Texas Share Experiment

Bob had decided on the dress: short and black, spaghetti straps. The underwear: black thong, no bra. The stockings and shoes: self supporting, three inch heels. And the jewellery: a simple silver chain around my neck, and a tiny silver stud in the lobe of each ear. We stood at the bar. 'Do I know you?' asked the middle aged businessman in the pin-striped suit and the expensive Gucci loafers, sipping his Martini at my side.

'Maybe,' said Bob, my husband, on my other side. 'Terri and I come here now and then.'

This wasn't true. We'd never been here before. This wasn't our city: part of the plan.

'So what are you good people doing here?' asked the businessman, eyes down the front of my dress.

'My cousin lives out of town,' said Bob.

Me, the wife, was now the cousin. Also the plan ... the plan for Bob to get a taste of how it would feel to see me, his wife, as a target for other men. Men we didn't know. For strangers to come on to me. And me to let them. So that Bob could feel what it was like ...

'Your cousin?' said the businessman, suddenly taking a greater interest and smiling at me with what I'm sure he believed was a winning smile.

'Yup,' said Bob, putting a cousinly arm around my waist and pulling me close. The hem of my skirt climbed my leg. The businessman's eyes took note.

'Pretty little thing like this. Better keep a good hold on the cute little sweetie,' said the businessman, reaching out a hand and patting my butt. I didn't react. I had a martini as well but without any gin. I wasn't too sure about this and didn't want to lose control of what might happen. I'd already told Bob it was risky. Dangerous even. To play the bait. For men. Like this. But Bob said as long as he was there to look out for me, what could go wrong? I wasn't sure. The businessman's hand stayed on my butt. Now he was stroking me there. Eyes on mine, to see what I would do.

I took another sip of my Martini.

We'd talked about this for months. Bob used the idea in foreplay, whispering what other men would like to do with me, and would I like them to, as he thrust himself eagerly into me. When you're out of breath, and hot, and squirming with arousal on the bed, it's difficult not to be turned on by the idea of even more hands than the two that belong to your husband, exciting you, wandering all over your body. In the throws of orgasm I'd said 'Okay!' then come, like a volcano.

'So where are you from, little poppet?' said the middle aged businessman, one of my buttocks now snugly in his hand. I wondered if I should move it. Or move away, perhaps. What was the form with these things? I didn't know.

'Will you excuse me, honey?' said Bob, from my other side.

He was acting to plan: see me set up with someone he'd like to see me set up with, then make an excuse and leave. Watch what happens from a distance. I nodded at Bob. Watched him make his way down the bar past a second middle-aged businessman. This one had a moustache. He seemed to be waving at me. I didn't know him.

'Jim!' called my new companion to the guy down the bar, fingers and palm slowly circling my back-side, gently squeezing what he held. My buttock seemed oddly at home in his hand. 'Look what I've found.'

'Whoo-ee!' said 'Jim' – the guy with the moustache whom I'd thought was waving at me – coming down the bar and hoisting himself onto the stool Bob had just vacated. 'Where have you been all my life you pretty little thing?' he beamed, full of confidence and bonhomie. I gave him a smile, as best I could, and looked beyond to see where Bob was. Couldn't see him anywhere.

'A chair for the little lady,' said the first businessman. I found a bar stool at my butt. Before I could stop him the moustache had picked me up, two huge hands round my waist, and put me on the bar stool. My hem rode high, but there was little I could do about it. It was a short dress. The bar stool was one of these tall ones. I wiggled my butt to get central on the stool. One of the hands that had got me there stayed where it was round my waist. The other had moved from my butt to my thigh – looking around as it were. I reached for both hands, lifted them off, and gave them back.

'Naughty boys,' I whispered, eyes hitting one then the other.

Both grinned. 'Where you from, honey?" asked the moustache, the bigger of the two. Both of them were larger than Bob – this was Texas, after all. I told him the name of a town in Alabama that Bob and I had agreed we'd say we were from. Then he asked my name,

'Terri,' I replied, happier keeping my own name.

'Cute name,' he said.

The other put his arm round my waist again. His stomach was pressing my hip. I was about to lift it off, again, when Bob came out of the gents. I could see him down the bar. But he didn't approach. I left the arm where it was. Bob spoke to the barman. A newspaper was handed across the bar. Bob approached with the paper in his hand. By the time he reached us the larger of the businessmen, the one called Jim, had his hand back over my butt. I left it there and caught Bob's eyes with a look that said, 'You sure about this?'

