down there,” said Sarah.  “I need some time to collect myself.”

“I’ll just tell them I was dropping a big load,” he said with an evil grin.

“Just don’t tell Stephen you dropped it inside his wife,” giggled Sarah, touching Oscar’s thick chest affectionately as he zipped up his jeans.


Gustav Jorgenson’s cuckold stories:
Wicked Wife Mischief: NEW! Tales of Erotic Liberation
Slut Wife, Happy Life: Naughty Wife Tales
Exhibitionist Wife Tales: 15 stories of wives cheating in public
Most Popular collection: Gustav’s Selected Shorts
Giant chunks of cuck erotica: Wives Cheating Vol 1-5 Box, Collected Longs
Hate reading?  Try an audiobook:
Slut Wife, Happy Life Audiobook
Hard Times, Hot Wife Audiobook
“What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy?” Audiobook

Wife Tries Prostitution

By Gustav Jorgenson

***new collection of hot cuckold erotica out now: Wicked Wife Mischief ***

My wife Vera and I were driving home from the bar one weekend night and as we approached the on ramp she noticed a pair of young women loitering there under the overpass.  

“Harold, look at those women!  I think they are prostitutes,” gasped Vera craning her neck and slowing the car.  She always insists on driving. That’s just how she is.

I scratched my cheek nervously as I looked the women over.  They weren’t really dressed the way I imagined prostitutes to dress.  They weren’t wearing garters or stockings or anything, just simple sweatpants and halter tops.  But it was strange to see two unaccompanied young women hanging out in this dark deserted place.  “I don’t think so honey,” I said skeptically.

Vera got that devilish look in her eye that she always gets when she wants to tease me.  “I’m telling you, Harry, these are real prostitutes. Do you want me to hire one for you?  What would you prefer, a handjob or a blowjob?” My wife cackled with drunken laughter as she pulled the car over near the women and rolled her window down.

I just shook my head and tisked dismissively but my stomach dropped when both girls eagerly came forward and leaned in the window.

“Hey mama, wazzup?  You like to party?” asked one of the girls.  She was a white girl with an inch of dark roots showing beneath her poorly bleached and frizzy hairdo.  Her makeup was simply atrocious. Her blue eyeliner made her look like a clown.

Vera giggled with excitement.  “How much for a blowjob for my husband?”

“Vera!” I gasped in shock.  I couldn’t believe she was doing this.

“Ten dollars,” put in the other girl with a shrug.  She was hispanic or maybe part black with huge lips and a mass of black curly hair.

“For 15$ we could both suck it,” offered the white girl.  She looked at her companion and rubbed her nose.

“Sure,” agreed the darker girl giving me a coldly calculating stare.  “That guy don’t look like he would take too long.”

Vera broke out laughing as my face burned with shame.  “You’ve got that right, girl. You’ve got that right for sure.  He’ll probably cum before you get his peter out of his pants.”

“Vera stop it!” I choked.  I didn’t appreciate being humiliated in front of street whores like this.

“She’s got your number, Harry, you can’t deny it.  She has the eye of a professional,” said my wife. She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a twenty.  “Here, all I have is a twenty,” said my wife, handing over the bill to the brown girl.

“We can make change,” said the white girl.  She hurriedly reached down the front of her shit and pulled out a wad of cash.

“No no, you can keep the change,” said my wife.  She eyed the woman’s wad as the whores traded a ten for the twenty so they could split the loot.  “That’s quite a take, did you make that all tonight?”

The white girl flashed her roll of bills proudly.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then she tucked the cash back between her breasts.

“I would like to know, I think this is all very fascinating.  Do you have a pimp?” My wife’s eyes were shining with excitement.

The girls exchanged a worried glance but said nothing.

“What’s the matter?  Are you afraid we are police?  I assure we aren’t,” said my wife with concern.  “I’m just curious.”

“Ah no, mama, we know all the police, that’s cool,” said the hispanic girl.  “We just don’t like to talk too much, you know. We just do our thing and you can split.”

“Whatever, Yo-yo, she’s cool, I can tell,” said the white girl.  She turned chattily to my wife. “Down here, we don’t need no pimp.  This is po-po’s corner, so we just pay our tax and we cool.”

I was confused for a moment as parsed out her meaning. “You don’t mean that you pay the police?!” I gasped when I finally understood her. 

“He’s pretty stupid, huh?” the hispanic girl asked my wife.

“Well, yes, about some things,” admitted my wife.  She turned to face me. “You must have seen the news about police corruption in Oakland, haven’t you dear?”

“Let’s just suck this dude off and get on with it,” sighed the hispanic girl.  And the two young women came around to my side of the car while my wife rolled down my window.

“You can’t be serious about this!” I objected to my wife.

“Oh, stop being such a prude,” admonished my wife.  “Why I think this will be incredibly exciting. Most husbands would jump at the chance to get their penis sucked by a strange woman after 20 years of marriage to the same old bag.”

“You’re no old bag and you know it,” I said.

“What’s the matter, poppi?  Don’t you like boobies?” asked the hispanic girl.  And then she lifted up her shirt and stuck her brown nipples right in my face.

It was pretty shocking.  I had these big round, soft, brown breasts smushed into my face while the girl giggled.  She grabbed the back of my head to keep my face pressed against her chest while the white girl leaned her whole torso into the car and and started unzipping my fly.

“He’s hard already,” said the white girl with satisfaction as she extracted my penis.  “Not much more than a mouthful though,” she joked and my wife laughed along.

“Mmmph,” I complained, but I couldn’t see anything with the big brown titties in my face.

I felt the white girl’s hot wet mouth on the tip of my cock and I nearly came right then.  It was pretty kinky.

“Here, hold her boobs honey, that will help you,” coaxed my wife and she took my hands and put the white girls exposed breasts into the palm of my hands while the whore sucked me harder and harder.  I have to admit, it was more than I could take and I immediately climaxed, spurting my modest load into the girl’s greedy mouth.

“Wow, that’s it?” giggled the girl.  The brown boobs were removed from my face and the white girl opened her mouth to show my wife the cum on her tongue before turning and spitting it out on the road.  She and her pal had their tits tucked away in a jiffy and started walking away, laughing as they went.

“Wow, that was hot,” panted my wife.  I noticed that she had her skirt bunched up around her waist and was touching herself.  “I’m going to get a lot of mileage out of this during my nightly rub session.”

“I feel… odd,” I said as I wiped my limp penis off with my handkerchief.

“I want to try that,” said my wife hoarsely.  Her cheeks were flushed.

“What, suck my penis?” I asked nervously.  It was still tender. “I need time to recover, dear.”

“No, you fool, the hooking, the prostitution,” she said watching the girls as they resumed their positions on the corner.  “To just pleasure a complete stranger for cash and then walk away. That was a fantasy of mine when I was a young girl.”

“Come on,” I chortled.  “Now you are really going too far.”

