These Date Night stories are 100% true to the experiences of me and my wife. I have not embellished or fabricated any of the actions. That being so, some of them may not be as wild as other stories on the site, but you can be supremely confident that every act, thought, and feeling are real.
This is the second entry in the series. It isn't necessary to read "Date Night: Dinner for Two" first, but it does give a more complete picture of my wife and how I feel about her.
Date Night: A Stripper Named Gemma:
My wife and I are in our 19th year together. About one month into our relationship was the first time that I saw her body take over. We snuck off to an out of view hallway and settled into an alcove against a closed door. She was sitting across my lap with her head and shoulders supported by my left arm while we kissed. Up to that point, this kind of intimate cuddling had been the extent of our physical relationship. Then she gently led my right hand down between her legs outside of her clothes.
Very suddenly, a sort of panic set in as we undid her button and zipper. I reached my right hand inside her panties, slid past the red curls I had not even seen yet, and touched her for the first time. It was a moment I'll never forget, not only because it was the first time that I felt the soft, wet lips of my one true soul mate, but because of what happened next.
She has always been sex personified, a redheaded pin-up who sways her hourglass hips hypnotically with every step she takes; but, when she is really, truly turned on, her sensuality radiates. She achieves and maintains the kind of sexual energy usually reserved for that last second before giving an orgasm, where you would push past any level of exhaustion or fight through any cramp just to please. Her body becomes a lust inducing machine, designed to make any witness give their whole being to serve her carnal desires.
She rolled herself out of my cradled arm. Her head was tilted back against the carpeted floor raising her chest and arching her back over my extended legs. I slid a single finger in and out of the gushing fountain I had discovered, and she rewarded me with discrete moans that entranced me like a sirens call. Her body twisted and writhed to create womanly curves not previously known to exist. I was a slave to her pleasure, and its escalation was the sole purpose of my being. Now, nearly twenty years later I have never fully escaped the spell cast on me that evening.
I'll stop there because this story isn't about our first sexual encounter. This story is about the next person who put their hand in her panties, the next person to push her to that superior level of desire. This story is about my wife meeting a woman named Gemma.
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A male friend of ours passes through town a few times a year, and he will visit and stay at our place before returning home. For years he had been trying to get me to go out to a strip club on the other side of town whenever he was passing through. He knows my wife wouldn't mind, and he doesn't have any buddies to go with him where he lives, so he usually goes alone. I, conversely, had only been to strip clubs twice. I had fun when I went, but I didn't want to go again unless my wife would go with me. Since she works every weekend, my answer to him was a consistent "not this time."
My wife is the source point of all eroticism in my brain. Her walking across the room in the right outfit will honestly turn me on as much as a lap dance from some other woman. However, her getting a lap dance, that is something truly erotic. Also, it would be likely to cause the sort of hypersexual state she was in during the story above. In our lives together the two things that have most consistently turned her on to that level have been fooling around where we could get caught, and other women.
She had never actually been intimate with another woman, but just being in physical contact or seeing them in a sexualized situation had gotten her to that nymphomaniac state. For example, typically the end of an evening out together with dinner, drinks, and music would end without any increased chance of sex. However, one evening some of her female co-workers danced with her at a bar with lots of touching, and on the 30-minute drive home, she was stripped down to her panties sucking my dick and masturbating in the car. It is easy to understand why I like her to get that excited.
Finally, it seemed, the stars aligned. Our friend was going to be passing through town on the same day that my wife had a rare Saturday off. We live in a college town and it was homecoming weekend. Most of the bars opened at 6 am, there were beer gardens everywhere, and the heart of the city was one drunken party. So, the plan was lots of day drinking followed by a trip across town to the strip club.
Drinks, football, and topless dancers with a longtime friend and my lifelong love, it seemed like a can't miss good day.
