On The Road to Dublin Pt. 01

Part 1 of 2.

All rights reserved. This Work may not be copied, published, republished or posted on any other venue or media, in whole or in part, without the author's express written permission.

Many thanks to my editor, who wishes to remain anonymous. Without her time and expertise, so generously given, this would be less enjoyable reading. All remaining errors are solely the result of my inability to leave well enough alone after she made it perfect. My bad.

This my first story of any kind. Please remember to rate and comment so I can improve.

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My wife, Lynne, is a Southern lady in her prime. She's what's known as 'Black Irish'. Her mid-length raven black hair falls in lustrous waves that, together with her arched eyebrows, perfectly frame the delicate features of her face. Her large brown eyes sparkle when she smiles and have a smoky quality when she's aroused. Her creamy white unblemished skin comes from her pure Irish ancestors.

Her figure is perfect for her 5' 7" height. She has long, shapely legs and a firm, heart shaped fanny that just begs to be patted. Her rosebud-tipped breasts are well rounded with a slight up-tilt of the tips. They wobble and jiggle delightfully when she walks; men get distracted and short of breath when she sashays by. Her small perfectly circular areolas are the delicate pink of springtime azalea blooms in the deep south.

FRIDAY:

My work that day took me to Dublin, Georgia to inspect the books of a small company my firm's client wanted to buy. It meant a long drive down from Atlanta and back for just a few billable hours. Lynne volunteered to ride along and I was glad of her company.

We chatted about bathroom remodeling and vacation plans as the miles slid by until just south of Macon we spotted a billboard touting a 'Gentleman's Club' with an 'All Nude Review' and 'Fine Food'. The first part I believed.

Lynne commented, "I had no idea such places existed so close to home."

I had the presence of mind to not mention that such places existed a lot closer to home. Instead, I asked if she'd like to have lunch there.

"I've never been in a place like that. Have you?" she asked.

"Not in a long time," I fudged. Hey! Three weeks can seem like a long time.

She asked, "What does 'All Nude Review' really mean?" Her eyebrows arched.

"Well, it means the ladies perform on a stage or runway, erotically dancing and removing all of their clothing while the men put money in their garters and cheer to encourage them in their artistic performances," I extemporized.

"All of their clothing," she whispered to herself. I explained that the performers usually kept on their garters and heels.

"Do women ever go there?"

"Sure. All the time," I fudged again. "Anybody can appreciate artistic erotic dance."

Okay, I'm a hound. Have me flogged, I don't care. I sensed opportunity here. My wife is the poster girl for sexuality in the bedroom but I've had little luck persuading her to loosen up and be even a little slutty for me when we are away from home. Hers had been a strict upbringing by parents who had limited her dating and other social opportunities as a teen.

Her clothes have always had the classic tailored look. She always wears underwear. Nice underwear, I admit, but still underwear. I had expected her instant response to my lunch suggestion to be something like 'In your dreams, letch!' so her questions surprised me. I decided to press my luck.

"Tell you what. Let's drop in, you have a drink since I'm driving. We can watch for a few minutes before deciding whether to order lunch. If you feel uncomfortable we'll slide on out and find another place to eat. How's that?" I offered with an innocent smile.

She sat considering- I could almost hear her thinking it over. I noticed the approaching exit and nudged her along with, "This is our exit coming up."

"Okay," she said simply.

We parked and walked to the entrance where Lynne encountered her first serious bouncer. This guy was a little larger than me but not a giant by any means. He was dressed in a tailored sports coat, slacks and a quality dress shirt. His was clean-shaven with dark brown hair beginning to gray at the temples. Although he was about ten years older than us, there wasn't an ounce of fat on the man. A relaxed, confident, smiling man.

As we approached, his eyes scanned me professionally. As soon as he was satisfied that I carried no weapons he turned his attention to Lynne, smiling and nodding.

"Since you're escorting this beautiful woman, there'll be no cover charge today," he drawled, opening the door.

My wife smiled and blushed. "Thank you."

I have no idea where the club found this guy or how much he cost, but hiring him was a stroke of genius. A great investment. He took her from tense to titillated with just a smile and a single sentence. He should give seminars.

