Three months behind on rent, Kayleigh strikes a filthy deal with her much older landlord. Explicit taboo age-gap erotica from the Taboo Tale
Sheโs three months behind on rent. Heโs old enough to be her grandad. Heโs got a very specific idea about how she can pay what she owes.
Kayleighโs three months behind on rent, and her landlord isnโt the type to let it slide. Frankโs sixty-one, owns the whole crumbling terrace she lives in, and heโs noticed something about her that has nothing to do with the arrears spreadsheet in his little notebook. She had a baby ten weeks ago. Her body never got the memo that itโs over. Sheโs leaking through her top before sheโs even opened the door to him.
This isย Landlordโs Milk Money, Book 17 in theย Taboo Talesย series, and itโs exactly the kind of unapologetic age-gap, lactation-kink, hardcore taboo erotica readers come to Lily Corbett for. If youโre searching for filthy landlord tenant erotica, older man younger woman age gap fiction, or explicit MILF milking fetish stories, this novella was built for you.
Frank doesnโt seduce Kayleigh. He doesnโt need to. He states plainly what he wants, offers to wipe two months off her debt if she lets him deal with her โproperly,โ and waits, calm as anything, for her to say yes. She always says yes. Thatโs the engine of this entire story: a man old enough to be her grandad who never once has to ask twice, and a twenty-three-year-old who thought sheโd seen and done it all until his mouth was on her.
What starts as a transactional arrangement to clear rent arrears collapses within one session into something neither of them is pretending is about money any more. Frank brings his own rubber sheet the second time. That single detail tells you everything about how carefully heโs been planning this.
Across seven escalating chapters, the arrangement gets filthier every single Tuesday. Milking. Mouth-to-mouth feeding. Anal play building to full penetration. A walk through the shared hallway soaked and marked, daring the neighbours to notice. Breeding talk that tips fantasy and degradation into the same breathless sentence. Every chapter pushes further than the last, because Kayleighโs never resistant and Frankโs never hesitant.
This is hardcore, explicit, cum-heavy erotica written specifically for readers who want the taboo of age-gap and lactation content delivered without apology, without a romance arc, and without a single moment of guilt slowing things down. Kayleigh isnโt a victim here. Sheโs an eager, filthy participant discovering a kink she didnโt know she had, and she never once looks back.
A husband shares his wife's OnlyFans obsession with a hotwife creator, only to lose her to the bull in the video. Explicit British cuckold e
He handed her the laptop. She fell in love with a bigger man on the screenโฆ and then found him in real life.
I made the biggest mistake of my marriage on a Friday night in June, sat right here on our sofa in Kentish Town, laptop balanced on my knees like it was nothing. I want to tell you it was an accident. It wasnโt. Iโd been subscribed to Erin Mooreโs OnlyFans for eight months by that point, quietly, secretly, tipping her, messaging her, wanking to the same video more times than Iโll ever admit out loud. I told myself I was just showing my wife something fun for our regular porn night. I was lying to both of us.
Holly and I had been married ten years. Comfortable, loving, and โ if Iโm honest โ a bit stuck in a rut that neither of us had the courage to name. Our Friday nights had become a routine of free Pornhub clips and predictable sex. I thought Erinโs page would be a bit of harmless excitement. A cheeky spice-up. I did not think my wife would watch this stunning British hotwife take a cock twice my size and look at the screen like sheโd just remembered something about herself sheโd forgotten years ago.
The video that changed everything featured Erin with a man called JK. Big, confident, absolutely built different. Holly went quiet beside me, then said the four words that ended my old life: โI know him. School.โ
That was it. That was the domino. A quiet, awkward boy from Hollyโs secondary school had grown into exactly the kind of man neither of us could look away from. And the worst part โ the part I couldnโt admit to myself for weeks โ was how hard I was watching her watch him.
What followed wasnโt a slow decline. It was a landslide. Holly messaged him. He remembered her (he didnโt, not really, but heโs good at his job). Texts became flirting became a Friday night visit to our flat became something I can only describe as watching my wife discover an entire sexual self sheโd been quietly starving for the better part of a decade.
I wonโt pretend I handled it well at first. Jealousy and arousal feel almost identical when youโre sat in a chair by the wardrobe watching another manโs hands on your wifeโs body. What I discovered, slowly and then all at once, is that I wasnโt a victim of any of this. I was the architect. I built the pyre. I struck the match. And somewhere in the smoke, I found out exactly what kind of husband I actually wanted to be.
