Tonya Gets a Weekend Away: Hotwife Stories Pt 2 of 3

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Tonya Gets a Weekend Away: Hotwife Stories Pt 2 of 3

Tonya acts on her hotwife journey when she spends the weekend away with her lover.

Tonya’s Hotwife Story: Part 2 of 3 | Read Part 1 here

She has fantasized. She has waited. She gets what she wants when her husband drops her off at the hotel to meet her lover.

Tonya’s Hotwife Weekend Away

The couple sat at a small cocktail table positioned by the large lounge window framing a parking lot. Though not the view of waterfront property or beach, it was nonetheless, Florida. A busy thoroughfare filled with tourists and senior citizens had become the more recognizable scene in the state. There was still just the hint of chill as February had flipped into the first week of March. Tonya sat across from John in silence as they sipped a beverage. John seemed more stoic as Tonya kept glancing across the parking lot, showing anticipation. The server noticed the overnight bag by Tonya, “Going on a trip?”

The question caused Tonya to sit up and react as if she had been caught in some act that required an alibi, as there was no luggage for John. “A weekend getaway,” she answered.

“Nice,” the server added to preface her question, “Another round?”

“Yeah, for me,” answered John.

Tonya watched him cautiously to see if he was in truth hiding some level of jealousy about the reason for this meeting. Discussions that brought them to this table at this moment had grown from a fantasy into a reality that may have unexpected consequences. Then, unexpected was the fuel building in Tonya. The slow burn had been growing for the past two years since the day she had an unexpected lunch date with Peter, the guy from teenage friendships nearly two decades ago. “Are you okay?” she asked.

The server interrupted to sit the Jack and Ginger in front of John. He sipped and smacked his lips to answer, “I’m fine. What’s it been, several years now?”

Tonya nodded, “We have only talked a couple of times since then. He hasn’t had any trips nearby.”

“Until now?”

“Yeah, well, he planned this trip to Daytona for bike week back a few months.”

“He called you then?”

“Yes. He said how much fun it would be if I could meet him there.”

John took a sip. “I suppose it didn’t take much convincing?”

“You know,” she paused.


“Ever since that day we met for lunch, what happened has been on both of our minds.”

Tonya watched John take a deep breath and settle back. 

Memories of that day flooded back to Tonya. She had never thought of Peter in any way other than a distant friend to talk to. Occasional conversations about the summers in the mountains that would lead to his complaints about being treated as an acquaintance. That call to invite her to lunch twenty-four months ago had been a surprise. Out of the blue, he called to say he was in Miami for a convention and was staying over closer to North Palm on the way back home. He said he had thought about asking her ahead of time, but the desire to see her did not play heavily enough on him until this last day in town. How could he pass up the one chance to be so close and not at least see her? “Sure, that would be nice to see you,” she had said and gave directions where to pick her up.

They drove north on A1A to the right turn on East Indiantown Road that led through lush greens over pavers that had been hand installed to invite the upscale patrons of the resort hotel seated on the Atlantic coast. The restaurant was on the first floor of the hotel in Jupiter with open sliding doors that welcomed warm breezes to ruffle white table cloth draped tables offering an ocean view, “So, this is where you stay on business?”

Peter smiled, “Great work if you can get it.”

Their lunch was filled with conversations about wives, husbands, children, work, hope, disappointments, and long pauses filled with unbroken eye contact. Tonya’s occasional smile to Peter was flirtatious, even if she only offered the gesture as an agreement to some comment. Peter asked, “Do you have to get back to work, or can you spare a bit more time with an old friend?”

“I can make time. Actually, being in sales, they are used to me being out of the office.”

The server brought the check, “Can I put this on your room charge, sir?”

“That would be great,” Peter signed with his room number and looked to Tonya. “The view of the beach is somewhat limited by the dunes and those bushes; what are they called?”

“Sea Grape, endangered, and you can’t cut them.”

“The view from my room on the top floor is a lot better,” he waited for a response.

Tonya thought of John for a moment and wondered how he would react to the idea that his wife could feel safe entering a hotel room with another man. The thought faded with the rising of curiosity, so she smiled and asked, “Oh, do tell.”

“Would you like to see?”

Her husband, John, was nowhere in her thoughts, and she pushed her chair back, “Why not?”

