The Seduction of Brad's Wife

I've always been rather shy about showing off my body in any way, especially in the way I dress, but for the better part of two years now, my husband, Brad, has been after me to dress up sexy and go out to a club and "flirt" a little, as he calls it. He likes to talk about it a lot. We'd fantasize about it during sex, and in these "harmless" fantasies would always end up with me having sex with the guy I "flirted" with while my husband watched and encouraged me. I don't know why he found the fantasy so appealing. Maybe it was because neither Brad nor I had ever been with anyone else. We were "high school sweethearts" who married right after graduation. But whatever the source, the fantasy turned Brad on so much and had become so pervasive that I was beginning to worry that that would be the only way we'd be able to have sex. Still, it was a terribly erotic little web we'd weave, and I didn't seriously believe that it was something he truly wanted to happen or that I could do.

Lately, however, I began to wonder. He kept after me and kept after me, even going so far as to suggest that there was something a bit wrong with me sexually for not wanting to "show off a little," as he put it. He'd say that it was unnatural for a woman with as great a body as I have always to be covering it up, that I should "lighten up." These remarks hurt me, but also made me wonder about myself. Maybe Brad was right. Maybe my prudishness was the reason for his decreased sexual appetite.

So early last month, under the ruse of celebrating his recent promotion at work, I decided to see what would happen if I went along with his fantasy, at least as far as I was able. I left work early on Friday, and got a room in a motel, and then I called home, leaving a message instructing my husband to meet me later that evening at a hotel cocktail lounge that we both knew to be just the tiniest bit naughty. I told him to get a room there because I was going to be his fantasy "slut" for one night. He knew how to act out the rest of the fantasy, I was sure, from hours and hours of bedtime telling. I expected he'd really be surprised, but other than that I didn't know exactly what he'd do or how he'd take all this.

I knew I'd be able to attract some attention, which was the initial stage of the fantasy and all I really intended to do, because, even though I never actually flirt with guys or wear anything very revealing, too many men have come on to me not to know that a lot of them find me attractive. That's been the case since junior high school. I'm twenty-six years old now, and still have a good figure, though I work out now to keep it that way. I'm 5' 2", weigh about 112 lbs., and what men notice most, I've got large, nicely shaped, natural breasts that, though actually quite firm, bounce around like crazy if not bound up tightly, which I usually do. But even tightly encased, my breasts get considerable attention. I've noticed that most men's eyes rarely actually make it to my face, which is too bad, as I'm rather pretty. I have shoulder-length blonde hair (bottle-aided maybe just a tiny bit), a sex, pouty mouth with a pretty smile, and what everybody tells me are very striking blue-green eyes that change color depending on what I'm wearing. Wearing black tonight, they'll probably be mostly green.

The week before, I had bought an outfit from a mail order catalogue that resembled as nearly as possible the clothes I wear in my husband's fantasy: a sheer, backless black satin lycra dress, cut very low in front, with a very tight and very, very short skirt; thigh high stockings; and five-inch stiletto heels, which I have to admit were a bit tricky to walk in. This evening would be the first time I'd ever put the dress on. First, though, I took pains to put on the kind of makeup I thought Brad would like, paying particular attention to my eyes, which he always wants heavily made up. I even bought false eyelashes, though I really don't need him.

But it's his fantasy. I put my hair up the way he likes it, and made sure it was very, very blonde. And then I did the most important part of his fantasy: I carefully shaved myself perfectly smooth. In other words, I made sure that not only my dress and but also my body were both provocative and "accessible," to use my husband's favorite word, and since my being "accessible" is central to his appreciation of the fantasy, I had tried to make certain the dress I'd picked from the catalogue would allow every move I would make or step I would take to reveal not only a lot of my body, but also to promise even more. As it turned out, I was certainly right about that!

The second I put the dress on, however, I knew I wasn't going to be able to go out in it, even though I looked so outrageously sexy that it left me breathless for a moment. Just walking in the five inch heels nearly bounced my breasts completely out of the skimpy top and for the first time I knew that my legs and derrière would compete for men's attention, if only I could wear it. I wanted desperately to be seen in this incredibly seductive dress, though I knew I lacked the nerve. But I had prepared for that, too. I'd brought along a little "Absolute" courage, and after two drinks, I was able to put the dress back on. Looking in the mirror, I was amazed at how much I resembled the fantasy woman, and for the first time, I think, I realized that the fantasy might be as much mine as my husband's. Or maybe even more. I felt incredibly alluring, sexy, and seductive…and more than a little sluttish.

