tagGroup SexStretching the Boundaries

Stretching the Boundaries


You have a better chance of appreciating this story if you have a large closet full of dresses that were carefully chosen to look professional and a small drawer of lace and silk originally intended for your husband alone. If you're a man who wants me to swallow a big load of cum by the second paragraph, then you'll get along with my husband; but you'll have to look elsewhere for a story. Even in my husband's stories, I never seem to get laid by another man (or women) until the bottom of the first page or the top of the second. What would you expect of a happily married, middle aged couple who barely remember the thrill of watching each other have sex with someone else's partner? My husband had encouraged me to write a story ever since he submitted "Alicia goes Gunkholing" to Literotica a little over a year ago. His story was from the time before we became lost in the fog of respectability. I resisted writing my story until I had a fresh experience to share. Now I do. I hope you enjoy. My husband certainly did.


"Don't do anything I wouldn't like to watch."

That's what he said when I had called him for advice. Some wives would have taken that statement as a warning. From Morris, it was encouragement for me to let go again.

Again. I turned the adverb around in my mind and looked at it from all angles.

I was the one who had introduced us to swinging when we were a young couple just a few years out of college. I had invited my best friend along on a sailing trip with us. Morris had always been so shy around women, but he was fantastic in bed and I knew that he had these vivid fantasies. Hannah agreed to help me open him up a bit. And we did. The older couple that we met on the other boat was an unexpected bonus that allowed us to explore a broader range of possibilities.

We had both enjoyed that time. I liked to study him while he made love to another woman. He'd get so intense. His muscles pumped up hard and his skin flushed. And then he would be so relaxed and his skin would just glisten with sweat. He was so sexy when he made love to another woman. It just made me love him even more. He said the same thing about me and he meant it.

We never went to clubs. We only had sex with a few other couples in those years. We never consciously decided to stop – but we did. Graduate school and children made it difficult to get away on vacations. And then we just gradually became too respectable. Morris kept getting promoted. I got my masters degree and became a clinical studies coordinator at the medical school. Our busy professional lives became even busier with leadership roles in the PTA and a camp for kids with diabetes. It wasn't until the kids were old enough to go to summer camp by themselves that we got away on a vacation for just the two of us. Then we started to talk. We talked about our fantasies and our memories of living out those fantasies. The talk gradually became more serious. Nothing came of it. We didn't know any swingers anymore. Even Hannah was married to a man I couldn't imagine stripping to his underwear at a party. I certainly couldn't imagine him watching Morris dive into his wife's pussy while I sucked his cock. And then I met Steven.

I had almost lost my virginity to Steven in high school. He had gotten me down to my bra and panties, and then he fumbled with the clasp on my bra until he gave up. I didn't have the good sense to help him. We avoided each other for awhile to avoid reliving the embarrassment and then our lives went on in separate directions. I pretty much forgot about it.

Now our paths had crossed again. Although we both lived on the outer rings of Boston, we had just met the previous day at a research symposium in Toronto. He had presented a paper. I introduced myself and invited him to lunch. We quickly caught up with each other. Our lives were remarkably similar. Marriage. Kids. Careers. It took no time at all to fell comfortable with him.

He brought up our last date with a self-deprecating taunt.

"So did you have to help your husband with that chastity bra of yours?"

I laughed.

"No. By then I had taken it off so many times that I just threw it away."

"And you?" I continued. "Have you figured out all the possible combinations of clasps, buttons and zippers? You won't want to miss out on a sure thing again."

"Some are harder than others. But, if I can't free a willing woman from her clothing, my wife is usually there to help, if she's not busy with someone else."

I licked my lips nervously. He was crossing a line that I had only hinted at.

"My husband would like to meet that wife of yours."

"And would you like him to meet her?"

"I like to watch. My husband and I used to be swingers when we were younger."

"My wife and I still are."

He looked deeply into my eyes. He looked so sensuous that I would have ripped my clothes off right then and jumped him, if we hadn't been in a crowded restaurant. I had found our entry back into the swinging lifestyle, if Morris really wanted to go through with this.

"There's a great swing club for couples only outside of Toronto. You and Morris can join us. My wife, Susan, is coming tomorrow."

