Quid Pro Quo

She was angry. Loudly not talking to him in the way women did, slamming doors and stomping her sensible heels on the hardwood floor. So he'd flirted a little, it was what he did. She knew that when she married him ten years ago.

She looked fantastic. Not that he could tell her now—she'd think he was sucking up. Her dress was hooker red, slinky and wrapped around her tighter than anything she usually wore. The edge of anger that accompanied her outfit only made her hotter in his opinion.

"Do you do it deliberately?'

Aaah, she was finally speaking.

"What's that honey?"

"Do you deliberately flirt in front of me?"

"Sweetheart I didn't even talk to her. She talked to me.'

"Right. After you looked at her in that aren't you a gorgeous piece of ass way."

The gas station attendant was a gorgeous piece of ass, but she held nothing to his wife in full fury mode. Her pouty mouth curled in a snarl, eyes flashing, chest heaving. Man, he wanted to fuck her hard. It was their monthly date night, the kids had just been picked up by grandma for a sleepover and their dinner reservations weren't for an hour. So maybe, just maybe...

"You can wipe that look off your face buddy. No way, no how are you getting a piece of this fine ass tonight."

OK, so maybe not.

"Maybe if you were wearing a wedding ring..." The rest of the argument disappeared down the hall with her as she stormed away. Not that he needed to hear it, he could repeat it in his sleep having heard it so many times over the last ten years. It wasn't as if he didn't wear a ring so he could pick up. He might flirt but he never, never cheated. He couldn't wear the ring, not safely, not with the tools he used on a daily basis. Sure, he could probably put it on when not at work but, Jesus; he was a man. He didn't think about frickin' jewelry. Truth be told he wasn't even sure he knew where the ring was, maybe in his toolbox? No way was he telling her that, not if he wanted sex again this decade.

He was wondering whether date night was a complete goner when she finally reappeared from the bedroom. He turned off ESPN and put the remote back on the coffee table. He hadn't really looked at her—too busy finding his keys and getting his jacket—so when he opened the door for her and got a good look he cursed, "Jesus Fucking Christ!"

She was still wearing the red number but it was now open all the way to her waist, a red and black lace up corset underneath. The corset cinched her waist and squeezed her breasts up into luscious mounds. Her hips seemed rounder, ripe and full. The unruly curly hair she normally pinned back into a neat bun was now big and loose and her lips were as shiny hooker red as the dress.

Those red lips pursed in a pout as she looked at him and loudly tapped her foot. He looked down at the tapping, the shoes had been changed too. No nice sensible black pumps, they were come fuck me heels, with black ribbons that laced up her beautiful calves.

She arched a brow and said, "Problem Jack?"

No, no problem at all, other than fact that if he didn't adjust his rapidly stiffening cock right now his balls would be strangled.

He shook his head and watched her ass as she walked through the door. Now was the time to shut his mouth and pray she'd forget she was angry so he could please, please get a piece of that fine ass.

Oddly when he got to the car she was in the drivers seat. He normally drove, but in the spirit of not getting in further trouble he got in the passenger side and said absolutely nothing. When she took the wrong turn to the restaurant he still said nothing, thinking that she'd eventually work it out and maybe he'd score some points for not raggin' on her about it.

She actually spun the tires when she pulled into the lot of The Hardball Bar. One of their old haunts, pre kids, pre marriage.

"Aah Cass, honey. We have reservations."

"Fuck the reservations."

Cassandra didn't normally curse. Didn't dress like that and didn't curse. Something was definitely going on. She didn't give him a chance to ask. She was out of the car and across the parking lot before he had his door closed.

The Hardball hadn't changed much in the decade since they'd been regulars. Dim lit, bare concrete floor, caged stage with a hard rock band playing at ear splitting level. Cass stood out like a rose amongst the thorns in her slinky red dress. Most of the other women were in jeans, barely there skirts and cut off shorts. Cass didn't speak to him, just made her way to the bar and ordered a long neck Mexican beer—nothing for him. Hips swaying she strut over to a table and sat down on a stool propped her leg on the footrest of the table and flashed a gorgeous expanse of leg. She ignored him and drank straight from the bottle. Red lips pursed around the clear frosted glass. His dick jumped as her tongue poked in the end and licked at the wedge of lime stuck in the top. Lost in a fog of lust it wasn't until she stroked a hand down the bottle that he realized.

She wasn't wearing her wedding ring.

It was a gut punch. The emotion that hit him as his wife, hot as sin, sat there without his ring.

"Cassandra, honey, where's your ring?"

Whiskey colored eyes flashed at him with wicked fury, "Why Jack? Don't you trust me?" She was quoting him back one of his own lines. "Do I need a mark for you to know that I'm yours?"

And another.

He slumped down in the seat next to her, touched her arm but she turned away. He'd never seen her so angry. "Honey, what do you want me to do?"

