I wanted her to be used...
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I wanted her to be used.
I’m surprised, reading these naughty stories, at how many husbands enjoy the idea of their wife being adulterous with other men. I thought I was unusual. I’d fantasised for many years, dreaming up situations that could never actually happen. I’d never dared tell her about my imaginings, fearing that if she knew she would be disgusted and disappointed in me. She’s no prude, when we first met she had shared some ropey old porn videos that her previous boyfriend had left at her house. They were explicit, but like most porn in the eighties, quite boring once the clothes were off and the humping had begun.
There were one or two exceptions. One in particular especially appealed to me and I had noticed that her knickers were wetter under my fingering than was usual as we watched it together one night. I hadn’t asked her if it turned her on especially, which with hindsight and later experience I wish I had; it could have led to more and sooner than was the case.
In it, a middle aged wife found herself the object of the attention of some younger men while her husband looked on. To cut a long story short, they were partying and drinking a bit too much and she ended up in just her bra and knickers in an impromptu striptease. Her husband pretended to have passed out but watched as she danced with each of the young men, eventually losing her underwear to their many grabbing hands. Stripped of her inhibitions, she succumbed to their attentions. It ended in the inevitable gang bang while the husband surreptitiously masturbated. When they were left alone, the husband went down on her as she lay back on the bed, sleepily fondling her own breasts. None of them had used condoms, but he didn’t hesitate to lick her intimately.
It didn’t escape my notice that several times after watching the video, my wife had pushed my head down between her legs after I had cum inside her. I must admit that I enjoyed pretending I was doing what the husband in the video had done, but we never spoke about it.
Despite not discussing the idea that was burning in my imagination for several years, I think it was probably inevitable that something would happen one day.
Nothing was ever likely to happen in our home town though, too many people we knew might get to hear. A weekend break away provided the opportunity to reveal my desire to her. The result was unexpected.
There were one or two exceptions. One in particular especially appealed to me and I had noticed that her knickers were wetter under my fingering than was usual as we watched it together one night. I hadn’t asked her if it turned her on especially, which with hindsight and later experience I wish I had; it could have led to more and sooner than was the case.
In it, a middle aged wife found herself the object of the attention of some younger men while her husband looked on. To cut a long story short, they were partying and drinking a bit too much and she ended up in just her bra and knickers in an impromptu striptease. Her husband pretended to have passed out but watched as she danced with each of the young men, eventually losing her underwear to their many grabbing hands. Stripped of her inhibitions, she succumbed to their attentions. It ended in the inevitable gang bang while the husband surreptitiously masturbated. When they were left alone, the husband went down on her as she lay back on the bed, sleepily fondling her own breasts. None of them had used condoms, but he didn’t hesitate to lick her intimately.
It didn’t escape my notice that several times after watching the video, my wife had pushed my head down between her legs after I had cum inside her. I must admit that I enjoyed pretending I was doing what the husband in the video had done, but we never spoke about it.
Despite not discussing the idea that was burning in my imagination for several years, I think it was probably inevitable that something would happen one day.
Nothing was ever likely to happen in our home town though, too many people we knew might get to hear. A weekend break away provided the opportunity to reveal my desire to her. The result was unexpected.
We checked into our hotel earlier than we had planned; the traffic had been lighter than anticipated. The room was bright and airy, an executive suite with an office area and a sofa and armchair. The bathroom boasted bath and roomy shower cubicle, toilet and bidet. She showered while I made coffee. I showered, slipping on one of the luxurious bathrobes and slippers that the hotel room provided, just as she had done. I lay stretched out on the Emperor bed, leafing through the supplied tourist pamphlets as she sat on the edge applying her makeup and chatting about inconsequential things.
I almost missed the single sheet glossy advertisement, it was inside a leaflet advertising the delights of the local shopping mall, not an item of great interest to the average husband. It slipped out and presented me with an image that was bound to catch the attention of the average male, a deep décolletage. At first I thought it was a simple ploy to catch attention, which it certainly accomplished, but quickly realised that this was no ordinary public house being advertised behind a beautiful bartender. I shared it with Emily, more as a joke than with any real intent or hope.
She paused in her (in my view unnecessary) beautification activity; she was beautiful enough in my eyes. There was no doubting it, to my surprise and physically manifested excitement, she was genuinely interested. She took the advert and read it, a smile playing on her full slightly parted red coated lips, unconsciously glossed by the brief passing of a wet pink tongue. I recognised the sign; She was excited. She turned toward me, her robe parting to expose almost all of her breasts, both dark brown aureole just shy of her nipples. ‘Would you like to join me?’ She asked, in a deliberately seductive whisper.
'Are you serious?’ I tried to sound amused,but I’m sure my excitement at the prospect was betrayed by the thickness of extra dry lips and my attempt to conceal the almost painful erection that had sprung out of nowhere.
She leaned toward me, her breasts now completely exposed as she allowed the robe to part. Her nipples were as hard as I’d ever seen them and I could not resist, her hands clasping my head urgently, fingers gripping tight as I nibbled and licked like a sex starved teenager. The leaflet fell to the floor, I recovered it later as she took another shower. The Old Barn was a pub with a difference. Thursday night was adult only over fifties music and entertainment evening , presenting local 'anonymous person’ strip night.
We had started our weekend early, tomorrow was Friday.
I almost missed the single sheet glossy advertisement, it was inside a leaflet advertising the delights of the local shopping mall, not an item of great interest to the average husband. It slipped out and presented me with an image that was bound to catch the attention of the average male, a deep décolletage. At first I thought it was a simple ploy to catch attention, which it certainly accomplished, but quickly realised that this was no ordinary public house being advertised behind a beautiful bartender. I shared it with Emily, more as a joke than with any real intent or hope.
She paused in her (in my view unnecessary) beautification activity; she was beautiful enough in my eyes. There was no doubting it, to my surprise and physically manifested excitement, she was genuinely interested. She took the advert and read it, a smile playing on her full slightly parted red coated lips, unconsciously glossed by the brief passing of a wet pink tongue. I recognised the sign; She was excited. She turned toward me, her robe parting to expose almost all of her breasts, both dark brown aureole just shy of her nipples. ‘Would you like to join me?’ She asked, in a deliberately seductive whisper.
'Are you serious?’ I tried to sound amused,but I’m sure my excitement at the prospect was betrayed by the thickness of extra dry lips and my attempt to conceal the almost painful erection that had sprung out of nowhere.
She leaned toward me, her breasts now completely exposed as she allowed the robe to part. Her nipples were as hard as I’d ever seen them and I could not resist, her hands clasping my head urgently, fingers gripping tight as I nibbled and licked like a sex starved teenager. The leaflet fell to the floor, I recovered it later as she took another shower. The Old Barn was a pub with a difference. Thursday night was adult only over fifties music and entertainment evening , presenting local 'anonymous person’ strip night.
We had started our weekend early, tomorrow was Friday.
I left my wife sitting on the edge of the bed in her underwear, black bra and the full knickers that more mature woman prefer to wear for comfort and support with tights pulled up over her rounded belly up under her bra, a combination which I find strangely appealing. Once again she was busily making those unfathomable adjustments to her makeup.
Unfortunately my tentative slightly embarrassed enquiries led to disappointment. The Old Barn had closed down. Apparently things had got out of hand and their licence had been revoked. The receptionist winked conspiratorially as he informed me. He suggested we used the adjoining restaurant, which he recommended highly and unsurprisingly.
Emily was openly disappointed. I was surprised at her reaction. We had never seen as much as a burlesque show and she had never shown any interest in doing so. This was an exciting development and one which opened up an opportunity which might close as suddenly as it had opened. I decided to take it, asking her directly why she was so disappointed.
‘I’m not really,’ she said, examining herself in her bedside mirror and adjusting something with her tweezers, ‘I just thought it would be different.’
I decided to go for broke, ‘Would you have considered being the anonymous person?’
‘God no!’ She laughed, looked at me and down at her still undressed State, ‘I’m not exactly a spring chicken am I!’
‘You still do it for me,’ I protested, ‘I’d have entered you.’
‘Oh really,’ she shook her head, ‘and I’d have meekly stripped in front of an audience, in your dreams.’
‘Yes, in my dreams.’ I laughed, deciding perhaps I was risking spoiling the evening by overstepping the mark. Perhaps my wishful thinking had fooled me into misinterpreting her disappointment. It was just curiosity.
‘Seriously though,’ she continued, you didn’t really think I’d be interested in that way? Does it appeal to you?’
‘What, you stripping? It’s something I’ve fantasised about’
She’d finished her makeup now and was tinkering with her hair.
‘You’ve imagined me stripping? For an audience?’
The conversation was having an effect on me, I felt a surge of excitement and a familiar stirring.
‘More than just stripping, I’ve imagined you in quite a few different ways. You still turn me on.’
