Hotwife Challenge: An Interracial British Cuckold Romance Novel

By Christian Quinn

Life used to be different for Mike and Emma. Young and care free, they were daring and adventurous. That all stopped when Emma found herself pregnant, leading to marriage and settling down into family life.

Nearly a decade later, their party days are long behind them. With a small but growing construction company to run, Mike and Emma are used to facing tough challenges. But when Anthony Campbell, a face from their past becomes their biggest client, every aspect of their lives gets put to new and increasingly daring tests that hadn't factored into their personal or professional plans.

Hidden under the floorboards of their latest renovation, Mike discovers Anthony's illicit treasure trove, giving him the opportunity to explore all the feelings he has long repressed. When he risks sharing the discovery with Emma, her reaction isn't what he expects, and where it takes them next risks everything they have built together.

Can their marriage handle the challenge? Could yours?

Warning: This 49,300 word sizzling British cuckold and hotwife story features interracial wife sharing, emotions of being a cuckold, and hot wife fantasies and should be read by adults only!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deviant Erotica
• Release date: Oct 18, 2021

Book preview

1

9 Years Ago

It was him. It was definitely him. Though difficult to initially place his face given he was currently considerably more undressed than the first and only time I had previously met him, it was absolutely Anthony Campbell, the owner of the dilapidated old property that I, along with a small crew of fellow plumbers and plasterers were presently renovating.

What on earth was he doing here? At Guilt. York’s premier (and only) swingers club.

And should I have been jealous that he was currently having what appeared to be a very friendly and agreeable chat with a captivating brunette, easily the most beautiful lady in the room to my eyes, and his too by the looks of it.

Together, they occupied two of the three high gray studded leather stools at the cosy, dark walnut panelled bar. The third remained empty. A lounge house tune mellowed somewhere in the background, drowned beneath the chatter. The way he sat, so casual and confident. The way she was turned towards him, amiable and very friendly. I felt that tell tale pang of jealousy that haunted me on every visit to a club such as this.

Whilst I had initially been heading straight towards the pair of them, when I recognised his face I’d hesitated. Holding myself back, I remained off to the side of the busy, low-ceilinged room, doing my utmost to blend in whilst watching the couple covertly.

Clad in only a pair of tight white trunks that clearly outlined his growing desires, even from my recessed vantage point I could see he sat care free, legs parted, revealing the seat’s faux leather stitched padding between the graying strands of hair that lightly covered his chestnut coloured thighs. The remainder of his bald headed, bulky brown body was naked, save for several chunky chains, a heavy, dull silver hoop earring in each ear, and a shock of salt and pepper hair, starting black at his mustache, then getting progressively greyer as it shaped neatly downwards into a manicured goatee which blended into his silvery chest hair.

Sitting with his back to the bar, two broad muscular arms spread wide, he appeared as though surveying his kingdom, observing the room with an air of indifference. I got the immediate impression he had seen it all before, many times. His heavy left paw held a cut glass tumbler, the contents a dark, unknown liquid which sloshed and swirled around the glass like the lazy laps of ocean waves on a Carribean shoreline.

By comparison, the brunette showed a touch more reservation. I would not have said nervousness, though certainly far from the surety of the male. Sitting with her body parallel to the panelling, her legs crossed, one might have said defensively, hiding the modesty otherwise exposed by the high hem of her little black mini dress. What she wasn’t hiding was her frequent glances at his concealed, yet sizable manhood. And that hadn’t gone unnoticed, by him or by me.

I’m sure I wasn’t the only guy who had enjoyed admiring her womanly form during the course of the evening. Her hair, the colour of French roast coffee, gathered loosely in relaxed ringlets over her shoulder, the sheer style of her figure hugging outfit attractively exposing her back and shoulders. Following the halter neck fastening down, the eye was unavoidably drawn to the accentuated curve of her small, pert breasts.

Hanging back, wrapped in the soft, fluffy white towel that I had been provided on entrance, I lazed against a cool concrete column, one of four equally spaced around the dim, noisy common room, affording me an excellent clandestine voyueristic vantage point.

