STRETCHED WIDE BY MY HUSBAND'S CLIENTS, complete series (#1-3): Cuckold/hotwife, fertile, older man younger woman, exhibitionism, CMNF Read online

  Stretched Wide By My Husband’s Clients

  The complete series — three stories in one!

  (Cuckold/hotwife, fertile, older man younger woman, exhibitionism, clothed male naked female)

  By

  Anya Aurelie

  #1

  #2

  #3

  Copyright © 2015 by Anya Aurelie

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  Stretched Wide By My Husband’s Clients, #1

  When my husband was made partner at his law firm, I expected the longer hours. I expected the boost in pay. I expected the added stress.

  What I never expected, however, was that Brandon would start loaning me out to potential clients like a whore.

  I never expected to have another man’s cock deep inside my unprotected pussy while my husband watched through the crack in a closet door. I never expected to get manhandled and used by men whose names I often didn’t even know, and certainly couldn’t remember afterward. I never expected to get filled with cum by these anonymous men while I was spread open on conference room tables, desks, or plush leather chairs, as part of a bargaining tool for my husband’s business.

  But what I expected least of all, though, was how much I’d end up loving it.

  It started out innocently enough. In the weeks after Brandon made partner, he was obviously stressed out, and it was starting to affect our relationship at home. I didn’t know how to deal with it — he didn’t want to fuck me anymore, and often didn’t even come to bed until late at night. He stayed up strategizing and trying to get ahead on his cases, then got up early to head into work.

  Brandon was under a lot of pressure to bring in some great new clients to the firm, and he felt that he needed to prove his worth — prove to the other partners that they’d made the right decision in making him partner. But it was turning out to be much harder than he’d expected; he’d never had any trouble landing clients in the past, but it was as though he were suddenly stuck, unable to seal the deal, now that he really needed it.

  I had no idea how to handle this. I was still only twenty years old, and Brandon had always been the one who took care of me. We’d met when I was eighteen and he was forty-five, but we’d had an instant connection and had married the next year.

  Now, suddenly, I felt like I was the one who had to take care of him, and I was at a loss.

  “Baby, come to bed,” I pleaded, rubbing Brandon’s shoulders and letting my robe fall open so that my breast grazed his neck as I leaned over him to kiss his neck.

  “I can’t right now,” he said, frowning into a brief. “Give me another hour or two to finish this up.”

  I sighed. “Can I bring you anything? A snack? Some ice water? Tea?”

  “No, thank you, Alyssa,” he said. “I just need to concentrate for a while.”

  He’d never turned down my advances before, and although I logically knew that he was just stressed out, I worried that my body was no longer exciting to him, that he was no longer sexually attracted to me. And I felt like my whole presence, my whole existence, was nothing more than an irritation to him.

  Sadly, I said, “Honey, if there’s anything at all I can do to help you out, you know you can ask, right? I’ll do anything you need if it’ll make you less stressed. I just want to help you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, giving me a small, tight smile before returning his eyes to the pages in front of him. “There’s really nothing you can do.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m heading to bed. But the offer’s on the table. If anything comes up, please remember that I’m happy to do whatever you need.”

  I kissed him goodnight and went upstairs to our bedroom, stripping naked and snuggling alone into the feather comforter and falling into a troubled sleep.

  The next day, I woke up after Brandon had already left for work. I assumed he had crawled into bed at some point, but I hadn’t woken up, and now there was no evidence of his ever having been there. I stood up and stretched my naked body, staring down at myself. I loved my firm breasts, my small waist, my long, delicate legs.

  Brandon did too, when he wasn’t too busy worrying about work.

  I sighed. Okay, I told myself, no point in moping. I decided to go to a yoga class to try to lift my spirits, but after digging around in my dresser for a while, I couldn’t find a yoga top I liked. The only one I found I’d worn only once, as it was both too tight and too low-cut.

  “Dammit!” I said out loud. I had forgotten to do my own laundry, I was so focused on taking care of my husband. But I would be damned if I was going to miss that yoga class, so I pulled on a sports bra and the too-tight top anyway, then wiggled into panties and the yoga pants that made my ass look great.

  There was still some time before I’d need to leave for the class, so I headed downstairs to make a cup of tea when my phone rang. It was Brandon.

