"How do I look, honey?" my wife asked me.
I quickly turned my attention from the television show that I had been watching and focused my gaze on Angela as she stood framed in the lounge-room doorway. My hungry eyes slowly floated over her a couple of times, from eye-line to ankle.
"You look absolutely gorgeous," I finally told her.
And she did. It was 7:00 pm on Friday night, and Angela had just finished dressing in preparation for her night out with the girls. Yes - she had decided to go to the Hen's night.
She was wearing a slinky cream-colored skirt with a hemline that hovered perhaps six or seven inches above her knees. Her torso was encased in what I can best describe as a lacy red top that resembled a glorified sports singlet; it was almost like a snug-fitting corset that had been sewn onto the bottom of a bikini bra, and it hung over her shoulders on spaghetti-thin straps. The neckline wasn't overly deep but it still offered the observer a generous glimpse of cleavage, and the cup of her breasts was amply evident under the swell of the taut, sculpted material. A loose black jacket and black high heels completed the ensemble.
Angela had also outdone herself in the bathroom; she had blow-waved her long blonde tresses into soft undulating waves. She didn't need a lot of make-up at the best of times, but tonight she had enhanced her dazzling green eyes with mascara and eye-shadow, and her lips gleamed moistly with soft red lipstick. Angela had made the most of the recent late-spring sunshine, and her freshly-shaven legs glowed with a modest tan.
Gazing at her, the overall effect of her alluring attire was sophisticated and classy - but absolutely sexy. Seductive was the first word that sprang to mind. She smiled at me and turned a playful pirouette, and I drank in the sight of her tight calf muscles and her curvaceous backside that resembled an inverted cartoon heart. The wicked little carnal buzz began hammering at me yet again.
"Do you like my new top, honey?" she asked when she had completed her pirouette.
"Very nice," I replied truthfully.
"I picked it up yesterday," she informed me. Her eyes flashed. "I don't need to wear a bra under it," she added, almost playfully. "It has one kinda built into it."
I nodded and swallowed involuntarily. My wife sent me a knowing smile and strode over to where I was sitting. She sank down to perch herself on my lap. Her rich perfume enveloped me, and the warmth of her thighs pressed onto mine.
"Are you still okay with this, baby?" she asked softly, sliding her arm around my neck. "You're okay with me going to the Hen's night?"
I slowly nodded. "Yeah, hun - I'm perfectly fine with it. If I seem jumpy, it's just because..." I hesitated.
"Because you're thinking about what I might do tonight, lover?" Angela smoothly added, completing my sentence.
"Yes."
"And you're still perfectly okay with me having a little fun if I get the chance, honey?"
I nodded again. "Yes. Jesus, do you have any idea what the thought is doing to me?"
Angela's lilting smile widened. "Oh, yes, honey. I know it's been a fantasy of yours for a long time, honey - and I know what it's doing to you to think about it possibly becoming real." She paused for a second. "Especially now," she added. I knew she was referring to my inability to get an erection, and I drew a sharp, excited breath.
We had, in fact, discussed her jaunt to the Hen's night on several occasions in the last five days. Angela had wanted to be sure that I was ready for this final leap into unknown territory. She had again made it absolutely clear that if she did do anything tonight, then it was because she loved me and because she wanted to let me experience my fantasy at the ultimate level. She had also told me that she was very pleased and gratified that I had enough faith and confidence in our love to allow her the chance to play outside of our marriage.
She did, however, also admit that the notion of her engaging in some illicit sex was extremely enticing. This admission naturally augmented my own arousal. I had excitedly asked her several more questions about how much the thought of finding a lover turned her on - but she had coyly deflected my queries, apart from teasingly telling me that it had been seven months since she'd had sexual intercourse and that my dream had perhaps been right - she just might need it.
She now squirmed on my lap and her smile became a sexy little leer. "So will you be thinking about me while I'm out tonight, baby?"
"Oh, yeah - constantly!" I answered. My excited tone underscored my reply
"Well, just keep thinking about me until I get home, honey," Angela playfully said. "I'm sure you'll wait up for me," She winked and kissed me softly. She rose to her feet. "Well, I suppose I'd better head off."
