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.