"Morris and I had talked about getting back into swinging, but it's just been talk. We've never been to a club. It's been years since I've even worn a thong outside our bedroom. I just can't see myself jumping on some stranger's woody – even if my husband is there."

"We could go to Illusions tonight. It's an expensive strip club, but it's worth it. Tonight is the amateur strip contest so there will be lots of wives and girlfriends in the audience. It'll loosen you up for tomorrow. Maybe you'll even get lucky!"

"I'd like to go. I really would, but let me think about it."

I tried to look calm, but I felt almost as nervous as on our last date. Maybe I had gotten lucky.


I found a package waiting for me outside my room when I returned after the closing session of the conference. It was late afternoon. The connections were terrible so I had planned to stay over the night and catch the next flight in the morning. Stephen knew I was free for the evening. I had been thinking about his offer and what I would tell Morris when I called him.

I opened the package with my heart racing. I found a sheer lace and Lycra party dress in the box with a note. The note was simple. He would pick me up at 8 PM. If I was wearing this dress (under a trench coat, of course), then we would go to the strip club. If I was wearing one of my professional outfits, then we'd go to dinner. The choice was mine.

I called my husband. He wanted me to go as far as I was comfortable, and then stretch a little more. I could hear the excitement in his voice. I wanted to go, but desire is not the same as confidence. I decided to take a shower and try on Steven's gift.

The dress was incredibly sexy, but I didn't like what I saw in the mirror. My hair was naturally curly and long. That was nice. But it was streaked with grey. A good fit for a woman trying to look like a mature professional. And then there was the ever so subtle sag in the buttocks department, although the thighs were firm from the long hours on the rowing machine. And what about the wrinkles on the elbows when I held my arms out straight? I could still get my husband up, but was I sexy enough for a nightclub? And this wasn't even a nightclub. It was a high end strip club for gentleman and their paramours.

I was about to convince myself to just give up any more fantasies of sexual adventure when it occurred to me. I was looking at the mirror all wrong. I was looking at the mirror like a woman. The eye of a woman was like a mega pixel digital camera. Every wrinkle, every sag and every grey hair were seen clearly in high def. The eye of an aroused and slightly inebriated man, on the other hand, saw an available woman after extensive Photoshop enhancement. The colors were more vivid. The textures were smoother. The image was softer and more alluring. I just needed to look at myself like a man would.

I imagined the men at the strip club and then I tried to look at myself in the mirror from a new perspective.

Nice legs! I'd like to run my fingers up those smooth thighs right into her pussy. And I can see that hairy bush of hers right through that dress. I haven't squished into a hairy muff for years. It'll feel nice with her heels digging into my back. And those nipples. I bet they'd grow to twice that size when I suck on them. Nice face, too. She must be pushing fifty, but she smiles like a virgin. No hard edges. I'd like to see those cheeks puff out when I stick my cock in her mouth. Maybe a little cum dripping off her chin. She's hot! Yea. She's a MILF alright. One hot, fucking MILF. Is she looking at me? I'm might just get lucky tonight!

MILF (Mothers I'd Like to Fuck) It's a whole genre. Morris and I had actually bought the 32nd in a series of MILF DVDs. It had gotten him more excited than it had gotten me, but it was kind of reassuring to see him jerk off to bodies that had more or less recovered after being stretched a couple of times. Now here I was a MILF. Full breasts with a little sag and a couple of stretch marks, but otherwise in good shape. Seeing that woman in the mirror made me realize that I wanted to get fucked and that there were a lot of men out there that wanted to fuck me.

I was leaned over now with a hand thrust out to brace myself against the counter. The other hand was busy stroking between my legs. My breasts hung away from my body supported only by the lace at the top of my party dress. My bare ass stuck out where the short skirt had ridden up when I bent over. I was hot. I liked it. I stopped before I began to smell like I'd already been the main event of the evening.

I grabbed my trench coat just as the buzzer rang.

The club was all that Steven had promised it was. Spacious. Gleaming chrome and mirrors. Well dressed customers in a wide range in ages – and a fair number of women, although men were clearly in the majority. Stages jutted out into the clumps of chairs and couches. Women in various stages of undress danced to pulsating music on the stages – and sometimes on the laps of the men in booths at the far corners of the room.

