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by Des 31 » Tue Jan 01, 2019 6:53 am
It’s been a great week off work, and we’re back to the grind tomorrow. But my wife said this morning she thinks last year’s events foretell steamy downtimes in 2019. I asked which she had in mind. She said, “You ought to know by now you can’t anticipate all those things. Each day’s an adventure.” She mentioned our New Year’s Eve night out as an example.
* * * Hotwife encounters can come about in the most unexpected ways. That was again affirmed to us twice at a single location on New Year’s Eve. Neither was typical.
We try to be sociable and cordial to others but we aren’t party people, so we most often stay home on New Year’s Eve and watch the live TV celebrations. But this year’s night out was fun and the way it turned out was totally unpredictable. My wife wore the revealing red dress given her a few days before by our insurance agent who again fucked her the night of his visit. Because it’s designed to reveal a lot of skin, underclothing isn’t practical. She almost changed her mind about wearing the gold-plated necklace-choker engraved with the words “Hot Wife,” But I successfully encouraged her to hook that around her neck as well. Only one woman commented on it though, perhaps because the shield on which it’s engraved is rather small and may have gone unnoticed by most.
Our New Year’s Eve celebration was held at a resort hotel’s ballroom a few miles outside the city limits. Over those three and half hours several guys, mostly married and a lot older, flirted with her and she responded to each enthusiastically. We sat at a broad, round table of four friendly couples and within two hours from when we arrived the woman alongside my wife made a pass at her.
I hadn’t imagined either that or another episode in the same night but in a way, each seemed more like just another day in my wife’s hot life.
Only because it seems right to me somehow, the sequence of events are in reverse order. Our second episode is first here.
The second incident was the moment the celebratory clock behind the bandstand was ticking toward midnight. I was standing alongside the bartender’s makeshift table with a cola in a plastic drinking cup. A guy around 60 from an adjacent table approached my 32-year-old wife and asked her to dance. I had spotted him and his wife earlier but had no particular reason to introduce ourselves. He’s about my wife’s height of 5’11” but because she wore her red two-inch heels, I’m unsure whether either may have been a bit taller. His wife, a decade or so younger, in a deep green evening gown was dancing at the far end of the ballroom with a younger man.
My wife rested her cheek against his, and he pulled her body closer. It wasn’t until a little later I was told she complied by pressing her groin tightly against his. The side panels of her dress are open from the waist to the floor. His hand held the bare portion of the back of her dress and his other rested on her bare hip. I also didn’t then know he stroked her hip sensuously. She felt his penis swelling against her mound and smiled at his reaction. I hadn’t been watching the clock but looked at my watch and it was then 11:58. Because she now had another dance partner, I’d waited too late to dance with her at the ringing in of the new year.
Yelps of “Five, Four, Three, . . . ” ripped across the ballroom and the New Year arrived. Balloons cascaded from the ceiling, a host of handheld noisemakers shreiked and the lights dimmed. The band immediately changed their repertoire to play "Auld Lang Syne." The man kissed her on the lips. She recognized he seemed pleasantly surprised when she didn’t not only pull away but returned the kiss open-mouthed and grinded her pussy against his swelling dick.
The music stopped amid shouts of revelry and she thanked him, saying, “That was very nice.” He grinned broadly and said, “Oh yeah!” and was probably thankful his wife was dancing with someone else at the ballroom’s far side. Even from my vantage point, I glimpsed his rock hard bulge as he walked back to the table, but it seemed he didn’t notice of the obvious.
Attendees began making their way to the exits. My wife returned to our table. All but one couple at the table’s far side departed with good-bye waves. I nudged my wife and asked her to look toward the exit.
The man’s wife and her dance partner were holding hands as they walked out into the hallway and entered an elevator. My wife said, “Well, that’s not right. There’s nothing upstairs but hotel rooms. She’s cheating on him.” Her husband’s back was at the opposite direction and he hadn’t seen the couple leave. He reached into his tux coat, withdrew a gold colored cigarette case and made his way to the French doors leading to the outer terrace that overlooks the grounds.
