Convention Town Girl 

Part 3a - His Version

[This part by Mr. Screwloose]

Jannie showed me the first two chapters.  Wow.  I hadn't 
heard all those details, or maybe I just didn't remember 
them, in the heat of the moment.  She did eventually tell 
me about the major activities, but seeing those details in 
black and white really shocked me.  And turned me on.  She 
really is some piece.  

She asked me to write about our next little adventure.  So, 
this is what I saw.  But I'm sure she'll have some 
interesting details to add, things I don't know.

We had dinner with Stan again a couple months later.  We 
didn't really talk before about what might happen with 
Stan.  I assumed that he would play with Jan and that she 
would go along with it.  But just play.  I didn't think 
that Stan would assume that he could go to bed with her 
again, at least not while I was around.  I didn't talk to 
her about it.  It was just sort of a topic that we didn't 
deal with.  I just assumed that she'd be with me, and that 
Stan would dance with her and touch her now and then.  No 
big deal.  

The evening started as much the same routine.  Dinner at a 
great restaurant, in one of the casinos, surprisingly.  
Wine with dinner, and after-dinner drinks.  We were feeling 
no pain.  Then we went to the dance club in the casino and 
settled into a booth.  And ordered another round.  

Stan was his usual friendly self through dinner, so it 
seemed to me.  He paid a lot of attention to her, but then 
he always did that.  Then, when they started dancing, I 
could see that he got very friendly with her, and that she 
didn't mind.  Or at least she didn't stop him.  On the 
dance floor, his hands were all over her hips and butt and 
thighs, that I could see.  Maybe more that I couldn't see.  
When they came back to the booth, she sat between us and 
moved close to him so their legs were touching.  

I did notice that both their hands were beneath the table, 
except when someone was actually taking a sip of a drink.  
From what I could see, his hands were well up under her 
skirt.  She was squirming and her legs were open enough for 
him to get his hand in easily.  I think his hand was 
probably all the way up in her crotch from the way she was 
moving and giggling.  Was he cupping her crotch?  Was he 
inside her pants, right here in public?  And in front of 
her husband!  Jesus, maybe he's inside her.  She gets very 
wet when we play, and that makes it easy to get a finger 
inside her.  It makes me sweat to think about it.  

Yes, I'm jealous.  And I'm hard as a rock.  It's 
embarrassing to watch, and it's erotic as hell to watch, 
too.  I certainly can't say anything to either of them to 
stop it.  I asked her to do it in the first place, and 
she's already gone much further than this with him.  Twice!  
Jesus, maybe he will want to have sex with her again 
tonight.  

While I'm worrying about this, they get up to leave.  She's 
going to the ladies' room, and he accompanies her to make a 
pit stop himself.  After some minutes, they come back.  I 
notice that she looks kind of mussed, but I don't get a 
chance to ask her about it.  

After another hour or so, we leave in his car.  He has 
rented a huge Caddie, the kind that can seat six or maybe 
eight, so the three of us sit across the front.  While 
driving, he keeps his hand on her left thigh all the time.  
Mine is on her right, too.  Both of us men are working 
their way up her thighs to her goodies, and she's 
cooperating completely.  She opens her legs as much as the 
seating will allow and pulls her skirt up.  In the passing 
streetlights, we can see the tops of her stockings and the 
white of her thighs above them.  

I'm going crazy.  It is so exciting to see another man's 
hand on my wife's thigh, inching toward her pussy, his 
fingers on the bare flesh of her thigh, then pushed right 
up against her crotch.  And she is loving it, having hands 
on her intimate places.  She lifts her hips to push against 
the intruding hand.  (And to make space underneath for 
fingers to get into?)  I can see how much more exciting 
this is for her, that the hand on her pussy is not mine.  

Stan pulls in and stops at a liquor store that is still 
open.  He asks me to pick up some cold wine, something that 
goes down easy, like wine coolers or rose.  I get a couple 
packs of wine coolers of various fruit flavors.  I figure 
these things don't have that much alcohol in them that we 
won't kill ourselves driving.  

When I get back out, they're in the back seat.  He is 
sitting there, grinning like the frigging Cheshire cat.  
She's sitting sideways, leaning against the passenger door.  
Obviously, I get to drive while they play in the back.  
Stan says, let's go to his hotel, but do it very slowly.  
Go out into the suburbs onto some lonely country roads 
where no one will disturb us.  I guess this is it.  He does 
intend to take her in front of me, to fuck my wife in front 
of her husband.  And, from what I've seen so far, she will 
be perfectly happy to participate.  This is all my fault, 
of course.  I put her up to it.  I told her to go along 
with whatever play he wanted.  Not to make waves.  Not to 
piss off the client.  And then I didn't object when it 
obviously went further than either of us intended.  To 
please a customer, I let him fuck my wife.  (And then *he* 
let someone else fuck her, too, just like passing around an 
atta-boy award for good job performance.)  And now I was 
going to watch it happen again.  

