Ryder Fox, Silver Dollar - Sex Stories

Ryder Fox, Silver Dollar

... bench press workout on the weight bench. I was really sweaty by the end of it and went back to the women’s locker room. I stripped and got into the shower, washing the sweat and the sticky sequins off my body.

***

Sunday afternoon

Back home, I went up to dress for the evening. I found an ankle-length red dress with a hip-high slit from my sorority days. It featured a ruffled bodice, left my shoulders bare, and came with a red ribbon choker that tied on with a bow. I wore nude stockings held up by snap-on garters. I found a red silk translucent bandeau bra. My pole dancing shoes were also red, and I decided to wear them as well, even though I knew they would make me so much taller than Trevor – it would make him mad.

I slipped on my serrated gold pussy ring, then clipped on a belly button stud. I decided to wear nipple bars instead of rings and screwed them into my nipple piercings. Then I put on my nose ring and a range of earrings.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I plumped my breasts and felt the nipple bars through the bodice of the dress and the thin silk of my bra. I put my hand in the slit of my dress and felt my pussy ring on my bare pussy. I tracked my fingernails on my vulva and exhaled sharply. I was going to the bar commando like Jack wanted – something I’d never done before (See my story Ryder Fox Rocks). I wanted to see him. But did I want him to fuck me again? I wasn’t sure.

I walked downstairs awaiting Trevor’s hostile comments. He ...

... surprised me by not complaining at all, even though I towered over him in my pole-dancing shoes.

“You look very statuesque,” was all he said.

He was being so nice, that I felt guilty I had cheated on him. I did like that I could attract a man like Jack – but right then, I decided to stop having sex with him. I wanted to revert to being a faithful wife to Trevor. But I couldn’t suppress the pestering thought in my head – it was Jack who had impregnated me. The baby I was carrying was Jack’s, not Trevor’s.

“Where are we going?” Trevor asked.

It was too late to change plans for the evening.

“The Silver Dollar Saloon,” I said. “Downtown.”

“The one on the Millennium Tower, right?”

“Yes, it’s on the 67th floor.”

***

Sunday evening, Sunday night

We got out of the elevator on the 67th floor and were greeted by a stupendous view of the city. The bar had floor-to-ceiling windows on all four sides and the ceiling itself was two stories high. The low lighting had a reddish hue and dry ice machines were billowing out white clouds of fog that accentuated the clandestine effect.

To my surprise, it was Amy who appeared out of the fog. She wore a white ankle-length dress with a halter that featured a tie at the nape of her neck and long trailing ends and a diamond-encrusted choker. The dress had no back and from the jounce of her firm breasts, she wasn’t wearing a bra. The dress had a slit on each side and displayed her white stockings and Roman-thong high-heeled ...