Wife tries to get her hubby to swing

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I was standing at the bar next to my wife when Don showed up. I laughed and accused him of being late. He threw up his hands in mock despair. Meagan just frowned at me; she seemed nervous.

“Whatcha drinkin’,” I said to the new arrival. “And where’s Bert?” Bert was Bertha, a pretty, big breasted German girl ten years any of our junior.


“A beer will be fine,” he said. “She’s at home. Got a bug of some kind.” I nodded, Meagan had had the same thing a week earlier and had had to stay home to recuperate.

A couple of hours, several dances—we shared Meagan and a couple of local ladies—and a whole lot of sauce later, the conversation loosened up—a lot.

“Whaddya think of that redhead over there,” said Don. He was studying me.

“Huh? What do I think?” I said. Meagan looked at me in a way I could not decipher. I looked back at her, my look had to be a question.

“She’s cute, I guess,” I said, finally.

“You guess? Her name’s Joan, and she’s as hot as they come. I hear her husband likes to watch too,” said Don. Meagan now looked daggers at Don.

“Watch what,” I said, not getting it the first time. And what was wrong with Meagan.

“Watch her getting it,” said Don. “It goes on a lot you know. I mean husbands wanting to be cuckolded by their wives.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll bet,” I said. I had to laugh; Meagan was clearly not comfortable with the conversation. “A cuckold? Hey Meagan, would you get off on cuckolding me?” Her face drained. It was so obvious that I knew. I knew it then. Right then. A perfect storm of coincidences now occurred. The redhead, Joan, moseyed over and pulled Don out on the dance floor. Meagan tried to get the bartender’s attention, but he was too far away and too busy to offer her the time she needed to recoup from her lapse. And, I had made a decision; I was not going to let this fester. Now, was the time.

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“Meagan,” I said, getting her attention. She wouldn’t look at me. “Who is he?”

Her eyes flicked up and met mine. “Who?” she managed. I waited. “Well who, Chester?”

“The man you’re fucking. The man you’ve made me a cuckold with. And, before you answer, know this, I will know if you lie. I will know immediately,” I said.

“Chester I—”

“Who the fuck is he? Tell me now?” I demanded.

“Chester—It doesn’t matter, Chester. It was just sex. No commitment. Just two sweaty bodies doing it, and it’s over,” she said. “I’m sorry okay. I just kinda lost control; but I got it back now, really. I’m sorry.” She looked desperate, as well she should have.

“Doesn’t matter? You are kidding, right? You’re sorry? Tell me who he is now, Meagan, or I’m gone, and I mean forever,” I said. Now, she was flustered and desperate.

She looked out onto the floor. My eyes followed hers. “Him?” I said. “My boss?” I began to stiffen up. My anger was about to reach the boiling point. It finally did. I walked out onto the floor and yanked my good friend, my boss, away from his partner.

“What the fuck!” he said. The woman’s mouth was wide open but no sounds emerged.

My first punch relieved him of every scintilla of air in his lungs; my second dropped him; I proceeded to beat the high holy shit out of him. I walked out and headed home. The police were waiting for me; I have no idea who called them or how they knew where I lived; I suspect they got the latter from my wife, but who knew.

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