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Sunday lunchtime, 3rd June 2018

Jill and I were enjoying a very late Sunday breakfast. We’d only got home from the party at three-thirty in the morning, and so breakfast was just this side of noon. Jill keeping it to a very light breakfast as she wanted to look her best for John and Becky’s upcoming wedding, now only three weeks away.

The portions and choice of food she served me making clear that she expected me to give her moral support in her efforts to lose those last pounds so she’d look her best in the new dress she’d bought for the wedding. After all the booze I’d drunk the night before, I could have done with something more substantial to help soak up the alcohol which was coursing through my veins. But the look on Jill’s face advised me not to make any culinary suggestions.

After the nervous and fearful start when I’d really worried about what I’d find when we arrived in Delray Beach, I’d really enjoyed the party. For most of the time, I had the comfort and pleasure of having Jill by my side, which wasn’t necessarily what I expected when we arrived and saw her dancing with the host.

We spent much of the evening with Luther and his girlfriend Dee. They were both good fun and it soon felt like we knew them like old friends. Dee was quite the demon at pool, and she insisted we shoot a few frames of couples' pool. Jill’s never been much of a pool player, so happily, it was Dee and myself against my wife and Luther.

As we played, like any red-blooded male with a new and attractive female I’d just met, I was sizing up Dee. Enjoying the way her short cream mini-dress rode up as she bent over to play her shots, not to mention the way her cleavage looked if I was watching the same shots from the front. She wasn’t what you’d call ‘classically beautiful’, more like a normal-looking woman who knew how to make the most of what she had. I’ve never been good at guessing these things, but I reckoned she was a little younger than us, probably just over forty, and she was maybe a couple of inches shorter than Jill.

Her relative shortness made her large boobs look even larger. If I was any judge, they had to be at least double-D, and when she caught me looking at them one-time she just smiled, telling me they’d been a birthday present from Luther. Joking they’d been a present from him to her, and from him to himself, as he never tired of playing with them when they made love.

Aside from this little story she told, just like Luther, she had an easy charm, filling us in on various parts of her life as we played. That she was divorced with two kids, one fully grown who she’d had when she was very young and one a recent addition. She’d been with Luther for three years now, although she’d known him for more than twenty years. Not being shy to admit that she’d first met him all of those years ago when she’d been a dancer in one of his clubs, a single mom struggling to make ends meet.

She didn’t talk all about herself, like Luther being an attentive and enquiring listener. Some of her comments and questions hinting that through Josh she knew the outlines of the last few months if our lives and our new lifestyle.

After a while pool had given way to dancing, first with Jill and then we’d all swapped partners and then swapped back, before Luther joked that he wasn’t as young as he once was and needed to take a break. We ended up leaving at around two-thirty, having exchanged phone numbers and accepted Luther’s invitation that we’d have to come back when things were quieter, for dinner.

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Sunday was a relatively quiet day and finally gave me a chance to tell Jill all about my meet-up and conversation with Chris. At first, Jill looked worried when I started telling her, maybe fearing some fight or bust-up. But as I told the story she relaxed, her face softening with emotion and memories when I’d described how Chris had told me how he envied me and how he was sad and lonely.

Seeing this look on Jill’s face brought all kinds of feelings back to the surface, both painful and exciting feelings. I could see in her face how she still cared for him and was upset to hear about his sad and lonely life in L.A. And of course, this started a chain reaction of feelings in my own chest and churning stomach. As memories and emotions from both the happy time with Chris and also that terrible last weekend came back, raw and exposed as if it was only yesterday.

I’d been looking forward to this conversation all week. Seeing it as a chance to brag a little and, with due humility, describe my victory over the grown-up sports jock who’d changed from erstwhile friend to nemesis. But seeing the emotional look on Jill’s face I suddenly felt a whole lot less victorious, and a whole lot more insecure. Remembering how Jill had initially said ‘yes’ to his offer for her to leave me and live with him in California, before changing her mind a few moments later as she realized all that she’d be giving up and the damage she’d be doing.

