Sketches: At the Raceway

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is another sketch: a self-contained story written on a lark. I had so much fun writing the first sketch that I had to write another. If you read "Beads & Pearls," you'll find this is simply a variation on the theme. The characters and situation are similar, though the setting and outcome are different. Call it a narrative exercise: I'll exercise my writing while you exercise whatever comes to mind...

Your part, dear readers, is to share your reactions. Rate it and leave a comment if you can. I'm still getting used to the first-person format so any observations (good or bad) are appreciated. And remember that "theme" mention from above? This story starts with a couple's exhibition as an "enabler" and explores the ever-controversial loving-wife/slut-wife crossover a bit deeper. If the last story was "light and airy," this one gets a little edgier.

...And to show your comments really do make a difference, a sequel to "Beads & Pearls" is underway.

Thanks,

Wilson

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My wife and I were on a month-long driving vacation, just touring the states, and we saw a sign for a car race. We probably wouldn't have noticed but Jill recognized one of the sponsors – she did occasional "booth babe" work for them at trade shows. The race was an obscure little circuit and it would go on 'till tusk. We'd never seen anything quite like it so we pulled in to check another thing off our life's to-do list.

Tickets were cheap and we joined the herd moving through the entrance. It was a beautiful, twisty track, surrounded by rolling hills and a forest on one side. I'm no racecar ace but it seemed like it would be a lot of fun to drive. Once we had an idea of the layout, we hoofed it out to one of the lesser-populated bends.

We found a couple of bench seats behind a concrete wall, far away from the grandstands of the straight-aways. From the look of it, Jill was the only girl within 300 yards of our little corner. While the hardcore fans were back toward the grandstands, we were in a pocket of guys just looking to party and enjoy an afternoon away from the world. Behind us, a tiny grass hill was sprouting a party with a portable barbeque already fired up. From the sound of it (and the coolers they'd hauled in), they'd gotten an early start.

There was a beer kiosk not too far away and the few folk sharing our benches were friendly. We were there in time to catch the pace lap, then all those older racecars (Triumphs maybe?) opened up. It was festive, the cars were cool, and of course, there was the ego trip of having Jill on my arm.

We were already a few beers into the race when the guy next to us worked up the nerve to introduce himself. Tim. Nice guy. We managed to carry on a conversation between the scream of passing race cars.

Behind us, the group was loud, fun and just rowdy enough to sound like my friends back home. Then somebody got just drunk enough to shout "show us your tits!"

Jill was the only girl within shouting range and she just rolled her eyes. It wasn't surprising: most guys don't have the balls to walk up and say "hi" to her until they've had a good dose of liquid courage. I checked on her and she was cool with it, going so far as to glance over her shoulder and tease them with a flirty "you never know" look.

I caught Tim looking too, wondering if she'd do it. Busted, he gave a helpless shrug. At least he was honest: "Well, not like I'd mind..."

A minute later, one of the group came down to apologize. "Ma'am, sir, we're really sorry about him..."

Sir? We're definitely not any older than these guys. I give him a pass. "No, that's okay. It's like being back at the Brickyard."

"Oh, thank god. Bill gets a little drunk and I just wanted to know if we were going to have to call him an ambulance."

I turned to my wife: "Verdict?"

Jill was used to it and shook her head. "Boys will be boys."

Tim piped in first. "Cool! If you want to do test runs on me, I'll be your guinea pig."

Jill patted his arm. "Thank you, dear."

After enough beer and a few nudges from me, Jill was up for spreading a mass case of blue balls. Tim had to stand to let her out (well, he didn't really have to but he was a gentleman) and she slid past him. He tried to be polite, God bless him, so she pushed back as she sidestepped, brushing her butt over his crotch.

He looked at me like a deer caught in the headlights. Jill's a natural flirt and I kind of encourage it, so I disarmed his fears of pummeling with an eye roll. He was practically chewing on his knuckles as she stepped into the aisle. She looked back, a paragon of innocence, and batted her eyelashes. Let me tell you, it was false modesty. She had on a pair of low-riding, hip-hugging Capri pants that revealed slender ankles and showcased a J.Lo-quality ass. It was cruel and unusual punishment as she walked away, her hips swaying enough to charm a snake.

