Hotwife Does Every Man in the Bar


Back when there were more adult play venues in the area, there was a nightclub and porn theater we tried once which didn’t quite “feel right.” A couple of years pass, and in conversation with one of our friends at our then usual haunt, he mentions we should try it again, that the owners made changes on the theater side more suited to how we played in public. “Okay, we’ll check it out.” This was overdue; our “usual haunt” was located in an especially dangerous neighborhood, and this new place was in or adjacent to an industrial park in another corner of town.

A few weeks later after a difficult day working around the house, I suggested to Cindy, “You feel up to trying that place John suggested we give another chance to?” I tend to be horny after a day of physical labor, so was relieved when she answered “Why not?” We had our usual argument about what she will (or won’t) wear, settling on a silver zipper-front sleeveless sheath mini-dress we picked up at an adult store many years before. Sandals, and no underwear, of course. It was late summer, so nude was actually more appropriate, but next to naked was the best we could do to avoid arrest.

Admittedly this dress works well on Cindy. She has the classic Scandinavian look: tall, slender and blonde, with modest, pert breasts in a perfect balance to her light frame. Unlike most of her playwear, it doesn’t show anything to speak of. It’s short enough and tight enough to be titillating and shows plenty of curve, but too tight to reveal tits, ass cheek or labia “accidentally”, even working at it. However, this, after all, is adult store couture, also known as “clubwear” — the zipper has exactly the right sex appeal, and can be lowered for cleavage, or all the way to unfastened in a single motion. “OK, that’ll work,” I said, somewhat begrudgingly since I prefer not-so-accidental peeks in public to show her off.

We tended to our normal early evening routines around the house, each of us slightly edgy in that the wardrobe discussion was always the start of several hours of mental foreplay. Around 7:30 or so Cindy started her preparation with a bath and shampoo. Dry, freshened and now spread-eagle on our bed, she summoned me to put the final finish on her shave job. “Polished,” we call it, the objective being no hair visible on her mons or pussy, and in best of circumstances no stubble to the touch. We carried on in our usual banter about her being unable to see down there for a close shave. Now nice and smooth, she went to work on her normal light amount of makeup, surprisingly little making for a dynamite look.

With Cindy all cute, her mound and labia nicely polished and eminently touchable, she finishes dressing while I finish my shave — up and down, trying not to razor burn my testicles. It’s always a nice show for her if my important bits aren’t hiding in the shrubbery. We gather-up her “play kit” — lube and tissues, plus her prescription “pammy pills” to address the anxiety issues and inhibitions that have increased over the years and frequently put a damper on the fun.

An hour’s drive later, we end up at the club. It’s our usual “off night” foray into the seedier side of things, so there are at most ten cars in the lot. As we drove up, we notice a gentleman sauntering towards his car, and as I open the door and Cindy steps out in that silver dress, he does one heckuva pirouette to briskly head back towards the club. We were amused.

Entering the main room, we recognized the layout from the previous visit, although a few things were shifted around to have less of a “you’re on stage, so entertain us” vibe that put us off the last time. We greet the bartender, the only other female in the place, pay our modest floor fee and order our drinks. Cindy gets her usual club soda and lime mostly out of courtesy, using it to down her “relaxation” pill.

We chose a high table close to the center of the room. Feigning they were watching a football game on the TV, the small crowd of 8-10 men ever so slowly converged to the tables around us. The other patrons were not what we usually encountered on these outings, all seemed to be casual professional in both demeanor and dress. Polite to a one, none of the leering stooges, aggressive hoodlums or redneck cat-callers that sometimes send us running for the exit. Clearly, this was going to be an appreciative but safe audience.

“Showtime!” I whispered in Cindy’s ear. She giggled and went into her coy, “Who, me?” posture. I hinted that she might want to hike up her dress a little for a couple of the guys to view. She complied, and turned around facing them, spreading her legs just enough to get a reaction. I leaned over to kiss her and lower the zipper a smidge.

Two or three of the men worked up the courage to make a little bit of small talk. As they struggled against furtive glances at her shaved pussy and cleavage now fully on display, we chatted for a while, exchanging nondescript and unimportant details about each other, as I stroked poker oyna her and leaned forward a few more times, continuing to lower “that” zipper. After a few minutes, the dress at this point was open to below her navel and her nipples would play peek-a-boo with the slightest move. I took the opportunity to further tease the crowd by “abandoning” her in a semi-naked state, and retreated to the bar to refill my drink. I quietly asked the bartender, “What are our limits out here in the main area?” This is a respectful inquiry I always make at a new place for us so we don’t offend… or get tossed! She responded, “It’s a quiet night, so anything goes. Just not on the bar.”