Looking into Jill’s faraway eyes I suddenly needed reassuring all over again, suddenly feeling just as I’d felt that terrible weekend. Taking a deep breath as I asked her how she was feeling and what she was thinking.

Jill looked deeply into my eyes, pausing in a way that made me nervous and stressed before she took my hand and answered my question. “Honestly, honey. I feel sad, and maybe a bit nostalgic.”

She squeezed my hand and still looking deep into my eyes continued. “You have to remember, honey. Our relationship may have only lasted a few months, but Chris and I have been friends for many years. And I loved him, and part of me still loves him. And each day at work I’m surrounded by memories of him, always wondering when the phone rings if it’s him. So hearing now that he’s sad and lonely and wishes I was there with him, well, as you can imagine, it stirs up some pretty strong feelings.”

She squeezed my hand again, her watery eyes softening. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m not about to run off and leave you for him. You’re my man and you always will be. But I hate to hear of him like that. A big part of me wishes I had some magic wand, could wave it and split myself in two. Keeping both of you happy. But of course, that’s just dreaming. I’m happy with the choice I made. I loved Chris, and a part of me still loves him. But I’m glad the choice I did because this wonderful man next to me is the center of my life and I can’t imagine a life without him.” Craning forward she gave me the softest of kisses as she finished sharing just how she felt.

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The next week was a real smorgasbord of different activities and experiences. The first couple of days seemed to be filled up with a ton of work in the day and long conversations about John and Becky’s upcoming wedding. Now only three weeks away, we were lucky that Becky’s parents seemed to be doing most of the hard yards in organizing things. The wedding would be in L.A., where Becky had grown up and where her parents still lived. Also, fortunately, where John’s new assistant-professorship was based, so Becky would be on home turf and plenty of support around when the baby arrived.

Josh and Freddy poked their heads in a couple of times, but when they realized that Jill’s call to Becky and her mum Pamela showed no signs of ending, they gave up what I’m sure wasn’t just a social call.

On Wednesday night I was a little late back from work and arrived home to discover Charlotte’s car in the drive and a second bottle of wine recently opened. I wasn’t overtly excluded from their evening, Charlotte gave me a big hug and kiss, but I had the distinct feeling this was one of those conversations that was a girl-girl talk in which no sane man would try and insert himself.

So I got myself some food and headed into my den, only catching a couple of snippets of conversation before leaving them. The two bits I did here telling me they were partly talking about how unhappy Callan was after finally realizing he and Charlotte couldn’t repair things, with the part being some cackling laughter about ‘the boys’.

I didn’t eavesdrop for long as I prepared my food, just long enough to confirm my suspicions that Jill was updating her best friend on her budding romance with our two next-door neighbors. And from the little bit I did hear, Jill wasn’t being particularly lady-like as she described what she’d been up to with Josh and Freddy.

Charlotte was lapping up every lewd detail, teasing Jill about what had happened to her best friend. What had she done with the conservative woman who’d been Charlotte’s friend these last few years? Where was she hiding her, and could she pass on a message? They were cackling away like a couple of old crones as I finished preparing my food, and I left for my den not feeling I was brave enough to listen to where this conversation was headed. As I shut the door behind me, I wondered how many bottles they’d get through by the end of the evening and just how lewd the conversation would get.

Thursday morning was the next time I saw Jill because I was asleep by the time she finally showed Charlotte out. Jill claimed to have a throbbing headache and the fact that Charlotte’s car was still there tended to support this, as neither of them would have been in a fit state to drive a golf buggy, let alone a real car. I was as considerate and gentle as I could be with my fragile wife as I helped prepare her coffee, juice and breakfast, before giving her a goodbye kiss and heading off to work.

