Road Journey

We spent about an hour with Slate, and I mentioned it was time for me and my wife to move onto the next phase of our evening -- dinner at a French restaurant called Auberge du Pommier. "Oh," Slate exclaimed. "You'll love it. It's wonderful and the staff is very attentive." I thought it was interesting that he mentioned the "attentive" service, rather than the food. I reasoned he was focused on serving people.

Over dinner, Amanda and I discussed the brief meeting with Slate. "So, what do you think? I asked in a prodding, playful way. Amanda paused for a second, letting her opening to her response hang just a bit, "I... think he's kinda hot!" I was at the same time surprised and elated by her answer, and thankful she could make that honest observation without worrying about my reaction. And I have to admit, I was a bit turned on with her enthusiasm. Searching for affirmation, I pressed on. "Should we invite him on a date?" knowing full well that meant a date with my hot wife. "Sure," came the response, with a slight uptick at the end, suggesting a daring curiosity. I promptly emailed Slate and asked him to meet my wife at 10 p.m. at Shoots, the hotel bar. When we got home that night, we fucked hard and with purpose.

The Date II

The night of the date, I wanted to be there when Amanda got ready; partially because I love to see her emerge from the bedroom looking like the vixen she is, but also to tell her how much I loved her, and to enjoy the moment. I went to the bar and asked her to text me when she was ready -- that way she could have her space.

When I received the text, I headed upstairs with great anticipation, like unwrapping a very sexy gift. When I entered, Amanda was sitting on the couch, legs crossed and a seductive smile that made me melt and get hard at the same time. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and high heels that I had gotten just for this occasion. She wore her hair smooth, and her diamond earrings sparkled in the soft light. My lord, she looked like a goddess -- a hot, fuckable goddess. I extended my hand to her and pulled her toward me. "Honey," I whispered in her ear, "you look absolutely incredible." Playfully, I added, "You're going to make two men very happy tonight." In typical Amanda fashion, she retorted, "I just want to make you happy tonight!" I knew she meant that, and I told her so. I encouraged her to enjoy the date because she deserved the attention of a handsome man, and I was more than ok with that -- I loved it. I gave her one last hug and a kiss, and went on my way.

As part of the date, I would go to a local strip club and have my own fun. I found a place called The Brass Rail, which had received pretty good reviews. The plan was for me to go to the strip club, and Amanda would meet Slate in the hotel bar. I grabbed a taxi around 9:30 p.m. and headed over to the club. Inside, it was a typical strip club: pumping techno music, platforms with poles, disco balls and weird odors. I found a seat in the lounge area area from the stage as I was more interested in hanging back than leaning over the bar stuffing dirty dollars into dirtier g-strings. I ordered a 7&7 from the stoned waitress, and looked around surveying the surroundings -- mostly on skank alert as I was sure they would come popping out of the back any minute. Sure enough, a young woman slithered over to me and introduced herself as Elsie. I misheard her and repeated "Elsa?" quickly thinking how weird it was that a stripper was so inspired by a Disney character. "NO," she over-annunciated over the din of cheap knockoff Skrillex beats, "ELSIE!" The shouting killed the mood, plus she had one of those face tattoos down to her neck, which I first thought was a birth defect. I politely shewed her away and settled back to my drink.

Eventually, an older woman approached me from a distance -- like a beeline. Rather than shaking her goods, she simply sat down next to me and introduced herself -- Simone. Ok, so it was a bullshit stripper name, but she seemed nice and wasn't fresh out of college so I didn't feel like the office creeper. Unlike the other girls, she was wearing a little more -- a black one piece kind of thing that at once looked like a short mini-dress and a bathing suit as two straps tied around her neck to keep everything together. She was a little on the plus side, which was fine by me, brunette and an open, inviting face. I got the sense she was very attractive at one time, perhaps not long ago, but years of tough living eroded her beauty.

