We’re on a long weekend in New York City. The kids are with their grandparents. I’m full of energy and excitement and want to do something we can’t, or at least, don’t, do at home. Plus I want to show him something that used to be a part of my life. No, I was never a stripper, but I used to go to places like that with my girlfriends, just for fun. Calvin’s been once, and he said he felt dirty about it.
“Marnie, I just don’t know. I don’t want to be the guy with his tongue hanging out looking like an idiot because a woman is taking her clothes off. I don’t want them to laugh at me. Plus, I have you,” he tells me, walking toward me and pulling me close for a hug.
My Calvin is a good man, a good husband, and still hot to me. He was never drop-dead gorgeous but he is sexy in his own way, with his big, slightly balding head, his big hands, nose, body. He’s six foot four and husky, whereas I’m a foot shorter and petite. Even when he’s not trying to slam me against the wall, a nudge from him in that direction and I’m wet as can be. I’m usually the sexual instigator, and I don’t mind. I have a higher sex drive than he does, but he’s never turned me down. I’ve been the one to introduce toys, to get him to relax enough to let me play with his ass while I blow him, to ask him to spank me. It’s not that Calvin’s repressed, but there is still a part of him that thinks that other people will care what we do in bed, that feels like someone—not necessarily G-d, but someone—is watching every time we do anything the least bit risqué.
That makes me laugh because I’m not an exhibitionist, either, save for my occasional low-cut dresses, and if I thought someone was watching me get it on, I’d be self-conscious, too. We both grew up in small towns with Jewish families that were on the more buttoned-up side, but I escaped at eighteen and never looked back. Calvin, I’m afraid, is always on the verge of looking back, and in our thirteen years of marriage, my job has been to pull him forward, into both the future and the knowledge that he is an adult and can enjoy his body.
Sometimes I do things just to shake him up, like when I went on my last business trip and gave him a bottle of lube and a porn DVD that I’d originally intended to take with me. “I think she’s hot,” I said, pointing to Jesse Jane. I knew he’d been tempted to roll his eyes at me—the blonde with the big boobs, really?—but then I pulled him down into our easy chair and started whispering in his ear, relaying the filthiest fantasy I could think of, one that ultimately involved his cock shoved between Jesse Jane’s breasts. By the time I took his cock out and started stroking it, he could barely last a minute. I know that inside him lurks the heart and soul of a pervy—a nice, friendly, pervy—guy, and I like to bring him out to play when I can.
“Let’s put it this way, sweetie; I’m gonna go to a strip club and get a lap dance. You can either come with me or do whatever it is you want to do.” We’re staying in Times Square, and there’s no lack of entertainment. We have theater tickets for Saturday night, reservations for dinner at Peter Luger’s Sunday, and our days are filled with friends and art galleries and walking tours. Tonight I want to do something that is just for the two of us.
“Well, when you put it that way…I just don’t want you to feel slighted if I get turned on looking at the women.”
“Remember the whole porn incident? Your girlfriend Jesse Jane?” I tease him, making sure he looks me in the eyes. My sweet, sexy husband actually blushes when I say her name. “Oh, you didn’t forget her?” I ask as I raise my knee and run it against his dick. I know, and, frankly, he knows, too, that I could’ve shacked up with my ex-boyfriend Billy, who was much more of a lout than Calvin could ever hope to be. But I didn’t want Billy, I wanted Calvin, and I’m not so much trying to change him as bring out the side of him I know exists, because I’ve seen it, felt it, touched it. I don’t want a guy who brags about how many women he’s banged (for the record, I’m number three on Calvin’s list, whereas my list is considerably longer) or ogles every woman he comes across. This isn’t so much about the women in the club, as sharing the aura of a strip club with the man I love. And for the record, I wouldn’t have really gone there by myself; where’s the fun in that?
“But you can’t wear that,” I tell him, pointing at his overly fussy shirt and dress pants. It’s basically a suit without the jacket. “Put on something more casual.”
