Free Erotic Stories

Bea goes Pro

Our inbox notifications pile up whenever we post about Bea’s sexy escapades. Readers confess their fantasies in vivid detail—wanting to be that stranger in her hotel room or the hands beneath those bubbling waters. The bold ones ask, “Pick me next!” detailing exactly what they'd do with her if given the chance.

Until recently, our response has been simply, "Right place, right time. That's all it takes.” It really doesn’t happen very often, but when a man strikes her fancy she acts on impulse—with my blessing. More than once over the years, I’ve learned of her latest indulgence when she texted the evidence dripping from her furry bush, or she enters our bedroom after “a late night at work,” lipstick smeared, a satisfied grin on her face, and an explicit story to tell when she joins me, naked, under the covers.

That said, we did recently receive an offer that piqued our interest. It aligned with a long-standing, yet unrealized fantasy; the idea of my wife selling her body. Taking money for sex as a professional escort. We’d often debated that theoretical lines between being promiscuous, a slut and a whore, so here was a chance to explore those boundaries firsthand. Proposals and counteroffer…

William had been following our stories for years, though he hardly matched Bea's usual conquests. His profile offered little info—no photos, sparse details—he was older with a beachfront California address. Yet his proposition captivated us both: He’d cover our airfare and lodging for a long weekend getaway, hoping he’d have the chance to inspire a story like we’ve never written before. “Let’s start with coffee,” he wrote, “and see where chemistry takes us.” Normally that type spontaneity was her thing, but she really didn’t want to burn a long weekend for a latte and polite conversation with a guy she may or may not be into. But the part about him paying expenses had her attention. "Is accepting a plane ticket the same as accepting cash?" she mused, considering the thresholds between labels.

Normally these fantasies evaporated in the cold light of day, but this one stuck. “Could you see yourself doing this?” I whispered staring down as I slowed my rhythm inside her. She caught her breath and paused, “Yeah, I think so.” Something in her voice told me this was not just the passion of lovemaking talking—this wasn’t simply pillow talk.

For hours, we traded whispered scenarios between lazy kisses to flesh out the possibilities. It was a lot like evolving the erotic stories that initiated this whole adventure.

His place or our hotel? Did she want me with her, or dare go solo? A one-night dalliance or weekend getaway? What about photos? Videos? Should we hire a photographer to document every detail for us to share with the story?

When I finally mentioned money, she bit her lower lip, thinking. "You know I love hotwifing for you, but asking for money?" She timidly traced circles on my chest. "That’s way beyond buying me dinner or even a plane ticket, right?"

“Isn’t that the point? Pressing boundaries?” I coaxed her along, “How much would you ask for if you did?”

"A hundred?" she ventured, voice small. "It feels wrong taking cash for something I give up freely."

I cupped her face. "But you give it up to men you choose. Men you are attracted to. You haven’t even met this guy. What if he’s an ass? Is a hundred bucks enough…to follow through with it?”

She considered this, I felt her walls tighten around me. "What am I worth then?"

I glanced down to watch myself pulse beneath her pubic mound, then kissed her deeply. “This pussy is premium. A grand, minimum."

Her eyes flashed. "Really? You’d pay a thousand dollars to fuck me?"

“Absolutely." I whispered a hypothetical in her ear. "You’re not a hooker. You'd be high-class. An escort. Dinner first, dressed to the nines. Then to his place until dawn, giving him the girlfriend experience he's paying for. You are worth it."

"I could be that" she murmured, moving her hips deliberately against mine. By the time we finished, our counteroffer had crystalized and was ready to send. The Contract…

To our delight, William enthusiastically embraced our escort proposal. The negotiations unfolded through several late-night text exchanges, including a steamy cam session to showcase the talents of his "investment.” There was some give and take, but we finally settled on the thousand-dollar fee, with William handling all travel and hotel arrangements as he had first proposed.

