tagMind ControlFourteen Day Program Ch. 07

Fourteen Day Program Ch. 07

bytoomuchinmyhead©

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story contains scenes of extramarital and unprotected sex, although if you've read this far you probably already know that. If you are offended by these activities, please pass over this story to something more suitable to your tastes. Reading the prior chapters is recommended. This story is not true, and the people are not real.

CHAPTER 7 - CONCLUSION

They spent the rest of the afternoon in silence, separately passing the time. At the hotel Liz worked on her timing, trying to make it look easy and natural to slip out of her clothes. Tom watched her as he pretended to watch television and napped, suspecting what she was thinking, and resenting her. At five he got into the shower and dressed, using the suite's guest bathroom as Liz prepared herself for her show. At six-thirty they headed for the club.

By seven they were seated at a rear table, watching the girls dance, and drinking club soda. Tom stewed silently, watching his wife get excited by her upcoming contest, fidgeting in her seat. He imagined her nipples getting hard under her costume, her freshly shaved pussy dripping wet, leaking, awaiting its chance to be seen by all the men who were filling the club. Would they all want to fuck her? Would she want them to? He was pretty sure the answer was yes.

Yesterday's confessions and the way she had reacted to his rough treatment of her had convinced him that she was not who she said she had become, not his willing wife who wanted only to please him and fulfill his every desire willingly. Oh, no, he reminded himself, she was so far past that. She had exposed herself as the woman he feared she was, a willing slut, not his slut but her own, eager for cocks and cum, and not just his. He remembered their conversation when she had answered the Organization's call to report for her weekend. She'd said she was made to want to go, and he found enough anger in him to share evenly between his despicable wife and the people who had made her this way. He bit his tongue and seethed.

At a quarter to eight Liz stood, and kissed him, and with a smile, headed backstage to check in. Just before eight the DJ announced the Amateur contest would begin shortly, and the men crowded the stage, squeezing between the ones who had taken tables stageside earlier. It was pretty full, still leaving a decent smattering throughout the club. All these men would see his wife naked, prancing around for their attention. Yesterday this had been his plan, and he'd been excited when she'd agreed enthusiastically to do it. Now the edge had come off his thrill, and his resentment and bitterness mixed with his sexual anticipation.

The first girl came onstage as the thumping music began, and she began dancing badly, walking awkwardly in platform shoes, missing the beat, and shaking her body in an exaggerated motion that did nothing for Tom, but excited the crowd. She untied her halter top too quickly, allowing her unclad boobs to flash from under the loose fabric. She grabbed at them under her shirt to the delight of the crowd, who began throwing money at her feet. She dropped the top before the song finished, and when the second one started she was slipping her shorts off, revealing a glittery thong. She crawled around the stage, shaking her ass unattractively, legs spread. She was all about the sex, not seduction, and Tom dismissed her. He found his attention drifting to the crowd of men, watching them watching her. He saw all different types, from business men to young college age kids, from well dressed to slobs, from groups to solo loners. Some looked like regulars, others like first-timers or occasional visitors. Many hooted and hollered obviously, others feigned indifference, while some pretended to be jaded and too cool for the room.

The girl on stage had dropped from his sight behind the standing audience, probably lying on the floor, exposing her pussy for the crowd. Her third song ended and she stood, waving, scooping up her money and clothes. He did notice she had a pretty nice young ass as she exited, and his cock stirred a little. He had always looked at other women, admiring their bodies, and at times had flirted and felt attraction to some. But he'd never admitted desire for someone else while he was married, Liz had always been enough for him; she'd been the one he loved and wanted. Lost in thought, he watched the second girl take the stage. She was more practiced, more elegant and seductive as she moved around the crowded edges of the stage. He felt his stirring grow. Was this was Liz felt? Was this what she had opened herself to, to allow yourself to be attracted to someone else, to want them?

