On The Road to Dublin Pt. 01

She blushed. "Um, actually, you're not my husband right now."

"I don't understand." I realized this wasn't my fantasy. I was wandering around blind lost in her fantasy.

"Well, there was more to the conversation. The first gentleman, Austin, asked me loudly enough for the other men at the table to hear to come back to his hotel with him for the night. I was thrilled that he wanted me that badly and didn't want to hurt his feelings or embarrass him in front of his friends. I told him I would have loved to spend the night with him if he'd only asked earlier. I explained that I was here with my lover, who had first claim on me for an evening of rough sex and then I'd be going home to my husband who would surely want to reclaim me by making tender love to me. So my evening was already going to be as erotic as I could possibly want. I told him some other time, perhaps. That's when I stood up and wished them all sweet dreams."

She gazed at me silently with those big smoky brown eyes until I recovered my wits a little and squeezed her hand.

"Could you, please, Mister Lover, Sir, take me out of here now?" my wife pleaded.

Good thing I had her jacket to hold in front of me on the way out the front door.

While I climbed into the driver's seat, the valet held the passenger side door for my wife, who took his offered hand and got in slowly thanking the young man and giving him a big smile.

Before putting the car in gear, I turned to her and said, "Any man would love to have you, if only for an evening. I'm lucky and proud to be your lover."

She glanced at me shyly and lowered her gaze. "I'm glad my lover feels that way. But I'm still afraid my husband might not like me being so naughty."

I assured her that he would love it too.

"That's good. I can't wait to get you home, Sir."

She put on some music and steadfastly refused to talk about her time at the club the rest of the drive. She kept promising she'd tell me everything when we got home.

When we pulled into our driveway, I came around, opened her door, and leaned in to kiss her. She stretched like a cat and refused her jacket. She slowly swung one leg out at a time and, with her skirt ridden well up and the outdoor floodlights on I could clearly see she was wearing no panties. I tore my gaze upward to her face, which was wearing the sexiest smile.

Her beautiful kitty was bare except for a neat landing strip above; it had been a trimmed full bush that morning. I understood why the parking attendants ran to help her into the car as we left the restaurant.

She said, "The girls thought a Brazilian would look nice."

She seemed to think that explained everything.

"Nice," I said nodding my head.

The realization hit me like an electric shock.

"Lars didn't rub the outside of your panties; he put his fingers inside you!"

"Just his thumb. Before I knew what was happening he had his thumb inside me rubbing my G-spot and had his forefinger wrapped around my clitoris rubbing and squeezing. If I'd left his hand there another few seconds I'd have had a screaming, shuddering orgasm right there at their table."

"If you'd had that orgasm we'd have been banned from that restaurant for life." I shook my head.

"Just that one or the whole chain? I know I should've stopped him, but it caught me by surprise and it just felt so good I couldn't."

She looked up at me with those smoky eyes and I stared down at her with her legs open. She won.

"Until thirty seconds ago I thought I was as turned on as it's possible for a man to be. I was wrong."

She grinned and sashayed up the walk to the front door and turned around gazing out across the lawn practically naked from the waist up under the bright porch light.

I caught up and let us in the door and, dropping everything, grabbed her and planted the most passionate kiss I could muster on her soft red lips.

As I tried to cup her breast, she gently pushed my hand away and said, "Not down here. Come upstairs. I've had an extraordinary day and need to share it with you. I'm a little frightened of how you may react. I do so want you to be pleased."

'Wowser! I thought.

I enjoyed the view following her upstairs. In the bedroom she gently rebuffed another attempt to grab her and insisted I sit at the end of our bed.

I asked, "Are you just too tired from waitressing?"

She stared at me for a few seconds and responded, "Waitressing?" while doing the eyebrow thing.

She smiled, nodding and said, "Oh, I see. You still think I was hired as a waitress. No, I was hired as a performer."

I chuckled and explained that a girl isn't just hired as a dancer without an interview and an audition.

She nodded again, still smiling. "That's right. An interview and an audition." I called her bluff. "When were you interviewed? And when was your audition?"

Smiling slyly she said, "While you were watching those other naked girls before we ate

lunch."