She was gone for about ten minutes. Tim and I talked about women, racecars and the similarity of the two. When Jill came back, she was wearing a men's Raceway tank top knotted at the bottom to show off her near-washboard abs. Even from 30 feet away, I could see she was sans bra. The tank was loose to begin with, designed for 300-pound guys that work out with 12-ounce curls, not 5-foot-9, 119-pound women that lived on a Stairmaster (or, in her case, a "Staremaster"). As she sashayed toward the bleachers, all I could see was an approaching titstorm. The sweep of the neckline featured deep cleavage and the narrow shoulder straps showed off firm outer boob curves. It would look cheap if she didn't look so expensive wearing it.

Jill brushed past Tim again, and he was staring over her shoulder – straight down her tank top. "Somebody is excited..." She teased. Tim hunched over, suddenly nervous, and glanced at me again.

"Bad girl," I wagged my finger at her. "He's not dead you know."

"You sure? He felt a little stiff..."

Tim got in the swing of it. "Still alive... But I think I felt heaven for a second there."

Oy. "Suck up, much?"

Tim glanced at Jill. "Only on special occasions."

The cars went roaring by, saving us from terminal sappiness.

Not ten seconds after they passed, we hear the same drunk from before. "Show us your tits!"

Fully prepared this time, Jill pressed her boobs between her arms, accentuating cleavage and bent toward the crowd. The tank top fell away a couple inches and I saw nipple from the side, so I know they saw nipple. We heard a holy chorus of "Oh My God!" Did I mention Jill has great tits?

I glanced around to see if any of the other folk in the area were offended. Nope. Very interested, though.

A minute later, the same diplomat comes down the hill with a couple of bottles in his hand. "Hi, I'm Nick, and we're donating two of Bill's beers to you two. Obviously, he doesn't need them anymore."

"Well, that's mighty kind of you," I answer. I could tell by the community chest that they weren't exactly 'Bill's beers', but it's the thought that counts, right?

"Thanks Bill!" she called back.

He gave her a salute and I have no doubt he would've offered a own flagpole, too.

We drank and the brew lasted another few laps.

A different guy came down with a couple of fresh bottles and Jill accepted them for us.

"That's so nice!" She purred. "Are you guys trying to get us drunk?"

"No, ma'am," the guy mumbled. "Why? Are you drunk yet?"

"We're working on it." I answered.

"Us too."

Jill couldn't hold back a giggle. "You seem pretty drunk already."

"Actually, I meant... um... yeah. We are."

The cars went screaming by and the bottles were drained pretty quick.

Yet another beer delivery monkey came down and actually took our empties but he couldn't quite muster words in front of Jill.

On the latter half of the bottles, the whole group united in one chorus: "Show us your tits!"

I give her a nudge. She was excited: I could see her nipples tenting the tank-top but Jill suddenly demurred. "Oh, I could never do it myself..."

I shrugged. "Okay, turn around."

She did and I'd guess she knew what I was about to do. I think the guys were prepared for another cleavage-and-more shot when I grabbed the knotted tank top and slid it up. There was a bit of resistance and I had to give a tug to pull it up over her boobs. The yank left her boobs wobbling and the guys erupted into one sustained holler. Jill was into it, shaking her chest like a burlesque dancer. The guys were running out of air.

Tim was staring, not a foot away, and hollering right along with them.

When I pulled her shirt back down, Jill turned with a knowing smirk on her face. She winked at Tim, then gave me a big, wet French kiss. She was definitely feeling good. Makes sense: even the biggest starts got a rush from a standing ovation.

Another delivery guy stumbled down with our fourth complementary round and made bowing motions before Jill as he backed away.

I had to look around again, just to make sure we weren't pissing anybody off. It would suck to get thrown out. Fortunately, the area was all guys and at this point, horny guys.

The cars made a couple of laps, we drained the bottles, and like clockwork: "Show us your tits!"

Tim prepared, pulling out a digital camera. What happened next was so fast, you'd never notice if you didn't know what to look for. Jill glanced at the camera, a little unsure. She made a living on her looks and image was important. I could tell she wasn't completely against it though; she would clam up if she didn't want her picture taken. Instead, she glanced at me for a ruling. By the look in her eyes, she was turned on by it. I was too, but this would cross a threshold. I gave her a shrug and a nod. And that was it: some guy would own shots of my wife flashing her boobs in public.

