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Housewife on Bourbon Street

By: Tanny72



As I stood there in the hotel room looking at myself in the mirror, I had to give myself a little mental pep talk. "You want this. You want this. You do want to do this." I knew that I could back out at any point in time, but once I walked out the door and down the street, I couldn't undo things. The odds of being seen by someone I knew were pretty slim, as I was quite a ways from home. I may have been a middle aged housewife with bigger curves and a more mature shape than 15 years ago when I got married, but that night I looked like a whore. 

I gave myself one last going over. I had on more makeup than I ever had before. My 36dd boobs were barely covered by the red tube top I was wearing. The amount of cleavage showing was simply enormous. The tube top only came up high enough to barely cover my nipples. My areola are disproportionately large (even for my ample sized tits), so I had the already tight top stretched to its limit. My black skirt was no more than a tube either. When everything was perfectly adjusted, I had about one inch of belly exposed between my top and my skirt. Of course, this was when standing perfectly still looking in the mirror. With any movement, my top would scrunch up and expose more belly. Of course, my top going down any at all would result in at least partially exposed nipple. My skirt was stretched tight around my round ass. North to south, I had no room for error. If the skirt rode up, my thick black pubic hair would show out the bottom. If it rode down, the hair would show out the top. Sitting would basically be on my bare ass. Aside from my whore makeup, tube top and tube skirt, the only other thing I wore was a pair of strappy spike heel stripper shoes. I told myself that this would all be easier if I had drank ahead of time. Petrified of how I was about to go out in public, I grabbed my tiny handbag, which had my phone, my id, my room card, and a little money, and I headed out the door. I knew that once I got a shot or two of tequila in me that I would relax and hopefully enjoy myself. 

Walking through the hotel lobby, I saw the desk clerk looking at me. I wondered if he realized I was the same woman whom he had just checked in less than 2 hours before. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I had about half a block to walk before I made it to Bourbon Street. Once I made it to Bourbon, I felt a little "safer" so to speak, as if my attire were more publicly acceptable. I felt eyes on me as I walked a few blocks down the sidewalk. I saw several men making poor attempts at discretely taking pictures with their phones. Surely every single person that saw me assumed I was a hooker. I felt embarrassed and alive at the same time. I had to keep reminding myself that I wanted to do this. I wanted to go out for just one night and dress and act like a complete slut. I had my reasons. As I passed by several strip clubs, I felt that the others on the street assumed I would walk in to one of the clubs to go to work. I felt a little better and a little more brave as I passed by and was cat-called by the strippers hanging out on the sidewalk drumming up business. They were basically dressed like me, so I felt I had pulled off "the look."

About 4 or 5 blocks down Bourbon from my hotel, I walked into a fairly busy bar with decent music playing. As I walked from the entrance to the bar, I could feel eyes on me from every direction. I immediately noticed a man by himself at a high top table in the corner. He was wearing a cowboy hat pulled low where I couldn't see his eyes, but I could tell he watched me every step of the way. As far as the people I could see, all of the men's faces lit up with smirks and their eyes said, "Oh yeah, she's a slut." All of the women's faces turned dark with scowls and their eyes said, "Oh yeah, she's a slut." I sat down on a bar stool (and yes, my skirt did exactly what I thought it would do and left me sitting mostly on my bare ass) and I ordered a margarita, but told the bar tender to first just give me a straight double shot of tequila. I was so relieved that the bartender was male. I had expected the negative reaction from the women in the bar whose men were checking me out, I just didn't know how a female bartender would react. 

The bartender gave me my double shot, which I downed immediately. He checked out my cleavage as he slowly made my margarita. 

"I don't believe I've seen you in here before," he said.

"You haven't," I said, smiling at him, glad to be making small talk. "I'm not from around here." 

As he placed my drink in front of me, he looked at me and said, "Look, I don't want to make any assumptions, and I'm not trying to hurt your feeling, but if you're a working girl, I'd like for you to just enjoy your drink and move along."

At first I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered, but then I decided that since that's the look I was going for, I would be flattered. "Well thank you for the compliment," I said a bit underhandedly, "but I'm not a working girl. I'm just in town for tonight only and I wanted to have a little fun."

"I'm sorry ma'am. Look, your drinks are on the house. Have fun."

After the double shot and about half of my margarita, I was feeling about how I needed to feel in order to really start enjoying myself. I sat there at the bar and twirled my hair, adjusted my clothes, and crossed, uncrossed and re-crossed my legs multiple times. Right about the time I sucked the last of my margarita through the cocktail straw, the bartender placed another in front of me and said, "Compliments of the guy in the cowboy hat." I turned on my stool towards the cowboy, held up my drink and nodded, as if to say, "Thank you." He tipped his hat slightly for a, "You're welcome, ma'am." It had taken about 45 minutes, but I finally had a bite! At this point, I didn't know whether to go to him or wait and see if he would come to me. As it turns out, it didn't matter.

It was no sooner than the cowboy and I had exchanged pleasantries that two men, obviously buddies, came to the bar, sat down beside me and started talking. They clearly weren't ordering their first drinks of the night. They both appeared to be about 30 or so, and handsome enough. They were younger than me, but not so much so that they weren't going to hit on me. The more aggressive one started with, "Hey sexy, what are you drinking?" I told him that I was drinking margaritas, but that I had just gotten a fresh one. "Well that's fine, but you have to do a shot with us." 

The bartender set us up with shots, and the flirtation began. He kept calling me sexy and I kept calling him handsome. The friend would chime in from time to time, but it was clear which one was the leader and which was the follower. They used the age old line of, "What's a good looking woman like you doing in a place like this?" I decided to go ahead and pour it on.

