I got home late, as usual. I was putting in extra time at work to make sure I kept my job. Still, I had told my wife Candy that tonight was going to be different, and it wasn't. I pulled into the driveway about 8:30, and the house was quiet and dark.
There was a note taped to the front door with my name on it. "Your clothes are laid out on the bed in the guest room. Grab a shower in the guest bath and get ready. I'm in our room. Don't bother me until I'm ready. We're going out. The kids are at Trish's overnight."
My wife was being unusually directive. It wasn't like her, but it was having a positive effect on me. I was half hard in the shower, wondering what she had planned. She had laid out a dress shirt and slacks for me. Nice clothes, but nothing special. I got dressed and waited in the living room for her to come out. It was 9:45 by the time our bedroom door opened.
She was simply stunning, a vision of glamour from head to toe. She was wearing a short black cocktail dress with a deep scooped halter top, black stockings and strappy black sandals. The dress showed off her bare back from the tie of the halter top to the small of her back.
The material of the dress was shimmery, like silk, and flowed across her pale soft skin as she stepped toward me. She had obviously visited the salon that day for a French manicure, and to get her long blonde hair done in a loose, flowing set of curls, partly pinned up by an ornate silver hair pin on one side.
I was speechless as I stood up to greet her. Her makeup was perfectly done, not understated, but not garish either. It showed off her delicate features perfectly.
I regained my composure enough to let out a low whistle. "Wow, baby, you look great..." I was about to ask where we were going when she put a finger to my mouth to silence me. She looked serious.
"You're late ... again."
I started to stammer an apology. She interrupted, "I don't care. No more excuses, tonight is my night. Do you like the new dress?"
She spun around with her arms outstretched, causing the hem of the skirt to swirl around as she moved. I caught a glimpse of stocking tops, and it was obvious she wore no bra, as I got a good look at the sides of her naked breasts when she spun.
This was totally unlike her. She was normally conservative and shy. "Well, do you like it?" she asked impatiently as I gaped. My dick was making a tent in my pants, but she wasn't looking there for her answer.
"You look amazing, just amazing!" I leaned forward to kiss her but she gave me the same raised finger.
"Uh uh, don't mess up my makeup." I looked down at her hand and noticed that there was something else she wasn't wearing: her wedding ring. "Let's get going, it's almost 10pm and the night is wasting."
"Should I change? I feel kinda underdressed compared to you."
"It won't matter," she said flatly. "This is my night, not yours, you owe me ... let's just go." I followed her out to my car. She stood by the passenger door as I opened it with the remote, expecting her to get in. I was almost to my door when I realized she was waiting for me to open hers.
"Such chivalry," she teased as I helped her into the passenger seat, her dress riding up to clearly show the tops of stay up stockings. She crossed her legs before I could see what panties she wore, or if she was wearing any at all.
"Where are we headed?" I asked as I slid into the car.
"The Bull Pen. Ever heard of it?"
"No. Where is it?"
"Up on the East side, near MLK."
"Uhhhh..." I started to object, the neighborhood wasn't great in that area.
"It'll be fine; Trish and Jerry go a couple times a month." That didn't fill me with warm fuzzy feelings. Trish was the wild child of the sisters, and Jerry pretty much went along with whatever she wanted.
When we got up to the cross-town expressway, I reached over and put my hand on Candy's knee, easing my hand up toward her still-visible stocking tops, with the intent of checking for panties. I was fully hard now, thinking she might not be wearing any. She quickly reached down and took my hand, placing it back on the steering wheel. "Don't muss up my look before we get there. Pay attention to the road."
I pouted. She giggled at me. "If you are trying figure out if I'm wearing panties, I am. New ones you've never seen. A little black g-string, see through. Satisfied?"
I was throbbing. When had the aliens come and replaced my wife with this wanton person?
"Can you show me?"
"No, you'll wreck the car. Eyes front." We drove like that for a while as the neighborhoods went from bad to worse around us. She leaned over to look at the gauges. "You better stop for gas, don't want to run out around here."
