Ladies' Night at the Bull Pen

DISCLAIMER: This story features a wife that takes control of both her and her husband's sexualities. If you are the type that dislikes this type of story and insists on making idiotic, disparaging anonymous comments, skip it and go elsewhere. If you like this type of story, I appreciate comments and private messages that let me know exactly how much you liked it...in explicit detail if you like.

I got home late, as usual. I was putting in extra time at work to make sure I kept my job. Still, I had told my wife Candy that tonight was going to be different, and it wasn't. I pulled into the driveway about 8:30, and the house was quiet and dark.

There was a note taped to the front door with my name on it. "Your clothes are laid out on the bed in the guest room. Grab a shower in the guest bath and get ready. I'm in our room. Don't bother me until I'm ready. We're going out. The kids are at Trish's overnight."

My wife was being unusually directive. It wasn't like her, but it was having a positive effect on me. I was half hard in the shower, wondering what she had planned. She had laid out a dress shirt and slacks for me. Nice clothes, but nothing special. I got dressed and waited in the living room for her to come out. It was 9:45 by the time our bedroom door opened.

My wife was simply stunning, a vision of glamour from head to toe. She was wearing a short black cocktail dress with a deep scooped halter top, black stockings and strappy black sandals. The dress showed off her bare back from the tie of the halter top to the small of her back. The material of the dress was shimmery, like silk, and flowed across her pale soft skin as she stepped toward me. She had obviously visited the salon that day for a French manicure, and to get her long blonde hair done in a loose, flowing set of curls, partly pinned up by an ornate silver hair pin on one side.

I was speechless as I stood up to greet her. Her makeup was perfectly done, not understated, but not garish either. It showed off her delicate features perfectly. I regained my composure enough to let out a low whistle. "Wow, baby, you look great..."

I was about to ask where we were going when she put a finger to my mouth to silence me. She looked serious. "You're late...again."

I started to stammer an apology. She interrupted, "I don't care. No more excuses, tonight is my night. Do you like the new dress?" She spun around with her arms outstretched, causing the hem of the skirt to swirl around as she moved. I caught a glimpse of stocking tops, and it was obvious she wore no bra, as I got a good look at the sides of her naked breasts when she spun.

This was totally unlike her. She was normally conservative and shy. "Well, do you like it?" she asked impatiently as I gaped. My dick was making a tent in my pants, but she wasn't looking there for her answer.

"You look amazing, just amazing!" I leaned forward to kiss her but she gave me the same raised finger.

"Uh uh, don't mess up my makeup." I looked down at her hand and noticed that there was something else she wasn't wearing: her wedding ring. "Let's get going, it's almost 10pm and the night is wasting."

"Should I change? I feel kinda underdressed compared to you."

"It won't matter," she said flatly. "This is my night, not yours, you owe me...let's just go." I followed her out to my car. She stood by the passenger door as I opened it with the remote, expecting her to get in. I was almost to my door when I realized she was waiting for me to open hers.

"Such chivalry," she teased as I helped her into the passenger seat, her dress riding up to clearly show the tops of stay up stockings. She crossed her legs before I could see what panties she wore, or if she was wearing any at all.

"Where are we headed?" I asked as I slid into the car.

"The Bull Pen. Ever heard of it?"

"No. Where is it?"

"Up on the East side, near MLK."

"Uhhhh...." I started to object, the neighborhood wasn't great in that area.

"It'll be fine; Trish and Jerry go a couple times a month." That didn't fill me with warm fuzzy feelings. Trish was the wild child of the sisters, and Jerry pretty much went along with whatever she wanted.

When we got up to the cross-town expressway, I reached over and put my hand on Candy's knee, easing my hand up toward her still-visible stocking tops, with the intent of checking for panties. I was fully hard now, thinking she might not be wearing any. She quickly reached down and took my hand, placing it back on the steering wheel. "Don't muss up my look before we get there. Pay attention to the road."

I pouted. She giggled at me. "If you are trying figure out if I'm wearing panties, I am. New ones you've never seen. A little black g-string, see through. Satisfied?"

I was throbbing. When had the aliens come and replaced my wife with this wanton person?

