Editing by Angel Love
*
We don't go out every weekend. Occasionally, Vickie or I will get the urge to dress up and go to a local hotel to listen to some music and have a few drinks prepared by a real, live bartender. Last month, when I returned from a business trip to the East Coast, Vickie decided we needed a break. She'd read that a semi-famous band was featured at the Hilton and wanted to go hear them. Guess what . . . we went!
Vickie surprised me that evening when she slipped on a sleek black cocktail dress with tiny straps up top. I'd been urging her to get a "little black dress" for several months. Pointing out other women in black cocktail dresses at various functions, I told her how great she'd look in one. "They're so common," she'd retort. "I like glitzy things."
I walked over to her as she brushed out her brunette hair and ran my hands down her curves, feeling the sleek, silky black fabric. That's when I discovered that she wasn't wearing a bra. The dress had some sort of built-in support, she assured me. My hands moved over her hips and I failed to detect any panty seams. "What? No panties?" I purred in her ear.
"I don't need them with pantyhose," she replied then pecked me on the cheek. "Besides, panty lines spoil the lines of my new dress. With that comment, she slipped on her heels and reached for her little purse. "Get your pants on so we can go," she suggested with a cocked eyebrow.
"I was right," I responded as I pulled on my slacks. "You're a genuine hottie in that outfit. I love it." She blushed in spite of her effort to cover it up.
The band was already in full swing when we strolled into the Hilton's cabaret. Quite a few couples were on the spacious dance floor and the band sounded great. We found a booth on the left side of the room and placed our order for drinks. "Let's have some Champagne," Vickie giggled. "I feel like a party tonight."
Now, my only dance lessons took place in an older neighbor girl's garage over a few weekends. At the time, I was more interested in feeling her tits than learning steps, so I've never been much of a dancer. Vickie, on the other hand, took dance lessons in school and loved to prance around the floor. That night, between the great music and the Champagne, she was grooving.
We polished off one bottle of the bubbly. I switched to scotch and Vickie ordered a screwdriver. "Let's dance a little tonight," she begged. "I need to stretch my legs and show off my pretty new dress."
Vickie was dynamite! She's tall and still nice and slender even in her mid-fifties. Her short dress and high heels really displayed her long legs nicely. We moved out onto the dance floor and I just sort of moved around to the beat as I watched my vivacious wife strut her stuff with gusto. We danced to a fast number, then she melted into my arms and we swayed to a nice, slow, romantic tune. Feeling her warm body against me caused my dick stiffen and she giggled as she rubbed her leg against it.
"That's enough for now," I said as the song ended. "I need to sip my drink and get my breath."
"Get your breath, or get your manhood to go down again?" she asked with a sly grin.
"Both, I guess," I sheepishly replied as I carefully adjusted myself and sat down.
After a short break, the band returned and announced that they were going to play a medley of old love songs and urged everyone to get up and dance. Vickie applauded gleefully along with most of the others.
"May I have the honor of this dance?" a strange voice said. We both looked up to see a rather handsome fellow standing at our booth. I gauged him to be about ten years younger than us, tall, rugged, and stylish. Vickie looked flustered and began to decline his request. I touched her arm lightly.
"Go ahead, Vickie. I'm still resting," I told her. "Save the last dance for me."
Vickie looked at me with a questioning expression. "Are you sure, Honey?"
I gave her a slight wink. "Sure, go ahead and dance this one with him. Who knows, he might actually know how to dance."
My attractive wife slid out of the booth, her short dress riding up high on her thigh. She stood and looked up into the man's bright blue eyes. "Thank you, Vickie. My name's Steve and I do know how to dance a little."
Steve's comment was an understatement! He pulled my wife into his arms and thrilled her with his graceful movements. As I watched, she literally molded to him and followed his lead through several steps that were way beyond my capabilities. Her broad smile told me how much she was enjoying the exhilaration of the music and his talented feet.
As the medley continued, the songs became more and more intimate. Steve held Vickie close and their legs seemed to intertwine as they moved. Her ample breasts pressed against his chest and her arms appeared to pull him closer with each passing stanza. Their dance was arousing for them, and I realized that their movements had aroused me too. My wife had her head on Steve's shoulder as they stood almost still and swayed against each other. My cock responded by hardening again and I reached down to adjust it again. My fingers stroked the length of my hardness through my slacks as I stared at them.
Vickie is normally rather conservative, but this night she was filled with the bubbly and the excitement of dancing in perfect step with a handsome stranger. "Well, Vickie, my love, you are finally experiencing one of the fantasies you revealed to me so many months ago." I thought to myself and smiled inwardly.
One night, back months ago, we talked about sexual fantasies. She and two of her girlfriends had shared their naughty dreams over coffee earlier that day and Vickie wanted me to tell her if men had fantasies too. I saw a chance to pry her out of her proper shell and decided to play along. My fantasies seemed to center around sex with another couple and watching her being pleasured. Her biggest fantasy involved being swept off her feet by a handsome stranger and submitting totally to him.