Author’s note: This is a sequel to the recently edited version of my original Fantasy Crossroads. I amended that story in response to a comment by theMasterBaiter, altering the ending to incorporate his thoughts and to give me an opportunity to write a sequel or two.
I leave the subway station, quickly find the tavern Max had texted me about, and survey the interior while my eyes adjust to the dim light. As my practiced gaze sweeps across the long polished dark wood bar, I spot the seat I want and work my way across the room.
As I mount the tall barstool, I slip the strap on my small purse over the little hook beneath the bar and allow my skirt to ride several inches higher up my thighs than it normally might be. I had already unfastened the top two buttons of my blouse to reveal an alluring amount of cleavage. Glancing at my watch, I see that I have about twenty minutes to play the game before Max arrives for happy hour and date night.
“What can I getcha?” asks the bartender.
“A Hendrick’s martini, dry and dirty, three olives,” I respond with a smile.
“Coming right up,” he announces as he turns away to mix my drink.
I have only been seated for a minute or so, but I’ve already captured the attention of four men at the bar who are evenly split; two of them looking at my legs and the other two staring into the mirror behind the bar to catch a glimpse of my breasts.
“Add the lady’s drink to my tab,” one of the mirror guys tells the bartender.
Turning toward mirror-man so that my thighs and cleavage are on full display, I smile brightly at him.
“Thanks for the kind offer,” I say in an artificially husky voice, “but I prefer to pay my own way.”
Turning back to the bar, I take my first sip of the martini and let out a soft moan of pleasure as the unique taste hits my palate.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, I enjoy the attention I’m getting from the four guys who are trying to be casual about their ogling. In response, I suddenly discover an itch on my upper thigh and pull my skirt up a few more inches to scratch lightly at the feigned annoyance.
A few minutes later my husband Max arrives and casually takes a stool next to me. I ignore him as I finish my drink and slowly suck each of the olives from the plastic sword that impales them. I take special care to use my full, sensuous lips rather than my teeth.
“Can I have that replenished for you?” he inquires with a smile. A glance into the mirror tells me the four men are staring intently at us, undoubtedly prepared to enjoy my rejection of the new arrival. Turning toward Max, I give him a very long look of appraisal and then respond.
“Thank you,” I finally say in the same husky voice I had used earlier. “Another Hendrick’s martini, dry and dirty, with three olives would be very nice. My name is Haley, by the way.”
“One for the lady and one for me,” Max tells the bartender who has been standing nearby. Like most bartenders, he is acutely aware of what is going on and appears to be enjoying the look of astonishment on the faces of the four guys.
“I’m Max,” he tells me while the bartender works on our drinks.
“Nice to meet you Max;” I tell him as a dazzling smile lights up my face.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he responds with a smile of his own.
Max and I slowly sip our martinis while we talk softly to one another with our heads close together. Finally, I repeat my show of erotically sucking the olives off the little sword and then do the same to Max’s untouched olives.
“Please allow me to buy your dinner?” Max suggests as the last of the olives disappears.
“That would be very nice,” I respond with a radiant smile as I retrieve my purse and dismount from the stool. “Where are you taking me?”
“May I surprise you?”
“Please do,” I answer as I grasp his arm by the bicep and pull it against my breast. “I’m not picky, I’ll eat anything but liver.”
As we depart, I glance over at the four guys, all of whom now appear to be in mild shock, and give them a theatrical wink and a little wave.
“That was fun, as usual,” I say to Max as I slowly run my hand up and down his thigh while he drives. “How did you find out about that bar?”
“I overheard a client talking about it in the reception area at work. It seemed like an ideal place for our little act. As always, you were very convincing. Those guys were clearly dismayed when I successfully hit on you,” he answers with a grin.
“Envy can be a beautiful thing,” I respond with a smile of my own and give his cock a squeeze through the fabric of his slacks.
“Leave that thing alone,” he admonishes me with a fake scowl. “I’m not that kind of guy.”
We remain silent for the rest of the twenty minute drive to one of our favorite restaurants, which gives me some time to reflect on the past.