Halfway through Thursday, Jill rang me at work and asked if I had anything planned for Friday night. As soon as I heard this, I had that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, fearing this had something to do with Josh and Freddy. After all, it was now Thursday and those two pussy hounds had not enjoyed Jill’s body for a whole five days, whereas they’d been at her every night when I’d been away working in L.A.

But it turned out it was nothing to do with Josh and Freddy, or at least not directly to do with them. Jill had received a call from Dee, the girlfriend of Luther whose party we’d gone to on Saturday night. Dee explained that she and Luther had enjoyed the time they’d spent with us on Saturday and wanted to invite us over for dinner on Friday evening. Although we hardly really knew them, according to Jill, Dee was pretty persistent, even when Jill explained how busy we were with the wedding and how stressed I was at work. Jill only managed to finish the call by promising faithfully to Dee that she’d talk to me and try and persuade me to go.

It took me a few moments to pull my thoughts together, as this dinner invite had come from left field and really surprised me. Although Luther and Dee had acted perfectly proper to Jill and me during the party, all my instincts told me this invite wasn’t the regular type of invite you might get from a new social acquaintance. We knew that Luther owned several bars and clubs, and from the fact that Dee had been a ‘dancer’ in one of these clubs gave me a fair idea of what kind of clubs they were. Add to that the fact that, from some things they’d said, I was pretty sure Luther and Dee knew about our foray into the world of swinging. Adding it all together, I had to be suspicious of their possible motives and where this might lead.

But the truth is, even aware of all of this, I felt a surge of adrenalin flood through my body, making every hair stand on end as I felt a tightening in my crotch.

“What do you think, honey?” I asked Jill in a shaky voice, trying to mask the mixture of nerves and excitement I was feeling.

“Well, I don’t see why not. After all, they seemed like nice people, really interesting to talk to, and if they’re friends of Josh and his Dad then that’s got to be in their favor, right?” she replied with a light and airy enthusiasm in her voice.

“Okay… then,” I said in a hesitating voice, picking up on all the non-verbal cues Jill’s tone was throwing out like a flashing neon light. “I guess that’s a yes, then. You’d like us to go to their place Friday.”

“I think, so. Think it would be fun and nice to get to know them a little better,” Jill added, still wanting to underplay her enthusiasm.

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It was only at about four on Friday afternoon that I knew for sure we were definitely going to Luther’s for dinner that evening, receiving the kind of ‘hurry up’ text that millions of husbands all over the States were receiving around this time Friday afternoon.

‘Honey, don’t be late. Remember we’re going out at six,’ was the text of my message, no doubt almost identical to millions of others. All just with slight variances about times, locations, flowers, groceries, and countless other domestic details. For better or for worse, Luther and our three black neighbors through whom we’d met him had escaped this domestic servitude. Free men, beholden to no woman, free to come and go as they liked and do what they liked when they liked. I loved my life being married to Jill, but like all married men, sometimes I hankered after simpler and freer times.

Thursday night had been Jill and my ‘date night’ and we’d made love and cuddled into the early hours. Having been apart for the whole of the previous week we both really enjoyed being back together and having quality time together. Jill even managed to coax a third erection from my fifty-one-year-old cock, teasing me that it must have been the thought of the alternative competition waiting for her next-door that managed to wring from me this enhanced performance. So given these enjoyable Thursday night exertions, I’d forgotten about Luther and Dee and had been looking forward to a quiet night in. Something that would now have to wait until Saturday night.

We arrived at their place in Delray Beach just a little after seven-thirty, the door being answered by Dee. She smiled warmly and ushered us in, with a wry smile at how I was staring at her. She looked stunning in a short black miniskirt and a tight and semi-transparent pink top which showed off her ample bosom to great effect, including the fact that she was only wearing the skimpiest of bras which barely held her in place and covered her large breasts.

Jill gave me a none too subtle dig in the ribs, apologizing to her new friend. “Sorry, Dee. Men! You can’t take them anywhere without them embarrassing you.”

