Beverly's Revelation
Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, mt/mt, Consensual, Blackmail, Gay, Heterosexual, Wife Watching, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Humiliation, Interracial, Black Male, White Female, Hispanic Male, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Squirting, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Foot Fetish, Public Sex, Workplace, Prostitution,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A married couple explore ways of adding spice to their marriage. The husband draws inspiration from an unusual event during a bachelor's party visit to a strip club.

It all started innocently enough. Beverly and I had been married for about fifteen years. We'd know each other since high school, but hadn't dated until after college. We had a good life, three kids and a nice house in the typical American suburban paradise.

I don't know if this happens to other couples, but while we still loved each other deeply, there was still something missing. At the beginning, everything was sparks and flashes and power. We both seemed comfortable and happy with the way things were now, but we weren't thrilled, at least not as often.

Don't get me wrong. Seeing her naked still got me hard, and I loved making love to her. Unlike many of the other middle-aged moms that were in our circle of friends, she kept her shape and cared quite a bit about how she looked. She was always a little bit more voluptuous than the "ideal" and I loved that about her, so maybe it was easier for her to keep her youthful figure.

On our monthly date nights, she'd still turn heads. I think she liked that. Other men, and sometimes women, noticing the curve of her breast under silky fabric, the turn of her ankle in sheer stockings, the glimpse of a soft, braless breast in a low cut top.

But it just wasn't happening often enough. It felt like the energy was gone.

One night I received an invitation to a bachelor's party for an old high school friend. I read Bev the e-mail, which came complete with a link to the "gentlemen's club" they planned on attending. I thought we'd both have a laugh about it before I deleted it.

She surprised me, "You should go."

"What?" I hardly knew Tom in the first place. I doubted I was on the top 25 list of his friends in school, and figured I'd gotten the invitation by mistake. "You know they are going to a strip club, right?"

"Yeah ... c'mon, admit it. Haven't you ever been curious to go to one of those places?"

The truth was that I used to go to "those places" a lot when I was in college. I missed it, too. But that was before Bev and the kids. I had resolved to put those days and those places behind me to become a family man. All that said, I really didn't want to miss this opportunity.

"You wouldn't mind? Those places are filled with naked women."

"I don't mind as long as..." she held up her hand and ticked off her points by folding her outstretched fingers. "You don't spend more than a hundred dollars, you don't have sex with any of those skanks, you swim in the pool to wash off the cigarette smoke before you come into the house, and then you fuck the hell out of me afterward." She closed her thumb over her four clenched fingers to make a fist and shook it at me with a flirty smirk. "Got it?"

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I sat there with my mouth open.

"We both know you've been looking for a spark, as you call it. Maybe we'll both get a spark out of this. Give it a shot."

"Okay," I said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.

"But if you fuck one of those strippers, you'll never touch me again, and you're out on your ass? Got it?" She wagged her fist at me again for effect.

I was about to ask if getting a blowjob counted as fucking, but I rethought that stupid idea real quick. She had a pretty good right hook.

Two weeks later I was entering a strip club I had never heard of before, with a group of guys I hadn't seen in twenty years. In fact, it didn't really look like a strip club at all from the outside. Just a simple neon sign "The Velvet Slipper" on a plain red brick storefront. Clearly the club relied on a clientele who knew the location, and not walk-in business from the surrounding bars, hotels and restaurants.

Two weeks and two hours later, I was sitting with the guest of honor at a small table near the main stage in the cozy club. It's a different experience going to a strip club with a group of older, mostly married, guys than it was in my college days with my group of rowdy friends. Even when drunk, the men are far more respectful and appreciative than the younger crowd, and far more generous, too.

Tom leaned over to me and yelled above the music, "You're the luckiest fuckin' guy in here, you know!"

"How so?"

"Because you fuckin' ended up with Beverly, you fuckin' geek!" Tom was a little drunk, and a little sloppy.

"I didn't realize it was a competition." We had all been in the same high school together, but Beverly really ran with a different crowd. I was more in the science nerd group, and Tom and Bev were both in the high status clique of jocks, cheerleaders and rich kids. I only knew Tom because I tutored him in math in his senior year so he could get his grades high enough to qualify for a football scholarship.

"Man, it was always a fuckin' competition, and Beverly was the grand fuckin' prize!" Apparently it was a vocabulary competition, and it was easy to tell how Tom lost.

"Did you date her?"

