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This series is a non-sequential addendum to the “Sharing My Wife Amanda” storyline.
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“Touch is probably our most underrated sense.”
-Martin Arvidsson
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Lesli was my wife’s dearest friend. She and Amanda may have been Sorority Sisters, but they had become like true sisters since their undergraduate days ended over 5 years ago. Though their lives had taken divergent paths, their friendship maintained the same course.
Lesli was a gorgeous full-blooded Mexican, but one couldn’t tell at first glance. Though fluent in Spanish, she spoke English without an accent and her natural dirty blonde hair had people assuming that she was either French or Portuguese. Currently, however, her hair was dyed an eye-catching neon green.
That wasn’t surprising if you knew Lesli; she constantly craved attention.
Lesli was thick-boned, but not in a masculine or negative sort of way. Her large breasts were proportional to her figure and her curvy ass always made my mouth water. And save for her face, almost every inch of Lesli’s voluptuous body was covered in colorful, exotic tattoos.
I knew this because Amanda and I had seen her naked many times.
Lesli had been working at the Watering Hole, a high-end strip club that was aptly named for its double entendre, for over 3 years. She was happy there, and why shouldn’t she be? Our friend was pretty and sexy, and could move her flexible body in very hypnotic ways. In fact, she made a better living performing at the Watering Hole a few days per month than she did at her regular full-time job. Lesli’s possessed the ideal body of a stripper which she shamelessly flaunted, and even had her own cult following at the club. She was, literally, comfortable in her skin in ways that most people could not relate to.
Amanda and I often watched Lesli perform at the Watering Hole as a show of support. I never hid the fact that I did not mind ogling her naked body— or that of the other strippers—– as she gyrated on a pole. Fortunately, my wife was extremely laidback and gave me a long leash to enjoy these things. She had even received several private lap dances herself! It was simply curiosity, Amanda maintained.
The irony about frequenting the Watering Hole was that my hot wife typically garnered as much attention as the girls there, if not more! I’d lost track of how many times a customer had propositioned Amanda because they had mistaken her for a stripper. And I’d be half-serious whenever I teased that she could easily surpass her current 6-figure salary if she quit her day job to dance at the Watering Hole.
That was NOT whimsical thinking on my part.
Amanda was stunningly beautiful, even if she was too modest to admit that blatantly obvious fact. Standing at 5’6 and barely 27 years old, she possessed straight black silky hair that ran to her hips and constantly exuded a flowery fragrance. Yoga, regular workouts at the gym, and running 10+ miles every week may have bestowed onto Amanda an athletic physique, including a V-shaped upper torso, toned limbs, and killer abs, but it didn’t detract from her feminine curves. Any man—and many women— within eyesight couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her perfect 34C breasts and incredible sculpted ass. Her narrow brown eyes gave her a decidedly exotic countenance, and always seemed to be twinkling with some sort of naughtiness or inside joke that only she was aware of. However, Amanda’s adorable freckles were perhaps her sexiest physical trait of all.
But all of that paled in comparison to her intelligence, compassion, and witty sense of humor.
Lesli was hot in a “bad girl” sort of way, but my wife was in a stratosphere all by herself.
Amanda was, in my humble opinion, the epitome of perfection.
Lesli WAS a bad girl in more ways than one, however, and the Watering Hole wasn’t all that it appeared to be. Sure, it was an upscale establishment whose primary commodity was nudity and adult entertainment. But the place had a wild secret, one that our dear friend had remained tight-lipped about for over 3 years.
The Watering Hole held a secret invite-only party at a different offsite location every year. The dancers were part of the event, if they chose, and each was allowed to bring 1 male guest and up to 3 female guests for free. Anyone beyond that was required to pay an astronomical entrance fee that, literally, made me sick to my stomach. Yet there were plenty of people willing to pay the price of admission.
