Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 02

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Mardi Gras vacation crosses into sharing
5.6k words
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Part 2 of the 4 part series

Updated 09/29/2022
Created 05/14/2006
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my third first-person sketch: though if I pay any more attention to these things, I'll have to call them "stories."

The title gives this one away: it's part 2 of "Beads & Pearls." This episode has the same characters partying down during Mardi Gras, but their second evening takes them on a different path. The "group sex" category pretty much gives away what's going to happen, though it could fit into exhibition or "loving wives" just as easy. Some of the content was influenced by requests and comments received via private message.

Your part, folks, is to share your reactions. Rate it and leave a comment if you can, it helps give a handle on what grabs folk (so to speak). For critical readers, the story has two build-ups. There is the big one in the end, naturally, but one happens about a third of the way through – you'll know what I'm talking about when you read it. It happened naturally in telling the story, but I'm worried that keeping it might be too much. Does it work or not?

Thanks,

Wilson

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After the first night of partying, our attitudes were all warmed up. Our heads, though, needed a morning to recover. We finally got out around the crack of noon and went sightseeing until the sun went down. We toured from Fort Pike to the French Quarter and the post-Katrina New Orleans was blossoming. While the return of life was a beautiful thing, the two of us were about dead. We slipped back into the hotel, showered and passed out for a two-hour nap.

First thing I saw waking up was Jessica's pile of beads from last night. The locals called them "throws" but you may as well have called them "schwings." Even with afternoon's history lesson, it was the sea of boobs that was still bouncing around in my head. Now I've been to a racy party or two at the Playboy Mansion but they just didn't compare to the electricity on the streets. It seemed on every corner, we heard some jazzy rendition of "If Ever I Cease to Love" and nobody was holding back on love last night.

I flipped over and ran my hand over the smooth curve of my wife's naked hip. She was facing away, still groggy, and I peeked over to chance a glance at her front half. Just lying there, she was still magnificent. From full lips to hips and all the magic between, I knew her prediction would be right. She'd be plastered all over usenet – and probably wind up as a promo for Mardi Gras flasher sites. I was ready to do Jess' right then and there but Lord help me; I wanted another round of high-risk nookie. I held off, but I had to roll out of bed lest I break off my kickstand.

We got a late start on the revelry. We made it down to the hotel restaurant and I refueled on beef medallions, I took the time to tease her about work-mates (hers and mine) stumbling over incriminating pictures. She was red-cheeked over flashing boobs but it wasn't like either of us was running for office. A little margarita therapy mitigated any regret down to "Yeah, fuck it."

Would it be more of the same tonight? No. Surprisingly, better judgment took hold. We had enough staggering around last night, so we focused on finding a classier venue. Turns out our concierge had connections and we had cash. That combination got us into one of the more exclusive Jazz clubs. It wasn't technically a "Carnival Ball" but it was costume-formal and it was still a trick to get an invitation.

We decided to play it up and took a cab out to a chichi shopping district to dress the part. A short ride found us a row of boutique stores and we hustled in before they closed. Jess picked out a champagne-colored flapper dress – just like you saw in old photographs. It had tons of beadwork and a sexy low cut. It was one-of-kind, perfect for Jessica, but it was two sizes too big: it had a loose fit and she wasn't wearing a bra.

She spun once in the mirror and very nearly flashed the world. She blinked a few times then turned to ask: "I love it, but is it gauche?"

"Uh, I don't know. Check the label."

"No, no," she smiled. "Is it too much?"

I checked her out. "Sort of a 20's bordello look. I like it."

She bent over the bed and her top puffed to the front, falling wide open. I saw practically down to her belly button. Plenty of boob. Straight on, the thin straps flared just in time to hide her nipples, but from the right angles, she'd be showing everything to anybody. "Wow."

"I should put on a bra."

I held up a hand. Honestly, I didn't see her bending that much and when she was upright, she was plenty decent (for a posh jazz club in New Orleans during Mardi Gras). The risk was minimal and the chance of teasing flashes high. "No, you definitely shouldn't."

"No? Want me to show off?"

"Well...yes." I looked around and dropped my voice. "That tit-groping fantasy last night? I can't believe how hard that got me." I checked over my shoulder one last time, then stroked the outer curve of her breast. "With you on my arm, I am a rich man. I can share the wealth."

