Author Chris P Rider

I'm an busy British writer of Hotwife / Stag & Vixen / Cuckold erotica. Find on Amazon: eBook, Paperback, and Kindle Unlimited

[chrisriderauthor]

Geri's Anniversary Gift: A Dark Cuckold Marriage Novella - Chris P Rider Author

Tony's anniversary dinner was meant to save his marriage. Instead, his wife discovered what her body needed—whilst 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 series brings you a darkly psychological journey through one North London couple’s brutal awakening. Over the course of one Friday night and Saturday morning, Tony discovers exactly what kind of husband he actually is – and learns that keeping his wife means accepting a role he never imagined for himself.

The Setup: Five years married. Sexless for months. Geri going through the motions whilst Tony desperately tries to fix what’s broken. Their anniversary dinner at a Kentish Town restaurant should have been the reset. Instead, it’s where Ash Okafor – confident, imposing, built like the alpha Tony will never be – hands Geri his business card whilst her husband watches helplessly from across the table.

The Unraveling: One drink becomes two. The bar becomes a dancefloor. Tony watches from the edge whilst Ash’s hands claim his wife’s body in ways Tony hasn’t been allowed to touch her in months. When Geri tells him to go home – gently, almost kindly – Tony obeys like the beta he’s 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 what’s happening at Ash’s Gospel Oak apartment.

The Reckoning: At 3am, Geri comes home marked, used, and satisfied. The love bites on her neck. The bruises on her thighs. The smell of another man’s sweat and cum clinging to her skin. She climbs into their bed without showering, and Tony – still awake, still hard – says nothing. Because what could he possibly say that his body isn’t already screaming?

The Confession: Saturday morning. Coffee at their kitchen table. Geri tells him everything: Ash’s eight-and-a-half-inch cock compared to Tony’s five. The forty minutes of fucking compared to Tony’s two-minute finishes. How she came, really came, not faked, three times in four hours. How she’s been faking orgasms with Tony for their entire marriage. How she’s seeing Ash again tomorrow. How this is what their marriage looks like now.

The Humiliation: Tony listens to every word whilst getting harder than he’s been in years. When Geri tells him to show he – —to prove what hearing about another man’s cock inside his wife does to him – 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 couldn’t last a minute listening to the story.

The Acceptance: This isn’t a tale of redemption or reclaiming. Tony doesn’t “win her back.” He accepts his new role: the husband who runs the bath after she’s 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.

[chrisriderauthor]

Lily's Easter Lesson: A Very Naughty First Timer Confession Erotica

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 neighbour’s teenage son for the Easter weekend? If you’re 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 I’ve written yet. And yes, every detail is staying in.

I’m twenty-four. I’ve fucked my way across four continents. I’ve done things in Marrakech, Sydney, Berlin, and Los Angeles that would make your toes curl and your conscience question itself. I thought I’d 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 someone’s 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 laptop’s open on older-woman porn, the tissues are still warm, and he’s standing there in his joggers with his mortification written all over his face. Most people would’ve backed out of the room. I sat on the bed and asked him to show me what he’d been watching. And when I’d watched enough to understand exactly what he wanted, I told him I’d 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 who’s 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 body’s 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 reaction—pure fascination, genuine enthusiasm, zero performance—was so rare I’m 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 (I’m on the pill, it’s pure fantasy, but Christ it works on nineteen-year-old boys). I taught him anal—slow, 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 he’d 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 he’s eating properly and getting enough fresh air. I tell her he’s 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 it’s one of the best moments of the entire weekend.

Monday morning, April Fool’s Day, Felicity comes home refreshed and delighted. She thanks me for looking after her son, calls me “such a good girl,” 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 can’t breathe. The universe handed me the perfect punchline and I’m 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 didn’t expect. Oliver wasn’t 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. I’m proud of that. I’d do it again. I have zero regrets.

If you’re 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 you’re here for the comedy, the phone call scene and the Easter egg payoff will not disappoint. If you’re here because you like my voice—Northern, shameless, self-aware, dirty as hell—you already know what you’re getting.

This is Lily’s Easter Lesson. I corrupted my neighbour’s son whilst his mum thought I was feeding him pasta. It was the best teaching I’ve ever done. Welcome to the weekend that proved I’m absolutely going to hell, and I’m completely fine with that.

[amalesubmissive1]

[girlfriendandex]

No baby, just take a vid please!

[chrisriderauthor]

That’s sounds like a perfect setup.

