The Theft of Our Lives 08

Although formal, with fine wood finishes and tasteful décor, the club was actually quite vibrant and lively, with active conversations among the other member's tables and pleasant up-tempo jazz playing in the background. Frankly, it was exactly the type of place I expected my boss to frequent.

"Ray, glad you could make it. How was your flight?" Hank greeted, standing to shake my hand, and acting unusually pleased to see me.

"It was nice, you know, uneventful, just the way you want a flight to go," I responded cautiously, unaccustomed to him treating me so well.

"Excellent work on the Driscoll account, by the way. Josh was very impressed with your, shall we say, final wrap-up presentation," he praised with typical double-edged meaning as his daggers exposed themselves less discreetly.

Nate also stood and shook my hand, but with a gleam in his eye speaking volumes about fucking my wife into hysterical rantings that night at the poker party, extracting some horribly demeaning concessions involving herself and Kerri.

The older man's handsome, patrician face bore a disquieting look of gratitude, silently signaling he planned to make good on Emma's invitation to fuck her again, and our sweet daughter, too.

The third man, a big Italian guy with graying hair and a ruddy complexion, probably in his 50's and weighing at least 300 lbs., stayed strangely seated, his dark eyes unfocused with an expression of blissful contemplation filling his fat face.

"Where's Emma?" I asked innocently when offered a seat and ordering a drink, noting an unattended glass of white wine between Hank and Nate and assuming that was her spot at the table.

Hank glanced at Nate with a smirk, acknowledging some secret between them, then turned to me and smiled. Without saying a word, he lifted the tablecloth directly to my right, giving a nod to look beneath.

"Oh no," I sighed in despair, realizing whatever crazy thought I had for a normal dinner out was a pipedream, vanishing as quickly as the rigid cock disappearing between my wife's oval lips.

Emma was perched on her knees, fully dressed in the elegant, albeit brief, black dress Hank had evidently purchased that afternoon, as I'd never seen it before, hovering over the big belly of the Italian man sucking his cock with a fluid, but somewhat mechanical technique.

Sensing the suddenness of light appearing beneath the table, Emma cast her sad green eyes in my direction. I shuddered, seeing the reflection of tears wetting her cheeks and her hands clenching his thick thighs, attentively working the man's average 6 1/2" pole in and out of her mouth with the rhythmic cadence of a practiced cocksucker.

"Riccardo is a little preoccupied, as you can see, so I'll make the introduction. He's the owner of this establishment and a good friend of mine. This is his booth, and Emma is simply expressing her appreciation for his hospitality in sharing his table," Hank apprised me casually, as if nothing untoward was happening beneath the table in the crowded club.

He then dropped the tablecloth giving Emma some much needed privacy as the waiter arrived with my cocktail.

"Huh, ahhh," Riccardo exhaled at the mention of his name, turning a dreamy eye in my direction with a smile of true contentment as she continued her varied technique, licking his swollen cockhead or swallowing his shaft whole in seeking his release.

"Riccardo, this is Ray Tyler, the husband of the grateful lady below the table. He's just returned from saving a big account for Allenby," Hank explained, glossing over the fact Emma had his cock between her soft lips blowing him diligently, if not affectionately.

"I'm sure Ray's just as grateful for accepting them at your table, although thankfully he won't express it in the same manner," my boss joked at my expense.

"Pleasure to meet you, Riccardo. Thank you for your hospitality," I mumbled discontentedly, uncertain what else to say and intuitively understanding my boss wanted me to grovel to a stranger enjoying the velvet interior of my wife's mouth sucking him off.

"O-ohhh, it's my pleasure, Ray," the serene man sighed rhapsodically, and I imagined Emma performing some stimulating maneuver vacuuming his pulsing shaft he found especially pleasant at that moment.

For the next few minutes, Hank and Nate engaged me in mindless small talk, distracting me from Emma's obviously effective efforts tantalizing Riccardo's responsive staff under the table. The big man returned to his dream-like paradise, interrupting periodically with a gentle exhale or deep moan.

"Huh-uh, huh-uh, huh-uh," the restaurateur's breathing suddenly grew erratic, and it was clear he was close to his climax under the ministrations of Emma's talented mouth.

The three of us went silent, with the clinking of plates, active conversations, and the dulcet tones of contemporary jazz music filling our ears when Riccardo abruptly shifted his huge torso forward and gripped his hands to the table's edge.