Max and I have been married for nine years now. No children, so we are free to do as we please most of the time. Soon after we began dating, both of us realized we had an unusually high level of sexual fulya escort compatibility. With Max’s help I quickly discovered that I was multiply orgasmic; which was unbelievably gratifying to both of us for obvious reasons.
As the years went by, we took care to keep our sex life interesting. At Max’s suggestion, we invented the little game we had just played and it’s now one of several in our repertoire of date night activities. Since we live near a large metropolitan area, there is no shortage of bars and taverns for us to indulge in our harmless little pastimes.
Date night is typically a ritual employed by couples who have children; an opportunity to put some intimacy back into a situation that constantly diverts their attention from one another. With Max and me it is different. We have sex often at home but use date night as an opportunity to enjoy something a little out of the ordinary. Date night never ends in our bedroom. By the time we arrive home at the end of the evening, we have already had sensational sex in some unusual venue, the more public the better. We have about a dozen places around town where we like to fuck and the risk of getting caught spices everything up.
As good as our sex life has always been, I freely and openly fantasize. For years, my favorite was to watch Max have sex with another woman, and I was never shy about making my thoughts clear to him. He was always good-natured about it, but took great care to make sure I knew he had no interest in anyone but me. I was flattered but a little frustrated. All that changed a few months ago.
I didn’t fully understand the origins of my fantasy and I didn’t really care. But it had become an obsession so I began to seriously look for ways to pair Max up with another woman so I could watch him fuck her.
A few months ago, I stumbled on a website that’s sole purpose is to link consenting adults who have unfulfilled sexual needs. The organization behind the website is extremely discreet with lots of security built in to the process of matching up its members. Facing a lot of reluctance from Max, I had my work cut out for me but I persisted. Eventually he relented and we joined the group, posting details of my fantasy and a photo of the two of us on the site.
What I didn’t expect was that there were very few individual women in the group and none who met my requirements to be Max’s partner. It quickly became apparent that the only way to indulge my fantasy was to participate in a four-way with another couple. Once again I encountered a lot of resistance from Max while he struggled with the idea of sharing me with another man, although he did appear to be slightly less reluctant once he saw a picture of the couple we eventually chose. Lacey is an absolute knockout who happens to share my fantasy. Scott is an ordinary looking guy who did not represent any sort of threat. I had no interest in him other than as a means of achieving the outcome I desperately wanted. Lacey, on the other hand, was precisely the type of woman I was seeking.
Within a week after joining the organization, we met Lacey and Scott at one of the upscale downtown hotels that willingly cooperates with the group. An hour and a half later, we finished the most stimulating sexual activity of our lives. Lacey and I enjoyed several crushing orgasms; each provided by the other’s husband in a carefully choreographed encounter that the two of us had planned in advance. Max and Scott did a masterful job of meeting our needs while thoroughly enjoying themselves in the process.
When Max and I retired to our own room for the night, we both believed we had just had a sexual experience that would never be repeated. By the time we finished breakfast the following morning, we weren’t so sure. And there the matter has rested for the past few months.
Max backs our car into a shaded spot in the parking lot of the restaurant and I snap out of my reverie. He had called ahead and reserved our favorite corner booth, one that provides a generous amount of privacy. As usual, it wears a pristine white tablecloth that is a bit too large for the area it needs to cover. In the past, we have enjoyed a variety of intimacies in that booth with the cloth obscuring what we were doing. In anticipation of what might happen tonight, I’m not wearing any panties.
“Can you handle another martini, or would you rather have wine,” Max inquires as we slide into the booth.
“Wine, I think. And white would be nice.”
“White it is,” he responds and then orders a pricey bottle of Mâcon-Villages burgundy when the sommelier arrives at our side. The instant we are alone, Max slides his hand under my skirt and up the inside of my thigh. I part my legs to give him better access.
“What have we here?” he inquires with raised eyebrows as he discovers the absence of an appropriate undergarment. “Those guys in the tavern would have had a stroke if they knew you had forgotten your panties,” he adds with a grin.
“I didn’t forget,” I tell him, and then let out a small gasp as he slides a gebze escort finger into my pussy. I had been lubricating heavily throughout the ride over from the pub and was now more than ready for his attention.