The dancer was a slight brunette with small, plump tits and a lithe figure, and she moved with a sinewy grace for the crowd. Despite his anger he recognized his arousal, and wondered what she would be like in bed. Would she be responsive and giving? Cooperative and eager? Would she want loving caresses or hard, forceful fucking? For the first time since being married, he imagined sex with another woman, just sex, just for the fun, and not someone he was married to, his brain discounting the group events he'd had with Liz. The brunette bent over for the crowd and showed the thong between her bare ass cheeks, and the fantasies quickly turned from sensitive loving to debauched ass fucking, and his cock hardened, imagining driving himself into her tight ass, feeling her squirm and resist his anal penetration, crying out as he stretched her hole painfully, resisting, then accepting, then welcoming his cock.

Was this was Liz experienced? Was this how she saw it now, thinking only of her own satisfaction, imagining cocks penetrating all her holes? Did she see other people only in sexual terms for her own satisfaction, as instruments of her pleasure, not real people, with real feelings, but just tongues and hands and cocks for her to enjoy? His own arousal shamed him, realizing that his behavior these past weeks had opened doors he had wanted closed, should have kept closed. Part of love and marriage, he told himself, is devotion to your partner, and denying the parts of you that would accept others out of selfish gratification. He felt those feelings now, watching this young thing on the stage stroking her bare cunt for the howling crowd, and felt his bile rise with his cock. His wife had removed her barriers, and with them, her regard for their marriage agreement. She had opened doors that should have stayed shut tight; accepting her arousal at physical pleasure regardless of the source, allowed herself to enjoy strangers taking what should have been his alone. She had betrayed their marriage, discarded his love in her desire for sex; wild, outrageous sex, and then she had dragged him through that open door, against his will, to leave him sitting here, lusting after the naked girl on stage, waiting to see his once-loving wife expose herself for this crowd of horny men.

And worse, he thought, she had presented it as all for him, a gift to him, out of love for him. She had deceived and betrayed him and his love for her had soured and become a bitter gnawing pit in his stomach. He was torn by the conflict inside, his cock wanting this unknown naked girl on the stage even as he desired to have his old life back, to return to when his marriage was normal and his wife was not a wanton slut who begged for cock in her ass, and took his load on her face, smiling.

And even as he thought of her she was suddenly there, on stage, creeping tentatively around the curtain, playing the shy, unassuming housewife she had planned. The crowd whooped for her, seeing a slightly older woman, dressed as someone who might live down the street, or a married woman they worked with. She slipped out onto the stage, acting coy, and she was instantly transformed into the hot thirty-something at the office that young men fantasized about.

Because she WAS beautiful, and Tom's heart crashed through his protective defenses, and he longed for her as he always did, seeing her smiling face, her sparkling eyes, her familiar shapely body, now beginning to sway to the music, shedding her pretend reluctance to perform for these men. The illusion was perfect as she transformed herself before his eyes, changing from the Liz he had married to the Liz he had brought home from the Organization, a sexy, seductive and willing woman who accepted his desires and fulfilled them. Her hands caressed her clothed body, stroking herself, broadcasting her willingness and desires to a wild group of drunken men; in minutes giving them what she had once said was only for him. He stood to see better over the crowd as she worked her magic, shedding the blazer, and her hands slowly raised her skirt to expose the red panties she had bought at the adult shop. He saw now that they were crotchless, and the crowd cheered as her wet hairless pussy was flashed for a second. She twirled slowly, seducing the crowd, not dancing, and he longed for her, wanted her, and knew she was having the same effect on all of the men there. They all want to fuck her, he thought, to hear her beg for cock, they want to cum on her face, and fill her pussy and ass with their hot cum, and despite himself his cock hardened, knowing the pleasure she could give them, as she had given it to him.

He watched her face, and her eyes crinkled as she smiled at the crowd, and peeled off her tee shirt, exposing the red bra she'd bought, and the crowd cheered again. Tom felt himself moving through the crowd, inching forward, drawn by the seduction his wife was performing. He watched her making eye contact with the various men, then reached to cup her breasts, squeezing hard, and then suddenly pulled the cups off her bra; they were removable and detached easily, leaving the red straps framing her beautiful breasts, her nipples hard and swollen with arousal. The crowd cheered again as she pinched her nipples, pulling them hard, her pleasure showing on her face. Money was being thrown on stage like a snowstorm, he saw, she was giving a great show, and true to her word, as the first song ended she dropped her skirt, unwrapping it with practiced ease, and discarding it on the pile with the rest of her garments.

