MFM, wife, slight bi
Dear Reader,
If you believe sex should be strictly monogamous and heterosexual, then my stories are not for you. Please do not read further, or prepare to clutch your pearls. Consider this your trigger warning.
In real life, this story happened after the events of "Honeymoon", but I believe it can be enjoyed on its own.
Marie is now a wonderful mother of two, an achievement she proudly wears on her forearm tattoo. But 15 years ago, we had a very special honeymoon to remember. Some of the details may be obscured by the haze of time, but the more exciting parts are etched into my memory forever.
I.
After a week in Samui, we made our way to the bustling city of Bangkok. In between eating, drinking, and the usual honeymoon shenanigans, of course we made time for the infamous ping-pong show and go-go bars. We'd read about couples having encouters with the dancers, but after two nights and three bars, we were rather disappointed to come away empty handed.
Well, not entirely. On the third night, the bar dancers asked for audience participation, and Marie, slightly tipsy from the free drinks, was happy to oblige. The girls guided my wife onto the stage, then shrouded her behind a piece of red curtain, a makeshift changing room of sorts. Two of them held the curtain up, while the others continued dancing for the patrons.
The wooden stage was located on one of its three walls, adjacent to the street. It was around table height, such that the performers would be visible from anywhere in the bar, even at the full capacity that its proprietors could only dream of. The side facing the street was mostly glass, although partially frosted to give passersby just enough of an enticing peek.
One of the dancers walked to me, holding Marie's garments. I received a pair of shorts, a neatly folded white blouse, and a bra. My mind raced as I imagined her in the same red bikini top and black miniskirt that the other dancers wear. Right on cue, the curtain dropped, unveiling my wife. My jaw dropped as I saw her in the red bikini top uniform, but instead of the miniskirt, she was in her black thong! She would later tell me that the skirt couldn't fit her waist, but she didn't want to chicken out.
Wearing her sneakers, Marie's 165cm frame easily matched the dancers on heels. She had considerably more freedom of movement too, a fact that pleased the crowd. The tall guy sitting at the far end of the bar loudly cheered with every wiggle of my wife's ample bottom. Slowly dancing towards him, Marie turned her back towards me, and leaned forward, sticking her arse back. Judging from the crowd's roar, she must have flashed him her A-cup titties. Tall guy raised his glass to me in appreciation.
My wife is obviously not a prude, but I would object to anyone characterising her as a slut. She gets more playful during vacations, a fact we're both aware of. Before we left home for our trip, Marie promised me that if the opportunity presented itself, she would grant me my lifelong threesome fantasy. Alas, once again I couldn't negotiate to bring home a girl we both liked. So, after changing back to her civvies, my wife and I walked out of the bar. I noticed that the girls (touts?) greeting passersby outside were prettier, and wore skimpier clothing than the dancers inside. Huh.
II.
We walked in silence at first. Maybe Marie felt she got carried away, and a bit apprehensive about my reaction. I decided to break the ice.
"The girl who gave me your clothes, she was kinda pretty."
"Mmm hmm?" Marie smiled, "I knew she was your type."
After a pause, she added, "Helped me change too. I think she might be into girls..."
I laughed. My wife read me completely like an open book.
"I asked the mamasan, she said that girl wasn't available. She offered me another girl, but yeah,"
I tried to change the subject.
"So... I'm kinda done for the day. What if we go back to the hotel, and call for a massage?"
"A massage," my wife teased, "at 11pm? Tell me, what kind of massage?"
I pulled out a business card the mamasan handed me earlier. It said RELAX GREEN ROOM OPEN 24 HOURS.
"The special kind, maybe?" I said with a wink.
After the short walk to our downtown hotel, we duly picked up the phone and called. "Open 24 hours" was definitely overselling it, because they were out of masseuses for the evening. Bummer.
"How about a boy? Do you have a boy available?" I asked.
"For you, Sir?" Asked the receptionist, trying to guess my orientation.
"No, it's for my wife," I replied, surprised that they didn't reply with a straight no.
"What are you doing?" Marie asked from behind me.
"Shhh. Yes, I would like someone to give a very good massage for my wife. Anyone available now?"
After a pause, the receptionist replied, "Yes, we have. Your hotel and room number please?"
III.
We spent the next half hour waiting nervously, Marie more than I. We tried to establish ground rules, which came down to:
1. Ask for permission if unsure, and
2. Either of us could stop the play at any time.
Marie was fidgety. First, she counted her pills, making sure she didn't miss a day. Then she counted again. One minute she was browsing through her luggage, trying to decide on what to wear. The next minute, she was tidying the room up. When she was satisfied, she disappeared into the bathroom to shave. From what I saw at the bar, she had nothing left to shave.
I told her to relax, and to lower her expectations. Maybe, nothing's going to happen. Worst case, she's getting a nice massage.
It was around midnight when I heard the knock on the door. Marie, having finally settled on a blue sleeveless cotton pajama top and white linen shorts, excused herself to brush her teeth. I opened the door to receive two visitors, one guy and one girl.
"Massage?" she asked.
I nodded the affirmative and showed them into the room. Right next to the entry is the bathroom, so I walked them through the entryway into the main bedroom area, about 4 by 6 meters in area, which was dominated by a king size in the middle. The far end of the bedroom has a seating area, with a grey upholstered loveseat. The side of the bedroom directly opposite the entry was a full height glass window. In other words, your basic business hotel room, not the honeymoon suite.
The girl opened her purse and took out a card imprint machine. This was the noughties, remember.