She was looking at me, curiously, as if on the edge of a question, but she didn’t speak.
‘I’ve imagined you in the porn we’ve watched, it’s more exciting when it’s you.’
‘Would you like that, watching me being a bad girl?’
‘You have to ask?’
‘I thought you’d be jealous.’
‘I would, that’s the sour in sweet and sour, the bitter in bitter sweet.’
She laughed. ‘How very poetic.’
She looked serious. ‘I had no idea. It’s now even more disappointing that the Old Barn is no more.’
It was my turn to laugh, ‘you are all talk! Now it’s safe you tell me you’d have taken part and not just been a reluctant voyeur.’
She still looked serious, stood from the bed, picked up her black evening dress and carefully pulled it over her head, tugged it down over her bra and turned away from me.
‘Zip me.’
Once I had, she turned and put her hands on my shoulders. Looking earnestly into my eyes, her own eyes were their usual dark brown pools, but they seemed to twinkle more than usual.
‘I would do whatever you want,’ she said,’and don’t think you are the only one who has naughty fantasies.’
Unfortunately my tentative slightly embarrassed enquiries led to disappointment. The Old Barn had closed down. Apparently things had got out of hand and their licence had been revoked. The receptionist winked conspiratorially as he informed me. He suggested we used the adjoining restaurant, which he recommended highly and unsurprisingly.
Emily was openly disappointed. I was surprised at her reaction. We had never seen as much as a burlesque show and she had never shown any interest in doing so. This was an exciting development and one which opened up an opportunity which might close as suddenly as it had opened. I decided to take it, asking her directly why she was so disappointed.
‘I’m not really,’ she said, examining herself in her bedside mirror and adjusting something with her tweezers, ‘I just thought it would be different.’
I decided to go for broke, ‘Would you have considered being the anonymous person?’
‘God no!’ She laughed, looked at me and down at her still undressed State, ‘I’m not exactly a spring chicken am I!’
‘You still do it for me,’ I protested, ‘I’d have entered you.’
‘Oh really,’ she shook her head, ‘and I’d have meekly stripped in front of an audience, in your dreams.’
‘Yes, in my dreams.’ I laughed, deciding perhaps I was risking spoiling the evening by overstepping the mark. Perhaps my wishful thinking had fooled me into misinterpreting her disappointment. It was just curiosity.
‘Seriously though,’ she continued, you didn’t really think I’d be interested in that way? Does it appeal to you?’
‘What, you stripping? It’s something I’ve fantasised about’
She’d finished her makeup now and was tinkering with her hair.
‘You’ve imagined me stripping? For an audience?’
The conversation was having an effect on me, I felt a surge of excitement and a familiar stirring.
‘More than just stripping, I’ve imagined you in quite a few different ways. You still turn me on.’
She was looking at me, curiously, as if on the edge of a question, but she didn’t speak.
‘I’ve imagined you in the porn we’ve watched, it’s more exciting when it’s you.’
‘Would you like that, watching me being a bad girl?’
‘You have to ask?’
‘I thought you’d be jealous.’
‘I would, that’s the sour in sweet and sour, the bitter in bitter sweet.’
She laughed. ‘How very poetic.’
She looked serious. ‘I had no idea. It’s now even more disappointing that the Old Barn is no more.’
It was my turn to laugh, ‘you are all talk! Now it’s safe you tell me you’d have taken part and not just been a reluctant voyeur.’
She still looked serious, stood from the bed, picked up her black evening dress and carefully pulled it over her head, tugged it down over her bra and turned away from me.
‘Zip me.’
Once I had, she turned and put her hands on my shoulders. Looking earnestly into my eyes, her own eyes were their usual dark brown pools, but they seemed to twinkle more than usual.
‘I would do whatever you want,’ she said,’and don’t think you are the only one who has naughty fantasies.’
We dined in the restaurant adjoining the hotel; it lived up to the promise of the receptionist, Henry. It was Henry who delivered our coffee as we finished up, once again winking conspiratorially.
‘He’s an attractive young man,’ said Emily, ‘is he the one who told you about the Old Barn?’
I nodded, ‘yes. You think he’s attractive?’
‘He has a tight bum’,she chuckled, ‘do you mind me saying that?’
If she’d had the feeling in my pants her words engendered, she wouldn’t have needed to ask.
‘Not at all, I like it.’
She reached across the table and our fingers entwined.
‘You didn’t tell me any of those fantasies you have me starring in.’
‘I’m not sure I’d be able to stand without embarrassing us if I told you here.’
She frowned, then laughed as understanding lit her face with amusement.
‘You get that excited?’
‘It’s been known to happen, my cock doesn’t know I’m in a public place.’
We shared the moment in laughter.
‘Would you like a night cap, on the house, in the lounge?’
Henry had returned without our noticing, I wondered if he had overheard anything. The thought appeared to have occurred to Emily too.
‘Is the lounge intimate?’ She asked.
Henry nodded,’yes madam, it’s by invitation only. You will be alone. Of course I shall be available.’
‘Oh really?’ She commented, ‘that sounds…perfect. But I think we are ready for our room now. Will you be available there?’ The empty bottle of Merlot explained the apparent loosening her inhibitions. It dawned on me that I’d only had a single glass.
‘Emily, I’m shocked! You embarrass him.’
‘Oh I think it would take a lot more than that to embarrass Henry.’
Incredibly, she had reached out and placed a less than subtle hand on his thigh, her eyes pointedly staring at his crotch, she lifted her gaze and smiled broadly into his impassive expression.
‘Indeed madam, as long as Sir approves, I can be available to your room.’
I struggled to find a coherent witty response, the possibilities of the unexpected situation flooded my thoughts and tied my tongue.
‘Oh yes, Henry, I can assure you he does.’ She removed her hand. ‘I think a bottle of French brandy and three glasses to our room?’
‘Would four glasses be acceptable?’
My wife pushed her seat back and stood, brushing down her dress which had risen when she sat.
‘Bring as many as you think we need, is that ok darling?’
I assumed she was asking me, though with this new Emily she may have been asking Henry.
‘Yes, of course, whatever you think.’
It didn’t really occur to me what they were arranging until later. At that moment I was more concerned about my awkward physical discomfort. I stayed seated. I had to wait for the tent in my pants to subside.
‘He’s an attractive young man,’ said Emily, ‘is he the one who told you about the Old Barn?’
I nodded, ‘yes. You think he’s attractive?’
‘He has a tight bum’,she chuckled, ‘do you mind me saying that?’
If she’d had the feeling in my pants her words engendered, she wouldn’t have needed to ask.
‘Not at all, I like it.’
She reached across the table and our fingers entwined.
‘You didn’t tell me any of those fantasies you have me starring in.’
‘I’m not sure I’d be able to stand without embarrassing us if I told you here.’
She frowned, then laughed as understanding lit her face with amusement.
‘You get that excited?’
‘It’s been known to happen, my cock doesn’t know I’m in a public place.’
We shared the moment in laughter.
‘Would you like a night cap, on the house, in the lounge?’
Henry had returned without our noticing, I wondered if he had overheard anything. The thought appeared to have occurred to Emily too.
‘Is the lounge intimate?’ She asked.
Henry nodded,’yes madam, it’s by invitation only. You will be alone. Of course I shall be available.’
‘Oh really?’ She commented, ‘that sounds…perfect. But I think we are ready for our room now. Will you be available there?’ The empty bottle of Merlot explained the apparent loosening her inhibitions. It dawned on me that I’d only had a single glass.
‘Emily, I’m shocked! You embarrass him.’
‘Oh I think it would take a lot more than that to embarrass Henry.’
Incredibly, she had reached out and placed a less than subtle hand on his thigh, her eyes pointedly staring at his crotch, she lifted her gaze and smiled broadly into his impassive expression.
‘Indeed madam, as long as Sir approves, I can be available to your room.’
I struggled to find a coherent witty response, the possibilities of the unexpected situation flooded my thoughts and tied my tongue.
‘Oh yes, Henry, I can assure you he does.’ She removed her hand. ‘I think a bottle of French brandy and three glasses to our room?’
‘Would four glasses be acceptable?’
My wife pushed her seat back and stood, brushing down her dress which had risen when she sat.
‘Bring as many as you think we need, is that ok darling?’
I assumed she was asking me, though with this new Emily she may have been asking Henry.
‘Yes, of course, whatever you think.’
It didn’t really occur to me what they were arranging until later. At that moment I was more concerned about my awkward physical discomfort. I stayed seated. I had to wait for the tent in my pants to subside.
When we had finished up dinner, Emily was a little unsteady on her feet, so I elicited the assistance of Henry, who despite my protestations called for the assistance of a stocky man with grey receding hair who seemed to be aimlessly loitering in reception. Don, as he was introduced to us, looked about ready for retirement, to bed and from employment; but he willingly mirrored Henry, slipping his arm around Emily’s waist and allowing her to put her arms around both men’s shoulders for support. I followed along, feeling peculiarly like a gooseberry on a date.