I swallowed again and nodded, getting to my feet and following her into the kitchen. She picked up her car keys and leather purse.
"You won't drink too much tonight, will you?" I asked her.
She shook her head. "No, baby - three standard drinks will be my limit tonight. I'm not risking my driver's license."
She started to slide her purse into an inner pocket of her jacket. She paused thoughtfully for a few seconds before drawing it back out, sending me a playful smile.
"I also picked something else up yesterday, too," she said mischievously. She opened the purse and lifted out a small cardboard box. My heart suddenly pounded.
"I thought I'd better get some - just in case," she playfully chirped. I glanced down at the small packet of condoms before she slid them back into her purse.
"Oh my God!" I uttered in a tight voice. The buzz clicked up about ten notches.
Angela giggled. "I thought that might get your attention!" she purred. She tucked her purse into the pocket inside her jacket.
"You know that I'm going to be a fucking wreck when you get home don't you?" I whispered huskily to her. She leaned in and kissed me. Her warm, moist tongue slithered over my lips.
"I'll make sure of it, honey," she replied smoothly. "Well, I'm gonna head off, lover. If I run into any problems, I'll give you a quick call to let you know."
I nodded. My pulse was still racing.
She embraced me and kissed me again. "I should be home at around midnight, or even a little later, okay?"
"Okay."
"I love you, Michael."
"I love you too, Angie."
Her broad grin reappeared. "Have fun tonight, lover."
"I'll try. You have fun, too," I replied tightly.
"Oh, I'll certainly try, honey!" she playfully quipped. She gave me a soft final kiss and strode to the front door. She was halfway out when she turned back to face me. "Oh! By the way? If I do happen to meet a hot little playmate tonight, I'm still going to go through with that little plan I told you about the other night - so I might have a little surprise for you when I get home. See you later tonight, lover!" With a final teasing wink, she was gone. The front door shut with a thud of finality.
As I listened to her high-heels clicking down the front steps, I wondered about her last remark. I had previously tried to find out what her mysterious plan was, but she had teasingly stonewalled me. I listened as her car emitted a muffled bark, and then watched as she reversed down the driveway and drove off - giving my two fruity toots of her car horn in farewell.
I glanced around the lounge-room with my heart still pounding.
It was going to be a long, slow, torturous night.
*****
What does one do when one's spouse is out gallivanting and carousing with the full knowledge that she is perfectly at liberty to commit sexual misconduct? I'll tell you - one goes slowly insane with arousal and desire.
And I can assure you that if you don't even have the means to slake your own lust - as I didn't - then the almost deliciously masochistic anticipation is amplified.
After Angela had been able to stimulate me to climax with a combination of her gentle oral ministrations accompanied by a lascivious narrative a few nights ago, I had surreptitiously tried to repeat the episode myself whilst she was at work. But to my dismay, I found that stimulating myself was not the same as having Angela do it for me. Whether this was due to a mixture of the physical and possibly psychological effects of the medication I was taking, I don't know. I had once read that if you tickle yourself, you couldn't get the same involuntary reaction as if someone else was tickling you - something to do with nerve interactions or some other medical mumbo-jumbo.
It was perhaps the same with my current situation; I found that no matter how much I was able to emulate what Angela had done a few nights ago, I could not make myself climax in my flaccid state. It became apparent that in order to reach orgasm, I needed her to do it and to listen to one of her lewd and incredibly erotic narratives as she did so.
Angela, evincing her shrewd female intuition, had later offhandedly asked me if I had tried to repeat what she had done. I somewhat guiltily admitted that I had, but that I couldn't duplicate what she had been able to achieve. She had been intrigued, but she had also smiled and added that she found it exquisitely delightful that I could climax - but only if she was doing the stimulating. She had actually sent me a teasing leer and said: "Ah! So no cuming for you until I want you to cum, baby! Isn't that bitchy of me?"