“That’s okay, honey,” Dee grinned, her Southern drawl more pronounced than I remember from Saturday night. “To be fair to Dave, this is hardly the kind of dress you’d see shopping in Walmart. But Luther likes me to look sexy for him…”

The man in question wasn’t far away. “Did I hear my name being taken in vain?” his deep voice boomed down the corridor as he came around the corner with a big grin on his face. “I do indeed like to keep Dee on her toes, looking hot and sexy for her man. Keeps me focused on her rather than all those young slips of girls who work my bars.”

He put an arm around Dee’s waist and gave her a surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek, before grinning at Jill and me as his other hand gave her right breast a very unchaste squeeze in front of his house guests. “Money well spent,” he smiled, giving her right boob another squeeze.

“I’ve always loved big tits on a girl, and these look great on Dee given her height and narrow back. Don’t you agree, Dave?” he teased, causing me to splutter and squirm. “Ahh, come on, Dave. From what I hear, you’re a bright guy. According to Freud, it all goes back to motherhood and our love of boobs from when we were hungry baby boys, getting as much tit as we could get. A big, full tit always being better than a small, empty breast that would just leave us hungry and bawling. So there’s no shame in admiring Dee’s big tits, after all, it’s only natural, and she loves the attention, don’t you Dee?”

Dee gently removed his hand from her front, like a patient teacher would correct an errant young pupil, patted him on the cheek and grinned at us. “Sorry about my other half, he loves to shock and play games. Just delayed attention-seeking, I think. Just ignore him and don’t encourage him, I suggest,” she advised, ushering us through to the lounge.

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The food was ready and just keeping warm, so we sat down to start what looked like a veritable banquet, starting with Dee insisting we all held hands and said a prayer for the food. Afterward, she joked that you can take the girl out of Georgia, but you can’t take Georgia out of the girl, her southern accent having a surprising effect on me and reminding me of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With The Wind.

As we started eating, Luther was the perfect host, focusing the conversation on Jill and me, our family, jobs and history and all that kind of stuff. After a while, it felt only polite to focus a little of the light back on him and Dee, especially as the more they talked, the more it was obvious they’d both lived very interesting and often challenging lives.

From the party where we’d met them, we already knew that Dee and Luther had met while she was a dancer at one of Luther’s clubs, and as we talked more details came out about her early life and how she’d ended up stripping and dancing. As she said it herself, her story was a typical one of many Southern girls of her generation.

Pregnant at eighteen by her high school boyfriend, angry parents who kicked her out and a biological father who had no intention of doing the decent thing. Somehow, she’d managed to keep the baby, her now fully-grown daughter Staci, and through hard work and not being too choosey about jobs she’d managed to raise a child single-handed and rebuild her life.

As an attractive young blonde with boobs made bigger by motherhood, she’d turned to dancing and stripping as the money was better than the alternatives and she could be with her young daughter during the day. As she told the story, there was neither shame nor pride in her tone. It was a voice and a smile that just said ‘I did what I had to do, and here I am today.’

By comparison, Jill and I had both had pretty cushy lives, coming from secure and loving homes, both benefitting from a college education and lucky enough to wait until we married until we welcomed our first child into the world. Both Jill and I felt genuine admiration for Dee, for the way she’d fought against the odds and by all accounts raised a beautiful and well-rounded daughter all by herself. By a strange coincidence, it turned out that Dee’s daughter Staci was born only two days after our own son John.

Dee had been nineteen going on twenty when she started dancing, and she only met Luther around seven years later. She stopped dancing for a couple of years as she’d managed to find a good job as a realtor despite her lack of formal education. But when the company she worked for went bust, she was left with little alternative but to return to the clubs of Miami, which was where she met a newly retired Army guy who was just opening his first club.