Emily chattered and giggled like a teenager, had to be restrained from prodding all the buttons in the lift. My suspicion that she was adding a little colour to the effect of the wine was confirmed when she caught my eye and winked.
I opened the room door and the guys virtually carried her into the room, hoisting her onto the bed. She dragged them with her and they ended up sitting three in a row on the edge of the bed.
‘I’m sorry sir, we’ll leave you if your wife lets us,’ said Henry, having been pulled back down when he tried to leave, as had Don.
‘No, stay!’ protested Emily, clinging to the men with a grip that they seemed powerless to escape. Two grown men? Were they really trying?
‘Have a brandy with us,’ she begged.
‘Do you mind, sir?’ asked Henry, a slight upturning of his thin lips betraying his amusement.
‘Not at all, Henry, I appreciate your help. Don?’
‘Yes sir, I’d enjoy a night cap, but then I really must get to bed, I have an early start sir.’
‘Oh Don, that’s a shame, I felt like a party,’ giggled Emily, pulling Don closer and planting a kiss that left classic lipstick lips on his cheek.
The older shot me an embarrassed glance, I grinned back, equally embarrassed at Emily’s behaviour, especially knowing that she was not as far gone as she appeared.
‘Would you gentlemen help me get comfortable?’ she asked, twisted her body away from Henry, ‘Don, would you mind unzipping me?’
He looked at me, I nodded. He reached up and fumbled with the fastening of her dress, unhooked the clasp and pulled down the zip a little. She stood, ‘all the way please.’
He stood behind her and dragged the zip slowly down, the dress parting exposing her back and the stark black strap of her bra. Henry had also risen from the bed and, unbidden, pulled the dress from her shoulders. I stood transfixed, the brandy bottle in my hand, forgotten as the two men stripped the dress from my wife, leaving her standing by the bedside bed in bra, panties and tights. She now appeared to have no difficulty in remaining upright.
‘Those tights are a little restrictive,’ said Henry, ‘would you like help to take them off?’ Unlike Don, he apparently felt no need to ask my permission.
Emily said nothing, but sat back on the bed. Don and Henry sat either side of her again. Henry hooked a thumb into the waist of Emily’s tights. Don looked at me, once again I nodded. He copied Henry, looking at each other they began to drag down her tights. When they reached the waist of her wide knickers, Don continued to pull the tights down over them, leaving the knickers undisturbed. Henry paused, hooked his thumb under my wife’s underwear and stared pointed at me. Emily smiled, ‘up to you, honey.’
Once again, I nodded silent consent. Emily rose, followed by the two men. I watched as Don pulled my wife’s tights down, leaving her knickers in place, Henry pulled tights and knickers, dragging the black underwear so that Don’s side followed exposing Emily’s neatly trimmed pubic hair, inevitably my cock now swelled to full erection, tight in my underwear. Henry pushed Emily gently back onto the bed, lifting her legs and pulling tights and knickers over her feet. Don stared blatantly between Emily’s legs, swelled pouting vulva, pink folds between glistening like a wet flower; he began to unbutton his trousers.
I could not expect anything else, my wife was making herself available and there could be no doubt of our mutual consent. My arousal was too powerful for any regret, my jealousy fed the flames. I looked at Emily. She met my gaze, responded by freshly glossing the lips of her open mouth with a wet pink tongue and spreading her knees even wider, opening herself further to Don’s lustful gaze. She closed her eyes and waited.
Emily chattered and giggled like a teenager, had to be restrained from prodding all the buttons in the lift. My suspicion that she was adding a little colour to the effect of the wine was confirmed when she caught my eye and winked.
I opened the room door and the guys virtually carried her into the room, hoisting her onto the bed. She dragged them with her and they ended up sitting three in a row on the edge of the bed.
‘I’m sorry sir, we’ll leave you if your wife lets us,’ said Henry, having been pulled back down when he tried to leave, as had Don.
‘No, stay!’ protested Emily, clinging to the men with a grip that they seemed powerless to escape. Two grown men? Were they really trying?
‘Have a brandy with us,’ she begged.
‘Do you mind, sir?’ asked Henry, a slight upturning of his thin lips betraying his amusement.
‘Not at all, Henry, I appreciate your help. Don?’
‘Yes sir, I’d enjoy a night cap, but then I really must get to bed, I have an early start sir.’
‘Oh Don, that’s a shame, I felt like a party,’ giggled Emily, pulling Don closer and planting a kiss that left classic lipstick lips on his cheek.
The older shot me an embarrassed glance, I grinned back, equally embarrassed at Emily’s behaviour, especially knowing that she was not as far gone as she appeared.
‘Would you gentlemen help me get comfortable?’ she asked, twisted her body away from Henry, ‘Don, would you mind unzipping me?’
He looked at me, I nodded. He reached up and fumbled with the fastening of her dress, unhooked the clasp and pulled down the zip a little. She stood, ‘all the way please.’
He stood behind her and dragged the zip slowly down, the dress parting exposing her back and the stark black strap of her bra. Henry had also risen from the bed and, unbidden, pulled the dress from her shoulders. I stood transfixed, the brandy bottle in my hand, forgotten as the two men stripped the dress from my wife, leaving her standing by the bedside bed in bra, panties and tights. She now appeared to have no difficulty in remaining upright.
‘Those tights are a little restrictive,’ said Henry, ‘would you like help to take them off?’ Unlike Don, he apparently felt no need to ask my permission.
Emily said nothing, but sat back on the bed. Don and Henry sat either side of her again. Henry hooked a thumb into the waist of Emily’s tights. Don looked at me, once again I nodded. He copied Henry, looking at each other they began to drag down her tights. When they reached the waist of her wide knickers, Don continued to pull the tights down over them, leaving the knickers undisturbed. Henry paused, hooked his thumb under my wife’s underwear and stared pointed at me. Emily smiled, ‘up to you, honey.’
Once again, I nodded silent consent. Emily rose, followed by the two men. I watched as Don pulled my wife’s tights down, leaving her knickers in place, Henry pulled tights and knickers, dragging the black underwear so that Don’s side followed exposing Emily’s neatly trimmed pubic hair, inevitably my cock now swelled to full erection, tight in my underwear. Henry pushed Emily gently back onto the bed, lifting her legs and pulling tights and knickers over her feet. Don stared blatantly between Emily’s legs, swelled pouting vulva, pink folds between glistening like a wet flower; he began to unbutton his trousers.
I could not expect anything else, my wife was making herself available and there could be no doubt of our mutual consent. My arousal was too powerful for any regret, my jealousy fed the flames. I looked at Emily. She met my gaze, responded by freshly glossing the lips of her open mouth with a wet pink tongue and spreading her knees even wider, opening herself further to Don’s lustful gaze. She closed her eyes and waited.
Don knew that a boundary had been crossed, there was no need to ask permission from this customer,; he now thought of me as her pathetic husband. He did not bother to undress, positioning himself between her widely spread knees while dragging his trousers and underpants down far enough to free his cock, his shirt tail just covering his pudgy backside.
I moved just in time to see the purple tip of his ugly veined cock prodding my wife’s delicate pink folds before the view was obscured behind his flapping shirt and glimpses of an obscenely thrusting hairy rump. Henry was at least taking the opportunity to disrobe. Barely lifting my gaze from the copulating pair, I made my way around the bed.
'I think we may as well get rid of this,’ I said to nobody in particular as I crawled onto the bed behind my humping, gasping, wife. I unhooked her bra, pulling the straps so the cups fell away from her breasts. I did not attempt to remove it completely, I didn’t want to disturb their fucking and it made her look so much more the slut. But I could not help but risk reaching around her thrusting shoulders to feel the weight of her breasts and gently pinch her swollen nipples. She opened her eyes and met mine, but did not acknowledge me, her wet mouth hung open and she grunted like an animal. I’d never seen her like it, drooling and grunting like the basest whore. For a moment I felt disgust, not at her, but at myself. How could I allow my wife to behave like this, to be used like this? But the moment passed as Don groaned louder, thrust his hips in one final orgasmic jerk that pushed Emily back against me. ‘Fuck,’ I thought, ‘no condom.’ Don fell back, his drooping shining wet cock easily slipping out from my wife’s newly adulterous cunt. That’s how I thought of it now, her cunt. I’d never used the word to describe her sex, it had always seemed too crude a word to describe my love. But now she had become a willing adulterous slut and was about to take another strangers cock, it was an appropriate word to use.
Henry was naked, sporting an erection that put my best to shame, larger than Don’s too, from what I had seen of it. He was scrawny but wiry, pale skinned, even against Emily, who was no sun worshipper herself. He was positioning himself between my wife’s legs, his cock oozing a drop of fluid.