I strip off my jeans and T-shirt and start rummaging through my suitcase, and while I’m bent over, my thong-clad butt in the air, Calvin comes over and takes a little nip with his teeth. Then his mouth shifts, and he’s tonguing my pussy through my underwear. He slides them aside and I somehow reach for a little clingy black dress while he goes down on me. I don’t say a word because I don’t want to break the spell, but soon my thong is around my knees and my husband is kneeling on the floor going to town. He is so good at getting me off like this, and I know that he’d happily stay here all night. I rub against him, press myself down, take everything he’s offering. His tongue plunges inside me, pressing upward, then toward the back, before moving on to my clit, but he makes sure to add two fingers. I’ve taken up to four of his fingers, but two is the magic number. The combination of his fingers and mouth make me go wild, and I clutch the wall with my right hand for support as my pussy tightens, bearing down on him as he finds my G-spot along with the most sensitive part of my clit. He twists and presses his fingers deep inside me while his tongue works its magic and soon I’m shuddering, stamping my foot on the ground, coming hard.
Only when he’s ridden out my orgasm with me does he ease the thong off of me then gently pick out another thong and help me step into it followed by an orange silk wrap dress I love because it feels like it’s stroking me all over and makes me know I won’t fade away against the myriad of beautiful women we’re about to see. Calvin likes the dress because it’s so light, it’s easy to lift it up, or undo the sash holding it together, and get to whatever part of me he’s most hungry for. He stands up and doesn’t say anything but I can see on his face that the unexpected bliss we just shared was just as powerful for him as it was for me. Calvin’s the kind of guy who lives for giving head; any time I want him to do something around the house, all I have to do is promise him my pussy to feast on and he moves immediately into action.
I’m quiet as I finish getting dressed, adding earrings, a little mascara, black eyeliner, and gloss. It’s a tricky thing, getting dressed to go to a strip club. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard, like you want to outshine the true stars of the evening. Calvin is quiet, too, and I’m not sure if I’ve pushed him too far, but I hope not. I am wet at the thought of seeing him surrounded by beautiful women. I don’t know why, exactly, especially when many wives would be up in arms at the prospect of their husbands even setting foot in such a place. But I’m cut from a different, naughtier kind of cloth. I think the prospect of seeing a gorgeous woman—glittering, preening, perfect, really—giving her all to making my husband hard, horny and happy, is the perfect way to spend an evening in the Big Apple.
We set out the door, holding hands in the elevator. I overhear another couple talking about the fancy dinner they’re about to share and stare at the man, wondering if he’d rather be joining us on our little naked adventure. I’ve done a little research and found a club that doesn’t serve alcohol, which means the women are totally nude. I would’ve been happy with sexy G-strings but I want to give my man a real treat, want to see him struggle between the side of him that thinks this is somehow improper and the side that would love nothing more than to take a trip to the champagne room with a woman who’s built for sex, or at least, is selling us on that image.
We walk to the club, and I smile at the man checking us in as I give him our IDs. He leads us to two chairs that have a view of the stage, but are separated from the other patrons a little. Almost immediately, a svelte woman with black bangs and hair that slithers down her back greets us. “Hello,” she says, beaming at both of us. “Can I get you a drink, or perhaps a bottle?” I’ve set aside cash for tonight, because I d
on’t want that to be an issue.
“A bottle of Veuve Clicquot,” I say, and she smiles and walks away briskly.
“You planned this?” Calvin asks, looking a little stunned.
“Maybe,” I tell him. “Why, do you have an objection? Is it a hardship to be surrounded by so many hot women?”
“No, not at all.” I can tell he wants to tack on something more, but I put my finger to his lips.
“So then enjoy it. I plan to.” With that, I tug him down into his seat. He just stares at me, then at the woman who approaches us. She’s short and petite, the opposite of my five nine and major curves. I can tell immediately that he likes her.
“Hello,” I say to her. “I think my husband would like a dance. This is Calvin, and I’m Marnie.”
The girl giggles, then says, “I’m Aurora, and I’d love to give you a dance. Is it for both of you?”
Calvin is about to nod when I shake my head. “I want him to get the dance, but I’ll watch. Maybe I’ll get my own after. I don’t really like to share,” I say, letting my eyes do the talking.
