"Letting a guy grab your pussy?
"Cheating."
"Letting a guy grab your tits?"
"Are you dancing with him?"
"Yes."
"No. Not cheating."
"What if we're at a table in the back?"
"Cheating."
This conversation had been going on for the last few minutes in the back seat of the Uber I was riding in. The participants in this conversation were three of my friends' wives. My friends were somewhere deep beneath the Pacific Ocean on a ballistic missile submarine. They'd been gone for several weeks and wouldn't be back for several more. Their wives were bored with hanging out at home and decided they wanted to cut loose at a local club this Friday night.
I was there to be their bodyguard. I'm six foot three, weigh 230 pounds, have several trophies from weightlifting competitions held on base, have earned black belts in Judo and Karate, and I've also studied Muay Thai, Krav Maga and taken military self-defense classes.
Two guys tried to rob me at knife point when I wandered off alone on leave in San Francisco. Those two guys woke up handcuffed to hospital beds. After the cops took my statement, I walked away with an icepack for my knuckles. My friends say I'm a certified badass.
My job was to dissuade any guys who got too aggressive about trying to bed three hot, young deployment widows. My buddies trusted me to keep their wives safe, but I wasn't responsible for their chastity.
Their husbands and I had been a tight little squad since we met in boot camp. Bob, Greg, Dewy and I had somehow managed to go through all our training together, from boot camp through A-school, nuclear power school and prototype training.
When it came time to request ship assignments, the detailer told us about a ballistic missile submarine that desperately needed sailors with our rating. Half the guys in the nuclear ET division were busted for running a drug ring and they needed people ASAP to replace them. He said he could get all of us on the ship together, so we jumped at it.
Unfortunately, the three of them were assigned to the Blue Crew, and I was placed on the Gold Crew. Ballistic missile submarines stay at sea almost continuously, so the Navy assigns two crews to each ship. The blue and gold crews alternate, three months on the ship and three months off. That means I only get to see my friends for about a week each time we swap crews.
I'd met their wives when we played together on a coed softball team, and we'd all hung out together ever since. Back then there was another member of our group, my fiancé, Rachel. Rachel was also a sailor and a member of our squad. When it came time to put in for ship assignments, she decided she wanted something more exciting than a boomer and applied for fast attack submarines. She got her wish, so she ended up in Groton, Connecticut and we ended up in Bremerton, Washington, 3,000 miles away. That ended our engagement.
Back to the Uber. This was the first time the ladies had gone clubbing without their husbands since before they were married. They were trying to figure out how good a time they could have without cheating on their husbands. The Uber driver and I just quietly listened, and he kept shooting me these looks that said, "I'm not sure if I should envy you or feel sorry for you."
What I'd put together so far about their rules is that on the dance floor anything that can be construed as dancing is okay, no fondling of cocks or pussies, fondling tits and nipples is fair game but no bare tit, and Frenching is okay as long as your bodies are moving. Grinding is just fine. Off the floor, closed mouth kissing only, ass grabbing okay, still covered tit only, still no cock fondling, and no grinding. And sneaking off where no one in our group could see you was absolutely off limits.
When we got to the club, the driver said, "Good luck, brother." I made sure to give him a decent tip and five stars.
There was a line of guys waiting to get in, and they all zeroed in on the girls as they moved to get in line. The three of them turn heads going to get ice cream dressed in sweats. Tonight, they'd gone all out, and they were showstoppers.
Linda, who's married to Bob, is kind of the den mother of our group. She's got a girl next door look and a personality that people just respond to. Everybody loves her.
She's average height with a curvy, athletic build. Her silky auburn hair complements her perpetual light golden tan and her big hazel eyes. She was wearing her hair in an up swept style, gathered at the back, which accentuated her long, slender neck. Her toned legs looked great in the form fitting crimson dress and three-inch heels she was wearing. She's an inch taller than Bob at 5' 8", so she's self-conscious about wearing really high shoes. What most of the guys were looking at though was the deep neckline, slit sides, and scooped back that dipped down to the very top of her crack. Every time she moved she showed a glimpse of her pert C-cup tits. It was obvious she couldn't be wearing anything under the dress.
