The Interview
I 'd kept his card in my purse for weeks. I'd held the fantasy in my mind much longer.
Max Hatfield
Hotwife Coach
Discretion Guaranteed
Gold on black. An air of sophistication and yet unashamedly sleezy at the same time.
It was an unusual thing for a husband to present to his wife, and Ken had been nervous when he’d first raised the idea. Playing with hotwife and cuckold fantasies wasn’t new to us; it was something we both enjoyed talking about, and he loved being teased at the thought of another man taking me in a way he’d never done himself. But actually putting it into reality wasn’t something I’d really contemplated until that moment.
I’d played the idea over and over. Calling the guy. Asking for coaching. What would he be like? A chancer, probably. Probably just out for a cheap thrill. And yet I knew that if I really was ever going to move this into a reality, I’d need some serious help.
My recent birthday had been a milestone for me in all sorts of ways. I’d heard of other women feeling a reawakening of their sexuality at around that time, and I knew I was experiencing something similar. I also knew that if I was going to embrace it, Ken wouldn’t ever be able to satisfy the kind of cravings I was finding myself having.
I resolved to call. After another weekend of attempting to entice Ken into being the kind of man who’d just take what was his. Or at least play the part convincingly. But he just couldn’t do it. He was far more interested in submitting. I sometimes wondered whether he suppressed any hint of control just so that I’d need to look elsewhere.
It couldn’t hurt, could it? Just to find out a little more and perhaps start to explore things properly?
His secretary answered the phone. I hadn’t expected a woman. Did that make it worse? Another woman knowing my secret?
I’d hoped that it would be a direct line.
Mr Hatfield, I later realised, rarely took calls himself.
“Could you attend an interview this afternoon? Shall we say around two?”
I agreed. I had the day free and it had taken so much to get to this point. I had to see this through.
“Mr Hatfield prefers clients to attend interview smart casual. Be yourself. He likes to see what he has to work with from the beginning.”
She asked my first name. Nothing else. Gave me details of an office building on the edge of town.
“We’ll see you at two, Emma. You have a great morning.”
The wish for a great morning was misplaced. I was incredibly nervous. Even just having to discuss this stuff with a stranger filled me with dread and embarrassment. I convinced myself to cancel. Then changed my mind. Then went through the every possible hesitation to try to make myself steer clear. To leave it all in the confines of our marital bed. Just a fantasy.
But I couldn’t resist. I’d made the call, and now I was determined to go through with it.
I wanted to make sure I presented well. No idea really what ‘smart casual’ meant in this sort of world. The world that Max Hatfield had already begun to create in my mind. A world of gold on black. Sophistication and sleeze.
I chose simple underwear. Nothing too spectacular, but not everyday either. He wouldn’t see it, of course, but it felt right to be dressed appropriately. Or as appropriately as I could imagine a hotwife dressing.
By lunchtime, my nerves had given way to arousal. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t think properly. Images of sexually confident women were washing through my mind. I knew that’s what I’d have to be to really embrace the whole thing, but it seemed such a distant illusion.
Ken was all I’d known sexually, aside from a few unmemorable experiences before we’d even met. I wasn’t even sure that other men might ever find me attractive. What I’d need to do to make myself more attractive. I needed to place myself in the hands of an expert.
Max Hatfield’s secretary met me as the lift arrived at the sixth floor.
Daisy was a
I 'd kept his card in my purse for weeks. I'd held the fantasy in my mind much longer.
Max Hatfield
Hotwife Coach
Discretion Guaranteed
Gold on black. An air of sophistication and yet unashamedly sleezy at the same time.
It was an unusual thing for a husband to present to his wife, and Ken had been nervous when he’d first raised the idea. Playing with hotwife and cuckold fantasies wasn’t new to us; it was something we both enjoyed talking about, and he loved being teased at the thought of another man taking me in a way he’d never done himself. But actually putting it into reality wasn’t something I’d really contemplated until that moment.
I’d played the idea over and over. Calling the guy. Asking for coaching. What would he be like? A chancer, probably. Probably just out for a cheap thrill. And yet I knew that if I really was ever going to move this into a reality, I’d need some serious help.
My recent birthday had been a milestone for me in all sorts of ways. I’d heard of other women feeling a reawakening of their sexuality at around that time, and I knew I was experiencing something similar. I also knew that if I was going to embrace it, Ken wouldn’t ever be able to satisfy the kind of cravings I was finding myself having.
I resolved to call. After another weekend of attempting to entice Ken into being the kind of man who’d just take what was his. Or at least play the part convincingly. But he just couldn’t do it. He was far more interested in submitting. I sometimes wondered whether he suppressed any hint of control just so that I’d need to look elsewhere.
It couldn’t hurt, could it? Just to find out a little more and perhaps start to explore things properly?
His secretary answered the phone. I hadn’t expected a woman. Did that make it worse? Another woman knowing my secret?
I’d hoped that it would be a direct line.
Mr Hatfield, I later realised, rarely took calls himself.
“Could you attend an interview this afternoon? Shall we say around two?”
I agreed. I had the day free and it had taken so much to get to this point. I had to see this through.
“Mr Hatfield prefers clients to attend interview smart casual. Be yourself. He likes to see what he has to work with from the beginning.”
She asked my first name. Nothing else. Gave me details of an office building on the edge of town.
“We’ll see you at two, Emma. You have a great morning.”
The wish for a great morning was misplaced. I was incredibly nervous. Even just having to discuss this stuff with a stranger filled me with dread and embarrassment. I convinced myself to cancel. Then changed my mind. Then went through the every possible hesitation to try to make myself steer clear. To leave it all in the confines of our marital bed. Just a fantasy.
But I couldn’t resist. I’d made the call, and now I was determined to go through with it.
I wanted to make sure I presented well. No idea really what ‘smart casual’ meant in this sort of world. The world that Max Hatfield had already begun to create in my mind. A world of gold on black. Sophistication and sleeze.
I chose simple underwear. Nothing too spectacular, but not everyday either. He wouldn’t see it, of course, but it felt right to be dressed appropriately. Or as appropriately as I could imagine a hotwife dressing.
By lunchtime, my nerves had given way to arousal. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t think properly. Images of sexually confident women were washing through my mind. I knew that’s what I’d have to be to really embrace the whole thing, but it seemed such a distant illusion.
Ken was all I’d known sexually, aside from a few unmemorable experiences before we’d even met. I wasn’t even sure that other men might ever find me attractive. What I’d need to do to make myself more attractive. I needed to place myself in the hands of an expert.
Max Hatfield’s secretary met me as the lift arrived at the sixth floor.
Daisy was a
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