This is a story about size, about confidence, about a Black bull with a body and a cock that made comparison not just inevitable but devastating. Itโs about a wife who stopped apologising for wanting more and became genuinely, joyfully herself. And itโs about a husband who discovered that being peripheral, being the one who watches and serves and thanks her afterwards, isnโt humiliation at all. Itโs purpose.
By the end, Erin Moore โ the woman who started this whole thing without ever knowing she had โ comes full circle in a way I never could have scripted. My private obsession and my actual marriage collided live, on screen, in front of hundreds of strangers, and I have never in my life been so hard, so happy, or so completely certain I was exactly where I belonged.
If youโre the kind of reader who understands why a husband might want this โ might need this โ then Cucked by Obsession is written for you. Set in the real streets of Kentish Town, grounded in a real British hotwife creator, this is hardcore cuckold erotica that doesnโt flinch, doesnโt apologise, and doesnโt pretend thereโs anything wrong with wanting exactly what Holly and I found.
Book 16 in the Cuckold Tales series, from British erotica author Chris P. Rider. Some marriages donโt survive obsession. Ours was built by it.
โCuckold Talesโ book 16 โ another stand-alone novella full of explicit, dark cuckold erotica, by #1 best-selling erotica author, Chris P Rider.
Tony's anniversary dinner was meant to save his marriage. Instead, his wife discovered what her body neededโwhilst he waited home alone, har
Tony Marsh thought flowers and a nice restaurant could save his marriage. He was catastrophically wrong.
Book 16 in the Cuckold Tales seriesย brings you a darkly psychological journey through one North London coupleโs brutal awakening. Over the course of one Friday night and Saturday morning, Tony discovers exactly what kind of husband he actually is โ and learns that keeping his wife means accepting a role he never imagined for himself.
The Setup:ย Five years married. Sexless for months. Geri going through the motions whilst Tony desperately tries to fix whatโs broken. Their anniversary dinner at a Kentish Town restaurant should have been the reset. Instead, itโs where Ash Okafor โ confident, imposing, built like the alpha Tony will never be โ hands Geri his business card whilst her husband watches helplessly from across the table.
The Unraveling:ย One drink becomes two. The bar becomes a dancefloor. Tony watches from the edge whilst Ashโs hands claim his wifeโs body in ways Tony hasnโt been allowed to touch her in months. When Geri tells him to go home โ gently, almost kindly โ Tony obeys like the beta heโs finally being forced to recognise himself as. Then comes the wait: three hours alone in their Fortress Road flat, hard and horrified and unable to stop imagining exactly whatโs happening at Ashโs Gospel Oak apartment.
The Reckoning:ย At 3am, Geri comes home marked, used, and satisfied. The love bites on her neck. The bruises on her thighs. The smell of another manโs sweat and cum clinging to her skin. She climbs into their bed without showering, and Tony โ still awake, still hard โ says nothing. Because what could he possibly say that his body isnโt already screaming?
The Confession:ย Saturday morning. Coffee at their kitchen table. Geri tells him everything: Ashโs eight-and-a-half-inch cock compared to Tonyโs five. The forty minutes of fucking compared to Tonyโs two-minute finishes. How she came, really came, not faked, three times in four hours. How sheโs been faking orgasms with Tony for their entire marriage. How sheโs seeing Ash again tomorrow. How this is what their marriage looks like now.
The Humiliation:ย Tony listens to every word whilst getting harder than heโs been in years. When Geri tells him to show he โ โto prove what hearing about another manโs cock inside his wife does to him โ he obeys. Thirty seconds of desperate pumping at the kitchen table. Pathetic and honest and exactly what his body needed. The comparison is devastating: Ash lasted forty minutes; Tony couldnโt last a minute listening to the story.
The Acceptance:ย This isnโt a tale of redemption or reclaiming. Tony doesnโt โwin her back.โ He accepts his new role: the husband who runs the bath after sheโs been fucked by better men. Who washes away the physical evidence whilst getting hard from the smell. Who makes the coffee the next morning and listens to her arrange the next encounter. Who stays because being her cuckold is better than losing her entirely.
Lily corrupts her neighbour's nineteen-year-old son over Easter weekend. Explicit, funny, shameless British confession erotica by Lily Corbe
What happens when you agree to look after your neighbourโs teenage son for the Easter weekend? If youโre me, Lily Corbett, you end up spending three days teaching him everything his awkward fumbles at university never did. This is the filthiest, funniest, most shameless confession Iโve written yet. And yes, every detail is staying in.