As the second song began she walked the edge, making eye contact with each man, licking her lips, winking, pulling her nipples or lightly stroking her finger between her wet pussy lips, showing swollen and wet from between the red strips of fabric. She had chosen well, he admired, the glaring red fabric looked great against her skin, and the strips of material perfectly framed her naked tits and pussy, leaving her completely exposed but better, an accented nudity that was more than naked, it was advertised. Halfway through the second song she centered herself on the stage, turned around, and bent down low, looking at the audience though straight, parted legs, and slipped a hand to her crotch, parting her pussy lips, showing her pink wetness to the cheers of the crowd. She made a show of sliding a single finger across her hole, slowly, then tapping her clit, before standing up and slipping the finger into her mouth as the crowd roared. Tom inched forward, squeezing himself into a group of younger men, well dressed and clean cut, who were enthusiastically cheering. As he inched closer, the second song ended, and Liz dropped to her knees and began crawling around the stage, her sweet ass cheeks moving up and down as she took a slow, seductive prowl around the crowd.

Tom inched forward, accidentally bumping one of the young men, who turned to glare at him.

"Sorry," he shouted over the music, "I wanted to see." On stage, Liz was sitting with her legs spread, showing her wet hole for the crowd's cheers.

"We all want to see, man," the young man grinned, "she's fucking hot, right?"

"She's my wife," he confessed loudly, and the guy's eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped open in gleeful shock.

"No fucking way!" he said, then got his friends' attention, and pointed to Tom, saying something Tom couldn't hear over the music. Onstage, Liz was grinning as she pulled back her pussy lips, exposing her hard clit with one finger, and tapping it lightly with another. The friends all turned to stare at him briefly, their eyes betraying their desire and jealously and wonder. They all want to fuck my wife, he thought. Their cocks are probably hard for her, and they desire her, just like I do. They returned their focus to the show, where Liz had gone to all fours, and reached behind herself to pull the string from her ass crack, exposing her crinkled hole, then spread her cheeks to give everyone a good view. Her asshole flexed and pulsed to the music as she worked her muscles, and one of the men leaned into Tom.

"Holy shit, that's really your wife? She's fucking hot as hell!"

Tom looked at him, and saw the desire in his face, recognizing it as the same feelings he had, and knowing that, given the chance, Liz would fuck this young man, simply because she could, because she wanted to, because she wanted his cock. He turned back to his wife without answering, and watched her index finger lightly caress her asshole to the delight of the crowd, then she made a come-here motion with the finger, and then pressed a little at her rosebud, stopping before it pressed in, pushing the rules without violating them. The song ended, and she rose to thunderous applause, blowing kisses to the crowd, scooping up her tips and clothes, and scooting off stage for the next dancer.

"That was incredible, man" the young man told him, "hey, would she give us a private dance, you know, like a lap dance?"

Tom turned to him slowly, and felt himself answering, slightly disembodied and apart from himself. "No," he said unemotionally, "it's not allowed."

"Come on, we have the money, how much is a dance?"

Tom shook himself, and turned to the young man, as if suddenly waking from a trance. "The club doesn't allow the contestants to do lap dances or private dances," he shouted as the music started again.

"Too bad, man." The guy grinned. "She's hot! You're a lucky man!"

Tom smiled politely, then turned and made his way back through the crowd, silently telling himself that the young man had no idea what Tom's luck really felt like. He sat, remembering the show, feeling his desire for Liz, angry at himself for wanting her to do this thing, and resenting her willingness, and her ability to do it so well. Lucky, he thought, I am so fortunate to have a wife who played with her pussy in front of all these men, to give them a view of her herself that should be his alone. He sat, alone in his thoughts, wallowing in his self-pity, resenting her, and denying his own participation in what she had become. He recalled the beckoning finger, inviting the crowd of hard cocks to her ass, terrified that she might really mean it, that she really wanted all those cocks to fuck her, that the idea made her wet and wanting and aroused. Images of her at the Organization, getting fucked over and over by strangers, loving it, changed suddenly to an image of her being taken by this crowd, men swarming the stage, fucking her in all her holes, over and over, and her, his once wonderful sweet wife, taking it, loving it, begging for more.

