He awoke; exhausted but still feeling sated, his face warmed by her thighs, between which he had fallen asleep the night before.
A smile crept across his lips as his mind began to recall the events of the previous evening. As he rolled over he glanced at their clothes strewn about the room. His white shirt, crisp and fresh the day before, was now draped limply across her dressing table. Her black sweater hung across the foot of the bed. Not all clothing had been removed, however. He glanced back at her, as she lay still dreaming of who-knew-what (almost certainly something saucy though, to be sure). Her lacy, black slip barely covered her wonderful womanhood. He had left it on her, pushing it slightly higher, then higher still, slowly, teasing her, but ultimately pleasing her as well.
She too awoke. She still felt his hands upon her – his hands, his lips, his admiring, longing gaze upon her pleasing body. And yes, it was pleasing. She sometimes had her doubts, but after last night, they seemed far away and insignificant to be sure. Her body brought him great pleasure, of that she was sure. And it had brought her much pleasure as well.
He had arrived home soon after seven o'clock last night, hurrying in out of the cool damp evening. She did not respond to his first call, or even his second. She must be upstairs getting ready, he thought. They were going out to a new restaurant that had opened a couple of weeks previously. It had been a busy, and at times tense, week for both of them, and they were looking forward to relaxing in the company of those they most enjoyed – each other. It wasn't that they didn't care for others – they had many acquaintances and friends. And it certainly wasn't that they lacked invitations to join others – they were frequent. They simply enjoyed each other most of all.
He wondered what she would be wearing. If he knew her, she would be wearing a black turtleneck sweater and one of her favorite long, slinky skirts (black also, of course), both of which played delightfully across her voluptuous form. And she would wear her new, black high-heeled, "fuck me" pumps, of that he was certain. She'd been so pleased when she found them (as had he, truth be told). He was less certain of what she would have chosen to wear beneath. He knew what he hoped she would be wearing, though – a lacy black bra, perhaps the demi cup, lifting her creamy breasts, and barely concealing their plump, pink nipples. And of course, the garter belt he had recently purchased for her, holding up the black, thigh-high stockings that encased her long, lovely legs. He was becoming aroused simply thinking about her and the evening that lay ahead of them.
As he came up the stairs he caught the scent of candles and he detected music. As he drew closer to the bedroom door he could make out the strains of Slave to Love by Bryan Ferry. And, he could also detect the unmistakable strains of his wife's erotic pleasure. He slowly, quietly opened the door, just enough to peek inside and there she lay, sprawled across the bed, her hands exploring the delicate but demanding folds between her legs. Her head was thrown to the side, turned slightly away from him, and her eyes were closed. He did not move closer, simply stood and watched her, feeling himself grow harder. Well, he thought, if she can...
She'd planned to be ready on time, really she had. But her skin felt so delightfully soft and smooth after her bath, and it had been such a long week, and she just needed a little stress reduction. And he wouldn't be home for another 35 minutes.
She had started to get dressed after drying off. She decided to put on some music and light a candle just to help get in the mood for later. The only problem was, as she felt the cups of her bra encasing her breasts, feeling their pleasing weight and saw the delightful sheen of the stockings on her legs, she began feeling a warmth in her belly. But when she slid the thong panties up her legs and between her thighs, it was no longer just in her belly that she felt warm.
She lay back on their wonderfully big bed. She convinced herself that she would just lay back and enjoy the feeling for a couple of minutes, then finish getting dressed. And she did. But after a couple of minutes, she was feeling warmer than ever, and somehow, without her knowledge or permission, the fingers of her right hand had placed themselves on her Venus mound and begun a gentle massage. I really shouldn't, she thought. We're going to have plenty of time for lovemaking later. Yes, a voice in her head said, but you are multi-orgasmic. And he wouldn't have bought you all of those wonderful sex toys if he didn't want you to enjoy yourself, right? She had to admit there was a certain amount of logic in both of those points. Plus, in the meantime, her fingers had once again moved without her knowledge (although she would almost certainly have given them permission this time), and were slipping beneath the small, lacy covering of her panties, caressing the slick, wet warmth of her slit.
It was then that she heard the door open and close downstairs. After an initial flash of feeling that she must straighten her self and the bed before he came upstairs, she realized that she was tantalizingly close to an orgasm. And she also realized that she really wouldn't mind if he found her this way. She closed her eyes and turned her head slightly from the door. She heard the door handle turning slowly and felt her heart skip a beat. Although she had pleased herself before in his presence, it had always been a part of their joint love play. This felt different somehow – exciting, dangerous. She didn't immediately sneak a glance in his direction, afraid that he might know that she knew he was there; she simply continued pleasing herself. After a moment she slowly, carefully turned her head toward him and opened one eye ever so slightly. It was dark in the room except for the candle she had lit earlier, so he didn't notice. She felt her heart skip again, but this time it was because his fingers too had begun a ritual of pleasure, slowly stroking himself while he watched her. She lusted for him as her eyes took in his form. He still wore his long trench coat, over a crisp white shirt and black pants. He had drawn down the zipper, and his manhood stood out starkly in contrast.
He had become aware that she knew he was there, but continued to slowly stroke himself. He knew he would want to make love to her later. He also knew, looking at her, admiring her, loving her, that he would have no problem doing so even if he came now. And that was a good thing, because he was getting dangerously close to doing so. And besides, there was more than one way to give her pleasure...
They arrived at the restaurant and because of the rain, he dropped her off at the door. The hostess showed her to a booth in the back, quiet and private. She watched with pleasure as he entered the room and strode to their table, tall and strong. It made her feel joy knowing that she would be going home with him later. Not that she couldn't have had others – she was aware of eyes following her entry when she first came in. But as pleasurable as it was to know that she was appealing to other men, her love for, and loyalty to him were complete. And unlike so many married couples, their sex life had not diminished; it had, in fact grown stronger.
