Hot Wifey Cheats With Bar Stud

"My husband is out of own," I boldly lied as I smiled at the stranger's exceedingly handsome face, batting my long eyelashes in my girlish way. "I'm just here tonight to have some fun, you know."

It wasn't difficult to keep looking at the man. He was built like I love men to be; over six foot, with broad shoulders and an obviously flat stomach, his hulk towered over my diminutive figure. My brown slanted eyes were trained on his face as we leaned into each other, standing along the wall of the crowded, thriving dance club. I had to make sure not to look up at the overhead balcony overlooking the bar and dance area, on which my husband was standing. For well over an hour Dave had been glued in the same spot, along the railing, staring at me as one after another man came up to hit on me.

The latest guy to try his luck with the petite Chinese girl standing by herself was way better than all the others. Whether it was because they were too pushy, too skinny or short, too young, or too mustached, I hadn't been blown away yet. This guys, however, with his dirty-blonde hair, broad face, and big smile, had a very casual, reassuring way about himself. I instantly liked what I saw, and his manly aroma, expensive watch, and studly body had my entire attention.

"Husband huh?" Holding his drink in both hands, the man was standing not even a foot in front of me, as he bent over to talk -- more or less yell, really -- in my ear. I'm barely 5 foot zero, but even in four-inch heels, he really had to come down to me. Over the cacophony of music and partying, I could make out his husky, older voice quite clearly. "Sweetie, you definitely don't look old enough to be married!"

Smiling at his kindness, I held up my hand to flash my 2.5-carat engagement ring, accompanied by another carat's worth of smaller stones in the wedding band, then put my hand down quickly and turned my face up to talk to him. God, his opened shirt revealed an incredibly sexy, hairy chest made of stone right in front of my eyes. "I got married young."

"Obviously!" he said to my ear. From the way he was bending over, he was getting a full view of my cleavage in my low-cut dress. My fake B-cup tits stood out on my really small frame, and they never failed to get attention. I proudly arched my back a bit, trying not to be obvious about it though, so he could eye me up while talking to me. "How long have you been married?"

I shrugged, reaching out to put my drink on the ledge along the wall next to us. It was a watered-down rum and diet coke, which I'd been nursing since I got here. I prefer not to get intoxicated when entertaining myself with men; better to enjoy every moment of it and remember it all later. "Got married a couple years ago."

I think my answer surprised him. Because I'm of entirely Chinese descent, I think most white American guys think I'm younger than I really am. And since my husband had me get Lasix surgery so I didn't have to wear stupid eye glasses anymore, I think I look even younger than I used to look. Seeing him snicker a little at my answer, I explained, "Got married when I was 20, I'm 22 now."

He sipped his mixed drink through its straw, then put it on the ledge next to mine. "Bit younger than me!" he roared in my ear, surreptitiously placing his hand on the small of my back. With other guys tonight, I turned and softly elbowed their hands away, sending pretty strong signals they weren't welcome. With this guy, though, his strong hand felt good on my body. Real good.

I flipped my long bangs out of my face, grinning up at him with as much teeth as I could muster. "It's ok," I said nicely, "my husband is a lot older than me, he was 36 when we got married." I let that sink in for a second, then I added with a bit of a purr, "So, I like older men, you know."

That comment drew a wide grin from the stranger, and his hand on my side slipped up a couple of inches, just where the bottom corner of my little rib cage ended. My black silk dress, a present from my loving husband for this every evening out at the bar, easily let the handsome man feel the shape of my thin body. "Well I'm older," he joked into my ear, stating the obvious, "bit older than that even."

I liked hearing that, but I'd already figured he was in his 40s somewhere, possibly early 50s, I wasn't sure. I winked at him and crinkled my nose and eyebrows with a playful smile, and in response he put his mouth down to my ear again, a bit closer. "So, does your husband know you're at a single's bar tonight?"

I found it funny how he phrased that; this was a dance club, not really just for singles I guess, but the implication he was drawing was obvious. It made me realize he was pretty intelligent, too, which this former straight-A student finds very sexy. "Nope," I lied again, continuing the pretense. I mean, I wasn't exactly going to say my husband loves to watch me with other men, so he's above us watching us right now. I could visualize him, in fact; I was sure his nice 6-inch dick was rock hard in his slacks, watching his petite Chinese young wife below him rubbing up close to some older, sexy man she just met. I'd never picked up a guy in a bar like this (if you don't count last year when I was in Panama City for spring break, where everything happens with college-age boys at bars). I was sure that watching me get hit on by man after man in a bar was a serious rush for Dave.