He shuddered. His cock was hard. And then she was next to him, dressed and grabbing his arm, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and talking in his ear.

"Did you see? Was I good? The audience was incredible, my God, I felt so sexy up there, so desired," she gushed, and he turned to her, blankly looking into her face, her beautiful, excited flushed face, and he smiled against his will. His eyes saw her, but his brain saw her on stage, being taken over and over. Cum in her mouth, on her face.

"You were incredible," he said, and realized he meant it. She really was good, and had wowed the crowd. "I think you have a good chance of winning," he admitted.

"You think so?" she beamed.

"Definitely," he confirmed, "they loved you." They'd love to fuck you, his brain whispered, adding, "Some young guys wanted a private dance, but I had to tell them the club wouldn't allow it."

"Too bad," she replied, and smiled devilishly.

"Yeah, that's what they said," he answered, and an idea planted itself in his mind, and took root, and began to grow.

"I was thinking of you," she said, leaning into his ear to be heard over the music as the show continued. "I was so wet, thinking of you watching me, seeing me get all those cocks hard, seeing the looks on their faces." He felt her breath, and then her tongue flicking his earlobe. "I saw you watching. Did you like it? Did it turn you on to see those men wanting me, seeing my touch my wet cunt for them?"

He turned to her, seeing her as both his wife and a complete stranger, knowing her, and having no idea who she was at once. He nodded silently, and pretended to focus on the show. They watched the rest of the contest in silence, but he occasionally glanced at her, seeing the flush of her excitement remain, her fidgeting continue, imagining her wet pussy, leaking excitement between her legs, her hard clit swollen with unfulfilled desire.

At nine-thirty they called the contestants backstage to prepare for the judging, and Liz got up, kissed him, and said, "Wish me luck," and was gone.

"Good luck," he told her departing form as she made her way through the crowd, drawing admiring looks and longing expressions. He watched her until she disappeared into the backstage entrance, then took his club soda and stood, searching the crowd, and making his way to the tables near the stage. He found the young man he'd spoken to earlier, when Liz was dancing. He sat with two friends, a table away from the stage, with an empty chair next to him. The young man looked up as he approached.

"Dude!" he cried, grinning, and turning to his friends. "Guys, this is that guy, the one married to the hottie!" The others greeted him, and shook his hand, congratulating him, telling him she was sure to win, although one guy thought the young blonde that followed her would win the crowd.

"Well," the young man told him, "Your wife has my vote, for sure. Sit," he offered, and Tom took the seat and introduced himself dispassionately. "I'm Randy, that's Josh and Paul," he indicated. "Marty's in the men's room."

Four of them, he thought, not caring to remember their faces or names. As the DJ brought all the contestants out on stage, Randy stood and applauded loudly. Tom stayed seated, seeing Liz come out with the other girls, all younger than her, but none, in his eyes, hotter. Randy sat back down as the DJ announced the judging, and Tom leaned into him.

"Are you still interested in a private dance?" he asked him.

Randy turned to him, incredulous. "Hell yeah, but you said-"

"Not here, keep your voice down." Tom said. He waited for applause for the first girl to die down, then said, "After the contest we'll leave. Watch for me. Wait fifteen minutes then come to our hotel." He gave Randy the name and room number. "Stop and pick up some booze on the way. A hundred each, and you'll get a great show." Beyond your wildest dreams, he added to himself. Applause for the second girl was louder, and he looked up to see Liz step forward as she was announced, and her hand lifted her skirt, exposing her pussy lips, smiling seductively as the crowd rose to its feet, applauding and cheering. She looked good, and he thought she should win, but felt unable to muster the enthusiasm to cheer for her. Randy sat back down.

"Are you serious, man? I mean-"

"You and your three friends, a hundred each, private show, you won't be disappointed." He looked at Randy's face, saw the eagerness in his eyes. "Are we good?"

"We're good."

"Tell your friends after I leave the table. I'll see you later." He stood just as the fourth young man returned, and Tom returned to his table.

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