“Oh, please, you are such a milquetoast sometimes.  Where is your sense of adventure? Wouldn’t you find it kinky to watch me sucking off some random guy in his car for a ten dollar bill?  It would be simply WILD!”

“You’ve clearly lost your mind.”

“Oh my god, our sex life has gotten so BOOORING!  I’m sick of it. We need to spice things up a little.  Here, give me your wallet, I want to buy some information from these girls.”

I reluctantly offered up my billfold and Vera snatched it from my hand.  She jumped out of the car and walked purposefully toward the two prostitutes.  I got out myself and followed, hoping in vain to talk some sense into my lustful wife.

“No refunds!” said the hispanic girl as my wife approached.

“No, no, everything was fine, I just want to ask you two some questions,” said Vera.  She held up my wallet invitingly.

“Bitch, I’m here to work, not to gab,” sneered the brown girl.  I could tell she didn’t like my wife. 

A beat up pickup truck pulled over and a brown faced mexican fellow leaned out his window and whistled at the girls.  The hispanic girl went running to greet him, but the white girl hesitated. She bit her lip and looked back and forth between my wife and the John.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” assured my wife.  She pulled out a couple of twenties and the white girl’s eyes went wide.

“Holy shit, mama, I’d eat your snatch for that much, and I don’t even go that way,” gasped the girl taking the money and tucking it away quickly.

“Uh, no,” said my wife.  “I’m not interested in that.  I just want to know how this all works.  How do I turn tricks?”

The white whore laughed in her face.  “The fuck you talking about, lady?”

“What’s the matter, do you think I’m too old?” asked my wife.  She pulled at her temples self-consciously like she does at home when she contemplated getting a facelift.

The white girl looked confused.  “No, I mean, you look better than half the bitches out here who half your age, you got that tits and ass too,  but it’s just….” The girl wrinkled her brow. “You a classy lady. You got a husband…”

“You saw my husband’s dick,” laughed my wife.

“Hey now!” I complained.  But it was hard to be angry since I was still experiencing that post-orgasm glow from all the boobs and sucking I had been given.

“Well you got a nice car,” objected the girl.

“It’s not for the money,” explained my wife.  “I need excitement in my life.”

“Bitch, you crazy,” laughed the white girl.  “You think this shit is EXCITING? Sucking some smelly old nutsacks for a ten?”

“Ahh, ahh,” cried the mexican in the truck and I turned to see the brown girl bouncing up and down on his lap in the cab of his truck.

“Just watching her is making me wet,” said my wife.

We all turned and watched as the brown girl brought her trick to climax and then she deftly slipped out of the truck and pulled her sweatpants back up.  He John was smiling groggily as he put the truck in gear and pulled away.

“Jose make me work it tonight,” said the hispanic girl, rubbing her rump ruefully.  “Why this crazy white bitch still here?”

“She so crazy, she wants to turn some tricks for fun,” said the white girl pointing to my wife.

The hispanic girl looked my wife over critically.  “Turn around,” she commanded.

My wife turned and showed her rear to the saucy young whore.

“Damn she got some ass,” admitted the harlot.  “But you can’t whore in that office outfit. You need easy access, hoe!”  She pulled her waistband with a snap.

“Oh, so that’s why you wear the sweatpants,” said my wife thoughtfully.  “It’s not very flattering, though.”

“These niggas that come down here for pussy don’t give two fucks for flattering,” laughed the hispanic girl.

“Ok, but I don’t want to go home and change, I might lose my nerve,” said my wife, biting her lip.

“Come on, this is preposterous,” I said.  I took my wife by the elbow and tried to lead her back to the car but she dug in her heels and slapped my hand away.

“Get your hands off me, Harold.  I am DOING this,” hissed my wife.  She was angry enough to make me recoil in shock.  “You haven’t satisfied me in the bedroom in YEARS!”

“Vera you are drunk,” I sighed.

“Yes, I am,” she admitted.  “But I wouldn’t have the guts to try this sober.  Now will you just calm down and let me do this? It’s an experiment.  It might save our sex life. You owe it to me.” She was on the verge of tears at this point and I honestly felt guilty for my lack of sexual prowess.

So I sighed and rolled my eyes.  “Ok, ok, you will probably chicken out if you actually get propositioned anyway.”

Vera hugged me and turned to the white girl.  “Ok, now what do I do? Do we just wait for the next customer?  What do I say? This is so exciting!”

“Look, let me do the talking.  We’ll tell the tricks that hubby is your pimp if anyone asks,” said the pale girl with her clownish makeup.  She held her finger up and then went and rummaged in a crumpled paper bag sitting by one of the freeway support pylons.  When she came back, she was holding a handgun. I nearly jumped at the sight of it, but she came right over to me and stuck it in the waistband of my pants.

“Is this really necessary?” I gasped.  Things were getting a little more serious than I hoped.

“Try not to piss yourself, but things can get a little sketchy down here,” said the young whore.  She pulled my jacket closed and patted me on the cheek condescendingly.

“Oh look, it’s El Hefe and and a couple of his boys!” shouted the brown whore excitedly.  “El Hefe might like a shot at a rich lady for once.” A king cab pickup full of Mexicans pulled up to curb and a jolly looking fellow with fat face and sparkling eyes leaned out the driver’s side window.

“Que pasa, bitches?  You busy?” shouted El Hefe.

“Let me handle this, Yo-Yo,” hissed the white girl to her friend.  Then she motioned for El Hefe to get out and join us on the sidewalk.

The fat man obliged, climbing out and hitching up his jeans clumsily as he ambled over.  A couple of his pals jumped out as well. They looked like a landscaping crew from the way they were covered in dirt.

“Wazzup Hefe, we gots a new girl for you tonight.  She a classy callgirl fallen on hard times, needs to make a quick buck,” said the white girl motioning to my wife.

Vera blushed and waved at the men bashfully.

“For reals?” asked El Hefe skeptically.  “She sure don’t look like no whore.”

“A callgirl don’t have to dress like a whore, dumbass,” the brown girl told him.  His pals broke out laughing at the insult, but Hefe just smiled good naturedly.

“And who that, then?” he asked, pointing to me.

“That’s her pimp,” said the white girl confidently.  All the men broke out laughing again.

“I slap down that little bald white man with a quickness,” chuckled El Hefe.

“He’s packing,” sniffed the brown girl.

“Yes, I’m afraid I am,” I told the crew leader.  I opened my jacket and smiled at the Mexicans with embarrassment as I showed them the firearm in my waistband.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” said El Hefe in amazement.  “What you all trying to pull, Yo-Yo?”

“Ask Sheila!” said Yo-Yo, pointing to the white girl.

“Come on now Hefe,” said Sheila.  She took my wife by the hand and lead her closer to the landscapers.  “When’s the last time you had a crack at some fine ass pussy like this?  Show them your titties, mama.”

