Monday Morning Hotwife Part 4

Can Mitchell get Crystal and Jonathan to understand his passion for them despite how he's been burned in the past?

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Any references to any person living or deceased or any real location is purely coincidental and a work of the author’s imagination.

Click here for Monday Morning Hotwife Part 1 | Part 2 | Interlude | Part 3

Hotwife | Cuckold | Bull

Mitchell Abadosian fastened his cuff links, combed his wavy black hair, and thought through the intense messages he had received from Crystal and Jonathan. Their pleadings were strengthening his resolve to finally use Crystal.

He thought back to his first visit in her house.

The easiest thing in the world on that Monday morning would have been for him to spank her, tug on her hair, have her undress him and lay her out on her back or on her hands and knees and go full force into her. He could have had Crystal any way he wanted and fulfilled a couple’s hotwife fantasy.

His reflection in the mirror made him glad he didn’t do much of anything, except test her in a physically gentle way.

Maple Grove was supposed to be a new start, a way to erase the memories of what had happened in Chicago.

Relationships were like a mine field for the successful entrepreneur who had tried marriage just over a decade earlier out of graduate school—it didn’t work—and he had decided to step carefully.

No. Memories are never fully erased, especially for something as dreadful as what had happened that had cost him the election.

Mitchell’s Downfall

With his international renown as an architect and urban planner, he saw an opening to run for mayor and fight for changes in city hall. Supporters from all over the city urged him to since the term was expiring for the sitting mayor.

For a full year, speculation built and Mitchell stepped forward as a candidate.

If he had a weakness, it was being too trusting.

A woman named Karolyn stepped into his life, he had met her at a trade show and she had a way with her smile, her walk, and her questions. She was from Michigan, she said, and was developing a cosmetics line and had proof of concept and asked Mitchell for business advice.

And he discovered that she knew how to kiss and how to purr like a kitten and looked great in slinky black dresses with openings up the thigh.

He tried hiding what was inside but eventually he couldn’t and took her to his bed, undressing her, laying her out over his knee, moving a hand beneath her dress and spanking her. Once. Twice with the slaps echoing off the walls.

“Fuck, yeah,” she moaned. “Harder, please.”

Mitchell obliged with more spanks turning her ass red and his cock stiffened. Karolyn took him in her mouth, sucking and licking and a bond developed when she kissed down his legs and knelt naked, looking up at him with soft eyes and calling him, “Sir.”

She had spoken to his core and who he was.

“Whip me, finger me, make me yours.”

He loved wrapping his fingers in her hair and pulling his mouth close to hers, grinding his lips on hers and every time he did so he began thinking of how wonderful it would be to eventually collar her and marry her.

The relationship endured and he spent as much time thinking about Karolyn as he did the details of a campaign and fighting his opponent. He found it safe to open up to her about his deepest desires and his thrill at connecting with a like-minded woman and dominating her. To hold her, catch her scent, and caress her body like he was playing a finely crafted instrument.

Domination was his way of exploring a lover’s soul and struggling to understand his own.

She had cooed and moaned when he had her stretched over the padded bondage bed, tied spread-eagle while fondling her, kissing her, and expertly whipping her body and teasing her pussy, focusing on her clitoris and taking her into subspace with a body-rocking orgasm.

He had fallen in love and knew that she was his.

Until he heard her on a morning radio talk show.

She said she had suffered humiliation. “Mitchell Abadosian is a predator and should never be anywhere near city hall.”

Nothing travels faster than scandalous news—not even the most high-powered rockets blasting off for Mars. Nothing.

In moments, his campaign manager called. “What the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know.”

“You never said that you had a perverted sex life. I’m resigning.”

When the campaign manager who has connections to the biggest donor quickly leaves then the other staffers are quick to scatter and the dominoes fall. The campaign has to shut down.

His sex life was supposed to be … his, and the person he chose to open up with about his desires. Bondage and discipline wasn’t just a kink. He saw it as a theatrical expression and treated it with reverence like an art form.

Within the hour, the news that he had been inappropriate was covered in the Tribune, on TV, and on blog posts around the city. Jokes on social media turned cruel.

Private investigations and clandestine interviews showed that Karolyn had been indirectly funded by the supporters of his opponent. But it no longer mattered.

Mitchell had gone from a skilled Dom who studied his craft and kept it within a close circle of friends to being ousted and humiliated in one of the largest media markets in the United States.

How many people, he wondered, fantasized about sex—wild sex—and yet when they discovered someone who actually had a robust and creative sex life they mocked that person and tore them down.

He had been torn down and cancelled.

Mitchell’s Exile

Maple Grove was supposed to be his refuge and he spent months recuperating in what he called a Big Little City, designing an addition to the library and working with the city manager to plan a new residential community and downtown walking area.