"Depends on what you fuckin' mean by date." He dissolved in loud, obnoxious laughter.

I was going to follow up on that comment, except that at that moment the guest of honor was scooped up by two women, gloriously nude except for acrylic platform heels, and wrangled to the stage.

Another man that I didn't recognize came to sit next to me while I watched the guest of honor get a series of lap dances from a parade of strippers. I couldn't pay close attention to what was going on because Tom's words, and the insinuation they made about my wife, kept echoing through my head.

I was imagining my wife in her high school cheerleader days, in the back of Tom's Buick after a "date" where the big spender had taken her to the diner and bought her a hamburger, and figured he was entitled to free her big soft breasts from her sweater and squeeze them, and suck her broad dark nipples as a reward. Or maybe he had convinced his big brother to buy them some beer and plied her with a six pack in exchange for her hot wet lips sliding up and down his hard shaft behind the bleachers in the gym.

The thing was, I wasn't upset or jealous about these fantasies. The image of my beautiful wife as a high school slut, sleeping with one after another of the men in the group at the strip club, was thrilling me. I imagined each of the men in the room, in their youthful high school incarnations, strong and lean and arrogant, in passionate encounters with my wife of the present day.

The irony wasn't lost on me. My wife had sent me her tonight to get my blood flowing by watching young strippers, most just recelntly of legal age, so she could take advantage of my arousal. And here I was ignoring a bevy of sinewy, bare-assed beauties to fantasize about my glorious, middle-aged housewife having sex with high school boys. My heart was beating hard, and my cock was throbbing.

I didn't even realize how long we had been at the club. The dancers, once finished with Tom, were taking their final tour of the room. Given the right amount of incentive, they were providing last lap dances to the remaining men, with maybe a little extra if the incentive was right.

I did glance over a couple of times to the stranger sitting next to me, and noticed that the man was staring in rapt attention at every action occurring on the stage. He brushed off the advances of the dancers that approached him looking for their last tip of the evening. He seemed to be waiting intently for something else.

As the last of the dancers finished on Tom's lap, the final dance rotation of the night was over, and the club owner took the microphone to call for applause for 'Crystal' as she stepped down off the stage and directly into the dressing room.

I knew enough of the routine of a club closing for the night to expect the house lights to come up, for the owner to shoo the guest of honor off the stage, and the rest of us to finish our final drinks. Instead, he shielded his eyes from the stage lights and did a quick survey of the remaining clientele. Besides our group and the stranger, there was no one else here.

"Gentlemen, I have a special treat for you, if you are interested, another dancer, Miss Jessica Scarlett!" A shapely feminine figure stepped out of the dressing room, barely visible as she crossed through deep shadows onto the back of the stage and disappeared behind the behind thick black curtain. The stranger sitting next to me started a round of enthusiastic applause, and we all joined in as though it was contagious.

The emcee whispered conspiratorially into the microphone, "Now friends, we're not technically open at this point, and Miss Scarlett is an independent act, so, I'm saying, gents, what happens in the Velvet Slipper stays in the Velvet Slipper..." He nodded to the bouncer, who theatrically bolted the front door from the inside and shut off the neon sign.

The spotlight narrowed to a tight beam on the curtain as the sound of the plucked acoustic bass played the familiar opening notes of Amy Irving's "Why don't you do right?" from the movie Roger Rabbit. Long, feminine fingers glad in lavender elbow-length, satin gloves gripped the edge of the drapes. As the singer's sensuous voice began to purr out the suggestive lines of the song, Miss Jessica Scarlett revealed herself fully to the rapt attention of the crowd.

The featured act was coifed and dressed identically to her cartoon namesake. The sparkling shoulderless dress with heart-shaped bustline barely concealing her full, natural breasts, the slit from the hem to her waist exposed the full length of her bare, shapely leg as she gracefully stepped onto the raised stage from behind the curtain. Peeptoe red pumps and naturally red hair, curling gently down in waves across the dancer's face, completed the stunningly accurate, and wonderfully provocative illusion.

Miss Scarlett prowled the stage with long, slow sweeping steps as the short song progressed. As she approached me I found myself holding my breath. She was older than the rest of the dancers by at least ten years, and quite a bit rounder and more womanly than any of them as well.

The feminine eroticism of her graceful shape expressive motions made the other performers seem like frantic impersonations by comparison. The awed silence of her audience confirmed that she had us all trapped in the same spell.