She winks at me, then walks over and whispers something into Calvin’s ear before rumpling his hair. She takes off his glasses and even before the next song is officially on, she is starting to put the moves on my man. His head is thrust into her cleavage and I turn just enough to fully absorb what’s happening. I see him slowly start to surrender—to her, and to me, to the idea that it’s okay to want her, okay to get hard, okay to succumb to the beauty all around us. And it is beauty, even though I know so much of it is artifice. I don’t mind, because I can separate the two, and focus on just the former.
I can admire Aurora’s ass covered in just a glinting gold thong, her feet raised on five-inch black and gold shoes, her nipples so perky as she rubs them right up against my husband’s cheek. I have a feeling she probably wouldn’t be quite so touchy if I wasn’t here, but maybe she really does like him, or just wants a good tip. I don’t really care, because the sight is making me want to touch myself. When the song officially starts and she bends over, thrusting her tits out to the club while her round ass, small yet firm, backs up against my husband, I put my index finger in my mouth, bent at the knuckle, needing somewhere for my oral fixation to land.
Suddenly I almost wish we’d hired a woman who’d do more than Aurora would, because I’m aching to suck her nipples, and to have Calvin know I’m sucking her nipples. He looks over at me and seeing me with my finger in my mouth makes him shudder. Then a new fantasy washes over me: I want to be the one giving Calvin a lap dance, right here, right now. I want the eyes of envious men staring over at us; strip clubs seem to be the land of the grass always being greener.
I like that aspect of what we’re doing as much as anything; I want people to know we’re together, to know that I’m not just putting up with my husband getting a sexy dance from a crazy-hot chick, but that I’m loving every minute, that I’m paying for it. I reach for his hand and when our fingers touch, the spark is electric. I smile at him and he seems to let out a silent groan, almost overcome with delight at what Aurora is doing.
The song can’t be more than four minutes long, but it seems to last for ten. When she’s done, she whispers something else to him, kisses his cheek then comes over to me. I hand her her fee, then slip an extra twenty down her G-string. “He’s a lucky man,” she whispers in my ear, filling me with her sweet, special scent. She stays poised at my ear for a few seconds longer than she needs to, and it’s my turn to shudder. Truth be told, I’d love to feel her rub her body up against me, but not here, not now, not with all the men ready to circle like vultures, to turn something admittedly wanton but also a little bit sensual into mere masturbation fodder. Plus I want, more than anything, to talk to Calvin, to hear from him exactly what it was like.
“Next time,” I whisper in her ear and I’m treated to a kiss on my cheek, too, and a brush of my lips across her breasts, a whisper of what I’m giving up. Yes, I know she works on tips, but there is something unmistakable about the way this woman moves, and either she’s the best actress in the world or she’s as bisexual as I am, the kind of woman who tends to go for guys until a woman comes along and makes her head spin.
She smiles and, holding hands again, Calvin and I watch her sashay across the room. The look on his face when I turn to him reminds me of when he wakes up from a wet dream, like he can’t quite believe what’s just happened and wishes, at least a little, it were still happening. “Are you ready to go?” I ask him.
“We can go to a club back home, too, sometime.”
He just looks at me for a moment, then stands, pulls me up and gives me one of the most passionate kisses we’ve ever shared. This is big, for him: to grab my ass and shove his tongue in my mouth and press his hips right up against mine in public like that. I love knowing that people are looking at us, that they see how much we want each other. As we walk out, I let my curiosity bubble over. “What did she whisper to you?”
“How badly do you want to know?” Calvin asks, and it’s my turn to swat his ass.
“Just tell me! This was my idea, I think I deserve to know.”
“Okay, okay, don’t get bent out of shape. Or do…” he says suggestively, moving to bend me as much as he can while we’re out on the street. “She said that she hopes I lick your pussy really good tonight, that she hopes I show you a good time in exchange for buying me the dance. Actually, she made me promise I’d lick your pussy until you came.”
“I wonder if she’s thinking about you with your head between my legs right now,” I whisper in his ear as we waited for a light. “I hope so. I think that’d be hot. I think it’d be hot if she watched us, if she were right there in the room while you licked me.”
