Ben Books His Wife's Bull

I never thought I'd be the type to confess something like this, but here I am, spilling every filthy detail of the night my husband turned me into a hotwife slut. My name's Lisa, 32, married to Mark for eight years, and we've always had this wild undercurrent in our sex life. Mark's the one who thrives on the fantasy—watching me get railed by a real bull, then reclaiming what's his. We've talked about it for months, role-playing it out while he fucks me silly, but it was always just dirty talk. Until last week, when he finally scheduled it for real. "Baby," he said, his voice thick with lust as he showed me the profile on that discreet hotwife app, "this guy's perfect. Jamal. Black bull, 10 throbbing inches, vetted reviews from other couples. You ready to be my little cumslut?"

My heart pounded as I stared at Jamal's pics—ripped body, that massive bulge straining his pants, dark eyes promising to wreck me. I was nervous as hell, but my pussy clenched just thinking about it. Mark booked the luxury hotel suite downtown, the one with the king bed and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. He even picked out my outfit: sheer black lace lingerie that hugged my 34D tits and round ass, a matching thong that barely covered my shaved slit, thigh-high stockings, and red fuck-me heels. All week, the tension built. I'd catch Mark stroking his cock to Jamal's pics, muttering how he'd eat every drop of that bull cum from my pussy after. By Friday night, I was a dripping mess.

I stood in front of our bedroom mirror, adjusting the lingerie, my nipples hard peaks against the lace. Mark came up behind me, his hands sliding over my hips, his cock rock-hard pressing into my ass through his jeans. "God, you look like such a whore for him," he growled, kissing my neck, nipping my earlobe. "Text me everything. Send pics. I want to see that big dick stretch you." I turned, melting into his kiss, our tongues tangling hungrily. His hand dipped between my thighs, fingers brushing my soaked thong. "You're gonna get fucked so good tonight, Lisa. Come home full of his load for me." He kissed me goodbye at the door, his erection tenting his pants, eyes wild with anticipation. I drove to the hotel trembling, pussy aching, knowing this was it—my first real hotwife tryst, scheduled by my loving hubby.

The elevator ride to the penthouse suite felt eternal, my heels clicking on the marble floor, heart slamming in my chest. I knocked, and the door swung open to reveal Jamal—6'4" of pure muscle, shirt unbuttoned to show chiseled abs, dark skin gleaming under the soft lights. His eyes raked over me like a predator, hungry and unapologetic, landing on my tits straining the lace. "Damn, Lisa," he rumbled, voice deep and commanding, "your man wasn't lying. You're finer than your pics." A massive bulge throbbed visibly in his slacks, at least 10 inches promising to ruin me. He pulled me inside, the door clicking shut, and before I could speak, his mouth crashed onto mine.

His kisses were deep, devouring, tongue invading my mouth like he owned it. Rough hands roamed everywhere—gripping my tits hard, thumbs circling my nipples through the lace until they ached, then sliding down to squeeze my ass, pulling me against that throbbing monster bulge. I moaned into his mouth, grinding instinctively, my thong soaked through. "Fuck, you're eager," he growled, breaking the kiss to spin me around, pressing me against the wall. His fingers dug into my ass cheeks, spreading them, while his other hand yanked the lingerie top down, freeing my heavy tits. He mauled them roughly, pinching nipples until I gasped, then shoved a thick finger under my thong, finding my dripping pussy. "This cunt's ready for bull cock, huh? Hubby's little slut."

Tension exploded as he stripped me. He ripped the lingerie off like tissue paper—bra snapping free, thong yanked down my thighs. Naked except for stockings and heels, I stood there quivering as he shed his clothes. His cock sprang out—10 inches of thick, veiny black meat, throbbing angrily, pre-cum beading at the tip, balls heavy and full. I dropped to my knees without thinking, mouth watering. "Suck it, whore," he ordered, fisting my hair. I wrapped both hands around the base—couldn't even circle it fully—and stretched my lips wide, throating half that monster. Gagging wetly, saliva dripping down my chin, I bobbed, tongue swirling the underside, cheeks hollowing. It pulsed on my tongue, stretching my jaw to the limit.

