An Erotic Date Night

Tabitha sat in the seat next to me in the back of the town car, but we had been and were still miles apart. We are married. We love each other. We live together. We eat together. Sleep together. Bathe together. But it was all mechanical and going through the motions. Our lives had gotten in the way. Work, family. All important things, but things none the less that separated us from really being with each other.

Once in our hotel we began to get dressed. We weren't at home. We were away. We had plans that were for us. It just hadn't sunk in yet.

It took me several tries to get my bow tie looking proper. My skill had atrophied. I couldn't even remember the last time I put my tux on. If felt good to wear a crisp shirt and a well tailored jacket. I started to feel like we had left our grind behind. Black tie events had a way of doing so. But first, tickets to the Opera. Not because I loved opera, but because once upon a time Tabitha loved opera. She loved the romance, the artistry. I hoped to reignite her love of it.

She emerged from the changing area. I hardly recognized her. Her brunette hair long, straight and silky to her mid back. No pony tail, no messy bun. She had put on makeup. Dark eye shadow and dark eyeliner. Sumptuous. Sexy. Long drop diamond earrings. A splurge purchase from our earlier days together. Any time other than a formal night and they would look silly. Tonight they highlighted her beauty.

She wore a long sequined gown. It dove in a deep V down her chest, terminating just above her belly button. The gown hung long. A pronounced slit up the left side exposed her leg and ran well above her hip. Amazingly sexy. No possibility of underwear the way the dress was cut. She wore silver sparkling peep toe high heels several inches high. I recalled them. Jimmy Choos that I bought her several years ago. I had hardly seen her wear them. Her toes wore a fresh coat of dark red nail polish identical to that on her fingers.

She walked over to straighten my tie. I said nothing, but my look told her everything she needed and wanted to hear about how she looked. She straightened my bowtie one more time. She kissed me softy and passionately. "I love you." she exhaled as she pulled back. This is why we were here tonight.

In the lobby of the performance hall gilded molding shone brightly against red carpets. We both sipped champagne and made simple talk with acquaintances as we waited to be signaled to take our seats.

The lobby lights pulsed. We had received our signal. One more sip of champagne before heading to our seats. I followed closely behind Tabitha as we moved down through the Orchestra seating. Her hips swayed as she walked down the aisle, making her sequin dress sparkle. Very intoxicating.

The performance hall was dim. The orchestra tuned up. The house filed, every seat taken. Us in the center several rows from the front. The lights dimmed and extinguished. Only the orange glow from the orchestra's music lights could be seen. The curtain rose and the hall began to fill with music. A wall of orchestral sound. Bright stage lights highlighted the protagonist, the antagonist. I knew nothing of the performance. I do not speak Italian. But with a minimum of effort, your can infer everything you need from the music. The performance was gripping. We sat riveted among a sea of tuxedo clad men and evening gown wearing women. Tabitha sat on my right. We held hands on the arm rest, our fingers intertwined. Her attention was unbreakably focused on the performance. From the corner of my eye, I saw the light pink flesh of her leg in the dark. The slit up the side of her dress more revealing when seated. I resisted looking, only enjoying from my peripheral vision. Her thigh completely exposed. Her dress only barely covering her pubic region. We continued to hold hands. She remained transfixed on the performance.

I absorbed the singing. It was beautiful. I understood why Tabitha had loved it. Apparently still loved it.

She lifted my hand slowly, quietly placing it on top of her exposed thigh. She showed no reaction. She Remained transfixed on the performance. Her thigh was soft and warm. I left my hand where she placed it, unmoved, her hand on top of mine.

The performance ebbed and waned from soft to strong, powerful to delicate.

She moved my hand. Again, fixed on the performance. She slid my hand up and inside her thigh. Very close to her vagina. Her skin softer, warmer. The Orchestra rang out in unison.

Again, she moved my hand. Pulling it under her dress, my hand cupped against her vagina. Amazing warmth. I became nervous. I looked past her. The old man next her focused on the performance, none the wiser as to what was happening in the darkness between the legs of the woman next to him. Her warmth radiated against my cupped palm and fingers. Amazingly sensual. She removed her hand from mine, returning it to the armrest.