As Dee joked about it, she said she couldn’t be too picky as she needed a job real quick and that as she was now in her mid-twenties her body wasn’t as tight and perky as it had been when she’d danced before. So, she accepted the offer of dancing at a pretty run-down bar called ‘Eighty-Two-High’, a run-down bar being the only one which Luther could afford on his savings and army pension.

Dee had been very ‘matter-of-fact’ as she’d shared with us, but I think she wanted a rest from talking so she handed over to her man. “And so, that’s where I met this great lump of a man who I’m pleased to call my boyfriend. Luther, honey, why don’t you tell Jill and Dave about your many years of wasting your life before you were lucky enough to meet littl’ ol’ me …” her sparky last words for some reason reminding me of our friend Charlotte.

She had the same sparky confidence and attitude of never taking a step backward, whoever it was in front of her and whatever the situation. Those two would make a formidable pair, my instincts telling me that given time Dee and Jill could easily become good friends just as Jill and Charlotte had, despite the worst possible start when Charlotte had stolen Jill’s boyfriend at college.

Luther’s story was very different but equally interesting and inspiring in its own way. He was the navy guy and had grown up in Norfolk, Virginia. His Dad was often away at sea, so in Luther’s own words he’d grown up as a bit of a tearaway. At seventeen he’d got in trouble with the local police over a fight with a kid whose Dad had local political connections. He was given a stark choice between a likely spell in prison or heading down to the Army recruitment office.

Six-two, as strong as a bull and with both street-bred cunning and an aptitude for all things mechanical, he never looked back. The Recruiting Sargent saw the potential and pointed him in the direction of his old unit, the elite 82nd Airborne. From there, Luther transferred first to the Rangers and then after that to the Special Forces. Serving in the First Gulf War and then also in Afghanistan, Iraq and a bunch of other places he said he couldn’t mention. Before finally finishing his twenty years in late 2003 and buying a run-down strip club in Miami the year after.

As he told the story, he joked and laughed out loud. “What else was an ex-Special Forces guy going to do? As I’d seen enough of the Middle East to last a lifetime and no way I wanted to sign on with one of those private companies and head straight back where I’d just come from.”

Luther seemed a natural at the job. Early on he’d decided he wanted to run the best damn club he could. As he put it, in his military travels all over the world, he’d seen enough bad clubs and brothels where both girls and punters were ripped off. By this time his Dad had passed but his Mum was still alive and, although he didn’t tell her about the clubs, he determined to do it right as a slightly strange tribute to her and the values she’d tried to knock into his head.

So even with his very first club, even though money was so tight he often slept in the club, he made sure to treat the girls well and to give the punters good value for their money and not to rip them off ‘too much’. As the business picked up, it wasn’t long before he had a visit from one of the local gangs demanding protection money.

Up until now, Luther had been the perfect friendly and avuncular host as he’d fed and entertained us. But at the memory of these hoodlums trying to muscle in on his hard-won rewards his face suddenly took a harder and more frightening shape, as he told the story of what happened one Friday night. When four Humvees from Fort Bragg headed into town, met up with Luther and went to have a quiet conversation with the leader of this local gang.

His face was hard and a little frightening as he explained how he and his buddies had taken the guy on a little free helicopter ride and that when he returned to Miami forty-eight-hours later he’d had a total change of heart, and lost all interest in taxing Luther’s club. His conversion being so thorough that he even made sure that no other local gangs tried to shake-down Luther, passing on the word that Luther had some heavy-duty friends. Of course, Luther was smart enough that when the dust had settled, he’d occasionally invite his erstwhile rival in for occasional freebies on-the-house, to help him save face and encourage goodwill.

After these early difficult years, his business had gone from strength-to-strength and he now had three ‘gentleman’s clubs’ (as he called them) and seven regular clubs. The regular clubs were larger and more glitzy and made more money, but he kept the other clubs partly out of nostalgia and partly because it grounded him in where he’d come from and how he’d started out.

