Loading...You have a better chance of appreciating this story if you have a large closet full of dresses that were carefully chosen to look professional and a small drawer of lace and silk originally intended for your husband alone. If you’re a man who wants me to swallow a big load of cum by the second paragraph, then you’ll get along with my husband; but you’ll have to look elsewhere for a story. Even in my husband’s stories, I never seem to get laid by another man (or women) until the bottom of the first page or the top of the second.
What would you expect of a happily married, middle aged couple who barely remember the thrill of watching each other have sex with someone else’s partner? My husband had encouraged me to write a story ever since he submitted “Alicia goes Gunkholing” to Literotica a little over a year ago. His story was from the time before we became lost in the fog of respectability. I resisted writing my story until I had a fresh experience to share. Now I do. I hope you enjoy. My husband certainly did.
*****
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t like to watch.”
That’s what he said when I had called him for advice. Some wives would have taken that statement as a warning. From Morris, it was encouragement for me to let go again.
Again. I turned the adverb around in my mind and looked at it from all angles.
I was the one who had introduced us to swinging when we were a young couple just a few years out of college. I had invited my best friend along on a sailing trip with us. Morris had always been so shy around women, but he was fantastic in bed and I knew that he had these vivid fantasies. Hannah agreed to help me open him up a bit. And we did. The older couple that we met on the other boat was an unexpected bonus that allowed us to explore a broader range of possibilities.
We had both enjoyed that time. I liked to study him while he made love to another woman. He’d get so intense. His muscles pumped up hard and his skin flushed. And then he would be so relaxed and his skin would just glisten with sweat. He was so sexy when he made love to another woman. It just made me love him even more. He said the same thing about me and he meant it.
We never went to clubs. We only had sex with a few other couples in those years. We never consciously decided to stop – but we did. Graduate school and children made it difficult to get away on vacations. And then we just gradually became too respectable. Morris kept getting promoted. I got my masters degree and became a clinical studies coordinator at the medical school. Our busy professional lives became even busier with leadership roles in the PTA and a camp for kids with diabetes. It wasn’t until the kids were old enough to go to summer camp by themselves that we got away on a vacation for just the two of us. Then we started to talk. We talked about our fantasies and our memories of living out those fantasies. The talk gradually became more serious. Nothing came of it. We didn’t know any swingers anymore. Even Hannah was married to a man I couldn’t imagine stripping to his underwear at a party. I certainly couldn’t imagine him watching Morris dive into his wife’s pussy while I sucked his cock. And then I met Steven.
I had almost lost my virginity to Steven in high school. He had gotten me down to my bra and panties, and then he fumbled with the clasp on my bra until he gave up. I didn’t have the good sense to help him. We avoided each other for awhile to avoid reliving the embarrassment and then our lives went on in separate directions. I pretty much forgot about it.
Now our paths had crossed again. Although we both lived on the outer rings of Boston, we had just met the previous day at a research symposium in Toronto. He had presented a paper. I introduced myself and invited him to lunch. We quickly caught up with each other. Our lives were remarkably similar. Marriage. Kids. Careers. It took no time at all to fell comfortable with him.
He brought up our last date with a self-deprecating taunt.
“So did you have to help your husband with that chastity bra of yours?”
I laughed.
“No. By then I had taken it off so many times that I just threw it away.”
“And you?” I continued. “Have you figured out all the possible combinations of clasps, buttons and zippers? You won’t want to miss out on a sure thing again.”
“Some are harder than others. But, if I can’t free a willing woman from her clothing, my wife is usually there to help, if she’s not busy with someone else.”
I licked my lips nervously. He was crossing a line that I had only hinted at.
“My husband would like to meet that wife of yours.”
“And would you like him to meet her?”
“I like to watch. My husband and I used to be swingers when we were younger.”
“My wife and I still are.”