Otherwise, the clandestine get-together was intended for the “special friends” of the strip club… namely, the big spenders. These “special friends” were VIP’s who routinely threw down thousands of dollars a night or were customers who had spent incomprehensible manisa seks hikayeleri sums of money on their favorite dancer over time. It was widely known, though not openly discussed, that some of these patrons were Sugar Daddies to many of the girls. According to Lesli, one of her coworkers unabashedly bragged that a man who had been her regular customer for only 2 months had already bought her a car and was begging to take her on vacation to Brazil! And this party afforded the dancers an opportunity to thank their VIP’s for their patronage on a much more intimate level.
Basically, the get-together was a secret sex party.
Various waivers and non-disclosure agreements had to be signed and submitted first in order to be even considered for an invitation; proof of health had to be presented. No cameras or recording devices were allowed inside the location, just like they weren’t permitted in the Watering Hole on a normal day. However, during this particular event, people were frisked before they entered and all cell phones were confiscated.
It sounded akin to trying to gain entrance to some sort of top secret military installation!
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It was an ordinary weeknight for me and Amanda when Lesli told us about the Watering Hole’s secret gathering which was taking place in just 5 days. “You’ll have plenty of time to hand in all the necessary paperwork,” she assured us enthusiastically. We were stunned! Neither of us could believe that our friend was inviting us to a sex party!
Amanda and I were proud virgins when we first met each other 7 years ago, and had only been married for 3 years. We enjoyed a healthy sex life, but it wasn’t anything extravagant or over-the-top. We often watch X-rated videos together for foreplay and frequently experimented with new positions. I had even brought sex toys into the bedroom, something which we greatly enjoyed. My wife and I were madly in love; we KNEW were each other’s soulmate, and expected to grow old together surrounded by children and grandchildren. We would never be intimate with anyone else, and we happily accepted that. And considering that neither of us had ever slept with other people— which was remarkable to me since Amanda could’ve had any man she desired at any point in time— the idea of promiscuity or an open marriage was the furthest thing from our collective mind.
And now Lesli was inviting us to what was essentially an orgy.
Our sex life may have been fantastic, but I did sometimes wish for more. I was a typical male, after all, who often thought with the wrong head. I wanted to make love to Amanda in such acrobatic and exotic ways that it would make hardcore porn seem tame in comparison. I wanted to nail my wife in every hole as I listened to her moan and felt her writhe beneath me.
I dreamed of fucking my hot wife and her sexy stripper friend in a scorching threesome.
At least, that’s what I longed for in my darkest fantasies.
But this special event organized by the Watering Hole was another matter entirely, and I was immediately intrigued and excited about what it might entail. Luckily, Lesli addressed my wife’s 2 greatest fears and assured us that we would not be forced to participate in anything that we weren’t comfortable with, and that there’d be ample security present to make sure that nothing got out of hand. We could show up and simply enjoy the show and free drinks.
Amanda, of course, needed much more convincing than I did.
I figured that we had less than a 50% chance of succeeding, but after constant cajoling from me and her best friend for only a day, my gorgeous but prudish wife ultimately relented, much to our astonishment!
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Amanda and I filled out all the necessary paperwork and provided all the required health information that the Watering Hole was mandating, and within a day— less than 24 hours before the special event— Lesli came to our house to hand-deliver our guest passes herself.
The green-haired girl jumped up and down, and clapped her hands giddily, as Amanda took the guest passes hesitantly as if she was handling some kind of poisonous animal. Then Lesli whooped and gave my wife a fierce hug, their cheeks pressing together. “This is going to be so fun!” she exclaimed. “I promise you, you won’t regret it!”
I could sense Amanda’s misgivings, but despite herself, she slowly smiled. My wife and her best friend had experienced a lot of adventures together but, from a certain perspective, they were polar opposites. Lesli was always the “crazy” one, often acting on impulse without any consideration for the potential consequences; Amanda, who was always calculated and conservative, often had to reign her in. In fact, she had saved her tattooed friend from countless precarious predicaments over the course of their friendship. Not to mention, providing Lesli a shoulder to lean on when it seemed like the world was ending due to another failed romance… something that felt like a monthly occurrence to me.
