My wife groped at the bar

Husband watches from the bar as his wife, in a tight red dress, flirts and gets fingered by a stranger at pool.

I sat at the far end of the basement bar, nursing a beer in the shadows, exactly where my wife told me to stay. She wanted me to watch everything. My heart was already pounding before she even walked down the stairs.

Then she appeared.

That red dress looked even better than when she’d tried it on at home. The fabric followed the exact lines of her figure, leaving nothing hidden, showing off her full, voluptuous tits and barely covering her ass. Her dark hair flowed loose down to her breasts, swaying with every confident step in those simple black flats. Every guy at the bar turned to stare as she walked in, her hips swaying and the red fabric clinging to every curve with each step.

She knew I was watching. She didn’t look my way once.

She strolled straight to the bar, ordered a drink, then picked up a pool cue like she owned the place. When she bent over to break, the dress rode up just enough. From my angle I could see it, that shiny thong panel between her legs, the thin material stretched tight over her pussy so you could clearly make out the swollen outline of her lips. A couple of the guys at the nearest table noticed immediately. One of them, a tall guy in a backward cap, couldn’t stop staring.

They started playing. Every time she leaned over the table, she arched her back extra hard, her tits nearly spilling out, nipples pressing against the red fabric. I watched the guy adjust himself in his jeans as he shifted in his seat, unable to look away.

By the third game they’d moved to one of those oval high-top tables in the corner, the ones that give just enough cover. I had a perfect side view from the bar. His hand disappeared under her dress. Her lips parted slightly as he rubbed her through that shimmer thong. I could see his fingers tracing the outline of her pussy lips, then slipping underneath. She rocked her hips against his hand, slow and shameless, while her hair fell forward over her cleavage.

My dick strained against the seam of my pants. I didn’t move. I just watched my wife get fingered in a crowded dive bar.

A few minutes later they slipped into the tiny storage room behind the restrooms. The door didn’t lock. I quietly moved closer, heart hammering, and found a spot where I could just see inside.

He had her bent over some stacked crates, dress rucked up around her waist. He yanked the soaked thong to the side and buried his face in her pussy, He worked her with single-minded, relentless focus. Her legs trembled. She pressed her lips together, but faint, broken sounds slipped out as I heard the wet sounds and her soft moans. Her tits had spilled completely out of the top of the dress, bouncing as she pushed back against his tongue.

Then he stood up, pulled out a thick cock, and rubbed it along her glistening slit. He pushed inside her in one long stroke. Her mouth opened in a silent cry as he filled her. He fucked her hard, deep, rough thrusts that made her ass ripple. One hand gripped her hip, the other reached around to rub her clit. I watched every inch of him disappear into my wife’s pussy again and again.

She came hard. I saw her whole body shake, her pussy clenching around him as her legs gave out. He pulled out at the last second and unloaded all over her ass and the back of that red dress, thick ropes of cum dripping down her skin and soaking into the fabric.

My wife stood up slowly, adjusted her dress, and wiped a strand of hair from her face. Her cheeks were pink, her breathing uneven, a small smile on her lips. She walked back out into the bar like nothing had happened, cum still trickling down her thighs under that short red dress, and gave me the tiniest wicked smile as she passed my stool.

I stayed seated, throbbing, knowing I’d get to reclaim her later, but right now, I could see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin and the way she moved carefully as she passed, still adjusting her dress.

I couldn't stop replaying every detail as I watched her walk ahead, my pulse still racing with what I'd seen.