The Interview (The Hotwife Coach, #1)

Text copyright © 2015 Ruby Harper

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted is a model.

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Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Ruby Harper

The Interview

About Ruby

Further Reading: Presenting Emma

Also By Ruby Harper

I
'd kept his card in my purse for weeks. I'd held the fantasy in my mind much longer. 

Max Hatfield

Hotwife Coach

Discretion Guaranteed 

Gold on black. An air of sophistication and yet unashamedly sleezy at the same time.

It was an unusual thing for a husband to present to his wife, and Ken had been nervous when he’d first raised the idea. Playing with hotwife and cuckold fantasies wasn’t new to us; it was something we both enjoyed talking about, and he loved being teased at the thought of another man taking me in a way he’d never done himself. But actually putting it into reality wasn’t something I’d really contemplated until that moment.

I’d played the idea over and over. Calling the guy. Asking for coaching. What would he be like? A chancer, probably. Probably just out for a cheap thrill. And yet I knew that if I really was ever going to move this into a reality, I’d need some serious help.

My recent birthday had been a milestone for me in all sorts of ways. I’d heard of other women feeling a reawakening of their sexuality at around that time, and I knew I was experiencing something similar. I also knew that if I was going to embrace it, Ken wouldn’t ever be able to satisfy the kind of cravings I was finding myself having.

I resolved to call. After another weekend of attempting to entice Ken into being the kind of man who’d just take what was his. Or at least play the part convincingly. But he just couldn’t do it. He was far more interested in submitting. I sometimes wondered whether he suppressed any hint of control just so that I’d need to look elsewhere.

It couldn’t hurt, could it? Just to find out a little more and perhaps start to explore things properly?

His secretary answered the phone. I hadn’t expected a woman. Did that make it worse? Another woman knowing my secret?

I’d hoped that it would be a direct line.

Mr Hatfield, I later realised, rarely took calls himself.

“Could you attend an interview this afternoon? Shall we say around two?”

I agreed. I had the day free and it had taken so much to get to this point. I had to see this through.

“Mr Hatfield prefers clients to attend interview smart casual. Be yourself. He likes to see what he has to work with from the beginning.”

She asked my first name. Nothing else. Gave me details of an office building on the edge of town.

“We’ll see you at two, Emma. You have a great morning.”

The wish for a great morning was misplaced. I was incredibly nervous. Even just having to discuss this stuff with a stranger filled me with dread and embarrassment. I convinced myself to cancel. Then changed my mind. Then went through the every possible hesitation to try to make myself steer clear. To leave it all in the confines of our marital bed. Just a fantasy.

But I couldn’t resist. I’d made the call, and now I was determined to go through with it.

I wanted to make sure I presented well. No idea really what ‘smart casual’ meant in this sort of world. The world that Max Hatfield had already begun to create in my mind. A world of gold on black. Sophistication and sleeze.

I chose simple underwear. Nothing too spectacular, but not everyday either. He wouldn’t see it, of course, but it felt right to be dressed appropriately. Or as appropriately as I could imagine a hotwife dressing.

By lunchtime, my nerves had given way to arousal. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t think properly. Images of sexually confident women were washing through my mind. I knew that’s what I’d have to be to really embrace the whole thing, but it seemed such a distant illusion.

Ken was all I’d known sexually, aside from a few unmemorable experiences before we’d even met. I wasn’t even sure that other men might ever find me attractive. What I’d need to do to make myself more attractive. I needed to place myself in the hands of an expert.

Max Hatfield’s secretary met me as the lift arrived at the sixth floor.

Daisy was a woman just a little younger than me. Early thirties, perhaps. Immaculately presented and clearly someone who knew how to carry herself. A tailored navy suit held itself perfectly to her curves, her smartly straightened hair framing her naturally beautiful features.

“Mr Hatfield’s just finishing his previous appointment. He’ll be with you shortly.”

The door clicked open as she finished speaking and Max Hatfield guided a young woman out, his hand placed affectionately on the small of her back.

She turned to kiss him lightly as she left. Whispered something and giggled as he patted her behind.

“I’m sure,” he laughed. “I’m sure. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Daisy will make your next appointment.”

I felt so incredibly out of place. She was every bit as poised as Daisy. Seemingly endless curls of blonde hair cascading down her back. Her suit in the same cut and style, but in scarlet.

I almost wanted to run, but there was something about him that seemed oddly reassuring. I knew even then that I wanted to be under his tuition.

“Your next appointment, Mr Hatfield. Emma’s here for her interview.”

“Ahh. Excellent. Come through, Emma. Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

I’m not sure what I’d expected from a Hotwife Coach. Perhaps someone a little less elegant. Perhaps someone a little more brash. Max Hatfield was somewhere in his fifties. Six one, probably. Comfortable in his tailored suit and an open collared shirt. Surprisingly confident.

I was the very opposite. An absolute bundle of nerves and embarrassment.

He asked Daisy to bring tea and an appointment form as he led me into the room.

“I think Emma’s going to be signing with us very soon.”

He smiled, knowing that I was already under whatever spell he was casting on me.