I worked my middle and ring finger past her labia. Slowly. From the corner of my eye I watched her. No reaction. My fingers now hot and wet, working against her flesh. Probing her inside and giving her pleasure.

I checked often. She was a rock. No outward sign of the growing tension inside her. Lazer focus on the performance.

My fingers worked hard, and deeper. So wet. Small tremors emanated from her hips. Still, unblinkingly watching the performance. I did not relent. I continued to work every nerve ending in her vagina. The tremors grew into quakes. And still, she never looked away from the performance.

She slowly returned her hand to my lap. Placing it on top of mine, Pushing me hard into her. her hips shook spastically. She kept full composure never showing the tumult raging inside her.

She stiffened and froze. Her vagina began to rhythmically contract on my fingers. Hard at first, then waning in frequency and intensity. She slowly pulled my hand from her vagina. She remained locked on the performance, only breaking with a slight smile as I lifted my hand away.

My fingers wet and shiny. I placed my elbow on the arm rest. Motioning with my hand as if I were to rub my chin. Her smell radiated from my fingers. Amazing. I wanted to lick them. I restrained. No reason to do that in the opera. Too weird.

The performance soon ended. The house lights rose. Leaving her seat, Tabitha's dress fell back across her leg as the design intended. Formal. Sexy.

The elderly gentleman who had been seated beside her turned as we exited our row and asked. "How did you find the performance tonight?".

"Absolutely magical", Tabitha responded with a smile.

Our night was not over accompanying our tickets was an invite to a black tie dinner following the performance for those who supported the arts. A sea of tables with elaborate center pieces. A jazz band and dance floor front and center. A bar off to the side. Before long we were separated. Dragged into countless conversations with acquaintances. Pointless conversations. Friendly, light small talk. But small talk none the less. These people, these conversations had gotten in between us. Exactly what we were trying to avoid.

We found each other as often as possible, but we couldn't break the cycle of being pulled into talking to someone we simply must meet. We knew these people, but could forget about them in an instance.

Dinner seating was called. We would be trapped at a table with other folks we knew in passing, but we would be trapped together. I began to think we should have skipped the dinner. I fumed that I hadn't made a different plan. Too late now. Our table sat. Tabitha and I navigated the small talk deftly while we ate our salads, our filet. My mind flashed again and again to the opera house. It was just her and I. The rest of this was noise.

She headed to the bar for a glass of champagne. I held station at our table, keeping the chit chat with our fellow patrons.

I began to founder. My reserve of useless chatter was running low. I looked around for Tabitha, gone longer than I expected. There she stood at the bar, talking with another tuxedo clad man. Just the two of them. I watched from our table.

I'll give him credit. He was expert at waiting for her to blink, to subtly turn her head. But still, he took every chance to look at the deep vee in the front of her dress. The slit than ran up her leg past her hip. Any man who looked knew she could not be wearing underwear. Any man who looked surely fantasized about it. Mentally fucking her at that instant.

She seemed more eager to leave the conversation than he. He was vaguely familiar. Another meaningless acquaintance in our lives? No. It struck me. Robert was his name. Tabitha had been with him before me. Worse than the forgettable people filling this room. Once identified, I hated him. Don't look at my wife. Or Do. Imagine her naked. I just finger fucked her in the opera. I won. You didn't.

The gentleman next to me continued on. I could hardly hear him. My mind muted and numbed his words. I was relieved to see Tabitha had broken free. At the cost of a polite hug and kiss on the cheek. That smug fuck of a man.

Tabitha locked eyes with me as she approached. A deep sip of her champagne mid step.

She turned to the gentlemen who had been talking at me. You'll have the excuse us both for a minute. She flashed a courteous smile.

Turning to me she moved close to my ear and whispered. "Come with me now. I want you to fuck me."

She left with a smile. The gentlemen rose from his seat to bid her goodbye.

"Please do excuse me. Our conversation, a true pleasure." I shook his hand and walked off behind Tabitha.