And it continued to amaze me too. I mean, before I moved down here to Maryland to be with Dave three years ago, you would never have believed what I was like. Glasses, extreme short hair, diminutive Chinese face and body; it was impossible to get white Toronto guys to notice me. Now, with butt-long hair, no glasses, and fake tits, every day I walk out of the house I can get white and black American guys to oogle me. I still find it shocking, but I'm not arguing.

When I told the guy my husband didn't know I was at this "singles bar," he got an even broader smile, but stood upright maybe to think about it a second. His hand remained on my side, somewhat gripping me even, as of not to let me get away. I didn't have plans on going anywhere soon, however. Then I felt him lean down again to ask something else. "So are you here with girl friends?"

His determination to figure out my availability was endearing, and I was going to make sure he liked my answers. "Nope!" I giggled loudly for him. Wow, he was leaning down so close, as I spoke, my lips were just inches from his ear. His big, athletic frame almost surrounded me. "Just came by little myself."

The man's eyes on my exposed round tits, right below his face now, was giving me a definite itch in my thong. I even felt his warm breath, I think, on my shoulders and chest above my dress. "Pretty brave of you," he admired, lowering his lips even closer to my ear, "I mean, an extremely sexy, young woman in a place like this by herself -- your husband might not approve, if he knew." He added those last three words with a bit of a smirk, grinning at me knowingly.

I figured I'd give him a conclusive reason to keep talking to me, just as he was now fishing for it. I briefly shook my hands in an act of dismay, and I explained with a complete fabrication, "Well, I guess I'm still young and, you know, kind of have been married a long time now and, well, just wanted to go have a night of, um, fun, you know." As I spoke, I reached a hand up and placed it on his elbow, holding him in place as I talked into his ear. Leaving my hand on his elbow now, as his hand was still on my side, I realized we were basically telling each other whatever is going on was mutual. I'd been with enough guys in the last year I'd met at the gym, in stores, or while jogging, that I knew he was not going to leave me before I got what I wanted later tonight.

My eyes longed to look up, just briefly, to see if I could catch Dave's reaction while he was watching from above. I mean, now that I was actually almost arm-in-arm with a guy, and a guy who was built big and strong njust as Dave knows I love, I assumed Dave was probably about going to cum in his pants. I loved the thought.

But for that flickering moment about my husband, I was far more interested in the stud standing with me. My knees were trembling a little bit; it was the little, shy Chinese girl in me, the one that wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, especially studly white men. No matter how many men who've screwed me the last few years, it was a hesitation that came over me every time. And, each time I overcame the tremor, I felt even more guilty and even more alive. I could tell my vagina was leaking badly now, and my nipples were rock hard in my push-up bra and tight dress.

"So what was your name again?" I had to shout in his ear, with the music around us seeming to get louder. I have to admit, I'm still not good at the art of flirting; I never really know what to ask, I just like answering questions. But there was a pause in the conversation, and I hate those.

I almost didn't hear him, and I realized it wasn't from the music; it was blood rushing in my ears, as my heart thumped louder. "Mike," I thought I heard him say. It made me laugh to myself; one of my regular "boyfriends" was named Mike, although the Mike I knew wasn't nearly as dreamy as this stud. "I know you can't barely hear me in this place."

Realizing I'd forgotten his name, I tried to smile apologetically, but he didn't move away from me, and after all, our names were pretty irrelevant anyway.

With a pause to get it right, he said back -- now his lips almost touching my ear -- "You said your name was, um, Christine?"

To answer, my hand on his elbow slid up his arm, and my thin fingers tugged at the loose fabric of his shirt to pull his ear down to my mouth. Now it was my turn, my lips were almost touching his ear. "I'm Claudia."

"Right!" he exclaimed with a nod, standing up again, then reaching for his drink to take another sip. After putting the drink back down, he leaned his mouth to my lower ear once more. I felt his hand on my side slide under my arm a bit now, his fingers reaching onto my back, over my dress. "Claudia, did I tell you, you look fabulous in that dress -- it was a perfect choice for tonight."

