Spouse for Sale: The Making of a Hotwife

By Ben Boswell

Ally and George have a great marriage. Great kids, great careers, great house... great fantasies. They try to be “good, giving, and game” -- good in bed, giving of equal time and equal pleasure, and game for anything—within reason.

But when life throws them a curve, Ally’s deepest, darkest fantasy -- to be paid for sex -- might tear them apart... or it just might save them.

Spouse for Sale is a sexy, romantic novella that provides a Ben Boswell take on a classic theme. It also includes the author’s commentary and a special BONUS, previously unpublished, short story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Boswell
• Release date: Aug 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463565889

Ben Boswell

I am your typical family man with a wife and kids and an overactive imagination. I am longtime reader and author of erotic fiction.I write in genres that I find exciting and arousing. Most of my stories are in the naughty wife, wife-watching genre, though occasionally I venture into other subject matter.Reader feedback is what keeps me going. Please leave reviews wherever you purchased my books, and if you want to discuss my stories further, please feel free to contact me at [e-mail] or visit my blog at benboswell.com. You can follow me on Twitter @BenBoswellAut.

Book preview

Spouse for Sale: The Making of a Hotwife

Ben Boswell

Spouse for Sale: The Making of a Hotwife All Right Reserved © 2019 by Ben Boswell

Cover image © iStockPhoto. Used under license. Cover design by Kenny Wright

First digital edition electronically published by Ben Boswell, August 2019

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without explicit written permission of the copyright holder.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Foreword

This is my second short in a planned trilogy of hotwife tropes. The first was Party Crasher, which had the wife walking in on her husband’s bachelor party, chasing away the hired help, and taking things into her own, um, well, you get the idea. The story in this volume plays with the fantasy of the wife becoming an escort. I’ll leave it at that for now, though I will have some additional thoughts about this fantasy in my author’s commentary. The reason I placed the word short in quotes above is that this one was planned to be about 10k words, but came in at 25k. Basically a shortish novella rather than a short story. That happens. Stories and characters take on a life of their own.

I’m having fun with these stories. They bring me back to my roots, so to speak. When I first started reading/writing these stories, most of what was available online were shorts. I mean, really short shorts, as in 8-16k characters rather than words. At that length, the trope or the cliche, actually carries most of the narrative weight. You can’t get into any character development -- the wife just is who she is -- and still have space for the actual, you know, sex. And the trope is the shortcut. She’s addicted to big cocks, or black men, or the dominant boss, or whatever, and there is no explanation, development, or backstory.

I don’t think I can quite write that sort of story anymore. It leaves me feeling unsatisfied. But by the same token, I think there is something about writing within a well-worn rut that is comforting. It reduces some of the narrative pressure, and allows me to just mess around at the margins. The trope forms the melody, and I get to add the riffs. It does require some suspension of disbelief on your part, dear reader, but I hope you’ll indulge me.

Assuming people like this story… and I think they will… I may actually write more than three of these shorts. To that end, I’d like to solicit feedback from you. If there is a classic hotwife setup that you’d like to see me explore, please let me know and I’ll try to add it to my writing list. You can reach me, as always, at [e-mail] or on Twitter @BenBoswellAut.

As with Party Crasher, I have some author commentary after the main story and an old story that has only been edited for typos. It is barely 1200 words, and was the kind of story I wrote very, very early on. I hope you’ll find that additional material entertaining as well.

I’d like to thank Kenny Wright for the cover design and comments on an earlier version. Also Gary S and Robert C provided copyediting assistance and additional comments. Thank you all.

Ben Boswell

August 2019

Spouse for Sale

Chapter One: Vegas Encounter

I was sitting on one of the leather sofas in the Lily Bar at the Bellagio. It was an oasis inside the casino. Surprisingly quiet, with cool Jazz, one of the rare spots in Vegas where it is actually possible to have a conversation.

Despite the elegant surroundings, the patrons were the usual Vegas mix. Off to my left, was a group of giggling twenty-somethings. No one was wearing a sash, so probably not a bachelorette party, but judging by the cleavage and short skirts, they were probably just having a few drinks before hitting a club. At 11:00pm, the evening was just getting started. To my right, a middle-aged couple, probably from Ohio or Wisconsin. She was in flowered pants and a loose white blouse. He was wearing plaid shorts and a golf shirt. Between the two of them, they probably weighed close to 500 pounds. By the piano was yet another Vegas cliche, an older man, maybe sixty, pale and pasty and sitting with a very attractive, Asian woman less than half his age. Despite his persistent pattering, she looked bored, though she managed to shoot him an occasional, encouraging smile.

And then there was her. She was sitting at the bar. Mid-thirties, pretty with chin-length chestnut hair framing a rounded face. Blue eyes I noticed even from across the room, full lips, and a cute button nose. She was wearing a slinky blue, mid-thigh dress. Matching heels dangled at the end of her long, shapely legs. When she twisted in her seat, the dress revealed an impressive amount of cleavage.

I’d been watching for a while. A couple of men had approached her. Things seemed to be going well, with her laughing and flicking her hair, and otherwise giving positive vibes, but then in each case, there was an abrupt end. Some conversational dead end. The first man scurried away, the second backed away reluctantly. I would have loved to have been able to listen in on those exchanges.

Then a third man joined her. He looked to be in his fifties. He was dressed casually in black pants and a thin, grey sweater pulled up to his forearms. He was trim and muscular. He offered her a drink and she accepted. She’d already had a few, so maybe she was loosened up, or maybe she was really into him. Her body language with the other men had made her seem available, but with this man, she seemed eager. She hung on his every word. They laughed together, and she brought her hand down and grazed his forearm. They locked eyes meaningfully. She licked her lips. He leaned in, his hand moving to her bare knee. I thought he might try to kiss her, and I wondered if she’d let him. To anyone watching he was obviously a stranger and they would know she’d let herself get picked up.

Instead of a kiss, he spoke into her ear. She flushed slightly, but gave him a smile when he pulled back. He grinned. His thumb traced circles on the inside of her knee, sliding higher up her thigh. She leaned forward in turn and spoke in his ear. His eyes widened, and his eyebrows rose. He seemed pensive for a moment. Then he nodded, and she now seemed surprised. She swallowed hard, and plastered a smile on her face. He spoke some more, and she nodded and nodded again, agreeing to something, though it was impossible to know what from my vantage. His hand had disappeared up under her dress, to her inner thigh, or even higher. His kissed her cheek, and placed his hand on hers. Then he rose, and I could see the bulge in his pants, and the card he’d placed in her palm.

She watched him leave and took a gulp of her wine. She looked around the bar guiltily, blushing, either embarrassed or excited or both. I decided to take my shot. I sat down in the now-open seat next to her. She gave me an amused, challenging smile.

You seem to be popular tonight, I said.

What’s your name? She asked.

George.

Nice to meet you, George. I’m Ally. So, what are you looking for tonight?

Um, nothing. I mean, I just --

She put her hand on mine. Sorry to rush things along, Baby, but I actually have a commitment coming up in a little more than an hour. Plenty of time to have a little fun, but you know, time is wasting.

Um, okay.

She squeezed my hand and