0 comments/ 154218 views/ 38 favorites Stacy's Real Coming Out Party By: bobfr Note: This is an expanded more accurate account of Stacy's experience in the big apple. _______________ Even though it's now eleven o'clock on a warm summer morning, my beautiful wife Stacy is sleeping soundly in the bedroom of our suite here at the Plaza. When she returned four hours ago, it was very obvious that she was completely exhausted. However, as we had agreed, she valiantly stayed awake until a few minutes ago to share with me everything that happened to her during the twelve hours that we had been apart. I want to write this account now to preserve the unbelievable events of the exciting night while the lurid details are still fresh in my mind. I travel to New York City nearly every month in connection with my investment banking business. A couple of times each year Stacy accompanies me. While I'm attending to business during the day, typically, she goes shopping, works out in the hotel gym, jogs through the park and visits museums and galleries. In the evenings we have dinner at a favorite restaurant and frequently see a Broadway show. When we checked-in at our favorite hotel three nights ago, neither of us had any reason to believe that this trip would be any different than the others. Stacy and I came from similar middle class backgrounds. We were the products of strict moral up bringing and she was a virgin when she came to our marriage bed twenty years ago. My own sexual experience wasn't much greater than hers. You could say that together we discovered our sexuality. There is not a doubt in my mind that she had remained faithful to her vows until last night. Let me describe my wife so that you might develop a mental picture of her to keep you company as you read on. Her face is stunningly beautiful and framed with luxuriant dark-brown hair that falls below her shoulders. She stands nearly five eight on incredibly long, perfectly- shaped legs and weighs a fit and trim 120 pounds. Very sensitive pink nipples crown her large, firm breasts. Stacy could have been as successful as any super model but instead she chose marriage, children and making a perfect home for us. To top it off, she's intelligent and usually succeeds at everything she sets her mind to. Her week before our departure to New York was spent at an exclusive spa. The daily sessions in a tanning machine and the time that she spent outdoors had turned every inch of her beautiful skin to a glowing bronze. When we boarded the plane to New York, she was flawless. I would soon learn that as perfect as I knew her to be, she was potentially far more adventurous and daring than I could ever have imagined. The first night we dined at the hotel restaurant. After a sumptuous meal, we returned to our room and made love. As we cuddled, while still in the afterglow, Stacy caught me off-guard by asking, "Bob, do you ever think about making love to other women?" "Stace, where in the world did that question come from?" I wanted to know because usually after sex we talk about each other. She'll ask, "Do you love me? How much do you love me? Do I satisfy you? Wouldn't it be great to make love at a beach at night?". . . and things like that. "Trudy, the woman that I told you about from the Spa, we were talking one night and she said every man screws around or at least wants to. Well honey, do you think about sleeping with other women?" Finally, in response to this different kind of question I admitted that, "sometimes I do." She seemed to be thinking about my answer when I asked her, "Do you ever think about sleeping with other men?" She seemed to be as surprised by my question as I had been by hers, "of course not!" she emphatically denied. For some reason, I decided at that moment to share my most secret fantasy with her. This was a continuing salacious dream that had lived in my imagination for years and that I hoped would someday become a reality. Cautiously, I asked her, "honey, do you really want to know what turns me on the most?" Playfully, she prodded me in the ribs and said, "Tell me!" "Are you sure, because its not about other women, it's all about you and probably not what you might think?" I warned. With the eagerness of a child, she gleefully said, "Yes! Yes! Tell me! Tell me!" With some trepidation, not sure how she would react, with a tone of caution I said, "Well, here goes then, I would love to watch or hear about you fucking other guys with huge cocks." At first, she laughed and said, "you're kidding." When I assured her I was very serious and when it finally sunk in, she seemed to be hurt by what I had revealed. "How can you love me and be willing to share me with other men?" Nevertheless, after just a few minutes of rest, for the first time in several years we made love a second time with the passion of newlyweds. The next morning with her sleepy head nestled on my shoulder and her lips near my ear, she whispered, "Honey, I could never be intimate with a man who wasn't my husband." "Why not?" I asked. "Because its wrong, that's why." Her answer seemed lame to me and I wasn't going to let her get away with it. "Why is it wrong?" Her brow was furled in confusion as she seemed to think about my question and came up with another stock answer. "Well, I would have to love a man before I could go to bed with him and honey you know I only love you." "What on earth does love have to do with sex?" I challenged. While she was thinking about this pending question, I went on, "Look, let me be blunt. It would make me hot as hell if you had sex with another man and if it's okay with me, no not just okay, if I REALLY want it to happen, then I can't see what's wrong with it, can you?" I had to get ready for a busy day so I headed for the shower. As I was tying my tie she came up behind me, pressed her naked breasts against my back, put her arms around me and said, "Honey, I could never risk losing you. If I ever had sex with another man, you would probably divorce me, take the kids and hate me forever." "Hardly, I'd probably walk around all day with a giant hard-on just thinking about it." "Well then, think about it all day," she teased. "I promise I will, if you promise that you will too," I said. "I promise," she said seriously as she gave me a goodbye kiss. I did think about it all day. My mind wasn't on balance sheets, income statements, forecasts and contracts, It was on the change that seemed to be swiftly coming over my formerly inhibited wife. When I returned, a naked, radiant and aroused Stacy enthusiastically greeted me with a passionate kiss. She had spent the day shopping and visiting a beauty salon; her long hair was in a sexy new style. The fragrance of a new perfume was intoxicating. It was as if we had been apart for weeks, not hours. She seemed hornier than ever as she eagerly helped me undress. After climaxing in her clasping pussy, I decided to wait and see if she would continue the subject of our conversation the night before and that morning. I didn't have long to wait. She said, "I've been thinking honey, I wouldn't even know how to go about . . . oh, I guess you'd say seducing a guy. We were so young when we got married and . . . you know, I've never dated as an adult, I wouldn't even know how to make it happen." So, she had been intrigued by the idea after all. I couldn't help but hope that if I played it just right, there was a possibility that before we flew home on Saturday, my fantasy just might have become a reality. "Does that really mean that you would be