My wife said that situation should be “evened up,” rose from her chair and said, “Back in a few.” I said it was none of our business but she pressed her lips together in evident determination, turned and walked across the room to where the man would be standing outside.
She found him at a corner of the patio shielded by a decorative wall. He leaned against a balustrade overlooking the grounds and exhaled a puff of smoke. She doesn’t smoke and declined his offer for a cigarette. They carried on a minute or two of casual conversation. She asked if he cared to walk through the paved, winding walkway through the nearby trees where she and I had walked before we entered the ballroom. She took his hand and walked down the terrace’s stairs to the pathway. Tightly spaced tall trees, shrubs and a variety of flowers flank each side of the walkway, Ground -level garden lights provided a dim glimmer along the shadowed labyrinth.
Once beyond the sight and sounds of others, they stopped alongside a stone bench. She turned to him and each stared knowingly at the other. They embraced and his hands caressed her bared hips as they shared a lingering kiss. She pressed her mound to his groin and sensed the fullness of his bulge. His hand crept from her hip to beneath the dress’ front panel and cupped her vagina. She gasped as his finger manipulated her clitoris and told him, “That’s just what I needed tonight.”
Within a minute he brought her to a gasping climax. She unzipped his fly, withdrew his penis and curled her hand around his member. To avoid his sperm shooting onto her dress, she turned aside and stroked it slowly. He breathed heavily. She increased the tempo and was soon jerking hurriedly. He said he would soon cum and she whispered, “Oh yeah, let it flow.” His fluid spashed onto a flock of flowers at the path’s edge.
He thanked her and she said, “It would be best for us to walk back separately.” He agreed and she returned to the ballroom a half minute before he entered the room. The band was busy packing up their equipment. I don’t think he and my wife were missing for more than twenty minutes, but few people then remained in the room. She sat alongside me and told me what had happened. The man returned to his otherwise empty table and awaited his spouse. My wife didn’t want to leave until she returned.
The woman strode into the room without the younger man in tow and headed for their table. My wife glanced at her face as she passed our table and said, “I know that look. Probably fucking in the guy’s room.” She added in a tone of satisfaction, “Whatever good time they were having wasn’t any better than his.”
I asked if she told him we had spotted his wife going up to a room with another man. She said, “No, I wasn’t trying to cause trouble in their marriage. I only wanted to even the playing field.”
Because she hadn’t fucked him, I asked if she had personalized the situation by comparing them to our own marriage. I said, “Is that because you feel a wife can fuck guys, but the man’s allowed only to be wanked off?” She said, “Maybe. . . Okay, yeah, something like that.” I laughed at her reasoning, and she responded in a somewhat defensive tone, “I just think married life should be fair.” Well, okay. Sounded right to me.
We arrived home at 2:00 a.m., having driven all the way through exploding rockets overhead and other fireworks still going off on all sides like a war zone. When we walked through the front door, my wife said, “Wanna fuck, Kemo Sabe?” Best offer I’d had in days. I didn’t need to ask her to heat me up with one of her fuckbuddy experiences. She started right in with her version of her and our insurance agent. They had fucked days before on our couch while I watched. She asked him to stay the night and led him to our bedroom while I slept in the guest bedroom.
She screamed, kicked and pounded her fits onto the mattress and I was cumming hard within five minutes. It’s now 10:46 a.m., 2019, and she said we started the new year off just right.
• * * * And then, there was the first incident. This happened early in the evening, before her encounter with the older man. We were sitting at our table with four other couples. having dinner, drinks and light conversation with the two couples nearest us.
We didn’t know anyone there. One of the wives at our table of eight spoke more to my wife than to others and provided subtle hints to my wife that she’s bisexual. We doubt anyone other than her husband and the two of us at the table picked up on her inferences. She’s an attractive brunette about 5’5” and we guessed her age as in her mid-to-late 30s.