Whilst her left arm rested on the bar, hand cupping her chin, with her right hand she slowly stroked her finger around the rim of her glass, listening more than speaking. Occasionally she would laugh, and after one of his more humorous remarks she brushed his arm playfully, which I noticed through miniscule movements made him turn further towards her.

In spite of being ten, maybe even twenty years her senior, the way she looked at him told me there was an undeniable attraction. Had I not witnessed this with my own eyes, I might never have believed that could be possible. This was not behaviour I’d had cause to notice from her before, and I’d made something of a habit of studying her in the presence of other men, particularly when in locations such as this.

Picking the cherry from her colourful cocktail, I felt the tell-tale twitch beneath my towel as she intentionally and very deliberately placed the juicy red fruit between her pursed lips, mimicking mouth movements that suggested far more of her intentions and desires than their conversation appeared to be saying with words alone.

Anthony didn’t miss her suggestive display, however as he now turned his head towards her, I couldn’t see exactly how he had responded. From behind, his bald head had several noticeable ripples of bulging flesh that led to a thick, mahogany skinned neck. Contrasting with my own skinny white figure, he had the physique of a club door man. The kind of guy who could kick my backside without breaking a sweat. Certainly not the type of man I would voluntarily affront.

The brunette leaned in. My pulse seemed to miss a beat. Were they going to kiss? What would I do if they did? How would I feel? Wasn’t she …

No, they didn’t kiss. I caught my heart as it resumed beating, doing triplets in a bid to catch back up.

He laughed, a hearty chuckling belly laugh, easily audible over the noise of the room even from my position. She sat back, disposing of the cherry stalk in her spent cocktail glass, laughing with him, smiling broadly at whatever he had just said, stroking his arm again, leaving her hand there.

Anthony motioned to the young barman who had stood back during all of this, pretending not to watch, or at least not to see. I wondered at everything his young eyes must have witnessed in his early months or perhaps years of employment. How on earth did a young man, nay, practically a boy, end up working as a bartender in a swingers club? Money is money, I suppose. Unable to hear what was being said, a fresh glass of coke or pepsi, along with a double measure of a clear spirit was placed neatly next to the gracious lady. Only now did her hand lift from his limb as she swallowed most of the contents of the glass in a single gulp. It was perhaps the most unlady-like thing I had watched her do all evening.

A few words were exchanged between them, both smiling, then she giggled, allowing her chestnut locks to fall over her face, before sweeping them back gracefully over her shoulder. Now she was speaking to the young bar boy. I could see he was nervous. His eyes darted between her and Anthony, a sheepish look on his face as though what she was saying to him shouldn’t be heard in the presence of another male, especially one with which she was actively flirting. Suddenly standing, her long legs extended, already on tip toes in her strappy heels, she leaned over the bar, pointing to something. I imagine the young lad got a fine view of her cleavage, though Anthony wasted no time in checking out her hindquarters.

Standing straight, she caught Anthony admiring her arse, her hand finding his furry chest. My heart was pounding as I watched, making me wonder if his was beating quite as fast. He spoke to her, the full toothy grin never leaving his face. When the bartender returned, another small glass of something placed in front of her, she sat not where she had been sitting, but instead perched herself on his lap.

Scanning the lounge, I searched for people also watching. Seeing a small number, I knew I wasn’t the only one enjoying their act. My eyes met with the bartenders, a wordless stare across the room. I’d have switched places with him in an instant to hear their conversation, to find myself closer to her. And him. Instead his was a confused expression that searched for escape. Out of his depth.

His black paw was on her hip, the other large arm still relaxed and casually slung over the bar top. Where his hand lay must have been driving her wild, yet the public position prevented much more, even for a venue like this. Besides, I knew she would prefer somewhere quieter, were anything further to happen. From her seat on his lap, it was undeniable that she would be able to feel everything. I wonder if he was as hard as I, finding myself shuffling on the spot as I attempted to mask my arousal.

They were closer now, their heads inches apart. He had to look up at her, ever so slightly, and she down at him. I willed her to place a kiss on his full, thick lips, hoping to see more yet pained that it was with him and not me. Her hand found his face, stroking his beard. Then she leaned in, kissing him on the lips. Her eyes remained open. A second small kiss followed. She smiled at him, then a third, longer and deeper kiss came after. Almost imperceptibly, his hand moved. The one on her thigh. Wondering how close his fingers were to her warmth, how her concupiscence translated to wetness between her legs.

