By Paro Gide

*This story is fiction from my dirty little mind and all names and characters are fictional. Any resemblance or reference to real names and/or descriptions is purely coincidence. Please let me know if you like my stories*

Synopsis

A couple’s mundane life leads the wife to make some changes and spice things up for herself.  When her husband gets suspicious, he decides to track her down only to be shocked at what he sees and surprised at his unexpected response.  

Beth checked herself in the mirror one last time, wanting everything to be perfect. Her heart was racing and she felt butterflies in her stomach with the anticipation of what awaited her outside the bathroom door. She made sure every detail was right: Her eyeliner was perfect, eyeshadow the right smokey shade, and lips refreshed with glossy lipstick. She adjusted the black sheer babydoll and matching g-string he wanted her to wear as this moment was going to be monumental for the both of them. Heart still pounding, her hands cold and shaky, she sucked in her breath and held it for 10 seconds to hold off the thought that this was her last chance to stop all of this. She told herself again that she deserved this and rationalized it with the thought that she came this far, she owed it to herself to see it through. Beth smiled to herself as she heard slow jams start playing in the other room. She made her decision. Beth quickly let out her breath, wrapped a towel around her, and opened the bathroom door.

John and Elizabeth “Beth” Liu were what most people would call your typical Asian American couple. They had a home in the big city, attended the neighborhood church, and worked full time jobs: John as a computer programmer and Beth as a grade school teacher.  They were also college sweethearts who had two kids and a family dog. Over the years, life had become monotonous for them; John was constantly working and Beth was struggling with the balance between teaching and managing the kids’ schedules. With John constantly being on calls for work, Beth juggled dinner, grading papers, and helping their kids with homework on weeknights, made sure the kids made all their soccer games on Saturdays, and the family got to church on time for Sundays. It was no wonder they never had time for each other.

Soon after Beth’s 36th birthday, John started noticing a change occurring with his wife.  She started eating healthier, going out for runs, and changing her clothes from her frumpy, comfortable and practical work clothes, her flats, slacks, and plain old blouses she liked to wear, to a more feminine style, heels, skirts, and dresses. He also noticed… Makeup and perfume!? She hasn’t worn that since after their first child was born! He sensed something was up but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. A notification from work popped up on his phone and he shrugged off her behavior as just a phase she was going through because she was getting older.

Fast forward to six months later. John was annoyed when Beth called and told him she needed him home early to make dinner for the kids because she had a meeting with her friends from her church group that evening and was going straight from work to the church. After he hung up, he paused for a brief moment. “Wait, didn’t she have her group meeting last night?  Come to think of it, she has been going to a lot of church group meetings these last few weeks…” Now John was curious and decided to check Beth’s social media page as to figure out what was really going on. He knew her password so it was pretty simple logging into the account on his phone. For the most part, everything seemed fine. No weird messages, no unordinary posts. Everything seemed fairly normal until he browsed her search history. He recognised an old childhood boyfriend’s name in the recent search history. “Cassius Williams”. She mentioned him, while John and she were dating back in college, as her first crush and boyfriend back in elementary school.

John, naturally, felt funny about all of this and needed to know what was happening so he decided to continue sifting through her social media search history. After a short bit of digging, he found that the first time she looked Cassius up was right after her 36th birthday, and she had sent a friend request a minute after that at 11:37pm. He accepted it at 3:03am, she liked some of his posts at 6:47am, just minutes after she normally wakes up to get ready for work. As he dug further, he noticed more frequent searches for Cassius, which would seem strange for a friend who wanted to simply reconnect to another old friend.  “Wouldn’t they have messages? Like ‘Hey! How are you?’” He thought to himself. John noticed a significant gap in her messages, as if she was mass deleting them, especially the most recent ones where she normally would have a ton of messages from her church group just before a meeting.  John decided to take his “research” a step further.

John ordered a pizza for the kids and asked the neighbors to keep an eye on them for a few hours while he “ran some errands.” He didn’t have access to the feature to track his wife’s phone’s GPS location, but he did remember the “friends near me” feature on her social media account. He looked up Cassius and saw that he was about a 15 minute drive away. John’s heart was pounding, hoping that his wife wasn’t messing around behind his back with this guy and was hoping all of this was just his wild imagination. As he got within 2 blocks of Cassius’ location, he decided to park his car and go on foot, just in case his wife was there and spotted him.