When the song ended she had just sat her full, firm bottom onto the lap of the slumping guest of honor, still seated on the simple wooden chair on one side of the stage. She wiggled lightly, feeling his stiffness against her as she ran her fingers through his hair and brought her red painted lips to his ear for a gentle, fluttering kiss.

I instantly recognized the opening notes of the next song as Seals and Croft's "Summer Breeze," but instead of the acoustic guitar and toy piano, this version by a band called Type O Negative was driven by a hard, heavy electric guitar and pounding rock drums with crashing cymbals. Miss Scarlett slid languorously from Tom's lap over to the stripper pole at the center of the stage.

We all leaned forward in our seats as she slipped the first glove off her pale, smooth arm, revealing graceful fingers and bright red nails. After being surrounded for the last few hours by utterly naked women with shaven pussies, it was amazing how powerful the gradual exposure of a woman's hands could be.

As the music thrummed, Miss Scarlett removed her second glove, revealing not just her graceful fingers and hand, but also a prominent and substantial diamond wedding ring.

As she slithered back over to Tom, I couldn't help but imagine my own wife in the same position, and wonder if this woman's husband knew what she was doing out late on a Saturday night.

Standing behind the guest of honor she rested her full bosom on the top of his balding head as she unbuttoned his rumpled dress shirt. In a moment, he was bare-chested, and she was scraping her long nails lightly over his hairy, athletic upper body. Tom kept in pretty good shape for an older guy, and Miss Scarlett had fun teasing his sensitive nipples with her sharp nails.

But she didn't tease him for very long, just enough to get his blood flowing. I'd seen this kind of act before and typically the guest of honor ended up in his underwear while lap dancers bounced on his clothed boner in an effort to get him a release without violating any laws.

Miss Scarlett seemed to have a similar end in mind. She circled like a huntress as the deep voice of the singer started on the final verse of the song. She knelt before him, exposing her beautiful legs through the slit of the skirt, and looked into his eyes as she unbuckled his belt.

Without ever breaking her entrancing gaze, she unbuttoned and unzipped him, sliding his pants down around his ankles, but leaving them there, perhaps to restrain him and make it clear that she was firmly in charge.

She reached up toward the white jockey shorts where his obvious hard-on throbbed under the thin material. In a move more brazen than I expected, she gripped his staff and shifted it within his underwear, leaving it concealed but pointing his stiff member directly up toward his navel.

During the transition to the next song she stood and leaned over his nearly naked body, putting her knee between his legs and pressing against his balls as she pressed his cheek to his and whispered in his ear. We couldn't hear what she was saying, but his eyes widened in surprise and he nodded vigorously in agreement.

At the start of Britney Spears' "Toxic" with the bass pushed all the way up, the dancer held her position, whispering in his ear, as her free hand trailed down the center of his chest, across his belly, stopping as her fingers met the elastic waistband.

We all caught our breath as her hand disappeared under the taut fabric to grasp the head of his cock directly, skin to skin. The stranger sitting next to me made an odd choked sort of noise as Miss Scarlett's red lips traced the same path down Tom's chest that her fingers had just travelled, licking and kissing and nibbling all the way.

By the time her mouth was at the waistband, she had crouched on the opposite side of Tom's strong, outstretched legs, allowing her audience a full view of what was occurring onstage. The long slit in the red, sequined gown parted, allowing an enticing view of her beautiful legs, and a hint of a shadowed view between them.

She laid her head gently on his firm stomach, red curls spreading across his lower body like a sensual blanket. She slipped her hand out of his underwear and gripped the waistband directly over his pulsing tool, lifting it and exposing him to her private view. She gazed admiringly at his manhood, the tip weeping with clear, pure lust. He could feel her hot breath caressing his shaft as she licked her lips seductively.

She brought her other hand to his briefs, and without warning, tugged the obstructing garment down to her quivering subject's knees. His erection danced fitfully, fully exposed in the bright glare of the spotlight. His full balls moved of their own free will in his hanging sack.

Her glistening red lips mouthed the words to the song as she stared appreciatively at his manly desire.

And then, as quickly as he had been exposed, his shaft disappeared into her warm wet mouth, nearly to the base. Her delicate fingers came up to caress his sack while she opened herself to engulf the last, rigid inch of him down her throat.

After all the teasing by the other girls, and the raw, liquid seduction by this gorgeous woman, Tom was unable to maintain his physical discipline for another moment. Tom's hips strained upward and his body gushed his hot, sticky desire into her waiting mouth.