My wife blanched at the suggestion, but then she smiled nervously and started fumbling with the buttons of her silk blouse.  The Mexicans looked on hungrily as my wife got her blouse undone and pulled it open to show them her bosoms encased in her lacy white bra.

“She real fancy,” admitted El Hefe, fingering his crotch.  “Take the bra off, let’s see them bad boys.”

Vera gave me a look of trepidation, but I just shrugged nonchalantly.  The gun was making me feel powerful and I was relishing my wife’s chagrin.

Sheila wasn’t allowing any hesitation though and she effortlessly unhooked the front of my wife’s bra and let her pale white orbs spill out.  The crew was delighted and started giving catcalls and shouts of arousal.

“Look at these nice pink nipples, Hefe,” said Sheila, talking up my wife’s goods.  “They look tasty, right?”

“Yeah,” said Hefe. His mouth was hanging open as he and his pals ogled my wife’s bare chest and I could feel my member swelling in my pants at the sight.  I never thought I would be aroused to see my wife put on display for manual laborers under an overpass, but it really was kinky.

“Now show them that ass, mama,” coaxed Sheila, turning my wife around brusquely and lifting her skirt.

“Oh boy,” said my wife.  She was facing me with her rear pointed at the landscapers when her eyes widened in shock as Sheila pulled her panties right down to her ankles.  The Mexicans gave a fresh shout of appreciation and Yo-Yo was tittering into her hand.

“Yeah, I’ll tap that,  how much?” said Hefe, stepping forward and unzipping his fly.

“One hundred dollars!” shouted Sheila triumphantly.

“Get the fuck outa here!” cried Hefe.  He was frozen in his tracks with his stiff prick in his hand.

“Don’t you think I’m worth it?” asked my wife with a pout as she wiggled her bare round rump at the chubby Mexican man.  She was starting to get into the swing of things now.

“Baby, you clean, but a hundred dollars buys a LOT of skanky pussy,” said Hefe.  He was absently stroking his rod as he admired my wife’s naked ass.

“I ain’t that skanky, Hefe,” complained Yo-Yo stamping her foot.  She was clearly jealous of the impression my wife was making.

“Lookit this pink,” said Sheila.  My wife gasped again as the brazen white whore reached down and actually spread Vera’s labia so that the Mexicans could see the pink of her vagina.  Sheila hesitated. “She’ll do two for that much.”

“I will?” asked Vera.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine, don’t worry,” whispered Sheila.  

The mexicans were conferring amongst themselves now, pooling their cash.  A moment later Hefe and a tall skinny fellow with bad acne stepped forward with a fistful of bills.  Sheila snatched the dough and then stepped aside. “Have at her,” she said with a flourish.

Hefe practically pounced on my wife from behind.  He prodded her right in the ass with his stiff dong and gripped her bare boobs in his hands while he gnawed hungrily on Vera’s long white neck.  She cried out in surprise and then started whimpering and moaning in passion as the burly Mexican pinched her stiff nipples with his rough calloused fingers.  The tall fellow came around in front of my wife and bashfully unzipped his pants. Vera gaped in amazement at the size of the erection that came popping out. It was truly a massive piece of meat, but the poor fellow really seemed embarrassed as he asked my wife to suck it for him.

My own erection was stiff again as I watched Hefe bend my wife over so he could insert his cock into her from behind while the tall guy put his huge swinging dong in front of her face.  Vera grabbing that big tool and wasted no time getting it into her mouth. She started sucking and slurping on it hungrily, making little moans and humming back in her throat with pleasure.  Meanwhile Hefe with sweat pouring down his face, was gripping my wife’s hips so hard his knuckles were turning white as he pumped away, dogging her from behind. I pulled out my own meager pecker.  I didn’t care about anything at that point. I started stroking it shamelessly as I watched my wife being violated by these peasants. It was very arousing.

The tall mexican bent down to cup my wife’s swinging udders in his hands and it helped him cum.  He pulled his thing out of my wife’s mouth and blew his wad all over her face, spurt after hot spurt, coating her cheeks with cum as she licked his head hungrily, coaxing him on.  A moment later Hefe gave a loud grunt and ground himself desperately as he clung to my wife’s ample rear. He looked like a little chihuahua humping a fine poodle as he emptied his load into my tall graceful wife from behind.   

The sight of the little brown man pumping his sperm into my wife made me cum again, but I didn’t have much left since I had just ejaculated minutes before, so there was only a tiny dribble.  Still it was satisfying. I actually felt really elated to see my haughty wife brought so low, fucked like a common street whore. The Mexicans, for their part, edged awkwardly away and climbed back into their truck and were gone without further adieu. 

“Oh my gosh, that was fucking intense,” panted my wife as he dabbed at the jizm on her face.  “I came like three times, Harry! Did you see the size of that boy’s cock? It was amazing! I couldn’t get enough.”  My wife was struggling to get her panties pulled back up. So I went and helped her arrange herself, pulling her skirt back down as she wrangled her big boobs together and got them back inside her bra.

“I think I should get a cut,” said Sheila, handing my wife back a portion of the bills. “Twenty percent!”

“That’s fine, dear,” said my wife.  “You can keep it.”

“No bitch, you EARNED that shit,” insisted Sheila, thrusting the bills toward my wife.

“Well, then, give that to my pimp,” laughed my wife.  Vera was taken aback by the girl’s intensity.  

Sheila gave me the damp bills and I gave her back her gun which she quickly re-deposited in the shopping bag a few yards away.

“My first ill-gotten gains,” chuckled my wife as we headed back to the car.

“Pleasure doing business with you, mama!” Sheila called, waving gayly.  “Come back anytime you want to earn some cash.”

And my wife did too.  Every couple of weeks she would get drunk and we would go sell her ass under the overpass with Sheila and her compatriots.  We started to think of it as a public service as well when we convinced Yo-Yo to re-enroll in community college and got Sheila into a meth rehab program.  Our sex life improved dramatically as well. I found it incredibly arousing to re-imagine my wife’s whorish exploits as we had sex in our own bed.

Of course there were some disturbing moments as well.  That time when Vera had to service six corrupt policemen at gunpoint was pretty terrifying for me.  Though she claimed that she had more orgasms that night than ever before. Also, I did find it pretty humiliating the week when my rival from work showed up and took my wife away to fuck at his apartment with several of his goonish pals.   And really, posting those pictures on Facebook was really gauche on his part, I must say. Still, overall, my wife’s prostitution experiment has proven to be a stunning success.