John followed the signal to a large apartment complex with an open courtyard full of hedges, bushes, trees, and flowers. It even had a beautiful Italian-styled fountain with water running down the central brass figures. John froze near the stone gate entryway as he saw his wife sitting next to a very large and well dressed black man. Cassius was about 6’4”, where as his wife was only 5’2”. John’s heart began to race as he saw they were holding hands with their fingers intertwined. “Maybe it’s nothing,” John thought, as he knew his wife was very physically affectionate towards everyone. She would give everyone a hug and kiss on the cheek at Church. It still felt odd and John needed to know for sure so he stayed.

After about 10 minutes of chatting (which John could not hear other than the occasional burst of laughter from them, thanks to the gurgling of the fountain), they got up and headed towards one of the entry ways of the massive apartment building. A twinge of jealousy shot through John’s chest as he saw his wife cradling Cassius’ large arm as they walked together.  After they disappeared through the entryway,John dashed across the dimly lit courtyard to the entryway Beth and Cassius just entered. He saw no sign of them from where he was so he quickly looked at the doorbell directory for the apartment number where he guessed Cassius lived. He quickly spotted Cassius’ name and, as luck would have it, it was the first floor corner apartment.

John moved behind the bushes that hid most of Cassius’ windows from plain view and stalked around until he fell upon a well lit window and heard Beth’s laughter from inside. The window was open but the shade was down, making it difficult to see what is going on. They were having a hushed conversation, as if they were chatting very close to each other. All he could make out the was the mewling of his wife in a sultry tone and the low bass tones of Cassius booming voice. After what felt like forever, John heard the clinking of glasses, a short silence then laughter. He then heard the chairs scoot back, and footsteps. They left the room.

A short moment of panic filled John as the light turned out and he had lost track of where they were. He started stalking around the windows again when the light flicked on from a window he just passed. This one was mostly closed but the shade was about a hand’s height from being all the way down, giving him almost a full view of Cassius’ bedroom. He saw Cassius walk into the room, wrapped in a black robe.  He raised a remote in his hand and the room was instantly filled with the deep rhythmic bass from the slow jams, giving it a charged atmosphere of sexual electricity. John, breathless at this point, noticed a light turn on in the background, then saw his wife enter the room wrapped in nothing more than a towel.

At a motion from Cassius, Beth opened the towel and dropped it to the floor. She was a bit red faced as if she were embarrassed, or it could have been her “Asian Tan” from the alcohol, or both. His eyes grew wider in disbelief as they dropped from her face to her body, to the sheer lingerie that left little to the imagination of what it was feigning to hide. Beth looked down bashfully as Cassius’ eyes drank her in. He said something to her in his low bass voice that John couldn’t hear over the music, but it caused her to look up in time to see Cassius pull her to him, his large, dark lips slowly consuming hers.

At first Beth seemed frozen when Cassius started kissing her, but quickly returned the passion with more intense, wanton display of tongue and lip suction as she reached her hands up around the back of his head to draw him in closer. As they pulled each other in, Cassius let his robe fall to the floor, revealing his large, near naked, african physique. He did not have an athletic build but he was certainly not out of shape either. John’s heart almost pounded through his chest as he witnessed Beth slowly kissing down Cassius’ chest to his stomach, then stopped and sat on her knees in front of him as she reached his boxers. Cassius, bent down, deeply kissed Beth with his large tongue, pulling off his boxers in the process. When they broke their kiss, Beth gasped in shock at how dark and how large Cassius’ member was. John could see it clearly from where he was and immediately noticed he was not circumcised either, making his cock look like a large black mamba slithering out of a large dark tree.

Beth was saying something to Cassius and from the look on their faces, John was able to determine it had something to do with his monsterous black cock. With all the shyness and bashfulness now gone, Beth reach her hands up to fondle Cassius’ large black shaft and his heavy, dark sack. She guided her hands all over Cassius’ manhood as if she were a blind woman trying to see with her hands. She rose from her knees, smiling at Cassius, and began to let her tiny pink tongue explore his manhood as well. At first she started slowly, lifting up his cock, and sucking and licking his large black orbs below, then leaving a trail of saliva as she worked her way up his erect shaft. With her two hands stroking the length of his leaking black cock, she gave Cassius a wicked smile and lapped up the precum dripping from the tip. She then took as much as she could of him with her mouth, which was really only his swollen cock head, as Cassius placed both hands on the back of her head, urging himself further. Beth sucked him with such want and intensity, John could see her cheeks clearly indented from the effort.  She also stroked both hands up and down his glistening, slimy, wet shaft as if she were trying to get the yummy liquid from a chocolate malt that had not melted enough yet.