"Get me another drink."

He didn't argue. As he made his way through the slowly building crowd he decided he wouldn't argue, not just because he wanted her but because he probably deserved whatever she wanted to dish out. He was a terrible flirt, for years she'd complained about it, begged him to stop, but he never had. She thought it was because of the other women, that he somehow needed more than her, but she was wrong. She was the reason. He'd never told her that when she wasn't there, he didn't flirt. It was her reaction he craved, not the attention of the other women. Her fury, her jealousy, he loved it; it turned him on like nothing else.

And now he was paying the price for his sins—for all the years of making her jealous. He ordered two beers, deciding to drink the same as her in a pissweak show of solidarity.

Returning to the table he found her flirting with a couple of guys. Frat boys from the nearest college—ten years younger than her but they didn't care. They obviously knew a good thing when they saw it. One had his hand flat on the table, leaning into her, barely an inch from his wife's mouth. He shouldered the boy away and placed the beer in front of his wife. She barely looked at him, keeping her eyes on the blond Frat boy.

"Thanks Jack," she said and took a long sip of her drink. Jack watched the pull of the muscles in her throat as she swallowed. He said nothing, sat down beside her and waited. Waited for his wife to tell them they were wasting their time, to tell them she was married.

She didn't.

Instead she laughed, leaned into them, shook her mane of hair and stroked a finger along her collar bone drawing attention to her luscious cleavage. Flirted. It was championship flirting, she had them eating out of her hand.

It simmered in his gut—jealousy. Lay there like a pool of heat. Not alone though, there were layers. More, so much more. Lust. Anger. Longing. Need.

Desire.

A wanting that clinched him like a vice.

The blond one took his wife's hand and led her out to the dance floor. Silent he watched, downing another beer. The other one followed. He was dark, his head shaven completely bare, shining under the flashing lights. She danced between them, sinuous movement. Lithe and supple she rolled her hips and held her arms above her head. Her mouth open, eyes closed, she looked like sex. The blonde one was at her front, grinding his pelvis into her, pushing her back into the tall dark student who had his hands on her hips.

In his head he could see her, naked between them. Taken by them both, thrusting into her as she cried out. It exploded in him. The need the desperate need to see it. To watch her.

She came back to the table alone. Leaned into him, her scent tainted by the smell of them—young male heat. "Like that Jack? A little quid pro quo flirting? Do you like that?"

He didn't answer. Took the back of her head and brought it down to his mouth. Teeth, tongue, lips, he bit, licked sucked. Took. Took her mouth. Melting into him, she plastered her breasts to his chest. At some point he'd stood. Now he had her backed up against the table. His hands went to her hips pulled her up to sit spread legged on the bar table. Wedged between her succulent wet heat he ground his hard cock, "Yes. Yes. I like it. I fucking love it."

"Tell me. Tell me," she panted against his mouth.

He rested his forehead against hers, closed his eyes and let it out. Let out the need that he hadn't even known was fermenting inside him, "I want to see them fuck you. I want to watch, watch them take you. Watch you. Watch you come with another man."

He feared opening his eyes—dreading her reaction. Would she hate him? Reject him? He felt her warm soft hands at his cheeks, "Jack. Babe, look at me."

He opened his eyes. What he saw there seized him, seized his gut with lust. She was looking up at him, eyes glazed, mouth open. He knew that look. She was turned on. Turned on by his words.

"Me too," she whispered and he took her mouth again.

When they finally pulled apart she held his face and said, "Not them though. I don't want boys. I want a man."

"You choose."

She nodded.

"You want to do this? You really want to do this?" Jack looked at his wife with an intensity that he hadn't felt for years. She smiled with slick red lips swollen from his kisses and said, "Yes Jack. I want this." She pulled his hand between her legs, right there in the bar and pushed his fingers under dress into her panties. She was wet, juicy and hot, swollen and slippery. She pushed his hand away, brought it up to her mouth and kissed the palm, flicking her tongue against the sensitive skin.

She left him at the table, moved like a woman in heat. Eyes snapped up all over the bar to watch her, unable to look away. She leaned against the bar and they came one by one. Three tried, three failed but the fourth she let stay. He watched her talk and laugh, toss her hair and smile. And then, then he watched her kiss him. Another man, a stranger holding his wife, kissing her, backing her up against the bar and grinding his hips into hers.

He throbbed, from head to toe. He was one pulse of heat. Skin tight, mouth dry never had he felt such all consuming need. She looked over the stranger's shoulder at him. A question in her eyes as she ran her hands down to cup the stranger's butt. Jack met her eyes and nodded. She nodded back at him.

Jack saw her talk to the stranger, his head close, his hands gripped around his wife's waist. They both looked out back to a door just behind the bar area and then he saw Cassandra nod. The stranger took his wife's hand and started to lead her through the crowd; she looked back over her shoulder and smiled when she saw Jack following.