"Can you show me?"

"No, you'll wreck the car. Eyes front." We drove like that for a while as the neighborhoods went from bad to worse around us. She leaned over to look at the gauges. "You better stop for gas, don't want to run out around here."

"Almost as bad to fill up around here." Our white Volvo station wagon did not belong in this neighborhood any more than we did.

"There's an Olsen's at our exit. You can go to full serve." Olsen's was an old-fashioned gas station, it still had full service attendants...charged an arm and a leg, but it was better than hitting the local mini-mart.

I pulled up to the passenger side pump and rolled down my window as a tall, young black man in Olsen's coveralls bearing the name "Reggie" approached from behind the car. I handed him the gas card and asked for a full tank of premium, rolling the window back up as soon as I could. He ambled back to the pump and I turned toward Candy. "Can I see your new panties now?"

"Okay," she said in mock exasperation, "but no touching!" She grasped the hem of her dress and slowly lifted it toward her waist while placing her left foot on the dash to give me a better view.

She was right; I would have crashed had she shown me while driving. The tiny triangle of fabric that covered her blonde treasure was as transparent as her stockings. It was apparent she had gotten a full treatment at the spa, because my normally bushy wife sported a neatly trimmed arrow of pubic hair that came to a point right over her clit. Since she was completely waxed everywhere else, I could clearly see her swollen and slightly parted labia pressed against the thin fabric. She slid forward in the seat to give me a better view, and I noticed that the pink ring of her rear entrance was also clean and hairless, since I could clearly see most of it on both sides of the thin black string that led up between her pale cheeks.

I spotted Reggie walking toward the passenger side window in the mirror and urgently whispered "he's coming," to my wife, expecting her to quickly cover herself. Instead, she held the very same pose as the service attendant lifted the squeegee and reached across to clean the windshield. He didn't notice at first, but I saw his double-take, and then his broad grin as he stared into the passenger seat right between my wife's open legs. He quickly wiped her side of the windshield, then gawked through the glass as he pressed his crotch against the side of my car and sloppily washed my side, three or four times. At one point he looked into her eyes, and she blushed and smiled, dropping her eyes to indicate he had permission to stare.

"He's looking right at my pussy. Does that excite you?" my wife whispered. Strangely, I wasn't jealous, I was really turned on.

"It does," I gasped.

"Good, then won't be the only one having fun tonight."

I was looking almost as intently at Reggie as he was at Candy's nearly hairless crotch. She finally lowered her skirt and crossed her legs. He stood grinning broadly by her side of the car until she rolled down the window so he could hand her the credit receipt. She smiled sweetly and thanked him as we drove away. I could see the bulge in his coveralls through the rear view mirror. If objects in the rear-view mirror were larger then they appeared, he must have been huge.

"What are we doing, honey?" I asked. Her comment about having fun had thrilled me, but it made me worried as well.

"Just drive.... It's two blocks up on the right." My wife stared out her window as she spoke. I couldn't tell if she was mad at me or if she was lost in thought.

The Bull Pen had a humble neon sign with a moveable letterboard that announced tonight was "Lady's Nite: Free Drinks." The club was housed in a large concrete building—it might have been a converted auto parts store—at the far end of a parking area nearly half a block deep, and almost completely full. I was about to pull into the only available space when my wife announced that I should drop her off and then park the car.

I did as I was told. The burly black doorman eagerly approached and opened the door for my wife as I pulled the car up. I know what view he must have gotten as she slowly put one foot out the door then just as slowly moved the other, clearly relishing the attention. He helped her out and whisked her into the club so fast that she was out of view before I lifted my foot off the brake pedal.

I cruised around the parking lot looking for a space and feeling utterly conspicuous. Everyone else in the parking lot was as black as I was white. The space I had originally seen when we drove in was gone by the time I got back to it, and it was three or four minutes before another opened up on the far edge of the lot. I made my way out of the car toward the entrance. If my wife wasn't already inside the bar, I certainly would have turned and headed home. I didn't belong here.

As I moved toward the door, the heavily muscled bouncer stepped in front of me. "You sure you're in the 'white' place?" He laughed deeply at his own pun.