willing to fuck another guy for me?" I asked. "Oh, I probably could never go through with it," she said without answering directly. "If you did Stace, whether I was there to watch or if after you told me all of the juicy details and, I do mean juicy, I can tell you that I wouldn't hate it, I would love it!" "Really? Are you sure?" she asked seriously. I didn't want her to think that I wanted to keep this just a fantasy, so I held her shoulders, looked into her big blue eyes to emphasize the point and said, "Stace, I really want this to happen!" "Trudy said men want their wives to be ladies in the parlor and whores in the bedroom, is that what you want?" Stacy questioned. "Trudy's right! I want you to be my whore." We continued to talk about it for several more minutes. Stacy, with lots of qualifications finally said, "Maybe someday at home, if the circumstances are just right and if I was really attracted to a guy, something might happen. Until then honey, you'll just have to settle for your fantasy." I was disappointed because I heard a lot of "ifs." After we showered, I asked her, "what do you want to do tonight?" "Oh Bob, you'll probably think it's a stupid idea . . ." "Try me," I interrupted. With obvious reluctance, she hesitated for a moment and then said, "Well, I've been thinking, I'd love to do something that we've never done before, something that we can't do at home, like . . oh, maybe see a really dirty movie then maybe go to a strip club, or something like that, what do you think?" "That's great! There are several theaters near Times Square that show pornos." She seemed to be relieved by my enthusiastic response as she asked, "What does a girl wear to a porno theater?" "Something very sexy," was my suggestion. I watched with great interest as she proudly snapped a new white garter belt around her narrow waist, rolled sheer white stockings with lace tops up her long legs and attached them with the clips. Then, she put her pretty feet through the leg holes of wispy white panties and fastened a matching bra. Her hard nipples and dark triangle of hair were plainly visible through the transparent filmy material. Over her new lingerie she wore a beautiful, white silk, belted-dress of mid-thigh length that barely covered her stocking tops. White very high-heels completed her attire. Just before we left the room she raised her dress and slipped the little panties off. This was the very first time that she was ready to go out in public without wearing panties. "Is this sexy enough?" she wanted to know. We pushed through the revolving door and moved from the air-conditioned marble lobby into the warm summer New York evening. The doorman tried to be discreet as Stacy slid into the back seat of the taxi but when she allowed her dress to carelessly slip up her long legs he couldn't help but stare. During the short ride to At The Sign of the Dove Restaurant she confessed that she felt very sexy and daring. We didn't talk much during dinner. Lot's of dreamy looks, hand holding and private thoughts. After dessert I asked, "well, are you ready for your walk on the ‘wildside'?" "Ooh . . . is that what this is?" she asked with a trace of amusement. Ten minutes later, we stepped out of a taxi at the corner of 8th Avenue and 42nd Street. To describe this area as just seedy would be kind. Flashing neon lights and several marques on both sides of 8th Avenue identified theaters that featured a variety of straight and gay films. Stacy seemed to be excited by this foreign world located just a couple of blocks from the Broadway theaters we had visited many times. But, this was a very different world. We noticed very few women on the street and the few that we did see were obviously prostitutes. "What kind of film do you want to see?" I asked her. "Oh, I don't know, but since were going to do it let's see one that's really hot!" We selected a theater that featured a movie called Salt & Pepper. We didn't know it at the time, but for reasons that will soon become obvious, it was the perfect choice. We bought two tickets and entered a dark auditorium. The stench of mildew, urine, cigarette smoke, sweat and some other pungent odor that I couldn't place until I recognized it as semen assaulted our senses of smell. After our eyes became accustomed to the light, Stacy took my hand and eagerly led us to the middle seats of an empty row towards the rear. On the screen, a very pretty blonde was sitting on the enormous penis of a black man. Stacy gasped and squirmed in her seat when she saw the juices of the blonde glistening on the shaft of her lover as she moved up and down and the hard cock slid in and out of her. Then the camera moved back and we saw that they were not alone, three more black men were with them each stoking his huge cock to keep it hard until it was his turn at the willing and eager blonde. Stacy whispered in my ear, "My God Bob, I've never seen anything like that! Do you think this only happens in the movies?" When the first man came and his semen leaked out of the gaping freshly-fucked pussy as he withdrew, I heard Stacy gasp for breath as she squeezed my hand. She didn't resist at all as I rubbed her breast through her dress then reached inside to touch the bare flesh and rub the puckered nipple. When I reached under her dress she parted her legs to make it easier for my advancing hand even though she must have known that two or three men seated nearby could probably tell what we were doing. During the next hour, Stacy's eyes were riveted to the screen taking in every detail as two other pretty white women enthusiastically fucked and sucked huge cocks, all of them black. Stacy came several times herself and soaked my sticky fingers. In the lobby she exclaimed, "that was the most exciting thing I've ever seen! But, I don't think that I could ever do what those women did." "Why not?" I asked. "I just couldn't honey, you know I've never been with another man." Then, she really surprised me when she came close and whispered playfully, "Why honey, I don't even know a black man and I doubt that my little pussy could ever take a penis as big as those enormous black ones in the film." In a million years, I would never have guessed that she would be fascinated with black men with big cocks. This was an opportunity that I didn't want to pass up so I encouraged her by saying, "Sure you can. For one thing, you saw those girls in the film, they were very young, probably had never given birth and yet they didn't seem to have much trouble . . . You know that a woman's vagina can stretch to accommodate a cock of any size. And honey, think about it, because we're a thousand miles from home you can do anything that you dare to do, I do mean anything! Stace, only you and I will ever know what happens and I promise that I won't be jealous. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, I would really love it if you did everything that the women in the film did." "Oh you, you're embarrassing me," she said playfully, "besides, fat chance that we'll meet a black man before we leave." "Not that I want to." She added quickly. Outside, she surprised me again when she said, "It's still early, what do you think about going to a club or a bar where the women dance nude?" "That's a great idea, let's look for one on our way back to the hotel." The sidewalk was much more crowded than it had been when we entered the theater. Nearly everyone seemed to stare at this very beautiful, classy woman on my arm who seemed to be out of place on 8th Avenue. As we approached the corner, I noticed a tall black man with a shaved head leaning against a shiny black Lincoln Town Car. He had gold rings in his pierced ears. He was wearing a black silk shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel and dove-grey slacks. Around his neck were several thick gold chains and, even though it was nighttime, he wore a pair of aviator sunglasses. He was smiling boldly and leering at Stacy. I had a feeling that she knew it too as she squeezed my arm more tightly as we got nearer to him. When we got to within a few feet, he called out to me in a deep booming voice that sounded somewhat like James Earl Jones, "Hey man that's sure some purty lady ya got there! . Whatcha doin down here, slummin?" At home Stacy would have passed by ignoring him and his crude remarks but here, away from home, she stopped, smiled at him and said, "We came down to see a movie." He must have seen us come out of the theater and asked, "didja like the black n white movie baby?" "Very much!" was Stacy's enthusiastic reply. "Well now, ya live here or are ya from outa town?" I explained that we were here on business. "Where ya stayin?" he wanted to know. "The Plaza," Stacy told him. "Let me give ya a lift," he offered. "No thanks, we're going to walk back," I said. I was very surprised, though with the way things were going I probably shouldn't have been, when she said by way of explanation, "we're actually looking for a strip club where the women dance nude, do you know a good one?" "Baby, ya ask the right man. Come on I'll drive ya, ain't far." I said, "thanks anyway, but like I said we're going to walk." At the corner, Stacy stopped me before crossing the street and again caught me by surprise when she said, "Let's let him drive us to the club. I don't feel much like walking . . . besides, the theaters are just getting out and it's going to be hard to catch a cab." "Stacy do you know what that guy is?" I asked in amazement. "Bob, I wasn't born yesterday, of course I know, he's a pimp! You're the one who said we would take a walk on 'the wildside,' well, let's take a ride on the 'wildside' too . . . come on, it'll be fun." With that, she turned around took my hand and pulled me back. "Does the offer of a ride still stand?" she asked him somewhat brazenly I thought. He just smiled at her and without saying a word opened the rear door. As Stacy climbed into the dark interior of his car she must have known that his eyes were glued to her legs and ass as her dress rode up and that he could easily see the tops of her stockings and an enticing inch or two of bare flesh. As she slid across the leather seat, she didn't attempt to cover herself. As he pulled into traffic he said, "I'm Tyrone, I guess my line a work ain't no secret, you might say I'm kinda like an agent for purty ladies. Does that bother ya?" "Not at all and we're Stacy and Bob," responded my wife. On 7th Avenue, he pulled in front of a club that had valet parking with a flashing neon sign identifying it as "The Runway - Nude Dancers." I expected Tyrone to leave us but he had a different idea. The doorman recognized him and greeted him warmly. The dark smoke-filled room was long and narrow. In the middle, raised several feet off the floor was a long stage about six feet wide surrounded by tables and chairs. We were led by a scantily clad hostess to an empty table. Stacy sat between us. I was seated on her left and Tyrone on her right. The stage was about the same height as our eyes, forcing us to look up at a pretty brunette with long legs wearing high heels, a gold chain around her neck and nothing else. After our drinks arrived, which Tyrone insisted on paying for, the dancer squatted before us, spreading her legs to reveal her vagina and asshole. She seemed to be wet and I couldn't help but believe that the glistening liquid wasn't sweat. Stacy seemed spellbound by what she saw. Tyrone placed a ten-dollar bill on the stage and the dancer rubbed her clit and opened herself with her fingers. Stacy squirmed in her seat as she had at the movie. I glanced at Tyrone who smiled knowingly. "Ain't she summthin?" he asked as he placed his big black hand familiarly on Stacy's forearm and left it there. Then, I think to test us, he boasted, "Her name's Iris, sumtimes she works fer me, that pussy's really prime meat, I should know, I been in it enough, ha ha." The next dancer was a redhead. I couldn't see much difference in their routines or techniques. During the redhead's performance, Tyrone turned to Stacy, put his left arm around her shoulder, rested his right hand on her thigh and asked, "ya like this baby?" Stacy's Real Coming Out Party "It's interesting," was the best he could get out of her. I didn't know how to take all of this. This wasn't exactly the fantasy that I had in mind. "Would ya like ta dance like that, honey?" he asked. "I'm not much of a dancer," was her answer. "Oh, I watched ya walkin from the theater and ya move real, real good." When the second dancer had finished, Stacy, who seemed to be very uncomfortable said, "I think its time for us to go, you've got a busy day tomorrow Bob." Tyrone said, "I'll drive ya to the hotel." The car was parked exactly where we had left it. It was Tyrone not the club's doorman who opened the door for Stacy. She was just as careless with her dress this time when stepped into the car as she had been before. Her dress rode up her long legs and stayed there. When we stopped for a red light, he turned around and from his vantage point and by the way her dress was hiked up, he couldn't help but see that she wasn't wearing panties. Gazing directly at her crotch, not into her big blue eyes he said, "Baby, yer sittin on a fortune, I could make you rich." I wondered if he was addressing my wife or her genitals. Without missing a beat Stacy playfully said, "I'm already rich." He thought that was hilarious and when he stopped laughing he said, "Well then, purty thing I've gotta lotta friends who could sure make ya feel real, real good. The bros just go crazy for white pussy. They'd jus die for yers! What'cha say, baby?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing and I was even more amazed that Stacy was listening to this crazy talk. When she responded, "Bob and I will talk about it," I wondered what had happened to my formerly bashful wife who flew with me yesterday from our comfortable but predictable life to New York? Who was this exciting woman sitting next to me exposing the tops of her stockings, the bare flesh of her thighs and the hair covered cleft between her legs to a black pimp with whom she was shamelessly flirting? She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. In all fairness to him, because I hadn't objected to his outrageous comments and because we were in his car he had every right to assume that they were welcome. In the dim interior of the big car, I could tell that Stacy was blushing but excited. Well, Stacy wanted us to do something different, and this certainly is different, I thought to myself. After he stopped at the hotel's entrance a few minutes later, he handed Stacy a card and said dramatically, "my heart will be broken darlin if ya don call me. That's my cell number, I answer it 24 hours a day." To add emphasis, he held up the smallest and most expensive Motorola cell phone. "Please, please think about it purty baby," were his pleading and parting words. "Do you really want me to, I mean think about it?" she teased as she waved goodbye then turned without waiting for an answer and walked