Bea would meet him, alone, at a restaurant of his choice, dressed in an ensemble curated by him. I would remain outside with the car while they “got to know each other,” privately, over dinner. Specifics of the restaurant and her attire were TBD, which added to the mystery. If dinner proved satisfactory for both, I'd chauffeur them to his home where the evening would continue. He’d pay the agreed upon fee and my wife would be his, but only ‘till midnight. Bea would not commit to an all nighter, but told me, she’d consider longer if things went well.

Bea initially requested some ground rules, but before he would agree to our price, William demanded we leave all options open…with one caveat. In the unlikely event he made her uncomfortable, or worse, scared, she could call everything off. Of course, we all understood that would terminate the entire arrangement and her fledgling “career” in the sex trade would be over. I'd linger as a shadow guardian, if necessary, while he enjoyed his illicit purchase. My wife was willing to test her traditional limits, and this arrangement would push them further than she had imagined. The Evening Begins…

As agreed, the hotel confirmation arrived a week ahead of our trip, with our e-tickets to Orange County Airport; plenty of time to build anticipation but also sow some second thoughts. I mean, there were a lot of unknowns here and William was truly a stranger. A lot could go wrong. But the flip side was a sexual escapade like she’d never experienced, when she alone called the shots. She wasn’t just selling her body for cash, she was selling control, the one thing she had always jealously guarded.

In the end, caution gave way to excitement, and we found ourselves in a Cadillac Escalade speeding down the 5-Freeway toward the Hyatt Regency. In our room, waited William’s gift: black lace lingerie—bra, panties, garter, stockings—and a snug blue velvet cocktail dress.

With that scene in mind, I’ll let Bea describe how the rest of the evening went. What Have I Done? Bea’s POV…

I'd never been this nervous before a hookup. But then again, I'd never been paid for one either. Ken and I had abstained for the week prior in case money was not sufficient motivation for me. I wanted to want it when the time came to perform, so I was wound tight.

This encounter was unlike any before, meticulously plotted down to the last detail. William had handpicked my entire wardrobe with a specific vision in mind: high class escort, which clashed wildly with my usual style. Typically, I'd wear nothing beneath my dress, ready for quick and easy access to my playmate. You know, “Wham, bam, thankyou ma’am. But tonight, my client didn’t want that. He wanted to savor the quest, to get what he’d paid for.

I caught my reflection as Ken zipped me into the soft velvet dress. It was surprisingly conservative, covering everything from my neck to my knees. I'd strategically dabbed Dior behind each ear, along my inner thighs. The lingerie beneath however—lacy bra lifting my breasts, silk panties hugging my hips, stockings sliding against my thighs—transformed me into someone I didn’t recognize. "You look expensive," Ken whispered, sniffing the scent at my neck. I felt it too. Not a slut or a whore, but a paid companion. The woman in the mirror doesn’t fuck for fun, she makes love for money.

On the drive to the restaurant, I teased myself under the skirt, to ensure I was in the right mind-space when I met William. My fingers working in a quiet frenzy. By the time we arrived, my breath came shallow and quick, but I hadn’t finished, leaving the edge I desired. We kissed lovingly, before he escorted me to the entry. I took a deep breath to center myself, and walked in, leaving him alone with whatever thoughts husbands have when selling their wives as commodities.

When I told the host who I was meeting, he smiled broadly. “Oh, we are expecting you, Miss Bea! Please, please follow me back to meet Mr. William.” The restaurant was quite cozy, with a bohemian coffee house feel. It looked to be a converted warehouse with very high industrial ceilings painted black; all dimly lit with yellowish retro style bulbs. The whole place was furnished with an eclectic mix of sofas, a few tables and a couple of secluded booths. It was half filled with couples and smallish groups, mostly drinking wine. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt…noticed, by furtive glances and wry smiles, as we walked to the back. Ceiling-high sheer dr*pes partitioned what appeared to be a group section. On one of the sofas sat a confident, middle-aged man in a dark suit, sipping a glass of wine. Unlike the others, he looked directly at me when I arrived. William, I presumed.

I don't think we mentioned it earlier, but this was the first time I'd seen my client. I’d posed nude for him when negotiating my fee, but he was adamant about his own discretion. Really, all I knew about him was, he was a doctor and about my age. Now I saw, he was tall. Perhaps six-four? Barrel chested. Clean shaven, he sported longish, wavy grey hair. Certainly, a contrast to the young black men, I normally pursued.