While away, with the obvious encouragement directed at the gathered men, Cindy was flirting in her chatter and tone, and the group started to get the idea we were up to something. Well, duh. I caught a glimpse of a couple of the men in the background rubbing themselves in anticipation having seen enough breast and labia to be aroused. She and I fawned on each other for a couple of minutes and I whispered, “Ready?” Cindy nods, and I take care of the last three inches of zipper, which is her cue to drop the dress off her shoulders. She is now nude, the dress draped over the back of the stool protecting her adorable ass from the seat. The entourage audibly inhales in astonishment. And then she stands up. Gasps. Wows.

You see, for “a mature woman”, Cindy is striking. Maybe she doesn’t have as much up top as some men like, but screw ’em, I like it. I really like it! All in all a very pleasing balance. The bonus is she looks 25 to 30 years younger than her real age. She’s still major eye candy.

In circumstances like this we like to play a special game with the crowd. Now that everyone has seen the goods — so to speak — I “directed” her to put her dress back on, zipped all the way up. Oh, the disappointment on their faces! She and I nod to each other at this point, confirming “this is the night!” for the extra-special version of the game. Normally it’s just for fun, to wow the crowd. Tonight it was for keeps, money on the table.

“Don’t worry, there’s more. Let’s play a game: guess her age,” I ask.

“You don’t do that to a lady!” protested several of them. That’s always the first reaction everywhere we play the guessing game.

She and I laughed, “Oh, trust me, you’re not going to offend her. Besides, would you play along if I told you there were prizes?”

A few mumbles, then one volunteered, “OK, I’ll play. 42.” Another, “46. They wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t something surprising.” A third, “38!” About the time we got to the last guy, he was reading our bemused smiles and responded, “In her fifties. Alright, I’ll say 56. He looks to be in his 50s.”

“Thank you everybody!” as I baited them. “Ready?” Nods all around. “She’s 68.”

The group: “You’re shittin’ me!” “No fuckin’ way!” “Can’t be!” “No, impossible!”

“Do you want to see her Medicare card? Sixty-eight. Six eight. Seriously.” Amazed murmuring all around.

Playing game host now, I announced, “There are four prizes available, third place through the Grand Prize.” Two or three of the guys immediately put two-and-two together about the implications of “Grand Prize” and had big grins. “I will announce each prize after the previous prize is redeemed. Dear, the gentleman in the blue button-down was fourth.” Cindy stepped toward and faced the fellow now with a deer-in-headlights expression. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. You’ll be fine,” I assure him.

Firmly: “Third prize is… [pause for effect]… slide the zipper down to her navel. Open her dress enough to enjoy the view, but keep it on her shoulders.”

Laughs all around, and he reluctantly meets the request. Opens her dress and tries to tweak a nipple. “No no no! No touching! Not yet!” More laughs, the “yet” triggering a few more grins in the realization of where this is going.

“Now to the second place award,” I said. A couple of the men are licking their lips. “It goes to you!” as I point to the third-best guesser. Cindy sidles next to him, and I instruct, “Zipper the rest of the way down and unfastened. Dress remains. You can enjoy a touch or two. Breasts of course, lightly touch her pussy lips if you like.”

Less reluctant than the previous winner, the zipper is hastily undone and he goes hard for her boobs. “Easy!” I admonish, “Gentle. She likes gentle. We’ll get there.” Cindy does a mock pout, and he backs off, asks “May I?” and gently strokes each side of her labia with a forefinger. He puts his arm around her in a lingering light hug as they stand and wait for the next prize.

By now nearly everyone has grasped the full game, where things are spicier with each prize. And it is dawning on them (correctly!) that the intent is for everybody there to get some action after the prizes are awarded and cashed-in.

