Author's note: This is a sequel to the recently edited version of my original Fantasy Crossroads. I amended that story in response to a comment by theMasterBaiter, altering the ending to incorporate his thoughts and to give me an opportunity to write a sequel or two.
*****
I leave the subway station, quickly find the tavern Max had texted me about, and survey the interior while my eyes adjust to the dim light. As my practiced gaze sweeps across the long polished dark wood bar, I spot the seat I want and work my way across the room.
As I mount the tall barstool, I slip the strap on my small purse over the little hook beneath the bar and allow my skirt to ride several inches higher up my thighs than it normally might be. I had already unfastened the top two buttons of my blouse to reveal an alluring amount of cleavage. Glancing at my watch, I see that I have about twenty minutes to play the game before Max arrives for happy hour and date night.
"What can I getcha?" asks the bartender.
"A Hendrick's martini, dry and dirty, three olives," I respond with a smile.
"Coming right up," he announces as he turns away to mix my drink.
I have only been seated for a minute or so, but I've already captured the attention of four men at the bar who are evenly split; two of them looking at my legs and the other two staring into the mirror behind the bar to catch a glimpse of my breasts.
"Add the lady's drink to my tab," one of the mirror guys tells the bartender.
Turning toward mirror-man so that my thighs and cleavage are on full display, I smile brightly at him.
"Thanks for the kind offer," I say in an artificially husky voice, "but I prefer to pay my own way."
Turning back to the bar, I take my first sip of the martini and let out a soft moan of pleasure as the unique taste hits my palate.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, I enjoy the attention I'm getting from the four guys who are trying to be casual about their ogling. In response, I suddenly discover an itch on my upper thigh and pull my skirt up a few more inches to scratch lightly at the feigned annoyance.
A few minutes later my husband Max arrives and casually takes a stool next to me. I ignore him as I finish my drink and slowly suck each of the olives from the plastic sword that impales them. I take special care to use my full, sensuous lips rather than my teeth.
"Can I have that replenished for you?" he inquires with a smile. A glance into the mirror tells me the four men are staring intently at us, undoubtedly prepared to enjoy my rejection of the new arrival. Turning toward Max, I give him a very long look of appraisal and then respond.
"Thank you," I finally say in the same husky voice I had used earlier. "Another Hendrick's martini, dry and dirty, with three olives would be very nice. My name is Haley, by the way."
"One for the lady and one for me," Max tells the bartender who has been standing nearby. Like most bartenders, he is acutely aware of what is going on and appears to be enjoying the look of astonishment on the faces of the four guys.
"I'm Max," he tells me while the bartender works on our drinks.
"Nice to meet you Max;" I tell him as a dazzling smile lights up my face.
"The pleasure is all mine," he responds with a smile of his own.
Max and I slowly sip our martinis while we talk softly to one another with our heads close together. Finally, I repeat my show of erotically sucking the olives off the little sword and then do the same to Max's untouched olives.
"Please allow me to buy your dinner?" Max suggests as the last of the olives disappears.
"That would be very nice," I respond with a radiant smile as I retrieve my purse and dismount from the stool. "Where are you taking me?"
"May I surprise you?"
"Please do," I answer as I grasp his arm by the bicep and pull it against my breast. "I'm not picky, I'll eat anything but liver."
As we depart, I glance over at the four guys, all of whom now appear to be in mild shock, and give them a theatrical wink and a little wave.
****
"That was fun, as usual," I say to Max as I slowly run my hand up and down his thigh while he drives. "How did you find out about that bar?"
"I overheard a client talking about it in the reception area at work. It seemed like an ideal place for our little act. As always, you were very convincing. Those guys were clearly dismayed when I successfully hit on you," he answers with a grin.
"Envy can be a beautiful thing," I respond with a smile of my own and give his cock a squeeze through the fabric of his slacks.
"Leave that thing alone," he admonishes me with a fake scowl. "I'm not that kind of guy."
We remain silent for the rest of the twenty minute drive to one of our favorite restaurants, which gives me some time to reflect on the past.
Max and I have been married for nine years now. No children, so we are free to do as we please most of the time. Soon after we began dating, both of us realized we had an unusually high level of sexual compatibility. With Max's help I quickly discovered that I was multiply orgasmic; which was unbelievably gratifying to both of us for obvious reasons.