Setting down his glass, William stood, his smile and blue eyes sparkled. “Bea, I'm so happy you decided to meet," he declared, welcoming me with a warm hug. He kissed me confidently on the lips as if we were old lovers, rather than meeting for the first time. Breathing in the scent at my neck, he released a sigh of approval. Given all the effort he'd made to get me here, I was prepared to meet a guy who needed to pay for sex, but that was not the case at all. Quite the opposite. I felt an immediate attraction to him. There was something about him that set me at ease, yet stirred me.

With a strong hand at the small of my back, he guided me toward the curtained alcove. As we approached, the lighting was such, I could clearly see inside. There was a single, overstuffed sofa and a coffee table in the center. Once past the gauzy dr*pes, I realized the brighter lighting created a one-way effect; while I could no longer see the patrons outside, the illusion of privacy was deceiving. Gesturing for me to join him, we sank into the plush sofa, our hips touching. Handing me a glass of deep red wine, William told me, “I went ahead and ordered for both of us. I hope that is all right.” I accepted the glass and sipped, “Perfect.”

Light banter warmed to flirtation. My fingertips found their way to his inner thigh, lingering just long enough to be noticed. Each fleeting touch roused me. I shifted on the sofa, deliberately letting my dress ride up to expose the pale skin above my stocking. While his fore finger aimlessly traced the length of my calf, he asked about our trip out and if Ken found the hotel accommodations comfortable. “Fantastic,” I assured him, at the same time, feeling just a little edgy with the nonchalant mention of my husband while I shamelessly teased.

I nearly forgot to mention one more concession I’d made to boost my price. During my “audition,” I had fingered myself for him, on cam, sharing a splendid view of the carefully trimmed strip above my treasure. This prompted William to add another request, "Please arrive with a freshly waxed vagina," his message had read, "a full Brazilian." The clinical precision of his request had made me snicker…then. Now, completely smooth down there, I felt myself quiver anticipating how it would enhance the sensation when the time came for him to penetrate. Yes, I had decided. I was pursuing this to the end.

A waiter materialized beside us, balancing a wooden tray. He couldn't have been more than forty; lean and dark-haired, with a practiced smile. He set two plates on the coffee table, the savory aroma rising between us. William nodded toward our meal, "Tell us what you've brought, Peter." The waiter's eyes flickered briefly over me before returning to William. "Filet medallions, sir, ma’am, medium rare. They're resting on wild rice with asparagus and finished with a cabernet reduction." He gave a slight bow. "Enjoy your evening." Again, before turning, he undressed me with his eyes. His stare was decidedly lewd, reminding me how vulnerable I was, alone with these two men, and my husband outside.

Dinner became even more delicious when William pivoted our conversation from the banal chit-chat so far, to his fascination with the erotica we’d written, the stories that had drawn me here. He effusively recounted the themes Ken had crafted for our SLS readers. While Ken was the scribe, I was merely the muse, so admittedly, the intricacies of the stories were lost on me. But not on William. He had bought into the notion that our tales were memoirs rather than historical fictions. Sure, they were grounded in actual events, but we always embellished to indulge our own prurient interest while writing. He quizzed me, wanting to know how certain characters, specifically the black men, felt inside me during intercourse, how they tasted. “Who was your favorite, Bea?” It was a bizarre conversation, yet titillating, prompting me to recall my past debauchery; some of it many years in the past.

I caught on quickly—William, ever the physician, spoke in clinical terms. He was all about anatomical precision, so I spun my answers with the dirtiest slang I could summon. While he asked, “Is a very large penis painful during intercourse?” I countered with, “No, William. In fact, the very thought of a fat black cock slamming my cunt made me so wet, they simply slipped in. Oh my. The taste of their spunk, sliding into my throat and down my chin was wondrous.”