Kim is Dewey's wife. She's the wild child of the group. If there's a bad idea for having fun, Kim will talk us all into it. She's a big, curvy girl at 5' 10" who was once approached by a major fashion house to be one of their premier plus-sized models. They loved her emerald-green eyes and what they called, "the ideal image of a BBW."
She did a couple of test shoots, and the marketing team loved what they saw, but she ended up passing because posing for the camera turned out to be more stressful than she'd expected. They gave her a portfolio with the test shots. She showed it to us once and she looked HOTTT!
Kim was wearing a pair of skin-tight, black, calf length leggings made of a sheer, shimmery fabric. The material was sheer enough that it was easy to see she had on a lacy, black thong. Her satin blouse had one button, leaving her exposed to her belly button and showing off a cute little heart shaped piercing. I think she'd applied dress tape so the opening of her blouse constantly threatened to show a nip slip, but never did. That didn't really matter, because even in the dim light on the street I could see the outline of her dark areolas through the translucent material.
She'd brushed out her thick, golden blonde hair into soft curls that hung down almost to her waist, not really covering her spectacular D-cup tits, but hiding them enough to tease. She'd finished the outfit off with six-inch platform heels that made her a touch taller than me. I knew she was going to make an entrance that would have the whole club looking at her.
DeeDee is married to Greg. She's the quiet one, but she dives into whatever adventures Kim and Linda dream up with enthusiasm. She's also the one who figures out how to salvage things when one of Kim's impetuous ideas starts to go sideways. She attributes that to her days as a gymnast. She said the champions were the ones who took big risks and figured out how to make them work.
At 5' 4", the rest of us tower over her, but she doesn't get lost in the crowd because she somehow manages to always be out in front. She claims to have A-cup tits, but the girls tell her she's being modest and she's really a solid B-cup. Regardless, Greg encourages her to take advantage of her perky tits and go braless as much as possible. All the guys like that because her cute little handfuls are topped with puffy nipples that pop up at the slightest breeze.
She's still a workout fiend, so her legs and ass are the envy of the other women. Greg is proud of his hot wife and she's proud of her ass, so they're both okay with the rest of us guys grabbing a handful every now and then. The other wives just roll their eyes.
DeeDee had picked a skintight, electric blue dress to show off her assets. The top was a high-necked, sleeveless design with a cutout in front that showed her modest cleavage and a cutout in back that showed a good bit of her ass cleavage. The bottom of the dress was a miniskirt that made her ass pop and highlighted her toned thighs. She had on four-inch stiletto heels that made her legs look long and sexy. Her honey blond hair framed her pixyish face in a shoulder length bob. She was always pretty minimalist with her makeup, and tonight she'd done just enough to make her pale blue eyes stand out and to make her lips look incredibly kissable.
The girls had raided my wardrobe to dress me. They found a stretchy gray T-shirt that was one size too small, a pair of jeans that hugged my thighs and ass, a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots that I'd bought on a dare, and a black sport coat. With the boots on, I stood over 6' 5".
They made me model my outfit for them before we left. Kim took one look and said, "What are you wearing? Boxer briefs? We can't let you go out with those ugly visible panty lines." That led to a discussion between the three of them about how they could fix this problem.
I nixed the idea of going commando and refused to admit to owning anything more "sleek."
They gave me a look of displeasure and pushed past me into my bedroom. After a few minutes of hearing drawers open and close, they came out with a tiny scrap of cloth. Linda shoved it into my hand and said, "Go put this on."
What they'd found was a thong that Rachel had bought for me. The fabric was a fine mesh that didn't hide anything. I started to protest, but decided it was better than being forced to go commando. I'd never worn it in public before, so this was going to be a new experience. A couple of minutes later I had changed, and we were out the door.
As we started to walk to the back of the line, the bouncer at the door yelled, "Hey, buddy."
I gave him a "Are you talking to me look," which got me a nod and a gesture calling me over. I stopped the girls, and we walked over to where he was standing.
