tagLoving WivesThe Comparison

The Comparison

byDutchboy©

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?

She leaned across the table. Ignoring my question, she had another one of her own. "Did it make your little dick hard? Did your penie-winnie get hard watching my skirt rise up my legs?"

I felt embarrassed. I don't know why. No one could hear what she'd said except me...still, her now sudden interest in demeaning my manhood seemed to arouse me even more, and as I became aroused...I became more self-conscious about the size of what I'd considered to be a respectable cock until less than an hour ago. Little did I know that what I was feeling was nothing compared to what she had in store for me. Just than, her dance partner showed back up at our booth, this time with his drink in hand. She moved toward me...making room for him to sit with us...with her really...and as he slid in next to her, she let out an almost inaudible sigh...a sigh that I understood all to well.

"Patrick...this is my friend Kurt. Kurt...my husband, Patrick." Rachael introduced us as if she'd known both of us forever. I extended my hand to him, but oddly enough, he ignored it. I assumed he hadn't seen it. The lighting wasn't real good in there, or maybe...or maybe he was just a rude bastard. I didn't much care which. But I did feel stupid with my hand extended and him ignoring me. I put my hand down. He wasn't paying any attention to me, anyhow. Rachael was the star of his show. Mine, too. My wife turned to him and said, "Oh, listen. A slow song. Feel like another dance, Kurt?"

A stupid question. He slid out of the booth, and she followed him. This time, before going to the floor, she reached back to the table and picked up her drink. She kicked it back in one motion. A shot of whiskey...straight...and now down her throat. She followed Kurt to the dance floor. She was right, it was a much slower song, and this time they did touch. Rachael's 5'7" frame just folded into Kurt's 6'3" body. Even with her heels on, she only came half way up his shoulders. Damn, I had to admit...she'd picked a fine specimen this time. He probably weighed around two hundred, two-ten, and even with his coat on, I could tell he was well built. He looked like an athlete, and moved like one as well. Several times during the dance, he'd say something to her, whisper it actually into her ear, and she'd look up at him with those big green eyes that separates a real red-head from the bottle variety. I thought she was going to kiss him once or twice, but nothing like that happened. It was a really uneventful dance and when it was over, they returned to our booth. This time, as she slid in, I was sure I'd seen a flash of her pubic hair...but I couldn't be certain. But I knew if I had...so too had Kurt.

Rachael turned her body to face her new partner, placing her back to me. She began a conversation with him, and I really couldn't hear a word she said. With a combination of her back being toward me, and the music from the band, plus the buzz from the other patrons, I really felt left out. I wondered if Rachael knew how rude she was being. I wasn't even sure she remembered I was there. I was wrong. She turned back to me and said in a rather sharp voice, "Didn't you order me another drink? If you're worried about the expense...I've got money."

Damn! She'd never said anything like that to me before. She knew damn well I didn't care about the cost of anything. She'd simply said that to belittle me...to make me look small. Like my cock. I put my hand up to summon a waitress...Rachael didn't like that. "Shit, Patrick. Don't wait for a waitress. Go get me a drink, now. And bring Kurt a..." turning to him she asked him what he was drinking. He answered her and she turned back to me. "Bring him a whiskey sour. And get one of those drinks with an umbrella for yourself. You do so much like those weak little drinks." With that she turned back to her friend and said something that must have amused him. He laughed and so did she. And as she laughed, she allowed her hand to rest on his thigh. And as I watched, her hand went from resting to stroking...to stroking his thigh, then to fondling...to placing her hand too high up for it to be touching anything other than his cock! I hurried off for the drinks.

When I returned, they had changed positions. He was sitting in the middle of the booth. She was at the end where he had been. Perhaps the most obvious thing was that I couldn't see her left hand at all. She was turned facing him, her right arm resting on the table, but her left hand was down under the cloth, down under the surface of the table. In my gut, I knew what she'd done. I started to get in next to her, but she looked at me and simply said, "You need to get in on the other side." No explanation, no anything. Just "get in on the other side." This of course placed Kurt in the middle flanked by Rachael on his right, and me on his left. I placed Rachael's drink in front of her, and Kurt's in front of him. I hadn't ordered one for myself. Rachael noticed that immediately. "Where's your drink?"

"I didn't want one."

"Well, of course you do!" She looked out across the area until she spotted a waitress. "Miss...Oh, Miss." Rachael isn't usually that obvious when summoning a wait person. I couldn't understand why she was now. The waitress made her way to our table. Before she was actually there, my wife called out a drink order for me. "Could you bring my husband a drink, please. Maybe a Pink Lady or something like that. Not a real strong drink. He's not used to manly things."

I could have died! I know it's not likely, but I swear that everyone in the place heard what Rachael said. Now I'll admit I'm not much of a drinker, but when I do, I usually order something along the line of gin and tonic or maybe a vodka martini, but I'd never order a drink like a Pink Lady. My, God! I was mortified. And of course, Kurt was having a field day at my expense. I realized he'd still not spoken a word to me. He was ignoring me like I wasn't even there. Here I was, providing his entertainment and his liquor and he still hadn't spoken to me. I was really getting pissed off, and was just about to say something when Rachael leaned over toward me and spoke.