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Luther’s point about how his original strip clubs kept him grounded and exposed to the very real and very seamy side of Miami life started one of the more interesting parts of the evening’s conversation.

A little earlier, whilst describing life in combat zones, he’d commented that reading his way through some of the literary classics of the twentieth century had helped him stay calm and also deal with the long periods of boredom that separated the short, intense periods of often terrifying combat.

Naturally enough, with my literature-loving wife there, this soon led to a conversation about favorite books and favorite authors, with Dee and I both feeling poorly-equipped to join the conversation. That part of the conversation had ended with Jill wistfully saying that when she was young and idealistic, she’d promised herself that one day she’d find the time and the space to write what all literature students throughout the States aspire to write – The Great American Novel.

After Jill’s wistful declaration, the conversation had moved on from Luther’s experiences of combat to the years of building his business. But as he finished telling us about his business, I saw a spark of light in his eye, and he brought the conversation all the way back to what Jill had said about her literary ambitions.

“Of course, Jill honey, you do know what your problem is, don’t you?” He was a real salesman, this smooth-talking ex-soldier.

“I have a feeling I’m about to find out. Go on, why don’t you enlighten me then?” Jill replied, only partially masking her intrigue behind her tart reply.

“Jill, baby, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think your trouble is that you’ve never really lived,” he told us all, delivered in a way to just provoke but not upset.

“Never lived? Are you kidding me? I’ve given birth to and raised three kids. I’ve held down a stressful job for more than five years. I’ve traveled the country dealing with lay-offs and job losses...”

My incensed wife started telling us all, unable to finish before another voice cut in with, “and if that’s enough, I’ve single-handedly started Miami’s most successful male outreach program these last six months or so.”

As three of us roared with laughter, Dee was obviously happy with her ad-lib, and even Jill saw the funny side of how her new friend had burst her balloon in a funny and semi-gentle way.

As the laughter of all four of us gradually died down, Luther continued. “Jill, I was making a serious point. Look at all the great writers and artists. The Hemingways, the Twains, the Van Gogh’s of this world. They’ve all taken themselves into the seamier and most raw parts of the world, and what they’ve seen there inspired and informed the great art they produced. Don’t you agree?”

He made a serious point, and he was cunning and clever in how he phrased his question. Jill could hardly disagree with what was a well-established fact. But at the same time, if she agreed she was implicitly saying she could never produce any true piece of writing of any merit unless she lowered herself. Lowered herself from the comfortable, respectable lifestyle she and I lived in our middle-class life, into the seamier and rawer parts of Miami life where Luther lived and earned a living.

Jill was humming and hawing, desperately trying to find a way to answer that didn’t hand victory to Luther. As she hesitated and struggled for words, like the smart battle-trained warrior he was, Luther followed up.

“Look, Jill. Maybe you’ve made a good start these last few months. Seeing a little more of all that life’s got to offer. All the extra, colors, both dark and bright, that are out there. After all, you can’t deny that the things you and Dave have been dabbling in these last months have given you some great inspiration and experiences. Things you could write about, things you couldn’t have done before.”

Jill had stopped trying to find a counter-argument. She was back listening to Luther, not outwardly disagreeing with him and seeing where he was heading next.

“You should congratulate yourself, you and Dave. At least you’ve started out on the path of spreading your wings, of trying new experiences to fire that writer’s imagination of yours,” he encouraged her, but with the sense that a ‘but’ wasn’t far away. “So, I think for the two of you, the only question is ‘where next’ or ‘what next’. And all I’m saying is that if you see the kind of world I inhabit, the good and the bad, then it would open your eyes just a little bit more.”

I knew there was no more riposte coming from Jill. Her face was thoughtful as she played back what Luther had said and turned it round and round in her mind. I knew a seed had been planted, that at some point in the next days she’d want to prune and dissect the seed’s offshoots with me, but that I had little chance of predicting into what type of plant it would grow. Or indeed whether it would grow at all, or just fall on the path and wither through lack of root or soil.