All I could imagine was Beverly, my love, my life, on the stage at this moment. The fire of the image consumed my mind, tunneled my vision.

The leering audience gasped as she consumed his essence fully, hungrily swallowing every drop. The man next to me clawed at our shared table with his fingers and made guttural groans of barely contained desire as Miss Scarlett held Tom's twitching cock in her mouth until it softened.

She laid his flaccid member on his belly with a wicked grin and oozed to the edge of the stage, leaving him to recover his senses in the dark as the spotlight followed her every move.

She crouched in the empty space at the edge of the stage between the other man at my table and my old high school friend Jason. This time she held the edge of the slit on her dress to keep it covering her knees, making her even more alluring by her incongruous display of modesty. She crooked a finger to beckon the massively built bouncer to the side of the stage, between the two panting onlookers.

It looked as though the man next to me was having trouble breathing as she whispered something to the muscular black bodyguard. Miss Scarlett stepped back and with surprising grace for a man of his imposing size, the bouncer pounced onto the stage.

She posed him at the front of the stage. His arms crossed in front of him, his chest muscles tensed under his black leather jacket and black turtleneck shirt, he stood solidly, gazing straight out in front of him as she sashayed around him, her hands roaming his chest and back, to the final chords of the Britney Spears song.

In the brief moments between songs, she positioned herself directly in front of the burly doorman, her back against his strong form, her eyes peeking out under the tousled waves of her red hair.

The heartbeat drums and deep tones of Nine Inch Nails "Closer" soon filled the room. Miss Scarlett pressed herself against the man, grinding more than dancing, her lithe arms striking poses as she pretended to be desperate for his attention, and he did everything he could to ignore her.

"You let me violate you," Trent Reznor intoned through the loudspeakers.

In mock frustration, she reached up and hooked one hand behind his neck, and with her other she uncrossed his burly arms, wrapping one loosely across her lush bosom, and positioning the other in front of her hips, where his big meaty hand was strategically placed in front of the juncture of her legs.

"You let me complicate you."

Still, the man stood staring, practically unblinking as though unaffected by the gyrations of the gorgeous Miss Scarlett.

She put on a playacting pout as though miffed at his continued inattention. Reaching behind herself with both hands she drew the long zipper of her dress down, and the loosened garment dropped around her ankles. She was glorious in her nudity, even though her protector's arm and hand still obscured those most precious places.

"Help me, I broke apart my insides."

And then quickly, without ceremony she slid down and out from behind his obscuring limbs. Kneeling on the stage, her knees spread wide to reveal the hot pink center of her feminine beauty, she cupped her bounteous breasts in her hands and teasingly glanced over her shoulder at the man who stood behind her.

He broke the stiff pose to stare down at her smooth bare back, her round naked ass. His hands went to his fly and he quickly released his thick, black, hard shaft as she went down on all fours before him, teasing him with her gyrating ass. He went to his knees behind her and pressed himself to the entrance to her juicy red opening.

"I want to fuck you like an animal."

And in one smooth powerful stroke he was fully inside her, his balls slapping her clit. She cried out in pleasure, her eyes closed. Reaching out blindly at the front of the stage she grabbed the shirt front of the stranger next to me and pulled him to her. His fingers laced into her hair and their lips met in a passionate kiss as the guardian took her roughly from behind.

"You get me closer to God."

She came, screaming her passion into the stranger's mouth. The bouncer froze in a silent spasm of his own, filling her with his creamy seed.

She slumped onto the stage, spent and glowing. The stranger drew the rumpled sequined dress over her like a blanket.

"Help me, you make me perfect."

He bent down over her limp form and his lips touched her cheek as his fingers loving caressed her tousled hair. She mouthed the words to the song, her eyes still closed, "Help me, become somebody else."

I looked at the front of the stranger's slacks and at the peak of the tent was a wet dark stain of his own desire. He mouthed the next line of the song, whispering it into her ear.

"I want to fuck you like an animal. I want to feel you from the inside."

The stage lights went down and the houselights came up just enough to allow the dancers, now minimally clothed, to escort Tom and the rest of the audience to the door. I heard Miss Scarlett whispering to the stranger as "Bunny" took my elbow to lead me to the door.

"You still love me baby?"

"More than ever, darling ... more than ever," he replied.

I needed to get home and tell Beverly what I had seen.

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