‘Wait!’ I said, reaching from behind her, I wrapped my fingers gently around the shaft of his cock, feeling it’s turgid form and surprising heat on my palm. It was the first time I had ever touched another cock and it was not as unpleasant an experience as I might have thought, not that I had ever considered touching another man. My own stiff cock released a small surge of warm fluid into my underpants in response. Using his like a paint brush, I spread the fluid around Emily’s inner lips and folds before pushing the knob end into her cunt. He pushed his thighs against my hand and I released him as his cock impaled my wife, his slut. For the second time, I fondled Emily’s breasts, pinched and tugged at her nipples as another stranger fucked her.
I moved just in time to see the purple tip of his ugly veined cock prodding my wife’s delicate pink folds before the view was obscured behind his flapping shirt and glimpses of an obscenely thrusting hairy rump. Henry was at least taking the opportunity to disrobe. Barely lifting my gaze from the copulating pair, I made my way around the bed.
'I think we may as well get rid of this,’ I said to nobody in particular as I crawled onto the bed behind my humping, gasping, wife. I unhooked her bra, pulling the straps so the cups fell away from her breasts. I did not attempt to remove it completely, I didn’t want to disturb their fucking and it made her look so much more the slut. But I could not help but risk reaching around her thrusting shoulders to feel the weight of her breasts and gently pinch her swollen nipples. She opened her eyes and met mine, but did not acknowledge me, her wet mouth hung open and she grunted like an animal. I’d never seen her like it, drooling and grunting like the basest whore. For a moment I felt disgust, not at her, but at myself. How could I allow my wife to behave like this, to be used like this? But the moment passed as Don groaned louder, thrust his hips in one final orgasmic jerk that pushed Emily back against me. ‘Fuck,’ I thought, ‘no condom.’ Don fell back, his drooping shining wet cock easily slipping out from my wife’s newly adulterous cunt. That’s how I thought of it now, her cunt. I’d never used the word to describe her sex, it had always seemed too crude a word to describe my love. But now she had become a willing adulterous slut and was about to take another strangers cock, it was an appropriate word to use.
Henry was naked, sporting an erection that put my best to shame, larger than Don’s too, from what I had seen of it. He was scrawny but wiry, pale skinned, even against Emily, who was no sun worshipper herself. He was positioning himself between my wife’s legs, his cock oozing a drop of fluid.
‘Wait!’ I said, reaching from behind her, I wrapped my fingers gently around the shaft of his cock, feeling it’s turgid form and surprising heat on my palm. It was the first time I had ever touched another cock and it was not as unpleasant an experience as I might have thought, not that I had ever considered touching another man. My own stiff cock released a small surge of warm fluid into my underpants in response. Using his like a paint brush, I spread the fluid around Emily’s inner lips and folds before pushing the knob end into her cunt. He pushed his thighs against my hand and I released him as his cock impaled my wife, his slut. For the second time, I fondled Emily’s breasts, pinched and tugged at her nipples as another stranger fucked her.
Don, trousers and underpants discarded beside his stockinged feet, stood watching Henry fucking Emily. His tongue slithered between over-thick lips like a tangle of mating slugs, his busy hands concealed under his shirt. It was clear that he intended making the most of this available woman.
Henry jerked his hips, the short sharp urgent thrusts of orgasm. I could see that Emily had reached around his lean form, imagined rather than saw that she was tightly clasping the muscly tight buttocks she had lusted after in the restaurant just a few minutes ago. It was hard to believe that she had travelled so far in such a brief time; from a normal loyal wife, to a wanton slut; fucked by two strangers, her husband looking on and even taking part in her blatant adultery. Impatiently Don pushed past a satiated Henry and was quickly humping her again, foreplay was obviously not his forte. I caught his gaze and he grinned with satisfaction, his expression seemed to me to be one of triumph that he, the lowliest employee of the hotel, was fucking a guests wife. Henry disappeared into the bathroom, taking his clothes with him. Don grunted and pulled away, leaving my wife to replace him with her fingers.
While Don pulled on his clothes, I assisted the discarded slut by continuing to fondle her breasts and pull at her nipples as she masturbated. By the time Henry and Don had left, doing so without a second glance and not even closing the door behind them, Emily had reached a silent orgasm. I lowered her to the bed and went to close the door. When I turned back to the room she was snoring softly, her legs still wide apart, her cunt a tangled mess, lips swollen pink around a still gaping, oozing, hole. I stared at this all too tangible evidence of her adultery and my cock stiffened, reminding me that I had not yet cum. I quickly stripped off my clothes, knelt between her knees. The smell of sex was overpowering, I leant forward, hesitant, reluctant, but driven, and licked her once with my tongue flat across the inner lips that circled the hole of her vagina. The taste of cum was as I thought it would be, salty, tangy, mixed with her familiar flavour. I began to lick furiously, frantically, gripping my cock with the same desperate rhythm. She stirred and moaned, I felt her fingers in my hair, gripping and pulling my face tightly into her. I lasted only seconds, pulling my foreskin over my cock to catch the semen. She took only a few seconds longer, her thighs jerking violently, my head gripped between them.
We saw Henry and Don in the Hotel reception the following morning, but neither reacted or made any reference out of the ordinary. The rest of the weekend passed without incident. Neither Emily nor I referred to the event, in the hotel on the journey home or for the weeks that followed. There were no recriminations, no awkward silences. Our relationship in and out of bed was largely unchanged, though perhaps sex happened a little more often and it may have been my imagination, but it seemed more urgent than before.
But then came the phone call from the erstwhile owner of the Old Barn. But that, my friends, is a whole different story.
Henry jerked his hips, the short sharp urgent thrusts of orgasm. I could see that Emily had reached around his lean form, imagined rather than saw that she was tightly clasping the muscly tight buttocks she had lusted after in the restaurant just a few minutes ago. It was hard to believe that she had travelled so far in such a brief time; from a normal loyal wife, to a wanton slut; fucked by two strangers, her husband looking on and even taking part in her blatant adultery. Impatiently Don pushed past a satiated Henry and was quickly humping her again, foreplay was obviously not his forte. I caught his gaze and he grinned with satisfaction, his expression seemed to me to be one of triumph that he, the lowliest employee of the hotel, was fucking a guests wife. Henry disappeared into the bathroom, taking his clothes with him. Don grunted and pulled away, leaving my wife to replace him with her fingers.
While Don pulled on his clothes, I assisted the discarded slut by continuing to fondle her breasts and pull at her nipples as she masturbated. By the time Henry and Don had left, doing so without a second glance and not even closing the door behind them, Emily had reached a silent orgasm. I lowered her to the bed and went to close the door. When I turned back to the room she was snoring softly, her legs still wide apart, her cunt a tangled mess, lips swollen pink around a still gaping, oozing, hole. I stared at this all too tangible evidence of her adultery and my cock stiffened, reminding me that I had not yet cum. I quickly stripped off my clothes, knelt between her knees. The smell of sex was overpowering, I leant forward, hesitant, reluctant, but driven, and licked her once with my tongue flat across the inner lips that circled the hole of her vagina. The taste of cum was as I thought it would be, salty, tangy, mixed with her familiar flavour. I began to lick furiously, frantically, gripping my cock with the same desperate rhythm. She stirred and moaned, I felt her fingers in my hair, gripping and pulling my face tightly into her. I lasted only seconds, pulling my foreskin over my cock to catch the semen. She took only a few seconds longer, her thighs jerking violently, my head gripped between them.
We saw Henry and Don in the Hotel reception the following morning, but neither reacted or made any reference out of the ordinary. The rest of the weekend passed without incident. Neither Emily nor I referred to the event, in the hotel on the journey home or for the weeks that followed. There were no recriminations, no awkward silences. Our relationship in and out of bed was largely unchanged, though perhaps sex happened a little more often and it may have been my imagination, but it seemed more urgent than before.
But then came the phone call from the erstwhile owner of the Old Barn. But that, my friends, is a whole different story.
At least I’d bought myself some time. There was no need to tell Emily. Maybe I’d never have to tell her, perhaps it was a joke.
After a week of nothing happening, a week of intercepting any mail before I had to explain what it was, I’d almost forgotten about the phone call, Henry’s indiscretion, Crabbe, the contract. But then it arrived. The package, a small flat Jiffy bag, flopped with a dull sound like fatal inevitability onto to the hallway floor. I sat at the kitchen table, the package propped up against a milk carton. I took a deep breath and picked it up, tore it open before I could change my mind. The urge to throw it away without opening it had been strong, but my curiosity was stronger. Besides, I was pretty sure Crabbe wouldn’t accept a no now. I think a verbal contract is as binding as a written one. I stared at the pound coin. I’d heard about companies changing hands for a pound. This validated a contract, it was the consideration Crabbe had spoken about. The official looking document in my hand referred to it.