up the steps with an extra provocative swing to her hips knowing that his eyes were following her. Neither of us said a word as the elevator lifted us to our floor. In our room Stacy seemed to be in a dreamy place as she placed his card on the coffee table in the parlor and disappeared into the bedroom. I picked it up and read: "Tyrone, (212) 345-9876." A few minutes later she walked out of the bedroom nude and sizzling. We attacked each other. She made love like a different woman climaxing almost continuously. After we exploded, each of us seemed to be waiting for the other to speak. Finally, she said, "I wonder what Tyrone has in mind?" "Give me a break Stace! The guy's an 8th Avenue pimp! He probably has a stable of gals who fuck black guys for a few bucks. That's obviously what he wants you to do. And, you know what, now that I think about it, the idea excites the hell of me!" "Stacy, what's the wildest most far out thing that you've ever done, I mean sexually, of course?" "Well, you should know, except for masturbating sometimes, my total sexual experience has been with you . . . we've never done anything real kinky . . . leave me cold . . . I love it when you're inside me and I love to suck and feel you get real hard in my mouth, but the idea of you coming in my mouth is a problem for me. I don't know what you want me to say . . . I guess tonight, going to the film having you play with me in the theater, and then in the car with Tyrone, I knew he could probably see everything. Watching Iris and that other dancer . . . their pussies were so close to us that I could smell them. I guess those are the wildest things that I've ever done." she concluded. "Well don't you think it would be fun to do a lot more?" I asked her. After thinking about it for a moment, with real concern, she said, "It's more than just oh, emotions, fidelity, morals and things like that . . . there are real practical reasons for not messing around with sex today . . . Bob, you know that I'm not on the pill because you were fixed after Amy was born and I sure don't want to get pregnant! And, I can't imagine how awful it would be to bring home some horrible disease," she added with concern. "Stace, I know how much you hate them but what about condoms?" "Oh, this is all so confusing, I'm afraid that I'll never be able to do anything as crazy as this," she declared breathlessly. "Why not?" I questioned. She was quiet for what seemed like a long time as she considered my question, "I honestly don't know," she answered softly. Both of us tossed and turned a lot that night. Friday morning, before leaving for my meetings, not knowing if last night we had reached some kind of unspoken agreement or not, I told Stacy with all of the sincerity that I could muster, "Hon, what happens is 100 percent up to you, I'll support any decision that you make. I don't want you to feel any pressure from me either way. I'm sure that you'll decide to do what's best taking everything into consideration." She was silent and seemed to be thinking about what I had said. "Well, are you going to call him?" I wanted to know. "Do you really want me to?" she asked as she gazed me. "I think you know what I want Stace, now it's all up to you. I'll be back about four, see you then." We kissed goodbye and I headed for my first meeting. During the day, I couldn't help but wonder if she had called him, met him, maybe even gone to bed with him? Part 2 She wasn't there when I returned a little after four. On the desk in the parlor near the phone was a note for me on a hotel memo pad on which she had written: "Honey, gone shopping, see you soon. Luv Stace." Next to the note was Tyrone's card. It was laying on a sheet of the hotel's engraved stationery on which she had made some kind of list. 1. He wants me to! 2. So do I! 3. Out of town! 4. Strangers! 5. Do it all! 6. Condoms! 7. Tyrone, six p.m.??? It wasn't difficult to know what must have been going through her mind as she wrote it. My heart skipped a beat! A few minutes later, the phone rang. I answered it and the familiar deep voice said, "Hey man is Stacy there?" "No, Tyrone she left a note saying she had gone shopping." "Wow, that's great! I guess she's buying things fer tonight, huh?" "I don't know what you're talking about, I just got in and I haven't seen Stacy since this morning." "Oh, well, she said ya were cool with it." "Stacy can do anything she wants," I said. "Ya know, when I saw your lady on the street, I thought to myself 'now there's a purty lady that's really ripe.' I guess I was right, huh? Anyway, when she called me, we talked a while and I tol er bout t'night. I tol er to pick up a couple things. I guess that's what she's doin man." "What did you tell her to buy?" I asked him. "I tol er to get a sexy, little black dress, black heels and perfume and nothing else, if ya get my drift," he said laughingly. "I think I musta freaked-er out with all my hot talk because she said she had to go but to call bout five. I'm sorry man, I guess I was impatient and called too soon." I had heard enough, like Stacy had earlier, I said, "Call back later Tyrone." I had barely hung up when Stacy returned carrying packages. Without beating around the bush, I said "Tyrone called." "Oh really, what did he say?" she asked casually. "Quiet a lot actually," I said. Stacy sat down on the couch and said, "I don't know what to do? Impulsively, this morning I kept thinking about your fantasy, the movie and Tyrone. I kept looking at his card and decided that it couldn't hurt just to call him, so I did. You wouldn't believe the things he said to me. He wants me to go to a place that he has in Harlem, I guess it's a brothel or a whorehouse or something like that. Tyrone said blacks go there who want white pussy." "What do you want to do?" I asked. "Part of me, a part that I didn't know existed until now, really wants to go, the other part of me thinks that it's the dumbest, riskiest idea I've ever had." I decided to move the conversation in a slightly different direction and asked, "what did you buy when you were shopping?" I wasn't surprised when she took a tiny sexy black dress out of a bag, a new patent leather evening bag and from a shoe box a matching pair of black, spike high heels. After catching my breath, I enthusiastically approved of her purchases and said, "Honey, I think it would be a shame to waste these. On you, that dress and those shoes could give a statue a hard-on. I can't even imagine what they will do to horny black men. You better hurry and get ready, it's nearly five." After she undressed, Stacy asked, "can you help me with something honey?" "Sure what do you need?" "Oh, this is awkward," she said as she handed me a tube of scented bikin-line depilatory. "What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked. "Tyrone said that guys like just a little tuft of pubic hair. Is that true?" "I guess so," I said. And, oh this is sooo embarrassing, he said they love bare lips." With that, Stacy laid down on the bed and I applied the scented cream to the top and sides of the triangle of dark pubic hair that covered her mound. She then raised and parted her knees. I rubbed cream to her nether-lips covering the sparse, thin hair with a thick coat. Five minutes later I gently removed it with a warm washcloth leaving just a small patch of curly dark hair above her slit. Stacy sighed, her lips were as smooth and bare as a baby's. When I finished, I looked closely at the moist, pink flesh that had given me so much pleasure over the years and