Gustav Jorgenson’s cuckold stories:
Wicked Wife Mischief: NEW! Tales of Erotic Liberation
Slut Wife, Happy Life: Naughty Wife Tales
Exhibitionist Wife Tales: 15 stories of wives cheating in public
Most Popular collection: Gustav’s Selected Shorts
Giant chunks of cuck erotica: Wives Cheating Vol 1-5 Box, Collected Longs
Hate reading?  Try an audiobook:
Slut Wife, Happy Life Audiobook
Hard Times, Hot Wife Audiobook
“What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy?” Audiobook

Arab Impregnates My Wife

By Gustav Jorgenson

***new collection of hot cuckold erotica out now: Wicked Wife Mischief ***

My wife, Janet and I invited our new neighbor Nadeem over for dinner one evening to welcome him to the neighborhood.  He had just arrived from Pakistan and Linda suspected he was having a hard time adjusting to life in America. She tried hard to be culturally sensitive and didn’t offer him any alcohol or pork so as not to offend his Muslim faith.  It was actually a bit of an uncomfortable evening because Nadeem was not a very sophisticated conversationalist.

“So, when are you two going to have children?” Nadeem asked when we had retired to living room after the meal.

I stared down glumly at my tea, wishing it was a glass of wine and let me wife answer him.

“Oh I don’t know if we are going to have children, Nadeem,” said Janet.  “I am so busy with my career, and I am getting older now.” She gave me a tender look.  

“Yeah, we figure there are enough humans on the earth right now,” I said dutifully.  In fact, I had wanted kids myself, but Janet had always put it off.

“Ach, that is terrible, man!” Nadeem was practically shouting in amazement.  He was very emotional. “A woman’s place is in the home, making babies. She is not meant to work.  This is an abomination.”

Janet grimaced and tried to diffuse the situation.  “Now Nadeem, here in America, women often choose to have a career.  The idea that women should stay at home and have babies is considered old fashioned.”

“Well, not in the red states,” I mumbled.

“Nonsense, your husband is too weak.  You need a strong man to make you live the correct way as Allah intended.  A real man would force you to stay home and give him lots of babies.” Nadeem drew himself up and stared at me, daring me to oppose him.

But I just laughed in his face.  “Easier said than done, my friend.  Easier said than done.” What a backward fellow this guy was.

“You are a coward.  It is only right for your bloodline to die out,” Nadeem told me with a sneer.

“Now, Nadeem, that’s really not very polite,” said my wife.  She looked at me helplessly. “You have to understand, we live differently here than your people do.”

“Silence, woman.  I would impregnate you and make you into a real woman.  You don’t know what a real man is,” Nadeem clenched his fist and shook it at my wife angrily.  I was starting to get a little nervous.

“Uh, maybe we should change the subject,” I suggested gently.

Janet agreed and tried asking Nadeem about his family back home, but the dark skinned foreigner was still angry and gave terse, surly responses before excusing himself and leaving abruptly.

“Wow, Nadeem is so intense,” said my wife after he left.

“What culture shock he must be going through if he thinks it is acceptable to call a husband a coward and threaten to rape his wife,” I said.  I wasted no time dumping out my tea and grabbing a proper glass of wine.

“Oh, well, he didn’t exactly threaten to rape me,” said Janet.  She chewed the edge of her finger thoughtfully as I poured out a glass of wine for her.

“He did call me a coward though,” I said.

“Yes, well,” said my wife.  I had a hard time reading her expression.

“Well, what?  Do you think I’m a coward?” I asked with annoyance.

“Maybe by his standards,” said my wife.  “Each culture has it’s own values, you know.  We need to respect that.”

“Ha, well next time you invite him over, you should be sure to wear a hijab then,” I told my wife with a bitter laugh.

“Stop it, Adam,” said my wife.  “I WAS going to get a hijab and participate in World Hijab day this year.  You need to be more culturally sensitive.”

“I really can’t understand why a supposed feminist such as yourself would support that sort of thing,” I said.

“You just don’t understand cultural relativism,” sniffed my wife haughtily.  She was always lording her social justice views over me. “I do think I should invite Nadeem back for tea and I should wear a hijab to make him more comfortable.  And I don’t think you should be there. He seems to have something against you.”

I stared at my wife in shock.  “You can’t be serious? You actually want to have that backward neanderthal back in our house?”

“I think you are over-reacting dear,” said Janet.  And she pulled a scarf out of the hall closet and stood in front of a mirror, trying to arrange it to look like a hijab.  “You need to be more open to other cultures.”

“This is ridiculous.  I forbid you to have that man back in our home.” I stamped my foot petulantly.

“Oh, you forbid me?” my wife told me ominously.  She turned on me and fixed me with a piercing glare.  Even in her silly faux-hijab, she was quite an imposing figure.

“Now, Janet, please,” I said, backing down.

“You don’t forbid anything, Adam, we are partners,” my wife continued, her voice gone cold.

“Of course, darling,” I said.  I spread my hands, trying to appease my angry wife.

“I am going to get a proper hijab and then have Nadeem over for tea on Saturday afternoon.  You will need to find something to do with yourself,” my wife told me.

“Yes, dear,” I agreed.  But I had a bad feeling about that.

I went to the art museum by myself that day and stayed until closing.  I kept thinking of my wife bending over backward to be culturally sensitive in her hijab while Nadeem berated her for her decadent feminist lifestyle and it annoyed the shit out of me.  Before heading home, I texted my wife to make sure the coast was clear, but she didn’t respond. So I just shrugged and drove home.

When I entered our front door, I saw Nadeem’s shoes on the mat and I frowned.  I briefly considered leaving and coming back later, but I decided that this was my own home and I wasn’t going to be driven out of it by a backward Pakistani.  “Honey, I’m home!” I called out. I went through the living room and the kitchen, but my wife and our neighbor were nowhere to be seen. I was starting to get a weird feeling in my gut as I searched the house.  Surely they weren’t in the bedroom? But as I went down the hall, Nadeem emerged from my bedroom door tucking his shirt into his pants. He didn’t look at me, but just brushed past me gruffly and then left without saying a word.  My blood ran cold as I considered the situation. Had this guy been fucking my wife? I walked forward in dread and found Janet hastily straightening the covers in her hijab.

“Janet, tell me you have an explanation for this,” I told my wife as I stood at our bedroom door in shock.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard me.  “Oh, Adam. There you are. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What was Nadeem doing in our bedroom?” I asked coldly.

“Nothing, I mean, I was just showing him around,” stammered my wife.  She looked very guilty and I felt my armpits growing damp with anxiety.

“Why is the bed messed up?” I demanded.

“Well, he was just being silly and jumped on it to see how comfortable it was,” said my wife.  She wouldn’t meet my gaze and I gulped at the implication. She was a terrible liar.

“Did he wear a condom at least?” I asked her acidly.

Janet blushed bright red.  “Of course not, don’t be silly darling,” she told me.  “How could you say such a thing?”

“No he wouldn’t wear a condom, because that would prevent him from impregnating you,” I told her.

“You are just, I don’t know how you could suggest such a thing,” gasped my wife, and she ran from the room.

I followed her around all day, pestering her with my accusations.  She kept denying that anything unsavory had transpired between her and Nadeem.  But I noticed that she didn’t remove her hijab all day and she was evasive when I asked her why not. I was stewing with jealousy and suspicion, but I had no real proof that Janet had been unfaithful to me.  When she told me that she wanted to have Nadeem over again the following day, I saw an opportunity to catch her red-handed, so I readily agreed.

