My name is Martin Reed and I am a practicing Doctor in the UK.
My wife, Lizzie, is a beautiful mature lady, 6ft tall in her stockinged feet with long, naturally dark blonde hair falling to the nape of her back.
Lizzie and I have a truly experimental sex life, as I have described in other stories on this forum. We do not believe that sex with others is a betrayal – our relationship is based on mutual love, and we are strongly of the belief that gratification and a little hedonism is healthy and makes our bond as a couple stronger – in short we are unlikely to deny each other anything and as such we have developed an active swinging and voyeur lifestyle, with Lizzie sometimes watching me with other women but, for the most part, me watching her with other men as this is the thing which gets us both off. I am particularly obsessed with seeing Lizzie with strangers, although we have had several fun experiences with people we know, and, notably, one of Lizzie’s ex boyfriends, it is really the indescribable thrill of watching a total stranger come on to my wife, and controlling the situation to allow his fantasies to come true before we never see him again which does it for both of us.
People who have the pleasure of Lizzie but then pop up again because we know or work with them are demanding, and think that because it has happened once it should happen again, unaware of the situational and contextual thrill for us. Lizzie is not having an affair, she is having an encounter, and there is a big difference to us so we try to avoid repeat performances.
Lizzie and I had been watching footage from our security cameras together – we have several hidden in the house, partly for their main purpose of security but mainly because we like to see what tradesmen do when alone. This is something we do from time to time and Lizzie had a feeling about this particular guy – an electrician who had spent several days re-wiring our house while we were at work. Sure enough the footage revealed that he had masturbated several times in the house, his favourite technique seeming to be lying on our bed looking at a picture of Lizzie in a bikini from a holiday in the Caribbean a few years ago which we keep on a dresser, with a pair of her used knickers from the laundry basket in his hand, clasped around his cock.
He had a fairly large cock and we were both impressed with the sheer volume of come he spurted onto his own chest, his hips thrusting upward as it flowed out of him, before using Lizzie’s knickers to wipe it up as best he could and putting them back in the basket.
After the footage ended we had the TV playing some movie on mute while we came up with a plan to have Lizzie disturb him and see how things progressed – she wanted to sample that big cock, and I wanted to watch her do so. Lizzie froze, suddenly transfixed by the TV over my shoulder. I turned to look and caught the end of a short sequence where a couple were fucking in a peep show both in Amsterdam. She was pressed against the window of the booth, watching the sex show, while he fucked her hard from behind, again, watching the action in front of them.
Lizzie was a little breathless when she murmured, “I want to do that”.
Two weekends later we were checking in to a hotel in London. We had booked for three nights and were both almost uncontrollably excited about the coming days. It had been a long while since we had anything like a meaningful sexual adventure and we were both more than ready for a wild weekend. I had combined our trip with a corporate black-tie event I had been invited to some months previously and so Lizzie had packed some of her sexiest evening wear – something I particularly love to see her in, especially as I am very familiar with the effect it has on other men.
I am very observant of other men around Lizzie and so I noticed immediately that the check-in clerk was unable to keep his eyes off of her chest, despite what appeared to be his best efforts. When he asked if we wanted help with our bags to our room on the second floor I said “yes please” before Lizzie could answer. As she headed for the lift, the young clerk – a handsome if stick-thin lad in his late teens or early twenties, and I in close pursuit, I said, “let’s take the stairs”.
Lizzie glanced behind at me curiously but did as I suggested and led the way. As we started to climb I hung back so that the clerk was between Lizzie and I and watched as her gorgeous arse, clad in very tight leather jeans, swayed just inches in front of his nose.
The lad was very obviously enjoying the show – I could see that his neck was reddening from my position behind him and he had stopped speaking entirely.
When we got to our room, Lizzie, who had by now, being very used to my little games, realised what I was doing, opened the door and stood aside for the clerk to go inside with the bags, with me giving her a meaningful nod toward him as I too walked past her.
The clerk had dropped the bags and was hovering expectantly, a small bulge in his smart grey uniform very obvious, as well as his discomfort.
He was clearly waiting for a tip, but Lizzie walked close to him and, to his surprise, gently cupped his hard cock through his trousers.
Slowly moving her hand, she looked down into his eyes and spoke to him in a very soft voice, “I would like you, young man, to jerk yourself off tonight in your room, while thinking about me. I would very much like you to come with a picture of me in your mind, do you have a girlfriend?”
All the while her hand was moving with small, regular strokes over the crotch of his trousers.
“Uh, yes.. yes.. Monica, my girlfriend is Monica..”
“Well”, said Lizzie, “Next time you fuck Monica I want you to imagine it’s me that your cock is inside. When you come I want it to be my face you see.”
“Oh God”, said the lad, breathless, his chest heaving, “yes… yes, I will Madam.. I will..”