"Wow," I gushed with an embarrassed, honest smile, "thanks." I never really know how to answer complements, I'm still not used to getting them. So, instead, I stupidly asked something inane. "So are you from around here?"

As soon as I asked it, I knew it sounded like I was asking if he had an apartment or home close to the bar, and I regretted phrasing it that way. But Mike didn't seem to push that idea, instead he just answered, "Not too far, fifteen minutes, over in Reston, you?"

We had a system now; after talking into my ear, he turned his head and put his ear to my mouth, so we could communicate over the dim bar's loud noises. I paused, wondering if I should lie again, but I was honest. "No, we live in Maryland, Chevy Chase, but, I got a room upstairs tonight, you know, so I don't have to drive all the way home."

I snicked, figuring that bit of news would please Mike. His hand on my back slid higher now, so his strong fingers were touching the soft naked skin of my back, above the top hem of my dress. His other hand had slipped forward too, and I felt his fingertips touch my upper arm on my other side, lightly tracing up and down my skin. Damn, that felt good. "Well, for a sexy married young woman, I guess that was a real smart thing to do," he moaned into my ear. His breath was on my neck as he talked, it was giving me goosebumps, and my pussy was now aching for attention.

Ah, he was still prying around the edges about my intentions, wasn't he? But he seemed so sweet. "Oh no!" I shouted back in his ear, "definitely, I mean, talk to me all you want."

As I said it, my lips almost at his ear, my instincts took over. I moved my head to the side just a couple inches, leaned forward ever so slightly, and planted a soft, quick wet kiss on his firm temple. The peck was so fast but felt incredible; my twat got squishy in my thong as I did it. Kissing him was very sexy, and I knew Dave upstairs was loving the sight of it.

"Aren't you precious," was his soft reply, and he took his turn now, moving to kiss my forehead. His hand on my back picked up and landed on the back of my head, where his fingers stroked my super-long, jet-black hair. His kiss, unlike mine, lingered a moment, leaving a definite wet spot on my forehead. Then his mouth slid back to my ear, and I heard him distinctly say with confidence, "Do you want to dance, I'm quite good at it?"

Now, I'm not a dancer, really I have no idea what people are doing out there on the dance floor. I tried dancing with a couple of the guys earlier that I didn't like -- it was an excuse, after the dance was over, to get away from them -- and those experiences were pushing me to avoid doing it with someone I actually liked. "If you really want," I spoke loudly back into his ear, although I'm sure not another soul hear me say it, "but I like talking too."

He answered with an undeniably true statement. "Hard to talk here -- so loud!" His finger whirled in the air, generally pointing at all of the noise around us. "But if you want," he offered with his mouth back at my ear, "we can go to another place we can talk, there is a restaurant down the street, and a Starbuck's around the corner."

Now, that was outside of my rules for the night. I wanted to remain here in the hotel's club, so Dave could watch me. Plus, the whole point was to get a guy up into the room upstairs, right?

So, realizing I'd backed into a corner, I reversed my decision and agreed to a couple of dances. Mike seemed pleased, he kissed my forehead quickly again, took my little hand in his strong grip, and led me to the crowded dance floor.

Dancing with Mike was really fun. He was, indeed, very good; he took my hand, hands, or shoulder, depending on the move at the moment, and led me in circles and spins with ease. When he realized I couldn't gyrate and wiggle on my own, he made it a point to take control. Even though everytime we moved anywhere one of us ran into someone else, we pretty much ignored everyone and just had fun. The whole time his eyes were on me, not on the other, taller, hotter women around us. Ok, to be honest, his eyes mostly were on my tits, which bounced a little as we moved around. I really liked that. But he also smiled at my face time after time.

Then, when a slow song started, he was gentlemanly enough to whisper in my ear, "Do you want to stop?" I guess, you know, since I was married and all. But I whispered back to him, "Why, don't you want to dance slow with me?" I do have an evil side, mind you. My challenge was immediately accepted, and Mike stood with his arms around me, as I rested my head on his chest. He was sweaty, and his perspiration felt good against my cheek and forehead. His hands stroked my shoulder and upper arms, and his own face was pressed against the top of my head. We twirled slowly, and I realized he was working hard not to let his groin touch my body. That really impressed me.

