It was nearly 1:00 AM and the portion of the club that didn't appear fuzzy had shrunk as our fluid levels rose. My wife Rose was seated between my best friend Scott and I in our dimly lit booth, and we hadn't moved for about an hour. The evening was almost six hours old, and drinking had been a part of every one of those minutes. We had stayed fairly well together as our evening progressed, and we passed through the reserved stage to the nice buzz stage to the active stage, which included a great deal of dancing, to the turned on stage. We were entering the second hour of the turned on stage, and I knew Rose wouldn't leave this stage until she had been thoroughly satisfied.

My imagination was in overdrive. I had fantasized about Rose being in exactly the position she was in right now since before our marriage two years ago. She was naked under her skimpy front-buttoning sundress and Scott's fingers moving in her audibly squishy cunt had her bouncing with arousal. I watched, along with a small group of single guys at a table no more than fifteen feet from us. They were remarkably restrained considering that it was obvious she was being finger fucked by one man while another sat right next to her. Her head was back and her eyes were closed almost all the time, but I knew she knew the table of guys was examining her as closely as possible in the muted lighting. She occasionally looked at Scott when he whispered in her ear, and the only words I heard when he was talking to her were the ones he wanted to emphasize. Words like fuck and cunt and cock.

Scott ran his own photography studio, and since I first met him in the ninth grade (ten years ago) he carried a camera everywhere he went. I knew he had several cameras and lots of film in his car. Rose was approaching orgasm, but I was too greedy to let it happen from just Scott's fingers. I wanted everything, including a photographic record of her adultery.

"Scott, how about continuing this in your car?"