Two year anniversary

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This is the story of what happened on the second anniversary of my marriage to my wife, also about what happened afterward. We’d known each other for less than a year when we got married, I was 24, she was 22. It was about two months after we got married that she got pregnant and she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl exactly one month before our one year anniversary.

For our second anniversary, my wife decided to take the reins, and told me not to worry about where we were going, or what we were going to do. She said she had it all under control. She told me we were going to go all out so I should wear one of my “fancy” outfits, which was as close to a tux as you can get without actually being a tux. She was wearing a very low cut black dress, it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra, and I’d enjoy watching her ass as she walked to figure out if she was wearing panties. I quickly ascertained that either she was wearing a g-string, or she was completely naked beneath that thin dress. We first drove over to her mother’s house and dropped off our girl, then she got behind the wheel and took over.

I was pleasantly surprised when we drove into the parking lot of this new restaurant that I’d been wanting to try. My coworkers had been telling me it was like “an upscale/dirty Hooters.” I had no idea what they meant by that, but I couldn’t wait to find out. I’d been hinting to my wife that I wanted to go there, since we’d gone to strip joints together before, but so far, no luck.

As soon as we walked in, I knew what my buddies meant about “upscale Hooters.” The waittresses were all dressed alike in tight button down white shirts, and they were obviously not wearing bras, and short tight black microskirts. My wife had set up a reservation so we didn’t have to wait long. I had to keep reminding myself that I was here for a 2 year anniversary to keep my eyes from bulging out of their sockets, especially when I saw our waittress. I couldn’t concentrate on the menu, this seemed to amuse my wife and decided to take advantage of my discomfort, and turn it up a notch. The next time the waittress came by, my wife asked her to point out to me what was especially good on the menu. The waittress bent over me so she could point at the menu, her breasts were on my shoulder and pressed against my head. I don’t even remember what she pointed to, I just nodded. As she walked away, my wife put her hand on mine and said “It’s ok, honey. We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you to look. I want you all worked up for tonight.” I’d behaved much the same way when we went to strip joints, tense and not enjoying myself until she told me that it was cool. It’s not because I’m whipped or anything, it’s just that, I know she’s the one I’ll be fucking later, rather not piss her off. Dinner passed without incident. I didn’t make it a point to hide the fact that I was enamored with our waittress’ nipples, which could be seen poking through her shirt, and my wife helped me see her pussy by “accidentally” dropping her fork when the waittress was at our table. When she bent over at the waist to pick it up, I could see right up at the short microskirt and was pleasantly surprised to find a perfect view of her pussy and ass. After dessert, the waittress came over and asked if we’d like the VIP treatment, and said it’d be five hundred to participate, two hundred to watch. I guess that’s what my buddies meant by “dirty.” Unfortunately, my wife said no, that we had other plans. The waittress pouted prettily, and handed us our check. We paid and left a generous tip (the view was well worth it) and off we went.

I was surprised when my wife took a left out of the parking lot, as we lived in the opposite direction, but this was her deal, so I didn’t say anything. We soon pulled into a motel. Apparently she’d checked in earlier, because we didn’t have to stop for a room key. As soon as we walked in the room, we started going at each other. I like fucking my wife with her clothes on occassionally, makes it feel riskier somehow, so while we kissed, she was working on getting my clothes off. She had the four top buttons of my shirt undone, I was kind of immobile because she’d also pushed my jacket down both my arms at the same time, and that’s when it happened. The door to the motel room, which we’d forgotten to lock in our haste to get at each other, flew open, and there stood a 6’4″ black man. He looked to way about 225, and it was obviously muscle. Before I had a chance to react, he swung at me, catching me in that sweet spot on my jaw, and I was out.

When I came to, I was in a sitting position and I could see my wife on the floor, her lower lip looked a little swollen. I didn’t see the guy anywhere until I tried to stand up. Then I realized that not only were my hands duct taped together, they were also duct taped to the chair. He came out of the bathroom, a roll of duct tape still in hands. I tried to talk to him.

“Listen, our car is outside, the keys are right there on the table, my wallet’s in my pocket, take whatever you want and just go.”

He looked at me closely before answering, and I realized he looked slightly familiar, but I couldn’t remember from where. “Oh, take whatever I want?”

I nodded.

“Listen here, shit-for-brains. I don’t need your permission to take your piece of shit car or anything else, for that matter. Now, unless you wanna leave here in a bodybag, you’ll keep your mouth shut unless I ask you a question, got that?”

I was too angry to speak, so I nodded again.