All the while, I alternated between caressing my nipples through my dress, to rubbing my moist panties. By now, to my client’s gratification, the hem of my dress had ridden up to my hips. I recounted the most lurid details, just as I had once done for my husband after returning home from a tryst, dried cum in my bush. These were not the stories he had read. They were actual accounts of my hotwife experiences. William devoured every word, like a teenager watching his first porn movie.

As I spoke, I wondered when we'd leave for his place; to consummate our contract. I was beyond eager to uphold my end of our arrangement and cross that line. Astonishingly to me, aside from the very risqué subject matter, and a little petting, he was a perfect gentleman. While his fingertips traced circles on my knee, they never ventured higher. When our lips met, no tongue—a tease that only heightened my desire to go further. William was certainly a patient man.

After Peter had cleared our places, William called him over to ask, “Peter, do we have dessert planned?” Peter grinned mischievously at me and replied, “Yes, Mr. William, we do.” William then turned to me and, with an upward motion of his fingertips, encouraged me to stand. “Odd,” I thought, dessert was coming.

A little confused, I rose, while William remained comfortably in the sofa, legs crossed. Peter stepped behind me and I felt his fingers on the zipper at my neck. "May I?" he asked, already drawing it down my back, before I could answer. When the dress slipped away from my breasts, I instinctively clutched the material, my eyes darting from William to the white curtain. Beyond the chiffon, I could see nothing, but the sudden shift in the hushed conversations told me, eyes were watching. William caught my uncertain glance and chuckled at my modesty. He offered a confirming nod, “You wanted to push boundaries, Bea,” cueing me to let the dress drop. I hesitated but complied. Apparently, it was ‘showtime.’

Ordinarily, I’m not modest at all. In fact, I love disrobing for a new playmate; but I was always in control of those encounters; deciding when and how I would share myself. Tonight was so different. William was in command, intent on keeping me off balance. From the lingerie he chose, to my bare kitty, to letting Peter strip me. I had to admit; contract or not, I was totally into it.

The dress fit snug, so I made a sexy wiggle to push it past my hips to the floor, leaving me on display in my lingerie. William circled his finger in the air, in a commanding fashion. Stepping away from the dress at my feet, I seductively spun to present my round bottom and lovely B-cup titties to everyone, seen and unseen. While the dress was not warm by any means, losing it sent a sublime chill through my entire body. William’s smile turned to an approving leer. Peter overtly eyed me with satisfaction and bent to retrieve the dress, his face inches from by moist sex.

“Go on Peter.” William instructed, with a theatrical flip of his hand. Behind me, Peter unclasped my bra. Rather than simply letting it fall, he slid his hands around to lift it off, deliberately cupping my breasts, rolling my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. William settled back to relish the sight of his man fondling me, and my obvious pleasure.. “Thank you,” he murmured, accepting the lacy garment from Peter and bringing it to his nose. Taking a deep, soulful whiff of my perfume, his eyes never left mine.

“Bea, please allow Peter to remove your panties.” William instructed. I was enjoying this strip tease, and eager to please, but removing panties from under a garter was a production. Understanding now, I was on stage, I turned to face the curtain, displaying myself to anonymous admirers. While I had let many men screw me before horny spectators, the mystery of who was in this group was new and utterly enthralling. What I really wanted was, for them, to see William take me.

I heard rustling in seats as I set my right foot on the sofa to unclip the garter, allowing the stocking to slide down my leg. I carefully rolled it off, handing it to Peter. Before doing the same for the other leg, I stroked my privates, licking my lips for effect. Another “hum” rose from beyond the dr*pes. The initial silence had lifted to a soft murmur, rising and falling with my actions. I spread my feet slightly, raised my hands into the air and turned my bare breasts toward Peter to remove my lingerie. He crouched down before me, with his face inches from my bare snatch and lowered the black silk to my ankles. I enjoyed his hot breath between my thighs while he helped me gracefully step out.

Standing there, naked, wearing only the garter belt, I glanced between William and Peter, wondering what should come next. Peter handed the stockings back to me. I sat on the sofa to reverse the production to slide them back on. Acknowledging my wider audience, I parted my legs toward the curtain to offer a lusty view of my glistening genitalia and ran my fingers inside. Spreading my hairless pink labia, I elicited a new stir.

