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On The Road to Dublin Pt. 01

By: LynnesHusband



Part 1 of 2. 

All rights reserved. This Work may not be copied, published, republished or posted on any other venue or media, in whole or in part, without the author's express written permission. 

Many thanks to my editor, who wishes to remain anonymous. Without her time and expertise, so generously given, this would be less enjoyable reading. All remaining errors are solely the result of my inability to leave well enough alone after she made it perfect. My bad. 

This my first story of any kind. Please remember to rate and comment so I can improve. 

********** 

My wife, Lynne, is a Southern lady in her prime. She's what's known as 'Black Irish'. Her mid-length raven black hair falls in lustrous waves that, together with her arched eyebrows, perfectly frame the delicate features of her face. Her large brown eyes sparkle when she smiles and have a smoky quality when she's aroused. Her creamy white unblemished skin comes from her pure Irish ancestors. 

Her figure is perfect for her 5' 7" height. She has long, shapely legs and a firm, heart shaped fanny that just begs to be patted. Her rosebud-tipped breasts are well rounded with a slight up-tilt of the tips. They wobble and jiggle delightfully when she walks; men get distracted and short of breath when she sashays by. Her small perfectly circular areolas are the delicate pink of springtime azalea blooms in the deep south. 

FRIDAY: 

My work that day took me to Dublin, Georgia to inspect the books of a small company my firm's client wanted to buy. It meant a long drive down from Atlanta and back for just a few billable hours. Lynne volunteered to ride along and I was glad of her company. 

We chatted about bathroom remodeling and vacation plans as the miles slid by until just south of Macon we spotted a billboard touting a 'Gentleman's Club' with an 'All Nude Review' and 'Fine Food'. The first part I believed. 

Lynne commented, "I had no idea such places existed so close to home." 

I had the presence of mind to not mention that such places existed a lot closer to home. Instead, I asked if she'd like to have lunch there. 

"I've never been in a place like that. Have you?" she asked. 

"Not in a long time," I fudged. Hey! Three weeks can seem like a long time. 

She asked, "What does 'All Nude Review' really mean?" Her eyebrows arched. 

"Well, it means the ladies perform on a stage or runway, erotically dancing and removing all of their clothing while the men put money in their garters and cheer to encourage them in their artistic performances," I extemporized. 

"All of their clothing," she whispered to herself. I explained that the performers usually kept on their garters and heels. 

"Do women ever go there?" 

"Sure. All the time," I fudged again. "Anybody can appreciate artistic erotic dance." 

Okay, I'm a hound. Have me flogged, I don't care. I sensed opportunity here. My wife is the poster girl for sexuality in the bedroom but I've had little luck persuading her to loosen up and be even a little slutty for me when we are away from home. Hers had been a strict upbringing by parents who had limited her dating and other social opportunities as a teen. 

Her clothes have always had the classic tailored look. She always wears underwear. Nice underwear, I admit, but still underwear. I had expected her instant response to my lunch suggestion to be something like 'In your dreams, letch!' so her questions surprised me. I decided to press my luck. 

"Tell you what. Let's drop in, you have a drink since I'm driving. We can watch for a few minutes before deciding whether to order lunch. If you feel uncomfortable we'll slide on out and find another place to eat. How's that?" I offered with an innocent smile. 

She sat considering- I could almost hear her thinking it over. I noticed the approaching exit and nudged her along with, "This is our exit coming up." 

"Okay," she said simply. 

We parked and walked to the entrance where Lynne encountered her first serious bouncer. This guy was a little larger than me but not a giant by any means. He was dressed in a tailored sports coat, slacks and a quality dress shirt. His was clean-shaven with dark brown hair beginning to gray at the temples. Although he was about ten years older than us, there wasn't an ounce of fat on the man. A relaxed, confident, smiling man. 

As we approached, his eyes scanned me professionally. As soon as he was satisfied that I carried no weapons he turned his attention to Lynne, smiling and nodding. 

"Since you're escorting this beautiful woman, there'll be no cover charge today," he drawled, opening the door. 

My wife smiled and blushed. "Thank you." 

I have no idea where the club found this guy or how much he cost, but hiring him was a stroke of genius. A great investment. He took her from tense to titillated with just a smile and a single sentence. He should give seminars. 

We paused just inside the door to get our bearings and let our eyes adjust. The place smelled good, not your average strip joint mix of beer barf, smoke and industrial air freshener. We were in a large room with a wide runway extending from the rear wall. Half moon shaped tables were clustered close around the length of the runway but not so close you had to break your neck to see the dancers and spaced for easy walking between. 

Every seat faced the runway. There were circular booths along one wall and a more private area in the far corner of the building through a doorway. The general room lighting was subdued but not cave-like as you sometimes see. The runway had both footlights and remotely operated overhead spot/flood lights mounted. The ceiling was high and black, disappearing into shadow. The sound system was unusually good and the volume wasn't set to vibrate your liver. This was the crème de la crème of strip joints. 

The runway was in use. She was a young, smiling brunette with good, but not great, moves. She was early in the first song of her set so was still clothed. I noticed my wife's eyes had locked on the dancer. Good so far. 

A hostess approached, appraised the two of us with a smile and a knowing eye, and led us to a table near the end of the runway where we could watch the performance without craning our necks and without putting Lynne so close she might get uncomfortable. Excellent. 

A waitress appeared looking hot in formal black short-shorts with loose leg openings, black thigh high stockings, heels and a cream-colored translucent blouse with a deep V neckline and rolled lapels. No bra; noticed that right off. Hard to miss since I could see her dark brown areolas and nipples through the fabric. My wife spotted them too. She blushed and unconsciously licked her lips. Interesting. 

Lynne ordered something with a little umbrella in it and I got unsweetened iced tea, partly because I was driving but mostly because I wanted to keep my wits about me. Things were getting curiouser by the minute. 

The 'exotic' dancer had completed her first number and had untied her halter-top but was holding it with her arm to keep her breasts concealed. She turned and strolled toward our end of the runway as the waitress retreated and Lynne turned to watch. 

Without taking her eyes off the dancer she asked, "Is she going to take her top off in front of all of these men?" At that moment, the next number came through the sound system and my wife gave a little gasp. 

"Oh, my, she did it." 

I just nodded and grinned, asking, "Would you like to see a menu?" 

"Yes, please." She didn't even glance in my direction. 

Just as our drinks arrived, two men came out of a doorway from the general direction of the restrooms and sat at the table behind us. From their conversation it sounded like the manager and the bartender. 

The younger man was complaining about being short one waitress and the older man said, "Just to make the day perfect we're also going to have to somehow get through tonight with two dancers out. Traci has the flu and the new girl had to take her son for his pre-K physical and interview of all things. The girls we have are good but they're gonna be wilted before the night's over." 

"What about calling in one from the weekend crew?" the bartender suggested. 

The manager shook his head and explained that being short on stage talent on the weekend would be a bad idea because it would disappoint the local regulars. "Can't have that." 

The bartender grinned and said, "You're still in pretty good shape for an old guy. You could dance." 

The manager chuckled. "This isn't a comedy club." 

After finishing their coffee and going over a grocery and liquor order the bartender went back to the bar. We ordered lunch. The manager went off in the direction of the back. 

Meanwhile, Lynne hadn't taken her eyes off the brunette, who was into her third tune and teasing the side ties on her g-string. I could clearly see that Lynne was aroused and, as the dancer pulled away her last itty bitty bit of cover, tossing it toward the rear of the runway, Lynne let out a small 'yip' and clapped her hands over her mouth, wide-eyed. 

For at least five seconds she didn't move, breath or speak. Abruptly she stood and said, "Excuse me, please." 

I rose, concerned. She patted my chest, assured me everything was fine, and headed toward the restrooms. 

I watched the brunette finish her set, put a couple of dollars in her garter and was focused on the last dance of a gorgeous redhead by the time Lynne slid back into her chair, a little out of breath and with a cat-ate-the-canary look on her face. I had lost track of time with all the on-stage distractions. 

Our lunch arrived and we ate while the girls kept dancing. My wife watched the women closely but seemed little inclined to conversation, which was fine by me. 

Over coffee Lynne took a deep breath and said, "Would you mind if I stayed here while you do your accounting thing and pick me up on the way back?" 

I realized there would be no catching up with what was going on in her head. 

"Stay here?" I blurted, knowing I sounded like Forrest Gump. "It'll be at least 8:30, maybe 10:00 tonight before I can get back here. What will you do all that time?" 

She smiled shyly, and announced, "I'm going to be working. You heard them talking about being shorthanded." 

"How do you know they'll hire you? You've never waited tables." 

Her eyebrows arched and her chin tilted up. "I've spoken to the manager. I'm hired." I knew better than to argue with the eyebrows and the chin. 

The discussion was done. But I didn't believe for a second they'd actually talked her into wearing the hot pants and see-through blouse. No sir. No chance. Not my wife. I knew she'd never have the nerve to do that. 

From my accounting practice and some 'field work' I knew waitresses worked hard, standing on their feet all day and, in places like this, were patted, stroked and felt up, and got paid pretty much peanuts compared to the dancers. There was no chance my wife would be up to doing a whole shift. 

On the other hand, the idea of her being felt up, having her breasts and fanny touched by strangers in a softly lit club, even if only once, gave me hope that it might help loosen her up a bit. Definitely worth a try. 

"Okay, but you have to promise me you won't leave the club; we don't know anything about this neighborhood," I insisted, to which she quickly agreed. 

We finished lunch and she walked with me to the door. I asked the bouncer to keep an eye on her and he promised he would, smiling broadly. 

The accounting review in Dublin was more like surveying the scene of a train wreck. Their idea of record-keeping involved shoeboxes of crumpled receipts and lots of coffee stains. Who keeps a receipt for wooden matches yet has no idea how much they spent on tires for the company trucks last year? 

My mind kept wandering to Lynne and her adventure. Hard to do an audit while picturing your wife's breasts being fondled, her fanny being rubbed and patted. It was obvious she was acting out some fantasy of hers, but what, exactly, I could only guess. 

I was back to the Gentleman's Club a few minutes after 9:00 that night. The place was packed with several hundred men with a surprising number of women, and jumpin'! I finally spotted Lynne in the far corner sitting in a curved booth with several men, sipping what looked like a scotch and soda. 

She looked tired but happy and her hair was a little mussed. Poor thing, her feet must be killing her. She spotted me and waved, giving me a big smile. She said something to the men and they slid out so she could get up and helped her put her jacket on. 

They each gave her a tight hug accompanied by a solid kiss. She stepped into each embrace and made no objection to their roaming hands. Yep. Instant woodie. Looked like an evening of being patted and fondled had loosened her up considerably more than I had thought possible. 