As he said this, his breath caught and he grunted a little. Lizzie’s hand stopped moving and she giggled a little, saying, “That’s it, that’s right, let it come, let it happen.”
When she eventually removed her hand there was a large, obvious dark stain on his crotch.
I quickly took him by the arm, and, smiling, pushed 10 pounds into his hand, muttering, “I think you should go and change”, as I gently manoeuvred him out of the door, closing it on his still shell-shocked face.
Lizzie collapsed, laughing, onto the bed. I joined in - it had been an act of charity for the boy, but it had also amused us both and was just what we needed as, ordering champagne and hoping they’d send someone else with clean trousers to bring it, we started to prepare for our night on the town.
Lizzie dressed in one of my favourite outfits of hers – a halter top black evening dress which wasn’t too low at the front but which exposed her shoulders and neck, the deep tan we had both acquired in Dubai earlier that month still very much present, the hem falling midway down her thighs and, of course, stockings and suspenders. She wore black silk French knickers and black heels, her hair pinned up.
I wore my normal “formal” garb as I knew we would not be coming back to the hotel before our evening event– a Paul Smith dinner suit I am particularly fond of, bow-tie and cummerbund – the works.
Heading out, we walked hand in hand to a busy looking bar and took seats by the window at a small table for two. I left Lizzie watching the late evening bustle outside, the warmth of the day still drifting in through the open doors, which also carried the strong smell of dope from the coffee shops just up the street.
As I waited to order at the bar, I looked around to see who was paying attention to Lizzie. She sat at the table absently crossing her long, stocking clad legs as she focused on a stag party moving noisily past, all dressed identically as ballerinas and shouting good-natured banter at the crowds. In this city they were nothing notable – just one of the dozens of stag and hen parties we would bump into that weekend.
I saw several guys in the bar checking Lizzie out, which is normal, and to my satisfaction I found an example of my favourite type of voyeur – a man with his wife or girlfriend was staring intently at my wife over his own’s shoulder whenever she looked away from him.
A guy who was probably in his forties, his wife and he well dressed and smelling of money even from this distance, he was obviously captivated by Lizzie’s legs and could not stop looking whenever he got the chance.
Eventually his wife noticed his lack of attention and, catching his eye, turned to see what was so interesting. On spotting Lizzie her face darkened and she scowled, now speaking in angry tones to her husband who, despite his protestations still could not fully avert his gaze from my wife.
I collected our drinks and returned to Lizzie, glancing over at the couple I noticed that my presence had seemed to mollify the wife somewhat and her voice quietened, although she was obviously still pissed with her husband.
I leaned in close to Lizzie and explained who the various men I’d seen checking her out were, and made sure to point out the husband caught in the act. She followed my discrete pointing and looked at the man, his wife now with her back to us again, deeply engrossed in some animated story she was relaying to her husband.
I looked out of the window as if oblivious, while Lizzie waited until the man inevitably glanced over again. She held his gaze, slid her legs around in the chair so that her knees were pointing toward him and then opened her thighs, making sure that he got at least a 5 second eyeful of her stockings, suspenders and the black triangle of her silk knickers.
She told me that his eyes nearly popped out of his head and she only just had time to close her legs and avert her gaze as the wife again noticed her husband’s stare.
We pretended not to notice as she shouted at her husband and dragged him past our table and out of the door. We could still hear them – her shouting angrily and him making defensive and placatory noises as they moved down the street for several minutes.
Lizzie and I chuckled about the incident as we ordered 2 or3 more rounds and watched the street-life as the night wore on.
As it reached about midnight we left the bar and went in search of what we had come here for – a peep show with private booths.
I had done a little research before we left and I knew exactly where we were headed. The club in question was a 5-minute walk from the bar and so we set out, guided by my phone map. We held hands and I kept up a muted running commentary as I noticed Lizzie attracting attention. As usual, as many women as men looked at her, and a surprising number of them did so with lust in their eyes. Lizzie is not bisexual but she has had several experiences with women, or at least with a man and a woman, and has no hang-ups about exploring another woman’s body, or allowing the same to be done to her – curious, is how I suppose she could be described. I had, in fact, seen my wife have perhaps her most explosive, toe-curling, thigh straining orgasm ever while sitting on the face of an older woman in a holiday villa in Greece. The woman had her tongue deep inside Lizzie and, as I recall, a finger fully inserted into her arse. Lizzie is not a natural or easily provoked squirter, but when she came I vividly remember the intensely erotic sound of the woman (who must have been well over 50), having to hold her breath and actually swallow not once, but twice, before slowly moving her tongue again.
It was at precisely that moment that I had come inside the woman – I had been fucking her, holding my wife’s shoulders in front of me as Lizzie straddled her face. The woman was Greek and in some way related to the owner. We never did find out exactly who she was but she had let herself into the villa as Lizzie rode my cock on the dining table, and when she stayed to watch, rather than running embarrassed from the house, we knew we could have some fun with her.
