Look at my breasts. They are the best breasts my husband has ever felt (and he has felt a lot). They are the best that all my lovers have felt (and they have felt a lot too, so we must be in a sample of thousands by now). They are the best you will ever have, if you are prepared to make the effort to get your hands on them. They are not the only reason, but they are a major reason, why my husband puts me ‘first’.
Every stunningly great marriage is predicated on putting your partner ‘first’. Foregoing some specific hope or interest of your own in order to fulfill a competing, clashing interest or diary date that your partner prefers. You put them first and they know that they are adored above all others and above all else. It is the manifestation of your devotion and worship of your partner. That is my marriage to the man that I love.
Of course, there is trouble in paradise, and you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out the problem. Two people, putting the other one first? That Math just doesn’t compute. Someone has to be second. Someone has to let the other one continue to put them first, whilst in return not extending the same courtesy, but instead putting the other one second, and their own needs first.
Welcome to the hotwife lifestyle.
Welcome also however to the definition of abuse of privilege. Or abuse, period! A relationship where it is sewn into the fabric of the relational dynamic that one person’s needs are more important than the other’s, is a relationship open to abuse.
So am I abusive to my husband, because I seek to put my own needs first? My need for attention from other men, my need to feel other cocks harden as I dance, suck, fuck with them? My need to be taken in front of him, with the safety of his protection and the delight of seeing how much he is amazed at the way they are fucking me? Is that abusive? I don’t want to think it is, but I know that it could be.
I justify it by telling myself that he wants this. He wants to feel the ‘Drop’ (see my previous post on ‘The Drop for Him’). He is turned on by seeing my insatiability and the pain of knowing I will never stop wanting more cocks, more lovers. He is excited by the unpredictability of my behavior as a hotwife. But many abusers talk about how their victims ‘wanted it’, or ‘were asking for it’, or ‘liked it’. Does that mean that I am kidding myself, that this behavior of being a hotwife, of serving my own self indulgence for attention and cocks, is really taking a huge advantage of his affable or compliant nature?
No. I am not abusive. Being a hotwife is my choice. Sharing a hotwife is his choice. Let me be clear: I decide if I am going to fuck other men, flirt with them, be felt, dance, go on vacations, whatever it is I want. I decide. He has no choice in that either way, to do or not to do, it is my pussy, my libido and my life. Nothing he can say will stop me. I want cocks and so, I have them. I put me first, I put my self indulgence ahead of his interests, I put my desires ahead of his pain. I put him second, every time.
However, it is his choice whether to share me. I am married to him, I am committed to him, I love him and adore him. He is my world. He has taught me to be open, to talk without fear of recrimination, to express my inner most desires and thoughts, no matter how shocking I fear they may be to him, and to hold to my opinions no matter how difficult and challenging he finds them. We have spoken for thousands of hours about our lifestyle choices and have nurtured a relationship where we are safe and united. And within that, he chose to share me. Not instantly, not consistently (he never wants to share me when he has just cum), but unwaveringly he has chosen to let me have whatever I want to have. And I want to have attention from other men, to be pursued by other men and to be taken by other men. So, my husband chose, in full knowledge to let me have that.
‘What kind of choice did he really have,’ I hear you ask, ‘if he knew that that was what you wanted?’. Well, every choice. You see, we didn’t need to put me first. We could have worked out some sort of equitable relationship of alternating priorities: my turn now your turn next time. A sort of ping pong relationship where we each had a go being first. Or where my being first this time meant that I owe you being first next time.
So many relationships are like this, including former ones of my own. And they leave both people potentially unhappy, or at least both people only partially satisfied. So we decided not to do this. We discussed, for quite some time, how to avoid this sort of transactional, you scratch my back, kind of relationship. We decided to take the plunge together in putting just one person’s interests first. Mine, the hotwife.
This was no flippant decision, and we didn’t take it likely. It took us a year of discussion to reach this philosophical standpoint, and we talk a lot. The import of our choice, his and mine, was overwhelming. We decided to put my interests first in every matter and at all times. No matter how it felt to him at first sight, he would work to ensure that my desires were never stalled, that I was never made to feel apologetic or defensive about what I was planning or had done. If ever I wavered in my self indulgence he would quickly move to firm up my resolve and continue to elevate my own desires above his. If ever his own needs or desires were out of sync with my own, for instance if he was aching to watch me fuck, but I didn’t want to, or I didn’t want him to watch, he would work on his own mindset and feelings to ensure that he realigned himself with my needs. He put me first without fail and I put him second without fail also.
We could have done it the other way around. He could have chosen to put his own needs first, we could have chosen to share priorities. But he chose to put me first and I chose to let him. And now I am who I truly am: his hotwife, an insatiable, worshipped, self indulgent, promiscuous woman.
He puts me first, I fuck him second.