Look into my eyes. Lots of men have whilst they have pumped my married pussy full of their cum. They see the lust in me for cock and it makes their balls burst with raw power. For a moment they believe that they have taken me, owned me, dominated me. The easy way in which I spread my legs and pulled them in, the moans and screams that escaped my lips with each thrust of their thick cock, the passionate kisses that we shared as I squeezed my pussy around their shaft, it all convinces them that they have consumed me. I see the Alpha-mood pass behind their eyes as their cum floods me and they stare into the fathomless pool of my long-lashed eyes.
But soon, a different emotion appears in their eyes. Wonder? Intimidation? Incredulity? Whatever it is, I know what causes it: they see that my eyes are still lusting, that I am not satisfied yet, that this huge orgasm, just one of many that they have given me, was not enough. I want more. For the first time they understand what it is to be with a woman that is truly insatiable, who really can’t get enough cock. And if they are honest with themselves, it is overwhelming. I am truly an insatiable hotwife.
I am not bragging: I didn’t do anything to hone this skill particularly (although my husband did seduce me into discovering this central tenet of who I am, and empowered me to realize my true potential as an insatiable lover. But even then, I let him do all the hard work). No, I am simply made this way and all I did was become sufficiently self aware to let this inner me have free reign.
Men believe that they want to find an insatiable woman, most probably because they love to think that they will be ‘The One That Satisfies Her’. But they can’t. Men and women aren’t built the same way, and I guarantee I can cum many, many more times than you. Bigger, wetter, longer, faster, slower, harder. My orgasms will be your reward for your amazing fuck, but my insatiability will be a challenge that conquers you. That is what all my lovers feel. That sense of overwhelming awe as they realize what it means to meet a truly insatiable woman.
And that is what my husband lives with. Not only does he see it in my eyes too, (alongside my adoration, love and gratitude to him for all that he is to me), but he also sees it when he watches me fuck others.
Just imagine the torture of his journey for a moment. He sees my lust, experiences that he cannot fully satisfy it and so watches me search for other men to fuck, spreading for them, pulling them in. Then, if that pain wasn’t enough he sees that this new man, who may have fucked me for three hours, hearing dozens of my orgasms, seeing the sheets ruined, the floor splashed with my squirting juices and the inescapable smell of wild sex permeate the air, even then, my husband sees that this new man cannot satisfy me completely either.
Whilst the lover is overwhelmed at the fathomless depths of my sexual appetite, as just a fleeting lover he only sees it from his perspective, from his own novel experience that he was not enough, that he has finally met a woman that needs more than he can give. My husband however, has much more than a feeling of being overwhelmed: he has the feeling of precipice, of falling into the abyss. A whole new horizon is dawning in his world, one in which he realizes that no man will be enough, that he is doomed to see me fucking one man after another after another as my insatiability runs wild. He can’t say, ‘That is enough darling, let it just be us now.’ The glimpse of future pain in his eyes is limitless.
And that is the twist, for that is my art: The Art of Betrayal. Yes, each lover is taken on a journey of feeling overwhelmed by my sexual hunger, but that is just a small lesson in lust for them, a gentle smack across their toned muscles. I save my most artful beguilement for my husband, because he deserves my masterful artistry. For him, I let my insatiability be a slow reveal, a tortuously slow revelation that here will be no end to this need of mine for bigger and better cocks. There will be no let up in the sights and sounds that keep him awake at night, long after the rush of oxytocin ensured his arousal overcame his jealousy. He will be left with the certainty that this betrayal of my union with him will be followed by limitless others, that this magnificent cock will be followed by many that are even better, all of them thicker, harder and more satisfying than his. But never satisfying enough.
And that delicious dawning in my husband’s mind is the Art of Betrayal. My art, the hotwife’s art.