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After my gorgeous wife's two dalliances in February she was quite chaste over the following months, but by now we'd regularly have bondage sessions where she'd tie me to the bed, sometimes blindfold me and recount her dirty sexual liaisons while either rubbing her pussy on my face or squatting over my face while ducking herself with a toy ... or two.

I'd learned the hard way how to resist cumming unaided, and during these sessions Christy would either suck me off or straddle my cock and fuck me while telling me again about her sex crazed activities with Jamie or the others.

This probably doesn't work for most couples, but it works for us.

The weekend before Easter we had tickets to see one of my favourite Soul bands at a club about 70 miles away so decided to make a weekend of it, staying at a chain hotel in the city centre, walking distance from the venue.

We had a good night on the Friday, a nice meal a few drinks and a visit to the club for a dance and to scope it out for when the band played the following night.

Christy was dressed accordingly, in a sexy short, backless dress with a plunging neckline that allowed a good view at her unfettered tits, plus black stockings and suspender belt, which she'd recently taken to wearing full time and a black thong.

The club was busy and as I waited at the bar Christy went to the ladies room. I scoped the room which had six booths running down one wall, with the last and largest over looking the dance floor and stage. While the others were mostly filled with Hen Parties the largest had a group of black men and women all dressed similarly in black with white shirts or t-shirts, and in the middle was a big fat black guy wearing big gold sunglasses, presiding over the others like a potentate.

Just as I got served Christy arrived grinning. "What's got into you?" I asked handing her the drink.

"A young black guy stopped me and asked me to dance!" she chuckled. "What did you say?" "I said I was with my husband." I smiled quizzically. "He said 'so what'?" she chuckled. I didn't reply so she continued, "so I said ... maybe later. Then the cheeky sod pulled at my dress to peak at my tits!"

"Wow!" I gasped and looked around to see if I could spot him, "What did you say?" "I just called him a cheeky sod ... then came to you." As we passed the large booth, Christy nudged me, "That's him there ... leaning against the back talking to the big fella."

I casually glanced in that direction and saw the guy, about 6 feet tall, cornrow hair and muscle-bound. I quickly decided against challenging him to a fight defending my wife's honour.

We soon found somewhere to leave our drinks and hit the dance-floor. As we danced Christy couldn't stop herself glancing over at the booth presumably trying to attract his attention which sort of turned me on.

As the next hour passed by I too glanced at the booth and it quickly became obvious that the fat man, who was blacker than anyone I'd ever seen, and his group were dealers, with one young woman and guy each sporting those crossover bags and with almost invisible eye contact and signals, alongside a 'minder' would slink off to the toilets every few minutes.

Back at the bar I turned to see Christy back on the dance-floor with the big black guy and he had his hands on her waist, whispering in her ear. My wife smiled but shook her head then looked in my direction, then shook her head again.

He wasn't to be deterred and spun her around until he could rub himself against her back, and much to my amazement Christy began 'twerking' her arse against his groin ... then pulled away laughing; but still dancing with him.

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