The next day, instead of going to the museum again.  I just drove to the coffee shop around the corner. I gave them about thirty minutes and then drove right back home again.  But instead of going in my front door, I went into the back yard and crept up to my bedroom window. I was frustrated when I found the curtains drawn and I was about to turn away when I realized that the window was open and I could hear the headboard tapping rhythmically against the wall.  I stood there listening numbly to my wife’s whimpering and then I heard Nadeem’s rough voice.

“You will take my seed, woman,” he groaned.

“Yes, Nadeem, give it to me,” called out my wife submissively.

The tapping of the headboard increased to a feverish tempo.  I was about to run inside and confront my wife and her lover when I noticed a strange feeling inside me.  My penis was growing stiff for some reason. Instead of going to break up the lovemaking, I unzipped my fly and started masturbating as I listened to my wife getting fucked.  It was incredibly stimulating for some reason I can’t exactly explain. Nadeem grunted and cursed in some foreign tongue as he ploughed my wife and she called out his name over and over and soon I was spurting jizz all over the rose bushes outside our bedroom window.

I didn’t even complain when my wife started studying the Koran and wearing the hijab whenever she went out.  She quit her job and everything, and I was hardly surprised when she announced she was pregnant. I had setup a peep hole for me to watch my wife and Nadeem’s weekly impregnation sessions, so I knew that he had worked very hard to attain this outcome.  I also knew that I would need to divorce her for this at some point, but it was hard for me to give up my voyeuristic pleasures. So I just kept my mouth shut and pretended not to be surprised when she gave birth to a brown baby boy and insisted on naming him Muhammad.


Gustav Jorgenson’s cuckold stories:
Wicked Wife Mischief: NEW! Tales of Erotic Liberation
Slut Wife, Happy Life: Naughty Wife Tales
Exhibitionist Wife Tales: 15 stories of wives cheating in public
Most Popular collection: Gustav’s Selected Shorts
Giant chunks of cuck erotica: Wives Cheating Vol 1-5 Box, Collected Longs
Hate reading?  Try an audiobook:
Slut Wife, Happy Life Audiobook
Hard Times, Hot Wife Audiobook
“What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy?” Audiobook

Wife’s First Boudoir Photos

By Gustav Jorgenson

***new collection of hot cuckold erotica out now: Wicked Wife Mischief ***

“So I was having coffee with Janet and Abbey today,” said my wife, Claudia. She was gazing down into her teacup as she stirred it and I sensed something was wrong. Her normally pale white cheeks seemed flushed.

“What’s the matter, are you embarrassed about something, dear?”

“Well, they were telling me about these boudoir photos they each had taken.”

“Boudoir, as in bedroom?” I scratched my head in confusion.

“Right, I guess there is a trend now of middle aged housewives doing sexy photo shoots in opulent hotel suites so they have some record of themselves looking good before they go completely downhill.” Claudia snorted with derision as she peered down into her tea cup. “I’m sure you’ve seen things like that online. Pouting ladies in skimpy lingerie stretching out on luxurious chaise lounge chairs.”

“Uh, yeah, I might have seen something like that online before.” I gulped guiltily and made a show of tugging at my collar.

Claudia rewarded me with the briefest of smirks and I could tell something was truly bothering her. “Ha, ha, I’m sure you look at raunchier things than that when you go into your den and get on the internet. I don’t even want to know what I’d find if I had your password and could see your internet history. But getting back to the point, my friends are trying to convince me to go do a boudoir shoot.” She paused and looked up and me hesitantly. “What a laugh, right? I’ve already gone downhill.”

“What are you talking about? You still look great. Look at those gorgeous boobs of yours.” I wagged my eyebrows at my wife lewdly.

She blushed a bit more and covered her breasts with her hands demurely. “Stop it. Men don’t look at me anymore.”

“Jeez, you sound bitter about it. Do you enjoy catcalls?”

“I would at this point.” She sighed and gazed out the window at our expansive backyard was enveloped by the encroaching gloom of dusk. “And we never have sex anymore.”

“Ahh.” I rubbed my face and said nothing for a moment. “Well, it sounds like you could use a boost to your self-esteem. Why not go get made-up and have the pictures taken then. I’m sure they will come out looking marvelous.”

“Do you think so?” She tugged a strand of grey-blonde hair down into her face and peeked at me shyly from behind it. Have I really lost track how beautiful and vulnerable my wife could be? My heart melted when I saw how bashful she seemed.

“Of course, I’m just worried about one thing. I don’t want you getting half naked in front of some handsome male photographer.”

“What are you jealous?” My wife laughed gaily at the idea. “As though some young guy would be interested in an old bag like me.” I gave her a stern look and she regained her composure. “Anyway, I think these boudoir photographers are all women. I called one place today and spoke with a woman.”

“Really, you called a place?”

“Yes, do you want to go with me?” She seemed excited and the idea of watching my wife model lingerie piqued my imagination and I could feel my johnson growing stiffer as I thought about it.

I got up and gave her a kiss and that lead to me casually groping her boob and then she noticed that I was getting harder and started squeezing my bulge and it the next thing I knew, I had her bent over the kitchen table with her panties around her ankles and her skirt above her waist as I dogged her from behind. I gripped her soft white hips as I pictured my lovely wife parading around in provocative lingerie and I was quickly emptying my seed inside her.

“Hmm, this photo shoot idea is spicing up our love life already,” she said, smiling brightly back at me over her shoulder as I tenderly withdrew from her.

“Possibly.” And we both laughed and hugged there in the kitchen.


Claudia made the arrangements with a studio to have the shoot in the bridal suite of a posh hotel downtown. We were greeted by a pair of young latinas who explained that they were just the hair and makeup assistants and that the photographer and lighting person were running a bit late. They handed us glasses of champagne so we could loosen up and the young women fussed over my wife while I wandered through the expansive rooms. It was an old hotel and the ceilings were high with ornate crown moulding. The windows provided a gorgeous view of San Francisco’s skyline. Someone had hung sheer fabric sheets from the ceiling to add ambience.

There was a light tap at the door and then two young hispanic men came into the room. I was immediately taken aback by how rough these two looked. The shorter man had a tattoo of a hummingbird on his neck, a thin moustache, and dark black, slicked back hair. His partner was a big, muscular fellow with a scar on his upper lip, a pony tail, and cold black eyes. Both men wore wife beaters and saggy jeans hanging low so that their boxers were showing. The shorter fellow had a camera around his neck and carried a lens case, and the bigger guy was hauling in a bunch of lighting equipment.

“Hey, you must be Claudia’s husband, George,” said the short photographer. “I’m Juan and this is my cousin Enrique. Sorry we are late, our other shoot went over. Where’s the sexy lady?”

“Ah, Claudia is just finishing up with hair and makeup, but uh, I thought the photographer was going to be a female.”

