Many thanks to Indy Axiom for some much needed editing. Any errors still in the story are mine and mine alone.
*****
For years, I had wanted to watch my wife with another man. I never dreaming it would actually ever happen.
Amanda is 42 years old and has a healthy sex drive and an attractive figure—although she doesn't think so since delivering our children. Married young, she had only been with me, and was quite 'vanilla', only agreeing to give me head when we made love as long as I'd promise never to cum in her mouth. On the rare occasion I'd come in her mouth, she would instantly spits my cum out, and race to the bathroom to rinse her mouth.
I tried more than a few times to get Amanda turned on to the idea of being taken and ravished by another man. Sadly, in no uncertain terms, on each occasion, I was told it would never happen. Eventually, I had given up.
Anyway, for some time now, I had fantasized about her being with another man. In fact, although I don't know why or what made me start to think of it, but I had become more aroused every time I thought about it, to the point that I needed to visualize her with someone else in order to climax myself.
Amanda's compromise was to flirt harmlessly with strangers when out with the girls. She'd come home and tell me about the men that had asked her to dance. She'd then embellish the story by telling me about how they had groped her on dance floor until they'd retire to the shadows of the pub to fuck her brains out. I enjoyed these little stories immensely as they would lead to amazing sex, and I had become content with my lot in life.
One weekend, we decided to go away to join a 'murder mystery' far away from family life, so we could enjoy some "us" time. Like many couples that have been together for a long time, we needed some sort of distraction as our conversations usually dried up very quickly, and a weekend of murder mystery seemed like it could be fun.
While packing, I immediately noticed that the usually conservative Amanda was packing a racy black dress she had only ever worn once. My thoughts raced as I remembered how the fit of this dress precluded any undergarments. Our eyes met and I sprang to attention at the thought of my night ahead: a situation not unnoticed by Amanda who suggested, by giving me a tug,that she was also looking forward to the night ahead.
Throughout the dinner, wine flowed freely. As we enjoyed the main course of the meal, the cast circulated around us 'detectives' and answered our questions and gave us hints and clues. One cast member was a man in his late thirties. Although only average in build and in height, Paul had managed to catch Amanda's eye and she was flirting outrageously with him. As he left, I slid my hand under the hem of her dress, and discovered she was soaking wet.
After dinner, despite the hints and clues, we detectives had all spectacularly failed to identify the killer. Not surprisingly, Amanda still firmly believed it was the man she was previously flirting with. The next part of the evening's entertainment began with a dance, during which the cast rejoined the party and shared a few drinks. Several asked to dance with Amanda, but she very demurely declined. Much to my disappointment, she toned down the flirting, as she always does when I'm around.
Suddenly, a song by Lady Antebellum was playing: one of her current favourites, Paul asked Amanda to dance. On glancing up at them, I noticed his hand slide back from her hip to squeeze her cheek gently, as she pressed her head firmly into his neck. Any onlooker would observe these were lovers enjoying a slow dance. This spectacle gave me a pleasantly uncomfortable, restricted feeling in my underwear as my cock started straining for release. I could only imagine how good the pillow talk would be tonight. After they danced three or four more songs, my lascivious wife seemed to remember that I was sitting at our table, and returned briefly to join me. She downed a couple shots of vodka and was soon pretty tipsy: unable and unwilling to slow down the slightest bit.
After another half-hour of small talk, Paul and one of the female cast members came over and told us they were going to a nearby club, and asked if we'd like to go with them. I was only interested in getting Amanda upstairs while she was still sober enough for some good sex, so I feigned fatigue and told them that I needed to bid my farewells. I stood up, expecting Amanda to follow, but she had other ideas: she told me to go to bed, that she was going to the club, and that she'd see me later. Paul's friend indicated that the club shut at three, that they'd have her home' by a quarter past and that I was to phone his mobile if I wanted to contact them.
Suddenly, they were off to the club. Upstairs alone in our room, I sat horny and fuming at my own stupidity. I soon decided I would bite the bullet and join them. Being a single male trying to get in on a Saturday night meant queueing at least an hour, but I finally got in.