When the song was over, he stepped back as if to go sit down again, but another slow song started. Our eyes caught, and I think he saw in my face how much I was enjoying this. He leaned to speak into my ear, "Don't you dance much with your husband?"

It was a perfect line for me to seize, to create the illusion I wanted. "I don't do much with my husband, really." Mike didn't answer, I mean, what would he say; so I turned the moment around and purred, staring right into his eyes above me, "I hope you don't mind me saying, you're really great."

He smiled, gave me another kiss on the forehead, and we moved together for another slow dance. This song had a good beat to it, though, and it was natural to kind of swivel my pelvis as he moved us side to side. God, I was so horny right now. I visualized Dave up there, watching us dance like this, so close, like a couple. Dave's young slutty wife and some hot stud she just met at a bar. Frankly, there was a chance Dave had left, to go back to his room and beat off.

So, taking a chance, as Mike spun me around, I glanced up into the balcony. Sure enough, Dave was right there, he hadn't moved. It was too dark to see his face or eyes, but he was definitely facing the dance floor, undoubtedly eyeing me the whole time. My knees got weaker.

And, it made me more horny. So, with my pelvis grinding to the beat of the music, I thrust my pelvis forward, and caught Mike's groin. Just briefly. Fuck, I tell you, there was one large log in it. I almost cummed on the spot, Mike had a gargantuan dick! Or so it felt, at least.

Mike didn't back off; he let me sway around in his arms for a couple more minutes, fleetingly brushing my body against his crotch. My hands were on the small of Mike's back, just above his slacks. Pressing my face and chest into him fully now, the laws of physics permitted only one thing; Mike's dick suddenly pressed into my body too. Between my stomach and abdomen. Oh, wow, it was so hard! My hands gripped Mike's body tightly, pulling me close, as he rubbed himself against me. It felt heavenly. I swear, I forgot all about Dave up there, I was concentrating on Mike's huge erection, knowing he was so hard for me. To show him how badly I wanted it, I slipped my hands down, tracing them over his tight buttocks, kind of where the bottom of his pockets would have been. Wow, his ass was pretty firm; not quite muffin-tin, but definitely not much flab there!

I almost sighed, feeling Mike's dick against me. I felt him move above me, and his mouth was down to my ear again. "Really glad your husband is out of town tonight," he moaned at me. I squeezed his body more in response.

After the song, I actually felt embarrassed a bit. But Mike took my hand and led me to a booth; we got lucky, someone had just vacated it. I looked up, so very briefly, making sure Dave upstairs could still see me. As Mike got into one side of the booth, I wondered which side of the table I should be on. Mike didn't let go of my hand, however, and he pulled me into the booth right next to him.

I cuddled up to his strong manly body, and his arm went around my thin shoulders. I slid my hip right up next to his, and turning to look up at him, I put one hand on the table, and my arm closest to him I dropped below the table, putting my elbow on his thigh. "This is nice," I said, able to talk a little less loudly to be heard.

He smiled, squeezing me with his hand around my shoulder. "Do you go out by yourself much, are you home alone a lot?"

Ooh, another chance to lie! "Well," I prevaricated, "my husband travels a ton, I'm home alone all the time, just me and my cat." (Okay, that part was true. Here comes the lie.) "But, I have never gone out before myself, but . . . I think about it, all the time."

"I'm so sorry, really," Mike consoled, hugging me tighter even. "You are so young, pretty and outgoing, I'm sorry you feel stuck away at home!" Then, he put his lips closer to my ear, not so much to be heard as much as he wanted to say something pretty personal. "You don't have to answer me this, but, do I guess that, um, you miss a lot in your marriage -- I mean, I guess your husband isn't, well, how do I say it, he isn't there for you as much as you need?"

"Mmm, no!" God that was such a lie, but it's what he wanted to hear. I leaned into Mike, and my elbow slid from his leg so that I could put my hand on his knee, on his slacks. "You seem to know me so well!"

"Aww," he pretended to disclaim with modesty, "not really, I mean, it's obvious -- very sexy, gorgeous young woman, in the prime of your youth, stuck at home missing her man. I mean it's only natural. You have needs too."

Mmm, my needs! I moaned at the mention of them, and he saw that, and we both grinned. "Yeah, I sure do!" I winked at him, and now it was obvious. "But, what would you know about a married girl's needs? Are you married?" , like "Nope." He seemed to answer proudly. "Was once, not for a while though."