  “Alyssa,” he said, sounding worried, “can you do me a favor? I didn’t get enough sleep last night and I seem to have walked out the door this morning without my briefcase. I’m meeting with a potential client in fifteen minutes. Any chance you can bring it to me?”

  “Of course!” I said, happy to have the opportunity to do him a favor. And his office was on the way to my yoga studio anyway. I wandered into the living room where he’d been working last night, and sure enough, there was his briefcase, shoved under the coffee table and out of the way. “I’ll be right there,” I told him.

  Just under fifteen minutes later, I pulled up outside the law firm office, hoping I’d beaten his client there. But when I got to Brandon’s office, the door was closed already. I knocked tentatively.

  “Come in,” my husband’s deep, authoritative voice said, and I pushed the door open as quietly as I could.

  It was just one man he was meeting with, apparently, but he had indeed beaten me there. Brandon was sitting behind his big desk, looking powerful and important, and I beamed with pride at the sight. On the other side of the desk was a muscular man about his age with hints of gray around his temples and startlingly green eyes.

  Brandon and the man both stood when I entered the room, and Brandon quickly walked over to take the briefcase from my hand. I could tell he was embarrassed to have the potential client see this exchange. It didn’t exactly bode well for his ability to stay organized.

  I could tell that Brandon didn’t want me to stay any longer than I had to, so I turned to leave, but the man with the green eyes extended his hand. “William Stromheiser,” he said, and I saw his eyes wander up and down my body, taking in my overly tight top that revealed a bit too much cleavage, and my ass-enhancing yoga pants. I felt myself blush under his gaze. Why had I worn this stupid top, anyway?

  “Alyssa Brown,” I said. “I’m Brandon’s wife.”

  “And what a lucky man he is.”

  “T
hank you,” I said, noticing how his eyes focused in on my breasts, and feeling my nipples harden at the attention. He was attractive, to be sure, with the kind of confidence only an older man can have.

  I turned to leave again. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stromheiser,” I said.

  “Call me Will,” he said. “And it was excellent to meet you too, Alyssa.” He gave me a wink as I shut the door behind me.

  I hoped Brandon wouldn’t be upset with me for wearing yoga clothes to his office, or for arriving after Will. I tried to put it out of my mind as I hurried to yoga class. I guessed I’d find out soon enough.

  But when Brandon got home from work that evening, he was uncharacteristically quiet. I served him dinner, and he mumbled his thanks, and then we ate in near-silence punctuated only by my fumbling attempts to engage him in conversation.

  “How was work?” I asked, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Did Will seem like he was interested in hiring you?”

  “Hmm,” Brandon said, frowning, then paused. “It’s complicated.”

  I was so worried that I finally blurted out, “I’m sorry I wore yoga clothes to your office, and I’m sorry I got there after your client arrived. I hope I didn’t mess things up for you.”

  Brandon looked up then, surprised. “No, not at all. Please don’t worry.”

  I breathed out a huge sigh of relief and vowed to myself that I would let him tell me what was going on at his own pace, not try to rush him.

  We finished our dinner, and Brandon moved to the living room with a glass of whiskey and his laptop. I finished cleaning up from dinner alone — it was the least I could do, when Brandon provided me with a house and earned enough so that I didn’t have to work. When I was done, I joined him and curled up on the opposite side of the couch with a book while he worked.

  After a while, I felt his eyes on me, and I looked up. Brandon was staring at me, taking in my long, bare legs stretched out on the couch, the curve of my hip resting against a cushion.

  Hesitantly, he cleared his throat and said, “All right.”

  I waited, but when it was clear he wasn’t going to continue, I prompted, “All right?”

  “I’m ready to talk,” he said. “About what happened at work.” He was silent for another moment, and I held my breath, waiting. “It was very upsetting. The client — Will — he said that he would hire me, but only if I gave him something in return.”

  “That’s great!” I said, feeling my heart lift for the first time in weeks.

  “No,” Brandon said sharply. “What he wanted in return was you.”

  I stared at him for a moment. “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “He said that he would like to hire me, but only if I would arrange for him to sleep with you,” my husband said.