Lesli, however, was innocent in a naïve sort of way, and always possessed a happy-go-lucky attitude no matter how grim the situation. Like Amanda, she was the type of person who made a new friend wherever she went though, unlike my wife, she couldn’t keep track of them. Amanda was fairly cerebral and by-the-book where our friend was on the flighty side. But Lesli possessed an infectious enthusiasm for life and exploration that often won over my much more subdued wife. There were often times when I worried about Lesli dragging her into undesirable situations, but they shared a kinship that was unbreakable and one that I didn’t want to interfere with. Amanda considered herself as stabilizing influence in Lesli’s life, and I knew that Lesli would never put my wife in a dangerous position… at least, not knowingly, anyway.
They loved each other, and that was enough for me to know.
“I cannot believe I’m agreeing to this,” Amanda muttered.
Lesli was still clinging to her, but let go and stepped back. “I’m telling you, girl, you’ve never been to a party like this before! It’ll be something you’ll never forget! You can’t even begin to imagine.”
“That’s the problem. I think I can imagine.” I chuckled at my wife’s deprecating response. I was very excited and curious about this event and, deep down, I knew Amanda was, too. But then she continued in an uneasy tone. “I don’t know, Les. The whole notion of it weirds me out.”
My excitement instantly deflated. While I was extremely enthused about the party, the last thing I wanted to do was place my wife in a situation where she wouldn’t feel safe even though I’d be next to her at all times. I opened my mouth to cancel when Lesli injected.
“Mandy,” she began with such severity that our heads snapped towards her. Lesli was the only person in the world besides me who addressed my wife by her pet name, and it always made me feel slightly jealous. “You know I love you like a sister. And you know that I would never let anything bad happen to you. I mean, you know that, right? Tell me you know that!” Her demand was fervent.
Amanda and I looked at each other. We both agreed that her friend possessed questionable characteristics; Lesli was immature, impulsive, and promiscuous, to say the least. But one thing that was unquestioned was her dedication to my wife.
“I know, Les.”
“Good!”
I chipped in glibly, “And don’t worry, Mandy. I’ll be stuck to you like glue. We’ll be attached at the hip during the entire time. I’ll be on you like a cheap suit. We’ll be—“
“Ok, I get it!” Amanda exploded. She sighed, helplessly shook her head, and lamented, “Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?” But there was a noticeable twinkle in her eye.
Lesli’s expression was almost sinister. “Mandy, I personally promise that neither of you will regret this. Like, ever. Shit, girl. You’ll probably be the star of the show!”
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After Lesli departed, my wife and I had a long heart-to-heart talk. Amanda was very open about how her misgivings and wanted to establish strict guidelines before attending the party. In short, she would generously allow me to look at— and flirt with— as many pretty girls as I wanted. However, Amanda did NOT want me joining in the festivities. My initial reaction was one of dismay. After all, we were attending an orgy! How could a man attend an event like that and not want to participate? But when my wife voiced her reason, I was reminded again how much I loved her and how lucky I was to be married to her.
“I don’t want you sleeping with other women because I don’t want other men sleeping with me; I want us to belong to each other… and to each other only.”
Amanda and I had, of course, never slept with other people. And while the notion of promiscuity was the fantasy of most men, the idea of it— and of participating in an orgy— was undoubtedly better in theory than in reality. There was just something romantic about my wife and I being exclusive to each other for our entire lives.
I hugged her fiercely as we pressed our foreheads together, which was our personal sign of affection. “Of course, Mandy. Look… but don’t touch.” I smiled broadly. “For both of us.”
But when my wife pulled back, there was a grave expression on her face. “Babe, I said no sleeping with other people; I didn’t say no touching.”
My jaw dropped to the floor.
Then Amanda burst out laughing, and I joined in soon thereafter.
“Do you think Lesli will bring a date to the party?” I asked curiously. “Or will she just bang every guy in sight once she gets there?”