We paused just inside the door to get our bearings and let our eyes adjust. The place smelled good, not your average strip joint mix of beer barf, smoke and industrial air freshener. We were in a large room with a wide runway extending from the rear wall. Half moon shaped tables were clustered close around the length of the runway but not so close you had to break your neck to see the dancers and spaced for easy walking between.

Every seat faced the runway. There were circular booths along one wall and a more private area in the far corner of the building through a doorway. The general room lighting was subdued but not cave-like as you sometimes see. The runway had both footlights and remotely operated overhead spot/flood lights mounted. The ceiling was high and black, disappearing into shadow. The sound system was unusually good and the volume wasn't set to vibrate your liver. This was the crème de la crème of strip joints.

The runway was in use. She was a young, smiling brunette with good, but not great, moves. She was early in the first song of her set so was still clothed. I noticed my wife's eyes had locked on the dancer. Good so far.

A hostess approached, appraised the two of us with a smile and a knowing eye, and led us to a table near the end of the runway where we could watch the performance without craning our necks and without putting Lynne so close she might get uncomfortable. Excellent.

A waitress appeared looking hot in formal black short-shorts with loose leg openings, black thigh high stockings, heels and a cream-colored translucent blouse with a deep V neckline and rolled lapels. No bra; noticed that right off. Hard to miss since I could see her dark brown areolas and nipples through the fabric. My wife spotted them too. She blushed and unconsciously licked her lips. Interesting.

Lynne ordered something with a little umbrella in it and I got unsweetened iced tea, partly because I was driving but mostly because I wanted to keep my wits about me. Things were getting curiouser by the minute.

The 'exotic' dancer had completed her first number and had untied her halter-top but was holding it with her arm to keep her breasts concealed. She turned and strolled toward our end of the runway as the waitress retreated and Lynne turned to watch.

Without taking her eyes off the dancer she asked, "Is she going to take her top off in front of all of these men?" At that moment, the next number came through the sound system and my wife gave a little gasp.

"Oh, my, she did it."

I just nodded and grinned, asking, "Would you like to see a menu?"

"Yes, please." She didn't even glance in my direction.

Just as our drinks arrived, two men came out of a doorway from the general direction of the restrooms and sat at the table behind us. From their conversation it sounded like the manager and the bartender.

The younger man was complaining about being short one waitress and the older man said, "Just to make the day perfect we're also going to have to somehow get through tonight with two dancers out. Traci has the flu and the new girl had to take her son for his pre-K physical and interview of all things. The girls we have are good but they're gonna be wilted before the night's over."

"What about calling in one from the weekend crew?" the bartender suggested.

The manager shook his head and explained that being short on stage talent on the weekend would be a bad idea because it would disappoint the local regulars. "Can't have that."

The bartender grinned and said, "You're still in pretty good shape for an old guy. You could dance."

The manager chuckled. "This isn't a comedy club."

After finishing their coffee and going over a grocery and liquor order the bartender went back to the bar. We ordered lunch. The manager went off in the direction of the back.

Meanwhile, Lynne hadn't taken her eyes off the brunette, who was into her third tune and teasing the side ties on her g-string. I could clearly see that Lynne was aroused and, as the dancer pulled away her last itty bitty bit of cover, tossing it toward the rear of the runway, Lynne let out a small 'yip' and clapped her hands over her mouth, wide-eyed.

For at least five seconds she didn't move, breath or speak. Abruptly she stood and said, "Excuse me, please."

I rose, concerned. She patted my chest, assured me everything was fine, and headed toward the restrooms.

I watched the brunette finish her set, put a couple of dollars in her garter and was focused on the last dance of a gorgeous redhead by the time Lynne slid back into her chair, a little out of breath and with a cat-ate-the-canary look on her face. I had lost track of time with all the on-stage distractions.

Our lunch arrived and we ate while the girls kept dancing. My wife watched the women closely but seemed little inclined to conversation, which was fine by me.

Over coffee Lynne took a deep breath and said, "Would you mind if I stayed here while you do your accounting thing and pick me up on the way back?"

I realized there would be no catching up with what was going on in her head.