Peter offered his hand to help me up, but I needed to release the tension that had been building since I arrived. Brushing him aside, I lay back in the couch and opened my legs further, one heel in William’s crotch. I licked my fingertips and began to masturbate; my eyes shifted from William, to Peter, to my unseen but increasingly vocal admirers. My fingers felt wonderful, tickling under my folds. I wanted nothing more than for William to kneel between my legs and taste me; as he would say, cunnilingus. But still he simply watched. Just as I was on the verge, William reached down and grasped my wrist, pulling my hands from their task. Peter pushed my knees to the side to expose my bare ass and softly slapped it with a subdued “pop.” William quietly enjoined, “Behave Bea. Behave.”

Ha! Now he was speaking my language. “Behave? Make me. Peter.” I mocked as I turned around and bent over, hands resting on William’s knees; I glanced over my shoulder, daring him to take another swat. Unsure, Peter hesitantly looked to William for approval. He slapped me again, but this time it was just a “thud.”

“Come on Peter,” I chided, “you can do better than that.” I don’t think this was part of the plan because Peter kept looking to William between swats. Another nod, followed by a loud “pop.” This time it was harder, and with the tone I adored. “Again, little man,” I ordered with irony because Peter was not little at all. In fact, I hoped he would be allowed to do more than punish me with his hands. “You like spanking women, don’t you?” While I am not one to taunt my men, tonight was an evening of contradictions, so I thought, “What the hell.” With his other hand on my opposite cheek, “POP!” The burn made me feel alive. “If you were a real man, you wouldn’t need to ask. You’d be fucking me right now,” I rebuked, nodding at William seated right in front of me. William must have given some unspoken, ‘go-ahead,’ because the next thing I knew, Peter was going to town on my reddening ass, switching hands between stinging blows. My bare tits swayed within William’s grasp, but he didn’t take them as any other man would. With one hand on William’s knee, and the other ravaging between my thighs, I felt an orgasm welling up.

I dropped to my knees, between William’s feet, opening his pants to free him. He shook his head and shoved me away. “No, Bea.” I ignored his order with a defiant “YES, William!” and resumed hunting for his cock. Then, in a calm but commanding tone he warned, “NO, Bea. If you want to be paid, do as you are told.” Under his pants, he was rock-hard. I knew he was bluffing, so I continued with my sassy rebellion, “Then let the waiter fuck me!” William considered that for a moment, and relented, “Okay Peter, go ahead.” I immediately heard the waiter’s pants unzip and fall to the floor behind me. I looked back to see him stroking his eight-inch staff.

I followed suit, replacing my fingers between my lips, rubbing feverishly, knowing they wouldn’t stop me again. “Are you going to man-up and show me what you got?” I hectored, but I was unable to keep a straight face and started laughing at my own faux dominance. Peter laughed too, as he crouched behind me and forced my face to the carpeted floor, between William’s knees. I lifted and spread my cheeks, wondering which hole he would choose. I didn’t care, as long as he decided quickly.

He wet his fingers in my pussy and ended the suspense by softly rimming my anus, then sliding his thumb inside. He rolled it around, preparing to violate me in the nastiest way. Then, my next sensation, was his cock pushing in. Right. Up. My. Ass. I GROANED with the pressure. He grabbed both hips and pounded. I clenched around him and shuddered with a climax. He was swelling inside me, about to erupt, when he pulled out to shoot his seed over my red ass cheeks and up the small of my back. The voyeurs behind the curtain could not contain a collective gasp. The din cascaded into unintelligible chatter and a few subdued cheers. With open palms, instead of slapping, Peter massaged his creamy jizz like lotion into my flesh, easing the sting he had dealt me.

Not yet satisfied, I turned and collapsed back into the sofa beside William and pulled Peter down with us. I grabbed his face and pressed my lips into his, my body still humming with desire despite my recent climax. I wanted more. Peter was about to plunge into me when William's hand settled on my thigh. "Not yet, Bea," he murmured, and Peter reluctantly withdrew his tongue from my mouth and dismounted.