After a few more moments of this intense treatment from Beth, Cassius abruptly pulled his cock out of her mouth with a “pop.” Beth looked up at him for a moment questioningly as he bends towards her, giving her a wet passionate tongue kiss. He motioned her to the bed where she sat then laid down with her legs still dangling from the edge. John heard her audibly moan as Cassius pulled her legs up to rest on his shoulders and his large mouth descended to cover Beth’s opening.  With Cassius’ thick tongue expertly probing and searching every inch of her opening along with the constant skillful suction of her clitoris with his large black lips, it only took a short while for Beth to go over the edge into the black oblivion called “Cassius”.

Her long drawn out moan was so loud and intense, it caused John to duck in case anyone outside hearing the commotion would look towards the window.  After his wife’s moaning subsided, John slowly peeked through the window again as Cassius was working his way up Beth. He brought his tongue up her sensitive belly button, causing her to giggle, then up to one of her breasts tenderly.  His large mouth covered her nipple then sucked in with such intensity, he had half her breast in his mouth by the time he released, leaving a mark on her that no one would mistake for anything other than what he just did to her.  He move up her neck, causing her to mewl in pleasure until his tongue found it’s home with her lips. They resumed an intense kiss, grinding their hips together furiously.

Cassius slowly slid his hard, black rod up and down Beth’s mound, from the tip of his swollen head to the base of his sack, causing her to writhe in intense pleasure beneath him.  She clawed at his back each time his cock head slid down to her clit, causing intense ripples of pleasure to echo through her and making her want more. Each time Cassius slid his thick black cock back down her body, he made sure to bring the tip down closer and closer to Beth’s dripping wet entrance. John could see that Beth could no longer take any of this teasing, so on Cassius’ next downward slide, Beth moved her hips up so that her entrance would meet his head. Cassius naturally pushed back into her very slowly as to not hurt her. As he pushed deeper into her, Beth let out a low moan as her body was slowly stretch and filled like it never had been before. John’s jaw dropped as he witnessed the large black mamba slowly work its way into his wife. He licked his lips, surprised by himself.

John thought he would be angry, upset, hurt and all other such emotions but the shocking one that stood out was how turned on he was at witnessing his wife in this illicit union with her lover. The fact that she is not just cheating on him but doing it with her friend, with no protection, would send a normal guy over the edge trying to beat down the door to stop it. The thought of his wife eagerly taking such a large guy, skin to skin/bare-back like that, on top of his strong dark african features mixing with her delicate light Chinese features, contrasting together like a sexual yin and yang, was so erotic. He wanted to see more.

Cassius was increasing his pace with Beth now, and with each powerful stroke, Beth let out a small yelp. As if a switch was flipped in his mind, he was no longer gently pushing into her but pounding into her with the fury of an unleashed animal. Sensing this sudden change in Cassius, Beth’s own switch flipped and raw animal instinct took over as she shouted things like “Fuck me harder, Cassius! Harder! Deeper, Cassius, Deeper!”  Beth wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped his large black ass to pull him in deeper, holding on for dear life.   Soon after, she let out a scream of pleasure as her second orgasm crashed into her like a tsunami following a massive earthquake.

Cassius slowed to catch his breath, a moment of recovery later giving way to her second intense orgasm. Breathing heavily, they kissed each other as if they were a couple, making love with just their tongues. Beth clearly wasn’t done yet and she whispered something to Cassius causing him to climb off her and lay properly in his bed. Beth climbed on top of his sturdy physique, kissing him again as she reached behind her to guide his swollen, black cock inside her. They continued to kiss each other as Beth ground her hips into his. John nearly exploded in his pants as he got a full clear view of Cassius’ big black cock sliding in and out of Beth’s pussy.  Beth and Cassius both picked up speed and intensity, causing a loud “CLAP” with each meeting of their hips. John could see the sweat glisten off both their bodies with some of Beth’s long hair matted to her body and face. The ferocity of how they fucked each other right now reminded John of animals mating. It was as if instinct took over and these two were no longer in control, like mother nature intended.