"Oh, ohh, ohhh, la gioia," he spontaneously erupted, his brown eyes shooting wide with elation and a slight tremor shaking his open jaw.

It didn't take a genius to realize he was cumming, and at that very moment filling Emma's succulent mouth with his foul jism. Dutiful and submissive as she's become, I knew she had her lips wrapped around the rim of his crown drawing out every drop from his spastic pole as his heavy balls emptied their contents.

"Hmm, heh," a sniffle rose from under the table and another minute passed before Emma poked her head bashfully from beneath, her tears wiped away but a smattering of sticky white goo adhering indelicately to her clenching chin. Her pursed lips and sour expression told me the stuff had a distinctly unpleasant flavor.

Contritely, she resumed her seat at the table between Hank and Nate, rather than me, taking a big gulp of wine washing away the unsavory taste and undoubtedly fortifying her already inebriated state.

"A pleasing aperitif, Mrs. Tyler?" Riccardo quipped about the nasty semen in a heavy Italian accent bearing a satisfied grin as she downed her glass, raising his hand to a nearby waiter and snapping his fingers requesting more wine.

My wife blushed at the blithe reference, her face blotchy from the effort and the alcohol but in no mood to verbally acknowledge the odious comment, merely nodding her head politely so as not to insult our host and incur Hank's displeasure.

"W-welcome homeb, Way," Emma greeted me drunkenly, a halting studder in her voice at our humiliating reunion.

"Hi Emma, it's good to be home," I said uncomfortably, with my feelings sincere, but the circumstances less than ideal.

I also caught a nervous discomfort in her demeanor going beyond the debasing act of getting caught blowing the club owner under the table, with Emma shifting in her seat discomposed and generally fidgety. Her pretty green eyes lacked their usual inquisitive spark, replaced with a distracted daze as if looking three feet past me.

"That's a pretty dress, Emma, did you get it today?" I complimented, hoping to turn the conversation to a more conventional topic and away from the overriding prurience pervading the atmosphere.

Emma's dress was unlike anything she'd normally wear at all, yet alone to a fancy, members-only supper club. She's an inherently conservative dresser, and this outfit, while respectable enough to wear in public, definitely pushed her limits for propriety, indicating it most certainly was selected by Hank.

Black satin and elegant, it was nonetheless provocative and far more daring than anything she'd pick out on her own. For one thing, it was short, really short, with the hem rising to well-above mid-thigh.

A tall and sturdy woman at 5'10", Emma's legs are eye-catching in even the most modest dress. Now, they were entirely available for viewing and looked spectacular. Sitting with legs uncrossed, the garment rose precariously high on her legs and into her lap.

'I can guess what that's about,' I scoffed inside, wondering if she was even wearing panties, or if Hank had her going commando granting the men easy access to her bald pussy.

It was also surprisingly loose-fitting, although she possesses enough curves at the bust and hips it wasn't enough to disguise the genuinely feminine form just barely hidden beneath. Held on her body by two thin straps at her shoulders adorned by metal clasps, the front dipped in a not-so-subtle vee across her bustline showing a wealth of cleavage and more than a hint of the insides of her impressive tits.

Emma wore her hair up, which was out of the ordinary, although I suppose convenient for ad-lib blowjobs as I'd discovered, and more than the usual amount of make-up, including dark purple eye shadow and fire engine red lipstick.

With her sitting, it was somewhat difficult to tell, but from where I sat, it appeared the back of the dress scooped to just above the crack of her ass, making it clear she lacked a bra. The naturally low-carriage of her huge jugs was unmistakable, and the firm mounds swayed freely with her unsteady movements.

"Yeth, honey, Hank bought it for me thith afternoon after, well, you know," she slurred a little, catching herself before mentioning the scandalous exhibition broadcast from our kitchen table to the big screen in Josh Driscoll's office.

I didn't mention anything about the amount of wine I assumed she'd already consumed.

After her quasi-public performance with Hank this morning, not to mention the indecency of showering with the man afterward and whatever else occurred in our bathroom, I didn't blame her for wanting to escape into a bottle of wine and block out the horrible memory.

"I see," I acknowledged without saying another thing, sipping my drink quietly before noticing her eyes perk up slightly and her torso squirm as if seeking a comfortable position on the cushion.

"Yeah, I had a great time watching her try on clothes at the shop. You know, they let the husband in the dressing room, if you ask nicely," Hank gloated, informing me in his understated way he'd played that role not only in our shower, but also at the stores.