I followed a few yards behind her out into the hall. She looked left and right. Marching towards the restroom area. Between the Ladies and Gentlemen a door marked 'Family.' A comfort room. A door lock. It could work.

She entered, the door closing it behind her. I soon followed, looking for observers before I opened the door.

Behind me I flipped the deadbolt. Before I could turn around. Tabitha had assaulted me with a kiss. I grabbed her dress. She fumbled quickly to unbutton my pants, lower my zipper, pull down my underwear. My cock was in her hand. I walked her backward. Against the countertop. On top of the countertop. One leg up on the counter, the heel of her silver sparkly Jimmy Choo digging into the countertop. The other dangling below.

The slit in her dress provided all the access that was needed. Her legs were spread. Her pussy exposed. We grunted together as I entered her. She was wet and aroused. My hormones had been raging since the opera. She clutched my face and my ass. We were fucking. In a bathroom. A nice one. But a bathroom none the less. We were there to orgasm as quick and hard as possible.

Did her run in with Robert cause this? Was it just pent-up sexual energy that I couldn't fully release in the opera? Did I care? The answer was I did not. I came hard. Tabitha smiled at me, locking eyes while I orgasmed. As the wave of hormones subsided, I withdrew from her and pulled up my pants. I wondered if anyone knew we were in here.

Her leg up on the counter still, pussy fully exposed. Tabitha pointed at dispenser of hand towels. I took two. Handed them to her. She wiped her pussy to soak up the dribble making it was toward her ass the semen smeared on her labia. She was quick and efficient. I helped her down from the counter. From her hand bag a quick makeup touchup. A miniature hairbrush. We both needed it. Moments later, we looked as though we did before dinner. Elegant, beautiful and proper. Nobody wise to our carnal interactions.

Returning to the event, dinner had been cleared. Some ballroom dancing. Folks congregating near the bar.

"A glass of champagne?" Tabitha asked me.

"Perfect idea." We walked to the bar.

We resumed the dance of meaningless small talk with folks. I had become fully at ease with it. Funny how having just fucked your wife in a bathroom will do that. I chatted and laughed and shook hands. But I wasn't there. The interactions were all in slow motion and a dull hum in the background. My mind darted around. Fingering my wife in the opera. Fucking her in the bathroom. Imagining how in the hell she as keeping my cum from dripping down her leg while not wearing any underwear.

Responses and physical interactions with the individuals I was speaking to kept interrupting my day dream. I battled this until I was granted mercy. The evening was winding down, people leaving.

Tabitha and I followed suit. In the back of a black town car we said little. But unlike the start of the night, nothing was interfering between us. She sat with her legs crossed, the slit of her dress fully open, her pussy only barely out of view.

Back in our room, I stood in front of the window gazing at the city while undoing my bowtie, my cufflinks. I removed my shirt. Tabitha reflected in the window and I turned to face her. she stood before me quietly in that beautiful black dress. Without a word, she slid it from her shoulders. It fell down across her breasts. Across her hips. That amazingly sensual dress simply became a small rumpled piled of fabric on the floor around her ankles.

Naked in front of me wearing only her heels, she was the picture of eroticism. I loved her body. In our normal routine, I stupidly took her beauty for granted. Even tonight, in the opera, in the bathroom, I had not found a way to soak up her sexuality. A mistake I would not make again.

Tabitha moved to the edge of the bed and sat down. She slowly shifted herself back further onto the bed. She brought one leg up onto the edge of the bed, digging her heel into the mattress. The other hung off the bed. She spread wide for me. Staring at me. Enticing me. Calling me.

Women tend to be modest. Women don't feel comfortable putting their sexuality on such overt display. Maybe they feel as though their body lacks the required perfection. They underestimate the inescapable draw they have over men when they present themselves freely and fully. In the routine of our lives, this describes Tabitha. Tonight, she is a woman without inhibition.

The magnetism of her body pulled at every cell in my body. There would be no resisting. Not that I want to. I move to her. I kiss her. A passionate kiss.

I kiss her again, but this time on her stomach. Her chest rises and falls with a deep breath.