He reached down and grabbed his testicles and thought for a minute and then said, “Nope.” His cousin broke out laughing and I smiled along wryly.

The two latinas ushered my wife into the room, and Juan whistled appreciatively. She was still in her modest dress, but her hair was done up in elaborate curls. I thought the make-up was overdone and garish, basically stage makeup, but I guessed that’s what was needed for photography.

“And you must be Claudia,” said Juan, rushing forward and grabbing her hand so he could kiss it. He looked her up and down dramatically. “I am Juan and I will be photographing your sensuousness today. You are one gorgeous lady. This will really be a pleasure. Enrique, bring in trunk with the lingerie. We got to spice things up a little in here.” He gave a guttural, unsavory laugh that made my stomach roil. Claudia looked down at the photographer with a bemused smile and then looked at me and immediately noticed my discomfort.

“We thought the photographer was going to be a woman,” I repeated lamely and Juan gave me an annoyed glance.

“I know, I know, a lot of studios have women photographers because that makes the customers comfortable. And they joke around and act silly and make funny faces. It’s like a slumber party. And the pictures reflect like, that energy, you know? They aren’t sexy, they are just funny. You need a man taking the pictures to really bring out a woman’s sexuality. Compare my photos to the stuff the other studios produce. No comparison. My pictures scream raw sex appeal. Those others are just, safe, mine are dangerous!” Juan puffed his chest out, proud of his little diatribe and Enrique and the two girls nodded along, clearly impressed.

“I’m not sure dangerous is what we are looking for,” I said hesitantly.

Claudia intervened before Juan could answer. “Excuse us a moment, won’t you? I just need to have a little chat with my husband. I don’t think he is comfortable with me, err, being sensuous around strange men.”

“Certainly pretty lady,” said Juan unctuously. He looked her body up and down in a way that made me angry. As she walked over to me he tilted his head and pursed his lips in appreciation as he checked out her rear.

“Honey, we can’t go through with this. Look at those guys,” I hissed gesturing at the two young men as they went about setting up the equipment.

“You’re gonna have to pay for the room no matter what,” called Juan. “It’s gonna be expensive.”

Claudia smiled over at him and waved. “Yes, thank you, we understand,” she called out. Then she turned back to me and lowered her voice. “They do seem a bit rough around the edges, but I think he made a good point. Having a male photographer makes it riskier. Besides, I’m actually kind of a sucker for blatant flattery. I think he’s cute.”

I looked at Claudia with frank amazement. “Claudia he looks like a street hooligan.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, that’s just the look kids have these days.” She waved her hand dismissively. She saw me staring back at her and laughed. “My goodness, you aren’t actually jealous are you?”

I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and rubbed my head.

“George? This is me here, your wife for 15 years.”

“But you will be prancing around practically naked,” I whispered.

“That’s the idea!” She raised her eyebrows at me in exasperation. “Just get a grip on yourself. These young guys aren’t going to get all worked up over a middle-aged lady like me. And besides, we already paid for the room, so let’s go through with it.”

“Yeah, ok, but I need another drink.”

“Isabella, can you pour George and I more champagne. We need to calm our nerves a bit.”

“Ok, ok, great, I’m glad you and George got everything worked out,” said Juan taking my wife by the arm. “We have a big trunk of sexy lingerie back here and we set up a folding screen so that you have some privacy while you change. I think you should start out with just a lacy bra and panties along with some nice black stockings. Pick a pair that are really transparent. I like to see some nipples.” Juan waggled his eyebrows at Claudia salaciously.

“Ha, I’ll bet you do,” Claudia laughed as she went behind the screen.

“Oh, man, your wife is so fucking hot. I can’t wait to see her put those titties on display,” Juan said, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied with a look of annoyance.

“Oh man, don’t be like that,” he replied, slapping me on the shoulder. “Of course I love my work, can you blame me?” He winked at me lewdly, then turned to watch Claudia’s shadow on the screen as she undressed. “Oh wow, look at this, she is totally backlit.” He ran over to the screen with his camera. “Claudia, baby, once you get all your clothes off, let me know, I want to get some shots of your shadow on the screen. They’re gonna be so hot.”

“Well, I’m undressed now,” said Claudia hesitantly.

“Great, turn sideways and lift your arms above your head and stick your rump out. I wanna see those big knockers jutting out in one direction and that sweet ass poking out in the other. Yeah, like that, so fuckin hot, Yeah!” Juan was clicking madly away with his camera and Enrique stood behind him so he could see the shadow of my wife’s curvaceous form. “Your nipples aren’t hard enough, pinch them for me, make them pop.”

“Uh, wow, ok,” giggled Claudia and Juan snapped photos of her shadow as she tweaked her nipples. “How’s this?” She turned to the side again.

“Ah, not quite, come closer to the screen. Yeah, now cup your boobs in your hands to support them sort of, yeah, you got it, you are a natural, baby, you’re making me hard already. Aw yeah, stick that ass out, wow! What a shelf!”

“Ok, uh, that’s a little explicit, isn’t it?” I said, taking a gulp of champagne as I stood awkwardly to the side. “I mean, that’s my wife you’re talking to.”

Juan didn’t bother to turn as he snapped a stream of photos. “Man, I know that. This is rapport a photographer has with his model. He has to make her feel beautiful and he has to let her know that she is having an impact on him too. Just relax yourself, have some more champagne. Ok, gorgeous, go ahead and put on that bra and panties. I can’t wait to drink in the sight of your exposed flesh.” He let his camera fall back to his chest and turned to face me. “You know, we don’t normally have the husbands along for the ride. If it’s freaking you out too much, you might want to duck out and get a cup of coffee. Especially for the nude shots.”

“Wait, I didn’t think you did nude shots,” I stammered.

“Well, we do the tasteful stuff. Like nude on her belly on the bed, maybe just a hint of bare ass, slightly out of focus, her dangling boobs covered up by her arm. No nips or anything. But of course, she has to get naked for that kind of shot and Enrique and I get to see everything.”
“Yeah, I’m not…”

“Ok, boys,” said Claudia brightly emerging from behind the screen. She was wearing nothing but a black bra, panties, and black stockings. Her erect nipples were clearly visible through the transparent bra and my jaw dropped when I saw her because she never wore such things at home. Her bras never even matches her panties. She had certainly put on weight over the years, but she wore it well and she had a good hourglass figure with a clearly defined waist and ample tits and ass. Her skin was still smooth and fresh looking for a woman in her forties and she was showing plenty of skin.

“Aww, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” crowed Juan. “Check out those titties, bro.”

“Super hot,” agreed Enrique nodded with agreement as he turned the lightbox to face her.

“Um, ok,” said Claudia, putting her arms out awkwardly. “Now what?”

Juan was snapping away as she flailed her arms. “See, see, that George. That awkward expression, that nervousness of having strange men ogle her ta-ta’s. That’s gold, baby, you are gonna thank me when you get these photos back. So hot, so vulnerable.”

