What Lola Wants

Chapter One-2

Afterwards we lay naked on the bed and talked. She told me how the evening had gone. She told me exactly what he did and how she responded. It was mostly vanilla, just straight f*****g, though from her account energetic and enthusiastic. I asked her if he had a big c**k. She said yes, fairly, a little thicker than mine. I’ll explain later the exact nature of my reactions to this and to everything she told me. Suffice it to say now that her words were sweet agony. I was jealous, and the jealousy excited me.

She told me how many times they had done it, in what position, how many times he had come in her, how often she had c*m herself; three times in all, none of them simply through the actions of his big c**k, but through a combination of her own acts and his performance of oral s*x (which, she said, was excellent; more anguish for me). They had woken once in the night and done more f*****g and once again in the morning, since when she had had a shower, so there were no traces of his body on hers. Though next time, she said, looking me in the eye, she might come home to me still smelling of c*m. “You’d like that, I think,” she added.

It was interesting how alert she was to the nuances of my responses. She had sensed, from the beginning, that the whole idea turned me on, and she worked out how she could use this to gain control. She didn’t want me f*****g other girls, and so she would make sure I got plenty of excitement from her activities. As time went on she used all kinds of wiles to keep my interest, to squeeze out every drop of my arousal by the scenarios she performed.

I made to f**k her again, but she demurred, twisting the knife in the wound by saying she was a little sore. So we got up and took a shower, though not together. We passed the rest of the day quietly enough, but my mind was racing. I was aroused, far more than I expected.

Later, we discussed it further. She said she wanted to do it again, with the same guy. But after she had, she told me, she was going to try other guys. “I warn you,” she said, “I think I could get a taste for it. You know what they say. You encouraged me to do this; but be careful what you ask for.”

I wasn’t sure I had exactly encouraged her. I simply hadn’t objected. Anyway, I let her know that I was OK with what had happened. I held back from telling her just how excited I was, and what exactly my feelings were. I don’t think I’d quite worked them out yet. My head was a mass of conflicting emotions.

The second time she did it with the same guy she sent me a photo. It was taken in front of a mirror. She was facing, with the guy standing behind her. His face was hidden. Both were naked. The guy had one arm around her t**s, pushing them up from underneath. His other hand was between her legs, cupping her cunt. She was laughing.

When she came back she gave me a graphic description of how he liked to f**k her from the back, doggie-style. She said his c**k went in so deep that way, and that he would also force his thumb into her ass. I asked her if he had f****d her ass yet, and she said she was saving that. But before she met him a third time, there was another guy. This was unplanned. She had gone for a girls’ night out with some friends. She admitted she had drunk too much and that this man had come on to her, and she told herself, well, you’re a hotwife now, if you want to f**k him you can. She said she felt an immense surge of freedom at that moment, a sense that she was at last in command of her own body and could choose to bestow it on whom she wished. So she let this guy get a hotel room and she spent the night. She didn’t text or anything, but I put two and two together, so didn’t worry, and then she called me the following morning. She talked quietly, because she said the guy was in the shower. She said he was quite old, about fifty, and very experienced. She said he seemed to know everything about how to make a woman c*m.

When she got back she put on her little girl act. I must say I always found this very cute, and she knew it. She said she had been very bad not to let me know where she was. She said she’d let the man f**k her naughty place, meaning her ass. She asked me if I thought she deserved to be punished. By this time I was very aroused. “Yes, you do,” I replied. I grabbed her and put her across my knee. When I pulled up her skirt I found she wasn’t wearing knickers. I asked why not; I remembered she had been wearing pink ones when she went out. She said she couldn’t remember; she had lost them at some stage of the evening. I spanked her bottom till it was red, something I rarely did, then took off my belt and spanked it some more until she begged me to stop, and after a little more I did. Her ass was a mix of red and purple by then.

I put her on the bed on her knees. By this time she was calling me Daddy, as she did sometimes when she wanted to play. She asked if I wanted to f**k her naughty place, because it was ready, and I did, quite hard. Afterwards she cried; evidently she had conflicted emotions, like me. Guilt and lust, to name but two.

Gradually, with small, incremental steps, she changed the dynamic of our relationship. Prior to her taking the step to adopt a hotwife lifestyle, I would say that by and large we were on an equal footing, sexually and in most other ways. Financially, the major decisions were joint decisions. Whether we needed a new car, whether we should move to roomier accommodation, what sort of holiday we could afford, all required input from both of us. Questions concerning our work were for each to decide for themselves. And though we had friends in common, there were also friends who belonged to one or the other.

Perhaps the major decision which we made together was whether to have children. Having with enthusiasm decided for it, we set about starting a family in the usual way. But despite a lot of effort and medical consultations, it never happened. Gradually we adjusted to the disappointment, though perhaps never completely. I have always had a suspicion that Lola’s choice to become a hotwife was in some measure a compensation for the disappointment of not having children. Perhaps it was an attempt to fill a gap in her life. I have never put this point to her for fear that she would take it amiss, that I was implying that being a hotwife was a substitute for something else rather than a positive choice. I don’t in fact think that; once she had made the decision, Lola entered into her new life with total enthusiasm and commitment.

I should say that up to that point, decisions about our s****l life were also made in concert. She consulted me about which form of contraception she used, we would talk a lot about what kind of s*x we liked. I told her what moves I found sexy and she reciprocated, I told her what clothes I thought made her sexually appealing, she told me how she liked my hair styled, whether I should be clean-shaven (which I was), and we discussed any body modifications each of us was inclined to. For the record she had a little rosebud tattooed on her ass, on the right cheek. Those familiar with Orson Welles’s great film Citizen Kane might pick up an allusion here.

On the whole, most of the initial moves in the bedroom had been taken by me, but always with an eye to how they might be received. If I thought she was in more of a submissive mood, I would be dominant, and her mood would influence whether I genuinely felt so. If, a little more rarely, she was in an active mood, I would be influenced to be less dominant. Generally, we dovetailed nicely.

Cleary the decision to become a hotwife and take on lovers was one which she made on her own. True, she sort of asked for my approval, but I very much had the impression that it was a fait accompli. If I had strongly objected, I honestly don’t know what might have happened. And so from that moment on, as I have said, the dynamic of the relationship changed. Not overnight; it would be a long time before the game played out and it became possible to see what the conclusion might be. But the die was cast, even though I was slow to see it at the time. I could perceive, of course, that it was already a big step, even if the consequences might not be apparent yet.