"Well, the asshole that I'm married to has been having to work a lot lately. Lots of overtime. Lots of getting called out at night. Getting called out on weekends. Honestly, his stories never add up. All the signs are there that he's cheating on me, and I know who it's with. He's fucking some slut he works with, I just can't prove it. Anyway, I told him earlier today that he had to stay home and watch the kids tonight; that I had somewhere to go with my mother. I got dressed, then put on an overcoat before I walked out of the bedroom. I made him follow me out to the garage to say goodbye. Just before I got into the car, I dropped the overcoat and told him, 'Have fun staying home with the kids, like I do every night, FUCKER!' You should have seen the look on his face as I drove away dressed like this."

Right on cue, a good dance song started playing. I hopped up and grabbed both of them by the hand and we all 3 got out on the dance floor. We bumped and grinded; I pressed my tits and ass against them. My tits were bouncing and my top riding up, exposing more of my belly. When I would do a squat, my entire ass would be briefly exposed. I was shaking my stuff like I hadn't since college. For its slow start, tonight was turning out perfect. We danced and drank and flirted and kissed for hours. My clothes and hair were damp with sweat from the workout I was getting. I would dance with both at the same time, or just one of them if it was a belly rubbing song. They each were blatantly and openly grabbing my ass and tits on the dance floor. I was really creating a spectacle of myself. It was not uncommon to hear other women calling me a slut out loud, but not really directly to me. Now well after midnight, I was ready to move along to the next level.

On one of the friend's return trips from the men's room, I asked him what the restroom was like. He didn't understand my question. I said, "In the men's room, is it just one toilet where you can lock the door, or are there multiple toilets?" 

"Oh, I understand? No, why? Is the women's room line too long?" he said.

"No. Tell me what it's set up like in the men's room."

"There's several urinals and just one toilet, I think. If you need to go there, I'll stand guard for you."

He still didn't understand what I was getting at. "Is there a door on the toilet stall?" I asked.

"I think there is."

I grabbed both of them by the hand and said, "Come on, we're going to the bathroom!" We all three walked into the men's room together, me first. There was only one other guy in there, doing his business at one of the urinals. "Excuse us," I said, as we walked by and into the toilet stall. It was a tight fit, but we all three made it in and I locked the door. When Handsome began to speak, I just put my finger over his lips and shushed him. I shuffled us around until I was in the middle. I pulled my top down and flopped out my huge natural tits. I then sank into a squat between them, completely exposing my ass and my hairy, sopping wet pussy. I looked up and said, "Let's get those dicks out!" I think the urinal guy had left by then, but I'm really not sure. Both guys fumbled around like they were in Jr. High, trying to get their dicks out as quick as they could. Handsome was nice, about average size, but Friend was HUGE. 

I immediately started sucking them both. A few sucks on one while stroking the other, then switch. Sometimes I was sucking them, sometimes they were face fucking me. I could hear others come and go in the other part of the restroom, but I didn't care. Some of the other men made comments, and a few even high-fived the guys over the stall wall. It was obvious that every guy that went to the restroom told all his friends what was going on, because just a few minutes in to our suck session and there was a constant line of guys in and out. They couldn't see the show, but they could hear it. They all knew it had to be the middle aged slut from the dance floor. I sucked and stroked and stroked and sucked, while they face fucked me, pulled my hair, and reached down and tugged hard on my nipples. Occasionally, I would reach my hand into my sloppy cunt and scoop out some of my juices, then reach up and put my fingers into their mouths. 

After probably about a 20 minutes suck-fest, during which time every single guy in the bar had suddenly had the urge to piss, twice; both guys blew their loads within seconds of one another. By the time they were spent, I had massive amounts of cum all over my face, in my hair, dribbling down my chin from drooling out what had gone into my mouth, all down my chest and cleavage and all over my tits. A great deal of cum had gotten onto my tube top, which was still on me, but below my tits, and I had a good bit on my thighs, from being in a squatting position as their cum flew everywhere. It was literally staggering how much cum those two guys had produced from me horning them up for hours before their release. 

After they were completely done shooting, I stood up and pulled my red tube top back over my big nipples. The many many splashes of cum showed up darker on the material. Of course, most of the cum was on my face, but I had nice amounts in my hair and soaking my cleavage, as well as the cum on my clothes and thighs. I made no attempt at cleaning any cum off of me, whatsoever. I looked at the guys and said, "Follow me out of the bathroom, into the bar, and watch what I do. If you want to fuck me, I am staying at the King Francis Hotel, room 285. Be there in one hour. Do not come early."

I walked out of the men's room, cum literally dripping off of my chin and down onto my tits. The men cheered, and the women called me every name in the book. I walked across the dance floor and went to the corner table, where the cowboy still sat all alone. I walked up to him and straddled his protruding knee, grinding my bare pussy into the denim, leaving a noticeable wet spot. I knew all eyes were on me. I reached up and tipped the hat back so I could gaze deeply into my husband's loving eyes. I leaned in and open mouth kissed him for at least 10 seconds. When I pulled back, a string of the two strangers' cum still connected our lips. He stood up and we walked out of the bar, hand in hand. Even though I was coated in cum, and walking down Bourbon Street wearing a thick, two cock facial, this walk was easier that the one earlier this evening. Was it because I was drunk now, or was it because I was holding the hand of the love of my life? I love him so much. He had made my life so complete. Never in our 15 years of marriage have I ever once worried about him straying. I was so proud to be doing this cum walk with him hand in hand. For all he had done for me, the least I could do was try to make his fantasies of me come true. I had done just that, for this fantasy anyway. In an hour we would find out if another would come true.