Jack caught the door just before it closed, held it for a moment to make sure that he wouldn't be seen and then followed them through. He could hear them up in front of him, the stranger was leading her into caged storage area. Rows of boxes and stacks of wooden boxes lined the floor. Jack slipped inside the cage as they were busy kissing. He positioned himself behind a stack of cartons that hid him, but still allowed him to see his wife.

He looked out to find her on her knees. On her knees on the bare concrete floor her head at the stranger's crotch. She'd unfastened his fly and had her hand in his jeans. Jack sucked in a shocked breath as he saw her pull out that red tipped hard cock and guide it to her mouth. She hummed in pleasure as she sucked. The stranger groaned, threaded his fingers through his wife's mane of hair and let his head fall back. He watched her head bob up and down on that spit slick shaft and he had to touch himself. His cock sprang out, hot and sticky. His hand moved easily, lubricated by the copious pre-cum that just seeing his wife go with the stranger had created. He stroked the slit in slow circles as he watched his beautiful sexy Cass draw out the stranger's blow job.

The stranger groaned out praise, "Fuck yes. Fuck you're good at this. Suck it. Suck my cock. Yes."

Cass held the stranger by the root of his cock, slowly drawing her mouth up and down on his shaft.

"Best. Best ever!" Jack heard the stranger cry out.

It was. It was the best blow job he had ever seen. Cass had hiked up her skirt, leaning forward on her knees and pushing her butt out. Jack bit his lip to hold back a groan as he watched her slip a finger in her panties and begin to stroke her clit.

The stranger noticed too and it seemed to be too much for him, "Yeah. Yeah!" he cried out, "Finger that pussy. Yeah, gonna come. Gonna come!"

She held fast to his cock. Hand gripping the end, mouth sucking hard. The stranger cried out, jerked his hips and then he saw her swallow, the muscles of her long beautiful neck work as she drank down his cum. Jack too almost came. He had to squeeze his cock hard almost to the point of pain to stop himself.

Cass sat back on her bottom as she watched the stranger button up his fly. When he was all buttoned up he crouched down to kiss her and Jack heard him say, "Are you sure that's it?"

She smiled and said, "Yes. Let yourself out. I want to straighten up a bit. I'll be out soon."

The stranger walked straight past Jack's hiding place, too come drunk to even notice him. When he heard the door click shut Jack came out. She was still on the floor. Without a word he lifted her, grabbing roughly under her arms to bring her up on the nearest palette of boxes. His mouth came down hard, tasting the stranger's cum on her tongue. He pushed apart her thighs and with rough urgent fingers he pulled off her panties. One side of the material tore halfway down her legs and he left it there hanging loose. His cock hit the wetness first as he had not even bothered to touch her pussy with his fingers. He needed this too much for finesse. He didn't care. Didn't care about anything, anything other than fucking. Nothing else existed other than the tight wet sheath around his cock and her cum flavored mouth. The room echoed with slap of his flesh against hers. She cried out in little yelps as he fucked her hard. Grunting out each thrust he shoved his cock into her.

She was so wet, wet as if she was already filled with cum. The thought, the thought of fucking her cum filled pussy sent his over. The orgasm gripped his balls, charged through him like a jolt, wave and wave of head spinning pleasure.

He pulled out and fell to his knees. His still hard cock slapped wet against his stomach as he knelt between her thighs. He heard her cry out, "What?" just before he fell upon her with his mouth. She gripped his head, holding his hair like reins. He ate at her drenched cunt, licking and sucking until he felt the spasm of her orgasm.

As he thrust his tongue in her he imagined that the flavor was not his. That it was the cum of another man. He ate her, ground his mouth into the wetness as the scene played in his mind. His wife-on her knees, on her back, standing- being fucked, fucked fucked. By one man, many men-being filled with cum. Over and over.

"Jack. Jack. Jack!" She cried out as her sweet pussy spasmed against his lips. When she had released her grip on his hair he fell back onto his butt and looked up at her. Wild hair, face flushed and lips swollen she was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. She still had her skirt hiked up and legs splayed open wide. Her pussy was spread perfectly ripe, swollen red and juicy.

She looked down at him and smiled, a sweet and almost shy smile that was at odds with her splayed legs and just fucked pussy. "I love you," she said and he felt the familiar clench of his heart that hit him each time he heard those words.

"I love you too."

She slid her legs closed and got up from the palette pulling down her skirt and righting her clothes. After she'd smoothed her wild hair and fixed her make up she looked neat and tidy. A respectable wife.

"Quid pro quo," he said to her as he pulled open the door back into the noisy barroom. "So do you think you've actually paid me back yet?"

Those whiskey eyes flashed up at him and she said, "Oh no, not yet. I've got years and years to make up for."