Hung Go, a Club

Two replacements immediately moved to occupy the vacated orifices and I noticed that a line of other studs had formed themselves into a loose queue. I scanned the line of cocks, all shapes, cut and uncut, but uniformly large and potently erect. I had to admit that they looked impressive. A moment of honest insight let me see that this was the natural order of things - beautiful women deserved to be serviced by prime equipment. I felt less badly about Claire's infidelity in the realisation that it was only nature taking its course. Were I a woman, could I honestly say that I would turn down the chance of being fucked by a real cock, no matter how much I loved my husband? Philosophically extending the argument, how many women who remain completely faithful when married to husbands with an average endowment or less, do so only because they have the good fortune (or misfortune) of never having been exposed to real temptation?

The third pair was now in action. The guy between her legs was again black but he had the most spectacular cock to see action so far, at least ten inches and proportionately thick. I saw the woman react to it being inside her and privately bet that this would be the first stud to make her cum. The face of the cuckold was also showing distress for the first time and as his testicular penalty was still far from excessive; I reckoned that he had to be showing reaction to the events on the bed. I looked at the blow-job in progress and almost jolted back in shock because, the hollowed cheeks of the woman made her more than resemble my wife - for a long instant, I actually believed that it was she. My heart began to pound, I felt very hot and my already stiff penis gave an enthusiastic jerk. For the first time I contemplated joining a possibly long queue for a toilet cubicle the moment that the show was over. I had not suffered a mere one off mental aberration because, as male followed male to the bed, the more the woman looked like Claire until I began wishing that the woman being so soundly fucked was indeed my lovely wife.

The tortured husband had for some time being suffering from the pain in his balls, visibly cringing as each new weight was added. The tightly stretched skin appeared shiny and his testicles were a rich purple plum colour. My gaze drifted away from the action on the bed to the faces of the ring of watchers. I was struck by the look of unnatural excitement apparent on the faces of all the women. Many of the men showed the same emotion but on the females it was uniform and I could not help thinking that the same syndrome must have been evident at medieval public executions.

Then I spotted Claire standing towards the rear of spectators. I immediately hoped this would give me opportunity to study both my wife and her lover for the evening, without their knowledge but Claire's eyes flicked towards the cuckold area and our gaze met. She jolted back in almost physical shock and looked away quickly but a few moments later her eyes again found mine and she gestured urgently that I should move to a part of the barrier away from the crowd of togas. "Get changed, we are going home," she ordered the moment that we met at the bars.

In the car I could not think of anything to say that would not be either trite or intrusive so I kept quiet and Claire seemed to be nursing some private emotion. In the end to break the silence I said, "I'm surprised all that isn't illegal but a guy in there says that it is all within the law."

"The club owners go to a lot of trouble to keep it legal even though some of the rules are completely ridiculous," my wife told me. "Nakedness is not allowed which is why everybody has to wear something no matter how small and irrespective of what it conceals. Groping is allowed on the dance-floor but no sex, no even blow-jobs but on the other hand that whole bed thing is permitted because it is technically classed as a performance. Oh yes - and the only reason that the studs have to pay for admittance is to prevent the club being classed as a male brothel."

We drove for several more miles without speaking and then Claire suddenly said with feeling, "I don't want to take you to the club any more - it's just not right." Her words were a blow but I made no protest and after a further silence she felt compelled to explain, "It destroys the illusion that I am stepping out of the marriage into a different world for a short time - with you there it makes you part of it. Upstairs tonight it felt totally wrong, mainly because I couldn't stop thinking about you and worrying about how you were feeling. That is why I wanted to come home early - Jason was rather miffed when I dumped him."

"You've got it all wrong," I started to say but as we had just arrived outside our house, I waited until our baby-sitters had left and we were sitting with cups of tea before starting again. "You're wrong. You are imagining how you would feel in my situation and then accrediting me with that reaction. For me waiting at home is far worse than being there. Using the terms current where I work - at the club, I can quantify, place into context and then adjust to the situation. There is also the benefit of having something to watch and other men to talk where at home I am on my own, struggling with the unknown and with no distraction. I am far more relaxed at this moment that on any of the Fridays that you have been there before."

