My Hotwife Hunts for Action in the Bar

The downtown bar hit Rosa with heat and noise the second she stepped through the door. At twenty-eight she wore a tight black dress that hugged every curve, low at the neckline, high on her thighs, the fabric clinging to her breasts and the swell of her ass. Music thumped under loud talk. Colored light ran over polished wood. Her husband Julian, thirty-six, followed in a gray shirt and dark pants, then took a nearby table against the wall where he could watch the whole room. They had agreed on it in the apartment before they left, clear and wanted by both of them. She would hunt. He would sit. The tension lived in the space between those two facts, and it was already thick on her skin.

She scanned the lively room the way she scanned a menu when she was starving. Grown men and women filled the tables, every one of them clearly an adult. She was not here for a cocktail. She was here for men who would look back and know what her smile meant. Behind the bar stood Cyrus, thirty-two, muscular in a black T-shirt, thick through the arms and chest, a towel over one shoulder. He caught her eyes and did not flinch. Two stools over, Benedict, thirty-five, sat in a tailored jacket, suave and watchful, a businessman with a club soda he had not bothered to drink. His gaze traveled the line of her body and stayed.

Rosa locked eyes with Cyrus first, then with Benedict, and gave them both the same bold, flirtatious smile. She turned, bent at the waist to adjust the strap of her heel, and let the dress ride up the backs of her thighs until the curve of her ass and the thin strip of her panties showed for a long, deliberate second. Heat pooled low in her belly. She felt Julian's attention from the wall like a hand pressed to her lower back, approving and hungry. When she straightened, both men at the bar were watching her with open interest, intrigued by the smile and by the way she had bent to show herself off. Neither of them looked away.

She had wanted clear heads tonight, and Julian had agreed. No one drunk. No sloppy courage. Cyrus set a glass of water on the bar without being asked. Rosa walked over and took the space between the two men as if it had been waiting.

"I'm Rosa," she said, low enough that the words belonged only to the three of them. "And I'm not here for the water."

Cyrus's mouth curved. "Then what are you here for?"

She leaned in until her breath touched his ear, then turned the same whisper toward Benedict so neither man had to guess. "I'm a hotwife. My husband is at that table." She tipped her chin toward Julian without looking away from them. "He loves watching me get taken by multiple men. I came in looking for action. If you want to touch me, you can. Right here. Discreet. Under the bar. If you want more than hands, say so."

Benedict's fingers found the inside of her thigh under the lip of the bar, warm and sure, and she did not move away. She spread her knees a fraction and let him feel how wet her panties already were. Cyrus reached across, his broad hand covering her other thigh, thumb stroking soft skin just below the hem of the dress. She rocked into Benedict's hand when his fingers slipped past the fabric and stroked her slick folds, one slow pass that asked and got her nod. Cyrus palmed her ass through the dress and squeezed, and she pressed her hip against the hard ridge swelling in his pants. Both of them were breathing harder. She could see their cocks growing visibly hard, thick lines straining the cloth while she kept talking.

"He watches," she said, quieter, filthier, her mouth near both of them in turn. "He gets off on it. I get off on being used by strangers while he sits there and sees every second. I want your cocks. I want to be on my knees for you. I want you to fuck me until I can't talk straight. Both of you. And if there's a third who can keep up, even better. My husband loves watching me get taken by multiple men. That's the whole point of tonight."

Cyrus's jaw tightened. Benedict's fingers pressed a little deeper, and she bit her lip so she would not moan in the open room. They were eager now, visibly hard, shifting on their stools like the bar had become too small for what they wanted.

"There's a booth in the back," Cyrus said, voice rough. "Dim. Private enough if we keep it between us."

"Then take me there," Rosa said.

She turned, still between their hands, and caught the eye of a man at the end of the bar. Lorenzo, twenty-nine, athletic and easy in a fitted henley, a regular who had been watching her bend and smile with the same hunger. She crooked two fingers in a sultry invitation. He stood at once. She gave him the same plain offer, honey in her voice and nothing hidden. "My husband likes to watch me get fucked by more than one man. Come with us if you want your cock in my mouth and anywhere else I'll let you put it."

Lorenzo's answer was a rough, immediate yes. His pants were already tight. The three of them hard, she soaking, Julian already shifting in his chair to follow at a distance, they moved toward the dimly lit private booth at the back.

The booth was low and amber, the table scarred, the bench deep, a curtain cutting them off from the main room. Julian took a shadowed chair just outside it, close enough to see her, far enough that the three men had her to themselves. Rosa looked at him once. He nodded, eyes dark with approval, one hand resting on his thigh. That was the look she had come for. She had already said yes out loud, and she said it again with her body when she dropped to her knees on the floor between them.