Max Hatfield’s office was sleek and elegant. Lots of hard glass and metal. An incredibly masculine environment for a man who needed nothing other than his own presence to demonstrate that he was genuinely in control.

A few pieces of carefully chosen art hung on one wall. Images of elegant, assured women. Clearly chosen to coordinate with each other. Most of them around my age. All of them clearly presented to demonstrate their availability.

I wondered whether this was about Max Hatfield simply finding women to suit his own tastes. To provide for his pleasure.

Six floors up, I could see the city skyline from the window behind his desk. And on the other wall a huge red curtain. Perhaps hiding another window, the whole length of the office. I wanted to pull it back and look down on the ordinary people. Imagine myself back out there. Shopping. Drinking coffee. Meeting girlfriends for an afternoon of chatter and catching up.

“I usually find that the best place to start is you telling me about how things are at home. Come and sit here. Let’s talk.”

Max Hatfield pointed to a chair facing his desk. He sat across from me. Very much as I imagined interviewing for a secretary position or some such might be. I wondered how he did that. How he explained his enterprise to the people who worked for him.

“I see that you’re married. Let’s start with that.”

I explained our situation. Our comfortable life, the way that Ken provided for me beautifully. The way that he adored me and had since we were in our late teens. We’d grown up together, enjoyed more luxuries than most. A happy life that many would be envious of.

“But sex, Emma? Tell me about sex.”

Daisy entered with the tea. Left the tray on Mr Hatfield’s desk and placed a bundle of papers in front of him.

“Sex is kind of rare. We had a lot of fun when we were younger, but the spark sort of left us a long time ago. Ken needs it occasionally, but it’s not often. Not any more.”

I explained that Ken had spoken many times about me taking a lover, but that it wasn’t something I felt confident about.

“And he’d enjoy that, would he? Knowing you were with someone else?”

I blushed a little. It was more than that. I knew that Ken would find it an incredible experience. He fantasised about watching, or at least being told about it afterwards. I’d found his pornography collection on computer a month or so earlier. Categorised carefully, of course. Much of it pretty ordinary but the largest file being a whole series of cuckold images. I’d teased him about it afterwards, and we’d had an unusually hot afternoon in bed that Saturday.

Max looked a little disapproving.

“Pour the tea, would you, Emma?”

Already, I craved his approval. Wanting to prepare tea exactly to his preference. He sensed that immediately.

“Just try to be calm. We’re just getting to know one another.”

“I want you to understand clearly how my hotwife coaching works, Emma. This isn’t about pleasing Ken - or any of the husbands whose wives I’m working with. This is about your pleasure. And the pleasure you’ll give to the men I introduce you too, of course. You’ll begin to understand that as we progress. You want to feel pleasure again, don’t you, Emma?”

His words were so gentle. No-one would have imagined the subject matter if they’d simply listened to his tone. As if teaching some complex mathematical method to a student kept behind for extra tuition.

I nodded.

“I don’t want to appear selfish, Max.”

“Mr Hatfield,” he corrected. “I think Mr Hatfield sets things out more appropriately.”

I blushed again. Ashamed of myself for overstepping the mark.

“I’m sorry. Mr Hatfield. I don’t want to appear selfish, but yes. I would like to feel pleasure. Properly. It’s been a very long time.”

He asked me about fantasies.

“You do fantasize, I assume?”

More blushes, although less so this time. Somehow, speaking with him felt easy. He was clearly in control and I found myself relaxing as I began to explain some of the thoughts I’d been letting my mind wander to lately.

There hadn’t been much that I’d not fantasised about in truth. I’d taken to returning to bed in the mornings once Ken had left for work. Settling in with a favourite author’s latest erotica on my e-reader. Enjoying the anticipation of hot stories curling themselves into my mind. Allowing myself to delight in the thought of strong, knowing men taking me roughly and without protection. Imagining myself as nothing other than an object of desire. Men - sometimes one, sometimes more - being unable to resist and yet taking me to the very edge of wanting them too before giving in to my insatiability.

I’d never explained any of this to anyone.

“This is the first time I’ve told anyone these things. I’m sorry. Is that too explicit?”

Another correcting glance.

“Emma, nothing is ever too explicit for me to hear. If I’m going to coach you, it’s essential that you’re honest. I need to know that I can rely on that. My coaching is very much about creating the pleasure that you crave. You’ll find later that those first fantasies will be nothing in comparison to the ones you’ll discover under my guidance.

“You do understand that, Emma? That you’re going to learn some very interesting things about yourself during your time with me?”

He pressed the intercom button before allowing me time to answer.

“Daisy. Could you take Emma’s measurements for me, please?”

He instructed me to strip to my underwear.

I sighed with relief at my decision to wear matching bra and panties.

“Just pop your clothes on the chair there.” He nodded towards the edge of his office as Daisy entered with a clipboard and tape measure and he turned his attention to the paperwork on his desk.

Daisy smiled gently. “Don’t worry, angel. I just need to measure you for your uniform. Mr Hatfield has very exacting standards.”

They both seemed so casual about the situation. Taking my vulnerability in their stride, as if it were just a small rite of passage towards being accepted for coaching. Which of course was precisely what it was.