I could tell from Claire's face that this was a revelation to her. "You mean that it didn't bother you seeing me go upstairs with Jason and knowing that we were going to..."

"Of course it bothered me - but far less than sitting at home knowing that you were doing the exactly same thing with some unknown man I had to imagine. It helped that I had no objections to Jason - well far less than that ugly far older guy who fucked you last week. I didn't like the look of him at all but I could still handle it." Claire was looking at me with a puzzled wide eyed expression, so I explained, "John who works at your firm told me who you had been with - he was there with his wife Gill."

Claire nodded. "Yes, I have noticed them at the club. Gill really is a nymphomaniac - most lunchtimes at work she does it with a guy in the mailroom. John sits next door eating his sandwiches and he is bound to know what is going on, everybody else does. At least I managed to keep my thing with Rick secret."

"Think again," I said with a grin. "John told me that a book was run on whether he would manage to screw you and I gather that quite a lot of money changed hands when he did get his leg over." The fact that I found that amusing caused Claire to relax and she started smiling back.

"I've been a bit selfish and short-sighted," Claire admitted. "I can compartmentalise and thought that if I did that, what I do would have no effect on our marriage but I failed to see it from your point of view. I've been congratulating myself on getting what I need while only causing you the minimum distress but that isn't the case is it? I love you, I love our marriage and I don't want to damage it, so what do you want to do?"

"For a start I have to come to terms with the fact that my wife screws other men and you've got to tell me all that I need to know."

"All right, I'll tell you everything and in as much detail as you want but I'm not sure that I can handle you coming to the club every time," Claire conceded.

"It would be unfair to impose on your parents to baby-sit every Saturday so how about you going by yourself on Friday's some weeks and us both going Saturday on others - I've already promised John that I will watch him being star of the show in three weeks."

"How about two Fridays for me by myself for each Saturday with us both going?" Claire offered, immediately slipping into negotiating mode.

"I agree to that but only on condition you tell me your room number on the nights that I'm there?"

It was obvious that my wife wasn't too happy with my stipulation, "I don't like the thought of you actually watching me so I will have to give that some thought before I agree."

"There is nothing for you to think about because that is non-negotiable," I stated firmly.

"OK, I will tell you my room number and I promise not to turn the cameras off but you only go to the club with me one week in four," Claire decided. I was not willing to sacrifice that extra week and was about to object when my wife continued, "You probably don't know but you can bring away a CD containing everything that you see on screen. Watching that should keep you nicely distracted the other three weeks."

That was the end of the conversation for we went to bed together a few minutes later. On the landing, Claire tried to peel off towards the shower but did not protest when I urged her straight into the bedroom. I think she was lulled by the established 'no sex on club nights' rule but once in bed I began to make my carnal intentions known. Even in this she was reasonably acquiescent, only murmuring, "Are you sure?" but when I tried to get my head between her legs, she began to violently resist. I suppose that I raped her but it was rape with my tongue.

At the start, she was fiercely hammering on the back of my head with her fists but once I had roughly forced her clamped thighs apart and got my mouth in place, resistance ceased, to be quickly replaced by a radical switch. "Yes, Yes," she gasped, "Suck all Jason's nasty cum out of me, I want you to swallow every drop." This was closely followed by the three most momentous oral orgasms I had ever given her.

The following week was genuinely the most relaxed and happy since the whole thing started. I was so confident that I had cracked it that I was actually looking forward to Friday evening but the moment that my wife drove away, that changed. Despite Claire's promise that she would tell me everything on her return I found that being alone was worse than before, especially has I had not yet got anything to watch. I had got it desperately wrong. I now realised that I needed to be there, to see her go off to have sex with her chosen stud for the night and then watch it happening on the wide screen TV.

The jealous twisted feeling in my gut verged on agony and my cock was so stiff that it had changed from a source of pleasure into additional pain. After an hour of frustrated torment I went upstairs, dug out some old trainers from the back of the wardrobe and removed the laces. I tied them together and then very carefully prepared a loop at each end, complete with slipknots.