Amanda didn’t appreciate my glib tone. “Lesli may be a lot of things. She has poor judgment, no time or money management skills to speak of, and, yes, she can be really slutty at times. But she’s still my best friend, Sy.”
I immediately felt ashamed. Lesli wasn’t just my wife’s dearest friend; she was my good friend, too. “I’m sorry, Mandy. I shouldn’t have said those things about her.”
“Well, that is Lesli for ya. I’ve learned to take the good with the bad when it comes to her. Now, explain to me why you’re talking about her when I’m right here.”
Amanda slowly removed her clothes.
Sex was with my wife was heavenly, as usual. It was physical and aggressive, but every movement and touch was born from love. And after I ejaculated into her, the only thing comparable to the idea of spending the rest of my life with Amanda was starting a family with her.
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The Watering Hole’s clandestine get-together was approximately 3 hours away. The last hour of the drive was particularly excruciating not only because of the mounting anticipation, but also due to the fact that we had to carefully navigate treacherous, winding roads through the mountains. Lesli had hand-delivered the address to the location, which was stylishly handwritten on a fancy card with no other information, only 2 hours ago. We had been forced to be on standby, but the short notice was by design. Some authority figure which our stripper friend could not— or would not divulge— wanted to minimize this secret getting out.
When Amanda and I arrived, however, our eyes widened. We were prepared for anything and everything, but the palatial mansion looming before us was still astounding. Clearly, this was a party for VIP’s, indeed! First, however, we had to make our way through a security gate, where I had to input a passcode on a keypad. For a long moment, nothing happened and I suddenly feared that this had all been for naught. But then there was a loud beep, and the huge gates ponderously swung open.
I drove through.
“Of course this orgy would be at a mansion,” Amanda commented dryly. She sounded nervous, but maintained a calm air.
I threw her a lopsided grin. “Would you prefer to have it in a multi-million dollar mansion up in the mountains or in an abandoned prison out in the middle of nowhere?”
She chuckled. “Who knows, maybe there’ll be some kind of kinky prison theme set up in the cellar. You know, with naked people chained to a wall or sex slaves locked in a cell.”
We laughed hysterically.
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A valet who could’ve moonlighted as a model opened the passenger door for Amanda as I pulled to a halt at the main entrance. He was also built like a football player, and I had the suspicion that he was security, as well. “Good evening,” he greeted us politely. “May I see your invitations, please?”
Amanda nodded. As the valet took them from her, his smile was well hidden as he furtively glossed over my wife’s figure. I couldn’t blame him because she had come dressed to impress. While I was in a shirt and tie, khakis, and black dress shoes, Amanda was wearing a skimpy minidress that left little to the imagination. The thin fabric stretched over her body like another layer of skin, accenting every curve in the most flattering way. The minidress was sleeveless and shoulderless, highlighting Amanda’s sleek arms and neck. The bottom of the outfit didn’t even reach halfway to her knees and showed off her long, fabulous runner’s legs. The most attention-seeking feature of my wife’s minidress, however, was the strategic cutout over her mid-section, which essentially forced any onlooker to gawk at her washboard abs. Like her equally toned limbs, they rippled majestically with the slightest movement.
The valet was rightfully impressed and, unlike him, I didn’t attempt to hide my proud smile.
After accepting the invitations, the valet took our car keys. He, in turn, handed me a ticket number. “Just present this to the valet on duty when you’re ready to leave.”
“Thank you.”
The valet nodded and began to climb into the driver seat, but suddenly paused. He looked at Amanda sincerely. “I mean no disrespect to either of you, but if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re easily the most beautiful girl here. And there are a lot of beautiful girls here.”
Amanda was taken aback. “Why, thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
The valet nodded one final time, then drove off to park our vehicle.
My wife looked around; there was eerily no one in sight. “I don’t know if that’s saying much when there’s no one around,” she remarked self-deprecatingly.
But I was grinning broadly. “Come on, Mandy. You know you’re hotter than 99.9% of all women on the planet, and that’s when you’re having a bad hair day. I mean, how can you expect guys to not get a hard-on when you look like this?”
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