Spending an afternoon in a hotel room with any other man but John was the last thing Tonya had imagined. One voice in her said he was just a good friend, but something else drew her into an arena filled with danger. Peter was no longer a geeky teenager that girls could talk to and share secrets about other boys. He had grown into a handsome man that spoke without care about girlfriends he held secret from his wife. Peter had enticed Tonya over the years with experiences that reeled images through Tonya’s imagination, even though he had never revealed any detail of illicit actions other than the excitement and thrill of never getting caught.

The room in four-o-eight opened into a suite, not just a room with a bed and bath. He had told the truth. Sliding doors opened to a balcony high above the sand with the surf rolling in, making a cadence of repeated splashing, bubbling sounds of waves coming in and out. Warm breeze and the smell of saltwater numbed Tonya into a bliss she felt she may never escape. Her hands rested on the railing, and her head tilted back to breathe deep. All of the senses drowned any thoughts she may have had about John in some other universe of work and boredom. Here, she felt in touch with a feeling she could get away with anything. She felt Peter’s breath close to her left ear as he leaned close behind her. His hands, gentle on her shoulders, “That is some view. Isn’t it?”

The current view of the parking lot with her husband looking on was stark in comparison to that view of the beach and the closeness of a strange man. “You think he’ll be on time?” John asked.

Tonya shrugged as she looked at her husband who’s expression could be showing some dread or wish to turn back, but in Tonya’s mind, as she turned from John to the parking lot, she could only remember how close Peter’s face had been when she felt the need to kiss his cheek as if he were a brother, a close friend, and her confidant in things best kept secret. More of the memory flooded back to that one moment when everything changed, and Peter gave into a greater temptation and used his right hand to direct her head closer and pull her mouth to his. The brother faded. His lips, his tongue, his breath all sucked Tonya into a moment she had dreamed of. She felt herself sink deeper, “Let’s go inside.”

John cut off her memory, “What are you thinking about? You seem far away.”

“Idle thoughts.”

“You’re not thinking about what you want to do with Peter?”

After sipping the lip of her cocktail, she answered, “Actually, I am more concerned about what you may do.”

“What, you expect me to make a scene and kick Peter’s ass?”

“I know that is not who you are. But does the idea of me spending a weekend away bother you? If the roles were reversed, how do you think I might feel with you away?”

John allowed a river of different thoughts rush through his mind. Shouldn’t he feel jealousy, desire to see what his bride is capable of? None of his emotions made any sense. It did not matter. He could not help but feel some excitement, anticipation, eagerness to hear what Tonya may share of her weekend away. The memory of her confession about her lunch date still burned. Tonya sat, needing an answer. “Really,” he said, “I can’t explain the feeling. The idea is just, well, it’s consuming. You must feel that same kind of addiction having the experience you two had without going all the way.”

John’s words, his expression, his understanding just amplified Tonya’s memory of what she and Peter did once leaving the view from the balcony on that day that loomed large. Peter led her to the couch, not the bed. Peter treasured the moment and did not want to speed up any interaction that could drive her away. Once seated, she spoke not but leaned into a much deeper passionate kiss sucking his tongue into her mouth. With her heart racing, she nearly lost her breath. She leaned down on the cushions and pulled Peter with her. No words were shared. She felt herself lost in deeper kisses until she felt Peter’s hand slide easily under her dress, the fingers moving up over her thigh, her bikini panties no longer protected her as his fingers made his way under the material, parting her pubic hair and gliding softly over her clit. As her organ began to swell and become wet, he masterfully guided his long middle finger into her vagina and inserting deeper, only to pull back and float over her clit. Tonya felt her lungs grasp for air as Peter painted a new longing in her mind dragging his finger over her clit, into her vagina, and out slowly, then back in. Her hips pushed up and down. She arched her head back as he drained her from a massive orgasm. The feeling was more intense than any time masturbating or fucking John had caused. John had excited her, but not like this. Maybe it was the illicit action, not getting caught, knowing she would go home to John, and Peter would go home to his wife, neither letting them know what had happened on a lunch date with an old friend. The secret was in play. Tonya wanted more. “Sit up,” she said.

Her action was not to stop Peter. Just the opposite, as she draped her hand over the large bulge in his pants. “It’s your turn,” she said.

Tonya was then in control. She unzipped his pants, letting the slow sound of the zipper coming down fill their mind. Peter lifted his hips so Tonya could more easily pull his pants down to his knees. She then moved before him to a kneeling position, never breaking eye contact. In position, she used both hands on the elastic of his briefs to pull, and as she pulled, she felt her heart jump into her throat, nearly strangling her at the sight of Peter’s cock. She had no idea at that moment that in a not too distant future, she would describe it in detail to John, and the memory would become a driving fantasy and create a new and strange passion in her and her husband.

