My Wife or a Whore 1

I don't understand something. Why would a man want to watch his wife fuck another guy? If you want to watch sex, there are porno movies. Live sex shows do exist in some underground places, or so I've been told. But why would any guy want his wife to be the leading lady, if such a term could be applied to the sluts that star in those things. If my wife wanted to be in such a movie, I should be her costar, not some other guy. Don't misinterpret that last sentence; she has never told me she wants to do anything like that.

Then there are guys whose wives are prostitutes. Some of them don't know what their women are doing. But why would a woman, especially a married woman, want to sell her body? I guess there could be economic reasons like an emergency that requires a lot of cash. I've heard some guys pimp for their wives, who actually go out and find other men who will pay to fuck them. I can't imagine anyone being such a slimeball.

I don't think any of the above applies to my wife and me. I make a lot of money. I'm a freelance systems analyst -- computer nerd to the uninitiated. I took home a hundred thousand bucks last year. That's took home as in after taxes. Money couldn't motivate Nancy to be a whore. With my income, we can afford anything she wants. We live in a three-thousand square foot house. We drive luxury cars. We have a good stock portfolio. Our sex life is great. We screw every night I'm home. I do travel a bit in my work. We do all the various positions: doggy, missionary, cowgirl, standing in the shower.

Nancy is a beautiful woman. Her auburn hair is shoulder blade length. She's five foot four and weighs a hundred ten curvaceous pounds. Her bra size is 36C, not that she needs one. Her body is made for sex, and we both enjoy it fully. She fills out a bikini perfectly. We have a pool in our backyard. The fence is solid wood so we can go skinny dipping without worrying about our neighbors spying on us. We both have overall tans.

You're probably wondering what all this moralistic preaching is about. It probably doesn't jibe with our love of sex. These were my attitudes eight days ago. A lot has transpired since then. You might say I've grown up in the past week.

My flight home Friday night was smooth and on time. Nancy was waiting for me in the baggage claim area just as she always was when I go out of town for a client. Something about her seemed a little different. Her clothes were normal, almost like a greeting her husband home uniform. She was wearing her blue minidress with a low neckline and matching high-heeled shoes which showed off her firm legs. The usual three gold bracelets were on her right wrist. I detected the right amount of her cologne, the right fragrance. She spotted my bag before I did, as usual. Still, something wasn't quite right. There was something...a glow on her cheek?

I picked up my bag, showed my claim check to the attendant, and we went out to the parking garage. There was something in the way she walked I didn't recognize. Maybe I was imagining things. There was a spring in her step I didn't remember. It was like she was extra pleased to have me back home. That wasn't one of my longer trips, only three days; most of them were five days. I put my suitcase in the back seat. As I headed for the driver's seat, she stopped me insisting she should drive because I had just had a long trip. I was a little tired, so I didn't argue. I looked her over as I got into the passenger seat. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No," I said still a bit confused. "You seem a little different somehow."

"Different? How?"

"I don't know. You seem bouncier."

"I do have a little surprise for you."

"What is it?"

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise. You'll figure it out. I thought we should go out for dinner tonight, but that's not the surprise."

"That sounds good to me." She started the engine and drove to the pay booth. As she pulled onto the highway, I asked, "Any calls while I was gone?"

"There was one from the outfit in Dayton. They want a training manual for their system."

"That should be simple. I have all their basic information already. Is that the surprise?"

"No, it's personal in nature." Her smile was becoming devilish. She was definitely having fun teasing me.

She parked the car in front of our favorite restaurant, Lord Winston's. I started out of the car, but she stopped me and pulled off my tie and unbuttoned my shirt collar. "Leave your jacket in the car, too," she said, "and those nerdy pens."