She bit her lip and couldn't hide a coy smile. "Careful, now. I might take you up on that."

"Didn't I say I wanted to see you in pearl necklaces?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I offered last night... In the alcove."

"Yeah..." She'd started our alcove interlude on her knees but I'd spun her around for the grand prize. I glanced through the store and saw some husband-in-tow stealing glances at my wife. With a covert audience, I slid my hand across Jessica's ass. "I'm a busy man, dear. I can't do everything myself."

Her eyes popped and her jaw dropped. She took a breath to collect herself then shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know if you're playing."

I wagged my eyebrows and led us toward the cashier. "Sometimes, I might be serious."

I paid and Jessica put a jacket over her shoulders for the walk outside. She was still shaking her head as we hoofed it down the sidewalk, looking for an open men's store. "Nick, this sharing thing... you're a fantasy philanthropist–"

"A what? A philanderer?"

She gave me a sidelong glance and ignored the interruption. "My dear husband, I have always been a faithful wife but these fantasies..."

"What?"

She didn't want to answer. "They've really been turning me on."

"Isn't that what fantasies are supposed to do?"

"Fantasies, yes! But there's a line between fantasy and reality and you keep hinting about pushing the line back!" She stopped and adjusted the jacket over her shoulders. "Hon, all kidding aside: don't invite me to dine, then serve me for dinner."

"Invite me to dine"? It was poetic but Jessica was dead serious and it slowed me up. One part deep inside just wanted to push the big red button that said 'Do Not Push.' It was right next to the part of me that wanted pictures of her in flagrante dicklicto. Another part was slapping me upside the head with the logic stick. For better or worse, good judgment didn't get through before words spilled out.

"What happens in the Big Easy, stays in the Big Easy."

She was silent as I guided us into a terminally chic men's store a few doors down. They were reaching to lock the door when I pushed it open. The guy was friendly enough (especially when Jessica pranced in behind me) and since we were the only customers, both clerks (turns out there were two) gave us full service. Judging by the cloth tape measures hanging around their necks, they were both tailors – though they followed Jess around like puppy dogs.

I looked around for a few minutes. Milton and Reginald had absolutely no problem helping us out. The four of us were mid-conversation, all small talk about New Orleans and Mardi Gras, when she leaned over a chair to see what I was looking at. There was a moment of silence. Her face was angelically innocent as she sized up my potential suit. Below her long neck, a gaping neckline revealed fleshy, Playmate-quality boobs in all their glory. It was flash-for-effect, total vamping. Both clerks paused – didn't say anything – just paused and admired.

I admired, too – and that said something. She's a beautiful woman with a gorgeous rack but after ten years of marriage, it was a familiar view. Was a familiar view. Like seeing her flash last night got me hard, watching her flash now got me hard again. This was a little different, though: these guys knew our names. We'd been talking, building rapport – we wouldn't be disappearing in a crowd. I locked eyes with Jessica and gave her a subtle smile. I approve. When she smiled back, I knew she understood. I gave her the smallest of nods: run with it. She didn't respond for a heartbeat, then bit her lip and nodded back.

Where would she run with it? I had no idea, but I'd have fun catching up to her. I held up the suit and broke the spell. "How 'bout this one?"

The tux was just this side of a zoot suit. It sounds funky but it looked pretty good. The tailors finally managed to inhale and Reggie drew the short straw. He led me to the back for a couple of adjustments. Through sheer will, I kept my underwear from looking like a circus tent. Reggie and I talked women and he was effusive about Jessica's charms. We were back there for about fifteen minutes as the arteest made the alterations.

Reginald was out first; then came right back a moment later for one last check.

"How do I look?"

"Every girl digs a sharp dressed man."

I paid – I don't remember how much – grabbed a breathless Jess and rocketed out the door. We grabbed another cab and headed for the club. On the way, I made arrangements for the driver to drop our old clothes back at the hotel.

As I leaned back, I saw Jessica absent-mindedly playing with a piece of paper. "That the receipt?"

Her hand froze. She got a deviant smile and shook her head. "Phone number."

"Milton interested?"

She squeezed her arms together and her boobs practically popped from her dress. "Milton was brave."

I felt a rush of adrenaline but Mr. Winky wasn't sure. "How brave?"

She licked her lips – hinting – then bit her lower lip, suddenly unsure. "Well, you did want me in pearls... even if you were busy."

