It was a repeat of last week's tongue lashing.
"You're not doing this to me again! You're the one that wants a threesome. You're constantly whining about it. Well, I've had enough, you piece of shit. I don't give a fuck what you want to do; I'm doing this and I'm doing it TONIGHT!"
My mind was racing as she slammed the car door and strode back to the club. Should I stop her? Could I stop her? I watched as she talked briefly with the bouncer at the door, and he let her reenter.
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For a few months, we'd been getting deeper into female domination. We'd come home from a night out, and I'd prepare the bedroom for a bondage and discipline session, donning my leather wrist and ankle cuffs, then restraining my dick in a cock and balls spreader. I'd set up the ropes on the bedposts, and lay out her whips, corset, garter belt, stockings, and boots. While she dressed, I'd scurry downstairs to the kitchen, make her a cocktail, get her cigarettes, ashtray, lighter, and a joint, all the time hoping the next-door neighbors wouldn't inadvertently spy me in my cuffs. More and more often, as she beat my ass or whipped my balls, our banter focused on possible solutions to my shortcomings, and I'd suggest that she might consider an MMF threesome. It wasn't uncommon for our sessions to end when I blew my load in response to her asking me if I wanted to see my wife getting fucked by a real man, while she'd ride my dick to orgasm.
Sexual tension ramped up on the nights we went out clubbing. She's always been a sexy, confident, and assertive woman whose mere presence attracts men. Over the last few times we were out, she spent more time flirting than usual for her, even scoping out the room and approaching guys to dance. I found myself watching her enjoying herself dancing, while I sat on a bar stool with a raging hardon tenting my pants.
Last weekend, she had been cockteasing for most of the night, dancing a lot with one guy, then returning to our booth. When I got up to go as closing time approached, she said, "Let me see if my new friend wants to come with us". With the butterflies roiling my stomach, I offered some weak, not-in-the-mood-tonight excuse and she followed me out the door.
She got in the car and was furious.
"You've been pushing for this for months, and now you wimp out on me. You fucking jerk! I find a guy, and all of a sudden you're not sure. You've got no balls. Afraid you couldn't measure up? Take me home, asshole."
No hot femdom session that night. It wasn't until midweek that the storm blew over.
Out again the following weekend, she had been working the crowd all night and had zeroed in on an Italian stallion. They were inseparable on the dance floor for the last hour; even for a sleazy pickup joint, their slow dance crotch grinding was drawing some notice.
It was getting late when she came back to my booth. I rose, said "Let's go", and headed for the exit. She followed me out, got in the car, and started yelling.
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Before I could work out what to do next, the bouncer held open the door, and she walked out arm-in-arm with the stallion, a big smile on her face. God, she looked so sexy, in tight white shorts, stiletto mules, and a sleeveless orange camisole-like top, lacing down the middle barely containing her full, round tits. They were followed by another guy I recognized as his wingman. He took her over to a red Corvette, and, as he opened the passenger door for her, she looked over at me, took a long drag on her cigarette, laughed, and flipped the butt in my direction as she got in the car. I watched as they pulled out of the lot.
My heart started pounding when I got home and saw the red Vette in front of our house. Despite my cuck angst peaking, I knew this was a turning point in our relationship. This was a chance to turn one of my favorite sexual fantasies into reality. This might never happen again. I parked the car and went in.