I play-announce, “OK everyone, two prizes left! First place… goes to… the canlı poker oyna man in the white and blue striped shirt who guessed ’52’. Come get your prize…” as he inched toward Cindy while trying to hide the wet spot in his trousers. “Which is… remove her dress. Hug and fondle her ass. She might return the favor — grab his cock, dear. Yes, unzip it — and she may not object to your fingering her clit.” He complies, but is a bit rough as he tried to push a finger into her pussy. She backs away, maybe a little wet but not ready. He stroked her a few times, embraced her breasts from behind, then stroked her butt crack with his erect cock. I interceded, “Not yet!” Again, that word “yet”. He sighs, backs off and offers, “Thanks. Nice. Very very nice.”

“Now to the grand prize, everyone! There’s a second challenge to claim the prize. You have FIFTEEN SECONDS to remove your clothes. All of them, including socks. You must be nude! FIFTEEN SECONDS! You in the green shirt! GO!!!” He struggles with his socks. “Oops! Time’s up!” as I tease and mock scan the room for another victim. “Well, OK, keep going. Thirty, I suppose. We weren’t going to allow you to lose, anyway.”

“Now, your choice of prize — you can fuck her right here, right now, in front of the crowd, or…”

“OOoooo,” interrupts Cindy, “Uncircumcised! Big! Gimme!” I reinforced the permission, “We see you’re hard enough to make that happen, so no need to mention the ‘private session’ option in the couples theater.”

“One condition either way,” I insist. “No withdrawing before you climax thinking it is the gentlemanly thing to do. You MUST ejaculate inside her,” I commanded. “More to this prize after we see your cum drip from her pussy.”

Lots of “oohs” and “ahhs”, “Lucky you!” and cheering in anticipation. With everyone as rev’ed up as they are with the extended group foreplay, Cindy and her… well… fucker of the moment put on a real show. Exactly what we hoped for!

First she knelt down to suck on him a little bit, but that was just an excuse to lube him to play with his foreskin, easing it up and down, and up and down, and up and down, caressing it each time over the contours of his penis — she also has a thing for bulging veins — and especially the ridge of the head. And he had a nice ridge, almost mushroom-like. After what seemed like an eternity of cock worship and hide-and-seek with his glans, she turned around to face the stool she was sitting on and then bent over slightly, spreading her legs for him to probe her from behind.

The crowd including myself moved in for a better view. We want to see it go in. I want to see it go in! Fuck my wife, please. He glances over to me with an “are you sure about this?” expression. “Yes, you, fuck my wife.”

Mr. Green Shirt took his time, pulled back his foreskin, probing her slit up and down, massaging her clitoris with his uncircumcised-smooth head, then pulled it back to meet the now well-lubricated hole. He teased her pussy, pushed back up to the clit, and then came back to dwell at the opening. Clenching his butt and pushing slowly but in earnest this time, his big mushroom cock head entered her vagina and he continued to push, the head disappeared, and he backed off, the ridge slightly reappearing. He pushed a little harder as more and more of his shaft and its well-veined contours stroked and massaged Cindy from within.

Cindy was now breathing hard, and in her breathlessness encouraged her new friend to please pleasure himself with “Squirt, dammit! I want to feel the warmth of your cum oozing inside me! Make me drip with your sperm!” She reached back between her legs and gave his balls a really hard, sustained squeeze. He yelped, but got the point. He picked up the pace for a dozen or more strokes, clenched hard and with two or three low grunts, let everyone know for sure he had hit a home run. Cindy audibly purred, “MMMMMMMmmmmmm” as the warmth spread inside her. He pushed a little more, but it became quickly evident that post-ejaculation softness was setting-in, his flaccidness falling out of her vagina with a trickle of semen pushing past.


Also a little breathless from witnessing such a great show, I summon the first-prize winner, “More prizes for everyone! OK, it’s your turn. Drop trou and put ‘er in. Let it fly. The more cum, the better.” Cindy turns around to face her next suitor, leaning back on the edge the barstool with her legs spread to receive his average but still pleasant-looking cock. He flinches and then softens a little in touching somebody else’s semen with his penis, but gathering himself back up he rises to the occasion, pushing his erection into Cindy in a single stroke, all the way in to his testicles. At near peak arousal from his previous prize award and then watching the “grand prize” show, it takes only two or three strokes and he blows his wad very much in her, adding to the volume she… mostly… contains. A small puddle is forming beneath the barstool.

“Second internet casino place winner! Get it out!” Now he was Mr. Enthusiasm in undoing Cindy’s dress and we had to dial him back, so he was already unzipped and “out and ready” having seen how the post-game show seemed to work. “OK, I said. Seeing that you were expecting this, not yet… you need to be naked. No nude, no fuck.”