We turned into side street and the club we were looking for was directly in front of us. We approached the doorman and he looked us up and down, taking considerably more time over Lizzie than me – not a gay doorman then, I thought to myself – and waved us past him.
The reception area of the club was well furnished and decorated and had a deliberately upmarket feel – one of the reasons we had chosen this venue. We walked over to a desk which was tended by two stunning looking black girls, each dressed immaculately and simply oozing sex appeal, and paid for our entrance tickets – the cost was over 100 pounds each, but I had been assured that it was very much worth it. The tickets allowed us the use of a “luxury” booth for the evening, and we could summon drinks at any time using a service button in the booth itself, although obviously the drinks would be an additional cost, Sir..
We were given a key and led by one of the girls (as she stepped out from behind the desk to reveal a very, very short skirt, I had to catch my breath – which Lizzie recognised with a squeeze of my hand) through a large, oak double door behind us and into a dimly lit corridor, thickly carpeted and covered with velvet drapery on each wall. As we were led forward it became obvious that the corridor was a large circle – a donut shape with the stage for the performers obviously in the middle. The stage itself was completely surrounded by the wedge-shaped booths, and could not be seen unless you were inside one of them.
Stopping at a booth, the girl took the key from Lizzie, unlocked and pushed open the door then, smiling and wishing us a good evening, stood aside to let us enter, handing the key back to Lizzie and closing the door behind us.
The booth was dark and quiet – the walls were covered in thick sound-deadening upholstery and the carpet was thick. An air-conditioner hummed and the faint sounds of human pleasure, whether real or simulated, could be heard from the direction of the far end of the booth – the end nearest the stage.
A well – upholstered bench ran the length of each side of the booth, and long curtains which reached from floor to ceiling were closed at the front. Walking to them, I drew them aside to reveal that this end of the booth was made entirely of glass or plastic and looked onto the stage – in fact it, like the other booth windows I could now see around me, formed the walls of the stage itself. Opposite us there were two performers – a naked man and a woman. He was fucking her hard from behind, standing up against the window of the booth opposite. She had her palms splayed out against the glass and her legs wide as he thrust into her and clearly visible inside the booth were three people – what was clearly a young husband and wife and an even younger man who looked, I would have guessed, to be a prostitute.
As Lizzie and I watched the performers fucking against their window, the husband was sucking enthusiastically and expertly on the cock of the young man, while his wife fucked her husband hard in the arse with a strap-on. And she fucked him hard. His wife’s gaze was fixed on the performers and she looked like she was having the time of her life.
After a few minutes of this it was clear that the younger man had come in the mouth of the older – he took the cock out of his mouth and immediately turned to kiss his wife deeply, obviously pushing the come back and forward between them before one of them eventually swallowed it.
Lizzie was standing close behind me now, watching intently and holding my waist.
The performing couple were moving faster and faster now – the man almost lifting her off of her feet with each thrust into her, her head bowed between her arms, which were braced against the glass – her long hair dangling in front of her, jerking forward to brush the glass with each stroke.
With an audible grunt the man pulled his cock out of her – Lizzie gasped a little – it was giant – and held the tip near the glass, spurting streams of come onto the window, which slowly ran to the floor.
The married couple smiled and applauded their thanks as the outside curtains on each of our booths closed, blocking our view of the stage as the performers vacated it.
Lizzie turned to me and her familiar fixed, glazed look told me that she was very turned on. As if I needed any confirmation, she took my right hand and, standing as we were facing each other, put it between her legs, moving her ankles apart a little to allow my fingers access to her. I pushed two fingers under the silken hem of her knickers and discovered, without surprise, that she was very wet. Often Lizzie will get so turned on that she wants to come very fast at the start of sex, so she can relax into it and build to more intense orgasms. I realised that this was the case now and I immediately pushed my fingers inside her, my other hand reaching around to the small of her back as she stood almost on tiptoes, sliding herself rapidly up and down my wet fingers. Within seconds Lizzie gave a small moan, almost a sob, and I felt her cunt contract and her come run rapidly over the back of my hand and onto my wrist where it was absorbed by the cuff of my shirt.
“Thank you..”, Lizzie breathed, relaxing and blowing her cheeks out as she sat down on the bench, turning her head to look out of the window just as the curtains opened again.
“Oh, my..”, murmured Lizzie. Standing on the stage were a tall, elegant Asian woman wearing a white evening dress and red heels, and a naked God of a man – the truly annoying type who is not only very handsome but also tall with a sculpted body, six pack, great hair and, of course, the object of my wife’s attention, a very large, very hard cock which was fully erect, the tip of it lying flat against his stomach, ending well past his belly button.