I can see them all the way, in the mirror, kissing, 
feeling.  He's got his hands on her breasts before we're 
out of the parking lot.  Driving out of town, he undoes her 
dress and reaches inside to pull out a breast.  He sucks on 
it while she smiles and moans and cradles his head.  They 
are oblivious to the possibility that anyone might look 
into the car.  The window tinting is pretty dark, so it's 
unlikely, I admit.  

I find a very lonely road, go down it a way and stop.  Time 
for a drink.  We all have a cooler.  I see that his free 
hand is on her tits or under her skirt all the time.  It's 
dark, really dark, out here.  I can't see all that well in 
only the dash lights and the city lights in the distance.  
I can see enough, though.  Still, what I wouldn't give for 
a clear videotape of this whole scene.  She closes her 
eyes, her head falls back, she moans rhythmically, he must 
be fingering her, jamming into her cunt and rubbing her 
clit.  Her hips are jerking up again and again, in time 
with her moans.  After a couple minutes, she comes, 
grabbing her breasts and squeezing them as she gasps in her 
orgasm.  God, what a scene.  My wife, coming and jerking 
and feeling her own tits, with another man's hand in her 
cunt pushing into her and sawing on her clit.  I almost 
can't breathe watching it.  Incredibly exciting.

Have another drink, he says.  When she sits back, her skirt 
comes up, and I can see that she has no panties on.  Where 
the hell did they go, I wonder?  When did they come off?  
Maybe on some trip to the ladies room.  Yes, that's about 
the only time I haven't seen her since we left home.  Hmmm.  
Maybe when they went off to the bathrooms together.  But 
maybe at the table, too.  Who knows.  There was enough 
playing going on there that I couldn't keep track of it 
all.  

She reaches for his crotch, unzips, pulls him out.  Kneels 
over him and licks for a while. He's very excited.  So am 
I.  My wife, licking and sucking this man's cock three feet 
away from me.  Holy hell.  He grabs her by the waist and 
positions her kneeling on the seat, straddling his legs.  
He doesn't have to pull her hips down onto him.  She takes 
his cock in hand and guides it to her sex.  I can't see 
this, it's maddening, her skirt covers all the details.  
From the front seat I can only see her back.  But she is 
pumping up and down, he is pumping up and down, it is clear 
that there's a whole lot of fucking going on.  

He is sweating, despite the air conditioning, and it's a 
cool evening anyway.  After a couple minutes, he lurches 
up, pulling her hips down to him at the same time, he's 
coming in her.  My god, he's coming inside my wife.  I 
think that I must have been crazy to encourage this in the 
first place, except that I have a boner harder than Chinese 
arithmetic.  All through this, at the club, then driving 
out here, now watching him fuck her, my dick has been up 
and down with excitement all night.  

Her movements slow and she collapses against his chest.  
He's still inside her.  Is his cock wilting?  Will it fall 
out and uncork all those juices?  He's thinking, too, has 
her move off him and kneel on the seat.  He takes an empty 
wine cooler bottle to collect his cum from her pussy.  He 
tells her to lift up her skirt and hold the bottle so that 
his cum goes into it.  She takes the bottle and puts it 
right up to her hole.  The top disappears between her lips, 
which are still puffy and loose.  Holding the bottle is 
uncomfortable, so she settles down a little until the 
bottle is resting on the seat.  

Suddenly his eyes blaze.  He leans forward and whispers to 
her.  Both his hands are on her breasts, kneading.  She 
closes her eyes again.  He continues talking to her, but I 
can't hear.  Her hips begin to sway a little.  And move 
down a little.  She is settling down further, onto the 
bottle.  

He whispers to her constantly and plays with her breasts.  
She moves her hips side to side, and back and forth, and 
around, and slowly down.  I look down and only half the 
bottle is still visible.  There must be three or four 
inches of it inside her now.  Hard.  And big around, much 
bigger than my cock or Stan's.  She pushes down visibly 
now, her legs as far apart as they can go.  Only a little 
bit of the label still shows.  My god.  She is gasping, 
pumping up and down now on the glass intruder as though it 
were a giant cock.  

She says something to him and he helps her move her feet 
off the seat so she can sit down fully on the seat.  
Gingerly, she does settle down, all the way, to a normal 
sitting posture.  If you can call it normal to have like an 
eight-inch glass bottle up your cunt.  And your legs open 
like ninety degrees.  She squirms on the leather seat, the 
lubrication of her cunt juice and his semen making the seat 
-- and her ass -- slippery.  She's yelling Oh, Oh, Oh, with 
every movement.  The bottle must be churning in her 
insides.  She reaches her right hand down into her crotch 
and starts to play with herself.  