The instructions were clear. I was to escort Emily to a pub called The Shire Horses, formerly known as The Old Barn. I nodded silently, that made sense. We were to meet the client, he would recognise us as he had been provided with our description. As far as Emily was concerned it was to be a chance encounter. As Crabbe had mentioned, there was a dress code for Emily; I was to arrange for her to be wearing a skirt and blouse, simple bra and knickers, stockings and a suspender belt, there was no stipulation on style, colour, material, but she was to wear the panties over the straps of the suspender belt. That at least was easy, Emily knew how to wear suspenders.
The reason for our visiting the pub was provided as promised, this was my challenge, to have her dressed as instructed and to persuade her to visit. I was to tell her it was to flash her underwear. The client was to be the target, but she would not know that.
That was it. So the client was a voyeur and we, well, Emily, was to give him a show. That wasn’t the whole story though. Crabbe had told me I was to be the cuckold, the client had specified that, and he had also told me that Emily’s role would be ’ascertained dynamically’. A peculiar phrase that had stuck with me. Crabbe had said payment would be made, but not to me, not for anything I did, but dependent on Emily. Would she be paid for flashing? If she agreed to go to the pub but nothing more, would we simply leave and that would be an end to it, contract completed? I concluded that the outcome of the meeting would be entirely dependent on the interaction between Emily and the client. My anxiety began to morph into excitement.
‘The Old Barn is open again?’ Much to my delight, Emily seemed genuinely interested.
‘Well, it has a new name. It’s called ‘The Shire Horses.’
‘How did you find out?’
I’d prepared for that question.
‘I found it on the travel site we used, when I was writing a review of the hotel.’
‘You wrote a review? Oh my!’ she giggled and her hand strayed to my belly. I’d chosen my time to bring the outing up wisely. She was going to be more affable and open to ideas in bed.
‘I did, but don’t worry, I didn’t elaborate on the flexibility of the staff.’
She spread her fingers, rubbing my belly with her palm, her fingers venturing like little explorers into the jungle of my pubic curls.
‘That tickles,’ I grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back to my chest.
‘Have they started the Thursday entertainment evenings again?’ She asked as her fingers turned their attention to a nipple, hardening my cock as if she’d pressed a launch button.
‘Mmm that feels good…I don’t know, are you interested in finding out?’
‘Yes,’ she confirmed,’ ‘I was disappointed that it had been closed down.’
In fact I’d checked and drawn a blank. My suspicion was that Crabbe had moved on to other things, out of the glare of public life and the local authorities, I suspected we were something to do with his new venture.
That reminded me, I had a task to deliver.
‘Would you like to go check it out anyway, some time?’
She had gripped my erection and was pulling on it.
'Yes, of course I would.’
She pushed back the duvet and followed it down to where my cock poked out from my underpants. I felt her hot breath, her wet tongue, her lips.
‘How… mmm…about…oh yes that’s so good…Saturday?’
‘Mmmmmmm,’ she mumbled, mouth full of my cock.
After a week of nothing happening, a week of intercepting any mail before I had to explain what it was, I’d almost forgotten about the phone call, Henry’s indiscretion, Crabbe, the contract. But then it arrived. The package, a small flat Jiffy bag, flopped with a dull sound like fatal inevitability onto to the hallway floor. I sat at the kitchen table, the package propped up against a milk carton. I took a deep breath and picked it up, tore it open before I could change my mind. The urge to throw it away without opening it had been strong, but my curiosity was stronger. Besides, I was pretty sure Crabbe wouldn’t accept a no now. I think a verbal contract is as binding as a written one. I stared at the pound coin. I’d heard about companies changing hands for a pound. This validated a contract, it was the consideration Crabbe had spoken about. The official looking document in my hand referred to it.
The instructions were clear. I was to escort Emily to a pub called The Shire Horses, formerly known as The Old Barn. I nodded silently, that made sense. We were to meet the client, he would recognise us as he had been provided with our description. As far as Emily was concerned it was to be a chance encounter. As Crabbe had mentioned, there was a dress code for Emily; I was to arrange for her to be wearing a skirt and blouse, simple bra and knickers, stockings and a suspender belt, there was no stipulation on style, colour, material, but she was to wear the panties over the straps of the suspender belt. That at least was easy, Emily knew how to wear suspenders.
The reason for our visiting the pub was provided as promised, this was my challenge, to have her dressed as instructed and to persuade her to visit. I was to tell her it was to flash her underwear. The client was to be the target, but she would not know that.
That was it. So the client was a voyeur and we, well, Emily, was to give him a show. That wasn’t the whole story though. Crabbe had told me I was to be the cuckold, the client had specified that, and he had also told me that Emily’s role would be ’ascertained dynamically’. A peculiar phrase that had stuck with me. Crabbe had said payment would be made, but not to me, not for anything I did, but dependent on Emily. Would she be paid for flashing? If she agreed to go to the pub but nothing more, would we simply leave and that would be an end to it, contract completed? I concluded that the outcome of the meeting would be entirely dependent on the interaction between Emily and the client. My anxiety began to morph into excitement.
‘The Old Barn is open again?’ Much to my delight, Emily seemed genuinely interested.
‘Well, it has a new name. It’s called ‘The Shire Horses.’
‘How did you find out?’
I’d prepared for that question.
‘I found it on the travel site we used, when I was writing a review of the hotel.’
‘You wrote a review? Oh my!’ she giggled and her hand strayed to my belly. I’d chosen my time to bring the outing up wisely. She was going to be more affable and open to ideas in bed.
‘I did, but don’t worry, I didn’t elaborate on the flexibility of the staff.’
She spread her fingers, rubbing my belly with her palm, her fingers venturing like little explorers into the jungle of my pubic curls.
‘That tickles,’ I grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back to my chest.
‘Have they started the Thursday entertainment evenings again?’ She asked as her fingers turned their attention to a nipple, hardening my cock as if she’d pressed a launch button.
‘Mmm that feels good…I don’t know, are you interested in finding out?’
‘Yes,’ she confirmed,’ ‘I was disappointed that it had been closed down.’
In fact I’d checked and drawn a blank. My suspicion was that Crabbe had moved on to other things, out of the glare of public life and the local authorities, I suspected we were something to do with his new venture.
That reminded me, I had a task to deliver.
‘Would you like to go check it out anyway, some time?’
She had gripped my erection and was pulling on it.
'Yes, of course I would.’
She pushed back the duvet and followed it down to where my cock poked out from my underpants. I felt her hot breath, her wet tongue, her lips.
‘How… mmm…about…oh yes that’s so good…Saturday?’
‘Mmmmmmm,’ she mumbled, mouth full of my cock.
I booked a travel lodge close to The Old Barn, as it was still listed, having decided we did not want to confuse matters with an encounter with Henry or Don in the hotel. We would book in, freshen up, a light meal perhaps, then take a taxi to the pub. The journey was uneventful, the traffic a little heavier than previously, so we decided to have a light meal at the travel lodge before freshening up. We found ourselves with a little more time in the room, more relaxed preparation time for Emily.
I loved to watch her dress, in this case I had been careful to steer her gently into bringing the right elements for her outfit before we left home. It was not too difficult, we both had flashing on our minds and stockings and a dress or skirt were an essential part of that game. As usual she sat on the edge of the bed preparing her makeup, I sat watching her, chatting about the journey and the meal. She had chosen a simple outfit; black satin bra and bikini style panties (having decided against the control briefs of our last adventure) and the essential suspender belt with tan dark banded-top stockings. Her skirt and blouse were hanging on the wardrobe door. Watching her was already stimulating me thinking about the possibilities of the evening ahead with her dressed like this. She was excited, I could tell that from her conversation and the prominence of her nipples pushing against the satin of her bra. She was considering possibilities. I wondered how she would be feeling if she knew there was no element of chance involved this time. We had set out to flash before, but only enough to give ourselves and someone else a brief cheap thrill, nothing more. I knew how I was feeling, excited enough to have a permanently turgid cock filling my underpants, tightness across my chest from excited anticipation and trepidation. Jealousy would come later, it was ironic that I hoped it would.
In the taxi, we had kissed like young lovers, my hand straying under her skirt to a tight strap against warm flesh. Like a shy teenager, she stopped my hand from going too high. I caught the eye of the taxi driver in the mirror; adjusted deliberately to watch the passengers in the back of his cab, I wondered? It occurred to me that he might know the history of our destination, surely a local tax driver would have carried many a horny couple to the Old Barn. He had no difficulty in finding the Shire Horses, grinning with tobacco stained teeth as I tipped him generously. ‘Have a good one,’ he said, handing me his card, ‘I’m on all night.’
I was a little surprised to realise that The Shire Horses was a magnificent converted barn, which explained its previous incarnation. In fact, it had been more than one barn, each converted and linked with more recent buildings. The taxi had dropped us off at what was clearly the main building. I had not noticed, as I had been distracted by Emily, but we appear to have driven a considerable distance from the main road. I could still see the taxi heading away along a long tree lined private access drive.