“I bet he could easily suck that thing himself”, said Lizzie, with a smile on her lips, turning her head slightly toward me but never taking her eyes off it.
Keeping her gaze firmly fixed on his cock, Lizzie was seemingly unaware of the man slowly surveying the occupants of each booth, lingering for a very long time as he saw my wife. The Asian woman sank to her haunches in front of him, pulling her dress up over her stockinged thighs so that she could splay her legs, and, pulling the shaft down toward her – incredibly it seemed to actually resist her, it was so erect – she opened her bright red lips and engulfed the tip with her mouth.
Lizzie sighed in a distracted way and without comment, knelt on the bench with her face pressed against the glass, dragging at her dress until it was bunched around her waist. Not needing a second invitation, I stood behind her, took out my own stiff cock, pushed her knickers aside and slid into her in one movement, making her moan a little and support herself with palms flat against the window glass as I started to fuck her.
The Asian woman was now on her knees, sucking enthusiastically on the guy’s cock, which, if anything, seemed to be getting even bigger. He was holding her head, pulling her toward him as he thrust, with a seemingly impossible amount of his cock, which must have been over 12 inches, disappearing into her throat, so that her lips brushed his flat stomach with every push.
I was fucking Lizzie hard and she was still completely transfixed - I don’t think she’d looked away from his cock since the curtains had first opened.
In less than a minute I could feel her starting to come on my cock, and I slowed down, pushing slowly and deeply into her with every movement of my hips, knowing that she loved the moment of orgasm to be drawn out as long as possible before she went over the edge. The sensation for me was, as always, incredible – I could feel Lizzie’s cunt squeeze rhythmically on my cock, slowly at first, and strong enough that it started to make it almost uncomfortable for me to withdraw, the contractions getting faster and faster as she approached her orgasm – her breathing shallow and infrequent now – she just seemed to be inhaling in short gasps, and never exhaling at all.
To both of our surprise, the guy pulled his cock out of the woman’s mouth and we saw his shaven balls contract as, holding his cock with one hand and the back of the woman’s head with the other, he unloaded huge spurts of thick white come onto her face and hair, where it immediately started to drip down her back and to the floor, as well as running down her chin to her cleavage. He was coming for a full minute – powerful stream after powerful stream of his come covering the woman as she knelt in front of him – occasionally trying to turn her head or open her mouth, neither of which he permitted.
Lizzie came hard on my cock as we watched – her voice raised with the repeated single word “FUCK”, as she braced herself against me, pushing her arse up toward me and hard back against me so that I almost lost balance – I had to let go of her hips and lean over her, my weight fully on her back so that both of our faces were pressed to the window, watching the last of the man’s come leave his cock and run down it’s shaft, covering his own hand.
The curtains closed as he locked eyes with my wife, sending another shuddering orgasm through her body at precisely the same moment I emptied myself into her.
After we had collapsed onto the padded bench, recovering, our breathing settling and the sweat visibly drying on Lizzie’s arms and neck, Lizzie finally spoke.
“That was incredible – we should have done this before. His cock was, well, stunning. I came so hard when he looked at me..”
“I noticed”, I chuckled, “but what you didn’t notice was that he was looking at you the whole time, from the moment he came on stage to the moment he, well, came on stage.”
“Oh God – really?”, asked Lizzie, whirling to look at me, eyes wide, to see if I was joking.
“Really. Now, if we’re going to be on time for this thing, we need to get going my darling.”
“Eurgh. OK, Ok..”, said Lizzie, reluctantly standing to re-arrange her clothes, smoothing her dress down over her thighs and fussing with her hair. I buttoned up my trousers, saying, “I know, I know – it’s not your idea of fun, but these are important people and it’s part of the gig, as you know..”.
“Yes, I know, but boxing? Really? It’s such a brutal and barbaric thing – I’m not sure I’ll be able to watch it all night – I assume there’s a bar?”
“Of course, and you can do whatever you wish once you’ve helped me meet and greet our honoured guests and played the dutiful wife for a bit. Honestly – once it starts they’ll just be focused on the fighting and you can slip off. Anyway, you’ve never even been to a fight – you may enjoy it!”, I said.
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right, unlikely. Come on, let’s get going.”
I took my wife’s hand and we left the booth together, walking back through reception the incredibly hot girl who’d signed us in on arrival gave us that smile again and, moving close to Lizzie, said, “Anthony – he’s the performer you saw – wanted me to give you this before you left”, as she said this she pushed a small handwritten note into Lizzie’s hand, grinned at me and walked away.
Lizzie and I left through the heavy oak doors and, spotting a cab with its “vacant” light on passing slowly by, I hailed it and we were on our way to the boxing venue – a huge sporting stadium in North London.
