A Waiter for my Wife

It's not that I notice him. It's that I notice my wife noticing him. We're sitting round the banquet table and he comes round with the champagne. It's a little glance, that's all, just a flick of the eyes up and down, but it's enough for me to know that she wants him.

I'm surprised. I wouldn't have thought he was her type. Our rules say under-thirties only, but I still feel like this one needs another five years in the oven. Or the gym maybe. That said, he's scrubbed up well. This is a high-class place and his uniform is pristine, the whites of his collar complement his Mediterranean skin tone perfectly and he's been serving with a quiet confidence all evening. He has the height and the bone structure that she likes. It kind of makes sense. Especially as she's been branching out more recently.

Maybe it's because she's already on her third glass of champagne. Or maybe it's because we're stuck here socializing at this company wedding where she doesn't know anyone. I've worked with Clive for years, but he's hardly the most outgoing guy -- probably why he's had to pack his side of the aisle with people from the company rather than genuine friends. It sounded good in theory -- spending a long weekend in a fancy hotel in Bath with the ceremony on the bank holiday. We'd forgotten how tedious weddings can be. Amy's English is good, but in these situations where you have twelve people all talking at the same table, she gets shut out easily. No wonder her eyes are wandering.

She's looking good though. She's taken the opportunity to bust out her best Qipao, black with embroidered king-fishers and the traditional Chinese dress shows how much work she's done on her figure recently. She may have had two children, but ever since we started our new lifestyle, she's really gotten back into shape. She'll never be twenty again, but that doesn't mean she looks anywhere near her actual fifty years.

"Are you okay, dear?" I ask her. It's my way of letting her know that I know.

"Sure," she says. "I just came over all dizzy for a second."

The other guests make a minor show of concern and she reassures them that she's fine.

We do these things together. That is to say, nothing will happen unless I make the play for her. That's a good rule. Makes me feel more like a co-conspirator than a cuckold. We're nearing the end of the main course. They'll be bringing out the dessert soon and then we'll adjourn to the other function room for the disco. An appearance at that is mandatory, but the changeover gives us some wriggle room. No one will mind if we turn up a bit later.

I make a show of checking my watch. "Remember you're mother is calling at eight," I say. "You can go up and have a lie down while you wait."

That's only twenty-five minutes away. I hope that no one knows the time zones well enough to work out that it's now three a.m. in China and, indeed, no one says anything.

"That's a good idea," says Amy, putting her knife and fork down and taking her leave of the other guests. "I think I'll skip dessert."

That's the easy part. I watch her sweet behind disappear out the door and I watch it some more as she stands around waiting for the elevator. I plan my next move. He's still on the clock for at least the next half-an-hour, plus however long he's expected to clean up for. That makes it tricky. Still, these events are surely catered for on a temp basis. He'll likely risk a rollicking if the offer is good enough.

As they start to serve the dessert, I make my play. First, I get up and go to the lavatory. That takes me away from the table and I time my return so I bump into him near the kitchen door.

"Oh, blueberry cheesecake," I say. "My wife's favourite. Sorry, she's just gone up to her room. I don't suppose I could trouble you to take her up a piece?"

"I'm sorry, sir," he starts. "I can't really..."

I reach into my wallet and pull out a twenty-pound note. "Here, I'll make it worth your while if you go now before the ice cream melts. I'm sure my wife will be very grateful as well."

I'm not actually wiggling my eyebrows or comically stressing the word 'grateful'. There's a limit to how blatant I can be in polite company. The bribe is enough. If he doesn't cotton onto the rest, well, he will when he gets to the room.

I take my key out and press it into his hand. "What's your name, son?" I say.

"Frank," he replies. I had him pegged as Greek or, less likely, Italian. His Midlands accent suggests its heritage only. I wonder if he's actually a Franco or something. It's a pity, but then Amy doesn't pick up on these things half as much as I do.

"I'll call her and let her know you're on your way up."

It's all psychology. I don't want him handing the plate off to one of the waitresses. I need to subtly suggest it's something that he is now doing personally, although I can give him no rational reason why this should be the case except that he's taken my money for it.

I return to my seat and, as I rejoin the conversation, I keep an eye on the elevator. Frank waits there, cheesecake in hand. When the doors open, I send Amy a text message:Hope you're ready.

It's a pity. I'm going to miss the beginning. It can't be helped. I wonder how she's going to play it. Maybe she'll open the door completely naked. Or maybe she'll invite him in first -- make up some issue about needing to close the windows and not being able to reach or some such. Then, as he bends over, she'll place a hand on his arse and tell him she's available.

