My Husband Made Me Beg for His Boss Hotwife Erotica
Hotwife erotica stories hit differently. They play with power, permission, and primal hunger. And in 2025, readers are craving more than just sex scenes. They want narratives, tension, shame, and surrender. This story delivers all of that — and then some.
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My Husband Made Me Beg for His Boss
It started as a dare. A drunken whisper in bed after a long dinner party. “Would you do it?” he asked, his breath hot against my neck. “Would you sleep with him if I watched?”
I laughed at first. Nervous, unsure. But my body answered before my mind did. I was wet just thinking about it.
His name was Garrett. My husband’s boss. Tall, sharp-suited, with the kind of arrogance that made women either roll their eyes or open their legs. I’d done both.
Two weeks later, we were in a downtown hotel room.
Garrett sat in the armchair, legs wide, jacket off. My husband stood in the corner, silent, letting me do all the work.
“Strip,” Garrett said.
I looked at my husband. He nodded once.
The air felt thick. My fingers trembled as I reached behind to unzip my dress. It slid down my arms, pooling at my feet. I wasn’t wearing a bra. I wanted him to see I’d prepared.
“Kneel.”
I knelt.
He stood and circled me slowly. His hand brushed my cheek, then my throat. “Do you know why you’re here?”
I nodded.
“Say it.”
I swallowed. “To please you.”
“And who gave you permission to be here?”
“My husband.”
Garrett smiled. Cold, calculating. He turned to my husband. “Do you want her to beg?”
My husband’s voice cracked. “Yes.”
“Then beg.”
I looked up at him, my cheeks burning. “Please let me serve you. Please let me make you feel good.”
“Not enough.”
Garrett sat back down. He undid his belt slowly, deliberately.
“Crawl to me. Mouth only.”
I obeyed, dragging my body across the carpet, hips swaying, tits brushing the floor.
My lips reached his thigh.
“No hands,” he reminded.
I undid his fly with my teeth, tugging fabric aside until his cock sprang free. It was thick, veined, heavy against my mouth.
I looked back. My husband was touching himself. Watching.
I moaned.
Garrett grabbed my hair and pushed deeper.
We didn’t stop. Not for a long time.
He made me ride him while facing my husband. He slapped my ass until it burned. He whispered filth in my ear while my husband begged me to look at him.
The room was soaked in sweat and power and something I couldn’t name.
Afterward, I lay naked on the bed between them. Used. Shaking.
My husband kissed my forehead.
“I’ve never seen you like that,” he said.
I smiled.
“Neither have I.”
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