Stacy's Real Coming Out Party

"It's interesting," was the best he could get out of her.

I didn't know how to take all of this. This wasn't exactly the fantasy that I had in mind. "Would ya like ta dance like that, honey?" he asked.

"I'm not much of a dancer," was her answer.

"Oh, I watched ya walkin from the theater and ya move real, real good."

When the second dancer had finished, Stacy, who seemed to be very uncomfortable said, "I think its time for us to go, you've got a busy day tomorrow Bob."

Tyrone said, "I'll drive ya to the hotel."

The car was parked exactly where we had left it. It was Tyrone not the club's doorman who opened the door for Stacy. She was just as careless with her dress this time when stepped into the car as she had been before. Her dress rode up her long legs and stayed there. When we stopped for a red light, he turned around and from his vantage point and by the way her dress was hiked up, he couldn't help but see that she wasn't wearing panties. Gazing directly at her crotch, not into her big blue eyes he said, "Baby, yer sittin on a fortune, I could make you rich." I wondered if he was addressing my wife or her genitals.

Without missing a beat Stacy playfully said, "I'm already rich."

He thought that was hilarious and when he stopped laughing he said, "Well then, purty thing I've gotta lotta friends who could sure make ya feel real, real good. The bros just go crazy for white pussy. They'd jus die for yers! What'cha say, baby?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing and I was even more amazed that Stacy was listening to this crazy talk. When she responded, "Bob and I will talk about it," I wondered what had happened to my formerly bashful wife who flew with me yesterday from our comfortable but predictable life to New York? Who was this exciting woman sitting next to me exposing the tops of her stockings, the bare flesh of her thighs and the hair covered cleft between her legs to a black pimp with whom she was shamelessly flirting? She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. In all fairness to him, because I hadn't objected to his outrageous comments and because we were in his car he had every right to assume that they were welcome. In the dim interior of the big car, I could tell that Stacy was blushing but excited. Well, Stacy wanted us to do something different, and this certainly is different, I thought to myself.

After he stopped at the hotel's entrance a few minutes later, he handed Stacy a card and said dramatically, "my heart will be broken darlin if ya don call me. That's my cell number, I answer it 24 hours a day." To add emphasis, he held up the smallest and most expensive Motorola cell phone. "Please, please think about it purty baby," were his pleading and parting words.

"Do you really want me to, I mean think about it?" she teased as she waved goodbye then turned without waiting for an answer and walked up the steps with an extra provocative swing to her hips knowing that his eyes were following her.

Neither of us said a word as the elevator lifted us to our floor. In our room Stacy seemed to be in a dreamy place as she placed his card on the coffee table in the parlor and disappeared into the bedroom. I picked it up and read: "Tyrone, (212) 345-9876." A few minutes later she walked out of the bedroom nude and sizzling. We attacked each other. She made love like a different woman climaxing almost continuously. After we exploded, each of us seemed to be waiting for the other to speak.

Finally, she said, "I wonder what Tyrone has in mind?"

"Give me a break Stace! The guy's an 8th Avenue pimp! He probably has a stable of gals who fuck black guys for a few bucks. That's obviously what he wants you to do. And, you know what, now that I think about it, the idea excites the hell of me!" "Stacy, what's the wildest most far out thing that you've ever done, I mean sexually, of course?" "Well, you should know, except for masturbating sometimes, my total sexual experience has been with you . . . we've never done anything real kinky . . . leave me cold . . . I love it when you're inside me and I love to suck and feel you get real hard in my mouth, but the idea of you coming in my mouth is a problem for me. I don't know what you want me to say . . . I guess tonight, going to the film having you play with me in the theater, and then in the car with Tyrone, I knew he could probably see everything. Watching Iris and that other dancer . . . their pussies were so close to us that I could smell them. I guess those are the wildest things that I've ever done." she concluded.

"Well don't you think it would be fun to do a lot more?" I asked her.

After thinking about it for a moment, with real concern, she said, "It's more than just oh, emotions, fidelity, morals and things like that . . . there are real practical reasons for not messing around with sex today . . . Bob, you know that I'm not on the pill because you were fixed after Amy was born and I sure don't want to get pregnant! And, I can't imagine how awful it would be to bring home some horrible disease," she added with concern.

"Stace, I know how much you hate them but what about condoms?"

"Oh, this is all so confusing, I'm afraid that I'll never be able to do anything as crazy as this," she declared breathlessly.

"Why not?" I questioned.

She was quiet for what seemed like a long time as she considered my question, "I honestly don't know," she answered softly. Both of us tossed and turned a lot that night.

