Gillian Joins the Club Ch. 01

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They need money. Gillian is their best asset.
1.9k words
4.36
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47

Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 10/28/2022
Created 02/17/2015
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Joe and Gillian Have a Problem

Joe understood the shock in Gillian's voice as it echoed against the kitchen tile. "What do you mean we owe twelve thousand dollars? How could we owe so much? We didn't even have a good year!"

Gillian was not just his wife, she was his business partner in their real estate firm and Joe had bungled one of his responsibilities. "Honey, it was two years ago. I made a mistake with a deduction," he tried to sound contrite, appealing to her sympathy. "I fucked up." Had he ever. Their business and personal income taxes had been audited, and the IRS—not to mention the state, city, and school district—had them by the short hairs. "It's the IRS. We've got to find the money to pay it," he told her, trying to keep his voice steady.

"But we spent it on this house," Gillian said, panic creeping into her voice. "We have nothing in the bank. We used all of our savings and we only put five percent down, so there's no equity. We basically have no assets." The tears, Joe knew, would be here soon. Her blue eyes were welling as she looked at him. "Can't we fight it? Get an extension?"

"I've tried. I even talked to Dave for advice." But Joe's best friend, a corporate attorney with a solid knowledge of tax law, took one look at the couple's accounts and just rolled his eyes. "He wasn't very encouraging. In fact he said it would be a waste of time and the penalties and interest would just get bigger."

Gillian raised her hands as if hoping an answer would fall into them, a gesture that raised her ample breasts, braless beneath her thin v-neck T-shirt, which Joe tried, and failed, to ignore. Then she let her arms drop to her sides. "That's it then, we're screwed."

It was time for Joe to play his last card—his only card. This wasn't the way he planned to bring up the subject, but he doubted if there was any perfect time. "We do have one asset." He looked his wife straight in the eye. "You."

She stared at him quizzically for several seconds, then Joe could see it sinking in. Her eyes widened. Then narrowed. "Are you saying you want me to fuck the IRS to pay our tax bill?"

Joe didn't want to laugh, but he did. "No, no. I mean, not exactly. Not the IRS. But there is a way to raise money. A lot of money. Fast." He quickly continued before she could protest. "Just listen. I'm not talking about putting you out on a street corner. There's this club that Dave told me about. He says it's really, really classy and discreet and expensive. He thinks we—I mean, you—could do really well there. It would only take maybe three times. Four tops." He rushed ahead. "And I'd be there. Watching. Dave says they might even let me, you know, participate since I'm your husband. We could make it part of the arrangement."

Gillian crossed her arms, a defensive, angry gesture, which had the effect of lifting and squeezing her breasts together and enhancing her cleavage, just visible between the curtains of her long, dark hair. Joe felt the familiar—if poorly timed—tingle in his groin and tried to focus on persuading Gillian, rather than pulling off her T-shirt and shorts.

He had put them in a terrible financial situation, but he believed his unorthodox plan could get them through it. And dammit, he couldn't deny it. He was turned on, more than a little, by the thought of watching his beautiful wife being used sexually by other men—maybe other women, too—while he watched.

It wasn't that she was a slut, far from it. He was sure she had never cheated on him, nor had he cheated on her. That was part of the attraction: the departure from the normal, the chance to see her put on display and to free her sexual appetite and carnal intensity, which he alone enjoyed behind their bedroom door. It was like his friend Dave had told him: "It's a criminal waste for her to only be available to you. She's so fucking gorgeous and sexy." Joe knew it. He knew how lucky he was to be with a woman like Gillian. And his calculated gamble now was riding on whether he had correctly judged her level of sexual curiosity.

At the moment, however, he wasn't sure where this was going. There was a deep red flush spreading up from that cleavage to her long, white, perfect neck as she glared at him. She was pissed. Or was she? With a groan of exasperation she dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, but not before Joe saw that her nipples had stiffened into rock-hard buds. She could never hide her arousal; her tits gave her away every time. So was she really angry, or really horny? Or both?

"Classy?" she said skeptically. "I don't think the words classy and sex club go together."

Joe sensed an opening and leaped into it. "You'd be surprised," he answered, settling into a chair across from her. Then he added quickly: "According to Dave."

"How does Dave know about this club?" she asked. Joe noted that rather than rejecting the idea out of hand, she had adopted her real estate agent's persona, crossing one long leg over the other and delving into the details. She could have been asking whether a prospective house had a finished basement.

"He's visited," Joe said, matter of fact. "A few times."

That shocked her. She leaned forward and asked in a low, threatening voice. "Have you visited?"

"Absolutely not," Joe said with complete honesty. And the smile that followed was honest too. "But I'd sure as hell like to, with you."

She settled back again and eyed him. "So Dave has visited 'a few times.' I don't suppose Carla knows about that."

Joe considered how to answer this. The truth would reveal a secret about Dave's wife, one of Gillian's closer friends, and would alter their friendship forever. But not necessarily in a bad way. He took the chance.

"Carla knows."

"Really," she said skeptically, making it sound like a statement not a question. "Carla lets him go to this club and have sex with other women."