"Are you waiting for friends, or are you on your own tonight?" Simone asked. I thought it was interesting how she phrased the question -- on your own, as if to imply I had big plans, and didn't need any distractions. "Well," I said, "I guess you could say that," answering the second question and letting my honesty get the best of me. I mean, I could have just said I was solo tonight, but that just wasn't true. She cocked her head just a bit and probed. "Now that answer begs another question," she said coyly. I sensed she genuinely wanted to know more, and I was beginning to loosen my grip on my "secret." Just as I was about to respond, the familiar loud rhythmic thumps that signal the cattle call rang throughout the club. As if to rescue me from the awkward tradition of dismissing silicone-shaking hotties, Simone gently took my hand and whispered, "Let's continue this in private." Rising smoothly from the lounge chair, she led me past a couple burly security professionals to an intimate VIP room in the back.

Once seated, she covered the obligatory schtick regarding rates and number of songs. I proposed I just give her a $100 up front and we just hang out and talk. Pleased with the no-frills arrangement, she accepted my bill and we settled in to continue the conversation.

"So," she began, "you're own your own tonight but..." playfully trailing off a bit so as to invite me to fill in the blank. I swallowed a bit and stammered, trying to find an approach. "Um, well, technically I'm not 'on my own' tonight -- just temporarily." (yes, I used airquotes here). I stopped to see if she would pick up my bait, and she did. Crossing her legs, as if to position herself for a game of 20 Questions, she continued. "Temporarily," she repeated, emphasizing as if interrogating me. "Let me guess," she confidently announced, "you are here for a few hours while your wife or girlfriend enjoys some girlie girl fun like the spa." She deadpanned at me a bit, satisfied that she had figured me out in two minutes. I suppose years in this line of work makes a woman both armchair psychologist and junior detective all at once. While not entirely offended, this lame assumption emboldened me a bit and my smart-ass inner self began to emerge. Afterall, she doesn't know Amanda.

Losing my reservations, I matched her deadpan with a very direct disclosure. "No," I informed her, "she's on a date right now." Leaning back a bit as if the fact whizzed by her ear like a bullet, she asked for further clarification.

"Wait, what do you mean 'a date?'"

"Like a date -- you know, meet for a drink, hang out, whatever."

"Like, with.. another man?"

"Yes, another man. A hot man."

Sensing there was something a little dysfunctional going on, she tightened a bit and asked if this was some sort of jealous retribution, or maybe the first stop for an evening that wasn't going to end well for someone. "No, no, no," I hastily assured her, stepping back from the cool vibe we had going. "I arranged the whole thing. Really."

Returning quickly to ease, Simone was still a bit curious. "Is this some sort of hall pass thing?" she asked almost mockingly, as if the gig was up. No, I told her, this was a fantasy I had for a long time, and my loving wife was living it with me. She was a bit shocked at first, and slumped back a bit as if to say well I'll be damned. Frankly, I was surprised that she was so, well, surprised. I reasoned that she must have entertained all sorts of men, and the occasional couple, so surely this topic have come up from at one point.

I pressed her a bit on her reaction. "You seem a bit surprised by this?" She thought for a moment, and then said she while understands why men would want to include another woman in their sex life, it was unusual to want to include another man. I explained all the reasons why this was so hot to me, and she began to understand.

The conversation turned a bit more fun as she cheerfully asked me some tactical questions like where are they meeting, what time, what's on the agenda? I gladly answered her inquiries, trying not to make my personal satisfaction too evident. She also asked if I would be involved, and I said indeed I would be. I let her in on the series of communications I would receive as Amanda's date progressed. First, I would receive a text when she met Slate to begin their date. Next, I would receive a text when they left the hotel bar to adjourn to the room. And finally, I would receive a phone call as they started fucking. "No way?!" Simone squealed with incredulous delight. In an example of perfect timing, I received the first text from Amanda:

"Hi babe! I'm here at the hotel bar and Slate just arrived. I love you!"

The glow from the phone seemed to light up the entire lounge. Extending it to Simone, I announced the arrival of the first message. She took the phone, and squinting a bit, read the message aloud. "Oooo, Slate!" she exclaimed. "He sounds like a hottie!" We had a good laugh and I made some lame joke that he better be 'rock' hard tonight. She appreciated the attempt at humor and patronized me with a pretty good fake laugh.