I imagined him ogling her zealously throughout their shopping spree, spending the better part of the afternoon gazing lustfully as Emma dressed and stripped, and dressed and stripped again in a variety of outfits, and very likely lingerie too.

"Ummm," Emma hummed demurely, and then bit her bottom lip as she does when trying to stifle her arousal.

I couldn't really figure it out, but I didn't imagine sucking the cock of a strange fat man under the table in an exclusive supper club turned her on.

Instead, I assumed either Hank or Nate, or both, had probably flagrantly fingered her pussy while seated between then in the short dress before I arrived, parting her legs in unladylike fashion as they traded turns stroking and teasing the wet crease as activity swirled about them.

I noticed Hank's cellphone sitting on the seat cushion next to him, occasionally fiddling with the screen and the coincidental change to Emma's demeanor and breathing as he did, and then it hit me.

'She's out of the house, so she's wearing the remote vibe,' I realized, knowing it was the only explanation as she practically danced in her seat and her pointed nipples poked discernibly against the black satin with her excitement.

"The week at Driscoll's went well. I'm sure they're onboard long-term," I offered, filling Hank in on my week attempting to draw his attention away from the vexing device lodged in my panting wife's pussy insufferably antagonizing her hyper-sensitive clitoris.

"We'll talk about that on Monday. Let's enjoy an entertaining evening, shall we?" he scolded lightly in putting me off.

"Yes, of course, Hank," I agreed, noting Nate's eyes trained exclusively on Emma's behavior succumbing slowly to the constant buzz of the aggravating vibrator.

"Huh, ohhhhh," my susceptible wife huffed, her lips quivering and losing her ability to speak coherently in submission to gentle exhales and sighs, apprehensively scanning the room checking if anyone noticed her condition as the device worked it's magic on her perceptive sex button.

Sadistic and cruel, Hank kept her constantly on edge, bringing her up the mountain near the precipice of orgasm, and then easing off bringing her down again without taking her over the top.

At one point, my poor Emma set her head on the tabletop, her luscious body tremoring under the continuous stimulation, leaving her horny yet unfulfilled, and perhaps too embarrassed to face the room, her companions, or even her husband.

Our food arrived but she only picked at it, unable to concentrate on anything except the unending sensation of the vibrator buried in her pussy and badgering her engorged flesh pearl.

Finally, I think she couldn't take it anymore.

"Hank, I need to use the ladies' room," she advised coyly, as if asking permission.

"Of course, dear. Ray, scoot over and let your lovely wife go tinkle," Hank granted magnanimously, and I obediently moved aside allowing her to exit the booth, surreptitiously spying the wet spot on the leather cushion where she sat.

On wobbly feet in black high heels complimenting her dress and adding greatly to the appeal of her long, toned legs, Emma stumbled unsteadily in the direction of the restrooms. The daring back of the dress flowed with her uneven movements, revealing a healthy dose of ass cleavage as well, confirming my conjecture about the absence of panties.

'Jeez, is she completely naked under that thing?' I asked myself, turning to find Riccardo and Nate smiling almost giddily, while Hank fiddled with his cellphone suspiciously.

Emma hadn't traveled ten feet but was well within the main area of the club floor when she suddenly lurched as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

"AYYAHHH!" she screeched aloud, her hands rising to her mouth muffling her embarrassing cry while frozen in place by the unexpected stimulus onslaught.

Twisting on her feet, Hank had obviously cranked up the vibrator to a high level, humming robustly against her tender clitoris and forcefully simulating the potent fucking motion in her dripping wet pussy. Kept on edge all night, it was the needed trigger sending her on the road to a massive orgasm.

"Ahhh, ahhhhh, ohhh nooooo," Emma gasped loudly through her fingers, horrified by her public display but so near a paralyzing climax she was unable to do anything but stand there shimmying to its undeniable effect.

"Watch this," Hank said to his entranced companions, pushing the button on another app.

Instantly, the pair of metal clasps holding up Emma's skimpy dress released as if by invisible hands, leaving nothing to keep the relaxed satin fabric in place and dropping it summarily to the wooden floor in a heap. Apparently the dress was specially made for my boss, with the clasps magnetized by electricity and releasing automatically when switched off.

