## Please note that I published this on a different site in 2021 before I found Lit. It really is mine - if you message me on the other site, I will respond to you here :-). Reposting because it's one of my very favourite adventures. I hope you enjoy it. ##
It wasn't the most engaging play we'd ever seen, but then again we hadn't been to the theatre much in the last few years, so we weren't really in a position to comment. It was a distraction, and that was enough.
A few minutes into the second act - the interval having given us a welcome opportunity to down a quick double vodka and tonic each, Lizzie leaned over to me, sitting on her right, and whispered "the guy next to me keeps putting his hand on my knee". "He's obviously bored too," I replied.
"Seriously, every time I push it away it comes back in a minute or two."
'Maybe you should let him - it's not like he's likely to attack you In a theatre full of people, sitting next to your husband.", I whispered, jokingly.
A few minutes later I had almost forgotten about the man with the wandering hands when Lizzie leaned close to me again; "He's slowly moving his hand further up my leg since I stopped pushing it away."
This was interesting - suddenly I was alert, shaken out of my lethargy, no doubt brought on by a warm, dark room and a well-upholstered seat.
"How far?" I whispered, a little hoarse.
"Middle of my thigh."
"Tell me if he reaches your stocking top."
Lizzie made a sound mid-way between surprise and excitement at the erotic nature of it all. I paid no attention to the play from that moment, but stared fixedly ahead as I suddenly didn't want to discourage or spook the guy with his hand on my wife's thigh. I wanted to see where this was going.
"OK:, she said, slightly breathless, "he's found my stocking top - he's just running his fingers over the lace.."
I was getting very hard listening to this running commentary.
"Are you wet?", I whispered in her ear.
"What!?"
"You heard me."
"A little, actually.."
I paused to think for a minute or so. This was the last point at which I could realistically "discover" this guy's behaviour and indignantly make it stop.
That's not what I did. I was harder than ever - to the point where I wasn't sure the neighbour on my right wouldn't notice. Just as I was contemplating that, he got up, apologising all the way along the row and left. Toilet or actually gone? Either way I chose to see it as a green light from the big man upstairs.
I leaned close to Lizzie's ear. "Open your legs."
I heard a sharp intake of breath. "What? Seriously?", she asked.
"Seriously".
I could hear her breathing as her right thigh gradually increased pressure on my left. Slowly, she stretched her skirt wide.
After a few moments Lizzie breathed to me, "he's not moving - I think he's bottled out.." I sensed both relief and a little disappointment in her voice.
Without a word I used my left hand to reach over Lizzie's legs and firmly grab and hold the stranger's right hand. I felt it jerk as he realised he'd been caught. He was probably imagining a beating, or a police cell for the night, or both.
Slowly, I took his hand and pulled it up Lizzie's thigh and between her legs, where I pushed it firmly against her cunt through her knickers.
Lizzie groaned softly and jumped a little, but did not complain or attempt to move our hands away.
The stranger's hand relaxed under mine as he realised he'd been granted permission and, I imagine, the enormity of the situation became clear to him.