My Hotwife's BBC Betrayal

By Thomas Roberts

Ryan was blissfully happy with his sexy wife, Carrie, until a lab accident forced him into protective isolation. Now he’s learning that she has needs he can no longer satisfy—and watching each other masturbate through the glass wall just isn’t cutting it. Betrayal tangles with sheer raging lust when she finds a big black stud lover...and flaunts him in Ryan’s face!

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Carrie arrived breathless after four in the afternoon. Her face was a bright pink and her hair was a mess. She was wearing a thin purple dress that ended at mid-thigh. One of the straps had fallen down her arm, revealing the lack of a bra strap. It didn’t matter, as she quickly stripped the dress off and threw it on the bed. My wife was completely naked underneath, which meant she’d walked into the hospital wearing only that light purple dress.

She threw herself at the glass wall in front of me. “Ryan, I was a bad girl!” she said breathlessly. “You’ll probably divorce me.”

“Slow down, Carrie. What happened?” I asked.

“I went to the place—the place where he waxed me. You remember, right? The big black guy?” She looked at me with wide eyes, her face now even more pink. “I asked him to show me the designs again, the tattoos...” She had to stop to catch her breath. When she was ready to start again, she leaned her back against the wall next to the glass. If I stayed close, I could still catch her profile.

“He pushed me against the wall, Ryan. Just like this, and he...and he...oh God, Ryan!” She looked at me with fear in her eyes. “He kissed me, Ryan.”

“It’s okay, Carrie. That’s not so bad,” I told her.

“You don’t understand, that’s not all he did. He kissed me and his lips were wonderful. They’re so full and soft. I lost myself in them, even when he started using his tongue. Oh, honey, it was so exciting. I’m so sorry I let that happen,” she said, but she didn’t look sorry. She looked like she had more to tell.

“It’s all right, Carrie. Whatever happened, you’re here now. Just tell me everything,” I said.

“He kissed my face, he even kissed my neck, and I moved my head so he could.” Carrie leaned her head on her left shoulder, exposing the long expanse of her neck. My wife’s perfect white complexion was marked my tiny red marks where he’d given her hickeys. Some big black guy had sucked on my wife’s neck and she’d let him.

I was shocked into silence by the sight. My heart hammered in my chest, jealousy flooded my system.

“His mouth felt so good on my neck and throat,” Carrie said. Her head tilted back, exposing her throat to me. “I was moaning, Ryan. I could hear myself. I was moaning before he pushed my strap down my arm and touched me - there.” As if to demonstrate, Carrie used her left hand to cup herself. “He felt me, Ryan. It was so excited for him. Forgive me, honey. I liked it. I loved it. I know I moaned. I could hear myself.” Carrie was touching herself as she held her mouth as though she was still being kissed—even moving her tongue as though she were licking another man’s lips. “Then he forced his leg between my thighs. He made me part my legs while he kissed me and – touched me. It was like he owned me. I had to spread my legs for him. You see that, don’t you, honey? I had to spread my legs.”

I nodded dumbly, and removed my hospital gown so I could be as naked as she was. I heard my blood rushing in my ears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Oct 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370955510

Thomas Roberts

I’ve always been a reader. Even as a young man, I challenged myself to finish every book I started—a challenge that accidentally included some dense material. But the rewards were worth it.It wasn’t until I discovered a Penthouse magazine “Call Me Madam” column by Xaviera Hollander that my eyes were opened to a life style called “Hotwife.” The letter was written by a man who enjoyed watching his wife have sex with other men—I’d found what I’d been looking for.Later I discovered books by some incredible authors published on the internet, and what had been an interest became an obsession. One of those books was so good, I had to stop reading every page or two to give my heart a rest. The hook was in; I had to write my own thoughts and experiences.I’ve been fortunate to be in enough real-life situations to know what it’s like to enjoy the pain, jealousy, and sexual excitement having a real “hotwife” can bring. Hopefully, those experiences add some realism to my stories.At first I wrote short stories, some of them pretty bad, for sites such as Literotica and Alt.Sex.Stories. Some twenty or so short stories later, I decided to write longer, more polished versions in novella form.I’ve been gratified by the number of readers who have bought my books, and enjoy the same blend of stomach-turning fear mixed with outrageous erotic pleasure a hotwife lifestyle can bring.I hope you enjoy my books; I’m always happy to hear from my readers.