He looked deeply into my eyes. He looked so sensuous that I would have ripped my clothes off right then and jumped him, if we hadn’t been in a crowded restaurant. I had found our entry back into the swinging lifestyle, if Morris really wanted to go through with this.
“There’s a great swing club for couples only outside of Toronto. You and Morris can join us. My wife, Susan, is coming tomorrow.”
“Morris and I had talked about getting back into swinging, but it’s just been talk. We’ve never been to a club. It’s been years since I’ve even worn a thong outside our bedroom. I just can’t see myself jumping on some stranger’s woody – even if my husband is there.”
“We could go to Illusions tonight. It’s an expensive strip club, but it’s worth it. Tonight is the amateur strip contest so there will be lots of wives and girlfriends in the audience. It’ll loosen you up for tomorrow. Maybe you’ll even get lucky!”
“I’d like to go. I really would, but let me think about it.”
I tried to look calm, but I felt almost as nervous as on our last date. Maybe I had gotten lucky.
*****
I found a package waiting for me outside my room when I returned after the closing session of the conference. It was late afternoon. The connections were terrible so I had planned to stay over the night and catch the next flight in the morning. Stephen knew I was free for the evening. I had been thinking about his offer and what I would tell Morris when I called him.
I opened the package with my heart racing. I found a sheer lace and Lycra party dress in the box with a note. The note was simple. He would pick me up at 8 PM. If I was wearing this dress (under a trench coat, of course), then we would go to the strip club. If I was wearing one of my professional outfits, then we’d go to dinner. The choice was mine.
I called my husband. He wanted me to go as far as I was comfortable, and then stretch a little more. I could hear the excitement in his voice. I wanted to go, but desire is not the same as confidence. I decided to take a shower and try on Steven’s gift.
The dress was incredibly sexy, but I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror. My hair was naturally curly and long. That was nice. But it was streaked with grey. A good fit for a woman trying to look like a mature professional. And then there was the ever so subtle sag in the buttocks department, although the thighs were firm from the long hours on the rowing machine. And what about the wrinkles on the elbows when I held my arms out straight? I could still get my husband up, but was I sexy enough for a nightclub? And this wasn’t even a nightclub. It was a high end strip club for gentleman and their paramours.
I was about to convince myself to just give up any more fantasies of sexual adventure when it occurred to me. I was looking at the mirror all wrong. I was looking at the mirror like a woman. The eye of a woman was like a mega pixel digital camera. Every wrinkle, every sag and every grey hair were seen clearly in high def. The eye of an aroused and slightly inebriated man, on the other hand, saw an available woman after extensive Photoshop enhancement. The colors were more vivid. The textures were smoother. The image was softer and more alluring. I just needed to look at myself like a man would.
I imagined the men at the strip club and then I tried to look at myself in the mirror from a new perspective.
Nice legs! I’d like to run my fingers up those smooth thighs right into her pussy. And I can see that hairy bush of hers right through that dress. I haven’t squished into a hairy muff for years. It’ll feel nice with her heels digging into my back. And those nipples. I bet they’d grow to twice that size when I suck on them. Nice face, too. She must be pushing fifty, but she smiles like a virgin. No hard edges. I’d like to see those cheeks puff out when I stick my cock in her mouth. Maybe a little cum dripping off her chin. She’s hot! Yea. She’s a MILF alright. One hot, fucking MILF. Is she looking at me? I’m might just get lucky tonight!
MILF (Mothers I’d Like to Fuck) It’s a whole genre. Morris and I had actually bought the 32nd in a series of MILF DVDs. It had gotten him more excited than it had gotten me, but it was kind of reassuring to see him jerk off to bodies that had more or less recovered after being stretched a couple of times. Now here I was a MILF. Full breasts with a little sag and a couple of stretch marks, but otherwise in good shape. Seeing that woman in the mirror made me realize that I wanted to get fucked and that there were a lot of men out there that wanted to fuck me.