Joe swallowed. This was it. "Yes she does. Because she goes there too." He let that sink in. Gillian stared at him, and he noticed that her breathing was getting a little uneven. Joe plowed ahead. "It was Carla's idea. In fact she found the club. Carla goes with him—and even without him. She's done what we're talking about."

"What?!" Gillian cried. "Carla the kindergarten teacher, goes to this club and gets fucked by other men for money?"

Joe answered, "Well, they started as customers. Carla has some interesting tastes. Dave says she's very careful about letting anyone else know. She likes women as well as men, and sometimes, well, multiple partners. The club gives her a chance to be herself. You know, branch out."

Gillian swallowed and said, weakly, "Holy shit." Then said quietly, almost to herself, "She never told me she likes women too." The nipples, Joe saw, looked like they might tear holes in the T-shirt.

Joe continued, "After a few visits, the president of the club—this fabulous redhead, late 20s like us, according to Dave—invited her to be one of the ladies and insisted on paying her. But Dave says that's not why she does it. She likes it. And she's very popular."

Joe could see that Gillian was mulling that over. "So you'd be watching and maybe participating? I suppose you'd like that?"

Joe wasn't sure that this was the time to admit it. He took a deep breath. "Look, it's not like we never talked about such a thing."

"What do you mean?" she said with a laugh. "We never talked about it. It's a fantasy you described while you were fucking me!"

"And you told me to keep talking while you came—like three times. And you've asked me to describe it again quite a few times."

Gillian drummed her fingernails on the table. "So. Women. Multiple partners. Is this some kind of orgy?"

"More like a gang—I mean, like a group. Group sex. A small group." He swallowed. "Maybe three at once. No more."

She stared at him, a little smile at the corner of her mouth. "I know what you were about to say. A gang bang. You want to watch me do that. Two or three other men having their way with me."

He took a long, slow breath. "Yes."

She nodded slowly, the way she did when she walked through a house she thought she could sell for a nice price. Finally she said, "So how exactly would we go about this?"

For the rest of the evening, Gillian was quiet and preoccupied, resisting his attempts at small talk with one-word answers that really said back off, I'm still thinking about it. Joe gave up and let her brood.

An hour later, as he sat on the couch thumbing through a sports magazine, Gillian came in from the kitchen and knelt between his legs. She reached for the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled the front of them down, exposing his soft cock. She stroked it slowly, up and down, then leaned forward and began to bring it to life with gentle licks and sucks.

"Hey, what's this?" Joe asked. Gillian reached up with her free hand and put her fingers over his mouth to hush him. In less than a minute he was hard and she was studiously licking the top three inches. A minute later, Gillian was easing him over her tongue and into the back of her mouth and then, into her throat. She came back up, his cock drenched in her saliva and a trail clinging from the thick head to her spit-covered chin. She used the lubrication to pump him several times, fast and hard. Then she was on him again, all the way down, her bottom lip caressing his balls, and up, and down. Over and over. Joe was paralyzed, as he so often was, by his wife's extraordinary cocksucking technique.

Joe reached his limit. "God, Gillian, I'm gonna come."

She positioned her lips around his head and began rhythmically stroking him until he erupted. Her watering eyes widened as the jizz filled her mouth, but she kept it up, sucking and swallowing until she knew he was spent. She released him and gasped for air for several seconds before holding his softening cock and working it with her lips and tongue, bathing, milking, swallowing. She reached for Joe's beer and took a long swallow, washing the come that coated the inside of her mouth down her throat.

Joe leaned back with a satisfied groan. "What was that all about?" he asked.

Gillian cuddled next to him on the couch. "I wanted you to know that I'm not unhappy with you. And yes, I think it might work. And no matter what, I'm going to keep loving you, and fucking you, and growing old with you." She looked him in the eyes. "Because we're a couple. We're a team." She took a deep breath then, and looked away. "I'm just a little worried about something."

Joe stroked her hair and and she turned her face back to his. "What's that baby?"

"I'm worried about how much I might like it."

End of Chapter One

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13 Comments
Bronco56Bronco56about 2 years ago

I liked it enough to want to read more chapters. And omg people. Its a story. Don't go overboard with all the comments. Enjoy the story. If you don't like it don't read it. 5stars

tatlockstatlocksalmost 9 years ago
Interesting start....

I liked the beginning, will read more to see how it develops. Thanks for the story.

As ever the comments are split. Don't people understand what this category will include?

devilspydevilspyabout 9 years ago
Love it all, but..............

It was great, cuckold fucked up and now they need money. Better if Hot wife had talked to her friend Carla then caved in. Cuckold getting a blow job? After he fucked up? Oh well, on to next chapter. Hot wife will really enjoy this new "job". Maybe to much. Hope cuckold enjoys creampie and more.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 9 years ago
@craigool

Excuse me, but I used to believe that opinions are opinions, and that they don't depend on spending thirty seconds in order to sign up. I do have an account, but why should I log in just to post a few words? Whether you like an opinion or not should not depend on whether a person has an account or not. You use a cheap argument to brush away opinions which you don't like. I hardly see why my opinion is worth less than your's.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 9 years ago
re: craigool

Oh, yes the swinger has spoken. Who gives a shit about favorites? It's the score that counts. Anything else is just window dressing. What an idiot.

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