I had actually asked her to try doing it again - but she smilingly shook her head and wickedly told me that we should maybe wait until she got home on Friday night before trying it again. Angela was well aware just how much this would wind me up - and she was right. Wind me up it did, and it actually excited me even more; Angela and I had occasionally played with mild tease and denial games in the past, which I found to be a huge turn-on. The way we had played it was for her to deny me intercourse, but for me to keep her happy by performing cunnilingus on her.
But when we had played such games, we had only managed to last three or four days because Angela herself usually became so aroused as I orally pleased her that she would say to hell with the game, and urgently tell me to mount her. Now, however, circumstances were far more conducive to tease and denial play; since Angela couldn't have intercourse with me anyway, she was now far more willing and able to extend the game; she knew just how much it would drive me wild to have to await her pleasure - and so the deliciously wicked carnal circle continued.
So this was my current situation; I was able to climax - but only at a time of Angela's choosing and with her complete co-operation.
And now I was sat alone on a Friday evening, waiting at home as my gorgeous wife was attending a bachelorette party, knowing that she had my full permission to indulge her libido if the chance presented itself. And with her looking as gorgeous as she did, I knew it was a fair bet that a chance would indeed present itself; she would suffer no shortage of appreciative male glances tonight. Was it any wonder I felt like I had overdosed on a very potent aphrodisiac?
I heaved a trembling sigh and sat down to watch the TV - trying to ignore the lascivious little buzz that vibrated through me like a persistent swarm of lecherous bees.
I watched TV for a couple of hours or so. I would often glance up at the clock mounted on the wall, only to find that time seemed to wade through a pool of treacle. I arose and played a few games on the PC for another hour or two. Little flitting images of Angela dancing with some hot young guy kept filtering through my thoughts.
I looked at the clock.
10:37 pm.
I shut down the PC game and absentmindedly started a web browser. I was instantly confronted with Google's search page. I pondered for a few moments, and then - led by some weird masochistic urge - I typed in:
'Hens night sex'.
I hit the enter key, and Google dutifully responded. A list of web sites featuring mainly porn filled the screen. Almost of its own volition, my finger clicked the left mouse button over one of them.
I was taken to a page that was laced with images of women merrily reveling at bachelorette parties and hen's nights. Male strippers flitted amongst the carousing ladies, and this seemed to be eagerly received by members of both genders. The gaudy slogans on the site proclaimed things like:
'Hot, Horny Women Go Wild For Strippers!', and 'Is Your Wife or Girlfriend Inside?', and 'Cradle-Snatching MILFs Crave Big-Cocked Strippers!'
I could usually either take or leave porn and actually, Angela enjoyed it more than I did. But in my current state I sat almost hungrily drinking in the images of fully clothed women gazing lustfully at well-built guys in various states of dress (or, more accurately, undress). Well-oiled torsos seemed to be the order of the day, and the male strippers' lean, shiny bodies seemed to mesmerize many of the ladies, who for the most part displayed expressions varying from delighted shock all the way up to pure lust. In fact, on the next site I visited there were pictures of women actually performing fellatio on some of the strippers, and licking canned whipped cream from their cocks and so forth. My ever-present buzz intensified, and I gazed at the screen with as much rapt attention as a scientist peering down a microscope.
There were also video samples on this site. I couldn't help myself; I downloaded one of them. I was startled by what I saw.
The video footage began by showing what looked to be a dim club bar-room. The camera panned abruptly to the left to show a slim, short-haired woman of about forty years of age. She was bending forward at the waist to lean over the bar and stepping out of her panties as she did so. Behind her, a young male stripper wearing nothing but a g-string reached down and lifted her skirt over her back. The woman parted her legs, leering over her shoulder at the well-oiled hunk behind her. The stripper then proceeded to ease his cock from his g-string and then slid it into her pussy from behind. Loud music pumped in the background, but it wasn't enough to drown out her delighted squeal of pleasure as he entered her. Just beyond the humping couple was another group of about five dancing women, who simply nudged each other and pointed, all of them smiling and laughing as they watched the stripper openly fucking the slim woman. Other female patrons drifted in and out of shot - some of them even ordering drinks at the bar alongside the copulating pair as if a couple screwing in public was all perfectly normal.