I nestled between them, catching my breath. "What happens now?" I panted. William's mouth curled into a mischievous smile. “How about you meet your patrons?” I glanced down at myself—wearing nothing but stockings and a garter belt, with Peter's cum drying on my skin. "What do you mean, Patrons. Like this?" William confirmed, "Exactly like this," then prodded, “Come on,” gently pulling me up and coaxing me through the curtain.

We emerged to a welcoming crowd of perhaps twenty people; gentlemen in expensive suits standing alone or with female companions who watched me with a mix of admiring and judgmental eyes. My jaw dropped. The voyeurs behind the curtain were one thing, but this? My heart raced as I scanned the room, wondering how many I was expected to service.

Two ladies had followed my lead and shed their cocktail dresses for their partners’ pleasure. As we moved through the crowd, hands slipped crisp bills beneath my garter while fingers took liberties against my bare skin. A redhead in a half-unbuttoned blouse caught my wrist, spun me toward her, and claimed my mouth with hers. When she finally released me, her lipstick smeared across my lips, she whispered, “You were magnificent, Bea; you took what you wanted!”

"These generous friends contributed to your California adventure, Bea," William chimed in, gesturing to the group. "Our Orange County Lifestyle community is quite... philanthropic. And Peter here," he continued, sweeping his arm toward the waiter, "this is his establishment. He was meant to simply unwrap the package, but you were persistent, weren’t you?"

The redhead who had kissed me approached again, now with a plush robe. She dr*ped it over my naked shoulders before leaning in. "I'm Sherry," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "My husband is a fantastic lover. Enjoy him. Perhaps I'll join later." Her hands slipped beneath the robe, exploring my skin as our lips met in another lingering kiss. I wasn’t into women, but Sherry’s tongue…well, it did something to me. When she finally pulled away, she turned to William and kissed him possessively; a reminder of ownership before granting his temporary freedom. I was relieved when William next led me to the exit, the gang bang I had feared was not going to happen—”Thank God!”

Someone must have notified Ken, because by the time we exited the building, the Escalade was idling out front. No one was around, so at the door, I untied the robe, allowing the cool air to kiss my flesh. Ken took my waist and kissed me before he opened the rear door to help me inside. While William walked around the SUV to enter on the other side, Ken drew back to check me out, “Wow babe, you look fucking HOT! I’d pay a grand to fuck you right now!” William hopped in, slid me next to him and finally, he kissed me too.

Husband as chauffeur, kind of cracked the facade of the escort fantasy, but I was glad he was there, to see me like this. My mind swirled with everything I'd done. Details, I couldn't wait to tell him when we were alone again. William awkwardly offered his hand over the front seat to shake, saying, “Finally we meet. Thank you so much for loaning us your charming wife. We enjoyed her company at dinner.” Ken glanced back at us through the center mirror and asked, “Us. We?” William’s smile widened, "The arrangements we discussed had certain... flexibility…right? I’m sure your wife will share the specifics after I return her. Midnight still works, yes?"

William turned to me as Ken drove off, his hands sliding up my thigh beneath the robe. His lips found mine, eager now, where they'd been restrained before. We twisted against each other like teenagers stealing moments in a parent's borrowed car, giggling between kisses about the happy faces we'd left behind. His shaft filled my mouth. I occasionally caught Ken's gaze in the mirror as he watched us intently. The wine and adrenaline blurred everything into one sensation—his fingers, my skin, the vibration of the road beneath us. The details of what happened next have blurred, so I'll let Ken fill in the gaps from his perspective. Bea closes the deal, from Ken’s perspective…

I parked the car in the driveway and hurried to open Bea's door. As I did, I saw her and William detach from their embrace; he was tucking his dick back into his pants. As I helped Bea out, I whispered in her ear, “Are you enjoying this?” She responded with a huge wet kiss and asked, “Are you kidding!. This is so fucking crazy!” By then, William had hustled back to our side and took Bea by the arm. He led her to the front door, waving for me to follow. As she walked, her open robe billowed behind her, revealing reddened cheeks from whatever had occurred in the restaurant. "Damn," I thought as they disappeared into the house, "what was for dinner?"