"Patrick. Do you know what I'm doing?"

"Other than pissing me off?"

"No, I mean, what I'm doing with my left hand. Do you know what I'm doing?"

I didn't have to ask. I looked down at the space between the table and us and I can honestly say I was shocked! My wife had taken Kurt's cock out of his pants and was stroking it, jerking him off right there between us. And I must say, other than the shock of seeing what she was doing, I was even more surprised at the size of his dick. It was the largest cock I'd ever seen her hold. Now, by now you know Rachael and I aren't what one would call a conventional couple...but this really was outlandish, even by her standards. But this was nothing compared with what was to follow.

"Patrick, I want you to feel this cock." She said that as normally as she'd have said, "Feel this material," or "Feel this grape." I know she said it in a whisper, but in my ears, the words thundered! She might as well as had a neon sign with a flashing arrow pointing to Kurt's lap and a loud speaker blaring, "Rachael's holding another man's cock and wants Patrick to feel it, too!" I looked away, toward the dance floor. Oh, how I wished they would stop this and go dance instead.

"Patrick. Did you hear me? I want you to feel Kurt's cock. He said you could. I told him I wished my husband's cock was like this...so big...so hard. Go ahead, now. Put your hand down here and feel his cock for me. Be a good boy, Patrick, or I swear, I'll go down on him right here in front of everyone."

I knew she'd do it, too. Trying not to be obvious...I placed my right hand under the table and tentatively reached over, running the back of my hand over the man's hot, hard cock. The instant my hand bumped against it, I jerked back...as if I'd been burned by a hot piece of steel. This didn't make Rachael happy.

"I told you to touch it. Put it in your hand. Close your hand around it...or as much of it as you can...and tell me what it feels like. Do it, Patrick. Do it now."

I did as she'd instructed. My right hand closed around this cock...this huge hunk of cock meat...and I must say...I was impressed. It was huge! I had a random thought...thank God I didn't have to buy this for her by the pound. I just held it in my hand, and I felt a movement below my hand. It was my wife's. I realized that this cock was so big, that we both had our hands on it...and neither of us touched the other's hand.

"What do you think, Patrick. Isn't it gigantic?"

I didn't respond. What the hell did she expect me to say. But I didn't take my hand away, either. I could feel it pulsing in my hand. I could feel it growing!

"I said, 'What do you think.'" Rachael repeated, a little louder this time. "What do you think about his cock, Patrick?"

"It's very nice, Rachael."

"Very nice? Nice is a spring shower. Patrick...how does it compare to yours? How does Kurt's man-sized dick compare to yours? Which one do you think will give me the most pleasure? Which one do you think I should fuck, tonight?"

"I said it's very nice."

"Why don't we compare, Patrick. Take yours out now. Let's see yours. Show Kurt what I usually get when you fuck me. Come on...take it out."

"Rachael, please!"

"I'm not pleased, Patrick. I want Kurt to see your cock. He's shown you his. Now take yours out for him to see. He won't laugh. I promise."

"Please. Rachael. Don't do this."

"Why not, sweetie. You were the one who brought the whole thing up. You and your friend in England who liked his women to talk about other men's cocks. Now, we're talking. Now, we'll see if your cock is as little as I seem to remember it. Show it to us now, or I promise you, I'll never look at it again, much less fuck it."

I did as she commanded. Without taking my right hand off of Kurt's growing cock, I unzipped my pants and reached in to withdraw mine. It was not easy to do. It was hard as the table top, and I only had one free hand to work with. Besides, with both hands under the table, I was aware of how I must appear to observers. It looked like I was diddling myself, like I was playing with my cock. But then, I guess I was. I freed my hard dick and covered it with my hand. Rachael wasn't through with me yet.

"Patrick, jerk on it to make it hard. I want to see it hard!"

I mumbled my answer. The waitress was back with my drink. The band had stopped playing. The room was much quieter. Much hotter. The waitress was standing there. She was waiting for me to pay for the drink. I couldn't! My left hand had my cock in it. My right had another man's. And Rachael kept repeating herself. "Make it hard. I want to see it hard. Make it hard like Kurt's is hard! Now. I want to see it hard, NOW!"

"IT IS HARD, DAMN, YOU. THIS IS AS BIG AS IT GETS! YOU KNOW THAT! IT'S NOT AS BIG AS HIS. It's not as big as his. It's not..."

Rachael reached into her purse. She gave the waitress ten bucks and told her to keep the change. I just looked down at the table top. The worse thing, however, hadn't happened yet. I was still a few seconds away from the worse part of this story. Rachael asked me again, "Who should I fuck, tonight? Who deserves this pussy? Should I give it to a man like Kurt, or to someone like you?"

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