Becoming a Hotwife

"The first time I cheated I was in my twenties," Stela told me.

We were in a quiet cafe in the middle of the afternoon. It was the first time we'd met in person after connecting on a dating app.

"I hadn't been married long and I wasn't very experienced when I met my husband. I was a good Puerto Rican Catholic girl if you can believe it. Sex wasn't a priority for him. Even as newlyweds, it was only a couple of times a week and always missionary. Sometimes oral, but not usually. I wanted things I read about in novels and magazines. I was still working back then and I had an affair with my boss and got caught."

She was obviously nervous as she told me. She fidgeted with her glass of wine, but I was confident I could put her at ease. It was her first time meeting a stranger, but I had plenty of experience.

"What happened next?" I asked.

"We worked things out," she said. "We had a family. He made a lot of money and moved to the rich part of town. I quit my job and became a stay-at-home mom. Things were good. At least until my youngest kid started school."

"Did the sex get better?" I asked.

Stela blushed and looked away, but she wasn't surprised by my directness. We'd been texting for days and she was growing accustomed to my approach. It was my confidence and honesty that had initially drawn her to my profile. Unlike most men, I wasn't looking for a relationship, but I made it clear that I wanted more than a one-night-stand. I was looking for a spark with someone special who craved sexual exploration with a dominant man.

"No," she answered. "But a marriage isn't all about sex. And it wasn't about his money, either. We love one another. We're best friends. But the sex never improved. It's always sweet and tender and infrequent."

"And you need more," I stated.

She blushed again.

"Yes," she said. "I want to be satisfied. Fully. By a man who takes the lead. And it still hasn't happened."

"But that wasn't your only time cheating?" I asked.

"No," she said. "The other time was a few months ago."

"How did it happen?"

Stela shrugged.

"It's hard to fill my days with the kids at school," she said. "I have a personal trainer. And I play tennis at the club."

Her commitment to fitness was obvious. She was dressed casually in a black skirt, black tank top, and white cardigan, but it was impossible not to notice her slender, fit body.

"So you met someone there?" I asked. "Was it the personal trainer or tennis instructor?"

"Neither," she said. "The masseuse. After my workout, I get a massage twice a week. He's attractive. And he has strong hands. I started moaning a few times to see how he would respond. And things happened."

"Don't be coy, Stela," I said firmly. "I'm not your husband. I like dirty talk. If you want me to fuck you, I want to know you're not shy."

She was taken aback. She took a sip of her wine and gathered her nerves.

"I was turned on by the idea of seducing him," she said. "So I started moaning in our sessions. I didn't know if he'd act on it. But then he started getting hard, and that made me wet."

"And so you fucked him?"

"No," she said. "It never went that far. He fingered me. He talked dirty. He told me he wanted to fuck me but he couldn't do it at work."