I refuse my own dessert and ask them to bring the coffee straight away. Tony tried to strike up a conversation about the plans for the company Christmas party. I join in apparently earnestly for a couple of minutes, but then my phone buzzes.

You're about to miss the show, the text message says.

"Excuse me," I tell Tony. "Looks like my wife is having problems connecting to the WiFi in our room. I'll be back down in a moment."

I drain the rest of my coffee and then make my way out of the hall. I walk quickly, mostly because I can already feel my erection growing. It seems to take forever for the elevator to come, so much so that I almost decide to take the stairs, but eventually, I'm on the fifth floor.

As I near the room I can already hear them -- hear her at least. They're going at it hard. That's a problem as the door is shut. Leaving it ajar would have been risky, but at least I wouldn't have had to disturb them. I pause just outside and listen.

A moment later and a maid, pushing her service trolley, rounds the corner. I pull my ear away from the door, but too late. She's not sure how to proceed, so she settles for a brief scowl in my direction and then she hurries past. She already knows what's going on in the room, suggesting she passed this way earlier. Probably worried that I'm about to start a scene.

As I'm waiting for her to disappear out of sight, my phone shakes again.Where are you?

Just outside, I say and add a smiley face onto the end.

A second later the noise of fucking stops. There's some muffled conversation and the door opens just a fraction. I push my way in furtively even though there's no-one around. Frank is there, standing in the little corridor between the bathroom and the bedroom, wearing nothing except for a condom.

As always my wife's sixth sense has been spot on. He's hung exactly as she likes. I can see her juices glistening on the rubber.

"Hey, man," he says. It's exaggerated cool to try and hide the fact that he has no idea how to interact with me.

"Sorry to interrupt," I say. "It sounds like you were hitting the spot."

"He was," my wife calls out from the bed.

I make my way into the room proper. She's on the bed, of course, with her legs wide apart and her cunt exposed. There's already a wet patch just below her.

Frank follows behind me. He hovers for a moment, obviously wanting to get back to what he was doing, but still not sure how to proceed. He's looking at me expectantly. I look back unabashed.

My wife follows my gaze to his covered dick.

"I know," she says. "I told him he didn't need one, but he insisted."

Amy is post-menopausal, but I guess Frank is still not a hundred-percent confident of that and wants to play it safe.

"Be my guest," I say indicating the bed and its occupant.

My wife follows up with, "Be my lover."

She pulls herself out of bed and ends up standing between us. As she tilts her head up to let him kiss her, her hands move to his cock. She starts by giving it a few standard strokes, but then she's tugging gently at the base ring of the rubber.

"Take it off and fuck me properly," she urges.

I reach round and hold her waist from behind. "She's got the most amazing pussy," I tell him. "Don't spoil the feeling."

He doesn't answer, but she's still working her hands down there and the condom is already half off. She reaches up, grabs his wrists, and puts his hand on her breast. "Squeeze them," she tells him. He raises his other hand up and starts to massage her tits. She starts another French kiss and it is only when their lips have been locked for a good minute that she lowers her hands and pulls the rest of the rubber off by the tip.

She palms it off to me like she's a cheap magician. As I turn towards the bin, I take a quick look at it. She's all over the outside and he has left just the smallest traces of pre-cum on the inside. It's almost a totem item, representing my cuckolding. It's a pity I can't keep it. I throw it away.

When I come back, she's back on the edge of the bed. He's about to push her back but she leans forward and starts sucking him again. He puts both hands behind his head, leans back with his eyes closed and lets her go to town. She starts playful enough, teasing the first inch but before too long she attempts to get what she wants -- as much of his beautiful thick dick in her mouth as she can.

These days Amy can get her chin on my balls no problem. With this guy, she is struggling at the halfway point. She reaches up to his arse for support and tries to pull him closer. She holds tight for up to ten seconds and then pulls away, coughing and spluttering and with tears in her eyes. A moment later though and she's back, his dick now fractionally further in.

Its the third time she tries to swallow him whole that something clicks for him. His hands move to her head and he's pulling her in. When she starts to choke on his dick, he lets her back up immediately. The fourth time though he keeps her there. She's trying to pull back and is gagging, but he won't let her quit. It's only when she taps the bed three times with her hand that he releases her.

