After three weeks apart, Juliette and I couldn't wait to see one another. While she was in Atlanta working a trade show, I was working 4000 miles away on the Isle of Man. We both would much rather have been in San Francisco, in our own bed, and passionately fucking like wild animals. Although we'd chat daily on the phone, I missed seeing her long red hair, pretty green eyes and infectious smile.
The Saturday before I left for the Isle of Man, we attended Club Lush, our favorite sex club, and had some of the hottest sex in our ten years or marriage. We fucked in all of our favorite positions and when I was spent, Juliette leaned back against a wall and fingered her pussy until she came several more times. She was so absorbed playing with herself that she was oblivious to the people watching her. After a night like that, I certainly had something to think about for the few weeks we were apart.
Traveling for business is always a mixed blessing for me. While I miss Juliette after long trips, I do like seeing new places and I enjoy gaining new experiences. Even if the trip is horrible, it at least gives me some amusing tales to tell family and friends. Juliette, on the other hand, absolutely hates business travel of any kind. She'd much rather sleep in her own comfy bed and cuddle with her darling Chihuahuas.
Fortunately, my job as a sales engineer provides me with just the right amount of travel. Not so much that Wifey feels neglected, but enough to keep my life interesting. Most of my company's customers are in large metro areas where I can spend my off hours shopping, seeing the tourist attractions, browsing bookstores and art museums and hanging out at the occasional topless club. But when my boss chose to send me to a sparsely populated island in the North Irish Sea, I was less than enthused. Matt, who turned down the opportunity to go himself, tried to make it seem like he was doing me a favor by telling me about the castles and other tourist attractions I could see. However, with the amount of work I'd be doing for this project, I doubted I'd have time to relax and see the sites.
The flight from San Francisco to the Isle of Man consisted of three hops, the last being a twin-engined puddle jumper from Manchester, England to the island. When the plane touched down at 7am, I just wanted to sleep. However, I had a 10am meeting with the client so I had to rent a car and get going. Driving down the narrow roads, I scared several locals and myself more than once with my inept driving on the left-hand side of the road. Once out of the town, cars were sparse so I was able to take in the green hills and scenic villages. The countryside was prettier than I had expected and I hoped to get some time to see some of the attractions that I saw on various road signs.
My company was under a tight deadline to get our client's computer systems up and running. Within five hours of landing, I was in the thick of configuring switches, routers, and servers. The ten-day job lapsed into twenty as the project was plagued with dead-on-arrival hardware, frequent project scope changes by pointy-haired-bosses, nightmare vendor licensing issues, buggy software, and complicated vendor relationships. Basically, it was business as usual in the world of e-commerce websites.
One of the project managers working with me was a snooty Londoner who claimed that the Manx were a bunch of inbred alcoholics clinging to a rock in the North Irish Sea. While not really a fair characterization, I did notice that my Manx coworkers went pubbing every night as there didn't seem to be much else to do. In contrast, I had to return to a frigid hotel room where the staff had the obnoxious habit of opening all of my windows while I was out. When I asked the front desk why they did that, they told me it was healthy to get fresh air. Who in their right mind would think the cold, damp wind whipping of the North Irish Sea in winter was good for one's health? And to make matters worse, the hotel turned off the building's heat at midnight so after a long day in a cold computer room, I'd return many hours after midnight to an uncomfortably cold room. After closing all eight windows, I'd bundle myself in all of my sweatshirts and jackets before cuddling under the meager bedding.
After three weeks shuttling between a freezing computer room and a freezing hotel room, I was ready to sleep in my own bed and enjoy the company of my wife. As the project neared completed, I booked a flight and called Juliette to let her know I'd be home on Tuesday. After a little small talk, my wife asked whether I missed her.
"I can't wait until I can be in your arms again," I told her.
"Are you sure you sure you wouldn't rather be between my thighs?"
"Oh, yeah."
"What else would you like to be doing to me?"
"I'd love to be sprawled between your spread legs while sucking your delectable clit. Oh Juliette, I can't wait to eat your hot pussy. And when you are nice and wet, I'm going to give you a nice, hard fucking the way you like."
"Well, keep that thought. When you get back, you can do that to me at Club Lush."
When I got off the phone with Juliette, I had to lie back in bed and stroke my cock until I came; spraying all over myself as I envisioned all the sexy fun I would be having with my wife in just a few short days.
While not exactly swingers, we both get off on the sexual energy at sex clubs. We are both exhibitionists and have pretty strong voyeuristic tendencies as well. So I was pretty worked up thinking about another visit to the club.
Even after a half dozen visits to swing clubs, we were continually surprised that we found it so erotic watching people fuck within an arm's reach of us while we did the same. Watching porn has become boring as I've gotten used to having twenty naked couples around us in various positions while I made love to my wife.
Our vanilla friends didn't understand why we like going to sex clubs so much. One reason is that after a night of hot sex in the club, we are rewarded with amazing sex days and weeks afterwards. The eroticism of the club seems to linger while we digest all of what we saw. Sex at home is both intimate and satisfying, but isn't always memorable months later. At the club, however, I seem to recall the details and sensations for months. Flashbacks of playing with Juliette's soft pink nipple in my mouth or the feel of her talented mouth sliding down my cock continue to come to me while daydreaming during boring meetings. Recalling the image of my cock thrusting into her pussy while her sweaty body bounces atop me fill out my fantasies while masturbating in the morning.
Sometimes I wonder about the might-have-beens or what the other people were thinking. Did the woman watching me go down on Juliette so closely that I could feel her breath on my neck get off on watching me suck my wife's clit? Did she woman want to join us? What kept her from actually touching Juliette?
All of these little tidbits remain as vivid and lively as when they occurred. Experiences such as these have given us something to look forward to each month.
****
When Juliette got back home on Thursday, she told me that not only was she up for the lingerie party on Saturday night, she was positively needed to get fucked on the bunk beds. I couldn't wait to see Juliette dancing around in a bra and panties. With a little luck and a little wine, Juliette would be dancing topless on the dance floor. After all these years with her, I still got hard seeing my naked wife.