I still didn't know what she was up to, but I was certain it would be fun. As I opened the restaurant door, I suddenly remembered something. "I didn't get my welcome home kiss at the airport," I said. Nancy put her arms around my neck as my arms encircled her waist. Her kiss was tender and sensual. My dick stirred as her lips caressed mine. As I opened my eyes, I glanced at her cleavage and notice she was braless. That was totally out of character for her, but it would have been pointless to discuss it when we were at our favorite eating place. Her eyes followed mine for a moment, then she looked into my eyes and smiled. She said nothing as we went inside. The maitré d' greeted us by name; we'd been there often enough for him to know us. Nancy had reserved a secluded booth in a dimly lit corner. He took our wine order and left us to ponder the menu. She wasn't wearing a bra. As I mentioned before, she really doesn't need one. Her dress's material wasn't too thin, but her nipples were outlined through it. She was looking over the menu, but she kept glancing discreetly at me. Just as I was going to put my menu down and demand she tell me what her game was, the waiter came for our order. After he left with the menus, I turned to her. She promptly put her arms my neck and kissed me. "Happy birthday, darling," she cooed. I had completely forgotten my own birthday.

"Okay," I said, "you got me, Is this..." I pointed at her braless tits..."my surprise?"

"Part of it," she said. "You may have another part of it now, if you can find it."

"What is this, a treasure hunt?"

"More like a pleasure hunt. You never can tell where you might find it."

She kissed me sensuously again. This time her hand explored my chest before slithering down under the tablecloth to my crotch. Her hand caressed my growing cock through my slacks. My hand found her knee. Slowly, lightly, my fingertips slipped up her inner thigh to her hemline. "This is crazy," I whispered.

"Nobody can see us," she whispered back. I looked across the table. Our waiter stood silently in front of the table casually surveying the dining room. Nancy took my arm and moved my hand closer to her crotch. Her legs parted as I got closer to her panties. My fingers found, not the panties I expected, but a bare pussy, a shaved naked pussy. "You like?"

"What's gotten into you?"

"It's going to be you in a few hours, maybe sooner." Her hand continued to stroke my rigid member. "I've decided to give you a special treat tonight, and you may as well make up your mind to enjoy it because everything is all set up. Now shut up, kiss me, and let your fingers do the walking." Her cunt lips were perfectly smooth. She took a sharp breath as I lightly touched her slit. Her hand opened my fly and fished out my rod. I wanted to protest, but her mouth on mine kept me quiet. The waiter seemed totally unaware of what was occurring just behind his back. Nancy deftly stroked my pecker quickly bringing me to the brink of a climax. She took her lips from mine and stared into my eyes as she slid slightly away from me. When the distance between us was right, her head went under the tablecloth. Her mouth encircled my boner while her hand vigorously pumped it. My breathing became very heavy as my loins tightened. I struggled to keep from shouting as I shot off into her waiting jaws. She swallowed every drop. After sitting up, she tucked my wilted meat into my pants and moved back to her original position. As if on cue, the waiter walked away.

"This is insane," I said.

"But it's gotten you excited, hasn't it?" Nancy teased. "You can't wait to find out what's next."

She was right. I love computers because they are orderly, organized, logical. That evening, so far, was anything but orderly, organized, of logical. I suspected that whatever was next on her agenda would probably be sexual, and that would be much better than computers.

The waiter returned in a couple minutes with our meals. The food was superb, the norm in this particular place. We have never even had a bad cup of coffee. Whenever I was chewing something, my hand found her thigh. I moved her dress up to expose her pussy lips. Because the tablecloth blocked everyone's view, I was the only one who could see her puffy pubes. A small pool of her juices formed on the seat. She sat so that no part of her clothing was between her skin and the seat. Fortunately the seat cover was leather so the puddle did not soak into it and would not leave a stain. By the time we finished eating, she had had two orgasms.

After the table had been cleared and we had our coffee, Nancy laid her head on my shoulder, and I put my arm around her. "You catch on quickly," she said softly. I realized I had played right into her hands...well, right into her pussy. "I hadn't planned on cumming, but I won't complain. Are you ready for the next phase?"

"Let me guess. It's a surprise," I said.

"Kinda. I want to go dance."