I kiss her again. But this time on top of her pubic mound. Her flesh is warm. She gasps. My nose is filled with the musk of sex. Her cum, my cum. It is intoxicating.

I kiss her again, right on her labia. Pink, hot and swollen from earlier in the night.

I kiss her. I lick her. I caress her. With my lips. With my tongue. I should be aware that she is still filled with my cum. We fucked less that two hours ago. I don't know if I care. I would crawl across the desert to taste her.

She is lost in the pleasure of the moment. Her audible and physical response tells me she loves it. I don't do it for her. I am selfish. I am doing it for me. Being between her legs. Tasting her, smelling her. I can't imagine a drug that can compare.

She cums. She cums hard. Bucking against my face. Pushing me away when she has had too much. I struggle to keep my face between her legs. She pushes harder. I relent. I didn't get my fill. I never have. Maybe never will. Next time perhaps.

I stand up to finish undressing. I never made it past my shirt. Pants and underwear soon crumpled on the floor like her dress. She still has her heels on. So fucking hot.

She rolls over on her stomach and crawls further up the bed. She looks back at me. I crawl up the bed behind her. I kiss the back of her shoulders. The back of her neck. Buried in the nape of her neck with my face, she reaches up and kneads her fingers in my hair. She whispers breathily. "My ass."

Only a very few times has she asked me for anal. I have always been a willing participant. Another kiss on the neck and I go to work. I reach down and spread her legs. My hand cupped across her pussy. I smear the mix of fluid from her vagina up and across her asshole. The rest I rub along my cock. I push her legs back together and straddle the backs of her thighs. She lays still. I press against her. She knows how to breathe to receive me. Her tight grip tells me I am in.

I work slowly, deliberately, but purposefully. I brace myself on my arms, my hands either side of her head. Her ass cheeks bounce back and forth in response to my thrusts. Her anus has relaxed it's grip. Its has failed at its job and now relented to my cock entering as it pleases. I know I can fuck he ass without hurting her. I know Tabitha. I know the pleasure she derives from anal is being taken and controlled. I put my hand on her shoulder. I drive her torso harder into the bed. I thrust harder. I know this is what she wants. She knows I want to feel the power and control over her.

My other hand, still on the mattress alongside her head. She grabs my hand. She takes my index and middle fingers in her mouth. Sucking and swirling. Maybe she is fantasizing about having another man in the room. With his cock in her mouth. Waiting his turn. I don't know. I probably never will.

What I do know is the raw sensuality to it that is heightening my experience. As the minutes pass I can take no more.

I clutch her hips to achieve the deepest penetration possible. I ejaculate. Again and again. I always cherish the orgasms from anal. They are different. Not better, but different in some inexplicable way.

I slump on top of her. Careful not to pull out. Once I am out, it is over. I don't want it to be over. Kisses on her neck and shoulders. I cherish her.

All things come to an end. I am flaccid and shrink from her asshole. I don't know when the next time will be, but I'll be ready.

She kisses me. "Shower?" I am not sure if it is a question or a statement. The only answer is 'yes.' I give her a head start. I Let her warm the water. Leave her a few minutes peace to tend to her body. Tend to her mind, like only a warm shower can.

I join her. We help wash each other. Backs, arms, necks. She gently cups my flaccid cock and washes it. She is thorough, washing away the traces of her vagina and her ass. We share another kiss.

Before long I begin to harden. Still in her hand, she does nothing to stop it. Squeezing and stroking, I am soon erect. Again. I am not sure what more I have to give.

On her knees in the shower she takes me into her mouth. The warm water runs down across us. Down my chest. Across her back. Her lips and tongue trace across every feature of my cock. She knows how to stimulate me quickly, all while moving slowly. I know another orgasm is near. I soon climax. My body fails to muster an explosive force as happened previously tonight. This orgasm is not a crashing wave. It is a undramatic swell. Ejaculate flows steadily from my cock. Tabitha swallows what she wants and lets the rest wash down off her face and body with the warm water of the shower.

In bed, sleep begins to claw at us. Curled in my arms, she is satisfied. Sweet. Almost fragile. We are connected again, ready to return to our daily lives.