Iโm twenty-four. Iโve fucked my way across four continents. Iโve done things in Marrakech, Sydney, Berlin, and Los Angeles that would make your toes curl and your conscience question itself. I thought Iโd exhausted the list of things that could surprise me. Then Felicity Thomas from Flat 14C asked me to keep an eye on her nineteen-year-old son Oliver whilst she visited her sister in Bristol over Easter weekend, and I discovered I had one more trick left to learn: I could be someoneโs sexual awakening. I could be his Morocco.
Saturday morning, 11am. I go upstairs with coffee. Oliver opens the door looking like he wishes the floor would swallow him. I smell cum before I see the evidence. Fresh. Unmistakable. His laptopโs open on older-woman porn, the tissues are still warm, and heโs standing there in his joggers with his mortification written all over his face. Most people wouldโve backed out of the room. I sat on the bed and asked him to show me what heโd been watching. And when Iโd watched enough to understand exactly what he wanted, I told him Iโd teach him properly. If he wanted.
He wanted.
What followed was three days of explicit, patient, step-by-step instruction in how to actually fuck someone whoโs genuinely aroused rather than performing for a camera. I taught him to kiss without rushing. To touch without grabbing. To go down on a woman and actually pay attention to what her bodyโs telling him instead of copying what the algorithm says works. He made me come twice in the first lesson. By Sunday he was making me squirt, and his reactionโpure fascination, genuine enthusiasm, zero performanceโwas so rare Iโm still thinking about it two years later.
We covered everything. Oral both ways. Riding him until he learned what real arousal feels like. Teaching him to fuck me properly: harder, deeper, longer, with his whole attention on my face and my sounds rather than some imaginary highlight reel in his head. I introduced breeding talk (Iโm on the pill, itโs pure fantasy, but Christ it works on nineteen-year-old boys). I taught him analโslow, patient, properly prepared, the way I wish someone had taught me at his age instead of just pinning me down and going for it. By Monday morning heโd gone from a boy who thought porn was a training manual to a man who understood that listening is the entire skill.
The phone call scene alone is worth the price of admission. Saturday afternoon, Felicity rings to check in. I answer. Oliver reads the situation, positions himself between my legs, and eats me out whilst I conduct a perfectly pleasant conversation with his mother about whether heโs eating properly and getting enough fresh air. I tell her heโs just finishing his lunch. He is. I come approximately four seconds after I hang up, screaming into my palm, and we both dissolve into hysterical laughter at the sheer audacity of it. Then we fuck urgently on my bed, still laughing, and itโs one of the best moments of the entire weekend.
Monday morning, April Foolโs Day, Felicity comes home refreshed and delighted. She thanks me for looking after her son, calls me โsuch a good girl,โ tells me he seems so much more settled and confident. She has no idea why. She gives me a large Cadbury Easter egg as thanks. I accept it with a straight face, hug her, wave them both off, close my door, and laugh until I canโt breathe. The universe handed me the perfect punchline and Iโm still dining out on it two years later.
This book is explicit. It is unapologetically filthy. It is also funny, warm, and surprisingly tender in places I didnโt expect. Oliver wasnโt a conquest. He was a student, and I was a teacher, and what I taught him will serve him well for the rest of his life. I gave him what someone gave me in Morocco when I was nineteen: the understanding that sex can be extraordinary when both people are actually present. Iโm proud of that. Iโd do it again. I have zero regrets.
If youโre here for the wank material, it delivers. Forty thousand words of detailed, explicit, instructional sex across a long weekend. Oral, vaginal, anal, squirting, creampies, the works. If youโre here for the comedy, the phone call scene and the Easter egg payoff will not disappoint. If youโre here because you like my voiceโNorthern, shameless, self-aware, dirty as hellโyou already know what youโre getting.
This is Lilyโs Easter Lesson. I corrupted my neighbourโs son whilst his mum thought I was feeding him pasta. It was the best teaching Iโve ever done. Welcome to the weekend that proved Iโm absolutely going to hell, and Iโm completely fine with that.
A young London wife's pity for a lonely neighbour spirals into an hot affair, awakening her husband's voyeuristic desires in this explicit c
When your older neighbour stops being a guest in your homeโฆ and starts acting like he owns it โ and your wife.