As we walked toward the door, applause erupted in the room and I turned to see what was happening. It took a few seconds to realize everybody - and I do mean everybody, including the girl onstage - was applauding my wife. She gave a big wave and blew a kiss to everybody. 

The smiling Bouncer was standing in the doorway holding it open for Lynne but leaving little room for her to get by. I noticed that instead of turning her back to get by she faced him, pointed her finger in his face, and waited for him to back out of our way. 

On the way to the car I said it looked like she'd had a good time. 

She stopped and wrapped her arms around my neck and said, "I had an amazing adventure. I lived a fantasy I've had for years. Thank you for letting me do this." 

She kissed me deeply, climbed into the car, tilted her seat back and was dozing before we were back on the Interstate. Didn't even take her jacket off, poor kid. 

We stopped for a late supper at an upscale restaurant near Atlanta. When we pulled up to the door the parking valet opened Lynne's door and assisted her getting out. 

I noticed she climbed out slowly, not being as careful of her skirt as she normally was, I guess because she was so tired. The attendant was quite attentive. 'Poor woman must be worn out' I thought. 

Being late, the crowd had thinned and we were ushered to a table promptly. I was starving and had my nose buried in the menu before my tail even hit the chair seat. The waiter appeared and took our drink orders. 

It took a while for me to realize the waiter hadn't left and was telling Lynne about the specials for the second time. I looked up, noticed she had removed her jacket, and her rosebud nipples and blushing pink areolas visibly and proudly poking the front of her nearly transparent blouse. 

Everybody in the room must have heard my woodie hit the underside of the table. 'No Bra!' my mind shouted. My mouth didn't make a sound. I was too excited to breath. Besides, I noticed the young waiter was breathing hard enough for both of us. 

She looked magnificent and was obviously reveling in the waiter's attention. She smiled serenely at me as the guy babbled on. Apparently, she had enjoyed waitressing in a see-thru blouse after all. I finally thought I understood the ovation she got when we left the club. Silly me. 

All through supper that waiter gave Lynne the best service I've ever seen. I could have turned to stone and he wouldn't have noticed, but he sure seemed fascinated with watching my wife's lungs working. Just saying. . . 

After a great meal, dessert and coffee with brandy, my wife excused herself, rose and strolled slowly to the ladies room without her jacket. Her breasts jiggled wonderfully and were clearly visible through the sheer, clingy fabric of her blouse. On the way back, as she was passing a table with a half-dozen businessmen in suits one of them spoke to her. I couldn't make out the words. 

She stopped and leaned her forearms on the shoulders of two of the men to allow the man who had spoken to her to whisper into her ear. She nodded and whispered into his ear in turn. 

It startled me when he gently cupped her left breast in his hand and massaged it, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Lynne arched her back to push her breast more firmly into his hand and I noticed she'd stopped talking and was breathing a bit faster. Her face and neck flushed pink. It was beautiful. Damn, it was beautiful. 

The man to her left whispered into her ear and she whispered back, then sucked his earlobe and pulled on it with her lips. He slowly slid his hand up her thigh and under her dress, out of sight. 

Lynne moved her legs further apart and lowered her head. I could see she was breathing harder through her parted scarlet lips as her eyes closed in concentration. 

What I was watching was now officially the most erotic thing I had ever seen. My heart was booming so loud I was sure everybody could hear. Junior had a concussion from hitting his head on the underside of the table. 

After what seemed like an hour but probably was no more than 15 seconds the first man whispered in her ear again. She shook her head and spoke to him for a moment, kissed the cheek of each man and stood up. Man number two withdrew his hand from under her skirt. 

"Good night, gentlemen. Sweet dreams." She said to the group of hypnotized men loudly enough I could hear it before turning and strolling seductively back to our table as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She just smiled, held her shoulders back and took her time. I loved her for it. 

This time Lynne took the chair next to me, facing the room. She sat serenely looking at me until I just had to speak. 

"Lynne, that was the most erotic thing I've ever seen you do in public. I'm dying to know what your conversation was about." 

"Are you mad about what I just did?" she asked with raised eyebrows, staring straight into my eyes. 

"God, no. I'm so excited my heart's about to pound out of my chest," I confessed. 

Lynne leaned closer to me, sliding her hand into my crotch and feeling Junior standing at full alert. "Mmm. You are aroused." She smiled. "My wonderful man." 

She sat back, sipped her brandy, and said, "The first gentleman, the one with salt and pepper hair who uses Old Spice aftershave, by the way, told me I had the most beautiful breasts he'd ever seen and pleaded in a courtly and respectful way to be allowed to touch." 

"Distinguished looking older men are so sexy and he was such a gentleman. I saw the hunger in his eyes and I felt responsible; I'd teased them cruelly. So I told him he could hold my breast so my lover could watch. He was so eager and grateful. It was sweet." 

"How about the other man?" I asked. "The one who slid his hand up your leg." 

"Lars? He was adorable too. I think he's Swedish. He asked with that sexy accent and imperfect English if he could, please, touch me too. I thought he meant my other breast. I told him it would please me. It surprised me when I felt his hand gliding up my thigh, but it felt so, so erotic, I didn't want to stop him." 

My amazing wife gazed into my eyes. "Should I have stopped him? Did you mind him doing that? I let him go all the way up and then he rubbed me. He felt me, up between my legs, in front of all those other men. I nearly orgasmed from the naughtiness of it all. 

"I wanted to share with you the excitement of the amazing adventure I've had today while you were working. You missed pretty much all of it and I felt you'd been shortchanged. Did I behave too badly?" She probed. 

I knew she was intentionally provoking a reaction from me to gauge whether she'd stepped over the line. 

"Lynne, love, I've wanted you to do things like this for years. I don't know why you finally decided to be naughty in public, but I could never be angry at you for that. I'm thrilled. I couldn't be more proud to be your husband," I told her from my heart. 


On The Road to Dublin Pt. 01



She blushed. "Um, actually, you're not my husband right now." 

"I don't understand." I realized this wasn't my fantasy. I was wandering around blind lost in her fantasy. 

"Well, there was more to the conversation. The first gentleman, Austin, asked me loudly enough for the other men at the table to hear to come back to his hotel with him for the night. I was thrilled that he wanted me that badly and didn't want to hurt his feelings or embarrass him in front of his friends. I told him I would have loved to spend the night with him if he'd only asked earlier. I explained that I was here with my lover, who had first claim on me for an evening of rough sex and then I'd be going home to my husband who would surely want to reclaim me by making tender love to me. So my evening was already going to be as erotic as I could possibly want. I told him some other time, perhaps. That's when I stood up and wished them all sweet dreams." 

She gazed at me silently with those big smoky brown eyes until I recovered my wits a little and squeezed her hand. 

"Could you, please, Mister Lover, Sir, take me out of here now?" my wife pleaded. 

Good thing I had her jacket to hold in front of me on the way out the front door. 

While I climbed into the driver's seat, the valet held the passenger side door for my wife, who took his offered hand and got in slowly thanking the young man and giving him a big smile. 

Before putting the car in gear, I turned to her and said, "Any man would love to have you, if only for an evening. I'm lucky and proud to be your lover." 

She glanced at me shyly and lowered her gaze. "I'm glad my lover feels that way. But I'm still afraid my husband might not like me being so naughty." 

I assured her that he would love it too. 

"That's good. I can't wait to get you home, Sir." 

She put on some music and steadfastly refused to talk about her time at the club the rest of the drive. She kept promising she'd tell me everything when we got home. 

When we pulled into our driveway, I came around, opened her door, and leaned in to kiss her. She stretched like a cat and refused her jacket. She slowly swung one leg out at a time and, with her skirt ridden well up and the outdoor floodlights on I could clearly see she was wearing no panties. I tore my gaze upward to her face, which was wearing the sexiest smile. 

Her beautiful kitty was bare except for a neat landing strip above; it had been a trimmed full bush that morning. I understood why the parking attendants ran to help her into the car as we left the restaurant. 

She said, "The girls thought a Brazilian would look nice." 

She seemed to think that explained everything. 

"Nice," I said nodding my head. 

The realization hit me like an electric shock. 

"Lars didn't rub the outside of your panties; he put his fingers inside you!" 

"Just his thumb. Before I knew what was happening he had his thumb inside me rubbing my G-spot and had his forefinger wrapped around my clitoris rubbing and squeezing. If I'd left his hand there another few seconds I'd have had a screaming, shuddering orgasm right there at their table." 

"If you'd had that orgasm we'd have been banned from that restaurant for life." I shook my head. 

"Just that one or the whole chain? I know I should've stopped him, but it caught me by surprise and it just felt so good I couldn't." 

She looked up at me with those smoky eyes and I stared down at her with her legs open. She won. 

"Until thirty seconds ago I thought I was as turned on as it's possible for a man to be. I was wrong." 

She grinned and sashayed up the walk to the front door and turned around gazing out across the lawn practically naked from the waist up under the bright porch light. 

I caught up and let us in the door and, dropping everything, grabbed her and planted the most passionate kiss I could muster on her soft red lips. 

As I tried to cup her breast, she gently pushed my hand away and said, "Not down here. Come upstairs. I've had an extraordinary day and need to share it with you. I'm a little frightened of how you may react. I do so want you to be pleased." 

'Wowser! I thought. 

I enjoyed the view following her upstairs. In the bedroom she gently rebuffed another attempt to grab her and insisted I sit at the end of our bed. 

I asked, "Are you just too tired from waitressing?" 

She stared at me for a few seconds and responded, "Waitressing?" while doing the eyebrow thing. 

She smiled, nodding and said, "Oh, I see. You still think I was hired as a waitress. No, I was hired as a performer." 

I chuckled and explained that a girl isn't just hired as a dancer without an interview and an audition. 

She nodded again, still smiling. "That's right. An interview and an audition." I called her bluff. "When were you interviewed? And when was your audition?" 

Smiling slyly she said, "While you were watching those other naked girls before we ate 

lunch." 

'Other' naked girls? She was teasing, just toying with me, knowing that she was keeping Junior at full attention. 

"So, you danced for the manager while you were gone from the table?" 

"Not exactly dancing; I did explain to him what I wanted to do and he enthusiastically agreed for me to perform." 

I knew how to call her bluff. "Collect many tips for your performance?" I inquired with a smile. 

She modestly replied, "I've no prior experience to compare, but it sure seems like a lot to me," and upended her large purse on the bed. Out fell bundled stacks of bills. Lots of bills. 

"The manager was happy with my performances. He offered to change these into large bills but I wanted you to see them all exactly as they were given to me." 

I stared. She waited. My mind tried to process. I tried and failed to form words. There were bundles of every denomination from $20s, to $1s, there was even one bundle of $2s! 

She prompted, "Is it a lot?" 