But all Bob said as he passed, was, 'Going to catch up with the news, Terri honey, you be Okay with these nice men?'

What the hell was I supposed to say?

Bob went off with his paper. Jim, with the moustache, and the first of my businessmen 'friends', who's name he said was Dave, chatted me up, saying nice things. And stroked me tentatively. I could see Bob's reflection in the mirror over the bar. He was watching me and my two friends over the top of his paper. Watching their hands. Watching where the hands touched me. He was only ten feet away. The bar was filling up.

It was dim, and smoky, and a band was playing by a small copper dance floor the size of a large handkerchief off to my left, beyond 'Dave' – though I doubted that was his real name – who was running his hand up and down my back as he asked me what I thought of Texas. I answered in words of one syllable most of the time, partly as I was watching Bob in the mirror, and partly because I was trying to ignore Jim's hand that was gently stroking my knee, and partly because I didn't think they had any interest in what I said in any case.

They were both pressed against me. I felt like a filling in a man sandwich. One either side, closed around me like two halves of a large pin-striped bun. Their hands were getting bolder by the moment. I watched Bob's face in the mirror as Dave's hand roamed my back and butt. He stroked me openly, clear for all to see. I was watching my husband – his eyes growing larger and the way his tongue slipped out and licked his lips, the way he crossed his legs and looked around to see who else was watching his cute little wife on the tall stool with the two big men fondling her.

Dave put his hand on the inside of my leg and felt me there. He started to squeeze me, gently. I watched Bob's eyes – had he seen it? I shifted myself in the seat, spreading my legs. Was he watching? Then I saw that he was, shifting in his seat to get a better view. Dave's hand ran up the inside of my leg, softly squeezing and kneading as he went. I let my legs drift apart. The palm of his hand moved from stocking to skin and my thighs instinctively closed on his hand. He eased it further up as I let my legs ease apart again. I let it rise until I felt his palm close over the crotch of my briefs, then I captured his hand once again, squeezing my thighs tight together around the invasive hand, but letting it stay where it was. Bob, from behind me, nodded, encouragingly.

'We could go somewhere else, how about that?' whispered Dave, his mouth at my ear while he inserted a finger into the ridge between my legs, over the light cotton thong I wore. His breath was hot.

'My cousin wouldn't want me to do that,' I said.

'Why not, he's reading,' said Dave, his fingers finding my clitoris. Causing me to jump. (My clit is absurdly sensitive!) He caught the jump, softened his approach, gently ran his finger all around it. ... Better, I relaxed my thigh, and hips, as his fingers gently aroused me. Bob's eyes were on my buttocks as they clenched, then flexed ... and my parted legs, as they pulsed then relaxed in time with what his fingers were doing ... and the hand, out of sight, that was clearly at my panties ... stroking me. Bob caught my eyes in the mirror and gave another nod. What did that mean?

That I was doing well?

That I should do more?

'We could go to my room,' whispered Jim at my other ear. I shook my head. He started to kiss my ear. Should I stop him, I wondered. I glanced at Bob in the mirror, my head to one side letting Jim kiss my ear, and my eyes asked, 'Is this far enough?' Bob seemed to understand. He shook his head, then dropped his eyes to his paper. I felt the moustache that belonged to Jim grind harder into the lobe of my ear as his tongue came out, and into my ear. I gasped. My ear is sensitive too. A tongue in my ear I find exquisitely ... arousing. Especially a stranger's, like this. So ... bad!

My eyes were closed. The fingers at my clitoris were practiced. Very gentle. Soft. They knew how a woman liked to be handled. Dave was gentler than he looked, and my clitoris was buzzing to his touch. I opened my mouth, wide, and tilted my head to the ceiling. 'Grungh!' My head snapped back as a hand cupped a breast and softly closed around it. My breasts cannot be touched without a reaction from me. I melt. I melted. I swayed forward, giving my breast to Dave who wanted it – had it in his hand – fondling it hungrily as his other hand played me like a maestro between my parted legs.

My thighs, spread wide; his fingers pulling the thong out the way. They wanted inside, to the heat and the moistening flesh. I was hot. Growing sticky. Breathing heavily. The top of my legs and the hand between, my stocking tops and paler thighs, were all exposed. A middle aged businessman kissing my ear. Another groped and stroked me. I was not only letting this happen, I was writhing and groaning as well. With my husband a mere ten feet away!

