The first time I watched Ginger have an orgasm with another man was on a dance floor in a club. They'd been dancing together for a while. She'd singled him out, dancing with him early on, moving on to others, but eventually returning and focusing on him.
She had her right leg wrapped partially around his left, her dangerously-high high-heel planted on the floor behind him. He was leaning back at the waist, left hand firmly on her lower back, holding her against him as he pumped his hips toward her. I noticed their rhythm was slightly out of synch with the music just then, and realized what she was doing. She had her left hand on his right shoulder. Her right hand, initially on his waist, moved to his left forearm as her own hip thrusts quickened in pace. She gripped his forearm tightly, her glossy nails dug in to his skin, and her head lolled back slightly to expose her neck, glistening with sweat. The lights pulsed, the music throbbed, and my wife came as another guy dry-fucked her right before my eyes. I saw her mouth fall open and suppose she cried out, but the crowd and the music drowned out any sound she may have made before it reached my ears.
This wasn't how I'd imagined it would go in all the years of cuckolding fantasy, first with my former wife, and then with Ginger. Not in my thoughts since she'd finally made it a reality some 9 months prior, either. No, it hadn't gone like this in my head. I suppose that's why fantasy is fantasy.
Don't get me wrong. I wasn't complaining. It was still hot to watch...incredibly hot. My cock, pulsing along steadily beneath the table for the past few hours as I watched her dancing, had begun to throb in earnest as I realized what was happening. I have come to equate my cuckold experiences with that old line about blow jobs. There is no such thing as a bad one, only varying degrees of good ones.
This insight comes only with experience, I believe. That night in the club marked a whole new level in my relationship with Ginger. Passion, lust, jealousy, and anger rose to new heights between the two of us in the months that would follow.
The trip to the club that early spring night had its beginnings back in the fall. Ginger had been cuckolding me with increasing frequency since the summer. We'd each become more comfortable as the months passed and the number of guys she slept with, or in her own words, "the number of guys who fucked me", increased. She likes my reaction when she speaks harshly.
That fall night, she picked up a guy in a hotel bar as I watched, our favored M.O. After learning he was local to the area, she had me get them a room. The details, one of our hotter experiences, are included in "Ginger Picks Up the Pace" for those interested.
What set us off on a new path, however, was the decreased time between her finishing with him and starting with me. Typically she would leave the guy, get a cab, and come home to me. This time I hung around the bar and was with her only a few minutes after he left, however. Her creampie was much "fresher" than our previous encounters as a result, her lover's cum still visible and thick at the base of her slit. Seeing me go down on her in this state had clearly brought her arousal to new a new level, and had set her to thinking how best to repeat (or even improve) the experience.
"You want to watch me, Thomas?" she had asked, out of the blue, as we finished breakfast before work the Wednesday after that encounter.
Our schedules varied, but we typically found time once or twice a week to get up, have some breakfast and drive in together. We have some of our best, and certainly most interesting, conversations these mornings.
Being only 2/3 of the way through my first cup of coffee, I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Watch you what, babe?"
She blushed slightly, a rarity in talking about this part of our lives, and gave a short laugh. "Ummmmm...YOU know...WATCH me...?"
Being the quick-study that I am, I still had to think about it. She threw one hip out to the side, feigning frustration.
"Oh...Ohhhhhhh. Hmmm." I typically catch up, eventually.
She cocked her head at me in a question. It's one of those little things she does often, in lieu of words, that made me fall in love with her. She's damn cute when she does it.
"I....jeez, I haven't thought much about it. I mean, I think I'd like to, but..."
She just continued to look at me, content to let me work it out on my own.
"The thing is...I really LIKE how we've been doing things...how it's been going. But I also still get that feeling inside while I watch you in the bars before you leave with a guy. I compare them to me, and in my mind they always come out ahead. Better looking, better bodies, funnier, more engaging.
All of it gets pushed aside by the excitement I feel, and then when you come home later and are the way you are with me, it makes everything fine again. But ...I don't know how it'd be if I was actually watching you with someone, considering how I feel seeing you with them fully-clothed."
She walked across the kitchen to me, heels clicking on the tile. She pulled in close and put her arms around my neck. I breathed her in, soap, shampoo, baby oil, and perfume mixed together in a light and intoxicating scent.
"Thomas..." she said, looking in to my eyes. "I don't candy-coat anything with you, right?"
I shook my head.
"We agreed we wouldn't when we started this, right?"
"Yes." I replied.
"You still OK with that?"
"Of course." I answered, suddenly unsure.
"OK. So first, I have NEVER been with anyone who is better looking than you. Not once. Not since we started this, not since I met you, not ever that I remember."
I felt my face flush. She didn't lie to me, at least that I knew of, but it was hard for me to hear and believe what she was saying.
As if she knew what I was thinking, she continued. "I won't lie to you Thomas. I can't prove it, but you'll have to trust me on that. Now, I HAVE been with guys who have better bodies than you. And I've been honest with you every time you ask about their, um...equipment."
She couldn't suppress her small smile as she said that last bit.
"And I purposely pick guys who are engaging and funny, 'cause that's the kind of guy I like talking to. But again, none of the guys I've met have been "more" of those than you. Some different, but no one I'd say is "more" than you."
She gazed up in to my eyes.
"OK. Thanks for that." I said.
She kissed me lightly, pulled away, it was time for us to get on the road.
"I don't know how to get you over those feelings, baby." she continued as we got in the car and headed to work. "But I do know I'd love for you to be there and watch. I mean, I would REALLY love it."
"I'll give it some thought, Gin...I'd like to if you'd really enjoy it." I answered.
We rode in silence for a bit.
"Let's both think on it, see what we come up with." she said as I pulled in front of her building. She leaned over, kissed me, then hiked up her skirt as she stepped out of the car, giving me a great shot of her panties.
I beeped the horn in protest, she waggled her ass at me and walked away.