I stammered, "There, there must be at least $4,000 there!" 

"Actually, $5,200." she said quietly. "That's in addition to the $1,000 I donated to the Dancers' and Waitresses' emergency fund. I tried to donate it all but the girls wouldn't let me." 

"Dancing?" I whispered. 

"Well. No, it didn't all come from my stage performances. A lot of it came from private VIP performances." she explained. 

In rapid succession the voice in my head shouted 'VIP?' 'Private?' 

She stood in front of me looking apprehensive. 

I opened my mouth to say something suave and what came out was, "I'll have to list this as miscellaneous income on our 2013 tax returns." Suave! 

She chuckled, shaking her head, then continued, "Honey, I'm told there are wi-fi cams all over that place. The manager records everything that happens. He made a DVD of my second stage performance as a present for the two of us. 

"It's his way of thanking you for letting me do this. I haven't seen it yet. Would you like to watch it with me?" 

I nodded. "Yes, please." 

"Why don't you clear off the bed and get your clothes off while I get undressed and put the disk in the player?" she coaxed. 

The stage was dark. 

An overhead spot illuminated a dressing table and chair, a coat rack and a full-length mirror. The table held a hairbrush, face mirror, and other miscellaneous woman stuff. 

I heard mellow jazz and a murmur of audience noises. As the music volume rose a stunning ruby-lipped brunette in a daring black dress, heels and black mesh hose strolled into the light to enthusiastic applause and whistles. 

The dress was just above knee length in a wrap-over style. The halter-top plunged to her waist in front and was barebacked. It was a sexy dress worn by a sophisticated woman. Small pearl teardrop earrings adorned her earlobes. 

She gave no sign she knew she had an audience. 

I'm sure every man in that room lusted for her, wanted her just as badly as I did. The difference between them and me was that the woman was my wife. 

I was completely bumfuzzled. The Lynne beside me whispered in my ear, "You like?" I nodded, making an animal sound deep in my chest, fixated on the screen. 

The woman in the video put her small purse on the dressing table. Gazing into the full-length mirror she turned, inspecting herself. Her hands slid slowly up her chest to her neck pushing her black hair up, calling attention to her bare neck. The piano-and-bass jazz background was perfect. 

She stood in that hip-shot sexy way women do and put the tip of a finger to her lips, obviously contemplating something. She glanced to the rear of the stage, toward the imaginary doorway through which she'd entered, as if making sure no one was coming. 

Having satisfied herself she was alone she strolled forward on the stage, looking back once more to ensure no one was coming. The audience didn't exist. 

She reached upward and mimed sweeping a set of floor-to-ceiling drapes open, first to the left then to the right, and gazed out her imaginary bedroom window. 

For every man in the audience that picture window became real. As real as she was. We all became voyeurs peeking into this beautiful woman's bedroom, seeing what we were forbidden to see. 

The jazz played on. 

For me that window was even more real. Glancing around our bedroom, I realized the stage layout and window placement closely duplicated our second story bedroom. The drapery-covered picture window overlooks the pool and patio in our back yard. Beyond, over the fence, there is a good view into the rear windows of the houses in the next block. 

My attention was drawn back to the screen where that exotic woman had been rubbing her breasts on the outside of her halter-top. Again, she glanced toward the entrance to her bedroom to ensure no one was coming. She untied her top lifting her hair with her hands. 

As she turned to her left, looking at her make-believe window reflection the halter top slowly, sensually slid down her front exposing the two most succulent, milky white, pink-tipped breasts I've ever seen. Her fully erect nipples were jutting proudly, her up-tilted breasts jiggled marvelously as she moved. 

A collective moan arose from the audience and me. Not at all the normal response to a stripper. Of course, this was not a normal performance and the woman was not a stripper. This lady was disrobing, baring her body for the voyeurs in her neighborhood; the guys recognized the difference. 

She turned slowly to her right admiring the reflection of her breasts and incidentally giving every man in the building a good look. It was a glorious, erotic sight. 

"You did that here?" 

She looked away and bobbed her head slightly. "Many times. Please don't be angry with me. I had to." 

"I'm surprised but not angry." She gave me a small uncertain smile. I love that woman. 

Just when I thought the scene on stage couldn't get any more erotic, she slid her hands down to cradle her breasts. She lifted her orbs, weighing them and tweaking her nipples as she gazed out into the night through that imagined window. While pinching and rolling her nipples Lynne's head tilted back and she stiffened, giving several involuntary gasps, then licked her crimson lips. 

I glanced to my right and Lynne was staring at the screen while pinching her nipples just like on screen. It was all I could do not to shoot all over the bed sheets right then. Hot doesn't begin to describe it. 

The woman on stage then did something I'd never seen nor imagined my wife doing. She pinched her nipples tightly and lifted her breasts upward by the nipples, stretching the nipples and areolas as far as they would go, at the same time throwing her head back and letting out a moan that could be heard around the room. 

The men cheered and clapped. 

Okay, now that was the new most erotic thing I'd ever seen. 

She tugged on her breasts, squeezing her nipples for what seemed like hours but was probably only a few seconds. Her shoulders tightened and she started panting in little gasps, her chest rising and falling, her tight belly rippling. She froze, standing motionless except for a shudder running through her body, her eyes wide open and her crimson lips locked in a rigid 'O' that was oh, so suggestive. Slowly her body thawed. She sighed as her head came back level and she lowered her breasts, cupping them gently. 

Several hundred men knew they had watched this elegant lady having an orgasm just from stimulating her nipples. The spell was broken by wild applause. The Lynne on screen gazed out her window at the neighborhood with those smoky, dark eyes. 

The soft jazz played on. 

She retreated a couple of steps toward the dressing table, listening for anyone coming, then turned back to her picture window, gazing at the imagined windows across the way. Her hand absently teased loose a bow tied at her right hip and the dress unwrapped itself from her waist and spiraled down her perfect legs. 

Lynne stepped out of the dress, and moved closer to the window. My wife stood before that room full of men in just her mesh stockings, heels and a tiny pair of black silk panties, actually just a triangle in front, leaving her beautiful rear bare. 

A tenor sax joined the piano and bass. Jazz. 

With arms crossed under her breasts, she casually turned left and right admiring herself in the imaginary window reflection. Every man in the room got a good look at her legs and lovely tight, bare fanny. They clapped and cheered as she pretended she was entirely alone. 

Her right hand crept down across her flat tummy and massaged her kitty outside of her panties. She looked toward the rear of the stage again before sliding her fingers into the top of those tiny panties. The camera did a close-up as her fingers rubbed her clit under the silk. So slutty. 

She was just getting into a good rhythm when a door closed and you could clearly hear footsteps in the dark at the rear of the stage. 

She snatched up her dress and dashed to the coat rack, hanging up the dress and grabbing the hairbrush. As this enchantress stood with her breasts bare, brushing her raven hair, a handsome man in a tux walked into the light. It was the Bouncer. The audience cheered and catcalled as he removed his jacket, cummerbund and tie, hanging them on the coat rack. He gave no sign he had heard any of it. He and Lynne were alone in that bedroom; there was no audience. Just two lovers and the sweet jazz. 

He placed his hands on my wife's hips from behind and began kissing and nibbling her neck and ears. She loves that. 

I realized my wife beside me was looking up at me apprehensively, chewing her bottom lip. "You weren't there and I needed someone to help me. Greg volunteered. I'm sorry." 

I searched her face and looked into her eyes. "No you're not. It's Okay." 

She blushed and gave a small nod. "Thank you. I love you." 

Back on the screen, the sultry brunette stopped brushing her hair and leaned back into her lover's chest, tilting her head back on his shoulder. His lips brushed her cheek as his hands slid up and cupped her breasts. The brunette onscreen arched her back, thrusting her hardening nipples into her lover's fingers. The contrast of his strong dark-tanned hands cradling her creamy white breasts was intensely erotic. I felt powerful jealousy, awe, pride and other emotions too tangled to label. His thumbs and forefingers tweaked and pulled her delicate pink tips. She sagged back into him and turned her head, nuzzling and kissing his neck. The bulge developing in the front of her lover's slacks evidenced his sexual excitement. Lynne's hand brushed, then rubbed, then squeezed, Greg's obviously large cock through the fabric of his slacks. 

"It's huge! And, god, I never knew a man's balls could be that big." 

Lynne was talking to herself as she gazed at the man onscreen. She wasn't even aware she had spoken aloud. My wife was talking about another man's equipment! 

After an hour, or perhaps only seconds, she seemed to gather herself and turned out of his grasp, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep lingering kiss. As he cupped her fanny cheeks and pulled her sex hard against his erection her lips parted and accepted his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes were closed and she stood on one foot, the other foot raised well off the floor. The audience went wild. 

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way. He was just supposed to cross his arms under my breasts. I turned into him and kissed him to get his hands off my breasts. I guess we both got a little carried away." 

Before I could respond the exotic brunette stranger on screen turned back around and sighed back against her man's broad chest. As she squeezed and rubbed her breasts, her lover returned to kissing her neck and ears. 

She explained, "I was holding my breasts so he couldn't fondle them." 

His kissing and nuzzling of Lynne's neck was obviously getting to her again; she tilted her head back into his shoulder. Greg seized the opportunity and slid a hand into the top of my wife's silk panties, inserting a finger into her as the camera zoomed in. 

Her eyes went wide as she clamped her legs together tightly. Within seconds her knees had involuntarily parted. She closed her legs again, more weakly this time. Again her legs opened reflexively. He was rubbing Lynne's clit with his palm and fingering her deeply, obviously right on her vaginal G-spot. Lynne placed her hand on the outside of the fabric and tried to hold his hand still but it was clearly too late. 

She was on fire and his hand already had her past the point of no return. All resistance drained from her as she returned her hands to tweaking her nipples and moved her feet apart, giving her lover full access to her pussy, surrendering herself to him fully. She groaned, turning her face to his. She nipped and sucked his lips with an urgency, a hunger that most men, including me, have never experienced. She sucked his tongue with her scarlet lips, moaning loudly all the while in rapidly rising pitch. 

As he inserted another finger and increased the pace of his attack on her, she raised her hips to meet his hand and rocked in time with his fingers as they ground away at her erogenous nerve center. I nearly came when Lynne slid her hand inside the elastic waistband of his slacks, down to encircle his cock and stroked him in time with his fingers moving in and out of her. 

On the bed beside me, my wife went wide-eyed. "Oh, God! I don't remember actually doing that. I thought I just imagined it." 

Greg inserted a third finger into my wife and sped the pace again. Lynne's hips rocked in tempo with his fingers. Their moans became louder and they were both breathing hard. Hell, everybody in the club and in our bedroom was breathing hard, too!  