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I’d hate you to think the whole evening was full of serious or autobiographical conversations. Like the week before, we played pool, laughed and joked and generally had fun. At some point, Luther put music on and we all danced. At first with our own partners, then we swapped and I had the pleasure of leading the beautiful Dee, complete with those ridiculously large breasts that threatened to keep popping out, Luther joking more than once that he often worried about Dee falling over and not being able to get back up again.

There was plenty of flirting and I enjoyed my time with Dee as well as being fired up watching Luther and Jill dancing together. Strange to say, even as they danced and the mutual attraction was clear, I never got the sense that he was going to pounce on Jill and try making out with her. Even though the guy owned three strip clubs, that wasn’t the vibe he was throwing out, the same being said for Dee. I enjoyed the feel of her arms around my neck and the smoldering look in her eyes as she gazed into mine. But not once did I feel she was going to lean forward and kiss me, or that she wanted me to make the first move.

As I pondered this strange paradox, I thought back to last Saturday when I’d stormed into the party to see Jill dancing so sexily with Luther and the hungry wolf-like look he’d had on his face as he’d held Jill at arm’s length to watch her sway and move in that incredibly revealing dress. But even then he’d not kissed Jill, so maybe this was Luther and Dee’s boundary. Maybe they had a rule that they liked to flirt and play, but that was as far as they went. However improbable this might seem, it was the only theory that seemed to fit the evidence.

After the dancing, Dee whispered something in Jill’s ear and the giggling duo soon was scampering up the stairs hand-in-hand like two teenagers off to a slumber party. They soon remerged Dee in a perfectly fitting but very revealing bikini. Jill in a borrowed bikini that somehow had been slightly adjusted so as to fit Jill’s beautiful thirty-six C’s where normally Dee’s much larger Double-D’s would have sat.

Jill was clutching some spare trunks for me, left by a previous guest apparently, and soon all four of us were splashing and enjoying ourselves in the pool. Jill and I sometimes together, sometimes Dee and her floating buoyancy aids kept me company instead, allowing me to enjoy her company as I tried to keep an eye on Jill and Luther. But just as when the four of us had danced, there was plenty of laughter and flirting, but nothing that overstepped any boundaries.

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We’d arrived at seven-thirty, but didn’t get to bed until three-thirty in the morning. And although we’d not planned to stay over, Luther and Dee insisted and so we were ushered into a very impressive master bedroom. We made use of the various toiletries thoughtfully provided and were soon enjoying that wonderful feeling of fresh, crisp linen on our naked bodies.

Despite the late hour and the steady drinking over many hours, no sooner we were in bed than I felt Jill’s cool hand exploring my thigh to find what she desired. The whole evening and the company had made her very horny and she was soon pulling me to her so we could kiss and she could encourage me into a state that was of some use to her. A couple of minutes later I was sliding my now very hard cock deep into my wet and willing wife. Feeling her warm and alcohol-laced breath in the kisses we shared.

It was too late for a long, leisurely master-class fuck. We both wanted something more urgent and intense and so I set about fucking her with an urgency and pace that met both our needs. A tiny part of my brain was playing a loop of all the times I’d seen black cocks going in and out of Jill these last two weeks, but mostly my brain was just concentrating on the wonderful feeling of being deep within my wife and the feel of her soft warm skin beneath me.

It didn’t take either of us long to come to a climax, moaning and crying together as we both tried to half stifle the noise. Even if they were Mr. and Mrs. Strip Club, years and years of middle-class repression doesn’t disappear overnight, and when all’s said and done Jill and I were fucking in another couple’s home and bed.

Our exertions over, we drifted off to sleep happy and contented in each other’s arms as we’d done thousands of times before. The only thing that was different about this time was that when I woke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I rolled over to give Jill a kiss and found her warm body was absent. No longer in our bed or in our bedroom.

(Thanks to cbears52 for his patient help.)