“Now to business,” William said, standing in the living room. Bea excused herself to pee and freshen up while the men talked. “Ken, if you’ll check your phone, you will find I Venmo’d $2,000 to you. I doubled your fee, given your wife has been so… accommodating …to the changes we’ve made to our agreement. I was so relieved she did not cancel our deal right then, but watching that was worth the risk. But she did ask for it. I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just nodded and went with it. I barely glanced at the notification. The money was irrelevant; this night had already exceeded my wildest expectations. I suspected the same for Bea.

She returned and pressed herself against William, her lips finding his ear. "I want your sperm to swim inside me tonight," she murmured, loud enough for me to hear. "I don’t care which hole." She sealed her promise with a kiss that left no doubt about her intentions.

With Bea on his arm, William led us to the bedroom. It was huge dominated by a king bed, covered with a white duvet. A leather recliner waited at the foot—my designated spot to witness another man possess my wife. Something I loved almost as much as doing her myself.

When William laid her across those sheets, something shifted. Their lips met and lingered. I was witnessing a different side of my wife tonight. This wasn't my hurry-up-and-fuck-me Bea. Her fingers traced his jawline; her body arched toward him with an intimacy I never saw with her usual men. My throat tightened. Was this just her earning that extra grand? Or had something awakened in her at that restaurant?

Bea's nude body gleamed in the low light; it was her turn to undress William. She tore at his clothes, teeth grazing his neck as she yanked his pants off. She swallowed his cock, working him to the edge before callously denying him release. Again and again, she brought him there, her eyes never leaving his, until she lay back and invited him to reciprocate the oral pleasure.

As William lowered his face between her thighs, she caught my gaze across the room and silently mouthed the words "I love you," her smile radiant. Then her head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed as she surrendered to the pleasure. For what seemed like forever, she hovered at the precipice, teeth pressing into her bottom lip until she finally shuddered against his mouth, then urged him upward to take her all the way.

"Please, William," she whispered, her voice catching as his lips traced a path up her body. His tongue circled her navel, then moved higher to tease each breast before claiming her mouth in a deep kiss. "I need you now," she breathed against his lips. When he finally entered her, she wrapped her legs around him, drawing him deeper with each thrust. The gentle rhythm soon wasn't enough. "Harder," she demanded, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Pound me William! Pound my cunt like one of my black men!” Something primal ignited in his eyes at those words, transforming his controlled movements into something raw and urgent.

From my vantage in the chair, stroking myself, her body arched and twisted as her wails intensified. He used her like property, flipping her legs over his shoulders then dragging her by the hair into doggy position. Shoving her face into the sheets, leaving handprints on her ass that would last for days.

When he needed a break, he offered my own wife back to me like a borrowed toy. We passed her between us, filling every hole just as Bea had promised. For his age, William’s stamina was amazing and his ability to hold back in Bea’s tight pussy was worthy of envy. But eventually, he did unload into her. Face to face, their eyes locked in missionary position, she clutched his back with each pulse, gasping between ragged breaths, “Take your money’s worth from this pussy! I love you…I love this. Fuck me! Fill my womb with your seed!”

Afterward, we sprawled across the bed, William and I caressing Bea's flushed skin as her breathing steadied. The wild-eyed woman who'd begged for him moments ago had retreated behind her usual calm smile. I replayed her passionate declarations in my mind—especially that word, "love," which had slipped from her lips while he was buried inside her. The contradiction tugged at me, arousing yet unsettling.

It was a little after eleven when Bea slipped beneath the expensive sheets. She turned to William with a sleepy smile. “I'm spent." Her gaze shifted to me, a question in her expression. "I'd like to stay tonight, babe. William and I have... things to finish. Alright?" The ease between them was unmistakable. My chest tightened. I wanted her with me at the hotel, to recount every detail I'd missed, but tonight was about pushing boundaries, I couldn’t say “no.” "Whatever you want," I managed, the words sticking in my throat. I leaned down to kiss her goodbye while William's arm settled possessively around her waist. The image burned into me—forbidden, arousing, yet troubling in ways I couldn't articulate. Her voice followed me through the door, "Thanks, babe. Love you," then the familiar sound she makes as a cock slides into her. Worn out or not, they were fucking again…or making love?