You could tell the amateurs on stage. It wasn't just age or appearance. The amateurs jerked around the stage like puppets while the pro's prowled like big cats stalking. For sexual appeal, the amateurs would just grab their breasts and shake them - every few seconds it seemed. The pro's crawled up on their customers with a bag of tricks to offer – the accidental touch of a thigh, a nipple grazing a forehead, legs spread for a full frontal as they undulated from one man to the next along the edge of the stage.

I was still running hot and cold. I wanted to believe that I was as sexy as my husband thought I was, but an objective analysis of the woman in the mirror had been less than reassuring. I had been running cold at the door, and would not check my coat. I clutched at my coat but felt conspicuously overdressed – even as the arm candy for a paying male patron. Steven was very patient. He let me take my time to get comfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings. I was grateful for that.

After we had found a comfortable couch and ordered drinks, we were approached by one of the dancers. She was gorgeous in a short dress of bright purple mesh that hid nothing. Her face and frame were thin and delicate. She had full but natural breasts. Her skin was the deep brown of a women with grandparents from the southern tip of India. She introduced herself as Reema. She obviously knew Steven.

"You must be Alicia. Steven called this afternoon to say that you might be coming. He said you would probably be nervous. I'm so glad you decided to come anyway. Susan is going to love you. Are you bi?"

That's not actually how the conversation unfolded, but it seemed like that. I was still in a tight little shell and Reema was trying to help me get out. Reema was open, witty, direct and talkative, but not in an offensive way. The chatter was surprising calming. I began to warm and my coat just naturally slipped off. Steven took my coat back to check-in while I got to know Reema better.

I had never met a stripper before so I did not know what to expect. I would never have guessed the next turn in the conversation.

"I read the papers from your group. Interesting research. My thesis advisor and I are trying to get portable defibrillators to ignore movement artifact so compressions don't need to be interrupted for pattern recognition."

"What are you working here for? You could get a graduate teaching position with those skills."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Reema was direct but diplomatic.

"Because the money is good, and I can't wear an outfit like this in the lab – and I wouldn't want to."

She turned around and bent over with the pretense of adjusting the strap on her high heels. Her short dress rode up over her trim little ass. I felt myself getting aroused at the sight of her shaved pussy and puckered little asshole.

"You're right. A woman ought to be able to wear an outfit like this once in a while. And then I spread my knees wide apart to flash her a view of my pussy."

"I'm really am glad you came. You have too nice a body to keep hidden in a bedroom. And it looks like I'm not the only one with that opinion."

She turned her head to a group of men, who were looking at us. Both of us. I caught the eye of one of them, who smiled back at me. I looked away. When I looked back, he was still staring at me. In a strip club, strangers don't have to look away when you catch them checking you out. I could feel my nipples puffing up. I was beginning to feel like a MILF and I enjoyed the feeling.

Steven had returned by this time and was happy to see that I was warming to the experience. Reema took him by the hand and looked at me.

"Come on. Let's show Alicia how to lap dance."

I followed along, looking around me and fascinated with what I saw. Men sat motionless with their hands by their sides as dancers wearing only a thong ground into freshly stained slacks bulging with cock. Other men sat at the edge of the stage nursing overpriced beer and looking up entranced by the bare flesh gyrating for their amusement. A few women –the only real amateurs - sat in the audience with their keyed up boyfriends fidgeting before their turn on the stage.

We passed a well-dressed bouncer before entering a hallway of closely spaced doors, each one leading to a single couch and a stool with a towel and condom laid out neatly. Prostitution was illegal but tolerated if kept quietly out of sight. Escort services were listed openly in the tourist brochures, but the services only eluded to sex with language that a lawyer could argue was simply an advertisement for men who wanted to talk sports to women over dinner. The sounds coming from the rooms were not about sports, unless you consider sex a sport.

Steven sat on the couch. Reema stood in front of him looking incredibly sexy with her ankles far apart and her dress pulled up to her waist. I leaned up against a wall to one side and watched with increasing fascination as my date for the evening was seduced by a beautiful young woman who knew both math and lap dancing.

