Free Seven Dates: A Different Kind of Hotwife by Ben Boswell

had second thoughts. Instead, I wedged myself into a corner, behind an old pot-belly stove that I suspected was just for show.
    It was lucky I hadn’t hidden behind the bar because Donald made a bee line there, pulling out a couple of mugs and pouring them each a stout. Joanie hates dark beer.
    “Ooh, I love Guinness,” she cooed.
    I stifled a chuckle.
    “Cheers,” he said genially as they clinked mugs.
    Joanie shook her head sadly. “Do you think Kellen will ever be as successful as you?”
    “Of course,” he replied, though he was shaking his head sadly.
    “He doesn’t realize it, but he is so lucky to have you as a mentor.”
    “He doesn’t think so,” Donald replied.
    “But I do.” She stepped in closer to him. “Please don’t give up on him.”
    “I won’t.” He shrugged. But I’m at the end of my rope .
    She nodded. “Would it help if I showed you how grateful I am?”
    He waved it away, but he looked at my wife hungrily. She was sexy and a good actress, but it took Donald’s egomaniacal arrogance to make it happen. Anyone else would have smelled a trap.
    “You don’t need to.”
    “I want to.”
    She reached up under her arm and pulled down a zipper. She peeled off the top of her gown, exposing a sexy, black lace, strapless bra that barely seemed to contain her ample breasts.
    “He doesn’t deserve you,” Donald sighed.
    “I know,” she replied.
    She pulled down her bra. Her boobs spilled out.
    “You have gorgeous breasts.”
    Joanie smiled at the compliment, though I know in the back of her mind, it rankled her to be objectified like that. Still, I imagine it was all worthwhile if she could gather up an experience that would really, really get under my skin.
    “Do you want to touch them?” she offered.
    He reached out and began massaging her ample mounds. Her nipples slid between his widely spread finger. She reached out for his crotch. He leaned in and sucked her fat, raspberry nips into his mouth. She rubbed him harder, reaching now for his zipper, pulling it down, snaking her hands into his pants.
    “Oh God,” she sighed.
    “More than you’re used to?”
    “And how.”
    She pulled out his prick. Wow. I would never have guessed it. I’d have pegged Donald as tiny. All that bluster. The assholery. Smacked of over-compensation. But no, the guy was fucking hung. Made me hate him even more. Not because he had a big dick, but because it should have made him at least a little more chivalrous.
    She stroked him up and down with both hands. He reached down and began pulling up the fabric of her dress until it was bunched at her waist. He pressed his hand down the front of her black, lace panties.
    I got my phone out and began filming. They were both squirming and moaning. I could tell he had a finger inside her. His own excitement was obvious.
    “Come on, we need to hurry,” he groaned.
    Somehow I’d known he’d be a true romantic. She nodded, and he grabbed her by the waist and deposited her on the edge of the pool table. She spread her legs and trailed her red-painted fingertips along her thighs.
    He wasn’t interest in a show. He just stepped forward and pulled her panties aside. He coated the head of his cock with a little spit and then pressed against her slit. She moaned as the tip slipped inside, and then shuddered as he rammed it home.
    “Fuck, you’re hot,” he said.
    She definitely was, in a trampy slut sort of way. With her clothes merely pulled aside, legs spread wide, getting fucked on a pool table, she looked anything but demure. He grabbed a hold of her large breasts and mauled them as he fucked her hard.
    I think she was a little taken aback that things had moved so rapidly. But there was no denying that she seemed to enjoy being taken like that. I wondered if she’d give me credit for broadening her sexual horizons when this was all over. Probably not.
    Donald didn’t last long. According to the timer on the video, it was precisely one-hundred and four seconds