The Hideaway was an old bar in Redwood City. It was located between the Mexican barrio and an industrial area of mostly small shops. The owner at the time was a friendly Latino, rumored to be a gangster of sorts.
The Hideaway catered to a very diverse bunch. Mostly men, though there were usually some women there. About half the patrons were Mexicans, mostly legal and mostly employed in the area. The other half were mainly Caucasian small business owners, like myself, and their employees.
There were also occasionally a few Hell’s Angel outlaw bikers who seemed to have some shady and mysterious business dealings with Juan, the owner.
The night time crowd were pretty heavy drinkers. The music was loud. Surprisingly, fights were non-existent. The two groups kept pretty much to themselves.
One big attraction of the Hideaway was a Mexican cook who presided over a small kitchen. He served breakfast and dinner. The menu was limited and changed daily, but the food was delicious and helpings were generous.
The building itself was quite old, a big two-story rectangle with parking on three sides and a covered deck with seating plus a pretty fenced yard in the back.
The bar itself consisted of two big rooms. The front door opened into the bar itself, which ran nearly the length of the room. There was a tiny men’s bathroom in a corner at the far end of the bar. There were also a dozen or so round tables with chairs in the bar room.
The back room seemed bigger. There were seating booths along the two longer walls. That room also had an entry from the parking lot. There was a wide opening between the rooms and the back wall had a sliding glass door to the patio area. The women’s restroom was in the back room.
On some weekends Juan would hire a local rock band and the back room was used for dancing.
I usually ate my breakfast at the Hideaway and had my dinner there a few nights every week.
My little architectural woodworking shop was an easy walk from the Hideaway.
My wife at that time was Tina. With rents in the area skyrocketing, I had built a little apartment in my shop, where we lived. If you’ve read any of my stories about Tina, you already know she was “drop-dead gorgeous”, a sex addict, exhibitionist, and part-time prostitute. I was a committed cuckold and voyeur.
One Friday Tina told me she had no date that night and would like to go with me to dinner at the Hideaway. We often ate our dinner there together. I’m a recovering alcoholic and don’t drink but Tina has no inhibitions about drinking, or anything else, for that matter.
On this occasion, I asked Tina why she never got picked up by men at the Hideaway. Her answer surprised me. She said she didn’t want to embarrass me in front of my friends there. Actually, I was floored by that explanation and told her so. Many of my friends were among her lovers and her active sex life was a poorly kept secret. Humiliation was the icing on a cuckold’s cake I told her.
She asked me if I wanted to select her clothes for the evening. She liked me to dress her for dates and that was a signal to me that she would be available for sex that night.
She was an outrageous exhibitionist and loved dressing as the slut she was. One of her lovers had bought her a tiny pleated skirt that was much too small to conceal her round and available butt. I could tell she approved when I laid the skirt out. I selected a lycra-spandex band to cover about half her big D-cup “man-magnet” tits. A pair of clear plastic stiletto heels and white, lace top thigh-high stockings completed her ensemble.
“No undies?” she asked with a grin.
“I wouldn’t want anyone to think you were playing hard to get,” I replied.
She got plenty of male attention when we walked into the Hideaway. We ordered and ate dinner together and she got a little tipsy with three glasses of wine.
After dinner, I stayed at the table, drinking coffee Tina strutted over to the bar and pushed between three Mexicans there. One of then moved over and gave her his stool. They ordered her a drink and I noted she had switched from wine to whiskey.
I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I could see the Mexicans were giving her their full attention as she chattered away.
Two more drinks and the guys had their hands on her. They all left the bar and headed for the back room. I could tell my wife was inebriated by the way she clung to one of the men. Her skirt had ridden up in back, exposing most of her ass to public view. There wasn’t a man in the place who didn’t know by now she wasn’t wearing panties.
I moved to another seat where I could see my wife in a booth between two of the guys. By then they had their hands all over her and she was loving it. She and one of the men got up to dance and the elastic band covering her tits was gone.
Tina was going all out to put on a show. She danced with all three of the Mexicans. Slow dancing, her arms up and around their necks. Her big boobs flattened against their chests, Her pussy grinding into them. Their hands on her ass. I wondered if they were going to fuck her on the dance floor.
They sat back down in their booth and did some more drinking. Tina acted as though she didn’t know she was topless.
A few minutes later she and the youngest of the Mexicans came running out of the back room and out the front door. I followed and saw them by a new looking jacked-up pickup truck. It seemed the truck was locked and her new friend didn’t have a key.
He leaned back against the truck, and she leaned into him. They kissed passionately for a while. I guessed (correctly) they were waiting for the other two guys and would be leaving soon, taking my wife with them.
Tina began turning slowly around in the young man’s embrace. His hands roamed over her naked breasts and then down to her ass as she turned. He pulled her skirt up above her waist and her big round butt was completely exposed. When she turned his fingers caressed her labia.
The other two guys left the bar, and Tina pulled her skirt all the way off and waved it at them. At the truck, the door was opened and they all got in. The white skirt lay abandoned in the parking lot when they drove away.
I collected it and also the spandex top, from the booth where it lay.
I drove home to my lonely bed and wondered which of the Mexicans was fucking my wife at that moment.
And if you were wondering, I was humiliated and embarrassed by my wife’s very public display of infidelity. And I loved her for it.