I realized that, most likely, the next time that I looked this closely, the inner dew-covered petals would have surrounded and lovingly caressed the cocks of other men. How many I couldn't guess. Stacy was running the tub when the phone rang at exactly five. We both knew who was calling so, still naked, she padded back into the bedroom and answered it. "Hello . . . Hi Tyrone . . . I guess so . . . Yes, I did . . . Uh huh . . ." Then she turned crimson red her entire body seemed flushed and she seemed to have difficulty breathing. "Yes . . . Probably . . . Uh, last night . . . Yes . . . Yes . . . Average I suppose . . ." She closed her eyes and touched the little mound of hair . . . I'll try . . . Me too . . . He's right here . . . Okay," "He wants to talk to you," she said as she handed me the phone, returned to the bathroom and climbed into the steamy tub. "Don't worry about a thing man, she won't hav ta do nothin she don wanna. I'll take real good care of er and have er back sometime bout four, maybe later. Fuck man, I just can't wait!" I was shaking as I hung up the phone. It was just two nights ago that I had shared my secret fantasy with Stacy. Now, my beautiful wife of twenty years, the mother of my children was preparing to spend the night with a black pimp and his clients in a Harlem whorehouse. Yet, I was incredibly excited by her boldness and willingness to participate in this forbidden adventure. We didn't talk very much as she bathed and carefully shaved her legs and underarms. I watched closely as she applied a fresh, glossy coat of red polish to her fingernails and toenails. This night, she took extra care and spent extra time with her make-up, mascara, lipstick and curling and brushing her long thick hair. Over her nakedness, she slipped the tiny black silk dress that was nothing more than a revealing short slip. I was thrilled as she boldly stared at me, hiked-up the short skirt and daringly sprayed perfume on her pussy. She stepped into her high heels, looked in the full length mirror and said, "God, I look like a hooker!" To me, however, the sight before my eyes was beyond description. Stunning, beautiful, desirable and sexy were inadequate words. I walked with her to the door and asked, "Do you want me to go down with you?" "No, stay here and wait for me. I want to do this alone." "Are you sure about this?" I asked giving her a final opportunity to back-out. "No, I'm not, but I'm going anyway. I know that if I don't walk out that door right now, I never will. This is for you. But, it's also for me. Wish me luck." With that she took her small black patent leather purse that contained her compact, lipstick, hair brush and a small vial of her new perfume. As she walked toward the door I said, "Stace this is your night, indulge yourself." The untamed smoldering look that I saw in Stacy's eyes as she looked over her shoulder at me convinced me that she was ready for anything. I wondered, as the door closed behind her if I was actually as ready for anything as she seemed to be. The next twelve hours were the longest, most agonizing and in some perverse way by far the most exciting of my life. I'm not sure that I actually slept at all. After she left, I went for a short walk in the park but after a few minutes, I decided to come back to the room. I ordered room service because I wanted to be near the phone if she had misgivings or just needed to talk for some reason. I tried to watch television, but I couldn't concentrate. My mind was on my spouse and what she might be doing. Nine o'clock, she wasn't back. I must confess, that I actually believed that she would probably just have dinner, maybe go dancing, change her mind and have Tyrone bring her back. With each passing minute other thoughts entered my mind. By eleven, I was certain that by now Tyrone or one of his friends had most likely plumbed the depths of the vagina that had been, until tonight, exclusively mine. Midnight, where was she, what was she doing? Two in the morning, only two hours to go. Finally, at long last the clock on the night stand displayed Four o'clock, I expected her knock on the door any minute but there was no knock. By four-thirty, I was so worried that I called the number on Tyrone's card. I was about to hang up when on the fourth ring he finally answered. "Tyronne, I was worried about Stacy." "She fine man, I told ya I'd take good care of er . . . she's really summthin, can I keep her? . . . ha, ha . . . jus kiddin man!" I could barely hear him over the loud music and several male voices talking excitedly in the background. "Can I talk with her? I asked. "She busy man, she real busy! If ya wanna wait a minute, I can take the phone to her?" "Thanks, I'd appreciate it," I told him. He made no effort at all to cover the mouthpiece as he carried on a conversation with another man. The other man said, "Boy that Nicole's really summthin! "How many tricks at the house tonight? the man asked Tyronne. "Nine, one sumbitch didn't show," he replied. Oh God, I thought Stacy was in a whorehouse where several prostitutes had serviced nine different men in just a few hours. Then, I couldn't help but wonder if Stacy hadn't handled one of the, what did he call them, Tricks? "Somebody said a white chick took on Smokey!" a different voice said with amazement. Tyronne's voice seemed to confirm this by saying, "Every fuckin . . .ha, ha . . . inch." "Unbelievable!" exclaimed the other man. "Sheeza a real pro," offered Tyronne. "Hey Tyronne, thanks man, this's the best ever!" a different man observed. Fucks like a mink, made me cum in bout two minutes," said yet a different voice. "Did ya see the oreo cookie?" asked the first person. "Ain't nothin more sexy than a white chick sandwiched between soul brothers with a big black dick in er ass and one in her snatch," Tyronne said. "Boy that dance just bout made me drop a load right in my pants. Tha's the sexiest broad I've ever seen!" And, another man chimed in, "Did ya see that pussy take every inch of that fuckin dildo, I thought it was gonna come out er mouth.?" "What's the record, Tyronne?" asked the first man. "I think the white chick last month fucked thirty guys, but that record's already been broken tonight," he said. Oh God! I thought to myself, I sure hope all of the things that Tyronne's women had been doing wouldn't gross-out Stacy. The noise in the background got even louder as they apparently arrived at an area with lots of action. I heard guys say, "Go baby! Go!" And I faintly heard above the din a distant but unrecognizable female voice. I couldn't hear every word just a faint utterance now and then of a women obviously in the throes of passion. ". . . More! . . . Oh, please! . . . Aaahhh! . . . Oooh! . . . Don't stop! . . . Harder, Fuck ME! . . . Yes, Yes!" This hot woman was really turning me on. I have always wished that Stacy would be more vocal during our love making. I encouraged her to "talk dirty for me" but she said that it turned her off. She was a wonderful sex partner but very quiet. Tyronne came back on and said into the phone, "ya still there man?" "I'm still waiting, Tyronne," I said patiently. "It may be a while man," he said. "Tyronne, let me ask you something, How many of your girls are at the house?" I questioned. "We ain't at the house man we at the stag?" "What? Stacy said that you had a house in Harlem with three or four white girls." "Man, my girls work the street. Yer lady started at the house first then came to the stag." "Well how many women were at the house?" I wanted