As the years went by, we took care to keep our sex life interesting. At Max's suggestion, we invented the little game we had just played and it's now one of several in our repertoire of date night activities. Since we live near a large metropolitan area, there is no shortage of bars and taverns for us to indulge in our harmless little pastimes.
Date night is typically a ritual employed by couples who have children; an opportunity to put some intimacy back into a situation that constantly diverts their attention from one another. With Max and me it is different. We have sex often at home but use date night as an opportunity to enjoy something a little out of the ordinary. Date night never ends in our bedroom. By the time we arrive home at the end of the evening, we have already had sensational sex in some unusual venue, the more public the better. We have about a dozen places around town where we like to fuck and the risk of getting caught spices everything up.
As good as our sex life has always been, I freely and openly fantasize. For years, my favorite was to watch Max have sex with another woman, and I was never shy about making my thoughts clear to him. He was always good-natured about it, but took great care to make sure I knew he had no interest in anyone but me. I was flattered but a little frustrated. All that changed a few months ago.
I didn't fully understand the origins of my fantasy and I didn't really care. But it had become an obsession so I began to seriously look for ways to pair Max up with another woman so I could watch him fuck her.
A few months ago, I stumbled on a website that's sole purpose is to link consenting adults who have unfulfilled sexual needs. The organization behind the website is extremely discreet with lots of security built in to the process of matching up its members. Facing a lot of reluctance from Max, I had my work cut out for me but I persisted. Eventually he relented and we joined the group, posting details of my fantasy and a photo of the two of us on the site.
What I didn't expect was that there were very few individual women in the group and none who met my requirements to be Max's partner. It quickly became apparent that the only way to indulge my fantasy was to participate in a four-way with another couple. Once again I encountered a lot of resistance from Max while he struggled with the idea of sharing me with another man, although he did appear to be slightly less reluctant once he saw a picture of the couple we eventually chose. Lacey is an absolute knockout who happens to share my fantasy. Scott is an ordinary looking guy who did not represent any sort of threat. I had no interest in him other than as a means of achieving the outcome I desperately wanted. Lacey, on the other hand, was precisely the type of woman I was seeking.
Within a week after joining the organization, we met Lacey and Scott at one of the upscale downtown hotels that willingly cooperates with the group. An hour and a half later, we finished the most stimulating sexual activity of our lives. Lacey and I enjoyed several crushing orgasms; each provided by the other's husband in a carefully choreographed encounter that the two of us had planned in advance. Max and Scott did a masterful job of meeting our needs while thoroughly enjoying themselves in the process.
When Max and I retired to our own room for the night, we both believed we had just had a sexual experience that would never be repeated. By the time we finished breakfast the following morning, we weren't so sure. And there the matter has rested for the past few months.
****
Max backs our car into a shaded spot in the parking lot of the restaurant and I snap out of my reverie. He had called ahead and reserved our favorite corner booth, one that provides a generous amount of privacy. As usual, it wears a pristine white tablecloth that is a bit too large for the area it needs to cover. In the past, we have enjoyed a variety of intimacies in that booth with the cloth obscuring what we were doing. In anticipation of what might happen tonight, I'm not wearing any panties.
"Can you handle another martini, or would you rather have wine," Max inquires as we slide into the booth.
"Wine, I think. And white would be nice."
"White it is," he responds and then orders a pricey bottle of Mâcon-Villages burgundy when the sommelier arrives at our side. The instant we are alone, Max slides his hand under my skirt and up the inside of my thigh. I part my legs to give him better access.
"What have we here?" he inquires with raised eyebrows as he discovers the absence of an appropriate undergarment. "Those guys in the tavern would have had a stroke if they knew you had forgotten your panties," he adds with a grin.
"I didn't forget," I tell him, and then let out a small gasp as he slides a finger into my pussy. I had been lubricating heavily throughout the ride over from the pub and was now more than ready for his attention.
Max adds a second finger and continues his exploration, accompanied by soft involuntary moans from me until I spot the sommelier working his way across the room with our order.
"Stop!" I hiss. "Here comes our wine."
Max complies, sort of, by leaving his fingers inside me but slowing their movements.
I squirm a little in my seat as the restaurant's wine expert goes through the uncorking and pouring ritual with Max, who uses his free hand to taste the offering. Anyone in the room who observed us would think we were a normal couple.