Friday morning, before leaving for my meetings, not knowing if last night we had reached some kind of unspoken agreement or not, I told Stacy with all of the sincerity that I could muster, "Hon, what happens is 100 percent up to you, I'll support any decision that you make. I don't want you to feel any pressure from me either way. I'm sure that you'll decide to do what's best taking everything into consideration." She was silent and seemed to be thinking about what I had said. "Well, are you going to call him?" I wanted to know.

"Do you really want me to?" she asked as she gazed me.

"I think you know what I want Stace, now it's all up to you. I'll be back about four, see you then." We kissed goodbye and I headed for my first meeting. During the day, I couldn't help but wonder if she had called him, met him, maybe even gone to bed with him?

Part 2

She wasn't there when I returned a little after four. On the desk in the parlor near the phone was a note for me on a hotel memo pad on which she had written: "Honey, gone shopping, see you soon. Luv Stace." Next to the note was Tyrone's card. It was laying on a sheet of the hotel's engraved stationery on which she had made some kind of list. 1. He wants me to! 2. So do I! 3. Out of town! 4. Strangers! 5. Do it all! 6. Condoms! 7. Tyrone, six p.m.??? It wasn't difficult to know what must have been going through her mind as she wrote it. My heart skipped a beat!

A few minutes later, the phone rang. I answered it and the familiar deep voice said, "Hey man is Stacy there?"

"No, Tyrone she left a note saying she had gone shopping."

"Wow, that's great! I guess she's buying things fer tonight, huh?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I just got in and I haven't seen Stacy since this morning."

"Oh, well, she said ya were cool with it."

"Stacy can do anything she wants," I said.

"Ya know, when I saw your lady on the street, I thought to myself 'now there's a purty lady that's really ripe.' I guess I was right, huh? Anyway, when she called me, we talked a while and I tol er bout t'night. I tol er to pick up a couple things. I guess that's what she's doin man." "What did you tell her to buy?" I asked him.

"I tol er to get a sexy, little black dress, black heels and perfume and nothing else, if ya get my drift," he said laughingly. "I think I musta freaked-er out with all my hot talk because she said she had to go but to call bout five. I'm sorry man, I guess I was impatient and called too soon."

I had heard enough, like Stacy had earlier, I said, "Call back later Tyrone."

I had barely hung up when Stacy returned carrying packages. Without beating around the bush, I said "Tyrone called."

"Oh really, what did he say?" she asked casually.

"Quiet a lot actually," I said.

Stacy sat down on the couch and said, "I don't know what to do? Impulsively, this morning I kept thinking about your fantasy, the movie and Tyrone. I kept looking at his card and decided that it couldn't hurt just to call him, so I did. You wouldn't believe the things he said to me. He wants me to go to a place that he has in Harlem, I guess it's a brothel or a whorehouse or something like that. Tyrone said blacks go there who want white pussy."

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"Part of me, a part that I didn't know existed until now, really wants to go, the other part of me thinks that it's the dumbest, riskiest idea I've ever had."

I decided to move the conversation in a slightly different direction and asked, "what did you buy when you were shopping?" I wasn't surprised when she took a tiny sexy black dress out of a bag, a new patent leather evening bag and from a shoe box a matching pair of black, spike high heels. After catching my breath, I enthusiastically approved of her purchases and said, "Honey, I think it would be a shame to waste these. On you, that dress and those shoes could give a statue a hard-on. I can't even imagine what they will do to horny black men. You better hurry and get ready, it's nearly five."

After she undressed, Stacy asked, "can you help me with something honey?"

"Sure what do you need?"

"Oh, this is awkward," she said as she handed me a tube of scented bikin-line depilatory. "What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked.

"Tyrone said that guys like just a little tuft of pubic hair. Is that true?"

"I guess so," I said. And, oh this is sooo embarrassing, he said they love bare lips." With that, Stacy laid down on the bed and I applied the scented cream to the top and sides of the triangle of dark pubic hair that covered her mound. She then raised and parted her knees. I rubbed cream to her nether-lips covering the sparse, thin hair with a thick coat. Five minutes later I gently removed it with a warm washcloth leaving just a small patch of curly dark hair above her slit. Stacy sighed, her lips were as smooth and bare as a baby's. When I finished, I looked closely at the moist, pink flesh that had given me so much pleasure over the years and I realized that, most likely, the next time that I looked this closely, the inner dew-covered petals would have surrounded and lovingly caressed the cocks of other men. How many I couldn't guess.