My normally mild-mannered husband then pulls me aside, away from the corner, and backs me up against a brick wall. His hand goes to my ass and starts massaging it, and I can feel his hardness pressing against me. “Tell me more, Marnie. Tell me what you want Aurora to do.” Then he somehow positions his body so he’s blocking me from view of the busiest street we’re near and slides his hand along the slit of the silk dress, then up, up, up, until he’s at my panties. Anyone walking by on the other side would probably notice something odd, but I don’t mind. I’m thinking about Aurora, about her pressing her ass against him, about her whispering in his ear.
“I’d want her to suck your cock while I lick her pussy,” I say, suddenly grateful for the cool air, for the fact that I can close my eyes and hear all the city sounds roaring around me and not think quite as much about how that idea makes me blush, makes me shake, makes me—who thought I was so sophisticated and blasé about strippers—tingle as his fingers slide inside me. The power has shifted from me to him, and Calvin knows it as he works his digits deep into me, pressing softly but in exactly the right spot, his thumb caressing my clit.
“I can hear her sucking you, swallowing you, and feel how wet it’s making her. I love knowing she’s getting so turned on by your big dick.” I have to stop talking because what he’s doing to me is just too much. Well, not so much that I want him to stop, but too much to enjoy while I’m talking. Calvin’s lips swoop in to kiss me while he fucks me harder. I think he might be trying to say something into my mouth but I’m not really sure, I just know that I feel Aurora’s spirit here with us as Calvin makes me come with his fingers, trapping me against the wall so I don’t fall down.
Finally, he’s done, and he pulls his hand out and lets my dress fall back down while I rush to retie it. “You were right, Marn. We’re not too old at all. Now come on, don’t dawdle. I have a promise to Aurora to keep.”
When we get to the hotel, Calvin strips me naked and positions me so my ass is flush with the window, which faces another hotel’s windows and is probably visible from several office buildings. There he gets down on his knees and eats me to three more orgasms, only letting me taste my fill of him when I assure him that I’m more than satisfied, for the moment, anyway.
> It turns out exposure goes both ways, and I’m more than ready to bare myself to millions of strangers if it means discovering a new side to the man I thought I knew better than anyone. I may have to go back and thank Aurora before we leave. I think she deserves to know that Calvin is very much a man of his word.
SIX EYES, TWO EARS
Kris Adams
Xolani paced outside the communal house, the sound of the festivities growing weak with the fading light. Her wrap dress dug into her chest, and her flowery headdress felt more cumbersome than usual. For all the care she’d taken to look her best—young, vibrant and fertile—no one noticed her, Babatunde’s first wife. The entire village’s attention was focused on young Amara, with her smooth skin, bright eyes, and childbearing hips. It was Babatunde’s hope that he would produce a son and heir on his second wedding night. His first wife had no choice but to stand by, watch and listen.
Over the years, Xolani had learned to turn a blind eye to her husband’s indiscretions with unmarried women, lonely widows, or random servants eager to please the wealthiest man in the village. The hunger he felt for them had nothing to do with her, Xolani always told herself. A new wife, though, was a direct reflection on her. After five years and no children, Babatunde was finally replacing her. Shame wrapped around Xolani’s body like a thick serpent, intent on squeezing out her remaining dignity. Disgusted, Xolani trudged through the tall grass and dirt to the mud-brick house she would now have to share with another woman.
The giggling was the worst. Xolani hadn’t heard giggling like that since she herself was a new bride, when her husband was still excited by her. At least Babatunde’s lovers had the decency to be quiet. Amara was sounding every bit the young woman she was as she shook and shimmied for her new husband. Xolani watched silently from a stool outside the east side window. There was no curtain; if the newlyweds bothered to look, they would see Xolani there, watching them as she removed her headwrap, letting loose a mass of thin, red-dyed dreads. She remembered how Babatunde had once enjoyed taking her from behind, grabbing her thick locks in his hands as he pounded into her. Now he seemed more taken with Amara’s short-cropped hair. He rubbed his hands over her finely shaped head, pressing her suggestively down to her knees in front of him.
Irresistible Page 9
