You wouldn't think 'Big Bad' Brett, my husband, and I would be such a good match. He, the most gentle guy you'd ever want to meet despite his nickname, and I are opposites in so many ways.
The most obvious difference is physical. He's 6'4" and a fit 220 pounds. I'm 5'7", but despite a taste for burgers and other junk food, I can barely keep my weight over 100 pounds.
Brett, who flies those tankers that bomb forest fires, is a quiet introvert. Me? I'm definitely an extrovert. I have to be, because despite my terrible diet, I'm a trainer in a gym.
We live in Florida because Brett gets most winters off, and we love to do those huge three-day weekend powerboat raft-ups in the south of the state. Brett sits back and watches, while I enjoy being the life of the party on our boat.
You know the girl who is always the first one to take her top off? And all but rips the tops off of the shy girls. That's me.
"Come on, girls, get those puppies out," I shout. "Got to keep the boys hard and happy."
The Big Guy and I met in an interesting way. I'd just come off the stage after winning the wet t-shirt contest at a big beer bar, and a couple of young horn dogs were pestering me.
I don't like the young guys, so when I saw Brett, 17 years older than my 27, I sought him out for protection. Slipped right into his arms, and we've been together ever since.
When it comes to sex, my bad boy finishes strong, but I'm the one who initiates the naughty stuff. I know it's my job to keep our sex life hot, cause other women are always eyeing my guy.
Brett and I have different interests, too. He loves to gamble. It doesn't matter if it's on sports, the stock market, or which of three birds will fly off a telephone wire first. Gambling excites him.
I find gambling so boring.
My primary interest, and I won't deny it, is attracting the attention of men. I live for it.
I've got medium sized perky tits, a tight ass and shapely legs, so I'd would get plenty of attention if I were dressed in a sack. But I dress to call attention to my rockin' body.
I'm inclined toward skin tight mini dresses with lots of cleavage, or butt and leg hugging leggings with high heels. Always high heels. I want my ass riding high and pointing downward, like I'm eager to take it doggie style.
I confess, I'm the ultimate cocktease.
I don't know why I crave so much male attention. I had a good family life growing up and wasn't molested or anything like that. I just crave guys giving me the eye. I particularly like it if the guy is with his wife or girlfriend and she gets jealous. That makes it naughty and turns me on even more.
Fortunately, my Brett isn't the jealous type. In fact, he gets a kick out of me turning other guys on. I think he likes being the husband of a cocktease as much as I love being a cocktease. He gets off on the fact that all his male friends, as well as most strangers, are envious of him having a hottie like me for a wife.
Brett is so confident in me that he even likes to pick out sexy outfits for me to wear. As big a cocktease as I am, I can't believe how risquΓ© some of the outfits he's bought have been. I was almost too embarrassed to wear a couple of them. Almost, but not quite.
I suppose it will come as no surprise to learn that after being married for less than two years, Brett agreed to my suggestion that we join a sex club. I needed to make sure out sex lives stayed hot, because if a wife like me doesn't keep her man stimulated, some other woman sure as hell will.
Going to the sex club was very exciting in the beginning. I loved being able to not just turn new guys on, but to get fucked by them. My favorite thing was getting put down on all fours and being slammed doggie style while I sucked my husband's cock. He loved the way I'd lovingly look up into his eyes while I was getting pounded.
Brett had no problem with other men fucking me. In fact, I think he liked watching me get fucked as much as he liked fucking other women.
All sexual relations in the club had to be consensual, of course, and a few of the hottest young women had turned Brett down. Bitches. Naturally he wasn't too happy about getting rejected, partly because I never turned any of the guys down. It pissed me off even more than it did him.
As everyone knows, we women, unlike the men, can have sex all night long. So after the guys shot their wads once, or twice if they were lucky, they were ready to go home. But if they had wives such as me, it was only polite for them to wait around until we'd gotten banged a few more times.
Eventually one of the restless men waiting for his wife pulled out a deck of cards and started playing solitaire. Before long the other guys noticed, and it soon became small stakes poker game. Soon the men no longer complained about having to wait for their wives or girlfriends to have their fill of strange cock.
What a bunch of gambling degenerates these men became! A few of them, notably my husband, soon came to the club more to play poker than to swing. There were even times when we stayed very late, not because I needed to get nailed a fourth or fifth time, but because my Brett and his friends insisted on playing a few more hands.
Now it was we women, worn out from cock sucking and being fucked, who wanted to go home first. Imagine that.
After about five gambling sessions, one of the women groused that the poker games weren't fair because some of the more affluent men could easily win hands by bluffing the guys who didn't have as much money. And her husband was losing his ass.
Naturally I had a solution.
"If you men want the real thrill of gambling, you should forget gambling just for money," I told them. "You should gamble for money -- and the pleasures of your bitches."
Yes, after a drink or two I can talk like that.
"None of the club's rules about consent should apply," I continued. "No women should be able to say 'no' if their guy has put up one of her sexual favors and then lost the hand."
The men loved the idea, as it gave the men complete control over us women. The prospect of losing a hand meant that a guy's wife might have to give a blow job to a guy she normally wouldn't touch. Some of the guys found it stimulating that their wives might have to blow a guy she didn't particularly care for. It added a whole new element of excitement.
I didn't have a problem with the idea because I liked the idea of losing control over who got to use my body. But some of the women objected, pointing out that non-consensual acts were strictly prohibited by the club. Fair enough. But there we five couples who liked the idea enough to join us at our house the following Saturday night for high stakes swinger's poker.
Five guys sat around the poker table, their wives or girlfriends standing by their sides. Some of the wives dressed provocatively, while two of them dressed very conservatively, not happy with the idea of being nothing more than a human gambling chips.
Special chips were made of differing values. Top off, bottom off, panties off, hands bound, blindfolded, nipple clamps, chastity belt, and so forth.
Jill, an attractive redhead in her 40s was the dealer and in charge. Her big tits sagged a bit with age, but looked great in the shelf bra and low cut top combo she sported. She still had a nice ass and beautiful legs, so she could still pull almost all of the men there.