Stacy was running the tub when the phone rang at exactly five. We both knew who was calling so, still naked, she padded back into the bedroom and answered it. "Hello . . . Hi Tyrone . . . I guess so . . . Yes, I did . . . Uh huh . . ." Then she turned crimson red her entire body seemed flushed and she seemed to have difficulty breathing. "Yes . . . Probably . . . Uh, last night . . . Yes . . . Yes . . . Average I suppose . . ." She closed her eyes and touched the little mound of hair . . . I'll try . . . Me too . . . He's right here . . . Okay," "He wants to talk to you," she said as she handed me the phone, returned to the bathroom and climbed into the steamy tub.

"Don't worry about a thing man, she won't hav ta do nothin she don wanna. I'll take real good care of er and have er back sometime bout four, maybe later. Fuck man, I just can't wait!"

I was shaking as I hung up the phone. It was just two nights ago that I had shared my secret fantasy with Stacy. Now, my beautiful wife of twenty years, the mother of my children was preparing to spend the night with a black pimp and his clients in a Harlem whorehouse. Yet, I was incredibly excited by her boldness and willingness to participate in this forbidden adventure. We didn't talk very much as she bathed and carefully shaved her legs and underarms. I watched closely as she applied a fresh, glossy coat of red polish to her fingernails and toenails. This night, she took extra care and spent extra time with her make-up, mascara, lipstick and curling and brushing her long thick hair. Over her nakedness, she slipped the tiny black silk dress that was nothing more than a revealing short slip. I was thrilled as she boldly stared at me, hiked-up the short skirt and daringly sprayed perfume on her pussy. She stepped into her high heels, looked in the full length mirror and said, "God, I look like a hooker!" To me, however, the sight before my eyes was beyond description. Stunning, beautiful, desirable and sexy were inadequate words.

I walked with her to the door and asked, "Do you want me to go down with you?"

"No, stay here and wait for me. I want to do this alone."

"Are you sure about this?" I asked giving her a final opportunity to back-out.

"No, I'm not, but I'm going anyway. I know that if I don't walk out that door right now, I never will. This is for you. But, it's also for me. Wish me luck." With that she took her small black patent leather purse that contained her compact, lipstick, hair brush and a small vial of her new perfume.

As she walked toward the door I said, "Stace this is your night, indulge yourself." The untamed smoldering look that I saw in Stacy's eyes as she looked over her shoulder at me convinced me that she was ready for anything. I wondered, as the door closed behind her if I was actually as ready for anything as she seemed to be. The next twelve hours were the longest, most agonizing and in some perverse way by far the most exciting of my life.

I'm not sure that I actually slept at all. After she left, I went for a short walk in the park but after a few minutes, I decided to come back to the room. I ordered room service because I wanted to be near the phone if she had misgivings or just needed to talk for some reason. I tried to watch television, but I couldn't concentrate. My mind was on my spouse and what she might be doing. Nine o'clock, she wasn't back. I must confess, that I actually believed that she would probably just have dinner, maybe go dancing, change her mind and have Tyrone bring her back. With each passing minute other thoughts entered my mind. By eleven, I was certain that by now Tyrone or one of his friends had most likely plumbed the depths of the vagina that had been, until tonight, exclusively mine. Midnight, where was she, what was she doing? Two in the morning, only two hours to go. Finally, at long last the clock on the night stand displayed Four o'clock, I expected her knock on the door any minute but there was no knock.

By four-thirty, I was so worried that I called the number on Tyrone's card. I was about to hang up when on the fourth ring he finally answered. "Tyronne, I was worried about Stacy." "She fine man, I told ya I'd take good care of er . . . she's really summthin, can I keep her? . . . ha, ha . . . jus kiddin man!"

I could barely hear him over the loud music and several male voices talking excitedly in the background. "Can I talk with her? I asked.

"She busy man, she real busy! If ya wanna wait a minute, I can take the phone to her?" "Thanks, I'd appreciate it," I told him.

He made no effort at all to cover the mouthpiece as he carried on a conversation with another man. The other man said, "Boy that Nicole's really summthin! "How many tricks at the house tonight? the man asked Tyronne.

"Nine, one sumbitch didn't show," he replied.

Oh God, I thought Stacy was in a whorehouse where several prostitutes had serviced nine different men in just a few hours. Then, I couldn't help but wonder if Stacy hadn't handled one of the, what did he call them, Tricks?