We hadn't gone out to dance for six months. "Okay, I'm game. I suppose you have a place picked out."

She nodded her head, then kissed me gently on my lips and neck. We paid the bill and went outside to our car. I opened the passenger door for her to get in, but she went around to the driver's seat. What the heck. I could let her be the chauffeur on my birthday. Besides, I didn't know where we were going. She buckled her seat belt, started the car, and drove off.

Soon we were in a rather seedy part of town. Brightly lit bar signs and adult bookstores lined both sides of the street. Nancy parked the car and started to get out. I grabbed her arm. "What are we doing here?" I asked totally confused. "You said you wanted to take us dancing."

"I said I want to go dance," she corrected me. "This is where we are going."

"But this is a strip joint!"

"Your powers of observation never fail to amaze me." She opened the door, got out, walked around to my side of the car, and opened the door. I just sat there openmouthed. "Do I have to go in alone?" I got out, and she led me to the bar's door. I dimly noticed a sign just inside that said something about amateurs. I didn't get a chance to read it thoroughly. A skimpily clad woman led us to a single seat next to the stage. I looked around for a second chair but couldn't find one. Nancy gave me a quick kiss. "You sit here, and I'll see you later." She dashed away before I could say anything. Still dumbfounded, I sat down.

"Can I get you a drink?" the waitress asked.

"Ah...scotch, please," I mumbled.

"Soda? Straight? Rocks?"

"Rocks, please," I said numbly. I needed something strong to clear my head. She returned quickly with my drink.

A mostly naked woman was dancing on the stage. Her only garments were her shoes and a thong panty. As I took my first sip of my drink, she slipped the thong down to her ankles revealing a tiny G-string. She kicked the thong to the rear of the stage and strutted from one side to the other. Several men were standing holding up dollar bills. She knelt before one who slipped his dollar under the waist band of her G-string. She worked from one side of the stage to the other collecting ones and fives. When she had gotten all the money waved at her, she did a few high kicks and some splits until the song she was dancing to ended.

"Let's hear it for Gina!" the emcee bellowed on the loudspeakers. "And now, gentlemen, put your hands together and welcome back the lovely, the incomparable, the beautiful Nancy!"

The roar of a motorcycle came over the loudspeakers. The crowd went wild as the curtains opened revealing my wife standing in front of a motorcycle. She was dressed in all black leather garments: leather cap, leather jacket, leather chaps, leather riding boots. She looked stereotypical biker broad. The music began with a hard drum beat as she marched straight to the edge of the stage in front of me. Her movements were sharp; her poses were perfectly times to the pounding rhythm. Her hard facial expressions matched the biker theme perfectly. I knew she had taken dance lessons when she was a child, but she had the moves of a highly trained professional dancer. This routine had to have been well rehearsed. The emcee had said "welcome back." How many times had she done this?

Her leather gloves flew to the bike's tires. The crowd was on its feet as she stomped back to where I sat in shock. The leather jacket joined the gloves. Her breasts were almost covered by a black leather bra that matched the rest of her costume. Chrome rivets were centered over her nipples. She briefly made eye contact with me and smiled as she strutted to the bike. She swung a leg over the bike and sat on the seat. Nancy leaned forward and rubbed her leather covered pussy against the seat a half dozen times to the delight of the audience. Swinging her leg off the bike, she locked eyes with a guy at the end of the state with a hard sultry stare. She knelt in front of him and pointed to the buckle holding one of the chaps to her belt. Clumsily he opened the buckle. She unhooked the ankle buckle and tossed the chap to the motorcycle. She marched to the opposite side of the stage, her boots hitting the floor in time with drumbeat and selected a guy to unbuckle the other chap before slinging it toward the bike. Returning to center stage where I sat, she did a couple high kicks, then turned her back to the audience and unhooked her bra catch. Slowly she pealed the bra off while a hand covered her breasts. After the bra joined the rest of her costume, she turned around keeping her hands over her breasts and squeezed them before pulling on her nipples. She looked me in my eyes. Money was being waved at her from all sides. The panties came off revealing a black leather G-string. I reached for my wallet as she began taking up her collection at stage left. When she got to me, I motioned for her to turn her back to me. She squatted down and I slipped my money under the vertical string between her butt cheeks and under her crotch. I slid the bill down until it was covering her anus. She stood up, looked down between her legs at my money, and gave me a huge smile. After the guy to my left stuck his dollar under her waist band, he yelled in my ear, "You'll get a personal thank you for that c-note! Real personal!"