to know. "Man this was a special night just fer yer lady. It was just her man." he declared. My heart sank. I knew then that Stacy was the pro at the house who they were talking about. And now, she was apparently at this stag party watching some white woman, dance and fuck herself with a big dildo, and another take on men in her rear and pussy while at the same time a different woman was breaking a record of screwing, unbelievably, more than thirty different men. "How many women are with you at the Stag? I asked. "Wow man, just yer purty Stacy, only tonight she's Nicole . . . this night's just fer her . . . Ya wanna keep waitin?" I couldn't have talked anyway so feebly I said, "no." He said, "I'll have her back in a couple hours, I don't think I could get her ta stop right now." Before I hung up and he pushed END I heard him say to someone, "It was the lady's old man." "Lucky guy, wish I was er old man!" commented the other man. I was overwhelmed and what I had heard hadn't even completely registered. Then the impact hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized that every single comment was about my wife. There weren't several women at the house or the stag. The giant penis went in her pussy. Nine men fucked her at the house. Now at the stag, she had danced for them, fucked herself with a dildo, welcomed a man in her asshole and vagina at the same time, and screwed at least thirty different black men and she wasn't finished. It was Stacy's voice that I heard urge her lover on. My cock throbbed pulsed and then erupted without the help of a hand, a vagina or a mouth. Part 3 The sun had been up for awhile and I noticed that it was nearly seven when I heard the sounds of her footsteps even before the soft knock. I unchained and opened the door. There, silhouetted in the doorway, was my beautiful Stacy. Or, was it Nicole? In the early morning light, I saw that she looked much as she had when she went out the door twelve long hours ago, her hair, make-up and lipstick were perfect. She was wearing a tan raincoat. But, as she walked towards me there was a dreamy, freshly-fucked look about her that I found incredibly exciting. I noticed that she had gold glitter in her hair, on her eyelids and cheeks. As I held her in my arms, her familiar fragrances and a cocktail of expensive perfume, cheap after-shave, sweat and sex burned my nostils. We kissed and then I unbelted the coat which wasn't even buttoned and dropped it on the ground from her shoulders. I expected to see the little dress but all she had on under the coat was a tiny pair of black panties. When she left the suite I knew that she was pantyless under her little dress. Her breasts were blotchy and swollen, the nipples hard and puckered. When she slipped the panties off I saw that the little patch of pubic hair that I had carefully shaped was gone. Her pussy was bald. She kicked off her heels and we climbed in bed. Stacy's Real Coming Out Party When I entered her she felt very different than before. My cock seemed to go to a different part of her very wet vagina. "Can you feel it? I brought home a little present for you. Sorry some of it leaked out." this strange, uninhibited woman said. And, then she continued, "Oh baby, stick that big white cock in my pink, hot pussy! . . . Ooh, you feel soo good . . . My pussy's sooo sensitive I can actually feel the ridges and veins on your hard prick." I couldn't believe what I was hearing but I guess I should have because this wasn't the first time I had her during intercourse, it was her voice that I heard in the background on Tyronne's cell phone at the stag. "Oh God, you're making me come!" She started shaking and gasping for air. "Don't stop lover! . . . Give it to me hard!" "Does my pussy feel different?" My pent-up passion caused me to come much more quickly than usual. "Sorry." I apologized. She laughed softly and said, "don't worry about it." We were silent for a while. I knew she was exhausted but I longed for her to tell me what happened. Without my asking, she understood my need to hear and I believe her own need to tell me everything that she could remember about her night as a Harlem whore. For the first time in my life, my cock stayed hard after I came. When she realized that I wasn't going soft, she smiled and said "oh, does all this turn you on baby? Do you get all excited thinking about what I've been doing? " I could hardly talk, my heart was pounding, breathing was a chore but I said, "Oh, honey, you know it." "Then just relax and I'll tell you everything that I can remember." Then, she added, "are you sure you can take it?" When I said "yes," she took a deep breath and said, "okay, ready or not, here goes." * * * * When we boarded the plane, I felt very pretty and sexy. At the spa, I worked out with this woman named Trudy. I told you a little about her but not everything. I had never met anyone quite like her. We went in the hot tub together nude and when she saw me naked the first time she said, "My God Stacy! With your gorgeous face and perfect body, you must have a dozen lovers." I laughed and said, "just my husband Trudy." "Well then, you must have to beat the guys off with a stick," she went on. "Oh, we stick pretty close to our family, friends at the club, my husband's partners and their families and people from our church. No, I can't say that guys hit on me. Most of the men I know are aware that I'm married," I explained. "What the fuck does marriage have to do with anything? I'm married and that doesn't stop the guys from chasing me and guess what, sometimes I let them catch me." "What do you mean by that Trudy?" I wanted to know. "Well, my husband and I have what I call and 'enlightened' relationship, an open marriage. Do you want me to tell you about it?" I nodded my head. After a few years of marriage I knew that Bill, my husband, was seeing other women. It nearly broke my heart. But, I didn't want a divorce so we talked it out. He told me that he loved me, our kids, our home really every part of our life except one; he needed other women sexually, and thought that it wouldn't hurt me one bit if I also had an affair or two. The idea was repulsive to me. I was a naive virgin when we married. As time went on he kept encouraging me to see other men. I thought his insistence was just too soothe his guilty conscience about his own affairs. Eventually, I gave in to his urging. On an out-of-town business trip I let myself get picked up in the lounge of the hotel I was staying at. Within an hour of meeting a handsome black salesman, I was in his room and he was between my legs." "My God Trudy! How could you?" I challenged. "Oh, let me tell you, the best part was when I got home. I told my husband all about it. Every single detail that I could remember. I expected him to be jealous. He wasn't, not in the least. On the contrary, as I told him every dirty little detail and some really big details, if you understand what I mean, he became so excited I thought he would have a heart attack. We had the best sex ever. Now, he doesn't see hardly any other women. He gets his kicks hearing about my flings." "That's disgusting!" I exclaimed. "Hey, Stacy, don't judge me and don't knock it unless you've tried it. Stacy, I've learned that its absolutely true what they say, 'all men want a lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedroom.'" "While you're still rationing your pussy exclusively for your husband, I'll bet anything that he's, what did you say his name was, oh yes, 'Bob,'" she said with a note