My Life as Alex - Part One

Welcome to the Hot Wife World Podcast. Everything you're doing. Stories, testimonials and advice. You've come to the right. Hey, you hot and horny people all over the world. Today you can hear the first of three episodes from Alex, who lives in a cuckold marriage. Please be aware, all three parts are very explicit. If you have a problem with sometimes perverse descriptions that are sometimes extreme, then you shouldn't listen to the episodes.

But if you are curious, then let Alex tell the story. My Life as Alex. The night she broke me open. I'm Alex, and my world revolves around Lena. I'm thirty-four. Average in every damn way. Five foot ten, a little soft around the middle, brown hair that's always a mess, and hazel eyes that don't hold a candle to hers. Lena's the star of this fucked up show we call a marriage. She's 32, a goddess carved from some wet dream.

Five foot seven with legs that go on forever, a tight ass that bounces just right, and tits that sit high and full, begging to be stared at. Her chestnut hair falls in thick, glossy waves past her shoulders, framing a face that's all sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and hazel eyes that burn with this feral commanding energy. She's a hot wife, and I'm her cuckold.

That's been the deal since we said I do six years ago, and I've spent every day since learning to live with the humiliation and the twisted thrill of it. It's late January, a Tuesday night, and I'm slouched on our beat up leather couch in the living room of our two story suburban house. The TV's droning some reality show I don't give a shit about. The glow flickering across the hardwood floor. The clock on the wall says 847 PM and I'm nursing a lukewarm beer. The bottle sweating in my hand.

I'm in my usual after work gear. Faded jeans, a plain gray t shirt, socks with a hole in the toe. Nothing about me screams special, and that's how Lena likes it. I'm her blank canvas, her little toy to paint with whatever fucked-up fantasy she's got brewing.

The front door bangs open and there she is. Lena strutting in like she owns the goddamn universe. She's wearing this black leather skirt that's so short I can see the curve of her ass cheeks peeking out, paired with a crimson crop top that clings to her tits. The fabric so thin I can make out the hard points of her nipples. Her black stilettos, five inches, at least, click against the floor, each step a gunshot in my chest. Her hair's loose, wild, and her makeup's dialed up.

Smoky eyes, red lipstick that's wet and glossy, like she's ready to devour someone. The air shifts with her perfume, this sharp, sexy mix of leather and something floral that hits me like a punch. My dick twitches in my jeans, Pavlov's dog to her bell. Get your ass upstairs, Alex, she snaps, tossing her purse onto the kitchen counter with a clatter.

Her voice is low, edged with that dangerous playfulness that makes my stomach not and my balls tighten. We're doing something tonight. I sit up, beer sloshing in the bottle. Who's coming over? My throat's dry, my voice a little hoarse. I already know it's one of her lovers. Those guys she picks up like trophies, all muscle and swagger, guys who make me feel like a fucking ghost next to them. She smirks, her lips curling in that way that says she's got me by the balls and she knows it.

Duane, she says, dragging out the name like it's a treat. And you're not just watching this time. Duane, Jesus Christ. My heart stutters. He's been her favorite for months now. This hulking black guy who looks like he could bench press me without breaking a sweat. Six foot three, maybe more, with shoulders broad enough to block out the sun, skin so dark it gleams like polished ebony, and a cock that's goddamn obscene.

I've seen it before. Watched her choke on it. Watched her ride it while I sat there with my dick in my hand, leaking and useless. He's got this deep, rumbling voice that makes my spine tingle, and every time he's around I feel smaller, weaker, like I'm shrinking into the floor. What do you mean not just watching? I ask, setting the beer down on the coffee table.

My hands are clammy, my pulse thudding in my ears. She steps closer, her heels echoing, and leans down until her face is inches from mine. Her breaths warm, tinged with mint and whatever she drank earlier. Whiskey, maybe. You'll see, she purrs, then straightens up and heads for the stair. Move it. I follow her, my legs shaky, my mind spinning.

The stairs creak under my weight, but her steps are light, deliberate, like she's floating on some dark cloud of power. Our bedroom's at the end of the hall, a big space with a king-sized bed covered in crisp white sheets. A dresser cluttered with her makeup and jewelry, and a full-length mirror propped against the wall. The curtains are drawn, heavy blackout ones that make it feel like we're sealed off from the world.