John’s heart leapt right into his throat when he heard Cassius announce loudly “Aww Daaaamn! I’m about to cum, Beth! I’m about ta nut, girl! Tell me where you want it at? Where you want my nut, Beth?” and Beth was only able to respond with “Ohhhhhh, God! Mmmmmmmm! Fuck me, Cassius! Keep fucking me please!” “Fuck, Beth! I’ma nut up all inside you if you don’t tell me where to cum! I’m gonna cum in yo pussy!’” Cassius warned in a rising tone. To this day, Beth is still not sure why she said it or what possessed her to say it but…  “Oh God, Cassius, Yes! Yes! Give it to me! I want your hot nut inside me! Yes!” Beth screamed in reply. Cassius pushed himself as far as he could into Beth as he yelled out, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck yeah, Beth! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! I’m cumming in you, Beth! Take all dis nut, baby! Yeeeeeeeeeeeah! Take it all!!!” Beth felt as Cassius’ head swelled deep within her womb. She screamed in pleasure as she felt the initial burst of Cassius’ hot seed splash against her cervix, sending her over the edge for her own orgasm. With each pulse of Cassius’ black cock releasing a potent package of spem, Beth’s own orgasmic contraction would squeeze and milk more seed from Cassius, her cervix dipping in, gaping, and sucking up his seed. “God! Yeeeeeeeesssssssss! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Gaaaaaaaaawd, Cassius! Yeeeeeesssssss! I feel it!  Fill me! Give it to me! Yessssss! Give me all that nut! Mmmmmmm!” Beth Mewled loudly in ecstasy.

Beth crashed on top of Cassius, both breathing heavily, kissing. John could see they were both a hot, wet mess from their mixing sweat and other fluids. Cassius’ partially softening cock was still pumping in and out of his wife as she gently rocked her hips to match with him, a long, thick stream of his cum leaking down his shaft, leaving Beth’s womanhood frothy and sticky. John has seen enough and quietly moved away from the window and out of the bushes he was hiding behind. He quickly made his way home, putting the kids to bed. John came almost three times in a row after masturbating, thinking about what he just witnessed with his wife and her black friend Cassius, then fell asleep.

At 11:30pm, about two hours after John left Cassius’ window, Beth quietly walked into the room and went directly to their bathroom. John awoke to the sound of the shower being turned on. “Should I go in there and see the love marks Cassius made on her and confront her?” He thoughts to himself. John decided to stay in bed until she came out of the shower. After Beth came out, he saw her put on some shorts and a t-shirt and she crawled into bed. “How was your Church group meeting? It went a little long didn’t it?” John asked groggily. Silence lingered long enough that John was about to ask again when Beth said slowly, “Yeah… It WAS long and… it was probably one of our best meetings. I think I might start meeting with them every week now.”  John’s heart skipped a beat at that news as he started running a hand up her leg. Beth quickly shut that down saying how tired she was and that he should try with her in the morning. “Her usual excuse,” John thought.

Unable to sleep now with visions of Cassius fucking his wife, John waited until Beth was completely asleep before he slowly rolled up her shirt to observe firsthand the love marks Cassius left. He gently ran his fingers over the marks then stopped as his wife stirred.  He then slowly move his hand up her shorts and underneath her plain old panties and immediately felt her well fucked swollen lips and thick gooey semen still oozing out of her. Beth pushed his hand off of her and said sleepily “Leave me alone, I’m sleepy!”. John rolled back over and started pumping his erect dick thinking about how many more times they fucked after he left, wondering if his wife was going to let herself get impregnated by Cassius.