The drive back to the hotel was a blur of streetlights and questions. My knuckles were tight around the steering wheel as scenes from the night replayed in my head. Bea had stayed overnight with men before—always with my enthusiastic approval—but those were just sex. Spontaneous dalliances, not lovers. This felt different. The way she looked at William, those whispered words... Was this just her character, giving William the paramour experience he’d paid for, or more than that? I tried to calm myself with logic, if there was a spark, wouldn't she hide it better? Not be so open and brazen? By the time I reached the hotel, even my churning mind could not keep me awake. The moment my head hit the pillow, I crashed for the night.

The morning after…

Bea called early the next morning. As I drove over, last night's questions still gnawed at me. She was waiting outside, wearing a sun dress I had not seen before. A parting gift from William? Before climbing into the escalade, she tossed a shopping bag with last night’s outfit into the back seat. Then, glancing around with a mischievous grin, she hiked her skirt to flash a little beaver, confirming she was back to going “commando.”

Her hair and makeup were tussled, but she was beaming. “I think I like this escort gig,” were the first words out of her mouth. We had hours until checkout, so we returned to the hotel. Bea was a little sore “below,” so rather than ordering room service, we hit the North Tower hot tub. At that hour, the spa area was deserted except for staff, so wearing nothing under our hotel robes was perfect for our purposes. Settling into the warm water, Bea revealed the rest of her evening.

As I suspected, they were screwing again before I was out the front door—but not quite in the way I imagined. Between sips of her mimosa, Bea divulged with a coy grin just how the waiter helped her earn that extra grand. And since I got to tap that same hole, William demanded his turn too. What I had heard while leaving, was Bea making good on that promise…though I don’t recall three cocks up her ass was anything we’d negotiated.

But the real reason she’d stayed overnight emerged around one a.m., when Bea stirred to the sensation of a woman's breasts pressed against her back with soft fingers circling her nipples. "I thought the witching hour was midnight," Sherry whispered against her ear. "Were you waiting for me?" Bea carefully freed herself from William's arms to face her. "Yes," she admitted shyly. Their lips met, tentative at first, then ravenously. William lay at the edge of the bed, silently admiring his wife, and his whore, explore each other with increasing intimacy and urgency. Sherry's expert touch brought her to a “O” unlike any she'd experience—her first with a woman.

Bea’s account of her night soothed my bruised pride. My wife, always a vixen, had simply elevated her performance. She seamlessly shifted among roles, the uninhibited hotwife I'd always known, had transformed into a consummate professional, willing to say or do anything to satisfy her client. Now, at the spa, she shamelessly teased the young waiter, water dripping from her bare breasts as she leaned in to review the menu in his hand. When our food arrived poolside, it somehow required three staff members to deliver two plates. To reward their attentiveness, Bea stepped from the bubbling water and walked to the table before casually wrapping herself in her robe. It was a shame for these three, that we were not spending another night, but we had a plane to catch that afternoon. Epilogue…

A week later, my laptop screen filled with William and Sherry to discuss Bea's next “engagement.” An upcoming charity banquet would honor their friend Charlie—a silver-haired gentleman who had attended our last soiree…and was smitten with Bea’s spirit. Recently widowed, Charlie simply sought an elegant companion to the event. He was not seeking intimacy, so William only offered $500. "Just dinner and conversation," Sherry explained, though her knowing smile suggested more might be welcomed…for a price of course. "Though if you're interested, there's an after-party in the penthouse suite," William's eyebrows raised, "where the real money happens." Watching her eyes light up at these possibilities, I realized my wife was embracing this new chapter in her sexual journey. Something about being purchased, being valued with actual currency, awakened something primal in her that I'd never seen before. Standby for the details of that story. Valpcupl