Onstage, she finally broke the kiss and gave a wordless cry of ecstasy. Not a little 'eek'. She let out a full volume finger-slammed-in-the-car-door kind of scream. Her back arched; her entire body tensed. His body tensed. Everybody's body tensed. She grabbed his wrist, forced his hand hard into her, and held it there with every ounce of her strength. Her thighs slammed shut on his hand. For that same eternity his other hand pinched her left nipple causing her to orgasm again and again, her eyes and mouth open wide in a now soundless scream. 

I could tell by the familiar motion that the fingers of her other hand was feverishly rubbing the underside of the tip of his cock. She knows that'll bring a man off faster than anything else. He bellowed deep in his chest and his hips bucked uncontrollably. The audience roared, clapped, whistled. Then they both became still and things got quieter. After a time the two reluctantly slid their hands free. My wife's lover gathered her in a tender embrace that stabbed at my heart like nothing else I've ever experienced. 




On The Road to Dublin Pt. 01



Greg guided Lynne to a seat, tilted her chin up, exchanging a lingering kiss while cupping her breasts tenderly. He whispered into her ear and she nodded. He kissed her neck, turned away, took his clothing from the coat rack, and walked into the darkness through the imaginary door. 

Who had the mystery man been? Husband? Lover? Voyeur neighbor? 

As her breathing calmed the intoxicating beauty onstage rose from her dressing table, her panties sliding to the floor. She turned her back to the window, bent deliberately at the waist and picked up the panties, dropping them on the dressing table. Her fully open inner and outer lips were engorged to a bright pink and resembled the petals of a delicate orchid. I gazed at the screen in wonderment, my jaw slack, as my naked wife, my life-mate, this sultry, sexy woman I'd never met, straightened and sashayed toward the imaginary window. 

She gazed out at the night, turning left then right so all of the men could gaze at her gloriously naked and swollen sex from every angle. She rubbed herself slowly for about a minute. She spread her legs apart and inserted her two middle fingers while continuing to rub her swollen clit with the palm of her hand, mimicking the motion her lover had used to bring her to orgasm. 

In and out, round and round, faster and faster. She bucked, threw her hips forward then back first to the left then the right. She was going to share this one with every man in her audience. Squatting on her heels, she sank her fingers deep and palmed her clit furiously. She lowered her head and gave a guttural moan, the most primal sound I've ever heard a woman make. Her hand froze as she raised her head, slammed her knees together and cried out. She went down on her knees and one hand, swaying unsteadily, panting. 

I knew how the men there felt. We all watched my wife bring herself to climax. She had never allowed even me to see that before sharing it with several hundred other men. We each had helped her have that orgasm. We had willed her over the edge and we were spent. Some of us, I'm sure, had orgasmed with her. The silence shattered, the crowd thundered applause, standing, clapping, cheering and whistling. 

I watched my naked wife on our bed as she watched herself on our high definition TV. I wondered if she was even aware she was squeezing her breasts and rubbing her clitoris as she watched the exotic naked beauty masturbating onstage for hundreds of men. 

I tried to fathom whether it excited me more to see my Lynne orgasming on stage for all those men or to see her in person, rubbing herself toward another orgasm as she watched herself doing the same thing for hundreds of breathless men onstage. It's a puzzlement. 

As the applause finally faded, this glorious woman, my beautiful naked wife stood on unsteady legs. She slowly closed the curtains on her imaginary stage window, resumed her seat at the dressing table and continued brushing her hair. The men were subdued, quiet- not knowing what would come next. 

The stage faded to black; the jazz faded away to polite but uncertain applause. 

All of the stage lights came back up and Lynne, still naked except for earrings, hose and heels walked slowly back to center stage smiling and bowing left then right to thunderous applause. 

At the front of the stage she turned full circle as she slid first one finger then the other from her hand that had pleasured her into her mouth and methodically licked them clean. Then, smiling wickedly, she slowly and deliberately licked and sucked each of the fingers on the hand that had pleasured her mystery man. 

The men got it. And loved it. She received her second standing ovation and the sky rained money. Literally rained money. Wadded, folded, made into paper airplanes, rolled up with rubber bands, handfuls of loose bills, even bundles still in their bank wrappers. She had to walk carefully to avoid sliding down on the money. 

Then this exotic, erotic beauty returned to the center of the runway and blew kisses to the men. 

Behind her Greg walked back into the light to renewed applause, taking small bows and waving as he walked. 

As he walked by her dressing table, Greg retrieved my wife's silk panties and held them to his face, inhaling her scent before tucking his prize into his pocket. Every man there wanted her panties but accepted that they belonged to her mystery lover by right of conquest. It's a guy thing. 

He wrapped his arms around Lynne from behind and kissed her on the shoulder as the men whistled, cheered and clapped. Lord how they clapped. He whispered in her ear and she leaned back into his chest as before, tilting and turning her head toward him and joining with him in another deep open-mouthed kiss as he again wrapped his arms across her breasts. And again both the excitement and sweet agony of watching gripped my chest. 

"He apologized for groping me earlier and I relaxed. Then the weasel did it again! Damn him." Lynne seemed upset but I didn't think it was anger or, not all anger, certainly. 

As the applause began to wind down there was jazz again, sweet and haunting. The lights died to a single spot on the pair. Her mystery lover reluctantly broke the kiss and released her, walking back into the darkness. 

The naked vision stood alone. The men waited, leaning forward in their seats in anticipation. What she did next was subtle but astonishing in its effect on her voyeurs. 

She modestly covered her breasts with her left arm while covering her sex with her dainty right hand, her feet together and her head bowed demurely. The change, the contrast with her earlier exhibitionist performance was electric. Every man, including me, maybe especially me, suddenly felt naughty for peeping at this demure beauty's nakedness. A forbidden vision. 

She only held the pose for a few moments before breaking the spell with a saucy curtsey and a big smile. She sashayed through the sea of currency to the rear of the stage as the lights faded to black. 

The jazz faded away. 

In our bedroom, the DVD ended and there was quiet. I was completely lost for words. Let me rephrase that: I was completely lost. I gradually realized that Lynne was staring at my face, searching for some clue whether I was pleased or angry. 

I gazed at her in mute confusion. She finally let out the breath she had been holding. Apparently, she wasn't seeing what she needed to see in my face. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. 

"I didn't realize how it would look to you. I don't even remember doing some of those things. You don't have to say it. I know I'm a slut. I've always been a slut; I've just been able to hide it until now. If you'll just give me a second chance I promise nothing like this will ever happen again. I'll behave myself from now on. I just couldn't help myself. I've fantasized about this since I was a teenager. I'm so ashamed." 

Instinctively I reached out to take her in my arms and she actually flinched as if she thought I might hurt her. I reached again, more slowly, and took her into my arms, pulling her to me gently. 

"Lynne, honey, hush. You've just made me the happiest, proudest, horniest, most confused husband who ever lived. Did I mention horniest?" 

She pulled back and searched my face for some confirmation of what she had heard. 

"Aren't you ashamed of me, angry at me?" 

I shook my head, smiling. "Does Junior look unhappy?" Lynne stared at Junior and her eyes got big. 

"Holy . . . that's the hardest erection I've seen all day." Seconds later her trance broke and her horrified eyes lifted to meet mine. "I said that out loud?" I nodded, still absorbing what I'd just heard. 

She clapped her hand over her mouth, wide-eyed. I touched her shoulder and she murmured, more to herself than to me, "I lost my mind today. It was as if I was somebody else from the moment you walked out the door of the club. I can't explain it; I don't understand it." 

Trying to reassure her I soothed, "I don't think you've lost your mind. And what I saw in that video, although some of it did hurt, does make me hornier than you can imagine. 

"I've always known you're beautiful. I found out today that I'm married to the sexiest, most erotic woman in the world. What you did today showed a hunger to express yourself that astonishes me. 

"All those men got to see you and share in your erotic fantasy. They all were thrilled to see and hear your orgasms. You could have gone home with any of those men tonight, including Greg. Probably especially including Greg. But you chose to come home with me and that makes me the luckiest, happiest man alive. I want to hear all the details but after the day we've both had I think it would be best to leave the rest until tomorrow." 

She still was having a hard time believing what she was hearing. "Aren't you embarrassed by what our neighbors probably say about me?" 

I shook my head and reassured her. "Probably every man on the block craves to peek at you and every woman on the block wishes it was her the men were craving to get a peek at. You've likely done more to improve the quality and frequency of marital sex in this neighborhood than a whole troop of marriage counselors ever could." That got a small smile and chuckle from her. Baby steps. 

"There is one thing that does not please me at all." 

The smile was gone and her eyes looked fearful again. "What? I promise I'll be good from now on." 

I explained that was precisely the problem; I didn't want her to be good from now on. "I love what you did today. Granted, most women would have started with putting a toe in the water, maybe accidentally flashing a nipple at the beach whereas you just jumped right into the deep end." 

"I discovered today that my life-mate is an exhibitionist, that you need to display your body to men. You've hidden that need from me for ten years. It's not healthy to suppress such needs and I'm saddened you felt you had to conceal it from me. You didn't trust me enough to tell me about your need to show your body to other men." 

"It wasn't you. It was me. You know how I was raised. I was ashamed that I had that craving to show myself. I was afraid you would be ashamed of me too." 

"Honey, both Junior and I are thrilled with you. I've been trying to get you to loosen up and be more daring for me for years. 

"The last thing I want is for you to pull back into your shell now. Nothing doing! You've outed yourself. Now we can play with it and both have fun. You see, your loving husband is as big a voyeur as you are an exhibitionist." 

She gazed at me with those warm brown eyes. "I never thought you were serious. I just could not believe you would still love me if I let other men see my body. Do you mean it? Do you want me to show myself?" 

I nodded, a goofy grin spreading across my face. "Speaking of showing yourself, you do realize that this video, along with videos and stills shot with their smart phones by the guys in the audience will get onto the Internet. Probably already have. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of men are going to see your delicious naked body." 

A far-away look came to her eyes. She was in a trance again. "Millions . . ." 

She absently stroked Junior while turning that thought over in her beautiful head. I whispered, "Honey, I want to make love to you. I've wanted that since you kissed all those guys goodbye as we left the club tonight." 

Her expression hardened. She removed her hand from Junior and said firmly, "I don't want that now. I'm not going to let you make love to me tonight." 

"You don't want. . ." It hurt. I felt a sudden dread, a hollow ache in the pit of my stomach. Scenes of Greg kissing her, caressing her breasts, bringing her to shuddering orgasms flashed through my mind. Had he already made love to her? 

"No. You're not going to make love to me tonight. I don't need that now." She repeated herself firmly. 

I must have looked desperate. "Are you and Greg . . ." I felt sick; I couldn't finish the question. I dreaded hearing the answer. 