Lizzie read the note and smiled, letting out a small, girlish giggle and putting one hand to her mouth as she passed it to me. I looked at her curiously and read it:
“Whoever you are, I have never come that hard or that quickly before, knowing that you were watching. This is my number. If you ever want to see a “private show”, please call. Your husband can watch . Anthony”
“Christ!”, I said, genuinely amazed, “He must see hundreds of women a week – I wonder how many get notes like that?”
“Oh come on, darling”, said Lizzie, “You don’t think I’m the only one do you? That’s obviously his pick-up.. however, it may come in handy one of these evenings…”
I nodded thoughtfully – imagining seeing that huge cock pounding into my wife. “Yes, yes I think it may..”
We smiled at each other and I took her hand as the cab sped through the night toward the stadium.
By way of explanation - I spend a good deal of my time away from private practice, doing research, much of it my own, but some of it funded by drug companies. I work with teams from across the world and have played a very minor part in some pretty significant discoveries – it’s a part of my job that I really enjoy and although we would be much wealthier if I devoted all my time to patients, I’d also be much less happy and Lizzie has always supported me “playing with my science nerds” as she puts it.
This particular evening was important to me as a few colleagues and I were trying to raise funding to carry out some research. It’s not particularly worthy or world-changing but we were sure it could speed up the effectiveness of certain anti-inflammatory treatments and, of nothing else, make some handsome profits eventually.
Some potential backers from a giant French pharmaceutical company were in town and had agreed to meet with me and two of my colleagues, but had also insisted that we get to know them socially a little by joining them at a boxing match. It was a very significant bout – a heavyweight title was on the line and the build-up, although I’m not a huge boxing fan, had been going on for weeks on the TV and in the press. The parent company which owned the French outfit was a part sponsor and so Lizzie and I, along with my colleagues Craig and his wife Julia and Rachel and her plus one, were guests of honour and had been told to wear black tie and expect champagne treatment all night.
Our cab stopped directly outside the stadium and, consulting the paperwork I’d been sent, Lizzie and I found the relevant entrance and were met by smiling PR reps from our hosts and whisked to a ringside enclosure – we were literally within touching distance of the canvas, which surprised me – I had thought a box in the roof would have been more suitable.
As if reading my mind, Henri, the most senior of our hosts, strode toward me, and clasping my hand, leaned in to kiss each of my cheeks in turn, saying “Martin! Martin it’s so good that you could make it tonight – and we have the best seats in the house – incredible isn’t it?”
Henri was loud and genial, and easily heard even over the huge background din of the stadium filling up around us.
As if noticing her for the first time. His gaze fell to Lizzie, well, to be more accurate, his gaze fell over Lizzie. Starting at the very tips of her toes, Henri, still grasping my hand and forearm tightly, ran his eyes slowly, very slowly, up past her ankles, pausing visibly on her thighs, then over her breasts and neck before finally settling on her face, which had broken out into an almost involuntary smile.
“I knew you’d reach my face eventually, Henri”, she chuckled.
Henri went red immediately and, releasing his hold on me, took both of my wife’s hands in his, bowing to kiss them in turn he said, “Madame, please, please forgive me. Martin had not warned me that his wife was such a stunning beauty and I found myself captivated – you must understand that even though I am a Frenchman – and therefore far more cultured than an Englishman, I am still only flesh and blood!”
Laughing, Lizzie proffered her cheeks to be kissed and said, “that nearly excuses you, it was a very pretty speech which, I have no doubt, I have not been the first recipient of”.
“Madame, you would not expect me to give away all of my secrets on our first meeting now, would you?”, said Henri and then, “Champagne! We need Champagne”.
Henri waved a uniformed waiter over and ordered two bottles of Krug placed on our table, excused himself to greet other guests and left Lizzie and I to our own devices.
The venue was impressive. Lizzie and I had both been there before to watch either sporting events or big concerts, but tonight the roof was closed and boxing ring itself looked almost lost in the centre, surrounded on all sides by thousands of seats, rising up in tiers to practically the roof line.
There were several VIP areas, one of which we were in, that seemed to have much nicer seats than the normal areas and were, of course, ringside. Waiting staff carried champagne and finger food from table to table and everyone was dressed immaculately, bow-ties and cummerbunds out in force.
“It’s odd isn’t it?”, said Lizzie, speaking loudly into my ear over the din of the PA and the crowd, “that so many people dress so expensively and sit here drinking champagne to watch two half-naked men try to kill each other – it puts me in mind of gladiators, you know, the Roman Empire”
I nodded my agreement but then actually paused to contemplate what she had said and I had to agree that yes, it was a little odd and maybe even a bit repulsive and macabre that we were basically all here spending a fortune, hoping to see one man punch another unconscious for our entertainment.
