"Looking forward to seeing you tonight," read his text. "Back around 7:45. Will eat on the train. Xx"
"I'll be ready and waiting. SEEING is the word - no touching," she replied.
"What's that about?"
"Wait and SEE!"
Tonight was to be her experimental night. The idea had been quietly brewing for a while. She was drawn to the notion of testing how much she could still tease her man — a test for her and a test for him. After days away, would he be able to keep her rules? After years together and with a young child, could she cross fresh boundaries and play the wanton temptress?
Outside was the normal quiet murmur of a suburb - neighbours oblivious to her evening plans.
Tonight, here, she could shed her mum persona and become the dancer she had never dared to be. He did not know what was planned and could not know what she dreamed.
She was used to eating early with her three-year-old. Though the child was with grandparents for a sleepover, she still had her meal early. One glass of wine — the rest of the bottle left to breathe on the table beside his chair. Gathering energy coursed through her veins and melted gently between her thighs. Though he wasn't here yet, her body was already beginning to tingle.
She made all ready: no gaps in the sitting room net curtains, gentle lighting and closed curtains in the bedroom. Chairs in the right places — out of reach of the spaces in which she would move, but not too far. Wine and nibbles waiting. Clothing: grey jersey dress — figure-hugging, but not brazen. The top covered her shoulders well, the knitted fabric stretched smoothly in a cross-over across her bust, and the skirt shaped itself to follow the swell of her belly and the deep curve of her buttocks. She had not worn it often, for she feared the skirt was an inch or two too short for suburban respectability — but tonight she wanted her thighs to be eye-catching. Simple tools were in place: vibrator and oil under the pillow. And a simple message, where it could not be missed, on an upright chair confronting the door.
A taxi engine rattled outside. A key slid into the door and even in her secluded place in the bedroom, she felt the cool draft from the open door around her ankles.
Sounds of a suitcase set down on the hall parquet and a greeting strangled, perhaps as he caught sight of the note. A rustle of paper.
She had given him permission to take time to arrive home: to freshen up and then take a seat -- wine and light refreshments provided -- to see (but not to touch) what was in store.
While he was in the bathroom she took her place on the settee across the sitting room from his chair.
"Do come in. Take a seat, pour your self a glass, and make yourself comfortable."
He was a broad silhouette in the doorway when he tentatively approached. Slim waist, and definitely masculine shoulders. She was glad she had persuaded him to buy the beautifully fitting suit. No collar and tie, but a turtleneck hinted at confident non-conformity. It was strange, but exhilarating, to watch him arrive without a welcoming hug and kiss. She realised she had never before sat back to watch. Her man formally dressed was a stimulus in itself.
He stepped to the chair in front of her and sat down.
Her look met his gaze and held it for a moment, then she looked down at the book in her hands, swivelled to one side and swung her feet up onto the sofa and she was suddenly aware of the long line of her legs from ankles to skirt hem above her knees. He sipped wine, nibbled cashews, and waited. He knew that watching would lead somewhere, but he did not yet know he was in an erotic story. His wife was beautiful and he had missed her for three days, but he did not know whether she would produce a dramatic reading from the book in her hands, or a new CD purchase ... She had texted "wait and SEE", so maybe the surprise was more visual than aural, and he did notice that, as he watched from the side, her skirt showed a more than usual hint of the definition of the muscles of her thighs.
She opened the book and gazed into it. She needed not to look at him and needed to appear distracted, as if her subtle movements were unconscious.
She drew one heel closer so that one knee rose slightly, the hem of her skirt stretched a little, and soft pale flesh of her inner thigh above the knee came into view.
He began to wonder if he was expected to act. He took another sip of wine and moved forward in his seat as if preparing to cross the room towards her. But an open palm stop gesture halted him and a pointing finger sent him to settle back in his chair and watch.
Without lifting her eyes from the book, she turned back towards him. Her feet rested on the floor and she demurely crossed her ankles. Still not knowing where to focus his attention, he became aware that this grey dress which he did not recognise showed the round separation of her breasts, and the width of her hips tapering to her knees which now seemed to point straight towards him. Those knees were gently moving. She crossed her legs and uncrossed them. As if she had forgotten he was there, her knees parted slightly and came together again. Then her thighs relaxed again and her knees parted, the grey jersey stretched gently over the deep, dark tunnel between, and his eyes could look nowhere else.
When her knees closed again, only one of them moved, so that she turned slightly to one side. Then they opened again, wider this time to the point where the tension of her knitted skirt made the hem begin to slide higher up her thighs. All was still darkness between, but he was beginning to suspect black panties at the target of his breathless attention. When he tore his gaze away and looked for guidance at her face, he found she was watching him intently over the top of the book.
She cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. There was now no doubt, the play of her thighs was no accident. His gaze returned to try to pierce the dark shadow. Her knees widened and her buttocks slid forward so the skirt now concealed little and the panties were confirmed as black.