"Greg? No! Hell, no! 

"Look, I've been at the highest state of sexual arousal of my life all night. I desperately need to be taken by my lover. Hard and rough. Making sweet love with my husband can wait until tomorrow. I want my lover to take me again and again while I scream for you to slam your cock into me deeper and harder. Pull my hair, bite my nipples, squeeze my boobs until I beg for release. Take me like the slut I am." 

Well, this Southern boy can sure take a hint. 

I flipped back the covers and reached for her. She crawled toward me and I grabbed her hair at the back of her head and pulled her to me, smashing my lips to hers with an urgency we've never had before. I pulled her lower lip with my teeth. Our tongues probed. Then she pulled back. 

"Wait a second. I forgot something." 

Sliding out of bed, she sashayed over to the picture window and threw back the drapes, first to the left then to the right. She gazed at her glorious nakedness in the window's reflection, turning first left then right before strolling provocatively back to me. 

I would have sworn I heard mellow jazz. 

She looked at me uncertainly. "Should I dim the lights?" 

"No." I commanded. "Leave them on. Let 'em all see my slut wife being taken." 

I pulled her forcefully onto the bed, lifted her saucy bottom into the air and pushed her head down onto the sheets. I mounted her from behind and took the slut hard and rough, just as she needed and so richly deserved. 

- End Part 1 - 

Part 2 is complete and submitted. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for reading. This is my first story of any kind. Please vote then give me your comments so I can become a better writer. 

Let me know if you'd like more stories about Lynne and her husband, what's-his-name.



On The Road to Dublin Pt. 02



All rights reserved. This Work may not be copied, published, republished or posted on any other venue or media, in whole or in part, without the author's express written permission. 

This is the conclusion of a two-part story. It won't make any sense until you've read On The Road To Dublin - Part 1. 

This my first story of any kind. Please remember to rate and comment so I can improve. 

********** 

SATURDAY: 

The bright sun awakened me, alone in bed. I cleaned up, dressed in a T-shirt and gym shorts and drifted downstairs on the glorious coffee aroma. I'm not worth a damn 'til I've had my first mug of morning coffee. 

Lynne was standing with her back to me at the kitchen breakfast island, coffee cup in hand, lost in her own thoughts. I'd have traded the inventory of the vault at Fort Knox for those thoughts. 

This gorgeous woman had prepared my favorite breakfast of country ham, scratch biscuits and grits with redeye gravy. 

"This must be heaven." My voice startled her out of her reverie; she gave me a quick smile. 

She was sexy as hell in a see thru pale blue blouse I had not seen before and a thin, flowing navy blue wrap-over skirt with little pink rosebuds. Her long legs were in nude sheer stockings and were made even more enticing by the three-inch navy blue pumps. Her hair and makeup were perfect. Her only jewelry was the pearl earrings from last night and her wedding ring set. I couldn't help noticing that her pink nipples were a perfect match for the little pink rosebuds on her skirt. 

She shyly raised her skirt, allowing me a glimpse of a tiny pair of lacy pink panties and her thigh highs. 

"Like my panties?" 

"Love 'em. You make those panties look gooood." We both giggled. 

"Would it please you if I dressed this way when I go out?" I sensed a longing in her voice. 

"Please me? Oh, hell, yeah." 

"You wouldn't mind that other men would see my rosebuds and, if I was careless, my little pink panties?" Her voice sounded more hopeful than convinced. 

"Nope. Sounds hot. I want you to be happy. Just never forget who loves you and where home is." 

"You're a wonderful husband. I'll always love only you and will always come home to you." 

Nice to hear, but I wondered what that was all about. 

"Have a seat; breakfast is ready." Lynne placed a loaded plate and mug of coffee in front of me. 

"Dig in." She walked out of the room and I heard car keys rattle and the front door being unlocked. I made an intuitive leap to exactly the wrong conclusion. 

"Lynn, aren't you going to eat breakfast?" 

She retraced her steps to the kitchen. "I've already eaten." 

She gave me the hand-on-hip and arched eyebrows look. "Didn't you just say you wouldn't mind my going out dressed this way?" 

"Yeah..." 

"And that you wanted me to be happy?" 

"Well, yeah." I knew I was toast. 

"Alright then. I'm going out. I'll be back later. Love you. Bye." With a saucy smile and a wink, she was gone, just like that. 

The front door closed. It got quiet. I heard the car door open and close. 

Well, crap. This wasn't the way I had envisioned our morning going. 

Minutes passed. No car engine. I eased into the living room to look out the picture window but retreated to the kitchen when I heard her heels on the walk. A minute later, she came back into the house. 

I asked, "Forget something?" 

"Not this morning. But we did leave my jacket and necklace unlocked in the car all night." 

"You said you were going out." I was confused. 

"I did go out. Out to the driveway to collect my things before they walked away." She was grinning. 

"Then why are you all dressed up?" 

"Doofus! I'm dressed up for you." 

"So no one saw your outfit?" I guess my disappointment showed. 

"Well, you saw it. And there was Mr. Tuttle." 

"Tuttle?" The Tuttles are our retired neighbors across the street. 

"Yep. I noticed he was getting his riding mower ready to cut his yard so I strolled down the driveway to check our mail and waved good morning to him. He actually came all the way across the street to chat with me a minute. I can't remember the last time he did that." She was smiling innocently. 

"He's drooled over you for years. Seeing you in that outfit is the closest to heaven he's ever going to get." 

"And there were the joggers." 

She just left that hanging in mid-air as she twirled a strand of her black hair. 

"Joggers?" I bit. 

"Athletes from the University. They stopped to chat as Mr. Tuttle was going back to his mower. They're nice boys. Polite. And big." 

"Big?" 

I know. She'd hooked me like a trout. You would've taken the bait too. 

"Oh, you know: Tall, muscular, bare-chested, glistening with sweat, smelling so manly and wearing those snug fitting spandex running shorts with the big bulges in front and the tight little butts in the back. Imposing. And so - vigorous." 

She had me. She knew it; the smile gave her away. 

"They seemed fascinated with my rosebuds." She put on her best innocent face. 

"Um, what did y'all talk about?" 

"Oh, you know. Just the usual stuff. Favorite bars, phone numbers, scheduling, things like that." 

"You gave them your phone number?!" Now I was worried. 

"No, silly. You know I wouldn't do that." She followed up with a reassuring pat on the arm. 

"Besides I didn't have to. They both insisted on giving me theirs." She drove that thought home with a serene smile and a twist of a strand of her hair. 

"Tell me you threw those numbers away, please." It was suddenly harder to breath in the kitchen. 

"Sorry, honey but I just can't do that. Not for a while, at least." 

"Why the hell not, Lynne?" Ok, breath deep, keep cool. Not working. 

"Because they wrote 'em on the paper boy's bill, that's why. You are so cute when you get all huffed up and jealous. I love you for it. By the way, I did scratch out the numbers after the boys left. Wouldn't do to leave that kind of temptation laying around." 

She poured fresh for both of us and settled in across the breakfast table from me. She took a slow sip of hot coffee while considering how to start. 

She noticed Junior poking out the leg of my gym shorts and gently took him in hand. 

"Come with me, husband. I have an adventure to tell." Her smile and gentle pull on Junior propelled me after her to the living room love seat facing the bay window. 

Lynne sat beside me and took a deep breath that, incidentally, looked great in that see through blouse. Just saying . . . 

"Honey, I have had a need, a hunger, to let men see my body since I was a teenager. I don't know where it comes from or why I need that, but I do." 

I guess she could see the question written all over my face and kept going before I could interrupt. 

"You've encouraged me to dress more suggestively for years and I've always been stubbornly reluctant, I know. And you're wondering why. I'm not exactly sure myself except that I know I was concerned you would think badly of me. I was afraid you'd think I was a slut. So I resisted the hunger. But your constant encouragement made the need in me stronger and, the last year or so, my desire has just become more than I can resist. I'm sorry." 

Fascinating. She had Junior's, and my, full attention. Pun intended. 

"I began undressing in our bedroom with the drapes open. At first I only did it at night and with the lights off. I could see out and could walk right up to the windows but I don't think any of the neighbors could actually see me. Still, it was exciting and, for a while, it was enough. I was just careful never to let you see me do it. 

"Then I did it during the day, when you weren't home. Standing in front of those floor to ceiling windows, looking at the neighbors' windows, knowing they could see me if they happened to be looking made my heart pound. I actually got light-headed I was so turned on. 

"Then, a couple of months ago, the night of the Charity Ball, I did it with the lights on in the bedroom. I was already aroused from all the dancing and I just opened the drapes and slowly took off my dress and stood in front of the window in only my panties and stockings. I could see people across the way out on their patios and decks. I knew they could see me easily. It was the most wicked thing I'd ever done and I loved it. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure you could hear it down in the den. 

"I stood at my dressing table combing my hair, then strolled back to the windows and looked out. I discovered I could see my reflection in the glass. I let my hands roam over my breasts, pinching and pulling my nipples and electricity raced through me. I slid my hands down my tummy - down between my legs. My panties were sopping wet." 

Her voice had faded to a whisper and her eyes were focused on another place and time. 

"I slid my hand into my panties and gently rubbed around and around my clit. I had never felt my clit that large before. It was so sensitive. I was getting there fast. I slid two fingers inside me and had just begun losing myself in my orgasm when I heard you coming up the stairs and was embarrassed; I didn't want you to catch me. I swept the drapes closed and dashed back to my dressing table and grabbed up my hairbrush just as you walked into the room." 

Talk about a pounding heart, mine was doing a pretty good imitation of a Gene Krupa drum solo. The images in my mind alternated between the stage performance I'd watched last night and the scene she'd just described happening months earlier in our bedroom. 

"Hon, that is so erotic. Now I understand why you attacked me when I came upstairs. From what I remember us doing that night, I sure hope your bouncer friend didn't get as lucky as I did. 

She stared at me. Her face and neck colored. She looked down at her hands in her lap. 

"He didn't, did he?" 

"Well, as you saw in the video last night, he had a pretty good night but, no, he didn't get what you got," she murmured. 

While I mulled that one over she hurried on. 

"He's actually their 'greeter' and part owner of the club. He doesn't like being called a 'bouncer'. He's a retired Ranger." 

"Park or Forest?" I asked. 

She smiled. "Army!" 

Didn't see that coming. 

She continued, "As I was saying before we got sidetracked, the idea for my stage performance was born the evening of the charity ball. 

"I've often fantasized about being a stripper. Just fantasy; I was never serious about it. Mostly I lacked the nerve. And I never had a clue how to go about it. I was mortified that you would divorce me if you even suspected I had such fantasies. And I can't dance all that well. The closest I had come before yesterday was a wet t-shirt contest in Destin during Spring Break my freshman year. 