'Other' naked girls? She was teasing, just toying with me, knowing that she was keeping Junior at full attention.

"So, you danced for the manager while you were gone from the table?"

"Not exactly dancing; I did explain to him what I wanted to do and he enthusiastically agreed for me to perform."

I knew how to call her bluff. "Collect many tips for your performance?" I inquired with a smile.

She modestly replied, "I've no prior experience to compare, but it sure seems like a lot to me," and upended her large purse on the bed. Out fell bundled stacks of bills. Lots of bills.

"The manager was happy with my performances. He offered to change these into large bills but I wanted you to see them all exactly as they were given to me."

I stared. She waited. My mind tried to process. I tried and failed to form words. There were bundles of every denomination from $20s, to $1s, there was even one bundle of $2s!

She prompted, "Is it a lot?"

I stammered, "There, there must be at least $4,000 there!"

"Actually, $5,200." she said quietly. "That's in addition to the $1,000 I donated to the Dancers' and Waitresses' emergency fund. I tried to donate it all but the girls wouldn't let me."

"Dancing?" I whispered.

"Well. No, it didn't all come from my stage performances. A lot of it came from private VIP performances." she explained.

In rapid succession the voice in my head shouted 'VIP?' 'Private?'

She stood in front of me looking apprehensive.

I opened my mouth to say something suave and what came out was, "I'll have to list this as miscellaneous income on our 2013 tax returns." Suave!

She chuckled, shaking her head, then continued, "Honey, I'm told there are wi-fi cams all over that place. The manager records everything that happens. He made a DVD of my second stage performance as a present for the two of us.

"It's his way of thanking you for letting me do this. I haven't seen it yet. Would you like to watch it with me?"

I nodded. "Yes, please."

"Why don't you clear off the bed and get your clothes off while I get undressed and put the disk in the player?" she coaxed.

The stage was dark.

An overhead spot illuminated a dressing table and chair, a coat rack and a full-length mirror. The table held a hairbrush, face mirror, and other miscellaneous woman stuff.

I heard mellow jazz and a murmur of audience noises. As the music volume rose a stunning ruby-lipped brunette in a daring black dress, heels and black mesh hose strolled into the light to enthusiastic applause and whistles.

The dress was just above knee length in a wrap-over style. The halter-top plunged to her waist in front and was barebacked. It was a sexy dress worn by a sophisticated woman. Small pearl teardrop earrings adorned her earlobes.

She gave no sign she knew she had an audience.

I'm sure every man in that room lusted for her, wanted her just as badly as I did. The difference between them and me was that the woman was my wife.

I was completely bumfuzzled. The Lynne beside me whispered in my ear, "You like?" I nodded, making an animal sound deep in my chest, fixated on the screen.

The woman in the video put her small purse on the dressing table. Gazing into the full-length mirror she turned, inspecting herself. Her hands slid slowly up her chest to her neck pushing her black hair up, calling attention to her bare neck. The piano-and-bass jazz background was perfect.

She stood in that hip-shot sexy way women do and put the tip of a finger to her lips, obviously contemplating something. She glanced to the rear of the stage, toward the imaginary doorway through which she'd entered, as if making sure no one was coming.

Having satisfied herself she was alone she strolled forward on the stage, looking back once more to ensure no one was coming. The audience didn't exist.

She reached upward and mimed sweeping a set of floor-to-ceiling drapes open, first to the left then to the right, and gazed out her imaginary bedroom window.

For every man in the audience that picture window became real. As real as she was. We all became voyeurs peeking into this beautiful woman's bedroom, seeing what we were forbidden to see.

The jazz played on.

For me that window was even more real. Glancing around our bedroom, I realized the stage layout and window placement closely duplicated our second story bedroom. The drapery-covered picture window overlooks the pool and patio in our back yard. Beyond, over the fence, there is a good view into the rear windows of the houses in the next block.

My attention was drawn back to the screen where that exotic woman had been rubbing her breasts on the outside of her halter-top. Again, she glanced toward the entrance to her bedroom to ensure no one was coming. She untied her top lifting her hair with her hands.