I fumbled for my phone, snapping a quick pic of my stretched lips wrapped around his shaft, eyes watering up at him. Sent it to Mark with: "Throating his 10-incher, baby. So thick." Mark's reply buzzed instantly: "Fuck yes, slut. Take more for daddy." Jamal groaned, thrusting shallowly, fucking my face. "Good girl. Hubby watching?" I nodded, moaning around his cock, fingering my clit as I slurped louder, drool pooling on the carpet. He finger-fucked my pussy then—two thick digits plunging deep, curling against my G-spot while I deepthroated him sloppily. I came hard on his hand, thighs shaking, squirting onto his wrist. "That's it, cream for the bull," he laughed, pulling out to slap his wet cock across my face.

He dragged that thick cock over my lips, my cheeks, my forehead, smearing spit and pre-cum everywhere while I panted up at him, still shaking from the orgasm. I grabbed my phone again and fired off another shot of his glistening shaft resting against my ruined makeup. Mark’s reply hit seconds later: “Paint her face if you want, then fuck that married pussy raw. Leave her dripping.”

Jamal hauled me up by the hair and walked me backward to the king bed. He shoved me onto the mattress on my back, yanked my stockings and heels off one by one, then pushed my knees wide. His heavy cock slapped against my dripping slit. “Tell him you’re about to take every inch,” he ordered. I typed it with trembling thumbs, hit send, then moaned as the fat head stretched my entrance. He didn’t tease. He drove forward in one long, relentless thrust until those heavy balls kissed my ass and I felt him bottom out against my cervix. The burn and fullness ripped a scream out of me. My walls fluttered wildly around the impossible girth.

He planted his hands beside my head and started pounding—deep, brutal strokes that rocked the whole bed. Every thrust dragged over my G-spot and shoved air from my lungs. I wrapped my legs around his waist and clawed his back, begging for harder, deeper, more. He gave it. Skin slapped wetly. My tits bounced hard enough to slap my chin. He hooked my knees over his shoulders, folding me nearly in half so he could drive straight down into me like a pile driver. I came again, squirting around his pistoning cock, soaking the sheets. He just laughed and kept fucking through it.

“Phone,” he grunted. I managed to hold it up and record a shaky clip of that black monster disappearing into my stretched pink cunt. Mark’s texts flooded in: “Look at that greedy hole. Stretch my wife. Breed her.” Jamal read them aloud between grunts, each filthy line making me clench harder. He flipped me onto all fours, yanked my hips back, and slammed home again. One huge hand cracked across my ass, the other reached under to pinch and roll my clit. I shoved my face into the mattress and screamed my third orgasm into the bedding while he railed me like he owned the lease on my body.

When he finally pulled out, a thick rope of my cream stretched between us. He flipped me onto my back once more, climbed over my chest, and fed that slick cock back into my mouth. I tasted myself all over him while he fucked my throat in short, punishing strokes. Then he pulled free, dropped between my thighs again, and re-entered me with a wet sound that made us both groan. He planted one foot on the mattress for leverage and hammered me with long, savage strokes, his heavy balls swinging and smacking my asshole. “Gonna fill this married cunt,” he growled. “Hubby wants every drop.”

I locked my ankles behind his back and nodded frantically. “Do it—come inside me. Give me that load for him.” His rhythm broke. He slammed deep one last time, roar ripping from his chest as that thick cock pulsed hard, jetting rope after rope of hot cum straight against my womb. I felt every spurt, the heat flooding me, overflowing around his shaft. He stayed buried to the hilt, grinding in little circles, milking out the last thick gushes until I was dripping and overfull.

He finally eased out. A heavy river of white cream poured from my gaping hole onto the sheets. I scrambled for the phone, spread my lips with two fingers, and snapped a clear close-up of the creampie leaking out of me. Caption: “Full of bull cum, baby. Coming home now.” Mark’s reply was instant and desperate: “Get your ass here. I’m already hard.”

Jamal cleaned up in the bathroom while I pulled the ruined lingerie back on just enough to walk out. My thighs were slick; every step squelched. He kissed me once at the door—deep, possessive—and told me to tell Mark he did good work. I drove home still dripping, the leftover load coating my thong and sliding down my legs. Mark met me at the front door already naked, cock stiff and leaking. He dropped to his knees right there in the hallway, shoved my legs apart, and buried his face between my thighs. His tongue pushed into my freshly fucked hole, scooping and sucking Jamal’s thick cum straight out of me while he jerked himself furiously. I came on his tongue one last time, grinding my messy cunt against his mouth, feeding him every last drop until he swallowed it all and painted my stockings with his own load. He looked up at me, lips shiny, eyes glassy with bliss. “My perfect hotwife,” he whispered. “Next weekend we book him again.”