"Stay here?" I blurted, knowing I sounded like Forrest Gump. "It'll be at least 8:30, maybe 10:00 tonight before I can get back here. What will you do all that time?"

She smiled shyly, and announced, "I'm going to be working. You heard them talking about being shorthanded."

"How do you know they'll hire you? You've never waited tables."

Her eyebrows arched and her chin tilted up. "I've spoken to the manager. I'm hired." I knew better than to argue with the eyebrows and the chin.

The discussion was done. But I didn't believe for a second they'd actually talked her into wearing the hot pants and see-through blouse. No sir. No chance. Not my wife. I knew she'd never have the nerve to do that.

From my accounting practice and some 'field work' I knew waitresses worked hard, standing on their feet all day and, in places like this, were patted, stroked and felt up, and got paid pretty much peanuts compared to the dancers. There was no chance my wife would be up to doing a whole shift.

On the other hand, the idea of her being felt up, having her breasts and fanny touched by strangers in a softly lit club, even if only once, gave me hope that it might help loosen her up a bit. Definitely worth a try.

"Okay, but you have to promise me you won't leave the club; we don't know anything about this neighborhood," I insisted, to which she quickly agreed.

We finished lunch and she walked with me to the door. I asked the bouncer to keep an eye on her and he promised he would, smiling broadly.

The accounting review in Dublin was more like surveying the scene of a train wreck. Their idea of record-keeping involved shoeboxes of crumpled receipts and lots of coffee stains. Who keeps a receipt for wooden matches yet has no idea how much they spent on tires for the company trucks last year?

My mind kept wandering to Lynne and her adventure. Hard to do an audit while picturing your wife's breasts being fondled, her fanny being rubbed and patted. It was obvious she was acting out some fantasy of hers, but what, exactly, I could only guess.

I was back to the Gentleman's Club a few minutes after 9:00 that night. The place was packed with several hundred men with a surprising number of women, and jumpin'! I finally spotted Lynne in the far corner sitting in a curved booth with several men, sipping what looked like a scotch and soda.

She looked tired but happy and her hair was a little mussed. Poor thing, her feet must be killing her. She spotted me and waved, giving me a big smile. She said something to the men and they slid out so she could get up and helped her put her jacket on.

They each gave her a tight hug accompanied by a solid kiss. She stepped into each embrace and made no objection to their roaming hands. Yep. Instant woodie. Looked like an evening of being patted and fondled had loosened her up considerably more than I had thought possible.

As we walked toward the door, applause erupted in the room and I turned to see what was happening. It took a few seconds to realize everybody - and I do mean everybody, including the girl onstage - was applauding my wife. She gave a big wave and blew a kiss to everybody.

The smiling Bouncer was standing in the doorway holding it open for Lynne but leaving little room for her to get by. I noticed that instead of turning her back to get by she faced him, pointed her finger in his face, and waited for him to back out of our way.

On the way to the car I said it looked like she'd had a good time.

She stopped and wrapped her arms around my neck and said, "I had an amazing adventure. I lived a fantasy I've had for years. Thank you for letting me do this."

She kissed me deeply, climbed into the car, tilted her seat back and was dozing before we were back on the Interstate. Didn't even take her jacket off, poor kid.

We stopped for a late supper at an upscale restaurant near Atlanta. When we pulled up to the door the parking valet opened Lynne's door and assisted her getting out.

I noticed she climbed out slowly, not being as careful of her skirt as she normally was, I guess because she was so tired. The attendant was quite attentive. 'Poor woman must be worn out' I thought.

Being late, the crowd had thinned and we were ushered to a table promptly. I was starving and had my nose buried in the menu before my tail even hit the chair seat. The waiter appeared and took our drink orders.

It took a while for me to realize the waiter hadn't left and was telling Lynne about the specials for the second time. I looked up, noticed she had removed her jacket, and her rosebud nipples and blushing pink areolas visibly and proudly poking the front of her nearly transparent blouse.

Everybody in the room must have heard my woodie hit the underside of the table. 'No Bra!' my mind shouted. My mouth didn't make a sound. I was too excited to breath. Besides, I noticed the young waiter was breathing hard enough for both of us.