The stage is crimson red from thick carpeting and hidden floodlights. It hosts one king size bed with fluorescent indigo bed sheets and a clever bar attached to the bed with a few half empty bottles of high quality booze, a pitcher, tumblers and glasses. I can see that they’re expensive just by looking at the bottles, but the stage, just five meters away from where I sit, is still too far to read the labels. I recognize the distinctive labels of the Green Fairy, Buffalo Trace bourbon and something that has to be a very expensive bottle of Vodka. The owners of this place – probably watching everything from behind one way mirrors I vaguely discern on the long wall of the room, some three meters high – are not exactly your regular strip bar owners. They got style. A quick look around reveals watchers in their comfy leather chairs and sofas, although they too are just barely discernible contours. The whole room, in fact, is permeated with incense smoke and surreal red light. The term visible darkness probably illustrates it better. We are at the Dreamland Swingers Club in Vienna, Austria.

Somewhere out of the wall opposite of me (I am sitting alone on a leather love seat) silhouettes of two men and one woman emerge and approach the bed. The woman is in the middle, holding men’s hands and wears nothing but this mind-blowing red lingerie, panties and bra and stockings with garter and tight corset and high heels of the matching color. The men are naked, could be in their forties, although I cannot tell for sure, given the poor visuals; the woman is a pretty 37 year old brunette, and her seductive outfit was bought during the last summer sale at Victoria’s Secret for 147 dollars. I know that, because I bought it. The woman is my wife.

As soon as they get to the bed, one man turns to my wife and passionately kisses her in the mouth. The other man is behind her, four hands already all over her. I detect a certain amount of tension in her: the way she holds her shoulders slightly elevated and pushed back as if she wants to back up from the guy who is kissing her. Someone’s hand twists a knob on the console somewhere in the security chambers and I can see everything quite clearly now: the guy kissing my wife looks like he’s been in his forties forever, has a slender and sinewy body one acquires after years of regular exercise. The other guy is his younger version, more muscular, butch, sports a crew cut and tattoos on his forearms.  He now gently pushes her to sit on the edge of the bed and kneels before her. She opens her legs to show a slit in the panties and black lace tied up in a cute bow tie over it. He unties it delicately, takes a good look at her shaven pussy, already swollen and moist with expectation, and dives in.

My wife starts to twitch and squirm, the way she does it when she likes the action between her legs. And she usually does. So do I. She has a glorious pussy. Most women don’t really, but she does. She was a bomb when I first met her, a slender, tubular beauty that smelled of hidden carnal desires; over time, she gained a few pounds and went through the normal, inevitable aging process but preserved her subdued but ferocious sexuality like no time passed at all. The funny thing about that is that she conceals that sexuality under the mask of a serious, responsible, professional woman as she is. For all I know, my wife is the most dependable person I know. She doesn’t lie, doesn’t fuck around like most women and men do nowadays. Like I do. But underneath all that lies a real thirst for a raw, animal sex which I am largely incapable of providing.  I think I love her too much for that.

Our sex has always been good, but for a long time now I have been suspecting that she craved something beyond our routine sex endeavors, delicious as they were. This bothered me at first, but then I remembered that she has never had anybody but me, that I was her first and last lover; I admitted to myself that, had I been in her situation, I would no doubt decide to indulge myself.  Having lost its ground for objections, my wounded male pride gave way to resignation, and resignation quickly became an obsession. I found myself fantasizing about her lying naked in her bed and her faceless phantom lover entering her chambers under the cover of darkness. Nobody real: I knew that she was quite incapable of cheating on me, primarily because she couldn’t lie and thus couldn’t bring herself to do it behind my back. Knowing someone would necessarily imply some amount of intimacy, and intimacy required lying. I knew that would never happen.

All I can see now is the back of this guy’s head between her legs, can’t see what his tongue and lips are doing, but her body language is telling me – telling everybody in the room, and now I see there are at least fifteen people watching the show – that she likes it immensely, the rigidity in her shoulders already gone.  The taste and smell of her pussy appear in my mouth – what do they call that phenomenon? Something related to a willful recollection of smells and tastes? Smooth, velvety feel of the rosy flesh inside… Her corseted breasts rise and drop as takes quick, panicked breaths, her hands are grabbing his hair and upper back, the legs wide open like she wants to let him in deep, deeper, all the way. She starts to moan.

The older guy, still standing, now makes a step closer and positions his cock near her mouth.  She takes it in her hands, strokes it and licks it and starts sucking it, working her head up and down, all the while whimpering and moaning deliciously. The fucking guy really does have one impressive cock, long and thick and curved slightly upwards and appearing to be carved out of wood.