"So stripping remained just a fun fantasy until we spotted the billboard for the gentleman's club yesterday. When you suggested we have lunch there, I got so excited I could hardly think straight. Until our lunch I'd never seen the inside of a gentleman's club and had never actually watched a stripper perform. It was so erotic! 

"Watching the girls taking their clothes off with all those men watching made me want to do it so much my kitty and nipples were aching. When I heard the manager talking about being short two dancers I realized fate had given me a chance that might never come again. I knew if I didn't seize the opportunity I would spend the rest of my life cursing my cowardice; I also knew if I did seize the opportunity I might spend the rest of my life cursing my brazenness, but I couldn't help myself. I had to do it. 

"When I excused myself from the table I went directly to the manager's office and introduced myself. I told him I had overheard his conversation with the bartender and wanted to perform for them." 

"You told him your name? He knows who we are?" I asked with concern. 

"I introduce myself as Lynne. I did not give them my last name, address or phone number," she reassured me. 

"Smart girl." 

"He asked if I had ever performed before and I admitted that I hadn't. 

"He asked if I could dance and I confessed I wasn't any good at that. I was so embarrassed. I knew I had to do this so I blurted out my fantasy and what I've been doing in our bedroom for the last couple of months. He got interested. 

"He said 'Okay, take your clothes off.' That floored me. He just said it so casually like it was perfectly routine to tell a married woman to take her clothes off. Then I realized it was only fair that he see what I looked like before he put me on stage in his club. 

"As I took my jacket off he asked me to wait a second and made a quick phone call asking someone to come to his office. He explained that the co-owner of the club also had to approve new performers and it would save time to have them both see me together. 

"In walked Greg with an ear-to-ear grin. Hal sat in front of me while Greg stood behind me. With my heart pounding and my knees shaking, I unbuttoned my blouse, slid it off and laid it on top of my jacket. I next let my skirt slide off and folded it atop my other clothes. 

"There I stood in just my lingerie with two strange men staring at my body and I got so wet my panties were soaked. I felt so sexy. I burned to let them to see all of me. I can't explain it. 

"I turned to face Greg, staring straight into his eyes as I unhooked my bra, slid it down my arms and handed it to him to put with my clothes. His eyes feasted on my breasts. The pulses in his neck were pounding, probably nearly as hard as mine. I could hear my pulse in my ears. My nipples flushed and got hard. I was having trouble keeping my hands off of them. 

"I turned back to Hal and there was a look of pure lust on his face as I hooked my thumbs in my panties and slowly pushed them off my hips exposing my slit to a man not my husband for the first time in my life. Bending at the waist, I slid those little white lace panties you bought for me to my ankles and handed them to Hal to put with my bra. I was well aware that I had displayed my sex to the man behind me as well. 

"Both men had bulges in the fronts of their pants. My body did that. A thrill washed over me. I can't find the words to describe how it felt. My shakes were gone. 

"As I stood naked with those two men I gave up trying to keep my hands away from my breasts and began pinching and rolling my nipples with my fingers. I was both horrified and ecstatic when my body shuddered and orgasmed, just from playing with my nipples, with them watching. 

"Greg picked up my panties, held them to his face, inhaled deeply, and slid them into his coat pocket. 

"Smiling he said, 'You won't need these again today.' He nodded at Hal and walked out. 

"The surprising thing was that neither man tried to touch me at all and neither said anything else to me. They were pretty business-like about the whole thing. 

"Hal asked who you were and I explained and reassured him that you would be okay with what I was doing and that you were going to be gone for the rest of the day. I didn't tell him that I was thinking of telling you I had waited tables and just not mentioning performing. He told me to finish lunch and report back to him. So I dressed and came back to you." 

"You were going to lie to me about what you were doing? Why?" 

"I was afraid you'd be ashamed of me and divorce me if you knew I was even thinking about taking my clothes off in that club. Please try to understand. I love you with all my heart and couldn't bear even the thought of losing you, but I knew I had to do this. The need was just too strong to fight anymore but I was terrified of how you would react. The only way out I could see was to hide it all from you. I'm sorry I even thought that, but when you jumped to the conclusion I would be working as a waitress and never even considered that they might find me attractive enough to be a performer it hurt my feelings and made it easier to not correct your thinking." 

"So before we even ate lunch you had stripped naked for two strangers and given away your panties." 

She arched her eyebrows at me. "I did not give away my panties; he took them. Greg is very - assertive. And I was still wearing my stockings and heels." 

While I just gazed at her, she thought that over and sighed. "Okay, you're right. I got bare ass naked with two strange men and lost my panties before lunch." 

Wowser! 

I understood now why Greg grinned so big when I asked him to keep an eye on my wife. He'd already seen every square inch of her and was planning to spend the rest of the evening seeing her. He'd already inhaled the scent of her arousal and had her panties in his pocket when he shook hands with me as I was leaving. 

Lynne pulled me back to the present. "After walking you out, Greg sent me back to Hal's office to 'take care of the details' as he called it. 

"Hal turned me over to Rachel, the lead dancer. She sort of looks after the girls and they all affectionately refer to her as 'Miss Rachel'. You can thank her for getting my head screwed back on straight and shocking me out of the idea of concealing from you what I was doing. 

"How so?" Rachel sounded to me like a pretty good mother hen. 

"Miss Rachel is the tall natural redhead with the spectacular figure you were drooling over when I got back to our table after my audition. She is a sweetheart. She graduated from Old Miss with a degree in interior design. Her husband got a good job offer right out of college and they moved to Macon. While he worked as an engineer for one of the largest construction companies in the South, she started her own interior design company. 

"She asked me why I wanted to be on stage and I explained about my need to show myself. That got a smile and kind of far-away look out of her. Rachel has had the same hunger all of her adult life. She's a kindred spirit, so we traded stories. 

"Rachel spotted the Club one day shortly after moving to Macon, while on the way to Atlanta to meet a client. On the way back she stopped in and watched the girls perform while she ate supper. 

"Just like me she cornered Hal and begged an opportunity to dance. Since she's so gorgeous, he was happy to oblige. She did a three-song set, stripped naked and loved it. She was showered with applause and had nearly $250.00 stuck in her garters when she left the stage. 

"She also realized her husband would probably not be understanding about it so decided never to do it again and to keep it to herself. 

"It was only six months later the construction industry took a nosedive and her husband got laid off, being the junior engineer. Her business was beginning to make a little money but couldn't possibly pay the mortgage on the house they'd just bought and keep groceries on the table. 

"Her husband worked like a Trojan, day and night, looking for a new job. He finally found an inside sales job which at least provided insurance coverage, gas money and food on the table. They were still going to lose the house and the bank was threatening to repossess their cars. Things were desperate. 

"Rachel knew her business would not produce in time to do any good. She was wracking her brain for a solution when she remembered how much money she'd made dancing that one set at the club. The idea was so dangerous she rejected it at first. Then the bank repossessed her husband's truck. If she lost her car they'd be on foot and her business would die. 

"Without discussing it with her husband, she went back to the club and explained things to Hal and Greg. She asked to work two day shifts and one night shift per week, figuring she could tell her husband she was meeting clients. They wanted to help and also knew her dancing would be good for business. 

"So that's how Rachel got started as a dancer. Once she learned how to do lap dances and private performances in the VIP area she was making more than $1,200.00 per week and running it through her business checking account so her husband thought the money came from interior designing. She planned to dance only until her husband got his career back on track. 




On The Road to Dublin Pt. 02



"For two months everything worked well. She kept her costumes at the club, had no contact with the club's customers outside of the club, and worked hard at her interior design business three days a week. She was home with her husband six nights a week and he was none the wiser. According to her, they were happy. 

"One of her husband's friends told her later that there was a Tuesday afternoon her husband was sitting in Christensen's Bar & Grill having a beer with the guys and they got to talking about the good looking redhead that a couple of them had seen at the Gentleman's Club up on I-75 north of town. When Grover mentioned she only performed on Wednesday nights her husband got real quiet and left the bar soon after. It had apparently dawned on him that Rachel had been out late every Wednesday for the last two months, supposedly meeting clients who couldn't meet during the day. 

"The next night Rachel's husband was sitting right down front at the stage when she began her first set. She didn't recognize him during the first and second songs because of the lights and his baseball cap. Only as she lay naked on her back with her legs in the air, pushing her panties off did she realize her husband was watching. 

"When he stood and pulled off the cap, his eyes boring into hers, she could see all the pain of her betrayal and deception in his eyes, mixed with the tears. His shoulders slumped and he turned and walked out without a word. She jumped off the stage to go after him and twisted her ankle. By the time she'd hobbled to the parking lot, naked and crying his name, he was gone. She knelt on the asphalt, sobbing until Greg picked her up and carried her back into the club. 

"Through the whole divorce her husband never spoke to her and never once looked at her face. They had loved each other and each lost a part of their souls. 

"That's why I was so frightened about how you would react last night. I found out that I needn't have feared. My husband is a much stronger, more loving man than Rachel's husband was. I never knew before just how strong and secure a man you are. I'm luckier than I ever realized. 

I appreciated what she was saying even though I thought she was troweling it on pretty thick. 

"Anyway, Rachel still had to eat and keep a roof over her head, so she settled into a routine of working Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights at the club and being an interior designer by day. Her business grew and prospered but she hung onto her hours at the club because - well because she had that need to show herself. Indulging that need made her a happier person. For Rachel it was that simple. 

"Miss Rachel listened as I gave her the short version of my story. Then she read me the riot act for even thinking about deceiving you. She warned me to not make the same mistake she'd made with her husband. I promised her, cross my heart, to tell you everything. Afterward she listed the things we had to do to make my performance happen. 

"The first thing she said I needed was to get sugared. 

"Then she needed to teach me some things about playing to my audience. 

"I needed costuming, nails, makeup, and a thousand other things. We arranged for props and lighting with Hal and the DJ. 

"Who knew taking your clothes off was so complicated?" 

"What's sugaring?" I'd not heard of it before. 

Lynne explained, "It's like waxing except they use a ball of nearly solid honey and it's way less painful. The girls do it for each other in the dressing room to save money. 

"Greg had told Rachel that I was in 'serious need' of a Brazilian. That meant removing all the hair from around my kitty and backside. I kept a close-trimmed landing strip at the top because Rachel said men like that and a successful performance is all about pleasing the men. 

"She had me strip and get on the table while they warmed everything up. I felt like such a bad girl lying there naked with my knees up while other women came in and out from their performances. The process was a little uncomfortable but not painful. She showed me how sexy it looked with a mirror. When I started to get up, she stopped me and said to wait just a minute for final inspection. 