Stan replaces her hand with his and fondles her lips.  Then 
clit.  She starts to moan again, biting her lip, moving her 
hips up and down in a way that I'm sure made the bottle 
move in and out slightly.  And she starts gasping and 
panting and almost screaming, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, fuck 
me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! with every stroke.  She 
comes shouting so loudly that I'm glad we're way out in the 
country.  And then again.  Two, three, four times.  
Finally, she's exhausted, almost asleep.  Stan offers her 
another drink.  Sure, she says, but we better start to head 
home.  

I can barely squeeze my hard-on under the steering wheel to 
drive home.  All the way, she has a hand, either hers or 
his, in her crotch, relishing every bump in the road.  And 
she comes constantly.  I'm thinking that this bottle must 
be huge inside her, maybe hurting her, even.  But it is 
nowhere near the size of a baby coming out, and they always 
tell us that the vagina is very stretchy.  And she is 
enjoying the hell out of this hard thing rammed up her.  
Every bump in the road causes another gasp and Oh!

As we get into town, we have to be a little more careful.  
When we stop at a red light next to another car, for 
instance, Stan kisses her the whole time so that her 
whimpering excitement and moaning and screaming orgasms 
aren't obvious to the cars around us.  If anyone can see 
through the window tint, it just looks like a couple 
smooching in the back seat being driven home by the 
chauffeur.  Well, maybe the woman is whimpering and whining 
more than usual, and bumping up and down a lot.  So she's 
enjoying herself.  

I drive to our house, and Stan drops us off.  She actually 
managed to get our of the car and walk from the curb to the 
front door with the bottle still jammed up her pussy.  She 
uses a hand to hold it in, but says that she really doesn't 
need it.  We immediately fell onto the couch, and I 
fingered her to several more orgasms.  

Finally the bottle came out.  We still have it, in a box in 
the garage.  If anyone finds it, we'll have to make up some 
story about some romantic reason for keeping it.  No one 
would believe the real story.  And I have a hard time 
believing that we are going to publish this and tell the 
world.  

She sucked me off that night, a rare event in itself.  I 
absolutely flooded her with juices that I had been saving 
up all night.  In the morning, we made love, slowly.  She 
was a little sore -- and a little loose.  Amazingly, none 
of this has hurt our relationship.  Still a strong marriage 
after all these years.  


Part 3b - Her Version

[Ms. Screwloose's version]

Tommy's version of that night is pretty accurate.  Of 
course, there are some things that he just didn't see, or 
hear, or feel, so he couldn't relate those.  

He's right that we didn't discuss our expectations for the 
evening beforehand.  But if his expectation was that there 
would be playing but no sex, boy, mine was just the 
opposite.  I was looking forward to getting laid that 
night.  And I had done a lot of thinking about what a 
thrill it would be to do it in front of my long-time 
husband.  To open my legs to another man and take another 
cock into my body, to be hot and dripping and out of 
control wanting to be fucked by another man, all the while 
my faithful husband's watching and drooling.  I wet my 
pants several times in the week before the date just 
thinking about it.  Forgive me, dear husband, but it does 
great things for my ego to have, as you put it, a rich and 
powerful man desire me.  And I wanted to drive him wild and 
fuck his brains out.  

We didn't have much chance to play at the restaurant, but 
when we got to the club, we started in immediately.  His 
hand on my ass while we danced.  Sometimes, he would pull 
up my skirt and run his hand up to my waist under it.  We 
had to be careful with this, to do it only on a side that 
was not visible to the crowd.  But grab-ass, and the 
occasional hand on the breast, no problem.  

Tommy missed a little on the trip to the ladies' room, too.  
Stan was the perfect gentleman as he guided me there.  But 
when I came out, he met me, and he wasn't alone.  He 
introduced me to a business associate of his, Wilson, a 
very distinguished looking man, fifties and gray hair.  He 
introduced me as his "Genie," like the genie in the bottle, 
that catered to his every wish.  "Oh?" asked Wilson, just 
making conversation, so I thought.  "Genie, give Wilson 
your panties," he commanded.  

What?  Did I hear this right?  He's asking me to do what?  
He leaned over and whispered to me, "Young lady, do as I 
say.  Reach up and take your panties off and hand them to 
this man.  I insist."  