I opened my eyes and looked at Bob. He was watching what the two men were doing to me, knowing I was affected by it all, but still not ready to stop them, or me. He shook his head. I closed my eyes. My focus went back to my private parts, between my legs. To the fingers now inside my briefs, feeling my skin, the pubic hair, the juices of arousal that were starting to pump. The heated and swelling labia, the tight hard arousal of clit. The fingers arousing it more. I opened my mouth, and sighed, and then had another mouth closed over mine. A tongue reaching deep inside.

I attacked the tongue with my own. Reached out my arms and pulled the face into mine. I arched my back, and yelped, as a finger slid inside me, then a second. My breast was firmly squeezed. I squirmed in my stool, my knees leaping high and my chest pressing upwards as a violent orgasm swept through me. Here in a public bar. At the hands of two complete strangers. Hands, the fingers of which were into my intimate places. Arousing me to a sudden, blinding, mind-blowing orgasm. I shrieked.

Everything stopped. I opened my eyes. My companions, looking alarmed, had backed away, and turned. Their hands were off me now. I sat there, hem at my waist, briefs and thighs and legs exposed, bodice low, breasts heaving and glistening with sweat ...

'I'm afraid I must ask you to leave,' whispered a dapper man in a black coat and tie to the two pin-striped businessmen who had so recently felt me all over – and who now stood, as if in defence of me. 'This is a public place,' the man explained.

I turned. He had a plastic badge which gave his name. And the title, 'Front Office Manager'. There was Bob, behind him. 'It's my cousin,' he said, reaching out an arm. 'She is on medication,' he added, to the confused man who now looked from the first businessman, to the second, to my husband, Bob.

'Such behaviour in the City Plaza Hotel is unacceptable,' said the man, regaining his composure, but seeing a solution to his problem.

'I'll take her to her room,' said Bob to the dapper little man. 'Let her lie down,' he added, taking me firmly by the arm, helping me off the stool, nodding with his head at the hem of my dress. I took the hint and pulled it down, cleared stray hair from my face. I raised the top of my dress as best I could. I stared at Bob. 'Enough!' My expression said.

But before Bob could do anything about it, 'I'll help,' said Dave, as Jim, the other of my businessmen friends, reached out and took my other arm. And in that fashion, Jim on one arm, big Dave the other, we walked from the bar as Bob brought up the rear, carrying my handbag which had fallen to the floor in the melee – or earlier assault, who knows which? I let myself be led. I tried to avoid thinking too much, especially about some of the looks I got on the way out the bar! But hell, that had been incredible! (My knees were still weak.)

'What medicine's she on?' whispered Dave, to Bob. 'Cause I'd sure like to get some of that for the little lady back home.' Then he chuckled, the way men do. I looked from Dave, to Jim, to Bob, who still had my hand-bag in his hand. We had reached the elevators. My three men stood around me in a protective crescent. One or two others had come from the bar – all men, I noted. We were waiting for the elevator. Where the hell were we going? The door opened. Our group of four had grown. We all squeezed in, me in the middle of the throng.

'What's the medication?' asked another voice.

'How old is your cousin?' asked Dave, of Bob, who laughed. I sometimes have to show my drivers licence before I can get a drink, although in fact I'm twenty four.

'It's fine. She's over the age of consent,' said Bob.

I stared at him. What was he doing? Trying to encourage them? A hand slithered out of the throng, from somewhere or other, and casually cupped my pubis. My eyes opened wide. The lift didn't move. 'What's the medicine?' the voice repeated. Another hand slipped over my buttock. A third reached down to my legs, and casually slipped in between them. My hands were trapped by my side. There were far too many in the lift. It didn't move. But the hands on me did. They were joined by a fourth, that cupped my breast.

'Her cousin knows,' said another voice. I couldn't turn to look. I couldn't move. I was pinned in the middle of eight or nine men in a lift that was made for six.

'Who's her cousin?'

'Me,' said Bob, from somewhere in the corner of the lift. We'd been separated. 'Something that makes my cousin lose control,' said Bob, unhelpfully.

The hands that were on me were joined by a fifth. Then a sixth. The one on my pubis had started to experiment. To see if it could make me lose control. And I started to. I found myself bearing down on the hand. I wondered who's it was. And while still wondering whose it was, the one at my buttock pulled up the hem of my dress, bared my buttock, and closed over skin. I closed my eyes. The lift began to move. So did the bodies around me. So did the hands, on me. Another sneaked under my arm, into the side of my dress, and over the naked breast beneath.