"What do you mean?" I yelled back.

"You'll find out! Just stick around after the show!"

Nancy finished her routine with a few high kicks and a deep bow.

"Let's hear it for Nancy!" the emcee yelled into his microphone. When the shouting and whistling died down, he said it was time for the audience to judge the dancers. Each came to the stage clad only in her G-string and shoes as her name was called. Nancy was the sixth and last one. She still wore her leather cap. The crowd jumped to its feet when she came out. She was the clear favorite. Her prize was a check for five hundred dollars.

Suddenly I heard my name being spoken on the loudspeakers. "Will Jim Howard please stand up?" In shock, I stood up. "Gentlemen, this lucky guy is Nancy's husband. Unlike you he gets to take her home tonight. Today is his birthday. He's a double winner tonight to have such a beautiful and talented wife in addition to celebrating his birthday." A raucous cheer went up from the crowd. "Nancy," the emcee continued, "will you lead us in singing Happy Birthday to Jim?" Another cheer went up as she stepped forward with a microphone in her hand and knelt before me. All I could hear was her sweet alto voice singing to me as she looked lovingly into my eyes. The audience had joined in, but I was unaware of their participation. Her huge boobs were right in front of my face, but all I could see was the love in her eyes. As the song ended, she bent over, placed a hand on the back of my head, and gave me a deep kiss. I caressed her nipple with the palm of my hand as the mob cheered us.

When the stage curtain closed, two-thirds of the crowd left. I turned to ask the guy next to me to explain his remarks about "personal" thanks from Nancy, but he was gone.

The staff had cleared most of the glasses and beer bottles from the tables when Nancy sat down beside me dressed as she had been when we came in. "How did you like my dancing?" she asked.

"I couldn't believe it," I said. "I'm afraid to ask what's next."

"Next we go home," she said.

"What did the emcee mean by 'welcome back'? Have you done this before?"

"Sure. I need something to do when you're gone. I'm not into knitting, as you know?"

"Is this your idea of a hobby?"

"I'll admit it is a little unusual, but yes it is. I love dancing. You know I had dance lessons when I was a little girl. This seemed like a good way to apply what I had learned. I didn't do too well the first few times, but I've been winning a lot lately. This brings me up to four thousand dollars in prize money so far this year."

"If you wanted something to do, why didn't you get a regular job? You could make more as a salesclerk."

"It wouldn't be as much fun. Besides, I have to be near the phone in case you get calls when you're out of town."

"But displaying your body to a mob like this?"

"What's wrong with my body?"

"Nothing. It's just...."

"You think you own it. You think it's not proper for others to see it."

"It isn't."

"I saw you gawk at the waitress when we came in. I thought I'd have to pick your eyeballs up off the floor. If you can stare at other women, there is no reason why other men can't stare at me. I got two hundred in tips from that one dance not counting your hundred. I had eight minutes to do my routine. That works out to one thousand five hundred dollars an hour. You don't make that much. Now shut up and let's get going before I forget it's your birthday."

Nancy took the driver's seat again. It was apparent she intended to retain control of the evening. She drove in silence keeping her eyes on the road and off me. She was definitely pissed off at me, but she did not want to start a fight.

She had the right to be mad. The show had to have been arranged in advance, at least the birthday song was. I had a boner all the while she was on stage. Even in the car, knowing she wasn't wearing any underwear had given me another one. She had done it all for me, and I had responded by being a jerk. As every married man knows, when you're in the dog house, there's only one way out.