Though this certainly wasn't part of my original plan, I impulsively decided to wear nothing between me and that fabulous dress that could possibly be a barrier to a probing hand. The whole idea of the fantasy being on the verge of a reality of some sort was having a strange effect on me. I was fascinated with the way I looked. The dress seemed magic. It appeared to be built for my body. Now I loved it that every step I took bounced both of my breasts nearly out of the dress. I was confident that the rest of the package seemed up to the task of competing with my boobs! I felt a tingling through my whole being every time I looked at myself in the mirror. My nipples were painfully erect and beckoning. I could feel my whole body transforming, as if I'd been injected with sex hormones. And I liked it. I was shaking with excitement as I left the motel room and walked giddily to my car.

I got to the hotel bar around 10:00, and luckily finding a seat at the crowded bar, instantly ordered a vodka tonic. The first guy to hit on me arrived before the drink. He was a reasonably good-looking guy, and very big. Well over six feet and I'd guess over two hundred pounds. I wasn't sure my husband was going to like that, as he is small and on the short side, and to tell the truth a little intimidated by big guys. The guys in our fantasy who picked me up are always youngish, not too big, and easily dominated. But here was reality! I rather doubted that anyone ever dominated this guy He asked me if I was with anyone, and I told him, as we do in the fantasy, that I was waiting for a guy that I was supposed to meet as a favor to my boss, but if he'd like to stick around, that was fine with me. I was very, very nervous, but when I moved my seat to make room for him, I made sure that my dress hiked up just enough to show the top of my thigh highs and let one shoulder strap fall provocatively down on to my arm, just like Brad wants me to in the fantasy. I'd actually practiced this in the motel room, believe it or not!

The guy said his name was Tony, that he was a bouncer at Genevas, an upscale "gentlemen's" club down the street, and that if I didn't mind, he'd keep me company until my date arrived. He was polite, and actually quite charming. We talked for a while, and he ordered me another vodka tonic, which had a funny, bitter taste to it. When I remarked on it, Tony said that it was probably just a different brand of tonic, and I drank it down quickly and forgot about it. The next drink tasted normal.

Through the course of the drinks, we talked, and he seemed real sweet. I was starting to get rather tipsy, but felt strangely confident and comfortable. He was very polite, even though he didn't really come on to me verbally, I did noticed that he kept steadily inching his bar stool a little closer to mine. Each time he did, I'd either bend down a bit to give him a glimpse of cleavage or lean in a little closer to encourage him. I wanted Brad's fantasy to be a good one. I wanted to turn the guy on a little. The truth was, though. I was turning myself on. I felt strangely carnal and extremely erotic. I know for certain I've never quite felt like I did at that moment.

The next time he moved his bar stool towards me, with a little shrug of my shoulder, I let the strap on my dress on the side closest to him fall completely down, and my dress slip just enough to reveal the edge of my nipple. What was left of the rational part of my brain was completely shocked, even appalled, at my behavior, wondering what on earth I could possibly be doing with this stranger, and yet quite another part of me was turned on more than I'd ever been in my life. I had to confess that at that moment all I wanted was for Tony to touch me.

As I looked about the bar, trying inch the skirt of my dress up even higher while trying to act calm and casual, I noticed my husband coming in and taking a seat across the bar from us. And just as he was sitting down, I felt Tony's hand on my knee. Brad looked at me and then at Tony, and I guess he must have been a little intimidated, because in our fantasy he always walks right over, introduces himself, and invites the guy to stay around for a while. But he just sat there. In our fantasy, the guy is doing something erotic to me when Brad walks over, and then I remembered that I was supposed to give a signal when something "good" was happening, and thought perhaps that was what he was waiting for. Tony's hand was steadily creeping up my thigh and if he kept it up, would soon be encountering my freshly shaved and increasingly wet pussy.