'Give me the name of the stuff,' whispered someone behind me. My thong was moved aside. A finger slithered between my labia lips. I was so damn moist down there! A mouth closed over an ear. I opened my mouth, kept my eyes shut. More fingers slipped into the moistness between my legs. They seemed to be fighting for possession. 'Ngraaagh!' One of them slipped inside me. I groaned.

Somebody started to kiss me. I kissed him back. My breast came out of the top of my dress and a hand closed hungrily around it. Fingers scratched the nipple of my other breast – the one still inside my dress. The nipple was hard and hot as a roasted pea. I let a tongue in my mouth. I squeezed my own against it, arched my back and sucked a second finger deep inside myself. I crushed my breast to the hand that was around it and twisted my nipple from another. I groaned and growled and my knees gave way but the crush of the bodies held me up. No-one seemed to notice. Then the lift stopped.

"Christ!' said someone close.

'Jesus,' said another male voice.

Three or four sets of arms were around me, eight or nine hands engaged in exploring ... My eyes were closed. I was pushed and jostled from the lift. 'She needs to rest,' said Bob, my husband, who was doing the pushing. He was getting scared, I guessed, (for I had totally lost it again – as I do, in the throws of arousal). They let me out the lift. I opened my eyes. There were seven or eight in our group. 'It's all right,' Bob was shouting, trying to push them back. There were hands still on me, holding bits – a breast, still. My buttocks, tightly. My neck, stroking and caressing. One man behind me, whom I hadn't noticed before, was kissing my shoulder hungrily. 'It's all RIGHT!' shouted Bob, clearly shaken, pushing them off and pulling me away.

I went with him. I started to help, lifting off hands, and when they came back, pushing them away again. But they didn't give up. Four were still with us at the door of our room, one with his arms round my waist, another kissing my ear, another trying to force a large hand up my dress. 'What is she on, for Christ sake?' one of them groaned, trying to get at my mouth with his own.

'Never mind!' shouted Bob, getting the door to our room open and bundling me inside. But some of the others came too. Once inside the room, everything stopped. I kept walking, came to a halt at the corner of the bed. Bob was at my side. Dave was in and at the window, looking out, then back at me, then over at Jim. Jim, with the moustache, was at the door. Next to him was a younger guy in a blue three-piece, rubbing his chin and looking at me. Next to him another younger guy, wearing a leather jacket. Jim closed the door, but just before it closed a big hand forced it open. A black guy came in, bigger than the rest. No-one tried to stop him. Then Bob said, 'We'll be fine now, just leave us.' But no-one replied. The black guy closed the door, eyes on Bob, staying inside.

'Where's you room?" asked Dave with a frown, looking at Bob.

'I'm ah ...' Bob stopped.

This was our room. But did we tell them that? Would they approve of cousins sharing a double bed? Bob glanced at me with a worried look on his face. 'Down the hall,' said Bob, his eyes on mine.

This had gone too far.

'Well, buddy,' said the black guy, mid thirties, tall, well dressed, built like a weight-lifter, the sort of authority you don't choose to buck, 'You can go along to your room and wait there like a good boy.' The black guy moved into the room, right up to Bob and, standing in front of him – towering over him, in fact – went on, 'or you can go to the mini-bar over in the corner there and get us all a beer.' I waited to see what would happen. Bob swallowed. He seemed to be thinking of a good response.

'What's the medicine she's on,' asked the guy with the blue three-piece, the same one as asked in the lift.

'Viagra,' suggested the guy in the leather jacket, still at the door next to Jim.

'This is better than that,' said Dave, staring at the black guy, then at me, then at my legs.

'How about that beer?' said the black guy, moving in front of me, running the back of his large black hand over the front my dress. Over my stomach. I drew it in. Over my pubis. I left it where it was. I kept my hands out the way; it seemed to be the deal. I glanced at Bob. His lips were pursed. I glanced at the black guy. He put his arm round to the small of my back , pulled me to him, and closed his mouth over mine.

The black guy didn't just look like a weight lifter, he felt like a weight lifter too. Hard and broad and impressive. Although it wasn't part of the plan, pretty soon I was kissing him back. My eyes had closed. I'd never kissed a black guy before. His lips were huge and rubbery, and the inside of his mouth tasted more like the taste of minted penis, than mouth. His big hand ran over a buttock, held it with ease. I wrapped my arms around his massive shoulders, and pretty soon we were French kissing, hard. (This was becoming dangerous.)