We had been taking for awhile, and perhaps sensing she was now a part of the plan, gracefully slid on my lap and began to grind. I relaxed a bit and let Simone do her thing, appreciating the pride she took in her craft. She ran her hands through my hair a bit, which felt good, and pressed her covered tits onto my face. I ran my hands over her ass a few times, and gave gentle squeezes from time to time. While I enjoyed lap dance, it felt more like passing time. Leaning in to the side a bit, Simone whispered in my ear, "You want to watch your wife getting fucked, don't you?" Her warm breath lingered around my ear as she waited for an answer. "Yes," I replied, with a hint of splendid surrender. She whispered a few other dirty things, and I have to admit, it really turned me on. We went on like this for awhile.

Finally, I thanked her for listening to me, and for the extended lap dance. I knew the next message would be coming any minute, so I texted my cabbie. Rising at the same time, I hugged Simone and thanked her again. "Anytime," she said, adding, "Come back with your wife next time so I can hear all about your adventure." She gave a cute, sexy wave and I headed out front into my waiting cab.

Reunion

The strip club was about 10 minutes from the hotel, so I had a little time to think about Amanda's hot date. How was it going? Was he treating her well? Was she nervous? Was she flirting with him? Just then, the second text came in as if on cue:

"Hi gorgeous husband! I think we're ready to head up to the room. I hope to see you soon! I looooove you!"

The extended "looooove" and exclamation marks immediately put me at ease, and made me feel very good about the progress of the date. According to our plan, I would hang out at the hotel bar and wait for the phone call. I told Amanda to take her time and not feel rushed into anything (I had given Slate similar direction in our email dialog), so her call to action could happen at any moment.

I ordered a scotch and soda and prepaid so I could be squared up. Wary of a nosey bartender trying to strike up a conversation, I found a small table in a corner, and took a sip of my drink. I couldn't help but wonder what was going on in the room. Knowing Amanda, she was probably nervous and talking a lot. If this happened, I counseled Slate, he would need to take the initiative. I told my wife she could enjoy any sex act she desired -- whatever would make her feel special. There were no limits, and I was dying to know how far my wife would go.

Minutes seemed like eons, especially since I'm so impatient to begin with. I was halfway finished with my drink when my phone buzzed. A jolt of nervous anticipation coursed through my gut. Looking down at the phone, there was the familiar interface: "Home, Amanda" and "Slide to view." I stared at the screen for a moment, with a mix of emotions. On one hand, it was a bit surreal this was happening at all, and on the other hand, great anticipation to find what was waiting on the other end of the line.

Fumbling with the crappy Apple interface, a actually had to swipe three times (ok, maybe it was nerves). Holding the phone against my ear, I paused for just a second. "Hey," I answered, affecting a swarthy, quiet tone. "Oh babe, you need to get up here," breathlessly cooed Amanda. "Are you getting fucked right now?" I sardonically asked, now starting to hear the sounds when two people are having sex. Prefacing her affirmation with a short sigh, she said she was. "This is so hot," she added, and I was instantly turned on. "I'm on my way. Enjoy his cock and I'll see you soon." Disconnecting the phone, I picked up my drink and headed for the elevator.

As I was walking, it felt like my steps were weighty and slow, as if it was going to take me forever to get to the room. As I approached the elevator, the doors opened and a cute, young couple emerged. Dressed fairly formally, they breezed by me and offered a polite smile of acknowledgement, and I responded in kind. Stepping into the elevator, I watched as they continued on into the night, and wondered if they would ever have an experience like this. I pressed the button for the 18th floor, and the doors slowly closed.

As the car smoothly ascended, I assumed there would be no stops since it was later in the evening and most people were already out for the evening, or headed out. To my surprise, there was a stop on the 10th floor. As the doors opened, an older woman, perhaps in her 70s, gracefully entered. She was a study in elegance: short, silver hair with subtle waves, a classically gorgeous face (think European beauty), a perfectly fitting cocktail dress and sharp black heels. The sequenced dots from her pearl necklace made for a perfect compliment to her attire.