Still convinced I was doing this for Brad, I moved a little closer still and opened my legs a bit to encourage him. He didn't need more than that. The very second my legs parted I felt his hand slid quickly into my parted pussy and take my clitoris between his thumb and finger and begin to squeeze and pull very gently. I could hardly talk. I knew I needed to give that signal, but frankly, my husband was suddenly the last thing on my mind. I let my hand fall on to Tony's lap and was startled at the size and length of the bulge I felt running down his pant leg. I wanted him to take me somewhere right then and there and have his way with me, and was actually on the verge of asking him to do exactly that when I finally came to my senses. I drew back a bit and took my compact out of my purse to freshen my makeup, which was the "signal" Brad and I had agreed on. But Brad still didn't move. And neither did Tony's hand.

I decided to ask Tony to dance, hoping that my husband, my "date," would be waiting for us when we returned from the dance floor. I also decided to make sure that, if Tony wasn't already aroused, he definitely would be when we returned to the bar, as that figured in our fantasy as well. Strangely, I still thought this was all for Brad.

I love to dance, and am quite good at it, but I was nervous about dancing to the music the band was playing. I straightened myself up enough to be able to walk to the dance floor without falling completely out of my dress, but I wasn't at all sure I'd be able to keep it all together for a fast dance. What I found most disconcerting, though, was that stranger inside of me obviously hoped I wouldn't keep it all together. Half to the dance floor, I heard the band begin a very fast, disco sort of tune and I knew then without question I wouldn't be able to keep myself in that dress, but inside of me I also knew I really wanted to be out of it, to be looked at and appreciated tonight. In the strange mood that was enveloping me, I was dying to see what Tony would do if my boobs did what I expected. He'd soon have an eyeful, I was fairly sure, and, I hoped, shortly after, a handful. That's how "bad" I was. If Brad wanted me to turn the guy on, I was going to do the best job I could. After all, I was doing this all for him, wasn't?

Once out on the dance floor, the three drinks I had at the bar and the two in the motel room seemed suddenly to kick in. The rational, sane part of me vanished completely. I felt wonderfully uninhibited. And the way Tony was looking at me and tactile memory of that growing shaft just beneath his pants leg made me wild with desire and brought out what I've come to realize now must have been a latent exhibitionism lying just below the surface of my otherwise demure self. I desperately wanted to be dancing nude with my body pressed to Tony's leg and my breasts bouncing in his hands.

But I also wanted other guys to be looking and grabbing at me. I love to fast dance and as I mentioned am good at it, but this time all I really wanted to do was let Tony see what was under this thin frill of a dress. I danced more seductively (and revealingly) than I ever have. I was truly unleashed. About half way through the dance, Tony took control, and the feeling I experienced when he pulled my breast completely out of my dress and cupped my bare breast in his large hand was to that point in my life the most erotic experience I'd ever had. It was probably lucky that the dance floor was quite dim (though it didn't really matter to me at the time) as I got a lot of dirty looks from the women out there and a lot of appreciative stares from their men. I suppose one goes with the other.

The next dance was a slow one…exactly what I wanted! I pressed up hard against Tony and was delighted to feel his member begin to stiffen. When both of his hands snaked under my dress and squeezed my bare bottom, I knew that I was completely lost in him, that he could do anything he wanted to me. I was well beyond the ability to resist. I was willing to be his completely slave that night. I was utterly under his control. Still, I was a little surprised when, at the end of that number, he slowly turned me around and pulled my very short skirt up to my waist, letting every one on the floor see my neatly shaved vagina, as if he were offering it to anyone who wanted it, but I didn't want to resist, not in the least.

And I didn't! In my dizzy head, I felt that he was indicating how proud he was to be with me. He wanted to show me off, to show the prize he'd won. And he really had won it! I sincerely wanted him to use me in any way that suited his fancy. I nearly swooned when a young guy walked over to Tony and said, "Fine looking bitch." As I said, at that moment, I belonged to him alone. My rational self had long since vanished.

After a few more intensely erotic dances, while we walked back to the bar, where I hoped my husband would be waiting, he whispered in my ear for me not to cross my legs or sit on my dress the rest of the evening, that he wanted direct "access" to my body the entire night. The word—my husband's word!—thrilled me beyond reason.