I was leaned over now with a hand thrust out to brace myself against the counter. The other hand was busy stroking between my legs. My breasts hung away from my body supported only by the lace at the top of my party dress. My bare ass stuck out where the short skirt had ridden up when I bent over. I was hot. I liked it. I stopped before I began to smell like I’d already been the main event of the evening.
I grabbed my trench coat just as the buzzer rang.
The club was all that Steven had promised it was. Spacious. Gleaming chrome and mirrors. Well dressed customers in a wide range in ages – and a fair number of women, although men were clearly in the majority. Stages jutted out into the clumps of chairs and couches. Women in various stages of undress danced to pulsating music on the stages – and sometimes on the laps of the men in booths at the far corners of the room.
You could tell the amateurs on stage. It wasn’t just age or appearance. The amateurs jerked around the stage like puppets while the pro’s prowled like big cats stalking. For sexual appeal, the amateurs would just grab their breasts and shake them – every few seconds it seemed. The pro’s crawled up on their customers with a bag of tricks to offer – the accidental touch of a thigh, a nipple grazing a forehead, legs spread for a full frontal as they undulated from one man to the next along the edge of the stage.
I was still running hot and cold. I wanted to believe that I was as sexy as my husband thought I was, but an objective analysis of the woman in the mirror had been less than reassuring. I had been running cold at the door, and would not check my coat. I clutched at my coat but felt conspicuously overdressed – even as the arm candy for a paying male patron. Steven was very patient. He let me take my time to get comfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings. I was grateful for that.
After we had found a comfortable couch and ordered drinks, we were approached by one of the dancers. She was gorgeous in a short dress of bright purple mesh that hid nothing. Her face and frame were thin and delicate. She had full but natural breasts. Her skin was the deep brown of a women with grandparents from the southern tip of India. She introduced herself as Reema. She obviously knew Steven.
“You must be Alicia. Steven called this afternoon to say that you might be coming. He said you would probably be nervous. I’m so glad you decided to come anyway. Susan is going to love you. Are you bi?”
That’s not actually how the conversation unfolded, but it seemed like that. I was still in a tight little shell and Reema was trying to help me get out. Reema was open, witty, direct and talkative, but not in an offensive way. The chatter was surprising calming. I began to warm and my coat just naturally slipped off. Steven took my coat back to check-in while I got to know Reema better.
I had never met a stripper before so I did not know what to expect. I would never have guessed the next turn in the conversation.
“I read the papers from your group. Interesting research. My thesis advisor and I are trying to get portable defibrillators to ignore movement artifact so compressions don’t need to be interrupted for pattern recognition.”
“What are you working here for? You could get a graduate teaching position with those skills.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Reema was direct but diplomatic.
“Because the money is good, and I can’t wear an outfit like this in the lab – and I wouldn’t want to.”
She turned around and bent over with the pretense of adjusting the strap on her high heels. Her short dress rode up over her trim little ass. I felt myself getting aroused at the sight of her shaved pussy and puckered little asshole.
“You’re right. A woman ought to be able to wear an outfit like this once in a while. And then I spread my knees wide apart to flash her a view of my pussy.”
“I’m really am glad you came. You have too nice a body to keep hidden in a bedroom. And it looks like I’m not the only one with that opinion.”
She turned her head to a group of men, who were looking at us. Both of us. I caught the eye of one of them, who smiled back at me. I looked away. When I looked back, he was still staring at me. In a strip club, strangers don’t have to look away when you catch them checking you out. I could feel my nipples puffing up. I was beginning to feel like a MILF and I enjoyed the feeling.
Steven had returned by this time and was happy to see that I was warming to the experience. Reema took him by the hand and looked at me.
“Come on. Let’s show Alicia how to lap dance.”
I followed along, looking around me and fascinated with what I saw. Men sat motionless with their hands by their sides as dancers wearing only a thong ground into freshly stained slacks bulging with cock. Other men sat at the edge of the stage nursing overpriced beer and looking up entranced by the bare flesh gyrating for their amusement. A few women –the only real amateurs – sat in the audience with their keyed up boyfriends fidgeting before their turn on the stage.
