My wife and I have an agreement: When she acts on her prerogative, I get to act out one of my fantasies. But she must always be one up on me.
Men never know what women want. Here I have supplied a wonderful life for my wife, great financial and emotional support, a wonderful father and spouse, tender sex, romantic sex, wild sex, kinky sex, screaming sex, and she tells me how wonderful her life is with me. But every now and then, her wild side comes out bursting out of the wife role with so much intensity.
We have had several of her fantasies played out, and I am always surprised at the creativity and downright sluttiness that comes from my conservative dressing, PTA- active, fine upstanding wife. Last month she looked at me with a twinkle in her eye, sultriness in her voice.
She said "We are going to a party Friday. Dress in dark clothes."
I got a little aroused, which is strange, because I had no idea what she had in mind.
Friday came around, and I dressed in a black pants and a tight pullover dark blue shirt. She wore a simple black dress that was short, running half way up her thigh, and hugged the curves of her hips. The top part of the dress was a simple neck with wide shoulder straps, nothing revealing, but like any man I closely evaluated whether or not I would be able to see her bra or breasts if she leaned over. I had seen her breasts many times and knew them very well, but I still longed for any peak I could get. Her long straight black hair covered her shoulders and occasional caressed her nipples as she moved her head to the side.
We got in the car and she told me we were going to an artists show at a mansion. The owner of the mansion was an art supporter. She said she knew a few people attending. She made it very clear to me that after we entered the art show, and met the hosts, that we would mingle. She also told me to not let her out of my sight. It was her prerogative, and her rules. That's our agreement.
We arrived at the mansion. It was large, in a nice neighborhood, but not pretentious. The interior surprisingly had basic furnishings, obviously so as not to detract from the artwork. We were greeted at the door, and our coats were taken by one of the hosts.
I started to separate from her to mingle per her instructions, but was stopped as she grabbed my arm
"I left something in my coat pocket," she said. Can you come with me?"
We were shown the room where the coats were hung. The room was bigger than our master bedroom, and the closet had sliding glass doors. My wife looked around, smiled, and reached into the pocket of her jacket hanging in the closet, but she did not pulled anything out.
"I must have left it at home. Let's mingle," she said.
I mingled and tried to sound intelligent, but I am sure I didn't. Not only was I ignorant about the artist, but I was distracted with what my wife had up her sleeve, or in this case, up her skirt. I kept an eye on my wife, per her request. She knew whatever she did, I would enjoy watching it...
She went from group to group, talking to men, looking at times like a teenager flirting with the football team, and other times like the lead female of a newer James Bond movie. Now and then, she glanced at me with a smile and a wink.
Like me, most of the men at the art show were no longer thinking about the art. Instead, they wondered if my wife was wearing a bra, when she would lean down to show them, what color were her panties, if she were attached, and if so, would she let them under her skirt anyway.
Some of the women were wondering the same things. They also wondered, if their lover takes them tonight because they were so turned on by my wife and how would they look in that black dress.
My wife continued to flirt and tease. She carefully made sure to rub her breasts against one or more of the guys as she moved from artwork to artwork. I would see her surrounded by three men, the center of attention, and all the men joking or talking about the artist. I knew they were really thinking about how they could get under my wife's skirt.
I saw her lead two mean to some chairs. The men sat on one side of a hors d'oeurves laden table, and she sat on the other. I faced her from a distance in my own conversation group.
Her skirt was short enough that the men lingered their glances to her crotch.
"Darn, too many shadows," we all thought as we strained a look.
She leaned over to grab the smallest hors d'oeurves knowing that as she leaned forward her bra and cleavage would be revealed to these two men.
The two men took their attention away from her crotch and both enjoyed the view of her breasts through her black-laced bra. I too could see. I found myself lusting after her like the other two men even though I have had her so many times, in so many ways.
She excused herself from the conversation, told the two men to stay there, and indicated to me with a simple look for me to also stay where I was.
Returning and as if seeing the hors d'oeurves for the first time, said "Ooh, what's this?"
She leaned over picked up a tasty bite. Of course her interest was not in the food, but in flashing these two men. The men found she had excused herself to remove her bra. Every time she leaned forward, her firm smallish breasts and perfectly brown perky nipples said "Come lick me, I am so much better than these hors d'oeurves."
The two men squirmed slightly, and I grinned. I looked around the room and found that most of the men were also looking at my wife. The art was no longer the show. I suspect if there weren't so many men with their backs to my wife, all of the men would have been staring at her breasts. One man even took out his glasses in anticipation if the next flashing, even though he covered up his intent by looking at a few paintings in more detail.
Panties. "Did she remove her panties?" was the chorus of thoughts from the people in the room, both men and women.
She sat down, hiking up her dress, and revealed to only the men directly in front of her that she had nothing underneath. More squirming from the two men, and more grinning from me.