I am so excited I can’t breathe normally and my heart wants to jump out of my chest. What if I die of a heart attack now? Well that would be humiliating. I imagine the headline in the newspaper: “Husband Dies While Watching Wife Give Oral Pleasure.” “Fulfilled Fantasy Ends Tragically for Hubby”.  Suddenly I am scared to death, partly because of the heart palpitations, the other part being the realization that I might  never get a chance to fuck her again. Sex with her has always been terrific. We fucked in the airplane lavatory on the flight to Vienna, in this impossible standing position, and then again in the hotel room before we took a shower and got dressed for the night out. We were already excited at the prospect of the Dreamland adventure, skipped dinner because of it and settled for drinks instead. All the while I was scrutinizing her, afraid that she might not want to do it, and then again scared stiff that she just might; but her pretty face revealed nothing of the turbulent excitement she must have carried inside. “You understand that things can’t change after tonight, right?” she said. “And I don’t want you to do anything with anyone in there,” she added before I could answer. This was our agreement. The trip was my idea, which she initially flatly refused; it took me a good two months of pleading, begging, cajoling to make her change her mind. She will do it, she said, but only if I don’t go crazy and join the action. I understood why: she could never let go completely if I was directly involved. My condition was that I can watch.

Later we got to the cab and the club and a beautiful blonde in a mini skirt and a silk blouse showed us around, explaining the rules in English with a slight German accent: No rough stuff, no means no, the club does not guarantee a partner, no drugs, clothes are optional, but if you intend to join the party, you better take your clothes off – otherwise people assume you’re into watching.

“Off?” my wife whispered in my ear.

“Not all the way, of course,” Renata smiled, revealing her perfect teeth.”Most guys keep their underwear on. For a while. We strongly encourage ladies to wear sexy stuff, lingerie, if you will. To keep the atmosphere up and running. And besides,” she stopped to cast an up and down look at my wife’s skimpy dress,”looks like you’ve got nothing to worry about, baby.”

Later, when we were already in the part of the club drenched with naked bodies, strobe lights and down tempo techno music, she showed up again. With a proposition.

“Those two guys over there would like you to join them for a drink and a party in the Redrum,” she said.

“Red Room,” I repeated stupidly, but my wife immediately turned around in the indicated direction and waved her hand at two men seated on the stairs in front of some scary African two-meter totem.

“Yes,” Renata smiled. “Redrum is a bit of a private environment. I’m thinking it might work better for you fresh daisies. And please,” she put her hand on my shoulder,”please don’t worry. They won’t do anything your lovely wife won’t like.”

Seven minutes. As if on cue, the young guy stands up, goes to the bar and pours the green liquid into one tall glass. The Green Fairy, absinthe. While my wife is blowing the other guy, he unhurriedly burns the sugar into the glass and adds ice water from the pitcher. We already had a few drinks tonight, three glasses of white wine for her and I several straight Jacks for me, so there’s no telling how she is going to react to the Fairy. She is not into drugs at all. But when he offers the tall glass to her, she obediently accepts and takes a long sip out of it, still seated on the side of the bed and shaking her head to absorb the powerful kick of the wicked drink. The two men share the rest of it. As soon as they finish it, the older guy lies on the bed and commands her to straddle him backwards so she can face the other guy now. She takes her panties off, sits in the lying guy’s crotch and starts pumping and rotating her hips. The other guy is already in the position and puts his cock in her mouth. He gently holds her head with both hands and moves his cock in and out of her mouth, slowly, deliberately; when he goes in too deep, she stops him cold, punching him pretty hard in the ribs, and he gets it. She doesn’t like it in her throat. The guy on the bed pulls out a small bottle of something from under the pillow, pours liquid onto his hands and fingers and starts working her ass, rotating his finger around her anus, carefully pushing it in, then two, while she is rubbing her pussy on his lying cock. He pulls his fingers out and pushes his thumb in and lifts her ass up a bit, using his thumb as a hook; she reaches down to grab his cock and positions herself on the top of it and slowly nests down the entire length of his cock. With one cock all the way in and the other still in her mouth, she moans so deliciously that the actual applause escapes from the crowd. With his thumb all the way in her ass, the young guy starts to lift her up and down, slowly at first, but pretty soon it is a steady, merciless pounding from underneath which gives her problems keeping the cock in her mouth; she solves the problem by holding the base of the cock in one hand and having more than a mouthful above the hand, all the while sucking and slurping as the cock goes in and out, in and out. She soon tilts her head skyward and with her eyes closed emits a low, growling sound and I know she is coming, a long, captivating, exhilarating orgasm, which only I had a privilege of observing until now, the crippling orgasm that makes her pussy spasm and grip the cock that’s pumping her.  The excitement in the club is palpable.