I should have stopped it the first time I smelt his tobacco in my flat. Bob Bowen, our fifty-nine-year-old neighbour, sitting in my armchair like he owned the place, chatting up my wife while I stood there like a spare part. But I didnโt stop it. I told myself Tracy was just being kind to a lonely old widower. Thatโs what good people do, isnโt it? They show a bit of compassion. Except Bob wasnโt looking for compassion. He was looking for an opening. And I gave him one.
Tracy started working from home. Suddenly, Bob was always there. Fixing our dripping tap. Bringing round fish and chips. Telling dirty stories that made my wife blush and giggle in a way she hadnโt done for me in years. I watched him look at her arse in those jeans. I watched him touch her, just a hand on her back, her arm, her knee. Small things. Boundary tests. And every single time, I said nothing. I sat there, paralysed, my stomach in knots, my cock getting harder with every passing second.
The first time I caught them, I wasnโt supposed to be home. I came back early and heard them in the bedroom. I should have kicked the door in. Dragged him out by his collar. Reclaimed my wife, my home, my bloody manhood. But I didnโt. I stood outside that door, my ear pressed to the wood, listening to Tracy moan for another man. Listening to her beg him for more. Listening to the wet, obscene sounds of her submission. And I pulled my cock out and wanked myself stupid in my own hallway.
Bobโs got eight inches and the confidence of a man whoโs been breaking in tight young wives for decades. Iโve got three inches and the self-esteem of a wet flannel. The first time I saw it, saw him make Tracy kneel in front of me and suck it, I wanted to die from the shame. But I couldnโt look away. She worshipped that thing. Took it deeper than I thought possible. Swallowed every thick rope of his cum and then opened her mouth to show him it was gone. She never did that for me. Not once in four years of marriage.
He fucked her on our sofa. In our bed. Bent her over the kitchen table while I was told to make them tea. He called her his slut, his good girl, his property, and she loved every second of it. She screamed his name so loud the whole building must have heard. And me? I was given a chair at the foot of the bed and told to sit there and watch like a good little cuck. Bob made sure I saw everything. Every thrust. Every time her pussy stretched around him. Every time she came harder than she ever had with me.
But hereโs the sick, twisted truth I canโt escape: I needed it. Watching Bob own my wife unlocked something in me I didnโt know existed. Every act of humiliation, every cruel word, every time he made me acknowledge my inadequacy, it didnโt break me. It freed me. I wasnโt failing at being a man anymore, because Iโd stopped trying. My role wasnโt to compete. It was to serve. To watch. To clean up the aftermath.
Yes, you read that right. Bob decided I wasnโt allowed to fuck my own wife anymore. My cock was too small, too useless. But my tongue? That still had a purpose. After Bob finished inside her, Tracy would spread her legs and call me over. And I would crawl to her, get on my knees, and lick every drop of another manโs cum out of my wifeโs holes. Iโd taste him on her lips when she kissed me afterwards. Iโd smell him on the sheets, in her hair, on her skin. Bob didnโt just take my wife. He made her his, and he made me the cleaner.
The night he made me pay for their date, I handed over a hundred quid Iโd been saving for Tracyโs birthday. He took her to a restaurant, felt her up in a pub where my work mates drink, and then fucked her in a taxi on the way home. She told me all of this while Bob pounded her on our living room floor, right in front of me. And I came in my pants without even touching myself.
Our life isnโt normal anymore. Bob has a key to the flat. He comes and goes as he pleases. He brings mates round sometimes. Tracy services them all while I sit in the corner, rock hard and leaking, utterly powerless. My colleagues at work know. Tracyโs best friend, Mandy, knows. She even tried to fuck me once, but got a better offer from Bob mid-seduction and left me hanging. Literally. Everyone knows Iโm a pathetic cuckold whose wife is owned by a sixty-year-old ex-train driver with a cock like a fucking rolling pin.
And the maddest part? I wouldnโt change a thing. This is who I am. This is who we are. Tracyโs happier than sheโs ever been. Bobโs living his golden years like a king. And me? Iโve found my place. On my knees, in the corner, in the shadows. Watching. Serving. Accepting. This is my awakening. And thereโs no going back.
Dan took his wife Holly to the pub to impress his mates. Now shes their match day slut, and he's the cuck who watches, leaking and grateful.
When Dan took Holly to watch the match with his pub mates, he never imagined sheโd become their lucky charm, or that heโd be the one holding her hair while they proved it.