I told Lizzie that she could wander about if she wanted to, just as soon as everyone else at our table arrived. As I said that, Craig, Julia, Rachel and Nicola arrived in a line behind the still grinning Henri, who showed them all to our table, then stole another lingering look at my wife, before making an appreciative sound for her benefit, laughing and moving off to work the room again.
Over the next hour we all got nicely lubricated on the free-flowing Krug and I was pleased to see, although not at all surprised, that everyone at our table got on very well with Lizzie – she’s excellent at small talk and pretty soon there was laughter and the over-familiarity brought on by alcohol and the sense of occasion – everyone was relaxed and until the lights dimmed suddenly and the PA boomed out that the fight was about to begin, I’d almost forgotten what we were even there for.
One of the senior executives from the pharmaceutical company, an older man of about 60, obviously very wealthy and dressed from head to toe in tasteful, expensive clothes, handmade shoes and an enormous gold watch which somehow managed to stay just the right side of tasteless, had been sitting next to Lizzie, who was on my left at the round table. He was called Paul and he had been determined to try and convince us, well, mainly Lizzie as I kept getting dragged into the conversation on my right, that the art of boxing was an ancient, noble and highly-skilled sport, and that its traditions dated back even further than Lizzie’s analogy with the Roman Empire. He was something of an expert, and explained exactly why tonight’s fight was so important for each man to win in terms of his career, and how much the total purse was to be – which was a truly stunning figure in the tens of millions.
Lizzie had been surprised at the amount of women who were there – in fact, it did seem as, if anything, the women in the audience may outnumber the men. Paul chuckled at this and said that in his view, women were by far the most passionate fans of boxing and were likely to get more worked up during the bout than the men. “It is well known”, he said, “that very many women find the spectacle, well, arousing – and I think this has something to do with its popularity with the fairer sex”.
Paul had a very thick French accent and there was a constant sparkle in his eye, a smile on his lips, so it was difficult to tell when he was making a joke, but before anyone on the table had a chance to challenge him on his statement, the lights went completely out except for a small, bright spotlight at the entrance to the arena – to our far right. Loud rock music started blaring from the PA system and in the distance we could see one of the fighters emerge, surrounded by an entourage of huge men, and start to prowl and bounce toward the ring, shadowboxing and raising his hands in the air to be greeted with cheers, boos and ovations – reminding me for all the world of a pantomime.
We watched his slow progress down the aisle until he passed right in front of us, then clambered up into the ring and stood on the ropes, hands aloft as the building roared in greeting.
As he’d passed us I had noticed Lizzie take an appreciative glance at his physique, in particular his thighs, which were inches from her as he passed. Now she just stared in admiration as he threw off his gown and stood before us in his shorts – his body looked like it had been crafted from obsidian, every inch of him was muscled and he exuded an almost over-powering sense of self-confidence, arrogance and power. Lizzie eventually looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. “Interesting”, I thought, “maybe there is something in that stuff Paul was coming out with.”
I looked at Paul, the other side of Lizzie, and he caught my eye, grinned and nodded at my wife seated between us, who by now was simply staring at the mostly naked man in the ring again, raising his eyebrows in a universal “See – I told you so”, gesture.
I squeezed Lizzie’s hand and she seemed to break out of a trance and turn to smile at me just as the second fighter, perhaps even bigger and more powerful than the man waiting in the ring, was announced and made his slow, loud progress to the ring. Walking past us, and attracting the undivided attention of my wife as before, he leapt into the ring and started squaring up to his opponent. There followed a farcical melee which seemed to involve about 30 different managers, trainers, announcers and referees, which eventually settled down as the MC introduced each man.
Within moments the bell had rung and the fighters were on their feet, dancing, swinging and jabbing at each other’s bodies. The roar from the crowd was deafening and sustained – it was louder than any rock concert I have ever been to and there were plenty of people I could see who were almost delirious with excitement as they screamed for their favourite.
The atmosphere was electric and contagious, and the heat in the stadium generated by all those lights and the many thousands of yelling spectators was oppressive - I felt a trickle of sweat roll down my back under my shirt. I had literally never experienced anything like it – anything so feral and naked. Despite what Paul had said earlier, I think Lizzie was right – we would not have looked out of place baying for a gladiator to finish his stricken opponent in imperial Rome.
I noticed that Lizzie had leaned away from me slightly so that she could try and focus on what Paul was shouting into her ear – he was pointing at the fighters and gesturing, explaining what was happening and highlighting incidents and meaningful events and plays. Well, I assume that’s what he was doing because Lizzie was nodding a lot – I honestly couldn’t hear a word he was saying from four feet away.
