tagLoving Wives13 Chestnut Street

13 Chestnut Street

byEnglish Bob©

The air was chill the day that Paul Jones left the offices of F. Dewer and Partners, Attorney's, but he hardly noticed the cold wind at all. As he walked towards the parking lot, he tried to form a picture of his recently deceased uncle in his head. He had not seen the man for over ten years and it came as a total shock that he had left Paul a bequest. A very strange bequest, at that. Sitting in his car and re-opening the letter that the lawyers had given him from his uncle, he suddenly felt a chill run through him and turned the car heater on full. Within seconds, hot air was emanating from the vent in the dash, but it did little to warm his bones.

The letter was short and simple enough. His uncle had left him ten thousand, a considerable sum by anyone's standards, but it was the way that he was instructed to spend it, or rather gamble it, that confused Paul. How did this man, that he had not seen for many years, know about his penchant for risking money on the throw of a dice or the spin of a Roulette wheel?

The letter instructed him to visit an establishment called the Albermarle Club, at 13 Chestnut Street. Paul had never even heard of the place, let alone visited it, but according to his instructions he was to use his newly acquired capital to purchase a good suit of clothes and then to gamble the rest of the money at this club. The letter finished on a further strange note by saying that he, Paul, would definitely enjoy the experience. Not since the heady days of his big wins at the casinos had Paul possessed so much money as he did now. Ten grand may not have been a fortune to his uncle, but it increased Paul's fortune by a hundred percent.

Paul drove quickly to the financial district of town, parked his car and walked to his uncles bank to cash the cheque. With cash in his pocket, he strolled the fashionable shops looking for an outfitters where he could purchase a quality suit. The fitters treated him with disdain at first, looking over his rather dishevelled appearance with little more feeling than contempt, but once they had eyed the roll of cash that he held, their tune changed almost instantly. Paul played the fastidious buyer; trying on and then rejecting several suits. The assistants fussed around him. Paul let them.

It was late afternoon when Paul emerged with his new clothes. The items had put a larger dent in his money than he had expected, but he let it go, like water through his fingers. After a good meal in a nice restaurant, Paul used their bathroom to change into his new suit. Walking down the street, he felt like a different person. Arrogantly, he left his jacket unbuttoned, delighting in the way the shot silk lining reflected the receding sunlight.

The food, wine and expensive cigars that he had consumed at the restaurant, had left him feeling mellow and a little horny. The cash he had left, well over eight thousand, was burning a hole in his pocket and he briefly toyed with the idea of a hooker. Although the thought of a long, luxurious blow job caused his trouser to feel tight, he dismissed the idea quickly. A Moneyed man such as he should not be paying for it, he thought, and smiled to himself. Hailing a taxi, he gave the driver the address of the club and sat back to enjoy the journey.

His heart beat a little faster as he sauntered up the steps to 13 Chestnut Street. In his time he had frequented many casinos, some classy establishments and some not quite so nice! Pausing for a moment, he lit a large cigar and drew smoke deeply into his lungs. After a second, he exhaled slowly and, hand in trouser pocket and jacket still casually undone he crossed the mosaic marble floor to the foyer desk. He knew that security would be tight: the wealthy expected to be protected from usurpers. He was not a member, nor could he expect to become one on the spot. The only way that he would be able to comply with his late uncle's instructions was to bluff his way through.

The attractive blonde behind the desk smiled as he approached.

"Good evening, how are you today?" enquired Paul, with what he hoped was a winning smile.

Her smile didn't fade for a moment, even though she had obviously no idea who he was.

"Very well sir, thank you. And you?"

"Excellent. Lovely evening. Is Bill here yet"

"Pardon sir?"

"Bill. Mr. Evans - I'm meeting him here." Paul regurgitated the first name that came to mind.

"Oh, I see sir. I don't think I know -"

"No matter. I'll go straight up. He's likely waiting for me at the tables."

"Please, sir - I haven't ..."

He flashed another smile, more disarming this time as he started up the ornate stairs.

"That's okay. I'll find him!"

It took Paul only a few minutes to acquaint himself with the layout upstairs. There were Roulette tables, Blackjack, Poker, all and more were available. He licked his lips and felt his palms sweaty as the old adrenalin began to pump through his veins. He wandered from room to room, standing just outside one game or another getting a feel for the tables and the players. The atmosphere was serious. These were not games to be taken lightly, this was hard, dedicated work; a fortune could be won or lost on the turn of a card or the spin of the wheel.

A waiter appeared.

"I'm sorry sir-" he said

Paul's stomach turned. Was someone going to call his bluff?


"A drink, sir?"

"Oh ..er..yes. Scotch please. Ice, no water."