of sarcasm . . . "I'll bet that dear Bob is getting all the strange pussy he can handle. I've never known a man who can keep his dick in his pants. I don't believe that there's a healthy, guy in the whole fucking world who doesn't screw around," she declared. "I'm sure that my husband has been faithful," I said in your defense, in defense of us and our way of life. "Honey, if he hasn't fucked around on you yet, he's one in a million. And, if he hasn't don't tell me he doesn't think about it all the time." I wondered if just maybe she was right. I decided to ask you when the opportunity was right. The opportunity seemed perfect when you were holding me in the hotel bed with my vagina full of your semen as we were coming down from our sexual high that first night. I wasn't prepared for the rest of our conversation that first night in New York. When you asked if I had ever thought about sleeping with other men I lied to you when you I said, "Of course not!" I guess I thought you would think me a tramp or something if I admitted that Trudy's strange revelations had caused me to think a lot about other men in the past few days. Being a wife, a mom, a volunteer in our community and church and making love a couple of times a week seemed to be what you wanted me to be. And, that was okay with me, I was happy, I was satisfied, I was fulfilled. Then, in the course of just a few minutes, you seemed to confirm everything that Trudy had said. It was really hard for me to accept that you actually wanted me to be a lady in the parlor, in public, but in the bedroom, in private you wanted me to be, 'your whore,' you said. Honey, after you left for your meetings that first morning, I couldn't go back to sleep. I kept thinking about everything that had happened. All kinds of thoughts kept racing through my mind. When you told me the night before that you "imagined me with other guys," at first I really hated the idea. I guess I thought that if I slept with other men you would feel free to sleep with other women, like Bill, Trudy's husband did. That, I couldn't handle. I didn't believe you at first when you said that you "wouldn't be jealous, you would be excited." I woke up kind of hot and horny. Anyway, after you left, I masturbated thinking about what you had said and imagining myself with different guys. I was really soaking as I slipped one finger in me and pretended that it was the cock of another man, when I added another finger and moved them in and out of me it seemed more like a cock and I experienced the most intense orgasm ever by my own hands. At the beauty salon I told them I wanted a sexy new style. I went shopping bought the new perfume that you seemed to like so much and for the first time in my life I bought a garter belt and stockings rather than sensible panty hose. It all seemed so very daring. I wanted to do something different. Here we were out of town with nothing planned for the night, and you had told me all those sexy things that really turned me on. I realized, that I had never seen another couple making love, oh I guess there's no sense in not calling it what it is, fucking! There. I thought that it might be fun if we could see a dirty movie and maybe watch some nude dancing. We wouldn't have to worry about running into someone from church, your office or a neighbor. It seemed almost unbelievable that in all the years we have been married, that we have never even really talked about erotic films or books let alone watched or read them. I knew from reading Cosmo that lot's of couples get turned-on by watching and reading about far- out sex. If we did decide to go to a movie, I knew that I wanted to watch something really raunchy. Sort of jump right in the deep-end of the pool, so to speak. I didn't know what you would think. I knew you weren't a prude and you had really surprised me with your fantasy so it seemed like a daring idea. At the film I was really turned on. Well you know, you felt how wet I was and you made me come a zillion times with your fingers. Anyway, I thought that I must be losing my mind. There was something thrilling about seeing the white and black bodies. I really got excited by seeing the big black cocks on the screen. Don't get me wrong, I love yours but this was so forbidden, sooo naughty, it made me feel really wicked. And then, when you told me that you "would love for me to be like the women in the film," I nearly flipped. I wondered if it wasn't some kind of sign when just minutes after I had said "fat chance we will ever meet a black man, we met Tyronne." I must tell you, he might as well have been from mars. He was unlike any man I had ever known. He was crude, had terrible taste, I guess he's actually a criminal or something because he's a pimp, and yet I'm sure you saw that I was really fascinated by him. In his car while he was driving us back to the hotel, he said things to me that no one ever had before. I guess I should have been offended by what he said but you saw that I wasn't, I was actually flattered in some perverse way and to tell the truth, very excited. When we stopped at the red light, and he turned around, I was tempted to pull my dress down but I didn't move. I knew he could probably see everything. I thought that you wanted me to call him the next day, but I wasn't sure. All morning, I kept fighting with myself. I reasoned that if I was ever going to sleep with someone other than you, did it really matter who it was? Wouldn't it be much worse if I fell in love with someone at home, like a friend of ours, or some hunk like the tennis pro at our club, who could become a real threat to our marriage. For sure, I would never fall in love with Tyronne or any of his friends. Do you remember, you asked me, "what does love have to do with great sex?" I thought a lot about that and eventually came to believe that maybe you were right, maybe love doesn't have anything at all to do with great sex. After taking a long bath, I laid in the big bed and rubbed my breasts and started to masturbate thinking about you, the film, Tyronne and his faceless, nameless friends. My body was on fire. For twenty years I had been faithful. You may not believe this, but I had never really been tempted. Sex with you was great. You satisfied me and I didn't want or need more. But the film made me wonder if maybe I hadn't missed something. Those girls in the movie seemed to have climaxes . . . not just their orgasms but everything seemed much more intense than anything I had experienced. What would it be like to have a huge cock, a different cock, lots of different cocks?" And, as I wondered, I realized that the cocks I was visualizing were not just enormous, they were all black. Then I removed my hands from my pussy. I sort of wondered what it would feel like, how would I react if it was other hands, not yours, but big black hands touching and rubbing my pussy? I must have picked up his card and started to call him a hundred times. FinaIly, about noon I let it ring until he answered in his deep, but sleepy voice. "Tyronne, it's Stacy, we met last night." "Oh baby, you just woke me up from a hot dream." "I'm sorry," I muttered. "Don't be sorry honey, you was in the dream with me." I know that I turned beet red at his revelation, thank god nobody was here to see me. "As a matter of fact purty lady, I'm layin here right now holdin my cock. Its as hard as a rock just thinkin bout you." I wanted to hang up but something kept me on the phone listening. And, wasn't what he was talking about exactly why I called