Max adds a second finger and continues his exploration, accompanied by soft involuntary moans from me until I spot the sommelier working his way across the room with our order.
“Stop!” I hiss. “Here comes our wine.”
Max complies, sort of, by leaving his fingers inside me but slowing their movements.
I squirm a little in my seat as the restaurant’s wine expert goes through the uncorking and pouring ritual with Max, who uses his free hand to taste the offering. Anyone in the room who observed us would think we were a normal couple.
Finally, Max nods his approval. The sommelier pours two glasses and then departs. Before he is ten feet away, Max has resumed his earlier efforts and is soon vigorously finger fucking me. There is no doubt in my mind that he intends to make me cum, so I grasp a napkin and hold it tightly against my lips. I don’t have to do it for very long.
The instant he shifts his attention to my clitoris I am on my way. Seconds later, I let out a muffled squeak that I turn into a series of fake coughs while my body shudders several times in response to what Max is doing to me. A couple of diners nearby look at me with concern but accept my coughing fit as normal when they realize I’m not going to choke to death.
It takes me a full minute to gain control of my breathing. Even so, my hands tremble from orgasmic aftershocks as I pick up my glass and raise it to my lips.
“You devil,” I murmur and take a sip.
“Yeah, I know,” Max replies with a wide grin as I notice a little irregular breathing on his part. To confirm my suspicions, I slide my free hand over to his crotch and encounter an erection that could probably cut glass. I am not surprised; Max always gets turned on when making, or watching, me cum.
“You’d better be careful with that. It’s loaded and might go off unexpectedly,” he cautions me.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that to happen,” I respond with a grin of my own as I release his cock. “I expect you to fuck me with it later tonight.”
“You can count on it.”
After careful consideration, we order scampi that we know from experience is going to be superb. Taking our time over the entrée, we share the events of our day and then spend a minute or two congratulating ourselves once again on the success of our little game at the tavern.
“All four of those guys are either going to get laid tonight or jerk off, depending on their circumstances,” Max announces. “And they’ll all be fantasizing about you.”
“Of course. I’m gorgeous and uncommonly sexy,” I respond with a dazzling smile.
“That you are,” he declares. “Want some desert and an after dinner drink?”
“Let’s get sorbet and a bottle of Tardio,” I suggest.
“Perfect!” Max responds and waives to our server.
As we linger over the Tardio, Max looks over at me with a smile and clears his throat. I sense that he is working up to something so I set my glass down and return his smile.
“What?” I ask.
“What would you say to the idea of a little bondage?” he inquires, his breathing once again a little irregular.
“Bondage? As in you take me home, tie me up, and fuck me? We’ve done that before and you know I love it.”
“Not exactly,” he replies and then swallows audibly.
“Go on,” I urge, now really curious about what’s on his mind.
“I’ve been thinking about the Scott and Lacey thing.”
“Me too. The last time was while we were driving over here tonight.”
“We agreed the morning after we were with them to let the memories sit for a bit and see how we felt about everything later on.”
“Yes, we did,” I respond, “and I mentioned that we could always add new fantasies to our profile on the website. What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not exactly suggesting anything yet,” Max replies, “but I’m thinking maybe it’s time for us to think about other possibilities.”
“Like maybe mild bondage with another couple.”
“Who gets tied up, the guys or the gals?” I ask with a grin, although I already know the answer and I’m quickly becoming intrigued by the idea.
“Just the ladies.”
“Let’s make sure I understand,” I say with a straight face as I tap my temple gently with a brightly polished fingernail. “You’re thinking that it might be fun for you and some other guy to tie up your wives so that we are hopelessly constrained. Then you fuck us however you want since we can’t fight back. And of course you’ll make us cum as many times as possible. Do I have it pretty much figured out?”
“Then we should give that idea some more thought. Soon,” I declare as I feel the telltale tingle of arousal between my legs when a mental image forms in my mind. “In the meantime, please pay the bill, take me somewhere, and fuck me. After all, it is date night.”
Five gültepe escort minutes later we arrive at our car. We have a special one that we use almost exclusively for date night. It is a Crown Victoria with a very spacious backseat. It is now fully dark and I wonder what Max has in mind.
