The Board meeting ran late into the night, and I was rushing through Grand Central to make the late train when I almost literally ran into Stacey's Maid-of-Honor from our wedding years ago. I only had time for a brief, "Hi, Kathy." But that is when she said those life-changing words: "Tell Stacey I said hi; I haven't seen her since the wedding." I was stunned. Those words ran repeatedly through my mind as the nearly empty train rocked back toward Jersey.

How could Kathy say she has not seen my wife since the wedding? Don't they go out together every other Friday night with the girls? I reached into my pocket and pulled out the sticky note my wife left me just this morning with I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING written on it. Has my wife been lying for years? Who has she been going out with then?

I thought that everything had been simply perfect between us. My wife had always acted like that sweet, innocent wife. Depression hit me like a tidal wave as tears filled my eyes. My thoughts ran to her, curled up in my arms every night as we professed love for each other. Except on every other Friday when she went out with the girls. Those nights, she rarely came home before 2 AM. Then there were those Fridays when she had texted that she was sleeping at Kathy's house. She claimed that she was too drunk to drive. My mind raced on as I poured over where she was on those nights.

Once in the house, I headed to the bedroom to find out what the hell was happening. The woman that I loved more than anything in life was quietly sleeping. I was so confused, and I didn't want to overreact. There was no way I was going to sleep now. I grabbed a full scotch tumbler and quietly went through her phone and computer. There were no strange numbers, no unusual texts, and nothing in her email or deleted items. Some of the texts and emails included flattering comments about what a wonderful husband I am and how much she loved me. By 3 AM, the scotch had the better of me, and I had been up for almost a full day. I went to bed to sleep on my side, away from my wife. After a few minutes, she moved over, put an arm around me, and whispered, "Love you."

In the morning, she woke me up with a kiss and handed me a cup of coffee. She said, "Early meeting, my love; I gotta go." She yelled to me as she headed out the door, "Don't forget about our girls' night tonight!"

I let my boss know that I was working from home today. I went through all of her drawers. I found new, red, sexy baby doll lingerie, a red thong, and black stockings, all hidden at the bottom of a sweater drawer. In her closet was a new pair of tall red "fuck me" shoes. My wife hardly ever dresses up in sexy outfits for me, so I was unsure who this was for. I tried to be positive; they may have been for my birthday next week. Did she buy these for some other guy?

As the day went on, my anger kept building. My mind was in constant turmoil as images of her big blue eyes and blonde ponytailed hair as she looked up to kiss me. Was all of this just a fucking lie?

I had messaged her that I had to work late. So, I parked across the street from her work. When I saw her car leave the lot, I followed her back to our house. I watched our home for a few hours before seeing her car pull out of the garage. Trying not to get too close behind her, I followed her for over an hour up the interstate. Finally, she took an exit in the industrial part of the city. Then, to my amazement, she pulled into a strip club. Why was she going into a strip club in the wrong section of the city? I pulled behind a few cars and watched as she exited the car wearing her tan trench coat. She went to her trunk and pulled out a small rolling suitcase I had never seen before. As she walked toward the club, I could see her hair had been all curled in a sexy way that made her look slutty. Then I saw her in those red high heels, and I guessed that she also had on those black stockings. Oh my God, is she a stripper?

She walked into the club and casually kissed the bouncer as he grabbed her ass! My heart sank; this was the innocent woman who never flirted with others, was very shy in bed, and always dressed very conservatively, and she just walked into a strip club. Was my whole marriage a fucking lie?

I waited fifteen minutes before going into the club. I knew I was out of place when the bouncer wanted me to prove I was not a cop. "We don't get a lot of clean-cut middle-aged white dudes here, so if you want to go in, show me your dick, so I know you ain't a cop." He said. I quickly opened my pants and exposed myself to the big man. He just chuckled but let me pass. 

The bass was thumping, and a hot, skinny black woman was dancing in only heels on a dimly lit stage as I entered the club. It took quite a few seconds for my eyes to adjust because it was very dark where the seats were. When my eyes began to see the other men, I realized that I stood out from the crowd as they were predominantly Black, some Hispanics, and a few long-haired hippy-looking white guys. I quickly sat in the back corner and asked a cute black waitress for a tumbler of Jack Daniels.

The next black stripper appeared, and after a few songs and removing all her clothes except high-heeled shoes, a slow sax song started, and the black woman threw what looked like a white furry throw rug on the stage. She got on her back and spread her legs to the R&B music. Men threw dollars at her as she used her fingers to spread her pussy open, exposing the pink goodness. Then she moved to the edge of the stage, and several men walked up in front of her. She moved to her hands and knees and put her ass up and her head down. As she moved from man to man, she allowed each one to rub her ass, pussy, and up and over her breasts. I gulped down my drink and watched the next two Spanish girls as they ended with the blanket dance with men rubbing their bodies and raining down cash.