My husband was indeed there when we strolled rather seductively back to our seats. I introduced Brad as "my date," and sat down, making sure to pull my skirt up, just as Tony had ordered. You would think that I would have been uneasy sitting with my freshly shaved pussy on display for anyone to see or touch, but I wasn't. Not in the least. When Tony and Brad shook hands, Tony seemed to tower over my husband. I knew things were not going to go well when Brad didn't ask Tony to stay, as he does in our fantasy, but I had apparently given Tony a taste of something he thought would be very appetizing, and I was exhilarated and excited when he simply refused to leave. In fact, while he was talking to Brad about something (I certainly wasn't paying attention to what), he began to caress me right in front of my husband, going so far as to motion with his other hand for me to open my legs wider to accommodate him, which I instantly did. In the fantasy, this would have been exactly what Brad wanted, but in reality, I could see that it wasn't going so well.

Brad suggested that we dance the next dance, and as I walked out to the floor, struggling to tug my skirt back down, I could tell that he was both nervous and turned on, but I could also tell that he was too intimidated by Tony's size and demeanor ever to agree to share me. This was a dilemma. I really wanted Tony in a way that I've never wanted anyone before, but I didn't want to lose my husband, either. I tried to convince him that this is just what he wanted. I asked him whether it turned him on to see Tony's hand opening me up at the bar there, and he agreed that it did. I told him what Tony had done to me while we were dancing and could feel him getting hard as I told it. I put his hand inside my dress and asked him to expose me like Tony did. Even though he wouldn't do it, I could tell it really excited him. I thought maybe this would work out after all. But as we walked back to our seat, all he finally would agreed to was a couple more hours at the bar. I decided to make the best of them, hoping to enjoy as much of Tony as possible and trying to get Brad hot enough to join in. But I suspected it wasn't going to work.

As I sat down (obediently pulling my skirt above my hips), Tony asked me to dance, and during the slow number I decided to tell him everything, the entire truth of the fantasy, who Brad was, the motel room, the hotel room, everything. I told him that my husband had obviously lost his courage and that he'd want me to go home soon. And then suddenly I found myself begging Tony to find a way to "fuck me" tonight, language I never use. I don't know why I said that, though the explicitness of the phrase may have been because, all through this conversation, Tony had decided to expose me totally, exhibiting my breasts and derriere to the delight of the band members and a good part of the dance floor. I found myself getting so stimulated and aroused that if he were to take me right then and there I wouldn't have objected. (And I don't think the guys in the band would have minded, either.) Almost on the verge of tears, I repeatedly begged him to find some way to fuck me. Walking back to the bar and my timid husband, Tony whispered in my ear, "Give me your motel key and then meet me there as soon as you can." As soon as we sat down, while Tony was finishing his drink, I slipped the key to the motel room into his hand. Then, he kissed me full on the lips, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth, told my husband good night, and left.

Both Brad and I were ill at ease after Tony had gone. I could tell that he wanted to somehow carry on the fantasy as a fantasy, but I said that it was probably better to call it a night. Though I could tell he was disappointed, he reluctantly agreed. I knew he was embarrassed that he hadn't been able to pull off his end of the fantasy while at the same time terribly aroused that I had. I mentioned to him that I had left some things at the motel, and thought I'd drive by and pick them up before going home. This really disappointed him, as I'm sure he thought we'd either go to the motel room together or I'd go up to the hotel room with him, but I both wanted to show him how much he'd disappointed me and also to see Tony just one more time. Not to let him have sex with me, I told myself, but just to apologize for the whole sordid evening. Brad had a sort of defeated look on his face when I left, but I felt he did a lot to deserve it. We both could have had such a good time.

Driving to the motel, all I could think of was the strange erotic titillation I'd felt that night, especially when Tony displayed me on the dance floor. It's what my husband always wanted and what I could never give him. But I gave it willingly and excitedly to Tony. I wanted guys to look at me and be envious of what Tony had, to see them drool as he exposed my breast and vagina to them. There on the dim dance floor, I wanted to be his property to do with as he felt. By the time I pulled into the parking lot at the motel, I was shaking with the anticipation of seeing him again. I was still convinced, though, that all I would do was kiss him and apologize.