I’m lounging on the couch, a glass of rich red wine in my hand, the liquid swirling as I think about the night ahead. The sundress I’m wearing is hiked up, exposing my inner thighs and the dampness beneath the fabric. I can feel the cool air on my skin, a stark contrast to the heat pooling between my legs. I’m not here for him, not tonight. I’m here for the bull, the one who knows how to make me scream. The one who will fill me up and leave me wanting more. I take a sip of wine, the taste bitter on my tongue, a reminder of the emptiness I’m about to fill. I’m a hotwife, and I’m ready to be fucked. But not by my husband. He’s not man enough for me. I need a real man, one who can handle me, one who can make me feel like a woman. I’m ready for the bull, ready to be taken, ready to be used. I’m ready to be his whore.