After a period of time that had lost all measurement to me, they broke their embrace. Exchanging a few more words, she stood from him, resuming her original seat as he stood. Taking her dainty white hand in his bear-like paw and bringing it to his lips, he planted upon it a single soft kiss. It might be pushing it to say she swooned, but I definitely caught her blushing.

As Anthony moved away from the bar, heading in my direction, I secreted myself more thoroughly behind the concrete pillar, covertly maneuvering myself around it’s cold, bulky whte form, smiling inanely at an older couple who watched me with bemused interest. Who knew what they were thinking. I had no doubt that they would have guessed who it was I was trying to avoid, though I suspected they would never guess why.

Now behind him, I watched Anthony’s heavy set figure leave the room, numerous ladies — and indeed, the odd gentleman — smiling, and admiring him unashamedly as he strolled off to who knew where.

Immediately, and with somewhat comic haste given my own protruding obstruction, I speed walked over to the brunette.

My fiance.

Emma, we need to leave. Now.

Glancing over my shoulder nervously, I feared his return.

Oh, hi Mike, she replied, with no particular urgency, where have you been? I could still smell his cologne in the air, and maybe it was my imagination but a hint of her excited musk, too.

I’ll tell you when we’re outside, but please, we need to go. Now.

Grasping her by the arm, checking again over my shoulder, I spied the older couple who had been observing me as I was ducking and weaving moments earlier. Still, their gormless gaze remained upon me as though my life’s little mishaps were their own real life TV drama. The young bartender looked at me curiously, as though unsure what he was seeing.

Flashing the boy, and the aging pair another forced smile, I tugged at Emma, urging her to stand, which she did in a rather ungainly drunken fashion.

Alright, alright, she protested, losing her towel as she rose from her stool, keep your hair on.

Feeling her arm moving in my hand brought my attention back to her momentarily, taking my mind off the unexpected visitor. Without me letting go, Emma finished her syruppy looking cocktail in one last hasty gulp. With her free hand she swiped sticky sugary excess from her lips. Raising my eyebrows at the bartender, he returned an expression as if to say, ‘hey, I just pour them as asked’.

I looked around the lounge once more. Several tables had turned to watch the little scene. Good. So they had a little light entertainment for a moment. There was no way I’d be coming back here, not with a paying client milling around the place. That would be an embarrassing conversation to have, to say the least. And if word got out, to the crew, my employees, well, I’d never live it down. Ha, the boss and his missus are swingers! I’d be the laughing stock of the site.

Fortunately the way Anthony had exited took him further into the innards of the cavernous club. Our way out led to reception and the changing rooms. Having left the room, my hand still locked around my wife’s arm, leading her intently toward the exit, I directed Emma to the ladies changing area and asked her, politely but firmly, to meet me back in the reception area as quickly as possible. She agreed, asking why the rush. I assured her all would be revealed once we got back to the safety of our car.

It had taken Emma longer than I would have liked to return from the changing area, especially considering she had arrived in the little black mini dress so hadn’t needed to swap outfits. But fortunately we had managed to vacate the club without bumping into Anthony along the way. Now, sitting in the confines of my truck cabin, my wife in the passenger's seat, I finally felt like I could relax.

Why did we have to leave, asked Emma, I was enjoying myself.

I saw a guy from work, which was true, from a certain point of view. I knew that if I’d have given that very reason to Emma whilst we were still inside the club, she would never have left. Instead, she would have insisted on staying, and talking to the very person I was actively trying to avoid. It wasn’t malicious by any means, merely a part of her extrovert nature.

Oh, you should have said! We could have talked to him.

Yeah… I said, without enthusiasm.

Aww, you’re being shy aren’t you? Don’t want the boys from work to see you and your fiance in a swingers club? Her hand stroked my thigh almost sympathetically, an amused expression on her face.

I laughed it off, though she had hit the nail on the head. The last thing I wanted was to be known as a swinger. I’d never live it down. The lads I worked with were merciless.

Come on, let’s get out of here, I said, buckling myself in.

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