"Yes," I responded, sheepishly.

"Cover is 20 for single men, 10 for couples and ladies are free."

"My wife is already inside," I replied fetching a ten from my wallet.

"Oh, yeah? You let her go in there without an escort? You're a brave man." He laughed again at my discomfort. "Hey, is she that hot, blonde kitty with the pale, white Volvo?"

"Yes, that's her."

"Well she flashed me such a big...smile...getting out of the car that I let her in for free. Pretty little kitty. But she wasn't wearing no ring, so it's twenty bucks for you to go in and see if you can pry her loose from whatever bull has claimed her."

I took out a twenty and handed it to him grudgingly.

"Some great lips on your lady, and she had a nice mouth too!" he roared at me as I entered the club.

I made my way through the crowd. The club was as loud as it was dark. My senses were overwhelmed by the press of musky bodies, the sounds of men and women yelling to be heard above the thudding music, and the sight of a whole roomful of people staring at me, apparently the only white person in the building.

I thought in this room it would be easy to find my wife, a tall pale blonde, but I searched for at least fifteen minutes in vain before I caught a glimpse of her hair when a thick red curtain was pulled aside on an archway in the back of the club marked "VIP." I moved quickly to the curtain, only to be stopped again at the entrance by another large black man. This one was as fat as the first one was muscular. He put up a huge hammy hand and simply shook his head "no."

I yelled and gestured, "My wife is in there!"

He smiled; displaying teeth entirely covered in gold, and still shook his head "no." As I tried to pantomime my wife's description to the bouncer, a short black man approached and handed him a fifty dollar bill. The fat man pulled the curtain aside for the new man to enter, and as he did, I was certain I saw Candy inside the VIP room, on the dance floor with what looked like two other white women. As far as I could tell from this glimpse, they were the only women in the room, and the only ones dancing while maybe a dozen black men sat around at tables, watching their every move.

I reached for my wallet, and opened it to pull out a fifty. The fat bouncer reached past me to pull a hundred from my wallet instead, smiled, and drew the curtain aside for me to enter.

Once inside, I headed straight for my wife, who was swaying seductively to the music with her arms thrown around the neck of a curvy, attractive, mature redhead in a green, off-the-shoulder party dress. They seemed to be whispering to each other. My wife looked toward me, but didn't make eye contact, instead she seemed to look right through me as though I wasn't there. I was almost to the dance floor when I felt a strong hand gripping me by the shoulder, spinning me to face him.

The man I was now facing was the spitting image of Lawrence Fishburne, and a head taller than me. He leaned down and his voice was a low rumble. "You Candy's driver?"

"What?"

"Candy said her driver was gonna come soon and buy drinks for our group." He pointed to a couch at the back of the room, by itself on a raised platform just beyond the dance floor. It was the kind of couch that might have been a semi-circular booth at one time, but there was no table. Instead it looked as though drink glasses were perched on a wide ledge on the back of the couch. Up on the raised platform like it was, the red leather couch looked like a throne, commanding an easy view of the whole room. Two well-groomed black men were slouched on the couch, sipping drinks and intently watching the three ladies on the dance floor. If this couch was a throne, the men sitting here were the lords of this whole domain.

Mr. Fishburne shoved me toward the bar, and away from my wife. "Go tell Leo two bottles of Dom, and you sit at that table and wait till we're done, get it?" He pointed to a table with a single chair at the foot of the platform, close to the couch. I turned back toward him, determined to speak to Candy, but he lifted a finger and waved it at me with a menacing smile. "She's with us, and that's the way she wants it, get it? You'll get her back when she's done."

I slouched over to the bar and before I could even give the bartender a credit card, he sent a waiter over to the couch with the two bottles of expensive champagne and six crystal flutes. "I'll run you a tab," he said as he snatched the card from my hands.

When I turned back and took a seat at my small table, Mr. Fishburne was dancing with my wife. Actually, what they were doing wasn't really dancing at all; it was more like dry humping. She had her back to me; he was crouched down slightly, bracing himself so she could straddle his thigh. She was lewdly thrusting her hips back and forth on his thick leg muscles. In that position she was certainly grinding her nearly naked pussy against the silk of his suit pants. She had her face buried in his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his back for leverage.

