Love your Hotwife: 5 previously published short stories by JL Sanders

Author:JL Sanders [Sanders, JL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PMI
Published: 2022-09-10T23:00:00+00:00

A Hot Wife Haunting

I laid my head back on my folded arms and stared up at all the stars. My wife Thea and my bandmate Myles started teasing and tickling each other again. And then it got weird.

We’d been sitting around the fire pit in our backyard after everyone else from the jam session called it a night and drifted home. Thea loved teasing Myles about being the only one left still single, and when she walked past him to get more beers, he snatched at her exposed midriff and made her spasm and shriek so abruptly, she lost her balance, plunged her hand down into his lap, and spun around to land sprawled over him where his body slumped deeply into his Adirondack chair.

She writhed and squealed on top of him, kicking her legs in the air and reaching under herself to try to grab his stomach or sides to somehow tickle him back. She was wearing her very short crop-top Indiana U t-shirt and torn jeans with platform sneakers with my old red-and-black Mac jacket tied with it’s sleeves around her bare waist. She was easy pickings for him. Her shirt rode up and showed the underside of her black, full-cup lace bra as she twisted and contorted all over him. I loved seeing her laugh like that again, after everything.

Finally, with Thea huffing and puffing hard and sighing with her arms falling down behind her head and her hair spread all over his neck and chest, Myles relented and hugged his arms around her body with his hands around her ribs just touching the underside of her peaking-out bra.

“I love this fucking slut of yours, Ronny,” he said to me, leaning his head back into the tall narrow slats of his chair.

I closed my eyes and slumped in my own Adirondack and clasped my hands over my stomach. I turned up my soles to roast my feet and shut my eyes. “That’s Mrs. Slut to you, my friend,” I quipped.

“I’m a hussy, I’m not a slut,” she said and she blindly reached up behind her head to slap Myles on his cheek.

“And yet you throw your half-naked body at the first available man,” he said.

“I didn’t throw myself at Ronny, I lured him,” she chuckled. “Didn’t I honey,” she said louder over top of the fire toward me. She twisted around and serpentined her ankles and feet around his calves and ground her hips down into his. She left her hand where she had slapped him and now cupped his jaw in her palm above and behind her. “I was his honey trap,” she blinked up at him.

Myles snorted and sank down further in his chair carrying my wife down with him and he shut his eyes. “Honey trap alright,” he groaned nearly privately to her, and he slid his hand over her bare taut stomach and edged his fingers under the waist of her jeans.

“Doh-on’t!” Thea emphasized with her bulging eyes. But she did nothing to reach down and stop his hand from probing further under her jeans.

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