Holy Shit, she ran with it. I bounced from flaccid to rock hard. I glanced at her chest – it was flushed red but not wet. I studied her hair and her dress. Her hair was mussed and her lipstick was gone. I tried to play it cool but I know I didn't make it. "Did you 'dine'?"

I thought I'd see canary feathers in that smile. "What if I did?"

I shrugged and slammed the humor button. "It would explain the discount. So what? You flashed him some more?"

"No, silly, we left that far behind. We talked about Mardi Gras, flashing, sex in public places... my husband wanting to see me groped. When he reached out I didn't stop him."

"He copped a feel?"

"No, he groped. We kissed." She reached inside the swooping neckline and brushed a finger over a nipple. "I So wanted you to walk in on us."

"Doing what?!"

"Imagine me on my knees, my dress puddled around me."

"Holy shit."

"I wanted to see your face when you saw cum on my boobs."

"I looked."

"I know," she smiled. "Reggie scared the hell out of him and he came all over the floor. You followed a minute later."

"Holy shit." Explained why Reggie came right back. "Did Reggie see?"

"Oh, yes."

I swear, I needed to fuck her right there in the cab. "If I had come up first?"

"I was hoping that... you would..."

"Join in?"

"Yes."

Holy shit. Have I mentioned 'Holy shit' yet? Sure, we had our little bedroom fantasies, but living any of them out...? Stupid. Unsafe! True, but we knew what we were getting into. Indecent! Of course! That's what made it exciting. I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. I really expected her to toss her head back and admit she was just kidding. "You're just fuckin' with me, right...? To see what I'd say?"

"Nick, I swallowed Milton's cock." She leaned over and kissed me. If there was any doubt in my head my head, it was gone after that. "Forgive me but you wanted to see me in a pearl necklace and I wanted to put one on."

"I forgive you." I tried to not be shocked at just how real our bedroom fantasies had just become. "Wow."

She nodded. "How do you feel?"

"Like I need to throw you over the hood of the cab and fuck you till the beads fall off. How do you feel?"

"I was a bad, bad girl." She leaned over and squeezed my cock through my newly tailored pants "A total slut..."

"And?"

"I loved it. Do you still love me?"

"Yes." The answer didn't take thought.

"It didn't work out like I planned. I want to do it again." With her breath in my ear; her voice was barely a whisper. "I need you to see me. If you're going to share me, I need to taste your approval..."

I nodded and glanced to make sure the cabbie was listening in. "There are rules."

Her eyes were half-lidded and she was breathing in deep sighs. "Name them."

"It's fine that you dine, just don't kiss me with cream on your lips."

She smiled. "I promise."

"Second is... seconds. I don't mind you sloppy but I don't eat cream pie."

"Cross my heart. Anything else?"

"Yes, but I don't have enough blood in my brain for any more rules right now."

We arrived at the club and my head was spinning. I hopped right out as the doorman swooped in to open her side. She looked awesome stepping out. The dress was knee length but slit up the sides and her legs looked something from a diamond commercial. She had to lean just a little to get out and a little was all she needed. I handed our invitations to him, but I don't think he noticed.

Inside, we checked our coats and took a seat. The bar area was open (and there was a crush around it) but the tables were reserved and we set up home base at our special spot. For twenty minutes, we just sat and took it all in. We absorbed live Dixieland, drank and watched people get down on the dance floor.

As I watched the floor, I realized just how good-looking this crowd was. It was enough to knock me out of my swingers' stupor. Jess was a standout anywhere but she had competition here. It was a good thing for me: the better dancers – the girls at least – were usually better looking, a natural byproduct of keeping themselves in shape. Most of the guys, on the other hand, were average. Some were GQ fodder (there's always some), others were just old sugar daddies. As for me, I was on the "rugged" side (definitely not a pretty boy) and just distinctive enough to escape the average class. The wonder-tux hid the physique but the girls could still see cheekbones and a thick neck. Put on a smile and I could charm just about anybody out of a bad mood.

After a couple drinks, I heard a peppy number and grabbed Jess. We stepped out and tore up the floor. We can dance – I'm not shy about it – and put with her dress, we had an audience. It was a good way to see and be seen – a good way to announce we were there. And it worked. After our first dance, a guy immediately asked to cut in and I gave permission. The second I turned around, I had eye contact from three women, all hoping I'd ask them. I picked the one with the biggest smile and tore it up all over again.