She's already set up her phone on a tripod by the dresser, the little red light blinking as she taps the screen to start recording. My gut twists. She's filming this whatever this is. Sit there, she says, pointing to the chair in the corner, a ratty old armchair I've spent countless nights in, watching her fuck other guys. It's got stains I don't think about too hard, and the cushions lumpy from my weight. I sit, my jeans tight against my thighs, my hands gripping the armrests.

The room smells like her. Perfume, sex, and that faint tang of her arousal that lingers from last time. She's peeling off her crop top now, tossing it to the floor, revealing a red lace bra that barely holds her tits in. The lace is sheer, her dark nipples visible through it, hard and begging for attention. She catches me staring and smirks again, running her hands down her sides, over the leather skirt.

Tonight's for my girls, she says, glancing at the camera. They've been begging for something wild, and you're gonna give it to them, Alex. My mouth goes dry. Your girls? I croak. She's got this posse of friends, hot, bitchy women who've known about our arrangement forever. They're the kind who sip wine and giggle over her stories, who look at me like I'm some kind of pet she keeps around for laugh.

Yeah, she says, stepping out of her skirt now, leaving her in just the bra, matching red panties and those heels. Her thighs are smooth, tanned, and I can see the damp spot on the lace between her legs. She's already wet and Duane's not even here yet. They want a show, and you're the star. What do you mean? My voice cracked. And I hate how weak it sounds.

She crosses the room, her hips swaying, and grabs my chin hard, her nails digging into my skin, her eyes lock onto mine, fierce and unyielding. You're gonna suck Duane's cock, she says, slow and deliberate, like she's savoring every word.

And then he's gonna fuck you. And I'm filming every goddamn second of it so they can see what a good little bitch you are. My stomach drops like I've been kicked off a cliff. Lena, I I've never I stammer, my face burning, my dick betraying me by throbbing in my pants. Shut up, she snaps, her grip tightening until it hurts. You're my cuck, Alex. You do what I say. You've jerked off to worse, haven't you?

I don't answer. Because she's right. I have I've watched her with guys like Dwayne, watched her scream and come and leave me in the dust, and I've gotten off on it every time. But this This is a line I didn't know she'd cross.

The doorbell rings, a low chime that reverberates through the house. Lena lets go of my chin, her smirk widening into something feral. Showtime, she says, and saunter out of the room, leaving me sitting there, my heart hammering, my breath shallow. I hear her downstairs, her voice bright and flirty as she lets Duane in. Their footsteps climbed the stairs, heavy and slow, his boots thudding, her heels clicking. Then he's in the doorway filling it up like a goddamn eclipse.

Duane's wearing a black tank top that shows off his bicep. Thick, corded muscles that flex as he moves, and jeans that hug his thighs, the bulge in the front obscene even through the denim, his skin's dark, almost black with this sheen of sweat that catches the light. His head's shaved, his jaw square, and his eyes, deep brown, almost black, lock onto me for a second, before flicking to Lena. Sup, Alex, he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in my chest.

He's got this easy grin all teeth like he's in on some joke I don't get. Hey, I mumble, my tongue thick, my eyes darting to the floor. Lena's already on him, her hands sliding up his chest, tugging at the tank top. Get comfortable, she purrs, and he pulls it off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. His torso's a fucking masterpiece, broad pecks, a six-pack that ripples when he breathes, a V-line that disappears into his jeans.

She kisses him, hard and sloppy, her tongue darting into his mouth, and I can hear the wet smack of it from where I'm sitting. My dick's hard now, pressing against my zipper, and I hate myself for it. She breaks the kiss, turning to me, her lips shiny with spit. Get over here, she says, beckoning with one finger. I hesitate, my legs like lead, but her eyes narrow, and I know that look. If I don't move, she'll make it worse. I stand, my knees wobbling, and shuffle over to her.

She grabs my arm, yanking me closer until I'm standing between her and Duane, the heat of their bodies pressing in on me. On your knees, she says, her voice low and commanding. I drop, the carpet rough against my jeans, my face level with Duane's cross. He's unbuttoning his jeans now, slow and deliberate, and Lena's watching me, her breath quickening. The zipper slides down, and he shoves the jeans and his boxers past his hips in one go. His cock springs free and fuck.

It's even bigger than I remembered. It's thick, veiny, the head fat and glistening with a bead of precum. It's gotta be nine inches, maybe ten, and it's not even fully hard yet. The skin's darker than the rest of him, almost deep purple at the tip. And it's got this weight to it, hanging heavy between his thighs. I can smell him. Must be a good one. Sweat, something raw and primal that makes my head spin.

