When I opened my eyes, and looked at my watch, it was just passed Noon on Friday. I instantly realized that my fever had broken and I felt 80% better than I had been for the last several days. My wife was still soundly sleeping in the bed next to me. I wanted to shake her awake and make her start telling me exactly what all had happened the night before, but I let her sleep. I went into my home office and sat down at my computer to start recording the details of what I knew so far, so that I could later write this story.
A few hours later, my wife got up and I started peppering her with question after question about exactly what had taken place the night before. For the next two and half days, all the way up until Monday, when we had to go back to work, this was the only topic of conversation between the two of us. During the day, as we went about our normal activities, ran errands, drove around in the car, and even sitting at tables in restaurants, we talked about it. As long as we weren’t in the direct presence of other people, we talked about nothing else. My wife only gave me the generalities of it all, the time line of events, the names, (of who she could remember, there were apparently many men she didn’t know), but she wouldn’t give me the explicit sexual details that I was wanting, and in fact, needed to hear.
Brandie, for all our kinky sexual lifestyle, isn’t one to talk “dirty”, and use the kind of explicit sexual language I wanted to hear, about the details of what had taken place. She won’t talk like that unless she is drunk, or horny, or preferably, both at the same time! So in order to get those explicit details that I wanted, we spent Friday and Saturday night in our home bar and pool room, just the two of us, drinking, listening to music, and talking about what had happened at Strokers. As I plied her with tequila shots and beer, I was constantly asking my wife questions. She was wearing a short, sleazy, nightie, and occasionally, as she got higher on the booze, I would get her to stand between my knees as I sat on a bar stool and I would make out with her, kissing her neck, licking and sucking on her tits and nipples, and fingering her pussy as she told me those explicit sexual details that I was trying to drag out of her. Or, as she sat on her stool, I might stand behind her, kissing her neck and rubbing her tits with my hands, letting one, or both of my hands occasionally slide down to her legs and what lay between them.
During one particularly effective “enhanced interrogation technique”, (I doubt anyone would consider what I was doing “torture”, but it sure was effective), I had my wife on the pool table and was eating her pussy while she gave me answers to my questions. I would stop licking and nibbling her pussy to ask another question, when she stopped talking, so to keep my mouth working on her pussy, my wife’s answers to my questions were lengthy, and very detailed!
On Saturday morning, while Brandie was still sleeping, I sat at my computer making notes from what she had told me the night before, and I repeated that on Sunday morning from Saturday night’s interrogation. Over the years, since this happened, we have occasionally spoken again about that night, and I have sometimes mined a new nugget of information that I hadn’t previously heard.
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