Claudia put her hands on her waist and cocked one hip jauntily. “Vulnerable? Ha, I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“I’d still do you,” smiled Juan. “I don’t care how old you are with that body, baby. I’d tap that ass with a quickness. Let me see some, yeah, turn around and bend over a little. Oooo-wee, thats a booty. Spank it for me. Oh yeah. I’m springing one for you right now, for real.” Juan gripped his crotch with one hand as he click pictures with the other and I was disgusted to see a bulge growing in his baggy jeans.

Claudia laughed when she saw Juan’s bulge and she excitedly went through the series of lewd poses he suggested. She was clearly loving every minute of it and relishing her role as slutty sex object.

I was about to protest all of Juan’s crotch grabbing when Isabella came by and poured me more champagne. She noticed my discomfort and smiled prettily up at me. “You don’t seem super happy about this now, but I know you will just love the pictures later. Juan get’s pretty raunchy and he’s just getting warmed up. I mean, he still has his pants on and you already seem freaked out. Maybe you should come hang out in the other room with Maria and I.”

“What do you mean, he takes his own pants off?” I gasped in shock.

“Yeah, it adds to the sexual tension, you know. But he’s right, it really comes across in the pictures. Maria and I can keep you company though, we know what you’re going through.” She batted her eyelashes at me and I could detect some strong innuendo. Was this some kind of weird sex service posing as a photography studio. But no, the camera and lighting were all top end professional gear and this studio came highly recommended.

“We can show you our underwear if you want,” she whispered, opening her blouse slightly so I could get a peek at her pert cleavage.

Sweat beaded up on my forehead as I gazed from Isabella’s boobs to my wife who was laughing hysterically and had her bra straps down as Juan coaxed her to pull her bra down farther and farther until it was just barely covering her areola. “I don’t think I understand,” I told Isabella in a hoarse whisper. “Are you strippers?”

She grimaced at me and I immediately realized that I had make a drunken miscalculation. “Jesus, cabron, of course not. I was just playing with you. Fuck, I was trying to be friendly and you repay with an insult, thanks alot.” She clamped her shirt closed and stormed off in a huff while I muttered feeble apologies. Meanwhile Juan had my wife down on her back, spreading her legs for him. Her top was gone somehow and she was covering her nipples with one arm and pouting up at him seductively. My own penis came erect at the sight and I noticed Juan gripping an outsized bulge in his jeans that belied his small frame.

“Oh man, yeah, spread those foxy legs, mama. Ooo, I’m real hard now. If your husband weren’t here I would climb right on top and teach you what’s it’s like to be with a real man.” He was muttering quietly to her and he must have thought I couldn’t hear him.

“You’re so dirty, Juan,” giggle my wife drunkenly. She wasn’t used to drinking and she must have had a few because she seemed to be having the time of her life.

“Uh, I can hear you,” I called.

“Don’t interrupt me, George, I’m working.” Juan unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers, and his big dick poked out, pitching a tent in his boxers as he stood over my supine wife snapping pictures madly with one hand and gripping his rod with the other. Enrique looked on with interest, fingering his own bulge. “Get up on the bed. Yeah, that’s right, on your belly. Open your mouth like you’re getting ready to take this dick into it. Yeah, you know you want it, you filthy whore. Now slide those panties off, nice and slow. Fuck yeah. let me get a few shots of that crack. Nice, nice.”

“This language is too strong, Juan,” I cautioned.

He turned and glared at me angrily. “Man, don’t tell me how to do my fucking job. I’ll cool it when your wife tells me to cool, and she ain’t saying that. In fact, she’s loving this shit. So why don’t you go cool off with the girls in the other room while I take care of business in here.”

“Go ahead, darling, I’ll be fine. You are being overprotective,” called Claudia as she kicked her panties away and lay totally naked on the bed while this latin casanova stepped out of his pants and stood above her with his cock just inches from her face while her resumed taking photos of her bare ass. She glanced longingly at Juan’s protruding member as Enrique came and hustled me out of the room.

“Be cool, man, be cool, we are professionals. We do this all the time,” said the big man as he lead me into the other room. “Isabella, you watch this guy, will ya, he’s pissing Juan off.”

“I know, that bendajo pissed me off earlier too,” sniffed Isabella as she sat chatting with Maria on a vintage leather chesterfield.

Somehow they made me feel as though I was at fault and being unreasonable. After all, we were paying for sexy photos. Who was I to complain about the methods? “I’m really sorry, folks, I just, well, it’s weird seeing my wife getting naked in front of a strange man and then have him whipping his dick around and everything.”

“Yeah, that’s ok man, I sure wouldn’t let my woman do it,” laughed Enrique, clapping me on the shoulder. “Now if you excuse me, I want to go check out your naked wife’s hot body, because she is a total MILF.” He strode back into the bedroom but left the door open.

“For reals, your wife is smokin’ hot,” laughed Maria. “Juan’s gonna bust a nut right up in that shit.”

“Ah, what?”

“Don’t tease him, Maria,” said Isabella. “He can’t handle it.”

I heard Claudia suddenly cackle with laughter from the other room.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” laughed my wife.

“Yeah, I’m serious, lay on your back. Ooh yeah, now spread them. Uh huh, hold up Enrique, hold up. Pinch those nipples, yeah. Oh fuck yeah. Ok, ok, now it’s your turn mama, now you get the prize baby. You made this wood, now you get to taste it.”

“What’s he talking about?” I asked in bewilderment.

“Man, he’s gonna stick his thing right into your wife’s mouth,” laughed Maria.

“And she gonna suck it too. She’s into him, I could tell,” agreed Isabella.

“No, I don’t believe it,” I gulped, my pulse racing.

“Turn around, turn around on all fours, get that ass up here. Enrique, man, what the fuck? Oh shit, ok, go ahead if she don’t mind. I’m a tap this now. Gimme that ass, baby, I got something for you.”

“Ooh, shit, he’s doing her doggystyle now!” gasped Maria, putting her hands in front of her mouth as she blushed.

“Enrique probably trying to get her to suck his too now,” chimed in Isabella smugly, shooting me an evil glare. “How’s that feel, hubby? You like that?”

“I mean, it sounds bad, but I just don’t believe that my wife would do something like that.”

“Not with a cholo you mean,” spat Isabella bitterly. “Man, you racist.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Maria.

“He called me a stripper,” replied Isabella indignantly.

“For reals?” mouthed Maria in shock. “That ain’t right.”

“Look, I’m really sorry about that.” Somehow I felt like an utter heel. And she was right, I must be a little racist because I couldn’t imagine my wife agreeing to let some hispanic guy fuck her. But then again, she did seem pretty drunk and she was getting off on the flattery.
Isabella tisked, holding her hand up toward me and turning her face away.