We held the pattern for an hour. Dance, sometimes with each other, meet back at the table, tie one on and go dance it off. I noticed a pattern, she did have a few repeats, I can definitely tell you: on the peppier numbers, her partners were treated to a good deal of shaking cleavage.

Away from Jess, I was treated to a tour of Cleavage of the World. Maybe it was in the air, but about an hour into it, I found my hand sliding down the curves of my partners, slipping past hips to cup glorious new cheeks. Nobody was better than Jessica, but they were different and that was exciting. It had the same kind of rush I'd been feeling since last night, but with a spin I hadn't felt in a long time.

Somewhere around 11:30, don't know the song, but a girl asked me to dance. Just walking, watching her walk to dance floor and I knew this would be good. The women there were all beautiful but this girl had magnificence of Jessica quality. Even rarer: she could dance. Her boobs weren't as well dressed as Jess but they were well put-together and she wasn't shy with them. By the end of the number, she offered a totally different number: her number.

I nodded and smiled but damn if some ethical bone didn't make me point back toward Jess.

The woman, Alena, smiled. "Bring her with."

Oh, Fuckin' A! I kissed the paper and put it in my pocket. This was looking good.

I had David Lee Roth going through my head: Just a gigolo. Some girls were older (and they were hunting), some were younger (but they were enthusiastic), and I wasn't exactly shy tonight. There was another girl – Betty – not half and hour later that leaned in and instinct just guided me to her. She gave me a long kiss during one of our dances and a she gave me a long, discreet cock-squeeze during another. It was the closest thing to hand job you could have with your pants on. This left me with another set of numbers. Set? Yup. A cell phone number and a room number. What's the old saying? Two cheeks in the hand is one step toward the bush – or something like that.

Somewhere around midnight, I was dancing with Alena again on one of the slow numbers. I glanced over and saw Jessica pressed against some guy. His hand was square on her ass and she looked good with it. Hmm... There was a pang of jealousy, sure, but our alcove-to-tailor moments bubbled back. He already had his hand on her ass and I pictured him fondling her tits. I remembered standing behind Jessica in the alcove, pounding away, and I pictured us back there with this guy in front of her, feeding her his cock. I'm pretty sure Alena felt my cock nudging her.

There was an up-tempo rag right after and everything was normal again. Still, the same guy orbited her the rest of the night. He wasn't a bad looking guy and I wondered if he saw me as competition (from that point, he danced with Jess more than I did). During a lull, my ass-grabbed wife met me at the table and I asked her about her new stalker.

"Admirer" she corrected.

Right. Must be a charming bastard. "Did you tell him you were married?"

She was wearing her ring, but... "He didn't ask."

"...Almost like being back in California."

"It's Mardi Gras." She took a sip of water, then looked me from the corner of her eye. "Should I have put on a bra?"

"Not at all. I'm just trying to gauge where this is going."

She cocked an eyebrow and looked off, apparently wondering that herself. She turned back with a shrug. "It goes where you let it."

I eyed her fabulous body and my gaze came to rest on that gorgeous face. I nodded toward her admirer. "Either him or we call Milton."

She waved her hand like a fan and took a second to catch her breath. "That would be two in one day. Are we ready for that?"

"Think Reginald is doing anything tonight?"

Good thing she wasn't drinking anything. I could tell her head was still spinning as I pulled her out for another dance. It was a peppy number and at this point, honestly, I felt like showing off. I spun Jessica like a rag doll and the more I saw her groove, the more I wanted to see her writhe. Enough vertical dancing, I wanted horizontal dancing. I wanted to see her beneath me – and like a thunderbolt – realized I wanted to see her under other dance partners. Why? Fuck it, don't know, but that vision got me hard.

We split after the song and partner-hopped for the last hour 'till close. Some of the women thought we must've worked there, maybe as hired dancers to keep people on the floor. No, but it felt good to hear.

I partnered up with a cutie that introduced herself as "Sheila." It was a slower number and Sheila pressed herself against me. By this point, I was walking hard-on and tried to be discreet but she was having none of it. She pressed herself against me and I could feel the heat between her thighs. When she started pressing her pelvis against my crotch I had to dance slower just to keep my undies dry.

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