Book preview

My Hotwife’s BBC Betrayal

Thomas Roberts

© Copyright 2017, Thomas Roberts

~~ All characters in this book are 18 or older. ~~

Chapter 1

I wasn’t physically in the lab when it happened. I was in storeroom that was accessed from the lab. I didn’t wear a lab coat, I didn’t even work with radiation. I worked in the office filing reports with the University that oversaw us. I heard the commotion because it was impossible to miss—men shouting, alarms blaring, lights flashing. I came out just in time to see the lab being sealed off from the rest of the world. Lead-lined shutters came down, the doors locked, and we were trapped inside with a small vat lying open on the floor spilling out small pellets.

The first thing we did was strip and take showers before crawling into our radiation suits. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing except me; I hadn’t been trained. There wasn’t much for me to do as the real scientists did scientist stuff trying to get a handle on the accident. Dr. Kalan, the manager of the lab, talked to everyone to determine where they had been, what they had been doing and what they’d seen. He confirmed the contents of the vat, although there was no question. Everyone knew. Everyone except me, that is. I had only a rough idea what those harmless looking pellets were.

The lab looked exactly as one would expect it to look: machines that cost millions of dollars surrounding University-issued aluminum tables that were covered with equipment and drawers—thousands of drawers in large aluminum bureaus.

I had an idea of what they were doing since I filed the reports, but I had no specific knowledge of the day’s experiments. All I knew for certain was that a suspicious-looking vat was lying open on the floor. A few pellets had spilled from it, but no one could touch them without special gloves.

It seemed like hours before the main door unlocked and men came in dressed in serious hazmat suits (not the type we were wearing). The only thing we could see were their eyes, but we knew who they were. They sounded like spacemen as they talked to us, and tried to calm us down while they used radiation detectors.

Don’t worry guys, we’ll get a handle on this, the man in front said, but no one believed him. Dr. Kalan, can you please give us a report?

Dr. Kalan was a great guy, older-looking, like a real-life Santa Claus. Ah shit, I thought, Christmas was less than three months away. We all listened as Dr. Kalan gave his report: the exact locations where each of us had been, a list of our names, and the sequence of events. His paperwork was thorough and, as far as I could tell, accurate.

The men in spacesuits spread out to measure the amount of radiation in every corner of the lab. After they were done, we were escorted out, one at a time, to provide urine and blood samples. The nurse might have been female—her eyes looked feminine—and she did everything including holding my penis with her thickly gloved hand to collect the urine. After we were tested, we were each placed in separate rooms where we could take off our suits and put on hospital gowns. At least that’s what happened to me.

My room was ominous-looking, a glass box with a hospital bed, a chair, a night stand, and a table. I was hooked up to some machines and given and IV. My only view was through a glass wall into another small room containing a couch, a coffee table, a chest of drawers, a small table, a plain chair, and an upholstered chair. It looked like a hotel room without a bed, but I noticed that neither couch nor chairs had arms on them. I spent time trying to fathom the reason for the other room and the lack of arms on the furniture.

There was a large hospital-style clock on the wall over the couch. I watched it slowly turn for three hours before the door to the visitor’s room opened and our Director of Risk Management came in, along with the woman that I think had taken our blood and urine. To my surprise, she was our on-site medical doctor, Dr. Irene Coates.

Ryan, she said, pulling the chair close to the glass wall. I have good news and not-so-good news. Which do you want first?

The good news—no—yeah, the good news. Bad news can always wait, I replied.

Okay. The good news is that, while you were exposed to radiation poisoning—

That’s the good news? I exclaimed.

Let me finish. While you were exposed, it does not appear as though it was enough for you to get sick, she said.

Well, that’s good. When can I go home?

"That’s the bad news. You were exposed