My mouth waters, and I don't know if it's fear or something else. Lena's hand clamps onto the back of my head, her fingers tangling in my hair. Open your fucking mouth, she hisses, shoving me forward. My lips part, trembling. And then it's there. Duane's cock brushing against them, hot and smooth. I gag just from the contact, my jaw already aching at the thought of taking it. Go on, cook, Duane says, his voice rough with amusement. Show your wife what you're making. I don't have a choice.

Lena pushes harder, and my mouth stretches wide, the head sliding past my lips. It's salty, bitter. The pre comes smearing across my tongue as I try to adjust. My teeth graze him and he grunts, his hand landing on my shoulder, heavy and firm. Watch it, he warns. But there's a laugh in his tone. I suck, tentative at first, my tongue flat against the underside.

It's so fucking big, filling my mouth pressing against the roof, making my jaw scream. Lena's grip tightens, forcing me deeper, and I choke, spit dribbling down my chin. That's it, she says, her voice dripping with glee. Suck that big black cock, Alex. Look at you gagging on it like a little slut. I am I'm gagging, my throat convulsing as she pushes me down until my nose brushes his pubes. Coarse wiry hairs that tickle my face.

The smell's overwhelming now, all musk and man, and I can barely breathe. My eyes water, tears streaking down my cheeks, and I hear the click of her phone as she grabs it off the tripod, zooming in on me. Jesus, look at that, she narrates, her voice breathy. My husband's choking on Duane's dick. You see how deep it's going, girls? He's taking it like a champ. I'm not I'm struggling, my hands braced on Duane's thighs, thick, solid muscle under my palms, as I try to pull back.

But Lena won't let me. Deeper, she demands, and I force myself forward, the head hitting the back of my throat. I gag hard, bile rising, but she just laughs, a sharp, cruel sound that cuts through me. Duane groans, his hips twitching, and I feel him harden more, stretching my mouth even wider. Good boy, he mutters, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, guiding me now. Keep going. I do, bobbing my head, my lips slick with spit, my tongue working the shaft.

It's sloppy, messy, drool dripping onto my shirt, my face a wet red mess. Lena's circling us, filming every angle, the way my throat bulges, the way my eyes roll back when I choke. Fuck, this is hot, she says, and I can hear her fingers sliding into her panties, the wet sound of her touching herself while I suffer.

My dick's throbbing, leaking in my jeans, and I hate how much it turns me on. Her voice, his grunts, the sheer degradation of it. I suck harder, desperate to please her, to hear her moan. Duane's hand tightens, and he starts thrusting, shallow at first, then deeper, fucking my mouth like it's a pussy. I gag with every push, my throat raw, my jaw screaming. But he doesn't stop.

Take it, he growls. And I do, tears streaming, spit pooling on the carpet. Lena lets me go on like that for what feels like hours, my lips numb, my face soaked, my mind a haze of shame and arousal.

Then she yanks me back by the hair, hard enough to make me yelp. My mouth's empty, aching, and I gasp for air, my chest heaving. She's rinning, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild. Good job, baby, she says, then turns to Duane. Fuck him now. I want it hardcore. My stomach lurches. Lena, wait. I start, but she slaps my face. Not hard, just enough to sting, enough to shut me up. Get on the bed, she snaps. Face down, ass up.

Now, I crawl onto the mattress, my hands shaking, my knees sinking into the sheet. She's behind me, tugging my jeans down, my boxers with them, until I'm bare from the waist down. The air's cold against my skin, my ass exposed, my dick hanging hard and dripping between my legs. I feel her hands on me, spreading my cheeks, and I flinch, clenching instinctively. Relax, she says, but it's not a suggestion. It's an order. I hear Duane spit.

A wet glob landing on my hole, and then his fingers are there, rough and thick, smearing it around. I whimper, the sensation foreign, invasive. And Lena laughs again. He's so tight, she says to the camera, zooming in. Wait till you see this. Duane's at my back now, his heat pressing against me, and I feel it, his cock, still slick from my mouth, nudging my asshole. It's too big, too fucking much, and I panic, my hands fisting the sheet.

Please, I beg, my voice breaking. But Lena just grabs my hips, holding me still. Shut up and take it, she says, and then Duane pushes. I scream. The sound muffled by the pillow as my face slams into it. The stretch is brutal, a white hot burn that tears through me, splitting me open. His head pops past the ring, and I feel every inch, thick, relentless, forcing its way in. My ass clenches, trying to push him out, but he's stronger.