The music from the club was piped into the private cubicles. Reema began to sway seductively before Steven. She touched him as if by accident and then each touch became more deliberate. She peeled her top down to let her large breasts swing freely. Steven sucked on the nipples but still kept his hands at his side by some unspoken agreement that the dancers were always in charge. By the end of the first piece, Reema stood naked while Stephen had his shirt opened to the waist. Reema climbed onto the couch and pushed her pussy into Steven's face. Her body continued to move with the music as Steven licked whatever part she let touch him. Steven was no longer rigid in his seat. His hands ran along the back of her thighs and over the flesh of her ass cheeks. He pulled her cheeks apart for me. I could see the delicate skin around her asshole glistening with secretions released only with sexual arousal. I drank in the erotic scents as our passions filled the confined space. My husband would have licked her where those scents originated, but I held myself firmly against the wall even as my finger found my wet slit and slipped in.

Reema was kneeling on the floor now with Steven's pants around his ankles. She rolled the condom over his stiff shaft and stuffed his cock in her mouth. Her movements were still in time to the music as she twisted around his shaft. Her cheeks bulged out as his cock explored her sensuous mouth. They were so deliciously beautiful. Her skin was as dark as his was light, except for his cock, which by now was a bright cherry red. She slowly moved up his body until her dark pussy was dripping just over his bright red tool, then she buried the shaft inside her in one quick movement. His cock slowly reappeared with a coating of white froth. Her pussy remained stretched open for the instant that she came off his shaft. I could see the bright red flesh inside her that so perfectly matched the color of the cock being swallowed inside her once more.

If Steven and I had stayed at the hotel, I would have already had him squirt his cum inside me at least once and we would probably be snuggled together like spoons waiting for sleep to overtake us. Instead, I had yet to touch my partner of the evening sexually and was watching entranced as he was being fucked professionally. The scene before me increased my desire for that cock. I was so wound up that I felt I could get fucked continuously for the rest of the night and still want more hard cock inside me.

By now, they were no longer moving in time to the music. Reema moaned uncontrollably. Their bodies stiffened and shook. I could see the fluid pulsing through Steven's cock. The room was perfectly still for a moment. Then Reema stood up as the softening cock slid from her dark pussy. She reached down, pulled the distended bag of semen from the wilted shaft and deftly tossed it into the waiting receptacle. She handed Steven the towel.

Reema turned to me.

"15 minutes. You've got to get them off within 15 minutes and make it seem like an hour if you're going to work here. They'll knock on the door if you don't."

I smiled at her. I may have wished that I could be her for an evening, but I had no intension of applying for a part-time job on weekends. Maybe I would try the dance contest while Steven recovered. He was sexually spent and not much use to me for the moment.

Reema spoke again.

"It's about time for you to dance."

Something had woken up in me and I wanted to show what I had to the world, even for a roomful of strangers. The firmness of my resolve surprised me.

"I'm ready."

She took me backstage. We got through the usual registration formalities. There were a few rules unique to a strip club contest. I promised not to stick anything in my vagina while performing onstage and so forth. I was already dressed for the occasion so there was only a minimum of last minute primping. I went over the songs that would be playing while I performed and then it was my turn.

I did not have the moves of a professional dancer, but I was not going to make the mistakes of the other amateurs. Surely I could do something more creative than juggling my boobs for the entire 8 minutes of my set. I formed a plan. I would draw attention to myself for the first half without anything overtly sexual and then I would give them as raunchy a show as I could manage without actually having sex onstage.

I started with yoga. I know what you are thinking. But imagine this. A nearly nude woman standing on one leg holding the other ankle behind her back while bending forward. Now picture that woman with her legs spread apart reaching down to touch the floor with her palms and slowing reaching up to stretch. She turns 90 degrees and does it again until each of the four corners of the room has a chance to see her bare pussy with her ass cheeks pulled apart naturally by her movements. Nothing explicitly sexual. Just balance, flexibility and graceful movements. Steven said later that I had the serene expression of a Zen master in meditation but that the juice leaking down my leg gave away my advanced state of arousal.

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