At the end of the first round the fighters returned to their corners and the noise died down enough for a few seconds for me to lean over and yell “are you OK? – do you want to leave?” into Lizzie’s other ear. She mouthed, “No – I’m fine” at me, winked and smiled a little devilishly, nodding very discretely toward her lap, before turning back to the ring as the second round started. I looked down and in the dim light I was able to make out that Paul was now only gesticulating with his left hand – as his right was very firmly attached to my wife’s thigh. She had made no move to remove it and my cock immediately started to stiffen in my trousers, as it always does when Lizzie plays her games in public, and especially with total strangers.
As the fight went on it was clear that the men were well matched, and this was going to be a war of attrition. Unless one of them was really lucky, it was going to be a long fight. I had never realised just how hard these men hit – the sound of the impact was mind-boggling and I found myself wondering how the hell they manage to resist for so long. I truly believe that a normal man could be killed with a single punch from one of these guys – it was awe inspiring.
I saw, from the corner of my eye, Lizzie cross her legs. I was a little disappointed but I risked a longer look – thinking that Paul may be on the alert for me noticing and remove his hand – and saw, to my excitement, that she had crossed them to allow Paul’s hand to move between her thighs – she had crossed her legs with his hand between them and I could see from the motion of his wrist, that enormous watch sparkling as it caught the light, that his hand was not idle.
Lizzie was absolutely transfixed by the fight – the punches were hard and fast and both fighters were dripping in sweat. Whenever one of them landed a blow on the other the crowd erupted – the noise almost deafening as points were scored or lost.
I shuffled to my left a little in my seat so that my thigh was lightly touching Lizzie’s and my cock jumped again (I was now fully hard and had to discretely reposition my cock inside my trousers to ease my discomfort) as I felt her pushing, regularly and rhythmically, against Paul’s hand – still buried between her thighs, his wrist moving faster now – the tendons straining as he bent his hand and fingers to push against my wife’s cunt through the fabric of her dress.
Lizzie began to move faster – her eyes never leaving the fight, and then she paused and I felt her thighs strain and her legs tremble a little, and I knew that she was coming in her knickers.
Paul withdrew his hand and shouted something inaudible to me into Lizzie’s ear. Lizzie immediately leaned over to me and shouted in my ear – her breath was still catching - “Martin, put your jacket over my legs”.
“You can’t be cold?”, I half mouthed, half yelled, gesturing at the sweat clearly visible on her neck and shoulders.
“Just do it, please darling”.
She stared directly into my eyes – her expression full of lust and urgency.
I smiled at her, nodding toward my own very evident erection to make sure she understood that I had noticed what was going on, and very much approved.
I slipped my jacket off and draped it over Lizzie’s lap. Lizzie sat back in her well-upholstered, high backed chair and I smoothed the jacket all the way down so that the hem fell to just above her knees. Casually, not that I needed to worry as no-one was paying us any attention at all at the fight continued, I slipped my hand behind her back and, finding the zipper for her dress at her neck, slid it down a few inches so that I could touch her flesh with my arm around her. I stroked her back gently, delighted to find it covered in a faint sheen of sweat.
Lizzie leaned over to Paul, and seconds later I saw, from the corner of my eye, the hem of her dress slowly being dragged up under my jacket in her lap. I could tell that this was a joint effort and Lizzie was wriggling a little and I could feel her right hand under the jacket tugging and folding as her dress rose up her thighs. I slipped my left hand a little way under the jacket and found I was touching her stocking top, and above that, bare skin. Her dress was now pulled all the way up to her waist, and then I felt her thigh push against my hand, moving it back several inches as she opened her legs. Paul had obviously slid his right hand under the jacket too and I saw and felt the jacket in her lap bulge and move as he went directly to her cunt with his fingers.
I couldn’t hear her, but I knew that Lizzie would be breathing hard now, and I sensed the precise moment Paul slid his fingers inside her – she jerked a little, involuntarily, and then relaxed and let her thighs fall open again, starting to move once more as she made gentle grinding motions with her hips.
Lizzie was still focused intently on the fight – it was clearly really turning her on to witness these two giants beating shit out of each other, and things had escalated fast with Paul.
Lizzie moved her right hand onto my thigh, one finger extended. Within seconds she jerked a little and extended another finger, then a third.. she was telling me that Paul had three fingers inside her.
Her nails dug into me and I knew that she was coming again. I felt her thigh tremble and her legs strain a little. She was just starting to relax, although I could see and feel from the gentle, rhythmic movement of the jacket in lizzie’s lap that Paul was still fucking her with his fingers, when something incredible happened.