Peter could not stop his stare. This was a moment he had wanted and dreamed of. His face strained with disbelief as Tonya held his shaft in her hand, her right hand moving up and down as her left steadied the base. Her fingers not reaching completely around the girth. Her eyes left his as she stared at the foreskin pulling it back to reveal the head, then popping it back to collar the tip. On the next downward stroke, she saw the moisture from Peter, and she leaned in to first kiss and then lick the liquid. Her eyes closed, and she felt the entire velvet globe slide easily into her open mouth. As deep as she could take him, there was ample length to hold in her fist. She opened her eyes and witnessed the look on Peter’s face. A deep seriousness as if a man positioned in a state of disbelief. His breathing was deep and slow, and she felt his hand placed very gently on the back of her cranium, caressing the skullcap without pressure to simply relish in the moment of her head rise and descend. Tonya shared in his disbelief and felt the need to proceed slowly, delicately, deliciously, devouring each penetration and withdrawal, feeling his pulse pound in her hand that gripped the shaft, and when she felt his pressure build and his hips rise, she tortured the moment by stopping, squeezing, and withdrawing. When Peter’s hips calmed, she once again used her tongue to flick just under the head, making him jump slightly, and felt his large hand softly squeeze her scalp, massaging his long fingers through her hair.

The memory was becoming too intense. That afternoon left both she and Peter wanting much more than a blow job. She ached to feel what it would be like to have him in her. That ache had grown and magnified over these lost months, thinking that there may be some way, someday, to experience the full satisfaction that Peter could most likely deliver.

John broke her trance, “You sure you’re okay?” 

From Tonya’s peripheral vision, she saw Peter walking from the parking lot, “Oh, he’s here.”

This Ivy League clean-cut six-foot-three guy approached the table with a calm confidence and surprisingly looked nothing like any kind of bad boy that would spend weekends away from his family fucking some guy’s wife, “Hello, Tonya,” he said and offered a handshake to John, “You must be John. Tonya never stops talking about you. You are one lucky man.”

“That I am,” said John.

The three sat and over the course of a half-hour or so carried on normal boring conversations about subjects, such as what do you do, where are you from, you play golf since this is Florida, you have kids, and on and on about everything except for the reason for this visit. Can he sit there so calm and not even mention the fact that he would soon be fucking Tonya – and each of them knew the facts of what was about to happen.

Then, there was quiet. That moment screamed for someone to make a move. Silence itself becoming a loud constant noise that shuts out all else. Responsibility fell upon John, the husband of the ménage who must give approval. Without his role, the lovers can move in secret. However, Tonya had invited his participation, even if only as the passive voyeur hungry for the recollection of events. Her admission of the events had been more the report than confession. Watching John’s amazed reaction shocked her more than if he had melted down to a cuckolded loser retching in some jealous rage. Her telling of that one day sparked a wild new partner in John that sought eagerly each small morsel of detail that Tonya was willing to share. The event became theirs. 

John finally said, “I should be leaving.”

The moment came with limited uneasiness. Tonya watched her husband disappear beyond the lounge door. Seeing him leave without turning back to see one more glance of his wife created an empty feeling that was not that different than the ending of that afternoon with Peter. Time had passed as the sunset and the endless view of ocean to horizon had become a black blanket. Only the sound of a slow surf remained, leaving that dark empty feeling much the same as seeing your husband leave you alone with your lover. In that evening hour, Peter had suggested she spend the night to see the sunrise. He planted the seed left unfertilized. He wanted to fuck her over and over all night. Tonya had refused to settle that uneasy mood of dark reality to go home to John without raising suspicion. That decision would haunt her every time she touched her husband. The only way she could survive would be to tell John. But, that was a reality she had no idea that she could ever manage as the evening on the balcony ended.

Then, again two years later, the same man had a similar suggestion that begged an answer requiring the need to address potential consequences. “You ready to hit the road,” Peter asked.

Tonya thought of the commitment he was asking for. Out the window, she saw their family car approach the parking exit to the highway. The left turn signal flashed, traffic passed by as John waited, then his car moved and she watched as the last sight of the rear bumper was swallowed by traffic. She turned to Peter, “Yes. I suppose I am.”

Read Part 3 of Tonya’s Hotwife Story here.

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