The waiter quickly reappeared with Paul's drink. He swallowed half of it in one gulp and made his way to the Roulette table. He'd never been much of a card player. Most games required skills and techniques he had never been bothered to learn. Roulette though, that was different. It was a purer game. Nothing got his blood pounding quite like watching that small, white ball as it lodged and then jumped again on the wheel. He took a seat between two stone faced gamblers. No one took much notice of him. All social niceties were sacrificed for concentration on the game. Paul bet lightly for nearly an hour. He won, he lost, he won again and then lost and lost some more. Although the losses didn't distress him overmuch, he sometimes found that he could change his luck by retiring from the field for a time. Collecting his chips, he tipped a smiling croupier heavily and decided to explore the club further.

As he again wandered from table to table, watching the wins and losses with interest, a female figure caught his eye. She was attractive enough, thirtyish with short black hair and a nice figure that undulated beneath a short black dress, but she was conspicuous for the fact that, with the exception of the waitresses and croupiers, she looked like the only female in the club. Paul was immediately intrigued. The woman was accompanied my a slightly older man, well dressed and with distinguished, greying temples. Paul watched as the couple spoke briefly to many of the members around the room before walking towards him.

"Good evening. I don't think I know you, Mr..."

"Jones," Said Paul. "I'm a very recent member. Good evening to you."

"Well, Mr. Jones. I'm sure that you are aware of the..er...special entertainment that is planned for tonight and every first Tuesday of the month?"

Stupidly, Paul glanced at his watch to check the date. The stranger laughed.

"Oh, believe me, Mr. Jones. Today is the right day! In case you were unaware, My name is Phillips, George Phillips. I am delighted that you chose to join us this evening, because tonight it is my turn to provide the entertainment. May I introduce you to my wife, Monique?"

The three shook hands and Paul re-introduced himself by his first name.

"Excellent, Paul. We would be delighted if you would join us in the green room at 10pm!"

As the couple turned and continued their discussions with other members, Paul could not help noticing the rise and swell of Monique's pert bottom as she walked. It had been a while since he had last had a woman and that earlier horny feeling returned. Again he glanced at his watch, surprised to discover that it was already nearly 9.50pm. What had his uncle planned for him now? he wondered.

Paul decided to take another drink and to play again for a few minutes. He was intrigued by tonight's promised "entertainment", but did not want to be seen to be the first to enter the green room. Six or seven turns of the Roulette wheel saw his luck improve drastically and the next time he checked his watch he saw that it was nearly 10.30pm. Crossing the floor, he surrendered his chips for hard currency. Wedging the roll of notes deep into his jacket pocket he set off in search of the green room.

From the earlier smile on Monique's and George's faces, he had some idea of what the entertainment would entail. He had heard tell of young "trophy" wives that were not averse to displaying their charms, so long as it was with their husbands consent. He hoped that he was right. The earlier sight of Monique's tight rear end in her figure hugging dress was still having an effect on him and he could feel his erection forming beneath his underwear as he knocked on the green baize door in front of him.

"Well, hello Paul!" greeted a smiling George. "You are a little late, I'm afraid the entertainment has already started. Sit here for a while, you can join me in watching my wife perform."

Paul took the offered seat and made himself comfortable next to George. His wife was already in action atop a small stage in the centre of the room and being closely watched by a dozen or so men in evening suits. The back dress now discarded, Monique gyrated her lithe body, clad only in the briefest of panties and high heeled shoes, to the low beat of a taped jazz track.

"She has a great body, doesn't she?" whispered George as he leant towards Paul's ear.

Paul could only nod in agreement. His eyes were rooted to the dancing figure before him. His cock stiffened as he watched her full breasts sway and bounce with every step; the nipples already visible hard and rouged. The sexy, high heels that she wore tapped out a lustful tattoo on the small, wooden stage.

"Most of the members just like to watch," George continued, "but I'm sure that if you would like, Monique would allow you to sample her wares, so to speak! She mentioned to me earlier that she found you a very attractive man."

Reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the stage for a moment, Paul looked directly at his companion in wonderment. Had he heard right? Had this man, whom he'd only just met, just encouraged him to have sex with his beautiful wife? Paul could see no amusement on George's face. No tell tale signs of mock or ridicule. He assumed that he was serious.

As Paul returned his gaze towards Monique's dance, he saw with delight that she was now sitting on the edge of the stage, her long, slender legs outstretched and was rolling the tiny panties down to her ankles. The members clapped sedately as she twirled that last, small garment around her head and tossed it towards her husband. With a graceful movement George caught them in his hand and immediately put them to his face, inhaling deeply.

"Mmmmm, she has the sweetest tasting pussy!" she said, "why don't you see for yourself, Paul?"

"What, you mean right here? Right now?" Paul answered in astonishment, but he was on his feet and walking towards the beckoning Monique before her husband had time to answer.

Save for the shoes, Monique was now completely naked as Paul approached.