“Do you want some company?” I turn to see a pretty, dark haired woman standing at the side of my sofa. She is about my age, which is forty, wearing a short, tight, red-and-black zebra striped dress. The red stripes are almost fused with the surrounding so it appears that some parts of her body – hips and breasts – are missing. Thin, long legs on high heels are perfectly sculpted. American accent.

“Sorry, honey,” I respond, regretting it immediately. “I’m not sure my wife would be okay with that,” I point to the stage.

She takes a quick glance towards the stage and gives me a condescending smile. “Looks like she’s pretty busy at the moment, but have it your way. Tell your wife she should try Hollywood.” I watch her walk off into the red darkness.

When I look back at the stage, I see that the three of them are standing, the younger guy at the back and the older in front of her. The young guy holds her buttocks from the back and lifts her effortlessly in the air so now she is now actually sitting on his hands. She is absolutely and unreservedly obedient, guesses his thoughts precisely because she now spreads her legs wide open towards the older guy, who grabs her thighs, positioning his rod right in front of her magnificent pussy. Why don’t they use the fucking bed? His cock completely disappears in her and my wife lets out a long aaaaaaaaaaah of pain, or pleasure, probably both, grabbing with one hand the guy’s ass and with the other the neck of the Atlas guy holding her and does not stop producing all kinds of delicious ahs and ohs and ohmegods until everything was over twenty something minutes after.

But that was after, and I don’t want to get ahead of the story right now. I’ve been waiting for a long time to see this, and right now I want to see the every last bit of it, don’t want to miss a single contortion on her pretty face, not a single twitch of her slender torso, the look of her nipples sticking out from the corset, hard and red and wanting. The guy’s hips are slapping her, massive, long, strong strides by which he pulls out almost completely and slams his cock back in with a resolution and firmness that shakes her body head to toe. Ten minutes into it (I know because there is a digital clock on the wall, digits the color of oxblood) she comes again, now completely and unabashedly lost in the orgasmic dreamland, what little of inhibitions she has had until now have vanished. But the guy does not stop, does not slow down; in fact, he speeds up the rhythm until his relentless pounding actually catches up with the music (when did it start? Some growling, trembling, bass-infused techno). The watchers are mesmerized, there’s absolutely no sound in the room, except the throbbing, pulsating sex music, the men’s grunts and my wife’s incessant, noisy expressions of immense carnal pleasure.

For some reason, I start thinking about the whole lack of jealousy problem. My wife is jealous as a starving  cat watching her owner feed the dog cat food. She can’t stand other women being around me, or me being around other women, whichever comes first. There are a couple of single girls in my office, in their thirties, and they are the constant source of her inquisitive impulses. She thinks that jealousy is an expression of a healthy possessiveness that’s natural to every human being, and that only reason a person is not jealous is because he or she does not really love, or does not love enough, the person in question. I don’t know what to think of that. It transpires that I don’t really love her, but I know that’s not true. I am pretty certain of my feelings for her, but still have to admit that this obsession of mine may not be exactly normal, if you catch my drift. Shouldn’t I be mad because of all this? Even a little bit? I mean, come on, two guys are just fucking the brains out of my wife – wouldn’t it be natural for me to get a first sharp object and proceed to hack them all to pieces? I know that many men would. If my wife is correct, then I don’t love her, but what if she’s wrong? Is it possible that I truly love her and still enjoy the tonight’s show?

How she justifies her present act to herself – given her views on the normalcy of a relationship – is another matter. We haven’t talked about it, but I suspect her answer will once again be pitched to underline my lack of jealousy, in order to not explain her rapacious desires. I guess I’ll deal with it in due time. But for now, I want to enjoy the show.