Dan Fletcherโs life was small, predictable, and safe. A warehouse supervisor from Kentish Town, married to Holly for five years, drinking at The Goonerโs Arms every match day whilst trying desperately to fit in with the proper lads. Mason, the alpha builder with the shaved head and the big mouth. Jay, the cocky mixed-race wannabe filming everything. Robbo, the silent one with the monster cock nobody talked about. Dan was the Skipperโtolerated, never quite belonging, his three-inch cock and thirty-second stamina a secret shame he carried alone.
Then he made the mistake. Or the best decision of his life, depending on how you look at it. He brought Holly to the pub. Tight Arsenal shirt knotted above her tits, micro skirt barely covering her arse, red lipstick and that smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing. The lads noticed immediately. And Dan? Dan sat there with his pint, watching Masonโs hands slide onto her waist, watching her giggle and lean into it, and his cock got harder than it had in years.
What started as banter turned into bets. Flash your bra if we score first. Sit on Masonโs lap if we keep a clean sheet. Kiss each of us for luck before the second half. Holly agreed every time, flushed and buzzing, and Dan nodded along, terrified and desperate and so fucking turned on he came in his jeans just watching Masonโs hand disappear under her skirt. By the third match, they werenโt pretending anymore. Holly was upstairs in the private room, on her knees, Masonโs thick seven-inch cock buried in her throat whilst Dan held her hair and thanked him for it.
The cuckolding was brutal, relentless, and everything Danโs porn habits had promised but never delivered. Mason fucked her in every hole, Jay filmed it all, and Robboโs monster eight-inch cock made Holly scream names Dan had never heard her say. She wasnโt his wife anymore โ she was theirs. Their match day slut, their lucky charm, their three-hole fuck toy who dressed like a pornstar and walked into the pub dripping their cum from the week before.
And Dan? Dan became the cuck. The bloke who sat in the corner, jeans soaked through, watching his wife get gangbanged whilst he leaked pre-cum and came untouched. The husband who got on his knees and licked Masonโs spunk out of Hollyโs gaped arsehole whilst the lads laughed and called him a good boy. The pathetic three-inch-cock beta who filmed his own wife riding Robboโs monster whilst Jay fucked her arse and Mason used her throat, all three of them filling her at once whilst Dan held her steady and thanked them after.
The humiliation was constant, visceral, and intoxicating. Size comparisons that left Dan red-faced and harder than ever. Holly telling him, breathless and honest, that Masonโs cock was so much bigger, so much better, that Dan could never satisfy her the way a real man could. The lads passing around Hollyโs soaking knickers, Danโs nose buried in the fabric, inhaling her cunt and Masonโs cum whilst his cock pulsed and leaked. Being added to the group chat as an afterthought, told to bring beers to Masonโs flat for Champions League night, where Holly would be naked and ready before kick-off.
But hereโs the fucked-up truth: Dan loved it. Every humiliating, degrading, shameful second. Watching Holly cum harder on Masonโs fingers in thirty seconds than she ever had in five years of marriage. Hearing her scream their names, beg for their cocks, tell Dan she was theirs now, not his. Tasting their cum on her skin, in her mouth, leaking from her holes. Feeling his pathetic cock throb and pulse and explode just from watching better men use his wife the way she deserved.
And Holly? Holly had never been happier. She glowed after every match day, flushed and satisfied and alive in a way Dan recognised from their early days but hadnโt seen in years. She texted Mason between matches, kept herself waxed and ready, refused to fuck Dan on match days because she was โsaving herself for the lads.โ She called him a good boy when he licked her clean. Smiled down at him whilst Masonโs cock filled her throat. And she told him, honest and kind, that she loved him โ but she needed them. And Dan finally understood what his place was.
By the time Champions League nights rolled around, the dynamic was set. Holly naked except for heels and the gold chain Mason had given her. The lads using all three of her holes at once whilst Dan knelt beside her, holding her steady, feeling her shake and scream and cum on their cocks. Jayโs phone capturing every second for the group chat archive. Robboโs silent intensity as he filled her cunt with more cum than Dan produced in a month. Masonโs grin as he spat on Hollyโs face, slapped her, called her a whore, and she thanked him for it.