"Greg walked in bold as brass with that grin of his. I was lying there with my knees up and legs wide open and he just walked over and stared down at my kitty. I couldn't help it, I got wet instantly. He pulled the handkerchief from the lapel pocket of his jacket and patted me dry. He held the handkerchief to his nose and inhaled, smiling. Then he softly stroked his hand between my legs without even asking. I was already so turned on by everything that had happened and his inhaling the scent of my arousal, my hips bucked completely off the table all by themselves, pressing my sex hard into the palm of his hand. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. I was so embarrassed. 

"He told Rachel I looked nice and walked out." 

I was not happy. "This guy's making a habit of feeling up my wife. I'd hate to have to hurt him." 

My response startled Lynne. "Oh god, no honey. I promise you that won't be necessary. Not at all. He doesn't mean anything to me. This is all just about performing, nothing else." 

"Lynne, honey, I'm not worried about your intentions. This guy wants you. He wants you in the worst way. What you've told me and what I saw last night of his behavior onstage leaves no doubt he wants in your pants. Again, that is. And if he ever tries that again I'll hurt him. Once is art, twice is erotic, three times is war." 

"You couldn't hurt him, he's a Ranger. He'd cripple you - or kill you. Besides, he'll never get another chance. There's nothing for you to worry about, I promise." 

Can't say I was all that thrilled about her lack of faith in my physical abilities or how impressed she was with his. I swing a mean briefcase. For now I wanted to hear the rest of the story. 

"I hear ya. If you say it's not a problem, it's not a problem. What happened next?" 

"Are you sure you want to hear the rest of it? You just scared me and I'm not sure telling you the rest is a good idea. I had hoped this could be an adventure we could share and enjoy together but you're being all mad and jealous." 

"Any more of Greg putting his hands between your legs?" 

Lynne stared hard at me for a few seconds before saying, "No. You already know about every time Greg touched me down there." 

"Good enough. What happened next?" I made a mental note to think more later about that delay in her answer. 

She took a few seconds to remember where her narrative had left off, then, "It was late afternoon by the time we'd completed everything on Rachel's checklist and she had done her best to turn me into an instant pro. 

"The Friday afternoon regulars had drifted in and Hal and Rachel decided it was time. I didn't tell them but I was losing my nerve. I was so scared of what you would think and I was having doubts that I could actually take my clothes off with all those men watching. 

"But everybody had worked so hard to make it possible for me to do this. I knew I'd absolutely never have another chance as good. After talking with Rachel and watching her perform, I was absolutely on fire with the need to let myself be seen naked. It's something I just can't explain. I certainly don't understand it. 

"My first performance was not the same as the one you saw in the video last night. The music was a soft classical piece I'd not heard before. The clothes were the same but my hair was up. I used a scarf at Rachel's suggestion to cover my kitty so I could simulate my orgasms. That didn't work out well. The scarf was awkward and I was so hot I couldn't keep my hands off myself anyway. My orgasms were all real and wonderful. 

"It helped in the enjoyment of my adventure that I had lots of orgasms. Powerful ones, gentle ones. I didn't need to fake a single one of my climaxes." 

I was at a loss for a snappy comment. I didn't even know what to ask. I mean, it was all pretty black and white, wasn't it? Nothing she'd said was in Latin. Had she found it necessary to fake an orgasm the day before, or a couple last week? Maybe all the ones this year? Did she realize how her comment would sound to her husband? Something else to think about. 

She was so happy thinking about her experience I don't think she even noticed my silence. 

"The biggest difference between the first and second performances was that there was no mystery man in the first performance. The performance ended when I dashed back to the dressing table after hearing footsteps. 

"Once I got started it just felt right. Taking my clothes off with all those men watching was thrilling. I was so turned on my heart was pounding out of my chest. My nipples were harder than I can remember them ever being before and so, so sensitive. I was so wet it was leaking down my thigh. 

"The men loved it. They clapped and whistled and cheered and threw money on the stage. Every man I could see had a tent in the front of his pants. My body caused all of those erections. It was so wickedly erotic, knowing every one of them wanted to take me. I've never felt more desirable, more purely sexy. 

"Backstage, Hal said he'd noticed nearly every man in the audience using their cell phones after my performance. He thought they were calling their friends to come see my next performance. He predicted we were about to be hit by an avalanche. 

"He was right. The club was filling up fast. The DJ announced that my second and final performance would be at 8:00 and by 7:00 all the seats were filled and men were standing around the walls. And a good many of the men had brought their wives or girlfriends. That surprised me. 

"Hal asked if there would be any changes for the next performance and we discussed several new things. The music was changed to a mellow instrumental jazz. I chose to wear my hair down, get rid of the scarf, and switch to a black satin thong Rachel had. 

"The most important change was the addition of a man. I explained to Hal and Rachel that the whole performance was a re-enactment of what I'd been doing in our bedroom for the past year. Recently I've been fantasizing about you walking in, realizing what I was doing and fondling me erotically while our neighbors watched. 

"I asked Hal to stand in for you and was a little surprised when Rachel spoke up saying it was a great idea but not with Hal. She said Greg would be a much better choice and Hal quickly agreed. 

"I was hesitant about performing with Greg because of how I had responded to him earlier. Then Rachel pointed out the man needed a tux to fit in with my dress and Hal didn't have a tux but Greg did. It was either Greg or nobody. So I agreed." Lynne was watching my face closely as she explained. 

"Why was Rachel trying so hard to put you and Greg together?" It looked to me like everybody wanted my wife to hook up with that wolf. Well, everybody but me. 

Lynne was smiling at me and I asked what was so damn funny. 

"You're jealous! That's so sweet. Honey, Rachel wasn't trying to put me together with Greg or anyone else. She was keeping Hal away from me. Rachel and Hal got married. And she has a strict hands off rule for Hal with the girls. No exceptions." 

"I don't blame her one bit. I'm thinking real hard about having the same rule for my wife." 

"Oh, love, there's no need for that. Please don't. This isn't something I will ever try to hide from you again. Please just enjoy the thrill with me. It's something I need to do. Try to understand that. We can't pretend I don't have that need." 

I told her I was more okay with the showing than with the touching. I found the idea of men looking at her exciting, but touching? Not so much. 

"Seeing another man touching me last night seemed to get you hot. And I have to tell you, as much as I enjoy my husband making sweet love to me, last night I just wanted my lover so aroused he'd screw my brains out. I needed that - and will need it again. I'm greedy; I want both." 

I tried to think; not easy with a beautiful woman's big brown eyes pleading with you and her dainty hand massaging your testicles. Nossiree, not easy at all. Not fair either. Sure as hell she was trying to get Junior to cast a proxy vote for us both. 

She watched my eyes intently as she dealt her next card. Off the bottom of the deck. 

"If you insist, I'll go back to the way I behaved our whole marriage up until yesterday. It'd be hard but I'd do it rather than make you unhappy with me." Then she just waited me out. 

"Tell you what. Let's just file that under 'pending business' and come back to it later. I'd like to hear the rest of your adventure before we make any decisions about future adventures, please." She nodded, accepting that answer for now, but I knew the topic was on her agenda for discussion again real soon. 

" Okay." She took a deep breath. "We ran over to Greg's place for him to change into his tux and do some rehearsing." 

"You went to his apartment?" 

She sighed and rolled her eyes in exasperation. 

"We were short on time since the DJ had already announced my next performance. So while he changed I gave him a quick run-through on what I needed from him." 

"While he changed? Where were you?" 

"Now honey, here you go again, getting all upset for nothing. You . . ." 

"Lynne! Where?" 

"I couldn't very well shout at him and I needed to show him what I wanted." 

"Third time: Where were you while he took his clothes off?" Alarm bells. 

"In his bedroom." Small voice, eyes averted. She saw my reaction and tried to head it off. 

"Don't worry, we were adult about it. Since he'd seen me naked several times, it didn't matter if I saw him naked." 

"Nakd? You don't have to get naked to put on a tux! Why in hell was he naked?" Picture steam coming out my nostrils. 

She got an unmistakably dreamy, far-away look on her face. 

"He always goes commando. Hon, nothing happened and I didn't even look at his huge thingy, at all, hardly." 

I stared in disbelief. Who was this woman? Then she giggled. 

"You think this is funny, dammit?" 

"What's funny is you, silly man. You are so, so incredibly easy. I promised I wouldn't leave the club last night and I didn't. Greg is the last person I'd have gone with anywhere alone. I've already told you I was concerned about how I'd been reacting to him. 

"Oh." 

"Back to my story. I gave Greg a brief explanation of what I needed him to do and, while he ran home to change, I got my hair redone and got dressed. 

"I was more confident in the second show. I had a few flutters knowing I'd be taking off my panties with all those men watching. And I was anticipating Greg holding me and kissing me, all with hundreds of guys watching. So, even with a few flutters, I was more turned on than I can put into words. 

"For a woman, knowing that her body is causing hundreds of men to get hard and even making some of them cum, is the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

"When Greg walked onstage and came to me, the whole atmosphere in the room changed. He wrapped his arms around me, kissing my neck. The plan went off the rails when he cupped my breasts. The letch was just supposed to wrap his arms around my waist, not grope me. As I explained last night I turned to get his hands off my chest and all the kissing got to me so I turned back to the audience with my own hands covering my breasts and the weasel caught me off guard and stuck his hand in my panties, um, actually in my kitty. I tried to resist, but everything was happening so fast and I was so turned on. The audience response was electric and it all just got away from me. I went from thinking 'he's not supposed to do that' to a full knee-buckling, earth shaking string of rolling orgasms in just seconds. I remember thinking I ought to stick my hand down the front of his pants to embarrass him so he'd get out of my panties. I didn't know until I watched the video with you that I'd actually done it. 

"Then I fainted, dead away. He held me up so I wouldn't flop on the floor and ruin the performance. He casually lifted me over to the dressing table chair and sat me down. I woke up in the chair with him holding me in place, actually holding my breasts in place, and the crowd roaring. 

"I guess, since he knew he'd sandbagged me, he tried to make amends. As soon as I regained my balance he got off the stage. 

"Honey, I know how that scene must have looked to you. Even I was shocked by the video. Please believe me that I didn't intend what happened with Greg. It was supposed to just look erotic, not actually be pornographic. 

"If that weasel had just stuck to the script none of the bad stuff would have happened. I know I crossed a line you trusted I would never cross. I'm genuinely sorry that I got myself into a circumstance with Greg which made it possible. If you do agree to future adventures I'll be careful that I don't get into such a circumstance again." As she spoke, she searched my face for any indication of my feelings. 