As nighttime approached, we both admitted we were a little worried about how nice the place might be. We don't live in an especially affluent area, and this place was on the proverbial other side of the tracks. Our friend assured us that it was nice and, being the only strip club aficionado in the group, we trusted his opinion. As we approached in an Uber, I could see that it must be a renovated building, it was obviously built for a more industrial purpose originally. It was a windowless nondescript white building with a large, but unremarkable sign and a well-kept gravel parking lot. I couldn't gather much good or bad from that first impression, but as we got out, I noticed the high fenced, very brightly lit employee parking area. I instantly felt more confident about the place seeing an outward sign that they took effort to care for the girls.
We paid our cover at the door and walked into the short end of a rectangular room with a stage on the longer right wall and a bar opposite it on the left. The lighting was dim, but not dark and most of it was colored giving the room a lush appearance. It was immediately noticeable how spotless the whole room was, and of course, the ambiance was aided by several scantily clad women spread around the room. The tables were set up in arched rows facing the stage. We took a seat in the row farthest from the stage and closest to the bar.
We ordered a round even though we had plenty of drinks in us from the rest of the day. I wanted to see one of these women wrapped around my wife as soon as possible, and I figured the row of empty seats at the stage were the best place to start.
"Come sit up front with me."
"I don't know. Maybe in a little bit, we just got here."
"We'll just be where the view is better. She won't dance on you unless you show some money."
"Okay"
She sheepishly walked through the tables holding my hand. We were there early (for a strip club), and there were probably less than ten other patrons. Although there was another couple in the room, you could feel some eyes following her toward the stage. She looked great but hadn't dressed any special way for the occasion. She wore a flattering dress that showed just a little cleavage and a pair of black tights. But, in a place built on the allure of attractive women, who isn't going to look when a smoking hot redhead goes up for a dollar dance?
We sat down at the stage and my strip club naivety was quickly on display, because the dancer immediately came over to us and slid off the stage into my wife's lap. I hadn't intentionally lied to my wife. I had only sat in "pervert row" at my bachelor party, and at that club, the dancers ignored you unless you showed them some cash. Here the policy was obviously different. The dancer removed her top while sitting in my wife's lap. Then, she took off my wife's glasses before pulling her head between her boobs. She ground against her in this posture for a moment then collected $2 from my wife, then climbed into my lap to give a similar dance.
This might sound like a great start, but it was actually a setback. My wife was trying to slowly ease in, and the dancer was very aggressive and not really either of our types (probably bottom two of the girls that night). So, after that it was difficult to get her to go back up. An array of attractive, but not special looking, women kept rotating on and off the stage and our friend went up to the stage for nearly all of them, but my wife started looking a little bored. That is, until a stunning brunette crossed the room.
Her hair was either very dark or just plain black and her skin was the color of a deep natural tan and appeared flawless from head to toe. She wore black rimmed glasses (naughty librarian style) and a coy smile on her face aimed at no one in particular. We could tell from the front that her body had more curves than most of the ladies working there. She was petite and fit, but had the kind of hips and thighs that make the mouth water and the hands involuntarily move as if they could squeeze her from across the room. But it wasn't until she walked past our table that I knew she was our girl. The best ass in the world belongs to my wife, but there was no contest who had the number two bum in that room. She wore ruffled lingerie style panties, much more covered than most of the other girls, but what we could see put the rest of them to shame.
I broke my stare and noticed my wife's. Her eyes were clearly following the same woman, and she slowly rolled her lips into her mouth to lick and bite them. Then noticing that I had seen her stare, she focused on taking a drink. However, she betrayed her distraction by taking another glance over the rim of her cocktail as the woman went on stage and the announcer said, "Please welcome to the stage the lovely Gemma."
The club was fuller by then and the murmuring voices had slowly increased the ambient noise of the room. As Gemma began her dance the conversation noticeably died down, and heads turned. A lot of the girls there would do specific moves to attract attention like loudly clanking their oversized heels together or making a sharp darting motion to draw the eye, but Gemma let her superior body to the work. She swayed and rolled and ran her hands over her ribs and hips. She just seemed more feminine than the rest, more woman.
"What about her? Would you go back for a dance with her?"
"I don't know. Would you be going with me?"
"I'd like to if you want me to"
"What's it like?"