"Good evening," I said, trying to muster the charm of The World's Most Interesting Man, and not sound like some schmuck from small-town America. "Good evening" she returned kindly, with a slight downward nod and a dignant smile. I realized there was a 5-star restaurant on the 22nd floor, and made the assumption she was headed there for dinner or a drink. "Headed to the restaurant?" I politely inquired. "Indeed I am," she said, while glancing up at the floor indicator with what I sensed was anticipation. Feeling a certain level of openness in the 30 seconds we shared the elevator, I bravely inquired further. "Are you meeting someone special?" Fully anticipating a mature smackdown, I was elated when she smiled and said, "Yes, I am." Not wanting to press any further, I couldn't resist a flirty, but genuine compliment. Stepping back slightly so I could casually frame what I was seeing, I said "Well, you look fantastic tonight. Someone special is going to see someone hot!" She let out a schoolgirl's laugh and thanked me, trying to maintain a sense of modesty. "You just made my night," she added. At that point, the car was at the 18th floor, and I wished her a pleasant evening. "You too," she called after me. Oh, we will, I thought.

Since I reserved a suite, the room was quite a walk from the elevators. As I passed the rooms, I wondered if anyone was doing anything as hot as we had on tap for tonight. Nah, probably traveling salesman watching Spankervision on the hotel cinema channel. Finally, I arrived at room 1844.

Pulling the keycard out of my breast pocket, my hands were trembling a bit. I paused, and leaned in slightly. I guess I was trying to hear the sounds of sex, or perhaps I was extending the foreplay as long as possible. In any case, it was go time, so I waved the keycard over the lock and felt another jolt of excitement as the light flashed green and the door unlocked. Surely, the sound of my entry could be heard in the bedroom, and so I imagined what it must have been like for Amanda, knowing I had arrived, and that her husband would walk in on her fucking another man -- and loving it. Hanging the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside handle, I locked the deadbolt and headed to the bedroom.

As I walked down the hallway, I could see the room was dimly lit, and heard faint sounds of activity. I was hoping I might see some flashes of shadows, faint teasers of what I would soon witness. As I approached the doorway, I gradually let the scene unfold in front of me. As requested, they were fucking missionary. Slate was on top, and while not pounding Amanda, had established a deliberate, yet sexy, rhythm. Amanda lay on her back, her legs spread wide and back, the strappy come-fuck-me pumps bobbing in the air and looking like the dots on two thick inverted exclamation marks. Her manicured hands looked good, too; one squeezing has muscular ass, the other braced around his shoulder. As instructed, neither acknowledged my presence because I wanted to simply take in the moment. Using my forearm to prop myself against the door jamb, I silently observed, feeling my cock tingle as blood began rushing in. After a few moments, I walked around to the side of the bed, and taking Amanda's hand into mine, I gently kissed it and said, "Honey, you look incredible right now." "Babe," she countered, "I've been wanting you so bad."

Setting my scotch on the night table, I lowered myself onto the chair that was strategically placed by the bedside. "Keep going, I love it," I encouraged. "I'd like to watch for awhile." Resuming the pace they had established before, I was able to get another view and take in more detail, such as her tits heaving up and down in sync with his strokes, his thick cock sliding into her pussy, and the slight sheen of sweat in between her breasts. Pushing her tits together, Amanda offered her nipples to Slate, and he leaned down and sucked her left nipple, then her right, leaving them hard and swollen, with a slight glaze of saliva.

At this point, I was rubbing my crotch through my suit pants, transfixed by the sheer hotness of my wife. "Babe, I need your cock," Amanda said urgently. Not giving her a chance to tell me where or in what capacity, I stood and began to undress (carefully, I might add, because nothing says sexy like tripping over your own pant leg and careening into two people having sex).

Once naked, she could see how hard I was, and I heard her whisper, "Oh yeah." As if instinctively, Slate propped himself up a bit so I could kneel beside my wife. I was about to feed her my cock when I noticed her lips were slightly swollen and surrounded by a sexy, natural blush. I could tell she had been either kissing him or sucking him -- either way it was hot to think about.

Taking my cock in her hand, Amanda gently tugged at first, and gave my balls a nice squeeze. Her first lick up the length shot me with so much pleasure I actually gasped and twitched a bit. As Slate continued to fuck her, she began taking my cock in her warm, wet mouth. Amanda gives the most incredible head, so I was content to enjoy this position for awhile. "You look so hot sucking me, baby," I observed. "You know what I want?" Amanda asked. "I want you to watch me suck his cock." I was so astounded by this most direct and unabashed proclamation of desire, that I had to oblige. The three of us uncoupled, and as I settled back down into the chair, I enjoyed watching Amanda get into position to put on a show for her husband.