[chrisriderauthor]

Uncle Ken's Shop: A Soho Education in Forbidden Taste - Chris P Rider Author

Twenty-year-old Mary takes a job in a Soho sex shop's filthy video booths, discovers craving, leading her down a path of extreme depravity w

[chrisriderauthor]

My Neighbour Owns My Wife: A Cuckold's Awakening, Chris Rider

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 home… and starts acting like he owns it – 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 didn’t stop it. I told myself Tracy was just being kind to a lonely old widower. That’s what good people do, isn’t it? They show a bit of compassion. Except Bob wasn’t 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 hadn’t 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t. 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.

Bob’s got eight inches and the confidence of a man who’s been breaking in tight young wives for decades. I’ve 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 couldn’t 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 here’s the sick, twisted truth I can’t escape: I needed it. Watching Bob own my wife unlocked something in me I didn’t know existed. Every act of humiliation, every cruel word, every time he made me acknowledge my inadequacy, it didn’t break me. It freed me. I wasn’t failing at being a man anymore, because I’d stopped trying. My role wasn’t to compete. It was to serve. To watch. To clean up the aftermath.

Yes, you read that right. Bob decided I wasn’t 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 man’s cum out of my wife’s holes. I’d taste him on her lips when she kissed me afterwards. I’d smell him on the sheets, in her hair, on her skin. Bob didn’t 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 I’d been saving for Tracy’s 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 isn’t 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. Tracy’s 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 I’m 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 wouldn’t change a thing. This is who I am. This is who we are. Tracy’s happier than she’s ever been. Bob’s living his golden years like a king. And me? I’ve found my place. On my knees, in the corner, in the shadows. Watching. Serving. Accepting. This is my awakening. And there’s no going back.

[chrisriderauthor]

Match Day Hotwife: He Lets His Pub Mates Share His Wife - Chris P Rider Author

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 she’d become their lucky charm, or that he’d be the one holding her hair while they proved it.

Dan Fletcher’s life was small, predictable, and safe. A warehouse supervisor from Kentish Town, married to Holly for five years, drinking at The Gooner’s 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 Skipper—tolerated, 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 Mason’s 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 Mason’s 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 Mason’s hand disappear under her skirt. By the third match, they weren’t pretending anymore. Holly was upstairs in the private room, on her knees, Mason’s 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 Dan’s porn habits had promised but never delivered. Mason fucked her in every hole, Jay filmed it all, and Robbo’s monster eight-inch cock made Holly scream names Dan had never heard her say. She wasn’t his wife anymore – 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 Mason’s spunk out of Holly’s gaped arsehole whilst the lads laughed and called him a good boy. The pathetic three-inch-cock beta who filmed his own wife riding Robbo’s 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 Mason’s cock was so much bigger, so much better, that Dan could never satisfy her the way a real man could. The lads passing around Holly’s soaking knickers, Dan’s nose buried in the fabric, inhaling her cunt and Mason’s cum whilst his cock pulsed and leaked. Being added to the group chat as an afterthought, told to bring beers to Mason’s flat for Champions League night, where Holly would be naked and ready before kick-off.

But here’s the fucked-up truth: Dan loved it. Every humiliating, degrading, shameful second. Watching Holly cum harder on Mason’s 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 hadn’t seen in years. She texted Mason between matches, kept herself waxed and ready, refused to fuck Dan on match days because she was “saving herself for the lads.” She called him a good boy when he licked her clean. Smiled down at him whilst Mason’s cock filled her throat. And she told him, honest and kind, that she loved him – 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. Jay’s phone capturing every second for the group chat archive. Robbo’s silent intensity as he filled her cunt with more cum than Dan produced in a month. Mason’s grin as he spat on Holly’s face, slapped her, called her a whore, and she thanked him for it.

Match Day Hotwife 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 you’re looking for hardcore British cuckolding with a football pub twist, this is your match day ritual. Kick-off starts now.

Chris P. Rider’s Cuckold Tales series continues with this standalone novella – no prior reading required, just a taste for jealousy, humiliation, and cum.

“Cuckold Tales” book 15 – 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.  UK AMAZON | USA AMAZON | CANADA AMAZON | AUSTRALIA AMAZON

[chrisriderauthor]

A proud stag husband’s favourite view.

[chrisriderauthor]

- Chris P Rider Author

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 months—and tonight, in London’s most exclusive sex club, he’ll 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, Matty’s entire world shatters in the velvet-lined shadows of Le Cercle Noir, London’s most exclusive BDSM and swingers’ club.