Match Day Hotwifeย is 45,000 words of brutal, explicit, unrelenting cuckold erotica. This is not a romance. This is not empowerment. This is a straight male fantasy about a weak husband, a gorgeous wife, and the alpha bulls who own her now. Expect gangbangs, ATM, rimming, cum-eating, public use, filming, size humiliation, verbal degradation, and a husband who cums harder from watching than he ever did from fucking. Dan Fletcher is a cuck. Holly is their slut. And neither of them would have it any other way. If youโre looking for hardcore British cuckolding with a football pub twist, this is your match day ritual. Kick-off starts now.
Chris P. Riderโs Cuckold Tales series continues with this standalone novella โ no prior reading required, just a taste for jealousy, humiliation, and cum.
โCuckold Talesโ book 15 โ another stand-alone 45k word novella, full of explicit cuckold lifestyle erotica, by #1 best-selling erotica author, Chris P Rider.
OUT NOW on Amazon eBook, and free to read on Kindle Unlimited.ย ย UK AMAZONย |ย USA AMAZONย |ย CANADA AMAZONย |ย AUSTRALIA AMAZON
Matty watches his boss claim his wife at an exclusive London BDSM club on their anniversary, discovering her eight-month secret and his own
On their tenth wedding anniversary, Matty discovers his boss has owned his wife for eight monthsโand tonight, in Londonโs most exclusive sex club, heโll watch her surrender completely.
Matty Pipe thought he knew his wife. Ten years of marriage, a modest flat in Kentish Town, a decent job working under his charismatic boss Richard Stark. Janet was his: loyal, loving, safe. But on their tenth wedding anniversary, Mattyโs entire world shatters in the velvet-lined shadows of Le Cercle Noir, Londonโs most exclusive BDSM and swingersโ club.
Richard didnโt just arrange a surprise. He orchestrated a revelation. For eight months, Janet has been his submissive. His property. His perfectly trained slut. And tonight, Richard wants Matty to see exactly what his wife has become when sheโs on her knees, collared, begging for a real manโs cock.
This isnโt a tale of accidental discovery or slow-burn betrayal. This is a single brutal night where denial crumbles, jealousy burns white-hot, and Matty is forced to watch as his boss โ richer, stronger, bigger in every way that matters โ fucks his wife in a glass-walled room while an audience of strangers looks on. Janet doesnโt just submit to Richard. She transforms. Loud, filthy, desperate, coming so hard she screams his name. She was never like this with Matty. Never even close.
The size difference is impossible to ignore. Richardโs thick, eight-inch cock stretches Janet in ways Mattyโs small, inadequate four-and-a-half inches never could. She takes him deep, moaning, begging, and Matty sits in the Viewing Gallery, hard as a rock, hating himself for how much watching this turns him on. The comparisons are brutal. The dirty talk is vicious. Richard and Janet both make it clear: Matty was never enough. He was just the husband. Richard is the Master.
But the night doesnโt end with watching. Richard pushes further. He orders Matty into the private room after the scene, Janetโs body still flushed and dripping with her loverโs cum, and gives Matty a choice: clean her with your mouth, or leave and never see her again. Itโs the ultimate cuckold test. And Matty, broken, aroused, desperate, kneels. He tastes Richardโs cum on his wifeโs skin. He licks, he obeys, and he comes in his trousers untouched, because his shame and his arousal are the same thing now.
Le Cercle Noir isnโt just a setting. Itโs a character. The exclusive Georgian townhouse in Bloomsbury, the velvet booths, the glass-walled rooms designed for exhibitionists and voyeurs, the wristbands that mark Dominants and Submissives, the Viewing Gallery where Matty sits and watches his marriage dissolve. The clubโs rules are strict: consent is everything, discretion is absolute, and no one judges. But Matty judges himself. Every second. Every thrust. Every moan.
This is hardcore cuckold erotica with a BDSM edge. Thereโs no redemption arc. No tearful reconciliation. Matty doesnโt win Janet back. He doesnโt even try. By the end of the night, heโs accepted his place: the husband who stays, the man who watches, the cuckold who cleans up after his wifeโs lover. And the worst part? He wants it. He needs it. The humiliation is inseparable from his arousal, and heโll never be the same.
Chris P. Rider delivers a tight, explosive 12,000-word novella that pulls no punches. Every scene drips with psychological tension and filthy, explicit detail. Richardโs dominance is surgical. Janetโs submission is total. And Mattyโs free indirect discourse POV puts you inside the mind of a man whose world is ending and beginning at the same time. Youโll feel his shame, his jealousy, his aching, traitorous erection. Youโll watch with him. Youโll break with him.