The guys up the hill were still mid-tit-howl. Jill glanced at her fans then looked back at me and batted her eyebrows. Translation: she didn't mind flashing, but she didn't want to do it herself. Coy little bitch, wasn't she?

Okay, fine. I reached around her back and thought about different ways to do it. The guys could see where this was going and they were cheering. Creativity failing, I just popped her shirt up like before. Jill gyrated like an exotic dancer, her hips circling in a way that just begged somebody to stand behind her. I did – and her ass rubbed across my crotch like I was a pole dancer's pole.

The cheers were cresting as she gave me a professional-quality dry-hump. She shook her boobs for the crowd and whistles were coming from all over the hill. The dry-hump/boob-shake took coordination on her part and restraint on mine; I wanted to peel down her Capris and fuck her on the spot.

Tim captured the whole thing on his camera. After a dozen pictures (this guy doing a pictorial?), she turned to him. Her shirt was still up and I didn't know what to expect. For a split second, I thought she was going to tell him to back off. Instead, she leaned back into me. Her arms were in front of her, not blocking her boobs but artfully cradling them. Another picture. With a lean toward the lens, she cupped her boobs and offered them to the camera. Another picture. She held her nipples in a pinch and blew him a kiss. Another picture.

Jill had tunnel vision: she was doing a photo shoot. I snapped out of it – it was a soft porn photo shoot – and I pulled her shirt down before we got kicked out. Reality came crashing back on her a second later. She spun, suddenly mortified, and buried her face in my arm. The whole crowd was still whistling and clapping, looking for an encore I think.

Tim put his hand up and we slapped a high-five. Why did I just do that? I was fiercely protective of my wife, instantly ready to flatten... everybody. Jill, with her face still buried, put her hand up and got her own high-five from Tim. Translation: she was self-conscious but still into it. I laughed to myself as one thought popped into my head: the little slut. Any anger I had melted under wanting to push her just a bit further.

We traded email addresses and Tim promised to send the incriminating pics our way.

From behind, the last guy of the group – Bill himself – finally stumbled down the hill. He managed to hold on to a couple of bottles and handed them over, staring at Jill's barely covered boobs the whole time. He was slurring and I was surprised he could actually stand.

"I jush wanted to shay thansh!" Then he pointed at her chest. "Whah month were you?"

She knew exactly what he was talking about. Jill shook her head but she had big smile on her face. "I never had my own month but I was in a 'Girls of the Big Ten' once."

"Oh, god, I knew it." And Bill fell flat on his back.

We were a little concerned but he was definitely still breathing. A minute later, two guys from the rest of crew came down and dragged him back up.

Ten minutes later, the leaders roared by on their last lap. The race was pretty much over, some people already making their way out. Of course, we got a parting call: "Show us your tits!" One call turned into a dozen calls all over the hill for boob by popular demand.

Jill turned, expecting I'd be there again to complete the deed. Instead, behind her head, I nodded to Tim and made a lifting sign. His eyes bugged, then he swallowed and reached around. He slipped the shoulder strips down her arm and she was surprised. She gave a Betty Boop "Oop!" – but her eyes were wild and her smile wide. She cupped her boobs again, this time for the whole crowd. Even Bill woke to whoop it up.

I wasn't sure how she'd react, but I stage-whispered toward Tim: "You only live once."

He took the hint, sliding his hands under hers. I heard the guys hollering but I was watching Jill. She looked straight at me as his hands cupped her tits. I gave an approving nod and she lifted her arms higher, striking a statuesque pose. Tim took it as permission for full fondling. She was still looking at me as he rolled her nipples. The crowd went nuts.

Her arms high over her head, she brought her wrists together as if she were helpless against it. There had to be five seconds of groping already, an eternity when you've got that much adrenaline, when Jill started dancing. She gave her human bra the dry hump of his life. She was acting like such a slut, I had to grab Tim's camera. He fondled her tits as she looked into the lens. With Tim's hands squeezing her boobs, she blew me a kiss – and I captured it on camera.

I was turned on, but shouts were turning into crude requests. "Alright, let's go..."

Tim slowly pulled the shirt back up, reluctant to let go. We were all in a sexual buzz as we gathered our gear and headed for the exit.