There was no one else around.  Still, I didn't think that I 
could slap him or march off without making an embarrassing 
scene.  Don't make waves.  It's not as though I wasn't 
intimate with him.  But to show that publicly in front of 
his friend, that was shameful to me.  Cheapened me.  Our 
sex play was one thing.  Humiliating me for one of his 
friends was another.  But I had no choice.  He looked at me 
sternly.  I reached down with both hands, under my skirt, 
grabbed the sides of my tiny panties, and ran them down to 
my knees.  I let them fall to my feet.  Then picked them up 
and handed them to Wilson.  "You are a most remarkable and 
attractive lady, thank you.  I will treasure these."  He 
lifted them briefly to his nose, nodded goodbye to Stan and 
left.  Stan kissed me hard and reached under my dress to 
finger me for a minute, and then we returned to the table.  
My husband says that I looked a little mussed.  Outside, 
maybe.  Inside I was boiling and seething and my pussy was 
dripping.  And my mind was racing.  Was Wilson now also on 
the list of people that I should go along with to avoid 
offending a client and risking Tommy's job and our income?  
Will I ever see him again?  Will I be expected to play the 
whore for him, too?  

I was a little concerned about Stan's driving when we left 
the casino.  I was really glad when Tommy took over.  And, 
well, that gave Stan and me uninterrupted time to make out 
in the back seat.  Stan was nibbling on my breasts before 
we even left the city lights, but I didn't care.  And he 
had one, two, or three fingers in me most of the time out 
of the city.  When we stopped out in the country, the main 
difference was that now my husband was watching full time.  
So we shifted into high gear.  First, Stan fingered me to a 
delicious orgasm.  Wonderful.  Then I unzipped him and 
climbed on.  

Yes, I felt really naughty pulling another man's cock into 
me while my husband was only a couple feet away and 
watching intently.  I couldn't see him, my back was to him, 
but I heard him breathing and gasping as raggedly as I was.  
He must have been incredibly horny.  My pussy was so wet 
and open by then that Stan's cock slid in with almost no 
effort.  I just slid right down on it and pumped away like 
mad.  And in a couple minutes he came.  A real gusher, too.  
He must have been saving up for days.  

I could feel that his cock was shrinking, not as hard or 
long as it had been just a minute ago.  Then he told me to 
get off but to try to catch his semen in one of the empty 
wine bottles so it wouldn't drip on the seats.  (Ooh, 
kinky, kinky.  God, he can't possibly know about my little 
adventures back in college, can he?  How would he?  No, 
this is just a fluke.)  He put the bottle right up to my 
pussy, between the lips.  It was cold and hard, but, after 
all the handling and the screwing, cold felt good.  Holding 
it was hard, so I settled down a little until the bottle 
was resting on the seat.  

As Tommy said, suddenly Stan's eyes blazed.  He grabbed me 
and told me his idea.  That, instead of my being his little 
Genie in the bottle, that the little bottle should be in 
the Genie.  That I should just relax and gradually take the 
bottle into my body, into my pussy, into my cunt, and fuck 
myself with it while it collects his semen.  God, what an 
idea!  My cunt flamed with the idea.  So I looked at him, 
and I looked at Tommy, and I started to wiggle a little 
dance with the bottle.  My hard, little lover.  My passive 
lover that I can control.  I can take him in deeper, or 
push him out, or pump him until I'm satisfied.  I pushed 
down and pulled up, and then down further and then up, and 
then down as far as I could.  

Stan was constantly going on in my ear, "Genie, take the 
bottle.  Take it all inside you.  Genie, fuck the bottle.  
Fuck yourself with the hard penis.  Up and down, in and 
out.  Jump down on it.  Shove it deeper into you.  Plant 
your pussy on the glass prick.  Plant your sex on it.  
Genie, take it inside you.  Sit down on it.  Take it deep 
inside your body.  Take the whole thing."  He just went on 
and on and I tried to do everything he said.  I had to move 
my feet so I could sit down flat on the seat.  The whole 
thing will be inside me!  God, it must be like eight inches 
long, and wider than two cocks.  I felt it stretching my 
cunt walls and pushing deep into me, deeper than cocks go, 
it hurts but what a delicious hurt!

Then my flesh-and-blood lover joined in and rubbed my clit, 
round and round and sawing back and forth.  I couldn't 
stand it, the pleasure was so intense.  I came several 
times.  It took minutes, I didn't keep track but I was 
thoroughly washed out when I finished.  I'm sure I could 
have come more, too, but I grabbed Stan's wrist to stop him 
and let me recover.  

I fell asleep for a few minutes, then we started home.  
Each bump in the rural road was exquisite agony.  When we 
got into more civilized areas, Stan started fingering my 
clit again and kissing me deeply.  He said that was to keep 
me from waking the neighbors with my screams.  

When we got home, I was just dead.  My last conscious act 
was to do something for Tommy, who hadn't come all night, 
at least not that I saw.  I can't believe he watched all 
that sex, all that slutty performance, and didn't come.  I 
sucked him all the way, and nearly choked on the flood.  
And that's the last thing I remember.  

The next day, we made love several times.  I was still 
sore, but he kissed it and made it better, wink, wink.  
Overall, one of those evenings for the record books.  

(More about the college adventures later.)