  I drew in a sharp breath, shocked. Will had said that? I could tell when we’d met that he found me attractive, but I never in my wildest dreams would’ve guessed that he’d come right out and propose sleeping with me to my husband. I was flattered, though, and I felt my pussy throb at the thought.

  “It was very upsetting,” Brandon repeated. “The idea of you, my wife, getting penetrated by some other man…” He took a large gulp of his whiskey, and I noticed that the bottle beside him was significantly emptier than it had been earlier.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Very upsetting.”

  “Though it would also be very hot,” Brandon said, almost to himself. I noticed then that there was a bulge in his pants. Was he turned on by the idea of me fucking someone else? “And it’s just been so hard to find new clients…”

  “What did you tell him?” I asked, wide-eyed.

  “I told him that you’d never go for it, and I asked him to leave my office,” Brandon said, his voice rising.

  “Oh,” I said, surprised to find myself a bit disappointed. “Of course.”

  Brandon looked upset just remembering the exchange, and I snuggled up toward the other end of the couch to him. “You’ll get other clients,” I said, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his erection. We hadn’t had sex since he’d gotten the promotion, and now he was turned on?

  I remembered Will’s confident air, the way he had stared at my body and looked me up and down. I remembered those piercing green eyes, and how my nipples had hardened as his eyes swept over my breasts. I imagined him spreading my legs open and plunging deep inside of me.…

  And I thought about how Brandon had had a whole life before me, how he’d had plenty of time to experiment and sleep around, and I knew that he’d taken advantage of his playboy years. I hadn’t gotten that time. Having been only eighteen when we’d met, Brandon was the first and only man I’d ever slept with, and part of me wondered if I’d been missing out.

  Cautiously, I said, “I would do it if you wanted me to. If it would help you out.”

  Brandon looked at me sharply, just stared at me for a moment without speaking. “You would sleep with another man?”

  “For you. If it would help,” I said, imagining Will’s cock thrusting in and out of me while he grabbed my swinging breasts.

  I saw the jealousy on his face as he considered. But I also saw that hard-on that wouldn’t go away. Brandon took another swig of whiskey and grabbed my body, held me protectively while I snuggled into him.

  The wheels seemed to be turning in his mind, and I couldn’t tell whether he loved or hated the idea. Finally, he said, “I do need his business.” He seemed conflicted. I knew he was jealous when other men looked at me, but that erection was raging hard. Unable to stop myself any longer, I grabbed it — and found that he was harder than I ever remembered him being.

  “I’ll call him in the morning,” Brandon said, and his cock throbbed in my hand. “I’ll arrange for you two to meet at my office. You can talk it over, agree on terms, see if you really want to do this. Maybe he’ll be satisfied with just a kiss or two.”

  “Okay, that sounds good,” I said.

  “If he insists on getting more from you, and you do decide to go ahead with it, I’ll book you a hotel room.” He stared at me with that same conflicted look on his face. I had a feeling that if anyone was going to back out, it was Brandon.

  That night, Brandon took me hard. We had amazing sex for the first time in weeks, him pounding me until I was raw and sore in the best possible way. When he came, the cum shot out of him like a gun, pouring into me with a force I’d never felt before. It seemed like he would never finish emptying himself into me, and when he finally pulled out of my tight pussy, his cream drizzled down my leg and we fell asleep tangled in each other’s limbs.

  Two days later, I arrived at Brandon’s office to speak with Will. Brandon was there alone when I arrived, and he tapped his fingers against his desk anxiously while we made small talk. I loved my husband; I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him it would all be okay, but instead I stayed on my side of the desk and tried to smile.

  “We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with,” I told him.

  He just grunted in return.

  “I need him as a client,” Brandon finally said, then repeated: “I need him as a client.”

  There was a knock at Brandon’s office door then, and the barely latched door to his closet popped open at the same moment. We both jumped a little.

  Before Brandon had switched into this office when he’d made partner, I’d never seen an office with a closet before, but the law firm was housed in what used to be an enormous, single-family house. His office was upstairs, and it presumably had once been a bedroom, so he was able to store all his files in the hidden-away closet and keep his desk relatively neat and tidy.

  “Must be him,” I said, looking at my husband expectantly. Brandon hadn’t moved from behind the desk.