"Lynne, love, I could see in the video last night that you were caught by surprise and did your best to resist. I get that. I'll admit I feel as though I've been 'pole axed'. My emotions are a mess right now. I've got pride, love, jealousy, fear, lust and another dozen emotions racing around inside me like squirrels playing tag on a tree trunk. You did things yesterday that I would never in a million years have believed my wife could or would do. I know we'd have problems if you wanted to make a habit of working like Rachel. I want you to be sexy and for us to have fun with your exhibitionist urges but I hope you're not angling toward telling me you want to be a regular at the club." 

"Nope, but I could get all excited about doing the Interior Design thing." 

"Forget about it. You browsing through furniture stores scares me worse than having you prancing around in your birthday suit." We both laughed. 

"Shucks. Oh! I have a treat for you. Among other things, I learned how to do a lap dance yesterday. As your reward for being so understanding about all this I'd like to give you a special lap dance. Okay?" 

Let's see - I'm a guy being offered a free lap dance by a beautiful woman who loves me and wants to 'reward me'. Hmmmm, tough choice. 

"Damn right. Get to it, woman!" 

She positioned me in the middle of the love seat, facing the window, then backed away to the center of the living room. Somehow her appearance changed from pretty to sultry just by something in her eyes. She pressed a button on the stereo remote and tossed it into the recliner. 

Mellow jazz filled the room and called to mind all the erotic memories of my wife from last night. 

She spread her feet apart and slid her hands from her hips, up the outside of her breasts and lifted her hair up off her neck, turning her back to me. As she stood gazing out the window her hips swayed hypnotically to the music. She bent forward gliding her hands down the front of her skirt to her ankles, drawing her skirt tight across her shapely bottom. 

Pulling the ribbon tie as she stood, the skirt slid down her long legs. She came to me wearing only her blouse, panties, stockings and heels and pushed my knees wide as she knelt in front of me. 

Lynne's hands massaged and squeezed her breasts then smoothly slid from my knees to my thighs to greet Junior gently. Then, returning her hands to my knees she rubbed her breasts over my crotch and up my chest, pulling back just as I tried to take a nipple in my lips. Her warm breath tickled my neck as she slid back down my chest and stood facing me. 

One by one, the buttons of her blouse yielded as she swayed to the jazz. As she reached the top Lynne turned to the window, pulled her blouse open wide and let it slide from her shoulders to join the skirt. 




On The Road to Dublin Pt. 02



She climbed on my lap, facing me and rubbed her breasts on my cheeks and let me kiss the hollow between, but teased me by keeping her fully erect pink rosebuds just out of reach of my tongue. 

Leaning backward while arching her back to push her breasts out provocatively she glided from my lap onto the floor, leaving her calves hooked over my thighs. As her brown eyes bored into me, she lifted her pelvis from the carpet. Her kitty swayed tantalizingly with the music as she tweaked and pulled her nipples. 

The soaked gusset of her panties proved her arousal and pleasure in showing her body. It was a hunger for her and I understood that hunger was going to have to be satisfied for my wife to be completely happy. 

All on its own my hand reached to touch but she rolled away and stood, again just out of reach. 

Lynne swayed her hips to that haunting jazz, staring at me boldly as her hand slid down her stomach and over her bare mons, her fingers disappearing into her tiny pink panties. Her moan blended with the tenor sax notes as her head tilted back, her lips parted, her throat exposed. 

Her head lowered and her hand froze as a shudder moved over her beautiful body. Still facing me she hooked her thumbs in the waist of her panties and slowly, agonizingly, glacially, pushed the wisp of pink lace, exposing first her dark landing strip, then finally, her baby smooth slit. Down, down her delicious thighs, over her taut calves and to her pumps, then, having descended from heaven, to be so casually kicked aside. 

As she stood, I was overcome by the need to inhale the scent of her arousal, as Greg had the previous night. I leaned forward and retrieved her damp panties from the carpet and held them to my face, taking her aroma deep into my lungs. It was a scent I knew and loved. Lynne understood, smiled as her hips moved to the rhythm of the jazz. 

She turned to the window and gracefully bent forward to caress her lower calves allowing me to see what she had just shown to anyone fortunate enough to be looking into our living room. Her aroused inner and outer lips were swelled and opened, again resembling the petals of a petite orchid. Their glistening dark pink contrasted with her white skin. 

She slid to the carpet, turning onto her back, feet toward me. My wife amazed me by crawling toward me on her back, arms and legs off the carpet, using only her fanny and shoulders, all in perfect time with the music. Seeing her bare, smooth kitty coming to me, seemingly on its own, was the new most erotic thing I'd ever seen. 

She slid her legs over my thighs and held out her hands to be pulled into my lap, cowgirl style. While looking into my eyes she pulled open the elastic waistband of my shorts and reached in with her right hand to grasp Junior and position him pointed up, laying against my stomach. Junior and I both enjoyed her touch. Junior even shed a tear. 

Lynne leaned into my chest, closed her legs and turned over so her back was to me, then leaned back against my chest. Turning her head she nuzzled and kissed my neck as she slid her hands down my arms to my hands. 

She whispered "kiss me" and parted her lips for a deep kiss as she brought my hands to her breasts and held them there, allowing me to squeeze and rub her breasts. I was getting into this lap dance. I'd had lap dances before, or thought I had, but this was a whole new experience. Then she made it even hotter by moving my left hand down to her landing strip and guiding it to rub her lips and clit. She was wet. Her hips moved against my hand as she moaned and breathed in my ear. 

She moved my hands back to my sides and turned over to straddle me again looking into my eyes as she dry humped me. For several minutes there was just Lynne, me, and the jazz, all working to the same tempo. 

She turned around facing the window and picked up the pace. My shorts were slipping downward as Junior begged to be allowed to play. On a strong forward stroke of Lynne's hips Junior came free and penetrated her all the way to her cervix. Raven-haired, naked, impaled, she arched her back and bucked as I squeezed her nipples. I'm sure folks heard her wail in the next block. 

As she squirmed on my chest she turned her head and whispered in my ear. 

"I made a lot of men cum yesterday. You were just the last." 

That did it. Junior fired both barrels, pumping deep inside my amazing wife. 

As I subsided, Lynne giggled. 

"What?" I asked. 

"Tuttle," she managed to get out pointing across the street. 

There sat old Mr. Tuttle, slack jawed, on his riding mower, staring through our living room window at Lynne. Lynne made a show of rubbing her breasts and tweaking her nipples. Then she smiled and gave him a little wave. 

His foot slipped off the brake and the machine rumbled forward the full length of Mrs. Tuttle's prize winning rose bed, spraying a rooster tail of rose bush confetti as it went. The mower finally stalled in the privet hedge with poor Tuttle never having taken his eyes off of Lynne. 

As Mrs. Tuttle waddled across the yard loudly announcing the poor man's imminent dismemberment and demise I moved Lynne aside and closed the curtain, leaving the poor man to his fate. 

TUESDAY: 

We were enjoying Margaritas with chips and cheese dip at our favorite Mexican restaurant after a long workday when Lynne's phone beeped, announcing a text message. She read it, gasped and looked at me with her eyes wide. 

"What is it, hon?" Her face told me this was no ordinary message. 

"It's Greg. You were right. He wants to have sex with me." 

I stared at her. 

"Well?" 

"Well, what?" 

"Can he?" 

That tore it! I grabbed her phone and had already started typing an angry reply telling him to forget ever getting anywhere near my wife again before noticing the message she had received. It was a discount offer from our phone provider for extending our contract. I heard her chuckling as I looked up. 

"You're so easy. I told you I didn't give them a last name or phone number," she grinned and shook her head, retrieving her phone before I could snap it in half. 

"But you are so sexy when you get all jealous and protective. I love it. Can we play when we get home tonight? By the way, I forgot my panties this morning. Imagine that." 

THE FOLLOWING JANUARY 9th: 

Her husband's car was already in the garage when Lynne pulled in. Coming into the kitchen she found him sitting, slump-shouldered, a whiskey bottle and a half empty tumbler on the table in front of him. 

"You're home early. Anything wrong?" Her question drew no response; he just stared mutely at an envelope next to the whiskey bottle. Lynne sat opposite her husband, her concern growing. He slowly poured another shot and stared into the glass. 

"What's the matter? Talk to me." Lynne knew it had to be bad. Her man rarely drank and never drank alone. 

"Did you tell Greg that he could have you if he could find you?" 

She stared in open-mouthed silence. The hall clock ticked. 

"I. . . He. . . We. . . That is. . . But. . . How. . ." She couldn't seem to put a sentence together. 

"I got a W-9 form in the mail today concerning your tip income. Enclosed was a letter to you from Greg reminding you of your promise and telling you he was ready to collect. It seems you and he have a date for next Friday night at his condo you've never visited. 6:00 pm. The man wants to get an early start on you, apparently. He said to plan on staying the weekend." 

"The weekend?" She blushed hotly. 

"Did you, or did you not, give your word that he could have you if he could find you?" 

That snapped her out of it. She shook her head emphatically. 

"Yes. No! Wait. I did say that, but I swear I didn't mean it. You've got to believe me. He kept trying to get my name and phone number and I got tired of it. I just told him that to shut him up. I was so sure he could never find us. How in the world . . ." 

I tapped the envelope on the table to focus her attention. 

"Seems he got our tag number as we pulled out of the parking lot. He pointed out that he's gone to some trouble and expense to locate you because of your promise. Now he wants to collect." 

I downed the rest of my drink. 

"He can't. . . There's. . . I don't. . ." She stared at me helplessly. 

"Here, read it for yourself." I slid the envelope across to her. She recoiled as if it were a copperhead coiled on the table. 

"Go ahead, read it. Maybe you can figure a way out of your promise to give yourself to another man; I can't." 

She stared at me open-mouthed then opened the flap without picking up the envelope and slowly withdrew the single sheet of paper. Unfolding it seemed to take all the courage she could muster. 

Lynne, my smart, sassy, sarcastic, playful wife, stared at the page a full seven seconds as it sank in on her that she was looking at the December water bill. She closed her eyes as my words rang in her ears. 

"You're so easy!" 

Her eyes popped open, shooting fire and lightning at me. 

She rose shrieking, "You low-down, mean, sneaky, conniving man. You. . . You. . . Husband! I'll get you. So help me, if it's the last thing I ever do, I'll get you." She came after me around the table. 

She did get me. Finally. In the bedroom. 

Much later, savoring the afterglow, Lynne lightly raked her nails through my chest hair and purred in my ear the question I knew was coming, "How did you know about my promise to Greg? I never mentioned it." 

"We CPAs have our sources - and friends in low places. 

"And, by the way, you've been released from you coerced promise to Greg. I've seen to it." 

Yep. I just let her wonder. Client confidentiality is sacred. Especially for redheaded clients. 

-END- 

***** 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for reading. This is my first story of any kind. Please vote then give me your comments so I can become a better writer. 

Let me know if you'd like more stories about Lynne and her husband, what's-his-name.