He looked up and saw me watching. My stomach churned in jealousy but my cock grew hard as stone in a deep, burning, full-body arousal unlike anything I had ever felt. Without ever looking away from me, he ran his hands down my wife's bare back, pressing his large dark fingers forcefully against her soft pale skin, glistening with her perspiration. Candy arched backwards as his hands reached the small of her back. In this pose he was certainly pressing her clit directly against his thigh.

Still starting directly at me, he reached down to my wife's thighs, right at her stocking tops, just as I had done in the car. Instead of redirecting as she had done with me, she let his strong hands move purposefully up the sides of her legs to her hips, lifting the hem of her dress as he went along. When his hands came to rest on top of her hipbones, her beautiful pale ass was completely exposed to eyes of every man seated around the dance floor, covered only by the thin black "T" of the g-string.

Candy was unabashedly grinding herself down on to him in small circular motions of her hips as he pushed her down to increase the pressure. Finally I saw her spasm three times quickly, in the familiar way that she does when she has an orgasm, and then she collapsed panting against his heavy chest.

He smiled at me and finally broke his gaze to lean down and whisper something into her ear. She nodded weakly and he helped her to her feet, still maintaining his grip on her hips that held up her dress and exposed her ass to the crowd of men around her. He whispered again, and again she nodded. As she leaned into his chest he slid his hands down the sides of her hips, letting the hem of her dress follow. I was glad, in a sense, that my wife was no longer brazenly exposed. But then I noticed that Mr. Fishburne had hooked the waistband of her g-string with his thumbs and was obviously pulling down Candy's panties right in the middle of the dance floor.

I should have reacted, defended her honor, or at least asserted my own rights as her husband, but I did felt frozen to the chair. He had pushed the panties down to her stocking tops, which was as far as he could reach without losing his balance. I hoped maybe my wife was unaware of what he was doing, but as he stood up to full height and looked down at her, she bounced up and down a bit to allow the little piece of material to fall to her ankles. As she slipped one foot out and used the other to hoist the tiny panties to where she could reach down and hand them to him, I realized she knew exactly what was happening.

As he accepted the g-string as though it were a sacred offering, I thought that she was not only aware of what was going on, she was actually in control. Fishburne lifted my wife's undergarment to his nose and breathed deeply, appreciatively. He took the fabric in his mouth and sucked her sweet juices from it, then leaned down to plant a deep, probing forceful kiss on my wife's compliant lips. She never let me kiss her on the lips after I'd tasted her pussy. The jealous feeling grew even stronger inside of me, but it was still overwhelmed by my even more powerful arousal.

Fishburne spun my wife to face me with all the precision of a well-practiced tango move when they finally broke their long kiss. Our eyes met and I felt that she was finally looking at me, rather than through me, for the first time since I discovered her in the VIP room. He had his arm wrapped around her, and it was obvious that he had slipped his hand under her halter top and was caressing her naked breast as he guided her toward my little table. She smiled up at him and reached down one hand toward the muscular thigh she had recently ridden to orgasm. A broad wet spot of her making shone on the silk of his pant leg, and just to one side of it, where her hand eventually came to rest, was a tent in his pant leg showing the clear outline of his impressive tent pole. Her delicate long fingers stroked him idly through his pants as they now stood next to my table.

My wife looked down at me to my lap, where my own more meager member was clearly making both a tent and a wet spot in my own slacks. "Honey, I'm glad you're enjoying this." It was the first time that night she had addressed me in an affectionate manner. She seemed completely relaxed and totally sexual. "I thought you might like it here. Harold and I are going to have a few drinks...and a little more fun." She gave his huge unit a playful squeeze. "Okay, maybe a lot more fun. You can stay here if you like, or go wait in the car. It's up to you." My wife released her grip on Harold's member and leaned down to whisper in my ear. "I want you to stay...it excites me so much to have you watch." As she leaned down to speak to me I got a clear view down the top of my wife's dress...and a clear view of her black lover's hand working her firm b-cup breast and pinching her erect nipple.