“Oh. Okay, I guess,” was the retort. “Does she take it in the ass?” I responded that she does not, and besides, the object of this part of the game is to fill her pussy to overflowing. He finally gives-in, undresses, and now that he’s naked, we understand the reluctance. Considering all the pushiness, he was kinda small.

No matter. He was already up and too ready to screw, so with Cindy still leaning on the barstool with legs spread, he dipped his cock into the sperm soup in her pussy, pumped for a few minutes and then added a respectable amount of his own. The puddle grew as she struggled with the standing position to keep much in.

“Let’s find a sofa”, I suggest. “That should help. Third place, batter up. Your choice, naked or pantsless.” “Naked,” he responds. “I don’t want cum all over my clothes. The wife, bless her heart, will not understand even though she really ought to be used to it by now!” We were puzzled by that last bit, but… whatever.

Cindy moved the teeming mass of men to the video lounge, and decided to lie face down with ass up in the air, on her knees. I questioned this, and she told me, “Best way to keep it from spilling out.” Now pretty sloppy after three generous contributors, Blue Button-down followed her into the room leading the pack, shed his clothes and to everyone’s shock and awe presented an enormous set of equipment. Shy and reserved my ass, this guy had what most of us only wished we had to offer. Cock length was somewhere between nine and eleven inches, probably 2-1/2 or 3″ in diameter, and mother-fucking-huge balls, with the firm scrotum roughly the size of a small grapefruit. Basically, a horse. We certainly didn’t see that coming, and somebody wondered out loud how it was possible for him to walk. “Loose XL boxers and slacks, I can’t wear bluejeans,” he said, “It’s what I have and there’s no choice but to work around it.” At this point we comprehended the thing about his wife.

Cindy wasn’t really paying much attention to the guy chatter until she glanced back and saw that baseball bat on a determined collision course with her pussy. She started to get up, but I knelt down and draped my arm around her in reassurance, “Relax. Just relax and loosen up. You are more than lubed and plenty stretched from the activity so far, so if there was a time to go for size, it’s now. Close your eyes and visualize that horse we saw in Delaware, and how incredibly turned on you were to watch the stallion parade himself before the teasing mare.”

She whimpered a little in protest, did what she could to basically go limp with her butt still up and ready. I spread her legs a little more, motioning to “go ahead.” Mr. Ginormous used both hands to aim “that thing” at my wife’s quivering pussy (well, actually, all of her was quivering), ever so gently probed her external labia, then pushed the head in just enough to breach her labia minora up to his glans ridge, mostly to test the waters. No problem, they spread as if on cue. I was right, Cindy was ready. Physically, that is. It was the mental stuff that was in the way. I stroked her back and shoulders, rubbed her butt a little, finally felt her unclench, and then like a surgeon I command, “OK, do it.”

He v…e…r…y slowly pushed into her, maybe a half inch at a time. Three, four inches. “I’m used to this,” he says. “Obviously I’m in demand when my wife is not looking, but most women practically run away when they finally see ‘it'”. Still slowly pushing, five, six, seven inches in. “Hit bottom yet?” I ask both of them. A muffled “Not yet,” from Cindy, her face buried in the sofa cushion in case she had to scream for him to stop. Eight, nine, maybe another inch and his unbelievable balls were pressed tight against her pussy. Amazing. All in. We’ll have to remember to thank her gyno surgeon who performed her hysterectomy umpteen years ago, leaving extra room in her vaginal vault “just in case”.

But do recall our objective in this final game and match was to fill that vault to overflowing. Now that we discovered how large it actually could be in the heat of battle, it was more of a challenge than we thought. With Cindy finally relaxed enough to fully accept this horse cock, it was time to get down to business. I encouraged Mr. Large just like I did the others, to fuck to completion, to let it all loose inside my wonderful wife. Lingering a little longer than the others, he finally clenched, and with a deep, sustained grunt let it go. A couple of seconds go by, he grunted again. Pause, and grunted again. Those unreal testicles were clearly not just for show. By the fourth or fifth big thrust the cum is not oozing out, it is spurting out from all around his penis with each grunt. Then he all but collapses, finally spent. I help him up so he doesn’t crush poor Cindy should he pass out.

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