Richard didn’t 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 she’s on her knees, collared, begging for a real man’s cock.

This isn’t 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 – richer, stronger, bigger in every way that matters – fucks his wife in a glass-walled room while an audience of strangers looks on. Janet doesn’t 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. Richard’s thick, eight-inch cock stretches Janet in ways Matty’s 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 doesn’t end with watching. Richard pushes further. He orders Matty into the private room after the scene, Janet’s body still flushed and dripping with her lover’s cum, and gives Matty a choice: clean her with your mouth, or leave and never see her again. It’s the ultimate cuckold test. And Matty, broken, aroused, desperate, kneels. He tastes Richard’s cum on his wife’s 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 isn’t just a setting. It’s 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 club’s 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. There’s no redemption arc. No tearful reconciliation. Matty doesn’t win Janet back. He doesn’t even try. By the end of the night, he’s accepted his place: the husband who stays, the man who watches, the cuckold who cleans up after his wife’s lover. And the worst part? He wants it. He needs it. The humiliation is inseparable from his arousal, and he’ll 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. Richard’s dominance is surgical. Janet’s submission is total. And Matty’s free indirect discourse POV puts you inside the mind of a man whose world is ending and beginning at the same time. You’ll feel his shame, his jealousy, his aching, traitorous erection. You’ll watch with him. You’ll 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 else’s property. Expect long, detailed sex scenes with dirty talk, size humiliation, public voyeurism, Master/slave dynamics, and a cum-eating finale that cements Matty’s new role.

One night. One club. One revelation. She’s owned. And so is he.

“Cuckold Tales” book 14 – another stand-alone novella full of explicit cuckold lifestyle erotica, by #1 best-selling erotica author, Chris P Rider.

[chrisriderauthor]

Lily's Clinical Shoot - hardcore erotic photo session - Lily Corbett

Book 7 in Lily Corbett's "Lily's Naughty Adventures" brand new series of confessional hardcore and taboo erotica. 30k words   Pre-order now

Lily’s Clinical Shoot: When Documentation Becomes the Ultimate Kink

March 2024. I’m twenty-four, broke, and emotionally wrecked after my neighbour Michelle left to go back to her husband. I need rent money fast, and I’m scrolling classifieds at half nine in the morning when I see it: “Female figure model wanted for private artistic photography. £800 for single day session. Must be comfortable with explicit nude work.”

I’ve 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 they’re feeling adventurous. Eight hundred quid for eight hours? I email before my coffee’s 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, she’s very clear about that. Documentation. Clinical, precise, utterly explicit photography of women’s 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 plugs—three graduated sizes, each one stretching me wider until I’m gaping open and she’s 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 I’m watching my own internal walls on a screen whilst she photographs me watching myself. It’s the most invasive, most clinical, most objectifying experience of my life. And I’m 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 wife’s coldness. He’s done these shoots for six years, and he’s 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 first—unprotected, because her clients require bareback and internal cumshots. He’s 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 don’t 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 she’s shown all morning.

Anal comes last. Three fingers preparing me, then his cock sliding in slow and deep. The fullest I’ve been in months. He fucks my arse for forty minutes, building from slow and careful to brutal pounding, and I come for the fourth time—from 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 o’clock with eight hundred quid in a brown envelope, his cum still drying in my knickers, every muscle aching, and a revelation forming that I won’t fully understand until I’m writing this two years later: my kink isn’t 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 I’ll 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 didn’t want connection—connection 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.

[bullforyourhw]

[chrisriderauthor]

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.

Angela's Bigger Ex: A Stag and Vixen Hotwife Story - Chris P Rider Author

A husband engineers his wife's affair with her well-hung ex. Explicit hotwife erotica exploring compersion, size comparison, British Stag an

[cuckolding-books-library]

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 it—and she wanted to be sent to you with at least a big load of another man’s cum inside her womb. Your wife wouldn’t have talked about those fantasies with her boss if she didn’t want him to make them real.

[chrisriderauthor]

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/

[fantasiesafterdark]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓.

[chrisriderauthor]

Oh yes I always tell her to do it raw and bareback...

[chrisriderauthor]

Beth's Night Shift: Forbidden Age Gap Taboo Erotica - Chris P Rider Author

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 problems—until 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 “inspections”—vaginal, 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 isn’t a gentle awakening. This is brutal, filthy, and exactly what Beth’s been craving without knowing it. The Colonel fucks like a man who’s earned his authority—deep, 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, they’re 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 she’ll 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 doesn’t feel degraded—she feels home.