"Almost as bad to fill up around here." Our white Volvo station wagon did not belong in this neighborhood any more than we did.
"There's an Olsen's at our exit. You can go to full serve." Olsen's was an old-fashioned gas station, it still had full service attendants ... charged an arm and a leg, but it was better than hitting the local mini-mart.
I pulled up to the passenger side pump and rolled down my window as a tall, young black man in Olsen's coveralls bearing the name "Reggie" approached from behind the car.
I handed him the gas card and asked for a full tank of premium, rolling the window back up as soon as I could. He ambled back to the pump and I turned toward Candy. "Can I see your new panties now?"
"Okay," she said in mock exasperation, "but no touching!" She grasped the hem of her dress and slowly lifted it toward her waist while placing her left foot on the dash to give me a better view.
She was right; I would have crashed had she shown me while driving. The tiny triangle of fabric that covered her blonde treasure was as transparent as her stockings. It was apparent she had gotten a full treatment at the spa, because my normally bushy wife sported a neatly trimmed arrow of pubic hair that came to a point right over her clit.
Since she was completely waxed everywhere else, I could clearly see her swollen and slightly parted labia pressed against the thin fabric. She slid forward in the seat to give me a better view, and I noticed that the pink ring of her rear entrance was also clean and hairless. I could clearly see most of it on both sides of the thin black string that led up between her pale cheeks.
I spotted Reggie walking toward the passenger side window in the mirror and urgently whispered "he's coming," to my wife, expecting her to quickly cover herself.
Instead, she held the very same pose as the service attendant lifted the squeegee and reached across to clean the windshield. He didn't notice at first, but I saw his double-take, and then his broad grin as he stared into the passenger seat right between my wife's open legs.
He quickly wiped her side of the windshield, then gawked through the glass as he pressed his crotch against the side of my car and sloppily washed my side, three or four times. At one point he looked into her eyes, and she blushed and smiled, dropping her eyes to indicate he had permission to stare.
"He's looking right at my pussy. Does that excite you?" my wife whispered. Strangely, I wasn't jealous, I was really turned on.
"It does," I gasped.
"Good, then I won't be the only one having fun tonight."
I was looking almost as intently at Reggie as he was at Candy's nearly hairless crotch. She finally lowered her skirt and crossed her legs. He stood grinning broadly by her side of the car until she rolled down the window so he could hand her the credit receipt.
She smiled sweetly and thanked him as we drove away. I could see the bulge in his coveralls through the rear view mirror. If objects in the rear-view mirror were larger then they appeared, he must have been huge.
"What are we doing, honey?" I asked. Her comment about having fun had thrilled me, but it made me worried as well.
"Just drive ... It's two blocks up on the right." My wife stared out her window as she spoke. I couldn't tell if she was mad at me or if she was lost in thought.
The Bull Pen had a humble neon sign with a moveable letterboard that announced tonight was "Lady's Nite: Free Drinks." The club was housed in a large concrete building—it might have been a converted auto parts store—at the far end of a parking area nearly half a block deep, and almost completely full. I was about to pull into the only available space when my wife announced that I should drop her off and then park the car.
I did as I was told. The burly black doorman eagerly approached and opened the door for my wife as I pulled the car up. I know what view he must have gotten as she slowly put one foot out the door then just as slowly moved the other, clearly relishing the attention. He helped her out and whisked her into the club so fast that she was out of view before I lifted my foot off the brake pedal.
I cruised around the parking lot looking for a space and feeling utterly conspicuous. Everyone else in the parking lot was as black as I was white. The space I had originally seen when we drove in was gone by the time I got back to it, and it was three or four minutes before another opened up on the far edge of the lot.
I made my way out of the car toward the entrance. If my wife wasn't already inside the bar, I certainly would have turned and headed home. I didn't belong here.
As I moved toward the door, the heavily muscled bouncer stepped in front of me. "You sure you're in the 'white' place?" He laughed deeply at his own pun.
"Yes," I responded, sheepishly.
"Cover is 20 for single men, 10 for couples and ladies are free."
.... There is more of this story ...