As she turned to her left, looking at her make-believe window reflection the halter top slowly, sensually slid down her front exposing the two most succulent, milky white, pink-tipped breasts I've ever seen. Her fully erect nipples were jutting proudly, her up-tilted breasts jiggled marvelously as she moved.

A collective moan arose from the audience and me. Not at all the normal response to a stripper. Of course, this was not a normal performance and the woman was not a stripper. This lady was disrobing, baring her body for the voyeurs in her neighborhood; the guys recognized the difference.

She turned slowly to her right admiring the reflection of her breasts and incidentally giving every man in the building a good look. It was a glorious, erotic sight.

"You did that here?"

She looked away and bobbed her head slightly. "Many times. Please don't be angry with me. I had to."

"I'm surprised but not angry." She gave me a small uncertain smile. I love that woman.

Just when I thought the scene on stage couldn't get any more erotic, she slid her hands down to cradle her breasts. She lifted her orbs, weighing them and tweaking her nipples as she gazed out into the night through that imagined window. While pinching and rolling her nipples Lynne's head tilted back and she stiffened, giving several involuntary gasps, then licked her crimson lips.

I glanced to my right and Lynne was staring at the screen while pinching her nipples just like on screen. It was all I could do not to shoot all over the bed sheets right then. Hot doesn't begin to describe it.

The woman on stage then did something I'd never seen nor imagined my wife doing. She pinched her nipples tightly and lifted her breasts upward by the nipples, stretching the nipples and areolas as far as they would go, at the same time throwing her head back and letting out a moan that could be heard around the room.

The men cheered and clapped.

Okay, now that was the new most erotic thing I'd ever seen.

She tugged on her breasts, squeezing her nipples for what seemed like hours but was probably only a few seconds. Her shoulders tightened and she started panting in little gasps, her chest rising and falling, her tight belly rippling. She froze, standing motionless except for a shudder running through her body, her eyes wide open and her crimson lips locked in a rigid 'O' that was oh, so suggestive. Slowly her body thawed. She sighed as her head came back level and she lowered her breasts, cupping them gently.

Several hundred men knew they had watched this elegant lady having an orgasm just from stimulating her nipples. The spell was broken by wild applause. The Lynne on screen gazed out her window at the neighborhood with those smoky, dark eyes.

The soft jazz played on.

She retreated a couple of steps toward the dressing table, listening for anyone coming, then turned back to her picture window, gazing at the imagined windows across the way. Her hand absently teased loose a bow tied at her right hip and the dress unwrapped itself from her waist and spiraled down her perfect legs.

Lynne stepped out of the dress, and moved closer to the window. My wife stood before that room full of men in just her mesh stockings, heels and a tiny pair of black silk panties, actually just a triangle in front, leaving her beautiful rear bare.

A tenor sax joined the piano and bass. Jazz.

With arms crossed under her breasts, she casually turned left and right admiring herself in the imaginary window reflection. Every man in the room got a good look at her legs and lovely tight, bare fanny. They clapped and cheered as she pretended she was entirely alone.

Her right hand crept down across her flat tummy and massaged her kitty outside of her panties. She looked toward the rear of the stage again before sliding her fingers into the top of those tiny panties. The camera did a close-up as her fingers rubbed her clit under the silk. So slutty.

She was just getting into a good rhythm when a door closed and you could clearly hear footsteps in the dark at the rear of the stage.

She snatched up her dress and dashed to the coat rack, hanging up the dress and grabbing the hairbrush. As this enchantress stood with her breasts bare, brushing her raven hair, a handsome man in a tux walked into the light. It was the Bouncer. The audience cheered and catcalled as he removed his jacket, cummerbund and tie, hanging them on the coat rack. He gave no sign he had heard any of it. He and Lynne were alone in that bedroom; there was no audience. Just two lovers and the sweet jazz.

He placed his hands on my wife's hips from behind and began kissing and nibbling her neck and ears. She loves that.

I realized my wife beside me was looking up at me apprehensively, chewing her bottom lip. "You weren't there and I needed someone to help me. Greg volunteered. I'm sorry."

I searched her face and looked into her eyes. "No you're not. It's Okay."

She blushed and gave a small nod. "Thank you. I love you."

