The Pool Boy Took My Wife (Hotwife Erotica)

The Pool Boy Took My Wife (Hotwife Erotica)

"Hi, I'm Brad," he said, the slight smell of coconut tanning oil and the slick sheen of his body making me hear none of the words, "and I will be your pool boy today."

"That will be perfect," I said, letting him in the back gate of my house to the backyard of my house. Of course, a girl can dream, and my pool was one of those reflecting types with a hidden edge and letting the reflection of the city skyline and mountains beyond paint a stunning picture of liquid bliss upon the world. My place was up in the hills, and the pool was laid out so nothing blocked the view yet the backyard was still completely private from prying eyes.

Perfect for what I had in mind.

Most of the time.

He stepped by me, carrying all sorts of gear, nets, extended hoses, and other plastic containers of what I was sure were testing kits and other chemicals for the water. Of course, I was paying him to do that job, and I was sure he knew how to use his tools as well as I would know how to use his other, more primal toolage.

I stepped back, leading the way as I gestured towards the water, my white-and blue striped bikini clinging to my body even though I would like it pushed off my breasts and my briefs stretched between my thighs as I showed him every secret I held dear. Suntanned skin, slick with oil, perfect in its tone and the flesh underneath, muscles hard, my taut stomach with the 24 Hour Fitness abs finely sculpted and begging to wrap a male intrusion with the power of my womanhood.

To let him take me.

To watch as his face was twisted into a mask of Neanderthal lust as he came.

To pull back on him with every ounce of my womanhood, wrapping him tightly, and never letting him go.

Until we both release in that moment we know nothing more can be spent between us.

But getting to that point may take hours.

Or it may take all night.

"Come in," I smiled, "this is all yours."

I stepped towards my lounge, donning my sun hat and oversized sunglasses, looking perfectly fuckable as I stayed hidden behind my sexy and pouty look. He bent over to check the drain and the firm outline of the man's rock hard glutes under his short burned into my mind and set my juices flowing.

"Hey you guys," Darthaniel emerged from the patio door like the unwelcome house pest he could sometimes be, "I just got back from the store with stuff to barbecue. Got burgers in the truck and a whole shitload of bags. Hey Sylvie, come help me out and put stuff away."



Fuck his timing.

"Darthaniel," I said, "I am going to fucking kill you for ruining this."

"You already killed me once in one Workshop." He offered an open bag of potato chips to me. "Barbecue chip?"

I took one and ate it in his face as mean as I could because one, I was pissed at him, and two I can't fucking resist those things.

Minutes later I was hauling shit in from Darthaniel's SUV, way too many groceries for a casual outing with way too much prep-time needed. Yes, I wanted a light and veggie-full macaroni salad, but to buy seventeen different ingredients meant an afternoon of washing and chopping just to get to a point where it could all be put together. I worked in the kitchen and waved to Brad every once and a while outside the windows.

Slow, painful, I wish I could be fucking you waves.

Brad kept on cleaning the pool, oblivious to my agony.

"Book review?" Darthaniel said from the center island, preparing the hamburgers. "I got my meat in my hands, so let it rip."

"I hate you," I said, eating a piece of fresh-washed celery, "you knew I was setting this up and you came by to fuck it up. Maybe no, no review today. Maybe I will just link to the book and say, fuck it."

"Oh come on," he said as he seasoned the fresh ground sirloin into patties and slapped them down onto the wax paper, "throw me a bone here. I seen the cover of that, wow, looks hot."

"Well yes," I said, "probably the highlight of the book. This feels like an earlier effort and the prose isn't terribly flowery and expressive, so I have to give it a little room. It feels like it struggles a little in expressiveness, we get 'telling' lines like, 'her perfect body glistened in the sun' and I found myself wanting more. How was it perfect? What features did he see as perfection? Was it her eyes, her tits, you know, what a man says he sees in a woman can reflect more on the man's desires than what he sees with his eyes. That sort of thing."

I threw the chopped celery in the salad bowl. "And an ass man is a lot different than a tit man."

"So no recommend?" he said as he finished up the burgers, washed his hands, and moved on to the buns.

"No, I can't say that," I said while I checked the pasta, "because it would be selling it short. At times like this I take a mulligan on the more expressive aspects and focus purely on the fantasy. The sex here was a bit brief and quick, but I admit there are times when people take a hold of the whole cuckold fantasy and write their passions about it. I have to admit, with cuckolding, again, every man is different. Every woman is too, but that's not really the point here. There are those who like the psychological part, some who are more focused on the act and imagery, and others who focus in on some very tight part of the experience - almost like a fetish."

"So what was it here?" he said as he arranged the buns. "You want these toasted?"

"I am good, but yes, if it's not too much hassle," I said as I nibbled on a shell. "Pasta is done, draining." I drained the pot full of shells and rinsed them under cold water as I worked through the billows of steam. "But there are parts I really like. The sexy talk here, and the acts were the stars of the show. I have to admit our writer knew how to hide certain things, like him listening to her giggle in another room while our cuckold husband knew nothing about what was going on - and then I felt I wanted more. She didn't explain what went on, talked to the readers through the characters saying 'we had a lot of fun while you weren't looking' or any other sort of feeling of 'I must explain it' - which I felt was a very strong point. I love self-control like this, and if I were to suggest improvements it would be more of this sort of casual happenstance unexplained, plus more showing and not telling.

So yes, not doing something, or stopping it short and leaving us wanting more, made aspects of this way hotter. Nice job.

I feel an editor would help as well, plus slowing a down a bit to enjoy things. You know, not rushing in, and savoring the every delicious moment. The slow, savory patience of expectation. Like the readers of this review, by now they are probably chomping at the bit for me to get fucked yet all I have been doing was cooking dinner."

Brad stretched outside the window and took off his shirt. I licked a spoon clean as my thoughts went to the elsewhere beneath his shorts.

I finished the salad and popped the cover on the bowl. "It takes practice to know when to play with a reader, and then to know when to deliver. You can twaddle too long in your slice-of-life-isms and lower the heat. At a certain point you can tease too much and it loses impact. Readers can get sick of waiting."

Darthaniel smiled like he had gotten what he wanted out of me. "Want me to go?"

He was being diplomatic now, but falsely so since he knew I had just busted my ass on the salad and we had a kitchen full of great food waiting to be cooked. And thank you for finally getting the point, Darthaniel.

I smiled. "Let's see if Brad wants to stay over and have dinner with us. Then you can go, after dinner."

I stared out the window at the pool boy. "He can help me clean up."