We passed a well-dressed bouncer before entering a hallway of closely spaced doors, each one leading to a single couch and a stool with a towel and condom laid out neatly. Prostitution was illegal but tolerated if kept quietly out of sight. Escort services were listed openly in the tourist brochures, but the services only eluded to sex with language that a lawyer could argue was simply an advertisement for men who wanted to talk sports to women over dinner. The sounds coming from the rooms were not about sports, unless you consider sex a sport.
Steven sat on the couch. Reema stood in front of him looking incredibly sexy with her ankles far apart and her dress pulled up to her waist. I leaned up against a wall to one side and watched with increasing fascination as my date for the evening was seduced by a beautiful young woman who knew both math and lap dancing.
The music from the club was piped into the private cubicles. Reema began to sway seductively before Steven. She touched him as if by accident and then each touch became more deliberate. She peeled her top down to let her large breasts swing freely. Steven sucked on the nipples but still kept his hands at his side by some unspoken agreement that the dancers were always in charge. By the end of the first piece, Reema stood naked while Stephen had his shirt opened to the waist. Reema climbed onto the couch and pushed her pussy into Steven’s face. Her body continued to move with the music as Steven licked whatever part she let touch him. Steven was no longer rigid in his seat. His hands ran along the back of her thighs and over the flesh of her ass cheeks. He pulled her cheeks apart for me. I could see the delicate skin around her asshole glistening with secretions released only with sexual arousal. I drank in the erotic scents as our passions filled the confined space. My husband would have licked her where those scents originated, but I held myself firmly against the wall even as my finger found my wet slit and slipped in.
Reema was kneeling on the floor now with Steven’s pants around his ankles. She rolled the condom over his stiff shaft and stuffed his cock in her mouth. Her movements were still in time to the music as she twisted around his shaft. Her cheeks bulged out as his cock explored her sensuous mouth. They were so deliciously beautiful. Her skin was as dark as his was light, except for his cock, which by now was a bright cherry red. She slowly moved up his body until her dark pussy was dripping just over his bright red tool, then she buried the shaft inside her in one quick movement. His cock slowly reappeared with a coating of white froth. Her pussy remained stretched open for the instant that she came off his shaft. I could see the bright red flesh inside her that so perfectly matched the color of the cock being swallowed inside her once more.
If Steven and I had stayed at the hotel, I would have already had him squirt his cum inside me at least once and we would probably be snuggled together like spoons waiting for sleep to overtake us. Instead, I had yet to touch my partner of the evening sexually and was watching entranced as he was being fucked professionally. The scene before me increased my desire for that cock. I was so wound up that I felt I could get fucked continuously for the rest of the night and still want more hard cock inside me.
By now, they were no longer moving in time to the music. Reema moaned uncontrollably. Their bodies stiffened and shook. I could see the fluid pulsing through Steven’s cock. The room was perfectly still for a moment. Then Reema stood up as the softening cock slid from her dark pussy. She reached down, pulled the distended bag of semen from the wilted shaft and deftly tossed it into the waiting receptacle. She handed Steven the towel.
Reema turned to me.
“15 minutes. You’ve got to get them off within 15 minutes and make it seem like an hour if you’re going to work here. They’ll knock on the door if you don’t.”
I smiled at her. I may have wished that I could be her for an evening, but I had no intension of applying for a part-time job on weekends. Maybe I would try the dance contest while Steven recovered. He was sexually spent and not much use to me for the moment.
Reema spoke again.
“It’s about time for you to dance.”
Something had woken up in me and I wanted to show what I had to the world, even for a roomful of strangers. The firmness of my resolve surprised me.
“I’m ready.”