His hands gripping my waist as he sinks deeper. Fuck, I sob, my voice raw, my body shaking. God damn he's tight, Duane grunts, pausing halfway, letting me adjust, or trying to. I can't. It's too much. My inside's screaming, my dick softening from the pain. Tighter than me? Lena teases, her voice playful, and I hear the slap of her hand on his ass, urging him on. Hell yeah, he says, and then he thrusts, hard, fast, burying himself to the hilt.

My scream turns into a wail, my ass on fire, my body jolting forward. He doesn't stop, pulling back and slamming in again, setting a rhythm that's punishing, relentless. Each thrust drives the air from my lungs, my insides rearranging around him, the burn morphing into something else. Something deep.

Primal, overwhelming. Lena's filming it all. Her phone inches from my ass, capturing the way he stretches me, the way my hole gapes around him. Look at that, she narrates, her voice trembling with excitement. My husband's getting fucked in the ass by a real man. You see how deep he's going, girls? Listen to him moan. I am moaning. Can't help it. The pain's still there, sharp and searing.

But it's mixing with this fucked-up pleasure, this fullness that hits something inside me I didn't know existed. My dick's hard again, bouncing with every thrust, precome smearing the sheets. Duane's hands dig into my hips, bruising, and his grunts fill the room, low and animalistic. Harder, Lena says, and he obeys, pounding me so fast the bed shakes, the headboard slamming against the wall. My ass slaps against his thighs, the sound wet and obscene, and I feel his balls.

Heavy. Swinging. Smack against mine with every thrust. I'm a mess, sweat dripping down my spine, my face buried in the pillow, drooling and crying and moaning all at once. Lena reaches under me, her fingers wrapping around my cock, stroking me rough and fast. You like this, don't you? she whispers, her breath hot against my ear, getting fucked like a bitch while I watch.

Yes, I gasp, the word torn out of me, and she laughs, jerking me harder. I'm close, so fucking close, my balls tightening. But she pulls back, leaving me dangling on the edge. Don't you dare come yet, she warned. This is for them, not you. Duane's relentless, his cock slamming into me, stretching me beyond reason. I feel every vein, every pulse.

The way he throbs inside me, owning me. My ass is raw, my hole gaping, and I can't think, can't do anything but take it, my body rocking with the force of him. Lena's everywhere, filming my face, my ass, the sweat soaked sheets, narrating it all in that breathy, gleeful voice. Fuck, he's good at this, she says, and Duane chuckles, his rhythm faltering for a second. Gonna come soon, he warns, his voice tight, and she claps her hands delighted. Do it, she says. Fill him up. He does.

A few more brutal thrusts, each one deeper than the last, and then he groans: loud, guttural, primal, and I feel it. Hot, thick, flooding me, his cum pumping into my ass in spurts that seem endless. My insides clench around him, milking him, and he shudders, his hips grinding against me as he empties himself. When he pulls out, slow and deliberate, I feel the gape, my hole wide open, dripping, the wet slide of his cum trickling down my thighs.

I collapse, my chest heaving, my ass throbbing, my mind blank. Duane flops onto the bed beside me, his breath ragged, his cock softening but still huge against his thigh. Lena stops recording, her face flushed, her eyes glowing with triumph. God damn, Alex, she says, leaning over to kiss Duane, her tongue sliding into his mouth. You're a fucking star.

I don't move, can't move. My body's wrecked, my ass a pulsing, aching mess, my dick still hard and unsatisfied, my face wet with tears and spit. She doesn't even look at me as she grabs her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. I hear the whoosh of the video sending, and my stomach twitch. It's out there now. Her friends, those women I've met at parties, the ones who smirk and whisper. They're gonna see me like this.

Sucking cock, getting fucked, moaning like a whore. They'll watch it, laugh, maybe touch themselves to it, and I'll never live it down. She curls up next to me later after Duane's gone, her body warm and soft against mine. You did good, baby, she murmurs, patting my cheek like I'm a dog who fetched a stick. But I can't sleep. My ass hurts, a dull, deep ache that won't quit, and my mind's replaying it all. The red light, Duane's weight, Lena's voice.

It's burned into me that night. A film I can't unsee, a role I can't unplay, and the worst part? I'm still hers. Still her cuck, her bitch, her toy. Always will be. This was part one of Alex's report. I'm absolutely sure you want to hear the rest of his story, don't you? So stay tuned for part two. That's it. and advice. Hotwifeworld.