Accompanied by a simply deafening roar from the crowd, many of whom jumped to their feet, one of the boxers landed a massive blow, full in the face of his opponent, directly in front of us. The guy staggered, but regained his footing and somehow stayed in the fight – but the punch had clearly broken his nose, and thick, red blood had sprayed onto the canvas, a few drops hitting those of us in the closest seats. Lizzie immediately reacted – her hips rose from the chair by a risky few inches – she was obviously beyond caring – pushing hard against Paul’s hand. I slid my hand under her to help support her – resting it on her arse as she strained and bucked, as discretely as she possibly could. She came hard, very hard. As I mentioned, Lizzie rarely squirts when she comes, and when she does, it means she has had an earth-shattering orgasm. I felt a torrent of my wife’s come run between her thighs – soaking my hand and wetting the chair beneath her, some of it escaping to run down her legs - stopped on the way by my jacket or, as I found out later, making it all the way to her ankles and down into her shoes.
Taken by surprise by the sheer strength of her orgasm, I looked at Lizzie’s face and saw with a mixture of shock and unbridled excitement that she had a little of the fighter’s blood on her face – that’s what had driven her over the edge.
Later, much later and with much more champagne consumed, I sat in an armchair in our luxurious hotel room, drink in hand, looking through the open door of the black and white marble-tiled bathroom as Paul fucked my wife hard in the arse. She was bent over the marble sink stand which ran the whole length of the bathroom, watching herself eagerly in the mirror, her fingers splaying and then contracting into fists with each time the intense pleasure turned to the delightful pain she loved so much, as Paul pulled out and then rammed into her. His cock was probably below average length but very fat around, practically the width of my wrist, and it was giving Lizzie enormous pleasure -she had already come twice without either of them touching her cunt or clit, and she rarely reaches orgasm from anal sex alone.
Paul’s jaw had dropped to the floor when we invited him to our room, and Lizzie pushing him against the wall of the lift, kissing him deeply and allowing his hands to run freely over her body, had him moaning with pleasure before we even got inside the door.
As soon as we were inside, Lizzie had murmured to him, “Fuck me how your wife won’t let you – do whatever you want to me – this night is for you”.
Paul had instantly pushed her into the bathroom, over the sink, pulling frantically at her dress until her stockings and knickers were fully exposed. Taking his fat cock out of his trousers without even bothering to take them off, he pulled Lizzie’s knickers to thighs, then stretched them taught as he stood behind her, using the toes of his shoes to tap her ankles further and further apart.
He made Lizzie moan out loud by pushing his fingers into her cunt, then, when they were dripping wet, moved his hand round to her arse, pushing her cheeks open he slid one, then two fingers into her arse hole, opening her as much as he could. Lizzie braced herself as he lost patience – “just put it in her, Paul”, I said. Paul positioned his cock at her entrance and, holding her hips, pulled her sharply backwards as he thrust forward, half his cock disappearing into her on the first thrust. Lizzie gave a small squeal of pain and took a sharp breath and Paul paused.
“Paul, Just fucking do it”, I said, beside myself with the desire to see him buried in Lizzie’s arse.
He pushed hard, and was fully inside her, quickly starting to hump, getting into a fast and almost violent rhythm as he pushed her forward and onto her tiptoes with each thrust.
As usual when she is with other men, she was talking breathlessly to me, describing what she was feeling and asking for my approval.
“Fuck – darling, it’s such a fat cock.. It’s hurting a little but I…God, I don’t…huh, want it to .. stop..”
“Harder Paul – fuck her harder”, I encouraged.
As if going into a higher gear, Paul started ramming into her, so brutally that I could see his shoes sliding back with each stroke, he was literally bracing himself against my wife, using his grip on her thighs to lock himself into her.
Lizzie was moaning, making almost animal noises as she came again and again – I counted another five times before it was over. Lizzie’s own sweat was dripping from her nose to fall onto the marble below her, and as she jerked her head up to look at herself in the mirror, a fine spray of it flicked from her hair onto the glass.
Paul’s breathing became very ragged and his movement slowed. I could see he was getting close.
“Come inside her Paul – come in her arse”, I said.
“Do it, Paul, come in me”, added my wife.
Paul grunted, then shouted “FUCK!” as he stopped moving, his cock fully buried into Lizzie’s arse, the thick chords on his neck standing out, his face bright red, then he pumped his load of hot come into her.
After he had left, Lizzie was collapsed on the bed, her hair, makeup and dress in complete disarray, sleeping. I knelt over her on the bed and took my aching cock out of my trousers – I’d been hard for hours now – and started to wank above her, remembering every detail of our evening.
Just as I was about to come over her she stirred and opened her eyes. Focusing on me she started to sit up, to take my cock in her mouth. “No”, I said, “Just lay back – tell me why you came so hard on Paul’s cock earlier”.
I stroked faster as she watched me.
“I was imagining he was one of the fighters.. and that I was waiting for him in the changing room. After the fight he would come straight to me, beaten, covered in sweat and blood, and fuck me like I was an animal, his testosterone and adrenaline still pumping as he used me..”
I started to come as soon as she said the word “animal”, covering her dress and face in stream after stream.
As I fell exhausted into her arms I decided that “going to the boxing” was a thing we should do again.