When Max opens the rear door, I know exactly what we’re going to do. And I also understand the strategic thinking behind his choice of a parking space. Our car is almost invisible to others in the lot. Almost. There is always the possibility of getting discovered in a compromising position. The notion thrills me and I climb willingly inside with Max close behind.
Within a minute, I have his shirt unbuttoned and his taught, smooth torso at my fingertips. A few seconds later, he has my blouse out of the way and my date night push-up bra, the one that unhooks in the front, open. My breasts are now fully exposed. As he lowers his head to suck an alert nipple into his lips, I pull my skirt up to my waist and then reach for his belt and zipper. I’ve had a lot of practice, so I quickly free his engorged cock.
“Stop!” I order and then bend down to take him into my mouth. I know from experience that I can bring him as close to ejaculation as I wish without allowing him release. I’ll take my time, knowing that both of us will do everything possible to prolong this evening’s encounter. I also know that I will have several explosive orgasms before we are finished for the night.
Max’s groans of pleasure declare his approval of what I am doing, so I continue for a few more minutes before disengaging. Giving the head of his cock a tiny nip with my teeth, I melt back into the corner of the seat to hook one heel around the front of the driver’s headrest and the other behind a headrest on the back of our seat. With my body openly displayed before him, Max now has a couple of things he can do to me and I know which one I want.
He does not disappoint me. Maneuvering his body between my legs with his knees on the floor of the car, he lowers his face into position between my thighs.
“Oh God!” I cry the instant his tongue touches my clit. “Oh God!”
Max has done this to me hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. He knows exactly what to do and when to do it. Within a few seconds I am on my way to a spectacular orgasm.
He knows my body well and is adept at bringing me right to the threshold and then holding me there without allowing me the release I crave. Anticipating what is about to happen, I clamp a hand over my mouth to avoid alarming anyone else who might be in the parking lot. Moments later, both pleasure and frustration seize control of my body and I let out a thin high-pitched wail as his tongue works its magic.
Just as I think I can’t tolerate any more stimulation, Max sucks my clit in between his lips and rapidly flicks his tongue across the hyper-sensitive flesh. I cum with a shriek and then try to pull away, but he holds me immobile with his arms wrapped tightly around my thighs as an exquisite series of orgasmic tremors slice through my body. For a minute or so he licks the insides of my thighs until the aftershocks subside and I melt back into the soft leather of our backseat.
An exciting thought flits through my mind as I regain control of my breathing. We aren’t finished yet. Not even close.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
“Not yet,” he responds and pulls my body upright. “Prop your feet on top of the front seat and open your legs.”
I obey his command, now knowing what’s going to happen next. When my legs are properly positioned, he pulls me close and slides one hand down between my thighs. He knows my clit is very sensitive soon after a clitoral orgasm, so he carefully inserts two middle fingers into my pussy, curls them up behind my pubic bone, and begins to rapidly stroke my G-spot. One of my arms is pinned against the seat by his body, so I clutch his shoulder with my other hand and press my mouth into the side of his neck. I know I will be loudly vocalizing my pleasure within a few seconds.
In spite of my effort to muffle my cries, the inside of the car soon fills with the sounds I make when approaching orgasm. Max loves the fact that I’m noisy during sex and I love the fact that my doing so pushes his arousal to an almost unbearable level.
I cum with a loud wail and involuntarily clamp my thighs on his hand. He is not deterred and continues his G-spot stroking until he is certain that my orgasm has run its course, then slows to a gentle pace, and finally withdraws his hand.
Max pulls me closer, holding me tightly while I recover. After a minute or so he lifts my chin with his slippery fingers and places his lips on mine. When I thrust my hot little tongue into his mouth, I can taste my own body. When the kiss ends, I suck his fingertips into my mouth, thirsty for more, and then release his hand.
“Fuck me,” I whisper again.
Our rear passenger seat is spacious, but not palatial, so fucking takes a bit more maneuvering than what we have been doing for the past half hour. Fortunately, I am a small woman. Squirming onto my back, I once again hook my heels around headrests on the front and rear seats. With my legs widely splayed, I am ready to receive my husband. When I am in positon, Max pulls his slacks and underwear down below his knees and kneels between my thighs.