We headed for what appeared to be the main entrance, labelled as reception and marked by a beautiful piece of artwork, two magnificent Shire Horses, which would have looked more at place outside a public house. What was becoming apparent was that the Old Barn, The Shire Horses as it was now known, was not a classic public house.
A bigger surprise was waiting for us behind the black marble reception desk.
Henry.
If he recognised us, he hid it very well. I felt Emily shrink back slightly.
‘Good evening sir, do you have an invitation?’
‘We were invited by a Mister Crabbe?’ He could not have missed the uncertainty in my voice. I had expected an ordinary pub, I had not expected to need an invitation.
‘Ah yes,’ noisily tapping the keys of his computer, his familiar face lit from the unexpectedly ancient monitor screen, ‘Please step into the lounge, the door to your right.’
I glanced at through the doorway, I was relieved to see that the lounge looked like a normal pub lounge, though it was deserted.
Lightly gripping Emily’s elbow, she allowed me to steer her meekly through into the lounge area. I glanced back at Henry and caught him grinning after us, before his expression snapped back to its impassive professional expression as he found something vitally important to attend to on his screen.
There was soft leather sofa set spread around the corner of an alcove, a low table sat between the sofa and a matching armchair. We took refuge in its sanctuary. I took the armchair, Emily sat opposite me on one side of the corner sofa.
‘What is going on?’ I took heart from the bewilderment in her voice, she could have been angry. Perhaps I could still get away with this without her realising we were being manipulated. Should I pretend, would she be angry? I decided to carry on the charade.
I leaned forward toward her, over the table. ‘It looks like the Barn is still a going concern, even though they have renamed it.’
‘Henry works here,’ she breathed in a hoarse whisper.
‘It explains the hotel. I thought there was a connection.’
‘Who is Crabbe?’
Damn. This was awkward. Stupidly I had forgotten she would have heard me and wondered how I had received the invitation which Henry had accepted. I had to think quickly.
‘I hadn’t realised it was an invitation, I called the pub to make sure it was open, come to think of it, the person I spoke to said to mention his name, Crabbe.’
‘You seemed to know it was, when Henry asked.’
‘I clutched at a straw.’
She nodded and smiled, ‘clever.’
I shrugged, grinning, ‘of course.’ I appeared to have got away with it, at least for now. Later it would not matter, I just wanted to keep the fantasy going. At that point I was not even sure what the fantasy was.
‘Shall I get us a drink?’ A few people had been arriving, I didn’t want to have to hang around at the bar for too long leaving Emily alone. She was not a particularly patient person. It might make all the difference to the evening.
There was only one person at the bar, being served by a pretty young woman in a smart blouse and skirt. I enjoyed the rise of her pencil skirt and the way it tightened across her buttocks as she reached up for a glass.
‘Is that your wife, Emily?’
I turned to meet the enquiringly gaze of piercing blue eyes below a furrowed brow and untidy grey eyebrows. His hair was the same steely grey, receding with distinction. He was shorter than me by a head, stocky in his three-piece navy blue lightly pinstriped suit, the buttons on his waistcoat were putting up a fight to hold it together. I would have taken him to be a retired bank manager, or perhaps a solicitor.
‘Yes, are you Mister Crabbe?’
‘No, I’m his client.’
He extended a large hand. It was a dry, firm grip, ‘you may call me Bill.’
Bill turned his head toward our corner seat, ’she’s wearing stockings.’ It was delivered as a statement not a question.
‘Yes, as instructed, how did you know?’
He smiled, it was close to being a smirk, he nodded toward Emily.
I turned to look. She was looking over at us, expressionless. Her legs were crossed, skirt riding high, exposing her stocking tops and a good deal of her suspender straps.
‘I don’t think she realises,’ he said, ‘let me buy your drinks.’
‘Thanks.’
He added a brandy for me and a gin and tonic for Emily to his order with the barmaid.
‘Are you joining us?’
‘Not yet, I’m enjoying the view,’ he was looking over at Emily,’tell her she’s got fabulous legs.’
I nodded and returned to Emily with our drinks, seating myself back in the armchair. She leaned toward me, asking, ‘you were talking to that man, he looked over at me a lot, do you know him?’
I laughed, it probably sounded as forced to her as it did to me, but she did not comment.
‘He told me his name is Bill, he paid for our drinks. He said to tell you that you have fabulous legs.’
She looked down, ‘oh my god,’ she pulled her skirt to cover her stocking tops,’now I flash without knowing it,’ she chuckled and glanced at the bar. He was staring over and raised his glass to acknowledge her look.
‘Shall I invite him to join us?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she snapped, then reconsidered, ‘you want him to join us?’
‘He bought the drinks, he was very complimentary about your legs, it would be polite.’
‘What are you thinking?’ She said, a curious look on her face.
‘I’m thinking we came here to have some fun.’
‘OK, what the hell,’ she agreed.
I gestured toward the bar where Crabbe’s client stood looking over at us.
He lifted his empty glass and pointed at it, I gave the thumbs up and he turned back to the bar, presumably to order another round of drinks.
‘From here he looks in his sixties,’ she said, ‘how old would you say?’
‘At a guess, I’d say you were right. Does that bother you?’ I was remembering Don, my cock stiffening at the memory.
‘Bother me how?’
‘I don’t know, not sure why I said that.’ I could have said I’d forgotten about Don, but I didn’t want to jinx anything.
‘Here he comes,’ warned Emily, shifting her position and tugging at her skirt again in an unsuccessful effort to keep her stocking tops covered.
‘Please, lovely lady,’ our guest chuckled, settling on the other side of the corner sofa close to Emily, ‘don’t be bashful on my account, I adore stockings. Especially stocking tops. Did your lucky husband not tell you how much I was enjoying your display?’
Before she could respond, the drinks arrived, delivered on a tray by the girl from the bar. She bent over so that her shapely rump was within kissing distance, I managed to restrain the urge. She placed a half-full bottle of brandy and a bottle of Swedish Vodka which appeared to be shy of one measure, presumably the one in Emily’s glass. I followed her swaying hips as she headed back to the bar.
‘A toast! To stocking tops and the ladies within,’ offered Bill, lifting his large brandy glass, clinking it with ours.
The toast caused me to check Emily’s stocking status. She had relaxed her fight with the hem of her skirt, she appeared to have lost the struggle. Her stocking tops and much of her suspender straps remained exposed.
‘Have you noticed that models in lingerie marketing…,’ he leaned toward Emily and whispered loudly in a mock conspiratorial tone, ‘…which is a business close to my heart…,’ sitting back again and continuing in a normal tone, ‘…generally wear their panties underneath the straps of their suspenders. In my opinion that is a quite unforgivable encouragement to restrict the freedom of the female of our species, a restriction which is totally ignored by the feminists.’
He leaned forward again, ‘may I be so bold as to ask which side of the debate has your sympathy, Emily?’
My wife smiled and lowered her gaze, easing her skirt up enough on one side to answer his question. The length of suspender strap disappeared briefly beneath the newly exposed black satin knickers and emerged at their waistband. The flesh of her belly, pale against the black satin, swelled out between the belt and panties, the emerging strap swept upward to the lace trimmed belt. It would have been an erotic sight under normal circumstances, but seeing my wife showing her underwear to this stranger, in front of me and in full view of the now busy bar, was like visual Viagra and I shifted uncomfortably as my cock stiffened once again.
Bill smiled broadly at her display, nodding with satisfaction, ‘Splendid, splendid…no, don’t deny an old man this little pleasure.’ He had touched Emily’s hand to stop her covering herself again. Obediently, she took her hand away and picked up her glass, raised it to her lips and sipped. It was a defining moment. She had confirmed her acceptance that he, not I, was in control. She knew it, he knew it, I knew it. As if to underline the new relationship, he slowly and deliberately placed his right hand on her left thigh, midway between her knee and stocking top. He gazed fixedly at me, directly into my eyes. ‘The feeling of warm flesh beneath rough nylon is exquisite, don’t you agree?’ I stared as he slowly eased his hand higher until it was on her bare leg, pushing her skirt up to, expose both stocking tops, then panties and belly.
‘You may as well take your skirt off.’ I had shocked myself, had I really said that aloud?
Emily’s eyes widened, but without hesitation she was unhooking and unzipping. He assisted her, tugging the hem as she pushed her skirt down over her hips, to her thighs, over her knees.
He was grinning at me triumphantly over her back as she stooped to retrieve the skirt from her feet.
Emily offered the skirt to me, her expression impassive. I snatched it out of her hand, stuffed it quickly out of sight under the chair cushion before anyone spotted it. I looked around, nobody appeared to have noticed us.