"Come here, baby. Taste me!" she called to him as she stood and spread her long legs.

Paul moved as if in a dream. He had never before considered having sex in front of an audience, but the was something captivating about Monique as she held his gaze with bright green eyes, something so compelling that he could not have refused even if he so desired. He stood before her, transfixed by her dark beauty. In the shoes, she was almost the same height as he and he felt her hands on his shoulders gently urging him downwards.

Sinking willingly to his knees, Paul found his face in a direct line with her smooth, shaved mound. He was so close he could smell her fragrant scent and could see the already damp folds of her labia as she peeled them back with long red tipped fingers. He nuzzled in closer, gripping her buttocks in his hands and allowing his tongue to dart out and flick at her exposed clitoris. She moaned deeply at his oral contact, spurring him on to lap eagerly around the stiffening bud and up and down the length of her slit.

The first tremor of her body took him by surprise and was quickly followed by a release of vaginal fluid that soaked his mouth and lips. Her orgasm was accompanied by a long, loud moan that seemed to meander around her lips and then fill the air. Paul could also hear George's voice from somewhere in the distance, encouraging his wife to continue her orgasm and encouraging Paul to drink the nectar that was now flowing freely from her open pussy. Paul, happy to oblige, lapped like a contented kitten until every last drop of her orgasm had been consumed.

As Monique stepped back, Paul wondered, briefly if that was all that was required of him. His penis ached as the blood pounded through his shaft. He needed release, but was still unsure of the next step. He relaxed visibly. As he remained kneeling on the floor, Monique gently eased him into a lying position on his back. Her hands quickly found the buttons on his trousers and expertly released them, running his zipper down with a practised hand. Her movements were precise but, at the same time, sensual and alluring and within a few seconds, Paul felt her cool fingers encircle his throbbing shaft.

He turned his head slightly and could see that George had moved closer, watching his wife closely as she lowered her head over his, Paul's lap. Paul gasped as he felt her mouth, hot and wet in contrast to her fingers, slowly envelop his glans. Her lips formed a perfect "O" and Paul closed his eyes in blissful appreciation as she began to gently bob her head up and down on his turgid penis.

After only a few minutes of her oral attention, Monique seemed to realise that Paul would not be able to hold out for much longer. With a deft movement, and to much applause from George and the rest of their audience, she gracefully swung her leg over Paul and straddled his groin. She was facing him now, and Paul felt shocks of pure lust run through his body as she took his erection between her fingers once again, and began to slowly rub him against her wet, swollen pussy lips. He thought he was God in heaven as she gently massaged him. He would have been more than happy to die this way.

But better was to come. With a sudden movement, Monique lifted her hips and slid his solid penis straight into her pussy. She seemed to sense his impending climax and began to ride him hard. Her hips bounced up and down in a frantic display of lust taking his cock further inside her, further than he could ever remember being inside any woman. Her large breasts swung tantalisingly over his mouth and he was able to lick one tight nipple as it swayed past.

Paul wanted this to last forever, wanted to feel this silky smooth tunnel of love gripping his cock for all eternity. He held his breath, attempting to postpone the inevitable, but too late...too late. With a cry of pure animal passion, Paul felt his heavy balls contract twice and release their contents. His semen surged through his shaft and erupted into Monique's pussy. He came and came, bucking himself up into the girl atop him, feeling her grip his shoulders in an attempt to stay in position. Her muscles squeezed him mercilessly, emptying him completely until with a sigh she fell back onto the stage amid loud cheers and applause from their audience.

As Paul opened his eyes a few moments later, Monique was gone. George was sitting next to him on the stage, a wide grin on his face. Paul quickly scooped his spent cock back into his pants, a little embarrassed.

"You looked like you thoroughly enjoyed that, Paul," said George. Don't forget to show your appreciation for Monique with a... surprise, before you leave."

"Er...yes, of course," replied Paul. "Er...what sort of surprise would you suggest?"

"I believe that six thousand is the customary 'surprise'!"

As George left the room, Paul gawked. Had this been a set up from the start, he wondered. Had his late uncle planned the whole thing? And if he did, then why? Six thousand was nearly all he had left, but he dropped the roll of notes into an ornate box that had mysteriously appeared next to the small stage.

As he left the club he pulled his coat tightly around him against the cold wind. He pulled out the remaining few notes from his pocket. Just enough for a taxi back to his car, he thought. As he made a quick count of his remaining cash, he spotted the letter from the lawyer tucked in amongst the bank notes. He opened the letter again and looked at it. His eyes were drawn to the last paragraph, a paragraph that he had taken little notice of before. It read:

*You will definitely enjoy, as I have, your experiences at 13 Chestnut Street. But beware, it is unlikely that you will leave with any of the money intact!*

Paul smiled as he hailed a taxi. Perhaps his uncle had known him better than he thought.

- The End -

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