I sat stunned. The video did not seem contrived or fabricated, and it had all the hallmarks of being a real bachelorette party. The quality was good but lacked the artificial sharpness and scripting of a staged porn flick. The site had stated that the footage was genuine, and I could believe it.
I downloaded another film. In this episode, the camera panned across a sea of maybe thirty women dancing to the beat of loud music (with the odd male stripper dotted like a well-oiled and practically naked island in their midst). The camera panned further to the right, and it suddenly drifted downwards.
There, on what looked to be a low, sturdy coffee table, was sprawled a buxom brunette, perhaps Angela's age. She was lying on her back with her short dress lifted high above her hips and her shapely legs spread wide. In fact, I could see her white panties dangling from her left ankle like a limp flag. A completely naked male stripper was enthusiastically mounting her in the missionary position. I could also hear the brunette moaning and imploring him to fuck her.
And it wasn't only her voicing encouragement; standing in a ring around the writhing couple were four other fully clothed women - apparently friends of the brunette - and two of them were actually shouting down catcalls and lewd suggestions. The other two ladies clapped and laughed as they watched. The footage also captured other women passing by, clasping drinks in their hands and smiling down at the pair as the stripper's hips rose and fell between the brunette's outstretched thighs. The camera zoomed in to linger on the brunette's hands firmly gripping his tight, pumping buttocks - and my mouth dropped open as I saw the wedding ring on her finger.
Once again, the film bore all the marks of it being a real Hen's night; some of the women, although not very many, moved quickly out of shot or turned their faces away when they saw the camera. Most of them didn't care, however, and many even yelled enthusiastically into the camera as they cheered and pointed to the fucking couple below them.
I realized that I was panting as I sat in front of the monitor. I had known that some Hen's nights could be wild - as Angela had stated - but not this wild. The two copulating women in the videos that I had just watched had shown no abashment or embarrassment as dozens of other women gazed at them openly enjoying this brazen sexual act, and the watchers had likewise expressed neither shock or censure - in fact, most of the women seemed to be relishing the free live porn show.
My thoughts quickly drifted to Angela's current whereabouts. I was almost certain that the function she was attending wouldn't be as debauched and lewd as what I had witnessed on the films - the venue where the risque videos took place was obviously a private party at a male strip club or somewhere similar. But it did perhaps give me an insight into the mindset of a group of frisky women out for a wild night without their men. The ages of the women in the videos had ranged from their early twenties up to their fifties, and I had noted that many of them - in addition to the horny brunette being pounded on the coffee table - wore wedding bands or engagement rings. They'd cheered, hooted and clapped as ardently as those who weren't wearing rings, and possibly more so.
My heart pounded a little harder. I forced myself to leave the web site. In fact, I turned the PC off altogether.
One of the slogans I had seen on the web site - 'Cradle-Snatching MILFs Crave Big-Cocked Strippers!' - lingered in my thoughts. Most of the muscular strippers I had seen in the films were young and seemed more than willing to be cradle-snatched. In fact, the stripper who had fucked the woman leaning down on the bar looked almost young enough to be her son. I suddenly wondered if my sexy thirty-two-year-old wife would be attracted to one of the handsome young strippers. If she elected to snatch his cradle, then I'm sure that he'd be just as eager to conversely cradle her snatch.
I glanced at the clock.
11:49 pm.
Angela had told me she would return home soon after midnight, but I instinctively knew that it might be much later than this. I realized that my hands were now trembling constantly and that the later it got, the more the sensation of almost masochistic carnality slithered through my veins with greater intensity. I wondered if at this very moment my gorgeous wife was panting underneath some muscular stud, telling him how good his hard cock felt inside of her. I wondered if she would carry out her threat to tell her lover that I was unable to satisfy her. I uttered a frustrated groan and tried to watch TV. My cock was the only thing not tingling - the rest of me slowly fermented in a bubbling cauldron of lascivious anticipation. Many cuckolds might have recognized the nervous fluttering in my stomach.