Cyrus freed his cock first, thick and heavy, the head already wet. Rosa wrapped her lips around him and took him deep, throat opening, eyes watering as she deepthroated him in long, greedy pulls that made him curse under his breath. Her hands found Benedict and Lorenzo at the same time, stroking both hard cocks while her mouth worked Cyrus, saliva shining on her chin. She switched. Benedict filled her mouth, smooth and hot, and she sucked him until he groaned and fisted her hair. Then Lorenzo, clean and eager, her tongue swirling under the head before she swallowed him down. Back to Cyrus. She loved the rotation, loved being the center of three hard cocks, loved the wet sounds and the way Julian's breathing changed in the dark while he watched his hotwife on her knees.

"Bend her over the table," Cyrus said, and she was already moving, wiping her mouth and looking up at all three of them with a wrecked smile.

They pushed the dress to her waist and yanked her panties aside. Rosa braced her palms on the scarred wood, ass up, back arched, and Cyrus drove into her pussy from behind in one hard stroke that knocked a cry out of her. She was soaked. He filled her deep and started fucking her hard, doggy-style, hips snapping, one big hand on her waist. Lorenzo stepped in front of her and fed his cock back into her mouth. She sucked him while Cyrus took her, moaning around the thickness every time Cyrus bottomed out. Benedict's hands roamed her tits, pulling the neckline down, pinching her nipples until she pushed back onto Cyrus and begged with her eyes for more. The booth filled with the slap of skin and her choked, eager sounds, and with the low, approving quiet from the shadows where her husband watched.

They turned her without rushing the ask. Benedict sat on the bench and pulled her down onto him reverse-cowgirl, her back to his chest, her dress bunched at her ribs. She sank onto his cock and rode hard, grinding, his hands locked on her hips. Cyrus and Lorenzo crowded in, groping her breasts, mouths on her neck, fingers sliding down to rub her clit and press into her alongside Benedict until she was gasping, stretched and dripping. "More," she begged. "I want all of you. I love being your shared hotwife slut. Look at him out there. He loves watching. I love it."

She saw Julian's hand move in the shadows and clenched around Benedict, heat soaking them both. They arranged her again with careful, hungry hands, checking her face, her nods, her breathless yes. Cyrus lay back and she sank onto his cock, pussy gripping him. Lorenzo knelt behind her, slicked with her own wetness, and pressed the head of his cock to her ass. "Yes," she said, clear. "Slow, then don't be gentle." She bore down and he pushed in until both men were buried in her, double-penetrated, full to the point of shaking. She stroked Benedict's cock with a trembling hand while Cyrus fucked up into her pussy and Lorenzo worked her ass in deep thrusts that turned rough when she begged.

"God, yes," she moaned, voice breaking. "Use me. Fill me. I'm your hotwife slut and my husband is watching every second from the shadows. I love it. I love being taken like this. I love being your shared slut. Don't stop."

Her thighs shook. Sweat slid between her breasts and mixed with the heat of their hands. Every thrust from Cyrus shoved her back onto Lorenzo, and every grind from Lorenzo pushed her down harder on Cyrus, a filthy loop she never wanted to end. She turned her face toward the curtain so Julian could see her mouth open, ruined and happy.

They didn't. Cyrus gripped her hips and drove up hard into her pussy. Lorenzo ground deep in her ass, spreading her so he could feel every inch. Benedict fucked her fist, eyes on her face while she fell apart. Rosa came hard around Cyrus, a sharp clench that dragged a shout out of her, then again when Lorenzo buried himself and held, sobbing their names and Julian's, telling them how good their cocks felt and how she had hunted this from the second she walked in.

Cyrus groaned and came inside her pussy in thick pulses she felt deep. Lorenzo followed, burying himself in her ass and flooding her there, hips jerking. Benedict aimed and came across her tits in hot stripes, painting her chest and the neckline of the black dress. She stayed there, flushed and dripping their loads, chest shining, smiling like a woman who had gotten exactly the action she hunted. Julian's eyes never left her.

Rosa kissed each man goodbye. Cyrus's mouth first, slow and grateful. Then Benedict's jaw, her lips soft against the stubble. Then Lorenzo, unhurried, her hand on his chest. None of them asked for a number. She had come looking for action and they had given it, willingly, with her husband watching from the shadows the entire time. She straightened the dress over her ass, smoothed the neckline over the sticky shine on her tits, and stepped out still flushed, still leaking under the hem.

Julian rose, face flushed, pants tight, smiling the way he did when she came back glowing. She took his arm. They left the bar arm-in-arm, past the neon and the chatter, out into night air that cooled the sweat on her throat. Cum slid down her thigh. She did not wipe it away. On the sidewalk she leaned into him, already whispering about the next hunt. She squeezed his arm and laughed, soft and wrecked, already planning the next room she would walk into dressed to be looked at.

Julian's mouth brushed her ear. "Tell me the truth. Did you love every second of being their slut while I watched?"