him in the first place? "Whatcha wearin baby?" he questioned. Wow, I thought, I better hold on tight this is moving fast. "I just got out of the tub and haven't gotten dressed yet," I told him. "Ya mean yer nakid, huh baby?" "Yes, Tyronne, I'm naked," I said trying to be blase. "Yer titties sure looked nice in that fancy dress, was that all ya?" I had a hard time concentrating and even breathing but told him, "it was all me." "Are your nipples hard baby?" he wanted to know. "None of your business," I snapped. He ignored me. "Do ya paint your toe nails the same hot red ya had on your purty fingers?" he wondered. No man, including you honey, ever wanted to know so much about me. I told him, "yes, Tyronne, my toe nails are the same shade as my finger nails." "Were you thinkin bout me too baby?" he wanted to know. "What makes you ask that?" I challenged. He laughed and said, "you called me." I guess I was caught. "Well, you really shocked me last night, Tyronne. What made you think that I would be available and that my husband wouldn't object? "Does he know that yer calling me?" he questioned. "Not exactly, he isn't here but he knew that I might call." "Oh, so the two of you talked about all this last night did ya? Did he fuck your brains out?" "That's none of your business," I told him sharply. Suddenly, he turned all business, the jive talk disappeared and he said coldly, "I think I know what you want, if this is going anywhere, you better understand that fuckin is my business, your fuckin is my business, now, let me ask again, did he fuck yer brains out?" "We made love when we got back to the room," I admitted. "Does your husband want you to fuck around?" he questioned. "We talked about it. Now, let me ask you something, what made you think that I was available?" I repeated. Back in his pimp role, he explained, "Baby when I saw you gliding down the sidewalk like a model on a runway towards me, I thought I musta died an gone straight to heaven. You are the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on. Not just beautiful baby, but classy, sexy and hot too. I just knew ya was ripe for the pickin." "What does that mean?" I wanted to know. "Honey, it means you is ready for some major fuckin." I couldn't help it, my pussy was getting wetter with each crude remark. "And," he continued, "I'm just the man to fix ya up. Is your pussy getting wet?" he asked. God, I wondered if he could see through the phone or did he really know me after being with me for just ten minutes, better than I know myself. "What do you have in mind?" I asked nervously without revealing that I was soaking wet. With that, he moved his sales pitch into high grear. "Sweet thing, I got me a special place here in Harlem with two or three white chicks and the bros love white pussy. Like I tol ya in the car, they would all die for a piece of yer ass. How about it, let me pick ya up at six and we can have all night and do things ya never ever dreamed of? Believe me baby, ya haven't lived till somebody wants yer pussy so bad he'll pay ya good money for it. Oh and baby, scuz me, but I gotta ask, yer not havin yer period are ya?" Oh no I thought again, but answered with obvious embarassment, "No I'm not having my period." I couldn't believe that I was even listening to all this let alone seriously considering his proposal. "Tyronne, you've got to understand . . . oh, this very hard for me." I went on to explain, "I've never been to bed with anybody but my husband." "Whoa baby, this is 1997, you've just gotta be shittin me, you expect me to believe that?" "I swear its the God's truth." "Well then sweet thing, its about time we changed your luck. You know what they say, if ya ever try black, you'll never go back." I pictured the men in the movie and in a real physical sense, I wondered if he might be right. "I'm not saying I'll do it mind you, but if I did, what should I wear? "Just a little sexy black dress, the tallest black heels ya can walk in and perfume, nothin else, ya understand?" "I'm sorry Tyronne, I didn't pack a black dress or black heels." "You got lotsa time to buy em . . . I'll pay ya back later. "What about my wedding ring, should I leave it at the hotel?" I asked. "Fuck no baby, the bros just love fucking married white chicks. Oh, by the way baby I need to ask ya, do ya shave your twat?" What was I getting myself into I wondered. "No, I don't," I answered cooly. "Just a little tip darlin, for what its worth, let me tell ya, all guys just love bare lips and justa tiny little bit of trimmed hair above the snatch, like Iris' pussy, remember?" This was all too much for me, I said "I've got to go Tyronne, call me at five." "Honey, honey don hang up," he said desparately . . . "what's yer room number and las name, I can't get through to ya at the Plaza without yer name and room number." Without thinking, I told him and hung up. It took me a few minutes to collect my thoughts. God, I wanted to talk to you so badly. I thought you were serious about all this and really wanted me to do it but I couldn't get rid of my doubts. And, all this was rapidly becoming far more than what I expected you had in mind when you shared your secret fantasy with me. On the other hand, I realized that I would probably never have another opportunity like this one. First, you wanted me to do it. Second, a part of me wanted to do it too. Third, we were out of town and, like you said, nobody would know but us. Fourth, there would be no threat to our marriage and no chance of my falling in love with a sexual partner under these strange circumstances. My pledge was to you and if you wanted me to be with other guys, it seemed like I wouldn't be breaking my vows. Fifth, if I was ever going to do it, I might as well jump in with both feet and really do it or not do it at all. Sixth, you had alleviated my concerns of getting pregnant or catching some disease if they wore condoms. Finally, we had met Tyronne, and he had the ability to make all of the arrangements and take care of everything. I thought that it would be a shame to waste the opportunity. I decided that since I didn't have a black dress and because the two pairs of heels I brought were summer colors, it couldn't hurt to buy the items he requested. As I shopped, I was so nervous I thought I would jump right out of my skin. I looked in Saks and couldn't find anything that seemed right. The same with Bloomingdale's. Finally, I went in Victoria's Secret and told the clerk what I was looking for. She stood back looked at me and said, "If you're brave, I've got just the thing for you. It's cut real low in the front and back, so you can't wear a bra but with your boobs you don't need one," she said with envy. I tried on the flimsy tiny frock and as I looked at myself in the dressing room mirror, I wondered how I could possibly go out in public in what amounted to a very, very short, revealing slip? Then, I remembered its intended purpose and bought it. The shoes and matching purse were easy. As I passed a drug store, I remembered what Tyronne had said about pubic hair and went in and bought a tube of bikini-line dipilitory. Before leaving the drug store, for the first time in my life, I actually considered buying a dozen condoms but thought that he would provide them so I didn't. When I returned from shopping, you were so sweet and supportive. When you rubbed the cream on my pussy, I was soo hot, I nearly came, maybe I did a little. When Tyronne called, I was still kind of waivering. Then, he started in again with all his hot talk.