How did it start for you?  

Was it her insecurity?  She told you she didn’t think she was that attractive.  She had a pooch belly and always had her hair in a lazy ponytail down her back.  The clothes she wore were comfortable jeans and a t-shirt.  So what did you do?  You told her she was beautiful and of course she was attractive.

“You have to say that,” she would say.

So you got an idea.  It was innocent enough.  There was nothing wrong with a little fib, who was it going to hurt?  You told her the guy in the grocery store was checking her out.

“Who?  What?  No,” she wouldn’t believe it.

“Alright,” you’d say passively.  You didn’t want her to catch on that it was all a ruse.

“But when you walked by he turned around and stared.”

You thought this would get her confidence up.  She would think someone else wanted to ogle her and it would give her a little charge inside.  Anyone would think that way because everyone likes to think other people want them.  It worked too.

She wanted to go out that weekend.  

Dancing.  To the bar.  Whatever.

You drove her and her friends and saved the table whenever they got up to go to the dance floor.  You watched their drinks.  Dancing was the last thing you wanted to do anyway so you were happy to be the babysitter, table saver, chauffeur for the night.

Weren’t these nights supposed to be behind you?  In your mid-twenties you thought the nighttime bar and club scene was done but here you were in a loud and dark building with tons of people crowding the floor.  You couldn’t even lean on the table because it was so sticky from spilled drinks, so you leaned back in your chair and looked out onto the dance floor.  That is where you saw your wife dancing with her friends and some men nearby talking to them.  

She was beaming, you could see her face and she had that look on her face when she’s being playful.  The barely there smile and compulsion to be overly physical when she would reach out and touch one of their shoulders or forearms.  There was no denying that she was interested in them.  

When she glanced your way she pulled back her hand and nodded nervously to the man.  She turned back to her friends and you wondered if she wished she hadn’t asked you to come.  The conversation later that night would be about how next time you could just drop them off if you wanted.  That you might have more fun just going home and playing video games and she would call you when they wanted to be picked up.

That’s pretty much how it went, right?  At the end of the night anyways, the current night was still happening and the man she was talking to wasn’t to be rid of that easily.  

“Can you get us some more drinks?”  

Even after a couple already at the bar and some pre-drinking at home she still wanted another.  Moderation was never her strong suit when she went out, often leading to her being a drunken mess by the time you dragged her into bed.  Sometimes you would undress her and cover her in the blankets next to you, other times you’d just let her lay on top of them in clothes that smelled of sweat and alcohol.

When you got back to the table they were back on the dance floor, somewhere.  You couldn’t see them but your wife and her friends were no longer at the table and someone else had grabbed it.  Now you were left standing next to the table someone else was sitting at holding three drinks you had no interest in consuming.  

After looking out into the crowd you finally spotted her.  She was on the other side of the room hidden by a swarm of people moving this way and that.  Did she do that on purpose?  Was it so you couldn’t see her talking to the man who had once again joined her and they were now dancing together.  Her friends weren’t there anymore.

When you saw them dancing did you feel anything?  What about when you saw her hips gyrate in a circle and the way it made his face suck inward with need?  It must have caused more than a stir when his hands touched her hips and she moved into him instead of away.  This was your wife.  She was in another man’s arms.  Why are you sitting there watching?

They didn’t kiss, but did you want them to?  Would it have enraged you and cause you to storm across the floor and punch him while grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her out of the building?  Or would you have felt your cock twitch, aroused?  Would you have taken her home that night and fucked her with an intensity that you hadn’t had in years while she was drunk and maybe even thinking about her dance partner instead of you?  

Would that have made it better?

Would you ask her about it as you fucked in your bed later that night?  She would be inebriated and likely to be a little more honest than if her head was clear.  

“Why did you let him touch you?”  You’d grunt as you moved between her legs.

“Huh?”  She would moan, almost sleepy.

“The man you were dancing with.  I saw his hands on you,” your own hands were pulling for her panties.

“I, I didn’t,” she would mumble, still thinking she didn’t want to make you upset.

“But you did.  I saw you, the way you wanted to smile and the way your bodies came together as you danced.  You liked it, didn’t you?”

She wouldn’t respond, still unsure where this is going.  

You would thrust your lust enraged cock into her and she would arch her back and moan.  There was no doubt now, you knew she liked him and he turned her on.  If you had ever thrust your dick into her so quickly without proper foreplay she would cry out and tell you how much it hurt, that she wasn’t ready and she wasn’t wet enough.  But now?  She was soaked.

“You liked dancing with him,” you grunted into her ear.

She continued to hesitate.

“Tell me you did.”

“Uh huh,” was all she gave this time.

“Tell me,” you sucked on her ear lobe.

“I liked dancing with him and the feeling of his hands on my hips and when he grabbed my ass.”

You could have cum as she moaned that last part, the part you never saw from across the room but now it's the only thing in the world you wish you could witness.

“Yeah.  Was he hard when you rubbed your ass against him?”  You were thrusting inside of her now and she was whimpering below you.

“Yes.  I felt it.  I brushed my hand against it and he held my hips to him and told me he wanted to fuck me.”

She was moaning now.  You could almost sense her orgasm was near as she was squeezing you tight with her thighs and panting as she does when she’s getting close.

“Did you tell him you wanted him to fuck you?”  

With each thrust you drew closer to your own orgasm.

“No,” she panted.

“Did you want to?”

She hesitated.

“Tell me,” you grunted and could feel yourself so close.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered softly and you thrust one last time into her.  Your orgasm let loose into her pussy.  She begged you not to stop.

“Don’t stop.  Oh god, don’t stop.  Fuck me.  Fuck me.  God, fuck me.”

You’re not sure if she was telling that to you or if she was in her head, back on the dance floor and whispering it in his ear as she grinded her waist into his erection.  She lost control herself and her body erupted.  Her hands pressed onto your shoulders and she pushed you off almost immediately after the tremors stopped, telling you it hurt.

No words were spoken a long time after you both finished.  You laid on your side of the bed, your panting breaths subsiding as you continued thinking about your wife on the dance floor with another man while she was regaining her own breathing while thinking of the exact same thing.

Finally, after a few minutes of recovering you rolled over onto your side away from her.  You’re not sure if it was because of the weirdness in which you two just shared intercourse or not but it felt more comfortable than facing her.  Before you fell asleep you felt her hand on your shoulder and you rolled towards her and listened to her as she said, “you know, next time if you’d like you can just drop us off.”