Crabbe’s client had replaced his hand on my wife’s thigh, but this time on the bare flesh between her stocking top and the black satin knickers. His fingers were splayed out across the space, his thumb under the nylon, he must have felt the edge of her panties touching his little finger. I became aware of movement, realising her thighs were gently, almost imperceptibly, rocking. He was pressing his fingers into her flesh. I was unsure if his fingers were responding to the shifting of her thighs or her thighs were reacting to pressure from his fingers, but whichever it was, she was evidently enjoying herself; her eyes were closed and she was biting her bottom lip.
His little finger had disappeared beneath the black satin and might have reached the swell of her labia, must at least have been exploring her curls.
‘Take them off, I mean the knickers,’ I whispered urgently, to nobody-in-particular. I wanted to see what was happening under the black satin; my brain had shifted from my head to my hard cock.
Without altering rhythm or opening her eyes, it was she who obeyed, slipped her thumbs under the knickers and pushed them down over raised knees, it was he who reached forward and pulled them off her pointing feet. He put the scrap of black satin to his face and made a show of pushing her knickers under his nose, closing his eyes and sniffing theatrically before throwing them to me. They were warm and damp in my hand, so I pushed them under the cushion away from her skirt. The skirt would surely be creased, but damp from the knickers would have made it unwearable. I could imagine my wife’s annoyance.
His hand was back on Emily, now released from any need for caution he was freely exploring between her spread legs. She was completely exposed yet she made no attempt to cover herself, in fact her hands were placed as if emphasising her exposure, palm down, thumbs hooked under her suspender straps. Her thighs were responding to his touch, following his movements as if seeking to stay in contact in case he should stop. I could barely believe that I was sitting in a public place, watching my half naked wife being unashamedly finger fucked by a man she did not know.
He smiled good naturedly. ‘Be a good fellow, he said, ‘would you be so good as to unbutton her blouse for me.’ He could have been asking me to pass the salt at the dinner table.
But he was not asking, it was an instruction.
‘Ahem, excuse me gentlemen, err…madam.’
I recognised the voice immediately and turned to look, straight into the smirking face of Henry.
‘Terribly sorry to interrupt your…err… your conversation…but I’m afraid one or two of our guests have complained.’
Oh shit. I stood quickly, looking around the now crowded lounge. Bloody hell! Where had so many people appeared from?
‘I’m sorry,’ I blurted out, recovering Emily’s skirt and knickers so she could cover up quickly. But she was oblivious to Henry’s arrival. Still with eyes closed, thighs thrusting onto Bill’s hand. He was grinning broadly and had not stopped fondling her. I turned to Henry in confusion.
‘It’s quite alright sir,’ he explained, his professional visage restored, ‘they are only complaining that they can’t see the show.’
‘The show…?’
I looked about and it dawned on me that these were not the faces of an angry outraged crowd, offended by a disgusting display that should never happen outside the bedroom or beyond a porn movie. This was an audience being entertained.
Crabbe’s client was standing, drying his hand on the towel which Henry had thoughtfully provided. Emily was looking around as if she’d just woken from a daze, bewilderment turning to embarrassment. She covered herself as best she could with her hands. Bill turned his attention to her, offered his hand, which she grasped like a solid point in the turmoil of her confusion. He pulled her to her feet, her blouse covering her to just above stocking tops; she tugged at its bottom in a vain attempt to cover them.
‘I think,’ he said in a loud stage voice, ‘it’s time we changed location.’
To my surprise and Emily’s bewilderment, the people all around us cheered and clapped enthusiastically. It appeared that the Old Barn entertainment evening had been moved to Saturday nights.
I loved to watch her dress, in this case I had been careful to steer her gently into bringing the right elements for her outfit before we left home. It was not too difficult, we both had flashing on our minds and stockings and a dress or skirt were an essential part of that game. As usual she sat on the edge of the bed preparing her makeup, I sat watching her, chatting about the journey and the meal. She had chosen a simple outfit; black satin bra and bikini style panties (having decided against the control briefs of our last adventure) and the essential suspender belt with tan dark banded-top stockings. Her skirt and blouse were hanging on the wardrobe door. Watching her was already stimulating me thinking about the possibilities of the evening ahead with her dressed like this. She was excited, I could tell that from her conversation and the prominence of her nipples pushing against the satin of her bra. She was considering possibilities. I wondered how she would be feeling if she knew there was no element of chance involved this time. We had set out to flash before, but only enough to give ourselves and someone else a brief cheap thrill, nothing more. I knew how I was feeling, excited enough to have a permanently turgid cock filling my underpants, tightness across my chest from excited anticipation and trepidation. Jealousy would come later, it was ironic that I hoped it would.
In the taxi, we had kissed like young lovers, my hand straying under her skirt to a tight strap against warm flesh. Like a shy teenager, she stopped my hand from going too high. I caught the eye of the taxi driver in the mirror; adjusted deliberately to watch the passengers in the back of his cab, I wondered? It occurred to me that he might know the history of our destination, surely a local tax driver would have carried many a horny couple to the Old Barn. He had no difficulty in finding the Shire Horses, grinning with tobacco stained teeth as I tipped him generously. ‘Have a good one,’ he said, handing me his card, ‘I’m on all night.’
I was a little surprised to realise that The Shire Horses was a magnificent converted barn, which explained its previous incarnation. In fact, it had been more than one barn, each converted and linked with more recent buildings. The taxi had dropped us off at what was clearly the main building. I had not noticed, as I had been distracted by Emily, but we appear to have driven a considerable distance from the main road. I could still see the taxi heading away along a long tree lined private access drive.
We headed for what appeared to be the main entrance, labelled as reception and marked by a beautiful piece of artwork, two magnificent Shire Horses, which would have looked more at place outside a public house. What was becoming apparent was that the Old Barn, The Shire Horses as it was now known, was not a classic public house.
A bigger surprise was waiting for us behind the black marble reception desk.
Henry.
If he recognised us, he hid it very well. I felt Emily shrink back slightly.
‘Good evening sir, do you have an invitation?’
‘We were invited by a Mister Crabbe?’ He could not have missed the uncertainty in my voice. I had expected an ordinary pub, I had not expected to need an invitation.
‘Ah yes,’ noisily tapping the keys of his computer, his familiar face lit from the unexpectedly ancient monitor screen, ‘Please step into the lounge, the door to your right.’
I glanced at through the doorway, I was relieved to see that the lounge looked like a normal pub lounge, though it was deserted.
Lightly gripping Emily’s elbow, she allowed me to steer her meekly through into the lounge area. I glanced back at Henry and caught him grinning after us, before his expression snapped back to its impassive professional expression as he found something vitally important to attend to on his screen.
There was soft leather sofa set spread around the corner of an alcove, a low table sat between the sofa and a matching armchair. We took refuge in its sanctuary. I took the armchair, Emily sat opposite me on one side of the corner sofa.
‘What is going on?’ I took heart from the bewilderment in her voice, she could have been angry. Perhaps I could still get away with this without her realising we were being manipulated. Should I pretend, would she be angry? I decided to carry on the charade.
I leaned forward toward her, over the table. ‘It looks like the Barn is still a going concern, even though they have renamed it.’
‘Henry works here,’ she breathed in a hoarse whisper.
‘It explains the hotel. I thought there was a connection.’
‘Who is Crabbe?’
Damn. This was awkward. Stupidly I had forgotten she would have heard me and wondered how I had received the invitation which Henry had accepted. I had to think quickly.
‘I hadn’t realised it was an invitation, I called the pub to make sure it was open, come to think of it, the person I spoke to said to mention his name, Crabbe.’
‘You seemed to know it was, when Henry asked.’
‘I clutched at a straw.’
She nodded and smiled, ‘clever.’
I shrugged, grinning, ‘of course.’ I appeared to have got away with it, at least for now. Later it would not matter, I just wanted to keep the fantasy going. At that point I was not even sure what the fantasy was.
‘Shall I get us a drink?’ A few people had been arriving, I didn’t want to have to hang around at the bar for too long leaving Emily alone. She was not a particularly patient person. It might make all the difference to the evening.
There was only one person at the bar, being served by a pretty young woman in a smart blouse and skirt. I enjoyed the rise of her pencil skirt and the way it tightened across her buttocks as she reached up for a glass.
‘Is that your wife, Emily?’
I turned to meet the enquiringly gaze of piercing blue eyes below a furrowed brow and untidy grey eyebrows. His hair was the same steely grey, receding with distinction. He was shorter than me by a head, stocky in his three-piece navy blue lightly pinstriped suit, the buttons on his waistcoat were putting up a fight to hold it together. I would have taken him to be a retired bank manager, or perhaps a solicitor.
‘Yes, are you Mister Crabbe?’
‘No, I’m his client.’
He extended a large hand. It was a dry, firm grip, ‘you may call me Bill.’
Bill turned his head toward our corner seat, ’she’s wearing stockings.’ It was delivered as a statement not a question.