With a long walk though the park to get out, there was no escaping our crowd of beer-swilling boob lovers. There were a lot of high-fives to both of us and offers to go out as a group. I'm sure they were thinking gangbang by now. Tim was in the crowd right along with us and he was all for having a beer. I'm sure he was thinking gangbang, too. Frankly, so was I but I wasn't sure what to think about that. Jill was coy but she dialed back the flirting and that seemed defuse the pressure. The guys were polite and appreciative and we started to separate as we went to different gates.

Tim, however, stuck with us. Not a problem, I guess; after sharing a public fondling, we'd obviously crossed some sort of social barrier. I wondered where it went from here.

The raceway gates had 10-foot chutes that led to big turnstiles. It was a crush to get out so I led the way, Jill pressed in behind me and Tim brought up her rear. Strangely, I felt knuckles brushing on my back. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Tim had slipped his hands inside her tank top, stretching the already-wide armholes. His palms were locked on her tits.

Jill just shrugged and threw up her arms. "I'm innocent!"

I rolled my eyes and he took it as permission, his hands resuming full grope under the flimsy fabric.

Honestly, I couldn't sort out what the fuck I was feeling. I'd granted permission back in the stands, even encouraging him. Hell, I took pictures with his own camera. Still, I figured it was for that moment, not for "the rest of the night."

I pushed my way out through the 1-person turnstiles and spun to see how Jill handled it. He was waddling right behind her, actually cramming himself into the turnstile with her. She was getting poked and they stopped halfway through. I wondered if she was going to turn and slap him. Instead, she pressed her ass against his crotch for another dry-fuck. The little slut. The two of them got whistles and a few cheers. It was like watching two strangers and the voyeur in me wanted to see them fuck right there in the turnstile.

Something deep in my beer-soaked imagination snapped: from trade shows to catalogs, Jill thrived on being a sex object. She'd wear some branded string bikini and strut around in some booth at a convention center. She'd come home insatiable, excited after teasing men all day long. For once, I wanted to see her follow through. I needed to put her on her knees and use her like the whore she pretended to be. She needed to be bent over and so thoroughly fucked that she couldn't walk straight. Sanity settled in a second later.

The two popped out of the turnstile and brushed themselves off. Their audience was still clapping and hooting. They whistled even louder when she fell into my arms and gave me a deep, wet kiss. Tim actually had to stop for a second before he could continue and I gave him a high five. What the hell did I just do? I reached deep inside and tried to counter my perversion with a prayer. I hoped my wife just made this guy cum in his pants. It was the only way to avoid the inevitable.

Instead, we staggered away from the gate as a trio. I thought about leading us to the parking lot, but we were all too buzzed to drive. I pointed us the opposite way and we headed toward the neighboring park. Jill's shirt was stretched out, on the very edge of legal, but the same buzz left us too relaxed to care (except Tim, who cared a lot).

Our amateur photographer led the conversation, asking Jill where she modeled. What an utter suck up. Still, he played to her ego without eating out of her hand. Smart. Within a minute, Jill was wondering aloud what it would be like to do a porn shoot. He told her we already had, it was just softcore. She was nodding as we headed into a grove of trees.

The evening air was cool but we were still glowing from all the sun we'd gotten. At the edge of the park, almost private among the trees, I fell onto the long grass and looked at the night sky. Jill flopped down beside me.

Tim fell on the far side of her. After a moment of silence, he blurted out: "Sorry, I kind of took advantage."

Jill "tsk-tsk'd" him playfully.

"Thing is," he continued, "I really want to keep taking advantage."

The ball was in my court. I knew where this would go: I pictured him crawling right between her thighs and fucking her. It turned me on but I couldn't give a simple green light. Why? Would it be over too quick? I lolled my head to the side to answer: "What? Don't have enough pictures?"

His eyes lit up. I know it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear, but it was enough to keep hope alive. He reached for his camera. "Can I?"

I nodded and he turned to Jill. She turned to me and I gave her a suggestion: "Lose the shirt."

Jill sat up and pulled off her shirt. Completely free, her globes were magnificent. She looked around though, suddenly worried. It was dark enough that we could see distant light from the parking lot, but not much else. She went to set the shirt beside her, then looked at Tim and his camera. Instead, she threw the tank into the shadows to get it out of the frame. A second later she realized she couldn't see it anymore. No safety net. Instead of looking for it, she shrugged and rested back on her elbows.