My Wife is Dating Him: Hotwife Erotica

See, the thing is, Enrique Lopez doesn’t go for married sluts unless they’re someone else’s. Then they were fair game. But my wife? No way was I going to allow something like this to go on.

I had to put an end to it.

Unfortunately, we only had Sunday off together and that was three days away. Our time together to work this out – where I made her understand I wasn’t going to allow it – was a number of conflicting hours.

All day Thursday I paced, hustled, ranted in my head, and worked out my quick speech to tell her she couldn’t see him anymore.

I drove home with determination after my shift.

She was home, like usual. I smelled dinner in the air when I came in, which was unusual. She usually didn’t start until she knew I was home.

I found her in the bathroom, brushing out wet hair after a shower. My suspicion meter pegged and waved wildly. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Brushing my hair…?’

‘You never shower after work.’

‘I’m going out with Sawyer for drinks.’

I leveled my finger and put an end to the bullshit immediately. ‘No, you’re not.’

She gave me a suffering look. ‘Yes, I am, Enrique. We’ve been over this already. I’m an adult.’

‘You’re my wife.’

‘Stop it. Just because you’re my husband doesn’t mean you own me.’

‘Five weeks ago we stood and gave each—’

‘Yes, we’re married.’

I wasn’t getting anywhere. ‘Do you want a divorce? Then you can go be happy with Mister Supreme?’

‘Why would I want a divorce? I love you.’

‘Apparently not enough to keep your legs closed.’

She scowled furiously. For Alissa, that was unusual. ‘That’s not fair—’

‘The hell it ain’t. Mister Supreme comes strolling along and suddenly your legs are all open.’

‘Not for anyone else.’

I bugged out my eyes at her. ‘Oh! Oh! Like that makes all the difference?’

‘Of course it does. It’s Sawyer, not the cute college guy next door.’

‘You’ve been fucking him, too?’

One step and my face rang with the slap. ‘I’m not a slut.’ There was certainty and indignation in her voice.

I leaned at her. ‘But with Mister Supreme you sure as hell are.’

She sighed and went back to brushing her hair. ‘Don’t you understand? I’ve been with him like three or four hundred times. It’s not like he’s the guy next door.’

‘And five weeks ago you forsook him.’

‘I never had him.’

‘But that means you won’t have him in the future, either.’

She began applying her usual bare-minimum makeup. ‘That’s why I’m going out with him. To see where this all goes. Besides, he said he didn’t want to be some guy who tears a marriage apart.’

‘But you’re going out with him.’

‘I mean that he doesn’t want to have sex.’

I exaggerated a brow wipe. ‘Whew. I thought our marriage was over. I guess I have him to thank.’

‘Stop it, he’s being fair.’

‘He asked you out.’

‘Yes, to talk.’

‘About what?’

She shook her head at me. ‘About us.’

‘There is no you and him; we’re married.’

‘That’s what he wants to talk about.’

I threw up my hands. ‘I can’t believe this shit. Just show him your ring. End of discussion.’

‘It’s not that easy.’

‘Actually, it is.’

‘No. It. Isn’t.’

I said, ‘What’s so hard to understand that you’re married now. You’re taken. Spoken for. You’ve been claimed. Your pussy is off-limits. How hard can that be?’

‘Try to understand, he gave himself for me when he was married. The least I can do is offer the same to him.’

‘I didn’t know Mister Supreme was part of my marriage to you. Was he up there in front of four hundred people with us? I forgot.’

She came to me, makeup done, and put her hands on my shoulders. ‘He’s a part of me. Me. And he isn’t going to go away. I don’t want to lose you; I love you.’ She held up her ring. ‘This means everything to me.’

‘Not everything…’ I muttered.

She grew hurt in the face again. ‘I’m trying to be understanding, Enrique. All you are doing is accusing.’

I was doing the accusing. She was right and it made me angry. ‘Fine, you’re right. I should be supportive.’

‘Exactly. Be understanding of my feelings and who I am.’

Apparently she missed my sarcasm. ‘All right. I’ll help. What are you wearing?’

She pointed.

‘Slacks? No, wear a skirt.’

‘Why? It’s just talking he said.’

‘Alissa, men want to see skin. Wear a skirt. The shortest one you got.’

She did look at me suspiciously then.

I threw up my hands. ‘You want my understanding and help or not? Or should we do it my way and have you dump him by text?’

She frowned. ‘Why would you want me to dump him? I’m just exploring where this might go.’

I held out my hands. ‘So. Let me help you… explore.’

A ghost of a smile tried a tentative trek across her lips. ‘Really?’

I wanted to explode. Maybe if I illustrated the absurd, she’d get it. ‘Skirt.’

She looked at me for a few seconds more, then put her slacks away. She brought out a skirt.

‘Is that your shortest?’

She nodded.

‘Fine. No panties.’

‘But this is really short.’

‘He’s a man. He wants skin and no panties.’

‘Okay…’

‘The blouse is fine. No bra. Now get dressed.’

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘I was right last night when I suggested no panties, wasn’t I?’ Some strange part of me enjoyed telling her how to be a slut.

‘Yes, he fingered me.’

It made me angry to hear the confirmation. It had led to them coming here, looking to fuck. Instead, it had led to her being given a facial.

And she had looked beautiful.