She took me backstage. We got through the usual registration formalities. There were a few rules unique to a strip club contest. I promised not to stick anything in my vagina while performing onstage and so forth. I was already dressed for the occasion so there was only a minimum of last minute primping. I went over the songs that would be playing while I performed and then it was my turn.
I did not have the moves of a professional dancer, but I was not going to make the mistakes of the other amateurs. Surely I could do something more creative than juggling my boobs for the entire 8 minutes of my set. I formed a plan. I would draw attention to myself for the first half without anything overtly sexual and then I would give them as raunchy a show as I could manage without actually having sex onstage.
I started with yoga. I know what you are thinking. But imagine this. A nearly nude woman standing on one leg holding the other ankle behind her back while bending forward. Now picture that woman with her legs spread apart reaching down to touch the floor with her palms and slowing reaching up to stretch. She turns 90 degrees and does it again until each of the four corners of the room has a chance to see her bare pussy with her ass cheeks pulled apart naturally by her movements. Nothing explicitly sexual. Just balance, flexibility and graceful movements. Steven said later that I had the serene expression of a Zen master in meditation but that the juice leaking down my leg gave away my advanced state of arousal.
When the music got faster, I threw off what little clothing remained and rolled over onto my back to face my first customer. He was a burly guy surrounded by his raucous drinking buddies. He could have been my plumber, but it was my crack that was showing. I froze him to his seat with a stare, then I put first one leg and then the other on his shoulders so that he was looking right into my dripping pussy. I pointed to the garter belt only inches from his face. He stuffed a bill in to the approval of the crowd. I didn’t recognize the denomination of the currency, but it didn’t matter. I was now a professional.
I rolled over onto my knees for the next customer and pushed my nipples up to his lips. He kissed one before I leaned back just out of reach and pointed to the bill in my garter belt. He stuffed another one in beside the first and I turned to the next man. He was ready for me with a bill in his teeth. I got on my hands and knees to back up into his face. He was only inches from my pussy and asshole when he slipped his bill under the elastic band that I held open for him. If he had whipped out his cock, I would have let him fuck me right there on the stage.
Some jobs are more exciting than others. I was beginning to understand why Reema preferred being a stripper part time to a graduate teaching assistant full time.
Each man was getting bolder than the last. I was getting lots of bills stuffed under my garter and some just thrown on the stage, but I was also getting perilously close to the line that would get me thrown out of the club. Fortunately, the set ended and Reema came to my rescue. We picked up the bills and wiped up the slick secretions that I had dripped on the stage.
I rushed up to Stephen with a wad of money in my hand and more in the ruffled elastic band on my leg. He helped me smooth out the dress that I had barely thrown on backstage.
I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. I told him that I wanted him to take me back to the hotel right that instant and fuck me. He just smiled. I was so hot for cock that I would have jumped on the next one I saw.
That’s when Reema took me by the elbow.
“Your first customer is waiting for you.”
She flashed me a broad smile. The wink she gave Steven confirmed my suspicions of a conspiracy.
“Trust Reema.” He said. “She’ll find you someone nice.”
All my reason said stop but my desire was overwhelming. That’s when Morris’ comment came back to me.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t like to watch.”
Would Morris want me to fuck a stranger in a high class strip club? The answer was easy. I followed Reema to the private area.
He was only a little older than I was. He was bald except for a little rim of hair starting just above his ears. He looked to be in relatively good shape, but he still had a bit of a pot belly on him. He was attractive in his own way, but I didn’t even know his name and there was money laying on the table for me. I didn’t have to do this, certainly not for the money. He had a kind face. Reema would be waiting outside the door, which was reassuring. I decided to follow my desires and go for it.
I had learned a lot from watching Reema earlier in the evening. Fifteen minutes should feel like an hour, but they’ll knock anyway. The club has to keep the rooms open for the next customers. Reema knocked just as he shot his load into the condom I remembered to put on him. He slowly eased his cock out of my pussy. I looked down at him and kissed the top of his smooth head gently. My chest was still flushed from my orgasm. A real live orgasm. Not many pro’s do that for their customers. He thanked me and said I was the best he’d had at this club. I took it as the complement that it was.