"Somebody said a white chick took on Smokey!" a different voice said with amazement. Tyronne's voice seemed to confirm this by saying, "Every fuckin . . .ha, ha . . . inch." "Unbelievable!" exclaimed the other man.

"Sheeza a real pro," offered Tyronne.

"Hey Tyronne, thanks man, this's the best ever!" a different man observed. Fucks like a mink, made me cum in bout two minutes," said yet a different voice. "Did ya see the oreo cookie?" asked the first person. "Ain't nothin more sexy than a white chick sandwiched between soul brothers with a big black dick in er ass and one in her snatch," Tyronne said. "Boy that dance just bout made me drop a load right in my pants. Tha's the sexiest broad I've ever seen!" And, another man chimed in, "Did ya see that pussy take every inch of that fuckin dildo, I thought it was gonna come out er mouth.?" "What's the record, Tyronne?" asked the first man. "I think the white chick last month fucked thirty guys, but that record's already been broken tonight," he said.

Oh God! I thought to myself, I sure hope all of the things that Tyronne's women had been doing wouldn't gross-out Stacy. The noise in the background got even louder as they apparently arrived at an area with lots of action. I heard guys say, "Go baby! Go!" And I faintly heard above the din a distant but unrecognizable female voice. I couldn't hear every word just a faint utterance now and then of a women obviously in the throes of passion. ". . . More! . . . Oh, please! . . . Aaahhh! . . . Oooh! . . . Don't stop! . . . Harder, Fuck ME! . . . Yes, Yes!" This hot woman was really turning me on. I have always wished that Stacy would be more vocal during our love making. I encouraged her to "talk dirty for me" but she said that it turned her off. She was a wonderful sex partner but very quiet.

Tyronne came back on and said into the phone, "ya still there man?"

"I'm still waiting, Tyronne," I said patiently.

"It may be a while man," he said.

"Tyronne, let me ask you something, How many of your girls are at the house?" I questioned.

"We ain't at the house man we at the stag?"

"What? Stacy said that you had a house in Harlem with three or four white girls."

"Man, my girls work the street. Yer lady started at the house first then came to the stag." "Well how many women were at the house?" I wanted to know.

"Man this was a special night just fer yer lady. It was just her man." he declared.

My heart sank. I knew then that Stacy was the pro at the house who they were talking about. And now, she was apparently at this stag party watching some white woman, dance and fuck herself with a big dildo, and another take on men in her rear and pussy while at the same time a different woman was breaking a record of screwing, unbelievably, more than thirty different men.

"How many women are with you at the Stag? I asked.

"Wow man, just yer purty Stacy, only tonight she's Nicole . . . this night's just fer her . . . Ya wanna keep waitin?"

I couldn't have talked anyway so feebly I said, "no."

He said, "I'll have her back in a couple hours, I don't think I could get her ta stop right now." Before I hung up and he pushed END I heard him say to someone, "It was the lady's old man." "Lucky guy, wish I was er old man!" commented the other man.

I was overwhelmed and what I had heard hadn't even completely registered. Then the impact hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized that every single comment was about my wife. There weren't several women at the house or the stag. The giant penis went in her pussy. Nine men fucked her at the house. Now at the stag, she had danced for them, fucked herself with a dildo, welcomed a man in her asshole and vagina at the same time, and screwed at least thirty different black men and she wasn't finished. It was Stacy's voice that I heard urge her lover on. My cock throbbed pulsed and then erupted without the help of a hand, a vagina or a mouth.

Part 3

The sun had been up for awhile and I noticed that it was nearly seven when I heard the sounds of her footsteps even before the soft knock. I unchained and opened the door. There, silhouetted in the doorway, was my beautiful Stacy. Or, was it Nicole? In the early morning light, I saw that she looked much as she had when she went out the door twelve long hours ago, her hair, make-up and lipstick were perfect. She was wearing a tan raincoat. But, as she walked towards me there was a dreamy, freshly-fucked look about her that I found incredibly exciting. I noticed that she had gold glitter in her hair, on her eyelids and cheeks. As I held her in my arms, her familiar fragrances and a cocktail of expensive perfume, cheap after-shave, sweat and sex burned my nostils. We kissed and then I unbelted the coat which wasn't even buttoned and dropped it on the ground from her shoulders. I expected to see the little dress but all she had on under the coat was a tiny pair of black panties. When she left the suite I knew that she was pantyless under her little dress. Her breasts were blotchy and swollen, the nipples hard and puckered. When she slipped the panties off I saw that the little patch of pubic hair that I had carefully shaped was gone. Her pussy was bald. She kicked off her heels and we climbed in bed.