I heard a lot of muffled exchanges from the other room and maybe I heard the sound of bed springs creaking, but I couldn’t be sure if it was my imagination or not. I was afraid to go in and look, though I desperately wanted to see what was happening in there. Could my wife really be fucking these two guys? I couldn’t tell if the idea disgusted me or fascinated me. I had grown so close to Claudia over the years and thought that I knew her so well. The Claudia I knew would never be unfaithful to me. Was there a whole other side of Claudia that I knew nothing about? A wanton woman hiding within my steadfast and loyal wife? I had to know.

I ran back into the other room to find my wife spread languidly on her back, totally nude, while Enrique packed up the lights and Juan reviewed pictures on his camera.

“Ah, honey, aren’t you going to cover yourself?” I asked timidly.

“Oh, darling, you’re so funny. Why bother at this point? Juan has seen and recorded every crevice.”

“Every sexy damn crevice,” corrected Juan not looking up from his camera. “George, you are gonna offer me double the fee for this set, it’s unbelievable.”

Claudia got up and walked back behind the screen to get dressed, Juan and Enrique’s eyes tracking her naked body the whole way. I stood by awkwardly as they packed up.

“Uh, when will we see the pictures?” I asked.

“Soon, soon, we need to do some post production of course,” said Juan fussily. “Isabella will send you an email.”

When Claudia emerged, she hugged Juan and Enrique to thank them and we left. In the elevator down I noticed what appeared to be a massive wad of snot in her hair.

“Hey, what’s in your hair?”

“This, oh, nothing.” She seemed mortified, but I couldn’t believe it was what I thought it was.

It was only later that we learned the real story. The studio people called and apologized that they couldn’t make the shoot. All their equipment and computers had been stolen. When we told them that there had been a shoot after all, they demanded that we give the police the descriptions of the perpetrators. The color drained from Claudia’s face when she heard about it. About a week later, a buddy of mine from work sent me a link to a hardcore milf porn website with Claudia’s photo shoot. She definitely did a lot more with Juan and Enrique than I thought she would. I guess she has another side to her that I knew nothing about until now.

Gustav Jorgenson’s cuckold stories:
Wicked Wife Mischief: NEW! Tales of Erotic Liberation
Slut Wife, Happy Life: Naughty Wife Tales
Exhibitionist Wife Tales: 15 stories of wives cheating in public
Most Popular collection: Gustav’s Selected Shorts
Giant chunks of cuck erotica: Wives Cheating Vol 1-5 Box, Collected Longs
Hate reading?  Try an audiobook:
Slut Wife, Happy Life Audiobook
Hard Times, Hot Wife Audiobook
“What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy?” Audiobook

New Cuckold Erotica Collection: Wicked Wife Mischief

I have a new collection of hot cuckold erotica out now:

Wicked Wife Mischief
Monogamy feels constraining to some couples. The wives in this anthology are eager for other men to plant their seed deep inside them. The husbands dragged along on these wild rides struggle with the swirling confusion of jealousy, betrayal, and arousal. After a wild ride, these rambunctious couples emerge exhausted, liberated, and thoroughly satiated. Gustav Jorgenson returns with his signature style of classy suburban cuckoldry, with tales ranging from kinky home improvement arrangements to scenic tours of Northern California’s clothing optional hot springs. A fun romp of debauchery, transgression, and unshackled sexuality.

Party Like a Plutocrat – Ch.11

Chapter 11 – The Wives Fly off with the Billionaire

Excerpted from “Party Like a Plutocrat

Continued from Chapter 10.
You and Max go get seriously drunk at his place but you manage to stumble into bed in the guest room before passing out this time.

You wake up late in the afternoon and shuffle out the kitchen to find Max brewing coffee. The sun is shining and a warm breeze blows through the open window and you feel utterly miserable. The hummingbird appears and hovers before the window and you feel like throwing a shoe at it.

“Let’s poison the bird feeder.” you suggest.

“Yeah, I know how you feel, Ted.” says Max. I wasn’t thrilled about watching my wife get poked by that billionaire last night, but you know, today it doesn’t bother me so much. I mean, who cares really? It’s not as though she is going to leave me for him. It was basically a monetary transaction. I got a PO from Smithers this morning for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.“

“Whoa!” you say thinking that over. “Nah, I don’t care.” you say finally. “We don’t need the money. And you don’t either, really, you keep crashing and burning with these business ventures, but what does Jenny make now, $300k?”

“Something like that, plus options.” sighs Max jealously, “I know, that’s true. This kind of money isn’t going to change our lifestyles or anything.”

“Fuck.” you say bitterly, taking a sip of coffee. “Hey, it’s almost 2 pm, when are the girls coming back?”

“I don’t know, do you have your phone? Call Erin and see.” he says squinting at the beautiful day.

You fish out your phone to find a text from your wife. Erin: Got dragged along on a trip to NYC, be back next week sometime. Love you.

“Jesus Christ, and so it begins.” you spit, handing Max the phone to show him the text.

“Goddammit, where’s my phone?” he says running out to the living room. “I was afraid this might happen. Fucking billionaire just has the jet fueled up and off they go!”

“I got a voicemail from Jenny!” he says.

“Put it on speaker.” you say.

“Hi hon, it’s me. Please don’t freak out but Erin and I are on the way to the airport with Reggie and Ben right now. There is a conference going on and he wants to introduce us to some people… I uh, you know… of course we tried to get out of it, but after last night… Reggie basically wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s just mad about us right now and of course, it’s actually sort of exciting to just pick up and jump in a private jet…Erin and I will be back next week sometime. I’ll give you a call later tonight… Look, I love you. This is just a passing fancy, OK? Bye.”

You and Max just sit in silence for a long time. The he plays the message again.

“I feel nauseous at the idea of her going off on a pleasure trip with that guy.” you say. “I mean, I can’t give her that sort of life…”

“Oh, shit, Ted. Erin never wanted that sort of life.” laughs Max ruefully. “She got a life of comfort and a fulfilling job and a loving husband… Jenny’s right, this is a passing fancy. Witherspoon will get tired of them soon and toss them aside.”

“Does that really make you feel any better?” you ask.

“Well, yeah. It does. That guy can’t really come between my wife and I. And he can’t break you and Erin up either. We all have deep bonds.” and he straightens his shoulders at the thought. “We are going to get through this.”

You try to smile gamely, but you have deep misgivings about what the future holds…

End of Party Like a Plutocrat – Book 1

Get the eBook to read the rest of the story: “Party Like a Plutocrat

Gustav Jorgenson’s cuckold stories:
Slut Wife, Happy Life: Naughty Wife Tales
Exhibitionist Wife Tales: 15 stories of wives cheating in public
Most Popular collection: Gustav’s Selected Shorts
Giant chunks of cuck erotica: Wives Cheating Vol 1-5 Box, Collected Longs
Hate reading?  Try an audiobook:
Slut Wife, Happy Life Audiobook
Hard Times, Hot Wife Audiobook
“What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy?” Audiobook