She lies on the bed trying to get her breath back, but she's also laughing. He turns to me for a second, to gauge my reaction. He gets it now. He can be rough. She wants him to be rough. He spins her round so her head is half off the bed facing upward, grabs her on each side of the chin, and starts to face fuck her. From my position, I can see his balls smacking her in the forehead with each thrust.

I find myself a chair, unzip and take my dick in my hand. It's been hard since I got up here, but only now that the two lovers have settled in do I permit myself a little pleasure.

The frantic thrusting suddenly slows. She's got her hands round his arse again and she's been experimentally shifting her neck and his hips. He's allowing her now, going slower for her benefit. She takes two deep breaths through her nose and then pulls his dick all the way inside her. It's a zen moment, I watch her chest go up and down five times before she releases him. When she sits up, she's not even flustered.

"Damn," says Frank.

She blushes and looks away. She pulls herself onto the bed and then pulls her feet up above her head, grabbing each one by the ankle.

"Pound me into the middle of neck week," she tells him.

He does. If he's slow and careful putting his raw dick in, it doesn't take him many thrusts to get up to full speed. My wife starts out quiet but soon she's louder than the sound of the bed-springs. He takes her ankles but keeps them high.

"Fuck me with that huge cock," she keeps yelling. Frank is just looking at her smiling. He's probably as amused by the noises and filth she's producing as he is amazed by what she's letting him do to her.

"You like that," he says. We're a good five minutes into the fucking and this is his first attempt at dirty talk.

"Call her a slut," I tell him.

"You like that, you slut," he says with a bit more confidence.

"Mmmm, I love it," my wife says. I can tell by her tone that she's close to her first orgasm.

"Tell me how much you love it," he orders.

"I love it so much," she cries. "You're so much better than my husband. So much energy and so much cock."

It's nice that she's still thinking of me even now and including me in her stream of filth.

"Take me to the limit," she challenges him. There's no way he can go faster, but he puts a little more force into each push. Enough that their bodies start to slap together differently.

Amy lets out three gasps of what sounds like actual pain and on the fourth thrust erupts into orgasm. Frank tries to continue his pumping, but as she spasms irregularly into the bed, he's forced to pause.

When she subsides, she opens her eyes and looks at him in awe. "Thank you," she says and reaches up to kiss him again, his dick still in her.

She lays her head back down after another minute's sensuality and he thrusts again.

"Sshh, sshh," she says. "You've fucked me, now make love."

So now they're slow. He slides in and out of her at a leisurely pace. Their eyes are locked together and their lips meet at intervals. Even when he's gentle his cock has more effect on her than mine. She's constantly moaning, biting her lip and grasping fistfuls of sheets.

This is the bit that drives me crazy, more so than the animal rutting. I'm supposed to be edging, but when he drives one deep, holds it there and she just says, "Oh, baby!" I find myself coming all over my smart trousers. The happy couple don't even notice.

I'm torn between cleaning up and just staying and watching. I stay. It won't be long now and I wouldn't miss it for the world.

It starts with another quickening of the tempo. Amy feels it at the same time as I see it because she's suddenly saying things like, "Fill me with your hot cum."

"You want it?" he replies. "Tell me you want it."

They go into a call-and-response cycle. Whatever she says he just asks again. "Tell me what you want."

At first, she's creative. "I want all the cum from your enormous hard dick to fill me up."

By the end, it's all she can do just to say "I want. I want." again and again.

"Give it to her. Come on give it to her," I find myself saying.

When she finally gets what she wants, it's with him crying out, "Oh fucking Jesus!" It's the loudest he's been all evening. Each pump of hot seed pushes her further down into the mattress. Finally, they're laying still, him on top of her.

"That was great," she says. "Sometimes I just need someone young enough to pump some life back into me."

He glances at the bedside clock and suddenly he's post-nut. "Oh, shit," he says. "I'd better get back downstairs."

We don't keep him, except that Amy leans over to straighten his collar just before he walks out. "Thanks," he says. "That was really something."

Then the door shuts and I'm left together with my wife again.

She gets on all fours, crawls to the edge of the bed, and licking her lips says, "Do you need...oh, I see you don't."

I very purposefully haven't stood up for the whole apres-coital period. She's only now seeing the state of my trousers.

"Sorry," I say.

"No," she replies. "Looks like you had fun."

"I don't need to ask if you did," I reply.

She laughs. She comes and straddles me. Her fingers reach between her legs and pull apart the lips of her pussy. As we make out, I'm very aware that the seed dripping down onto my still-exposed dick and already soiled trousers is from a man less than half my age.

We never do make it to the disco.