MY GOLFING BUDDY AND MY WIFE - CHAPTER 2


My wife and I headed out on Friday evening to the cocktail party at
our Country Club to welcome in new members that had joined in the
last year. It was a typically staid affair, with all the wives
parading in their diamonds and designer duds. The husbands, with
their fat wallets and brokerage accounts, sucked down fine whiskey
while sharing off-color jokes about their bimbo secretaries and
catered to the new members to show off their knowledge of the club
and the golf course.

        Donna was in her element. She was dressed impeccably in a
black, backless number bearing some French designer's moniker.
Actually, it was rather unusual for Donna, for it displayed her
cleavage and a healthy dose of leg.  Of course, Donna had a unique
way of looking classy and not the least bit sensual in whatever she
wore.

        After a couple of vodka and tonics, I was startled by Dave's
booming voice. It  was quite a surprise since Dave normally eschewed
these saree's.

        "Dave, what the Hell are you doing here?"

        "Bob, you cynical bastard! I'm here because I care deeply
about welcoming our new members into the club." Then Dave smirked,
and in a quite voice said: "You know, Bob, I've changed my take on
these quarterly cocktail parties. While I still believe that the
vast majority of pussies present haven't had a good ploughing in the
last decade, I've concluded that this fact presents someone like me
with endless possibilities."

        "God, Dave, you are such a complete predator!" I replied.

         With that comment, Dave glanced over towards Donna, who was
engaged in some banal conversation with the hostess of the party,
and remarked: "So, speaking of cunts yearning to be filled, how's
our little girl, Bob?"

         Flushed with anger and indignance, all I could muster was:
"Fuck you, asshole!"

        "Now, now, Bobby boy, remember our wager. Besides you're so
confident about Donna's fidelity that there's nothing to worry
about, right?"

         With that, Dave made a beeline towards Donna.  On the one
hand, I felt like intervening. On the other, I truly wanted the
vindication of Donna spurning Dave's base advances. In the end, I
drowned my indecision in more vodka and tonic, especially as I
wasn't really certain that Donna would reject Dave's advances. After
all he was a hell of a good looking rugged guy and he had a smooth
glib line with the ladies when he wanted to. As the evening wore on,
my stomach felt oddly queasy. This feeling was exacerbated every
time I lost sight of Donna. Yet, throughout, I could not ignore the
aching in my balls that was somewhere between pain and pleasure.

        To my frustration, Dave had succeeded in cornering Donna
into a long one on one conversation. This was quite surprising since
Donna was notorious for her ability to work a crowd. Many times,
people would come up to Donna and apparently interject themselves
into the conversation. Normally, Donna would use the interruption as
an opportunity to move on. At the very least, Donna would always
graciously welcome the new party into the discourse. Yet, on this
evening, Donna's body language caused the interlopers to move on
after only a comment or two, leaving her and Dave to themselves.

        Finally, the event was coming to an end, and the caterers
began to pack up. Donna remained clearly in sight, and fully
clothed, albeit in conversation with Dave. At last, I felt a sense
of relief and victory, as Donna left Dave and walked over to me. My
elation was short-lived, however.

        "Honey, I don't feel like calling it a night yet. Dave's
invited us to join him for drinks and dancing at a nightclub. What
do you say, it'll be fun, especially after you've had to put up with
this boring purgatory for hours."

        I had no choice but to agree. I certainly couldn't beg off
and tell that I had wagered her fidelity for some silly bet between
some golfing friends. Likewise, I would be breaching the deal with
Dave if I interfered.

        "Sure, honey, that sounds great." While I was less than
enthusiastic, I rationalized away the risk that Dave might actually
succeed. After all Donna had done nothing improper, yet.

        Perhaps ill advisedly, I had more vodka and tonics when we
reached the nightclub. The dim lights and smokey air of the club
further clouded my self induced alcoholic haze. The loud music also
rang in my ears and distorted the conversation.  Dave had
strategically sat next to Donna in the booth, relegating me to the
other side of the table. My inability to make out or participate in
the dialogue heightened my paranoia.

        Dave was chatting up Donna with aplomb, and had even
maneuvered his arm around her shoulder. When it came time for
dancing, I was in no condition to spell Donna from Dave's devious
onslaught. Aside from my agreement not to intercede, my coordination
was completely shot from the drinking and I was in no shape to
dance. I had to leave all the dancing of my sexy wife Donna to Dave!

         At first, it was fast dancing, leaving Dave little
opportunity for bodily contact. However, late in the evening, the
music slowed and Dave pressed himself close to Donna. My senses may
have been dulled, or my paranoia rampant, but I could swear that I
saw Donna grinding her belly into Dave's bulging groin. Maybe I was
just feeling sorry for myself, but as I downed my fifth vodka and
tonic, I began to visualize illicit pictures of Dave fucking Donna
ferociously with Donna bucking back like a thousand dollar slut.

        When Dave and Donna had danced their way to the most remote
and dark corner of the dance floor they were just out of my range of
viability. Not knowing what was going on between them was driving me
crazy and I moved from out table to a point closer to where they
were but positioned in a position that they couldn't really see me.
Even with my closer vantage point, I couldn't be absolutely sure
(and the alcohol didn't help my perceptions any) but I could swear
that  I saw Dave and Donna engaged in a french kiss while Dave
slowly stroke her ass and fondled the sides of her breasts. I
returned to my seat to steady myself and try to rationalize what I
had seen. By the time they returned, I wasn't sure that I had seen
them engaged so sexually or whether my imagination and alcohol
induced state had conjured up an unreal image for my sexual
fantasies to feast upon.

        Blessedly, closing time finally arrived. As we staggered to
the door, I surrendered to Donna the keys to the car. Dave said
something about a nightcap at his place and, for an instant, my
heart stopped. But, for some reason, Donna declined. I poured myself
into the leather passenger seat of our BMW. Before Donna got in she
said "Ooops, just a second I think I left something in the club."

        I was able to watch Donna in the passenger rearview mirror
as she walked back to the club.  But, she didn't go in. Instead, she
went up to Dave as he was unlocking the door to his Caddy.  Again,
they kissed, this time I was sure about it... but not very long
though. I could see Donna and Dave exchange brief words. With a sly
smile, Dave placed his hand on Donna's right tit as she turned to
walk back to the car.

        Donna made a little small talk on the drive home, but her
thoughts were clearly elsewhere.  Although my cock was turgid all
evening long, the alcohol caused me to elect sleep over a
desperately needed fuck once we got home. Yet, during the night, I
slept fitfully, awakening often. At least twice, I heard Donna
breathing heavily and the rhythmic sound of her hand vigorously at
work between her legs.

        The next day, was a little rough for my golf game. I lost as
usual to Dave's superior play.  And while he kidded me about really
tieing one on last night, he mercifully didn't mention any of the
details of our little outing to the other two guys in our golf
foursome. Again after the game Dave and I lingered around after the
other two guys had left. I knew he'd now say something about last
night, but I hoped that he would simply take pleasure in the fact
that he had groped my wife, and let the "wager" drop. But, this hope
was dashed almost immediately.

         "Bobby boy! You must be feeling fairly bad after all that
booze last night. Funny without any drinks at all, I was "feeling"
real good last night, if you catch my drift."

         The sinking feeling in my stomach again sank in, and I
could actually feel my manhood shrink.

        "Look," I implored, "why don't we just call the bet a draw"

