My wife, Rachael, and I tell each other everything. Thursday, we were on our way to a club for a few drinks and perhaps some dancing, when the subject of my new friend from England came up. I was telling her that he, like myself, enjoyed sharing his wife's adventures with other like-minded men. I told her I'd read several of his stories, and that I noticed a particular fetish of his that I found rather interesting. It seems he enjoyed the humiliation aspect of his wife's antics.
"It's a rather subtle thing," I said, "he seems to enjoy his wife telling him how much bigger other men's cocks are, and how much she enjoys being fucked by a larger cock."
"Would that excite you?" she asked.
"Well, I don't know. I've never really thought about it."
She was quiet for the next few miles. I was enjoying stealing glances at her as I drove. Her short black skirt settled about half way down her thighs, and each time she crossed or uncrossed her legs, I would get a quick glimpse of her stocking tops. She's long abandoned garter belts, preferring instead the look and feel of thigh high stockings. I knew that under that skirt she was wearing her black satin T-back panties. On top she had on a very sheer white blouse, and under her blouse were her bare breasts. I hadn't seen them because she was wearing a black jacket over the blouse, but I knew they'd be bare...she seldom wears a bra!
I should mention her breasts in more than just passing. They are a work of art! She supports a double D cup, size 36. They are creamy white...have a few freckles on them...and end with the most exquisite nipples ever plopped inside a mouth! Her nipples are pinkish to brown...and when aroused resemble a .38 caliber bullet. Our pet name for this part of her anatomy is bullet nips...and with excellent reasons. They can become hard as bullets, and I often joke...twice as deadly! Many a man has risked all to suckle her nips...to feel the firmness of her breasts...to know the exquisite taste and feel of her pussy. It's only fitting that we describe her breasts in such vernacular as to make Smith and Wesson proud!
When she did speak again, she simply uttered one sentence. "You know, Patrick, most of the men I've fucked since we've been married have had larger cocks than yours."
Let me say right here, that while some may have been a tad bigger, I've never made much of an issue about the size of the guy fucking my wife. The fact that she was fucking someone was more than enough for me! But her statement was made to excite me...and to tell the truth...something about it did just that. I was a bit excited at the prospect of her fucking a man better endowed than myself...a man who would stretch her pussy to conform to his cock, not mine. I continued what she'd obviously started.
"No, I wasn't aware of that."
"It's quite true...I can't think of very many men whose equipment would be as small as yours. Don't misunderstand me, Patrick, I love you a lot...and I love your cock...but sweetie...it's not the biggest one around...not by a long shot!"
"Why haven't you mentioned this before?"
"Why would I? It's not like you could make yours grow bigger now, is it? It's not like there's anything you could do to make me want it more...plus, sweetie, you are pretty nice to let me fuck anyone else I want. So when I need a bigger cock...a man-sized one...I simply go elsewhere. That's okay, isn't it, sweetie?"
This was kind of exciting. I continued the probe.
"Are you looking for a big cock, tonight? Is that why you're dressed like you are?"
"Dressed how?"
"You know...in stockings...and your T-back."
"Oh, you know what, sweetie? I forgot all about that old T-back." With that statement she lifted herself off the seat a few inches, slid her hands under her skirt and withdrew them, along with her panties. "I won't be needing these tonight, after all, I'm only dancing."
My cock was rock hard instantly. All the talk about guys fucking her with better cocks than mine had already gotten me in a turned-on state, but when I realized my wife was about to get on a dance floor with men she didn't yet know, and allow them to hold her body close to theirs, and she would have her totally naked pussy against them...well, I could have cut glass with my diamond hard cock! But she wasn't through with her new toy of husband humiliation yet. There was still more to come.
"Tell me, Patrick. When a man fucks me and you're in the same room, and you see he's fucking me with a bigger cock than yours, would you mind if I mentioned it to him? Would you mind if I mention to my new lovers that your cock is sooooo small? It wouldn't embarrass you, would it? I mean...the truth is the truth!"
"I'd rather you not do that, Rachael."
"Why? Are you overly sensitive about your small cock?"
"Well, up to right now, I never considered it to be below average. I thought it was fine, up to now."
"Such an interesting choice of words, sweetie. Average. That's like, 'ordinary' or 'common' isn't it? I mean, an average anything is unremarkable, isn't it? Unremarkable...and...and I guess one might say 'boring.'" She turned her legs toward me. We were pulling into the parking lot of the club as she ran her hands along the inside of my legs, allowing me to feel her fingernails rake across the tender inner thighs under my trousers. She was less than an 1/8 of an inch away from the head of my cock. Her hands stopped as I put the car in park and turned off the keys. Her legs were not close together...in fact...I was certain I could see her pussy hair from the position she was in. I reached over for her, to pull her closer to me...to put my hands where my eyes were, to feel her heat.
But she moved back too quickly. In one motion, she was out of my reach, than out of my car. She stood on the parking lot and waited for me to lock the car. As I came around to her side she didn't wait for me. Instead, she started into the club. "Try not to get in my way, tonight, sweetie. I think I may be in the mood for a quickie before we get home."
And just to make sure I understood what she meant, she added, "And who knows...I may even give you a little, too!" With that she walked into the club. I could hear the music blaring through the loud speakers. And my entire body was on fire...waiting with sure anticipation for what I knew would be a memorable night!
II
Once inside the club, Rachael found a booth on the very edge of the dance floor. It would easily seat four, and usually, we would have taken a smaller table. But she sat down and I sat with her. She opened her purse and took out her cigarettes and lighter and sat back, crossing her legs, allowing her skirt to ride high over the right leg. I enjoyed the show. Before she even had her first drag of her cigarette, a man approached our table. He smiled easily as he asked her for a dance. She smiled back...that smile that tells a stranger she could be had. I knew that smile. She'd practiced it on me for years. Cigarette in the ashtray, she slid out of the booth and was on her way to the dance floor with her first conquest. She stopped, turned back to me and said, "Whiskey." I knew what that meant. The last time she'd ordered whiskey in a club, she ended up fucking four of the five men in the band. She later told me that whiskey made her "crazy." And now, here she was...ordering the one drink that would make her even more uncontrollable than usual. I couldn't wait to place the order.
I watched her dance. The floor wasn't crowded, it still being early. And I must say, the man she'd accepted as her first dance partner didn't seem to be overly aggressive. The band was playing a rather fast number, not allowing for a great deal of physical contact. It didn't matter. When Rachael dances, everyone notices. Her skirt seemed to have a will of its own. As she danced, it rose up on her legs, and when she'd reach up over her head with her arms, it would pull even higher, exposing the tops of her stockings...exciting not only me...but anyone else who realized how hot she was, how hot she was becoming.
The number was over, and her "escort" brought her back to the table. As he turned to go back to his own table, Rachael leaned over and whispered something in his ear. I couldn't make out exactly what she said, but he smiled and replied, "Sure. Glad to." With that he left us alone at our table..
"Did you enjoy that?" She asked.
"What? Watching you dance?"
"Yes. I know how much you like to watch."
"Yes, I suppose I did. Did you?"
"What, did I enjoy dancing...or enjoy you watching?"
"Either. Both. Was he a good dancer?