The front guy is now reaming my wife in tempo with the music, his cock going in and out like it has a life of its own. After the noisy second climax, I expected her to slack down a bit, but she continued her beautiful performance without missing a beat, now stroking with her right hand the Atlas’ cock on which she is sitting, the left one still clasped frantically onto the front fucker’s ass, moaning and sighing and flying on the wings of the Green Fairy. The young guy is still holding all her body weight in his hands. The show continues, the relentless pounding goes on so that every time he smashes his cock in, her entire body shakes like she is being administered electroshocks; she is, actually wailing at one point but producing an unmistakable sound of inconceivable pleasure right after, all the while seated on the other guy’s arms and the cock directly under her ass and horizontal to the ground. Her legs are now open wide and fully extended, the left one mopping glasses off the bar with the high heel. The glasses fall noiselessly on the thick rug underneath without breaking.

The guy at the back whispers something in her ear (I actually lean forward as if I could catch it, but of course I can’t and in that moment I am flooded with a mighty surge of jealousy!) and she nods her head, yes, yes. The front man immediately pulls out of her, grabs her thighs tighter and helps the guy at the back lift her up some more so that she can raise the cock from under her into a vertical position and guide it in her ass. She starts to squirm and rotate her hips as the head goes in, and than a half of the shaft, aaaaah, and then some more, aaaaaaaaaaah, and then the entire cock disappears in the hollow as she lets out an agonic AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, OOOOOOH, MMMMMMMM. With four hands now holding her ass and thighs, she takes the other cock back in her pussy, they are as one body now, the two men almost hiding her in the sandwich between them and only her legs sticking out to the side, erected and shaking, and her arms around the front guy’s neck, nails clawing and ripping the skin off his back. The two men have some problems synchronizing their movements and finally proceed to lift her up and down instead, grunting and moaning with strain and pleasure. What a scene. My wife of fifteen years, right there on that stage, riding two cocks at the same time and screaming in delightful agony.

If there is a Hell, I’m thinking, I’ll be the first sonofabitch to enter it. I know that on some level, all this – the premeditated act of planning some perverse sex, the trip to Vienna, the Dreamland Club, my wife being fucked like she has never been fucked before, and by two complete strangers to boot, and me watching – all this has to be dead wrong on some primordial level. But to tell you the truth, I don’t care. I don’t give a flying fuck about what an ordinary male must think of me, or perhaps the majority of women as well, I don’t care, I say, because I know that deep down in their souls everybody has fantasies of some kind and they are dying to make them true. It just so happened that my wife and I shared the same fantasy – the stage being depicted right now – and that fantasy came to life by a strange turn of events. In a way, I am lucky. As I can imagine she is, right now. How many of you married men and women can claim that? All of you who do not miss a chance to fuck a stranger, or a friend, or your wife’s friend, but are ready to defend your lousy honors by blood if necessary if your certain someone just as much as take a sideways look at anyone?

Yes, I am the luckiest bastard in the world right now, besides maybe my wife, my lovely woman, whom I have been fucking for the last fifteen years and whom I love fucking more than anybody else on this planet, even after thousands of marital sex acts. Who, prior to this night, has had a total of one lover in her life – me. Who is being royally fucked by two cocks at the same time, who is coming once again as I am thinking My God, this can’t be happening, this is too good to be true because everything is just like I imagined it and then some more, it can’t be true! But it is, it is happening, her eyes almost popping out of the eye sockets, veins on her neck bulged and taut like they’re going to explode any second now as she is being frantically slammed onto two cocks and while she is moaning and yelling and screaming OOOOH AAAHHH OOOH GOD and when my cock explodes inside my pants, just when the two men finally let my wife fall onto the bed and spurt sperm all over her, the bed, the floor, and the bar, grunting and yelling like madmen  all the while – even in that the most impossible of moments I know that I love her more than any of you can ever imagine, more than it should be permitted for any person to love without a fear of spontaneous  combustion. And then, when everything settles, when the two men and my wife sit on the bed and go into an awkward threesome hug like true lovers, in that one singular, radiant point in my history I have a true and powerful moment of clarity: I realize that jealousy is not a proof of love, just as much as the absence of it doesn’t constitute its opposite. Jealousy is love’s true archenemy.

And in that very moment, my wife looks around as if she has just opened her eyes and immediately sees me watching her; she smiles and blows the sweetest kiss down my way.

BBCGYM White Wives Sport Club Serie!