I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d gotten Steven’s cock inside me, but there was more business to do before we could leave. Part of the money was turned over to the management for overhead. The results of the contests were announced and the prizes awarded. The winner of the grand prize was a stunning blond in her 20’s who could actually dance. I would have voted for her. I won a runner-up prize of some sort and was proud of it. I wanted to show it to Morris, as soon as I could figure out how to tell him what I’d done to win it.
What was left of the night was spent in Steven’s room. I don’t recall all of the details, but it was not like at home. Morris and I had settled into a tennis match approach to sex. One of us took the initiative to serve and then we volleyed back and forth from the baseline until we both scored. Each of us knew the other’s favorite strokes. Steven was new to me so his moves were unpredictable. I don’t remember who had the most orgasms – I wasn’t counting – but we were both exhausted toward the end and fell into a deep sleep wrapped together in a ball of nude flesh.
*****
My eyes snapped open. The curtains were drawn apart. The room was flooded with light. The sun had been up for hours while we slept off the effects of the previous night’s partying. But it was not the light that woke me. The full weight of Steven’s body lay on top of me, forcing my breasts flat against the mattress and pushing my face into the pillow. He had shoved my knees apart so he could thrust his cock into the body that lay pinned beneath him. The head of his cock had caught on the narrow strip of flesh between my asshole and my vagina. He could get into neither of the two openings. He pushed with even greater force. The pain clamped my pussy and asshole shut even tighter.
I could have stopped it all with a single word. He was an alpha male intent on raw sex, but he was still a friend who would observe the usual social conventions. In short, he would have stopped if I had said “no.”
Why would I want him to stop? If I could have only one form of sex, it would be gentle and loving with plenty of foreplay and snuggling. But I had enjoyed last night. All those anonymous men wanted to throw me down and fuck me, but they remained frozen to their seats leaking cum stains on their slacks just for the privilege of having me taunt them and the occasional touch of a bare thigh, ass cheek or nipple. Was I exploited? Hell No! I was woman. Hear me roar.
Now it was Steven’s turn to dominate. His cock hurt me, but it was an exquisite agony like an intense orgasm that I wanted more of – not less.
He pulled back for an instant to attempt another penetration. I wanted him inside me, but not in my ass. Not this morning. Not without lubricant and a condom. In the instant that he pulled back, I slipped a hand over my asshole and deflected his next thrust into my pussy. He pushed in roughly. I growled partly in protest and partly in encouragement. I was his lioness. I clamped my pelvic muscles around his shaft like a lioness bites the long, slender neck of a gazelle. My lion roared and thrust in deeper but was unable to extract himself from the vise-like grip of my pussy. He flipped my long hair up and bit into my exposed neck. I could feel the sting as he placed first one mark and then another and another. I grunted and writhed but he had me firmly pinned under the superior weight of his sweating muscles. I twisted my head from side to side and flailed my limbs helplessly.
He pressed his hands into the muscles of my back to lift up his torso. With long firm strokes, he began to piston his shaft into my now wet pussy. My whole body shook each time he slapped up against my ass cheeks. The angle of entry and the force of his stroke torqued my love tunnel in ways that I had not experienced previously. I could not last much longer without screaming, but I didn’t want him to let up. His strokes had reached as deeply into me as it was possible to go. In and out blurred into one continuous motion as he became overcome with frenzy. Maybe 50 strokes. Maybe a hundred. It was all over in a couple of minutes, but the orgasms were as intense as if we had built up to this all day. He squirted inside me until it came bubbling out around his cock. I encouraged him with filthy language and squeals of obvious delight.
When he was done, he kissed me lightly on the neck where a minute earlier he had been leaving his marks for my husband to find. Then he got up and disappeared into the shower while I dozed off again with cum leaking from my love crack.