I was on my second tumbler of whiskey when they introduced Tanya. Through the curtain, my wife stepped onto the stage, wearing the red teddy and black stockings I had found in her drawer earlier that day. Oh, my fucking god! She was wearing the sexiest red shoes that made her thin legs look like they went on forever. The heels made her look taller than five foot five, and her blonde hair was all teased up, looking sexy as hell. Was this sexy slut my conservative wife? My mouth hung wide open as she strutted around the stage with her big 36D breasts bouncing in her red baby-doll outfit. She looked better than any fantasy I could have ever dreamed up. She told me she hated high heels and couldn't walk in them. Also, I had been told she didn't like to dress sexy. Now she seemed so confident and comfortable as she shook her breasts and ass for the degenerates in the audience. Then she pulled the strips on her red thong and showed the crowd her neatly manicured cunt. The crowd cheered, while I was a depressed disaster. Who was this woman?

The server brought me another glass of painkiller and didn't just show me but pulled my hands to her nice, big black breasts. Then she leaned forward and brought her nipple to my mouth. I licked and lightly sucked on one before she fed me the second one. Her perfume was heavenly, and it threw me away from my thoughts. Then she grabbed a $20 bill from my fund's pile and hurried away. I watched her little black ass as she walked away and realized that I was starting to get an erection. I was shocked and pissed at my wife. My hot-as-hell wife was a stripper? I began to drink the sour mash whiskey straight down as my mind battled between being horny as hell and being mad as a wounded bull.

It was time for the third dance. It was like slow motion as my dick grew hard as I watched her pull out that same white fur-covered blanket. She lay on her back and spread her legs wide open. Her hands ran down and pulled her bald pussy lips apart, and she raised her red shoes above her head, showing her spread-open pink pussy to the crowd. I noticed there were no wedding rings on her hand when it hit me — I had never seen her shaved twat before, and she was showing it to everyone else but me. Then she rolled over on her hands and knees, and again, her hands moved down and pulled herself open for these degenerates to enjoy. Then like the two beauties before her, she moved to the edge of the stage and let the men grope her ass and her tits. That was my wife that they were grabbing, and it looked like she loved it. My dick just grew harder.

They continued to pass her from man to man as they tossed bills onto the stage. I saw one large man run his hands across her ass and then slide his long thick black finger deep inside her pussy. I was getting turned on as she started to rock back and forth fucking his finger. He pulled out his wet finger and licked it. As he tossed a wad of bills on the stage, he laughed and told the others, "This whore is hot tonight!" I had reached my limit and was about to march up to the stage and grab that wife, that slut, off the stage when the song ended. She quickly pulled away and wagged her finger at the black man who was fingering her and mouthed, No, No, No. As the last song ended, she pulled up the white fur blanket and then scurried around the stage, picking up the bills like a common street whore. Then she was walking, no, strutting off stage with confidence that I had never seen in her before. I was a mess of emotions, horny, jealous, and furious all at the same time.

The DJ announced the next stripper, and my waitress was back to see if I needed another drink. This time as she bent down to pick up the glass, her other hand touched my thigh and slid up towards my dick. Just as the server went to pull away, her hand grazed over my crotch. "Wow, someone is enjoying the show," she said. Then she leaned down to my ear and whispered, "If these whores are turning you on, why don't you join me in one of the back rooms. I'll take care of that hard dick of yours." I was just staring at her cleavage as my mind tried to process what she just said. Whores? "Let me know, sugar," she said as she walked away. Without a conscious thought, I started on another tumbler of whiskey.

I watched the next two strippers as they casually worked through their three-song set. The alcohol was fogging my whole perspective as I watched the young girls as they spread themselves before the waiting horny patrons.

That is when I saw Stacey emerge from the dark hallway. I bit my lip as I saw her wearing just a tiny black robe. As she flashed men for tips, I could see underneath the robe that she only wore her red thong and matching heels. As she worked the front row, I could see her open her robe and let the men feel up her tits. The men's dollar bills were placed inside her thong or between her breasts, where she would snatch them up with her big tits.

When she reached the old black man that had been fingering her pussy at the end of her set, she whispered in his ear. A broad smile came across his face as he nodded yes. She led him behind past the DJ booth, where he handed in some cash before they disappeared past a curtain that covered some dark hallway. Were these girls prostitutes? So that's why the bouncer made me prove I wasn't a cop. Is my wife a hooker or just giving lap dances? My mind went into shutdown mode. Then the whiskey kicked me hard as I leaned back in my chair, a total mess. I was furious with her; my whole marriage was a sham. Was this whore just using me? Why was she doing this to me? But wait, why was my dick so hard?

Okay, folks, just wait. This gets even worse for me. The next chapter will be issued soon.