She looked magnificent and was obviously reveling in the waiter's attention. She smiled serenely at me as the guy babbled on. Apparently, she had enjoyed waitressing in a see-thru blouse after all. I finally thought I understood the ovation she got when we left the club. Silly me.

All through supper that waiter gave Lynne the best service I've ever seen. I could have turned to stone and he wouldn't have noticed, but he sure seemed fascinated with watching my wife's lungs working. Just saying. . .

After a great meal, dessert and coffee with brandy, my wife excused herself, rose and strolled slowly to the ladies room without her jacket. Her breasts jiggled wonderfully and were clearly visible through the sheer, clingy fabric of her blouse. On the way back, as she was passing a table with a half-dozen businessmen in suits one of them spoke to her. I couldn't make out the words.

She stopped and leaned her forearms on the shoulders of two of the men to allow the man who had spoken to her to whisper into her ear. She nodded and whispered into his ear in turn.

It startled me when he gently cupped her left breast in his hand and massaged it, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Lynne arched her back to push her breast more firmly into his hand and I noticed she'd stopped talking and was breathing a bit faster. Her face and neck flushed pink. It was beautiful. Damn, it was beautiful.

The man to her left whispered into her ear and she whispered back, then sucked his earlobe and pulled on it with her lips. He slowly slid his hand up her thigh and under her dress, out of sight.

Lynne moved her legs further apart and lowered her head. I could see she was breathing harder through her parted scarlet lips as her eyes closed in concentration.

What I was watching was now officially the most erotic thing I had ever seen. My heart was booming so loud I was sure everybody could hear. Junior had a concussion from hitting his head on the underside of the table.

After what seemed like an hour but probably was no more than 15 seconds the first man whispered in her ear again. She shook her head and spoke to him for a moment, kissed the cheek of each man and stood up. Man number two withdrew his hand from under her skirt.

"Good night, gentlemen. Sweet dreams." She said to the group of hypnotized men loudly enough I could hear it before turning and strolling seductively back to our table as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She just smiled, held her shoulders back and took her time. I loved her for it.

This time Lynne took the chair next to me, facing the room. She sat serenely looking at me until I just had to speak.

"Lynne, that was the most erotic thing I've ever seen you do in public. I'm dying to know what your conversation was about."

"Are you mad about what I just did?" she asked with raised eyebrows, staring straight into my eyes.

"God, no. I'm so excited my heart's about to pound out of my chest," I confessed.

Lynne leaned closer to me, sliding her hand into my crotch and feeling Junior standing at full alert. "Mmm. You are aroused." She smiled. "My wonderful man."

She sat back, sipped her brandy, and said, "The first gentleman, the one with salt and pepper hair who uses Old Spice aftershave, by the way, told me I had the most beautiful breasts he'd ever seen and pleaded in a courtly and respectful way to be allowed to touch."

"Distinguished looking older men are so sexy and he was such a gentleman. I saw the hunger in his eyes and I felt responsible; I'd teased them cruelly. So I told him he could hold my breast so my lover could watch. He was so eager and grateful. It was sweet."

"How about the other man?" I asked. "The one who slid his hand up your leg."

"Lars? He was adorable too. I think he's Swedish. He asked with that sexy accent and imperfect English if he could, please, touch me too. I thought he meant my other breast. I told him it would please me. It surprised me when I felt his hand gliding up my thigh, but it felt so, so erotic, I didn't want to stop him."

My amazing wife gazed into my eyes. "Should I have stopped him? Did you mind him doing that? I let him go all the way up and then he rubbed me. He felt me, up between my legs, in front of all those other men. I nearly orgasmed from the naughtiness of it all.

"I wanted to share with you the excitement of the amazing adventure I've had today while you were working. You missed pretty much all of it and I felt you'd been shortchanged. Did I behave too badly?" She probed.

I knew she was intentionally provoking a reaction from me to gauge whether she'd stepped over the line.

"Lynne, love, I've wanted you to do things like this for years. I don't know why you finally decided to be naughty in public, but I could never be angry at you for that. I'm thrilled. I couldn't be more proud to be your husband," I told her from my heart.