‘Yes, as instructed, how did you know?’
He smiled, it was close to being a smirk, he nodded toward Emily.
I turned to look. She was looking over at us, expressionless. Her legs were crossed, skirt riding high, exposing her stocking tops and a good deal of her suspender straps.
‘I don’t think she realises,’ he said, ‘let me buy your drinks.’
‘Thanks.’
He added a brandy for me and a gin and tonic for Emily to his order with the barmaid.
‘Are you joining us?’
‘Not yet, I’m enjoying the view,’ he was looking over at Emily,’tell her she’s got fabulous legs.’
I nodded and returned to Emily with our drinks, seating myself back in the armchair. She leaned toward me, asking, ‘you were talking to that man, he looked over at me a lot, do you know him?’
I laughed, it probably sounded as forced to her as it did to me, but she did not comment.
‘He told me his name is Bill, he paid for our drinks. He said to tell you that you have fabulous legs.’
She looked down, ‘oh my god,’ she pulled her skirt to cover her stocking tops,’now I flash without knowing it,’ she chuckled and glanced at the bar. He was staring over and raised his glass to acknowledge her look.
‘Shall I invite him to join us?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she snapped, then reconsidered, ‘you want him to join us?’
‘He bought the drinks, he was very complimentary about your legs, it would be polite.’
‘What are you thinking?’ She said, a curious look on her face.
‘I’m thinking we came here to have some fun.’
‘OK, what the hell,’ she agreed.
I gestured toward the bar where Crabbe’s client stood looking over at us.
He lifted his empty glass and pointed at it, I gave the thumbs up and he turned back to the bar, presumably to order another round of drinks.
‘From here he looks in his sixties,’ she said, ‘how old would you say?’
‘At a guess, I’d say you were right. Does that bother you?’ I was remembering Don, my cock stiffening at the memory.
‘Bother me how?’
‘I don’t know, not sure why I said that.’ I could have said I’d forgotten about Don, but I didn’t want to jinx anything.
‘Here he comes,’ warned Emily, shifting her position and tugging at her skirt again in an unsuccessful effort to keep her stocking tops covered.
‘Please, lovely lady,’ our guest chuckled, settling on the other side of the corner sofa close to Emily, ‘don’t be bashful on my account, I adore stockings. Especially stocking tops. Did your lucky husband not tell you how much I was enjoying your display?’
Before she could respond, the drinks arrived, delivered on a tray by the girl from the bar. She bent over so that her shapely rump was within kissing distance, I managed to restrain the urge. She placed a half-full bottle of brandy and a bottle of Swedish Vodka which appeared to be shy of one measure, presumably the one in Emily’s glass. I followed her swaying hips as she headed back to the bar.
‘A toast! To stocking tops and the ladies within,’ offered Bill, lifting his large brandy glass, clinking it with ours.
The toast caused me to check Emily’s stocking status. She had relaxed her fight with the hem of her skirt, she appeared to have lost the struggle. Her stocking tops and much of her suspender straps remained exposed.
‘Have you noticed that models in lingerie marketing…,’ he leaned toward Emily and whispered loudly in a mock conspiratorial tone, ‘…which is a business close to my heart…,’ sitting back again and continuing in a normal tone, ‘…generally wear their panties underneath the straps of their suspenders. In my opinion that is a quite unforgivable encouragement to restrict the freedom of the female of our species, a restriction which is totally ignored by the feminists.’
He leaned forward again, ‘may I be so bold as to ask which side of the debate has your sympathy, Emily?’
My wife smiled and lowered her gaze, easing her skirt up enough on one side to answer his question. The length of suspender strap disappeared briefly beneath the newly exposed black satin knickers and emerged at their waistband. The flesh of her belly, pale against the black satin, swelled out between the belt and panties, the emerging strap swept upward to the lace trimmed belt. It would have been an erotic sight under normal circumstances, but seeing my wife showing her underwear to this stranger, in front of me and in full view of the now busy bar, was like visual Viagra and I shifted uncomfortably as my cock stiffened once again.
Bill smiled broadly at her display, nodding with satisfaction, ‘Splendid, splendid…no, don’t deny an old man this little pleasure.’ He had touched Emily’s hand to stop her covering herself again. Obediently, she took her hand away and picked up her glass, raised it to her lips and sipped. It was a defining moment. She had confirmed her acceptance that he, not I, was in control. She knew it, he knew it, I knew it. As if to underline the new relationship, he slowly and deliberately placed his right hand on her left thigh, midway between her knee and stocking top. He gazed fixedly at me, directly into my eyes. ‘The feeling of warm flesh beneath rough nylon is exquisite, don’t you agree?’ I stared as he slowly eased his hand higher until it was on her bare leg, pushing her skirt up to, expose both stocking tops, then panties and belly.
‘You may as well take your skirt off.’ I had shocked myself, had I really said that aloud?
Emily’s eyes widened, but without hesitation she was unhooking and unzipping. He assisted her, tugging the hem as she pushed her skirt down over her hips, to her thighs, over her knees.
He was grinning at me triumphantly over her back as she stooped to retrieve the skirt from her feet.
Emily offered the skirt to me, her expression impassive. I snatched it out of her hand, stuffed it quickly out of sight under the chair cushion before anyone spotted it. I looked around, nobody appeared to have noticed us.
Crabbe’s client had replaced his hand on my wife’s thigh, but this time on the bare flesh between her stocking top and the black satin knickers. His fingers were splayed out across the space, his thumb under the nylon, he must have felt the edge of her panties touching his little finger. I became aware of movement, realising her thighs were gently, almost imperceptibly, rocking. He was pressing his fingers into her flesh. I was unsure if his fingers were responding to the shifting of her thighs or her thighs were reacting to pressure from his fingers, but whichever it was, she was evidently enjoying herself; her eyes were closed and she was biting her bottom lip.
His little finger had disappeared beneath the black satin and might have reached the swell of her labia, must at least have been exploring her curls.
‘Take them off, I mean the knickers,’ I whispered urgently, to nobody-in-particular. I wanted to see what was happening under the black satin; my brain had shifted from my head to my hard cock.
Without altering rhythm or opening her eyes, it was she who obeyed, slipped her thumbs under the knickers and pushed them down over raised knees, it was he who reached forward and pulled them off her pointing feet. He put the scrap of black satin to his face and made a show of pushing her knickers under his nose, closing his eyes and sniffing theatrically before throwing them to me. They were warm and damp in my hand, so I pushed them under the cushion away from her skirt. The skirt would surely be creased, but damp from the knickers would have made it unwearable. I could imagine my wife’s annoyance.
His hand was back on Emily, now released from any need for caution he was freely exploring between her spread legs. She was completely exposed yet she made no attempt to cover herself, in fact her hands were placed as if emphasising her exposure, palm down, thumbs hooked under her suspender straps. Her thighs were responding to his touch, following his movements as if seeking to stay in contact in case he should stop. I could barely believe that I was sitting in a public place, watching my half naked wife being unashamedly finger fucked by a man she did not know.
He smiled good naturedly. ‘Be a good fellow, he said, ‘would you be so good as to unbutton her blouse for me.’ He could have been asking me to pass the salt at the dinner table.
But he was not asking, it was an instruction.
‘Ahem, excuse me gentlemen, err…madam.’
I recognised the voice immediately and turned to look, straight into the smirking face of Henry.
‘Terribly sorry to interrupt your…err… your conversation…but I’m afraid one or two of our guests have complained.’
Oh shit. I stood quickly, looking around the now crowded lounge. Bloody hell! Where had so many people appeared from?
‘I’m sorry,’ I blurted out, recovering Emily’s skirt and knickers so she could cover up quickly. But she was oblivious to Henry’s arrival. Still with eyes closed, thighs thrusting onto Bill’s hand. He was grinning broadly and had not stopped fondling her. I turned to Henry in confusion.
‘It’s quite alright sir,’ he explained, his professional visage restored, ‘they are only complaining that they can’t see the show.’
‘The show…?’
I looked about and it dawned on me that these were not the faces of an angry outraged crowd, offended by a disgusting display that should never happen outside the bedroom or beyond a porn movie. This was an audience being entertained.
Crabbe’s client was standing, drying his hand on the towel which Henry had thoughtfully provided. Emily was looking around as if she’d just woken from a daze, bewilderment turning to embarrassment. She covered herself as best she could with her hands. Bill turned his attention to her, offered his hand, which she grasped like a solid point in the turmoil of her confusion. He pulled her to her feet, her blouse covering her to just above stocking tops; she tugged at its bottom in a vain attempt to cover them.
‘I think,’ he said in a loud stage voice, ‘it’s time we changed location.’
To my surprise and Emily’s bewilderment, the people all around us cheered and clapped enthusiastically. It appeared that the Old Barn entertainment evening had been moved to Saturday nights.
Maybe if you liked this, you’d care to take a look at my other works…
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