Back on the screen, the sultry brunette stopped brushing her hair and leaned back into her lover's chest, tilting her head back on his shoulder. His lips brushed her cheek as his hands slid up and cupped her breasts. The brunette onscreen arched her back, thrusting her hardening nipples into her lover's fingers. The contrast of his strong dark-tanned hands cradling her creamy white breasts was intensely erotic. I felt powerful jealousy, awe, pride and other emotions too tangled to label. His thumbs and forefingers tweaked and pulled her delicate pink tips. She sagged back into him and turned her head, nuzzling and kissing his neck. The bulge developing in the front of her lover's slacks evidenced his sexual excitement. Lynne's hand brushed, then rubbed, then squeezed, Greg's obviously large cock through the fabric of his slacks.

"It's huge! And, god, I never knew a man's balls could be that big."

Lynne was talking to herself as she gazed at the man onscreen. She wasn't even aware she had spoken aloud. My wife was talking about another man's equipment!

After an hour, or perhaps only seconds, she seemed to gather herself and turned out of his grasp, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep lingering kiss. As he cupped her fanny cheeks and pulled her sex hard against his erection her lips parted and accepted his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes were closed and she stood on one foot, the other foot raised well off the floor. The audience went wild.

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way. He was just supposed to cross his arms under my breasts. I turned into him and kissed him to get his hands off my breasts. I guess we both got a little carried away."

Before I could respond the exotic brunette stranger on screen turned back around and sighed back against her man's broad chest. As she squeezed and rubbed her breasts, her lover returned to kissing her neck and ears.

She explained, "I was holding my breasts so he couldn't fondle them."

His kissing and nuzzling of Lynne's neck was obviously getting to her again; she tilted her head back into his shoulder. Greg seized the opportunity and slid a hand into the top of my wife's silk panties, inserting a finger into her as the camera zoomed in.

Her eyes went wide as she clamped her legs together tightly. Within seconds her knees had involuntarily parted. She closed her legs again, more weakly this time. Again her legs opened reflexively. He was rubbing Lynne's clit with his palm and fingering her deeply, obviously right on her vaginal G-spot. Lynne placed her hand on the outside of the fabric and tried to hold his hand still but it was clearly too late.

She was on fire and his hand already had her past the point of no return. All resistance drained from her as she returned her hands to tweaking her nipples and moved her feet apart, giving her lover full access to her pussy, surrendering herself to him fully. She groaned, turning her face to his. She nipped and sucked his lips with an urgency, a hunger that most men, including me, have never experienced. She sucked his tongue with her scarlet lips, moaning loudly all the while in rapidly rising pitch.

As he inserted another finger and increased the pace of his attack on her, she raised her hips to meet his hand and rocked in time with his fingers as they ground away at her erogenous nerve center. I nearly came when Lynne slid her hand inside the elastic waistband of his slacks, down to encircle his cock and stroked him in time with his fingers moving in and out of her.

On the bed beside me, my wife went wide-eyed. "Oh, God! I don't remember actually doing that. I thought I just imagined it."

Greg inserted a third finger into my wife and sped the pace again. Lynne's hips rocked in tempo with his fingers. Their moans became louder and they were both breathing hard. Hell, everybody in the club and in our bedroom was breathing hard, too!

Onstage, she finally broke the kiss and gave a wordless cry of ecstasy. Not a little 'eek'. She let out a full volume finger-slammed-in-the-car-door kind of scream. Her back arched; her entire body tensed. His body tensed. Everybody's body tensed. She grabbed his wrist, forced his hand hard into her, and held it there with every ounce of her strength. Her thighs slammed shut on his hand. For that same eternity his other hand pinched her left nipple causing her to orgasm again and again, her eyes and mouth open wide in a now soundless scream.

I could tell by the familiar motion that the fingers of her other hand was feverishly rubbing the underside of the tip of his cock. She knows that'll bring a man off faster than anything else. He bellowed deep in his chest and his hips bucked uncontrollably. The audience roared, clapped, whistled. Then they both became still and things got quieter. After a time the two reluctantly slid their hands free. My wife's lover gathered her in a tender embrace that stabbed at my heart like nothing else I've ever experienced.