Perfect for readers who crave intense cuckolding with a high-class BDSM twist, this standalone entry in the Cuckold Tales series explores themes of power, submission, inadequacy, and the dark thrill of watching your wife become someone elseโs property. Expect long, detailed sex scenes with dirty talk, size humiliation, public voyeurism, Master/slave dynamics, and a cum-eating finale that cements Mattyโs new role.
One night. One club. One revelation. Sheโs owned. And so is he.
โCuckold Talesโ book 14 โ another stand-alone novella full of explicit cuckold lifestyle erotica, by #1 best-selling erotica author, Chris P Rider.
Book 7 in Lily Corbett's "Lily's Naughty Adventures" brand new series of confessional hardcore and taboo erotica. 30k wordsย ย Pre-order now
Lilyโs Clinical Shoot: When Documentation Becomes the Ultimate Kink
March 2024. Iโm twenty-four, broke, and emotionally wrecked after my neighbour Michelle left to go back to her husband. I need rent money fast, and Iโm scrolling classifieds at half nine in the morning when I see it: โFemale figure model wanted for private artistic photography. ยฃ800 for single day session. Must be comfortable with explicit nude work.โ
Iโve done nude modelling before. Thailand, Barcelona, Sydney. Easy work. You pose, they photograph, you get paid, everyone goes home happy. I assume this is the same. Bit of tasteful spreading, maybe some toy work if theyโre feeling adventurous. Eight hundred quid for eight hours? I email before my coffeeโs gone cold.
What I walk into is something else entirely. Bettany Davidstow runs a private commission service for wealthy collectors who want gynaecological documentation of female arousal. Not pornography, sheโs very clear about that. Documentation. Clinical, precise, utterly explicit photography of womenโs bodies responding genuinely to stimulation, penetration, and use. Her clients pay thousands for authenticity, and authenticity means I need to actually be wet, actually be turned on, actually surrender whilst she photographs every intimate detail from six different angles with three different cameras.
The morning session is solo. Standard nudes escalate into legs-spread close-ups. Then she tells me to masturbate whilst she photographs. I use a Vegas DP fantasy to get properly wet, and she documents my swollen, glistening cunt in extreme macro detail. Then come the anal plugsโthree graduated sizes, each one stretching me wider until Iโm gaping open and sheโs photographing my arsehole staying open, unable to close, whilst I feel the studio air inside me. Then the speculum. Medical-grade stainless steel, cranking my cunt open mechanically whilst she photographs my cervix. Then the endoscopic camera inserted inside me, and Iโm watching my own internal walls on a screen whilst she photographs me watching myself. Itโs the most invasive, most clinical, most objectifying experience of my life. And Iโm soaking wet the entire time.
After lunch, her husband arrives. Charles Davidstow, forty-four, ex-rugby build, salt-and-pepper hair, warm brown eyes, and the polar opposite of his wifeโs coldness. Heโs done these shoots for six years, and heโs very, very good at his job. Bettany directs him to eat my cunt until I scream. Then I deep-throat his cock whilst fingering his arse, triple stimulation that makes him nearly buckle. He comes in my mouth. Bettany photographs me holding his cum on my tongue, playing with it, bubbling it between my lips before I swallow.
Then the fucking begins. Missionary firstโunprotected, because her clients require bareback and internal cumshots. Heโs thick, curved, hits exactly the right spot. I come twice during vaginal, once from missionary and once from brutal doggy-style pounding that leaves me collapsed and gasping. Then Bettany instructs breeding fantasy dirty talk whilst he fucks me, tells him he can finally come inside. He does. His cum leaks out of my used cunt, and Bettany does something I donโt expect: puts on latex gloves, scoops his cum, and pushes it back inside me with her fingers. First time anyone but Charles has penetrated me all day. She photographs the result with the same clinical detachment sheโs shown all morning.
Anal comes last. Three fingers preparing me, then his cock sliding in slow and deep. The fullest Iโve been in months. He fucks my arse for forty minutes, building from slow and careful to brutal pounding, and I come for the fourth timeโfrom anal alone, the most intense orgasm of the entire day. I collapse face-down, screaming into the leather chaise, whilst he keeps fucking me through it. Then he pulls out and wanks himself onto my arse and back, thick ropes covering me, and Bettany photographs my gaping, red, utterly destroyed arsehole in extreme close-up. Evidence. Documentation. Proof.