"Ohhh! Oh my god! I'm naked!" Emma lamented, her voluptuous body contorting under the strength of the pulsing vibrator on her defenseless clit standing fully nude in her heels in the middle of the club, unfortunately confirming my fear she wore no underwear whatsoever.

"Here it comes," my boss giggled, turning up the vibrator's power another notch as the trio laughed uproariously at the spectacle, with Hank's nimble fingers flying on his phone in an elaborate practical joke causing my traumatized wife a level of humiliation she'd never imagined possible.

"Ohhhhh, oh, no! Please, ahhh, not here," she stammered a feeble protest but did nothing to cover her nudity or retrieve her dress from the floor.

I knew Emma surely wanted to cover herself, but was simply unable to do so, her physical control compromised by the overwhelming pulsating sensations within her pussy pushing her inexorably towards a whopper of a climax.

Heads turned from nearby tables, and a waiter even moved to assist my debilitated wife, but he was quickly waved away by a stern nod from Riccardo silently saying, 'leave her alone.'

"AWWNNNHHHHH," Emma wailed, her head jerking spasmodically and dropping to her knees when Hank sent a riveting pulse of electricity to the pink plastic vibrator embedded in her snatch and wrapping around the outside of her hairless mound igniting her engorged clitoris.

The unrelenting sex toy was clearly visible now to anyone watching, and believe me, everyone was watching. Honestly, judging from the small puddle she'd left on her seat cushion, I wondered how that damn thing stayed in if she wasn't wearing panties.

Teeth gnashed with anguish and consumed by uncontrollable arousal, Emma writhed on her knees momentarily as an orgasm slammed into her as an unstoppable tsunami, with the compelling vibrations sparking her hair-trigger clitoris and the humming dildo throbbing in her cunt like a real cock.

"Ohhhhhhh, awwhhh, oooooooh," she gutturally moaned her climax with deep-throated intensity, unable to help herself, even while miserably watching the awed expressions of the men and women at the crowded tables as witness to her degradation.

As always, Emma's huge tits gained a life of their own, mesmerizing her audience bobbling haphazardly, with her nipples drawn into solid, inch-long nubs begging for the attention of nibbling teeth. She even reflexively grasped her left breast and fiercely pinched the tense bud as substitution for the mouth of a nonexistent lover.

"Nuh-noooooooaah!" my incapacitated wife pleaded when a second blast buffeted her exquisitely piqued love bud sending her frantically to her hands and knees.

In a position of utmost humility but tremendous appeal for her onlookers, Emma's big pale melons swung wildly beneath her torso, and for the first time the base of a metallic plug stretching her asshole was exposed, linked to the vibrator and coursing with buzzing pulses itself, answering the question of how the malevolent device stayed in place.

"Oh god, oh god, oh my gawwwd," she begged for mercy, but no one moved.

Hypnotized into non-action watching the gorgeous, stacked, and apparently quite libertine late-30's woman rolling from one calamitous climax to the next, the surrounding diners sat enraptured as Emma shuddered violently, suffering the humiliatingly public orgasm, and barely clinging to sanity throughout the unseemly episode.

"Not again! Oh, I can't, uhhhhh, help it. Ohhhhh, I'm cumming again," she groaned with impassioned conviction as Hank toyed with the settings, launching a final devastating orgasm dropping her exhaustedly to the floor, shaking and jerking as the waves roiled her body.

Lacking control, Emma's slack legs flailed akimbo, revealing in the most intimate detail her clean-shaven feminine charms, with her torso convulsing spontaneously. Her puffy labia shone slick with her copious fluids, swollen around the base of the damnable vibrator as Hank gradually lowered the power leaving her alone and completely exposed.

Disgraced, disheveled, and demoralized, my humbled wife lay on the polished wood club floor as a rag doll -- a melted pile of naked flesh, dripping profusely of sweat and pussy juice while languidly twisting in her sexual denouement as she slowly returned to earth and awareness.

"Oh how? How could he, uh-uh, do this to me?" Emma bemoaned, distressed, and emotionally wounded by her very blatant disrobing and orgasm.

"Emma, I'm coming," I called reflexively, unable to take any more and needing to reclaim my place as her husband.

Hank let me go to her side, unable to stop me with the jolting power of my cage's batteries not yet recharged. Grabbing the dress from the floor, I covered my listless wife as she recovered. Around us, the callous diners jovially returned to their meals, animatedly discussing the most unusual and spectacular floor show they'd ever seen.