When she and my wife went together to the restroom and stood alongside the other at a mirror, the woman touched the side of my wife’s leg, bared by the dress’s side slits from the waist to the floor. She said she liked her dress “very, very much,” then added, “And I noticed the engraving of ‘hot wife’ on your necklace. That can have many meanings.” My wife smiled but didn’t turn to look at her as she combed through loose strands of her short hairstyle. The woman’s hand crept beneath the dress’ front panel and brushed softly across my wife’s shaven mound. The woman’s fingers stroked her vagina gently and said she was glad she sat at our table, that she enjoyed my wife’s company. She gently pulled her hand away and freshened her makeup.
As if she hadn’t noticed the invasive gesture, my wife refreshed her lipstick and said it was nice meeting her too. The woman wrote her home phone on a slip of paper, handed it to her and said if she was interested in going out one night to give her a call. My wife smiled and acknowledged her understanding of the sexual allusion by saying, “Sounds very appealing.” She wished later she had said “alluring,” after the woman responded, “I’m really hoping you’ll call.”
* * * As the night’s festivities were coming to the end, she had the encounter with the older husband. We walked down the outer hallway to the hotel’s all night restaurant. Over cups of decaf and tea biscuits, I asked if she intends to phone the woman. She said, “I might. We could do some ‘happy things’.”
She hasn’t often used that term. The coded meaning behind “happy things” may be unique to only six women. That was an expression made up for switch-hitter sex by a member of her six-girl bisexual club in high school. The tight group was enviously known throughout the school, but none outside the group knew it was actually a girl-girl sex club. Its name was “The FLAG Bunch,” to which shewas invited to join at the outset of her senior year. The club’s leader regularly phoned members to confirm whether they would attend their monthly sleepovers and said, “Are you coming over tonight for some happy things?”
• * * * My wife until recently had never considered herself as bisexual and had in the past told me that was just “a high school thing,” that was fun at the time. More recent unanticipated encounters caused her to rethink that. After a boat trip downriver at the end of November with her boyfriend and his bisexual wife, she said she had almost forgotten how much fun it could be and added, “I guess you can consider your wife as bisexual after all.”
Another recent incident occurred last November. At the time she returned to her hometown last November, my wife repeated the same two words to the former club’s leader. Their annual class gathering was originally set up by her former school swim team of which she was a team member. But as a few years passed, it morphed into a social gathering for all students who graduated that year. The month of November was chosen because that’s the month the swim teams’ season begins.
The former club leader invited my wife to her home and they had sex to commemorate their times past. As she was leaving the woman’s home, she kissed her fully on the lips and said, “I always enjoyed ‘happy things’ with you.” Within the club, the woman’s designation was considered somewhat official by members, always referred to by the others as “the Leader.”
My wife told me upon her return home from that reunion, “If I remember the Leader’s reply to me just right, it was, ‘It all became a lot happier the day you joined our club.’” My wife was the only member whose family wasn’t relatively wealthy and, having been inducted as a newly enrolled senior, was The FLAG Bunch’s newest member. And although then 18 was surprisingly the youngest and at 5’11” was their tallest.
She had never before recognized any bisexual tendencies but took to it like a fish to water. Her induction into the group consisted of a lengthy pledge during a club pajama party, followed by a requirement of performing oral sex on the Leader. Soon, she was the member who along with their Leader got their sexual activity started at each sleepover. Those two were considered the more sexually assertive of the six. She was their Leader’s favorite. Only the six members knew the meaning behind the The FLAG Bunch’s name. The “F” was the first letter of the school’s name. “LAG” was their codex for “Lesbians Until Graduation,” but if you’ve been following this thread, you already know that and more. I’ve seen their pics in her school annual and my wife’s occasional emails from some, and those chicks were seriously hot.
Of all the people she knows aside from me, the only two she has ever told that part of her history are her most regular boyfriend and his wife; and she confessed that only after she began fucking both of them. Perhaps my wife’ guess is right, that she actually can teach the woman we met this New Year’s Eve some “happy things.”
As I was driving into our garage last night, she said, “It was fun, but I still like sitting at home and watching the big ball come down on TV.” That’s fine with me too. I’ll leave it up to her as to which we’ll do at the end of 2019.
Last edited by
Des 31 on Tue Jan 01, 2019 8:48 am, edited 2 times in total.