I walk home at six oโclock with eight hundred quid in a brown envelope, his cum still drying in my knickers, every muscle aching, and a revelation forming that I wonโt fully understand until Iโm writing this two years later: my kink isnโt degradation. My kink is documentation. Being studied. Being archived. Being turned into permanent evidence that exists somewhere in a private collection, being viewed by strangers Iโll never meet, wanked to by wealthy collectors who paid to see my body at its most exposed, most used, most utterly surrendered.
Bettany understood me perfectly within ten minutes. She knew I didnโt want connectionโconnection makes me itch, makes me want to run. But being objectified, being turned into clinical evidence whilst a cold, posh woman photographs every angle? That makes my cunt clench even now, two years later, writing this confession.
Coming soon (pre-order on Amazon) - 1st May my next hotwife novel is published - "Angela's Bigger Ex" - a loving husband realises he can use someone's misfortune to bring his wife's old ('big') partner to stay with them. He then helps encourage them together... and things get hot and spicy.
A husband engineers his wife's affair with her well-hung ex. Explicit hotwife erotica exploring compersion, size comparison, British Stag an
It was your wife who told your boss that she had fantasies about being dominated by a real man. She told him that she fantasized about having to wear sexy lingerie for him and undress for him submissively. She envisioned herself kneeling in front of him and sucking his cock or being cuffed and fucked. She said he would do all of itโand she wanted to be sent to you with at least a big load of another manโs cum inside her womb. Your wife wouldnโt have talked about those fantasies with her boss if she didnโt want him to make them real.
My wife Rachel has written two HOTWIFE stories books now in an ongoing series. She's also written dom/sub erotica. She'd LOVE to hear from readers too... so we've put her e-mail in the books for men (and women) to get in touch if they enjoy them. And guess what - being a stag hubby means I'd enjoy her getting 'feedback' too ;-)
>> https://authorchrisrider.co.uk/product/bluebird-a-hotwife-awakening-novel/
>> https://authorchrisrider.co.uk/product/bluebird-ascending-an-erotic-novel-of-marriage-freedom-and-wanting-more/
Skint care worker Beth accepts two wealthy residents' filthy proposal: unlimited access to her young body for cash. Extreme age-gap taboo MF
Beth Miller is twenty-one, broke, and desperate. Working night shifts at an exclusive Cotswolds care home seemed like the answer to her problemsโuntil two wealthy residents decided she was the answer to theirs. Colonel Hartley and Sir Edmund are both over seventy, both ruthlessly dominant, and both very clear about what they want: unlimited access to every part of her willing young body.
What starts with boundary-pushing touches during medication rounds escalates into explicit midnight propositions. Two hundred pounds a week. Cash in hand. All Beth has to do is submit to their โinspectionsโโvaginal, oral, and anal assessments designed to test exactly how much this common estate girl can take. She should refuse. She should run. But when his thick fingers spread her open on that expensive Persian rug, Beth discovers a truth about herself she never expected: she was built for this.
This isnโt a gentle awakening. This is brutal, filthy, and exactly what Bethโs been craving without knowing it. The Colonel fucks like a man whoโs earned his authorityโdeep, punishing strokes that leave her sobbing and begging for more. Sir Edmund prefers psychological domination, that posh accent turning clinical as he describes every degrading act in excruciating detail whilst she performs them. Together, theyโre unstoppable, and Beth is completely theirs.
The training escalates fast. Vegetables stolen from the kitchen garden stretch her wider than any cock ever has, preparing her holes for what comes next. Double penetration leaves her screaming into luxury cushions, realising sheโll never be satisfied by boys her own age again. When they mark her with piss and cum, calling her their breeding stock whilst filling her womb, Beth doesnโt feel degradedโshe feels home.
But this isnโt just sex. This is ownership. Beth signs a contract making her their permanent live-in property, moving into quarters adjoining theirs for โeasier access.โ The care homeโs Matron knows exactly whatโs happeningโand approves, because wealthy benefactors get what they want. Bethโs new life includes a pay rise for services rendered, luxury accommodation, and the understanding that her holes belong to them now, whenever they require use.
Lily Corbett delivers thirty-one thousand words of extreme, no-limits age-gap erotica that pushes every boundary. If youโre craving filthy older men corrupting eager young women, if โDaddyโ makes your pulse race, if you want to read about a council estate girl becoming the perfect three-hole slut for pensioners with staminaโthis is your book.