When I awoke the second time, I was in the room alone. Stephen must have gone to run an errand. Breakfast, I hoped. I got up to take a shower before he returned.
The naked woman that looked back at me from the mirror was different from the women I had seen the night before. That woman wore an outrageously sexy dress, but was still unsure of herself. The woman I saw now had the same firm thighs, the same ample but slightly sagging breasts and the same gentle smile. But this morning, that woman had the glint of lust rekindled in her eyes. She wanted her husband, of course, but she wanted more than just the feel of his cock riding her doggy style. She wanted him to watch as she wrapped her tongue around two cocks dripping with cum. She wanted to see him fulfill his anal fantasies with a woman who really enjoyed it – and if that woman still had her pussy stuffed full of her regular partner’s cock – well, so much the better.
Oh, it would all be so delicious.
*****
I left a wet towel on the tile floor of the bathroom and emerged naked in a cloud of steam. I had expected to find Steven having returned from his errand, but I not expected the tableau that greeted me. Steven was on the bed as I had expected. A naked couple sat on the couch. The man was my husband. I had never met the woman, but she must have been Steven’s wife, Susan.
She had obviously become familiar with my husband in the past few hours, because his cock was only half erect as she curled her slender fingers around his shaft. She was just the type he fantasized about: long legs and tiny breasts with almost translucent white skin. I thought she was attractive, but I preferred women like Reema with large breasts and dark skin. Not that looks are that important. Everyone’s attractive who’s friendly, and she was definitely being very friendly with my Morris.
I slipped onto the bed beside Steven without a word being spoken. He laid his hand casually between my thighs.
“We thought we’d join you at a swing club tonight, if that’s okay with you.” My husband had spoken first.
“That would be nice.” I answered him, but looked at Susan. She smiled. I imagined her screaming as my husband penetrated her. The image was comforting to me. I shivered ever so slightly. She smiled again knowingly.
“Did you have a good time at the gentleman’s club?” Her voice was gentle and reassuring. I took a liking to her right away. It was always more fun watching my husband have sex with a woman that I found compatible.
“It was an interesting experience,” I replied, without revealing anything of substance.
“Steven sent me a picture of you at the club with his cell phone.” Susan continued. “I forwarded the picture to your husband with a short introduction and assured him that Steven would have sex with you before the night was over.”
I laughed. “A woman I’ve never met knows me better than I know myself.”
“I know the look.” She continued. “You can’t wear an expression like that and make it through the evening without sucking cock.”
I shrugged.
“Your husband must have seen it too. Anyway, he accepted my proposition so we booked the last flight and took a room down the hall.”
“You both must be exhausted.” My tone was sympathetic. I knew that the last flight arrived well after midnight. I had not intended the double meaning until the words had left my mouth.
“You have no idea how exhausted we got.” Susan smiled suggestively, while pressing her breasts into Morris’ bare chest and kissing him warmly. The meaning of the embrace was clear. No matter how many times they had gotten off last night, it was still not enough for today.
We all laughed. A potentially awkward situation, even for experienced swingers, was quickly becoming comfortable.
“Did you enjoy dancing for a crowd?” It was my husband who spoke this time.
“That was one of the interesting experiences.”
I was suddenly a bit nervous again. Up until he spoke, I had thought of it as dancing. It wasn’t. I was a stripper. How was I going to tell him that more men than I could count had gotten close enough to smell my pussy while shoving small bills into my garter. And then there was the back room. I was so fucking hot that I would have paid him, but money had changed hands and I was the richer for the transaction. So what did that make me?
“I hear you’ve gone pro.” He flashed a wicked grin that conveyed both knowledge and approval.
“Semi-pro,” I replied. “A pro wouldn’t blush.” I could feel my cheeks flush as pink as my still swollen pussy.
Morris laughed. We were stretching the boundaries again – and off to a good start.