But this isn’t just sex. This is ownership. Beth signs a contract making her their permanent live-in property, moving into quarters adjoining theirs for “easier access.” The care home’s Matron knows exactly what’s happening—and approves, because wealthy benefactors get what they want. Beth’s 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 you’re craving filthy older men corrupting eager young women, if “Daddy” makes your pulse race, if you want to read about a council estate girl becoming the perfect three-hole slut for pensioners with stamina—this is your book.

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Lily's Lactation Lesson: New Mum Next Door's Milky Confession - Chris P Rider Author

Taboo lesbian lactation erotica. Lily, 24, meets her milk-soaked new mum neighbour and can't resist. Explicit, intimate, filthy. Kindle and

She’s done everything. Twice. But she’s never tasted a new mum’s milk before. Until now.

Lily’s Lactation Lesson: New Mum Next Door’s Milky Confession is the sixth book in Lily Corbett’s Lily’s Naughty Adventures series, a collection of semi-autobiographical confessional erotica that pulls absolutely no punches. This one is different from the others. Darker, messier, more intimate. And if you’re into lactation erotica, lesbian sex, fisting, squirting, or the specific filthy thrill of postpartum body worship, this is the book you’ve been looking for.

It’s February 2024. Lily is twenty-four, living alone in her Stevenage flat, ghost-writing dirty stories for strangers on Reddit and craving something her vast sexual experience hasn’t yet delivered. She’s fucked her way across four continents. She’s done double anal, BDSM with a Kensington barrister, rimming in the back of a black cab, and group sex with her gay neighbours. But she’s never been with a lactating woman. Never tasted breast milk. Never encountered a body doing what Michelle Hargreaves’ body does. That gap in her experience is about to close.

Michelle is thirty-eight, Welsh, single mum to six-month-old Noah, and she moves into Flat 14C directly opposite Lily at the start of the month. She is chronically exhausted, desperately touch-starved, and overproducing breast milk so aggressively that she leaks through every jumper she owns. Her breasts have swollen from a 34C to a 36F. She is in near-constant low-grade pain from the pressure. She hasn’t been touched sexually in eighteen months, not since her partner Ben walked out when she was five months pregnant. She is lonely in the bone-deep, invisible way that new single mothers are lonely, and she has completely stopped believing anyone could find her desirable.

She is wrong about that. Lily notices her immediately: the freckles, the dimples, the gorgeous postpartum curves Michelle is so ashamed of, and most of all those enormous, heavy, milk-filled breasts that leak through fabric without warning. The attraction builds slowly over wine nights and late-night knocks and borrowed eggs, and the first sexual spark ignites properly when Michelle’s breast pump breaks and she knocks on Lily’s door in tears and in pain. Lily helps hand-express. Then, on instinct, she takes Michelle’s nipple in her mouth and drinks directly.

Michelle orgasms from nipple stimulation alone. No genital contact. Just Lily’s mouth on her swollen, leaking breasts, drinking warm sweet milk, and Michelle coming apart in the nursing chair with her hand fisted in Lily’s blonde hair. It is a revelation for both of them. Lily has never tasted anything like it: warm, sweet, faintly creamy, intimate in a way that cock and cum never quite manage. Michelle has never come like that from her nipples alone, had no idea her body was even capable of it.

What follows is four weeks of the most milk-soaked, obscenely intimate lesbian sex Lily has ever experienced. Drinking directly from Michelle’s breasts, filling her mouth with warm milk and passing it back in deep kisses, milk snowballing between their tongues until both of them are slick and sweet and reeking of it. Body worship that celebrates every postpartum stretch mark and soft curve rather than apologising for them. Oral sex both ways, Michelle tentative at first and then enthusiastic and devastatingly effective. 69 with milk spraying freely down onto Lily’s body, used as impromptu lube, coating them both until the sheets are drenched.

Michelle discovers she can squirt. This revelation happens mid-69 when Lily’s fingers find her G-spot and she gushes without warning, mortified, trying to scramble away. Lily makes her do it again. Then again. Then again after that. The kitchen scene is the climactic centrepiece of the book: Michelle bent over the counter, Lily behind her, rimming her arsehole for the first time in her life before working four fingers inside her cunt, building slowly, patiently, using expressed milk squeezed directly from Michelle’s hanging breasts as lube, until her whole fist slides inside. Michelle screams into a tea towel, squirts violently, and collapses, her legs completely giving out. The floor beneath them is drenched. The steriliser is still humming on the counter. The baby monitor shows its steady green light.

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