Date Night 65

"Her," I said pointing to a blonde waitress who was bending across a table to deliver some drinks to a group of guys. The bend was deliberate; a calculated move to increase her income for the night. She could just as easily passed the drinks over. She is wearing a pair of very short cut offs, Daisy Dukes, and as she leans forward the hint of white lace peeks up from the back of her shorts, while the bottom globes of her round ass are visibly bare below the cut denim. On top she is wearing a tight white lacy tank that I am hoping is low cut.

My husband looks in the direction of my pointing finger. His gaze lingers up and down her legs and settles happily on her ass. My husband is an ass man through and through. I shove his arm, and he finally pulls his gaze away and looks at me with amusement in his eyes.

"I thought this was just a regular date night." He teased.

It's true that we had agreed to some together time. I had nothing planned for the night other than a few drinks, some good music, and hot sex, but technically this new plan wouldn't take us very far off track. He was waiting for my reaction, so I try to play it cool.

"Yes. Regular date night. I was just admiring her serving skills."

With that I raise my hand toward her to signal my need. Thankfully she notices and hurries over to our table. Even more thankfully, her top really is low cut... very low cut, with breasts as round as her ass. I couldn't hide my delight. I even let out a giggle, but luckily my husband didn't notice. He wasn't paying one fucking ounce of attention to me right then with her tits so close. My plan is working.

"Can I please have a glass of the house white?" I ask.

It was a bland order. I want to be bland right now. She looks at me appraisingly and decides that I'm definitely old enough to not bother asking for ID. Fuck you.

As she turns to take his order, a wide smile breaks out across her face. She recovers and tries to mask it, but it's one that I'm used to seeing on the faces of girls like her. She glances to the space in between us looking for.. what? Signs that we're together? Touch points of intimate contact? There are none. There very deliberately are none, but I am still close enough to assume we are a couple.

My husband decides that it's time to break the silence that has developed. "I'll take a scotch on the rocks." He says clearly. He smiles at her a little patronizingly and she blushes.

Now I know I've won. Only I know that he prefers the smoothness of rum to the power of scotch. He usually orders this drink as a power play; with me he doesn't need to play, and he already holds all of the power.

The waitress draws in a small breath and glances toward me. I smile back dumbly pretending that I don't see how affected she is by him. I can't blame her, my husband exudes confidence and sex... when he wants to, and I can tell right now he wants to. She turns to go, and as her ass sways away with exaggerated movements I let my fingers wander to his cock. Rock fucking hard. I knew it would be. If there is one wifely duty that I excel at, it's picking girls that will make my dear husband's dick hard as steel. You're welcome, my husband.

"So, about this 'together' night," I taunt.

"Hmmm," he murmurs distractedly.

I've lost him to her already. Though his arousal excites me, still I try to pull him back. I squeeze my hand on his dick. "Sweetheart. Did you think she was pretty?" I ask innocently. He raises an eyebrow at me, seeing through my games.

Just as I am about to speak again she comes back with our drinks and I pull away. She consciously puts his down first and I see his hand reach to her leg as he thanks her. She shifts her weight to allow his hand a bit higher access as she leans over to place my drink in front of me. As she does, his hand rises further up her leg to her thigh and she noticeably exhales. Her body is stretched across the table and I can see more of her fucking perfect breasts. Damn, they are hot. Even I want to touch them. I imagine my husband teasing her tight nipples with flicks of his tongue. A shudder runs through me as I remember the countless times he's done that to me. He is so, so good at that. A deep fire ignites and warm wetness floods my panties. I yearn for him. A knife twists in my gut as she straightens and blushes his way. They exchange a look that feels like an intimate promise.

I quickly try to think of a way to give them a nudge of opportunity, and reach for my purse. I look at my husband with a panicked expression "I'm so sorry!" I blurt out. "I completely forgot that I have to call Rob and give him the instructions for that project! Oh, I'm a moron! I'd better just call. I'll be right back, okay? I won't be long... 15? 20 at the most." I leap to my feet and head toward the door before he can respond.

As soon as I close the door of the bar behind me, I grab my phone and shoot off a text to my husband: "I want to taste her." I type. It's a pleading. A chance to be a part of their passion. I know he will grant me this request, because he loves me.

I'm already back at the table when they both come stumbling back into view, her slightly ahead of him. He is still admiring her ass, and he has a smugly satisfied look on his face as he follows behind. He looks very pleased. I bet he wants more. I bet he is dying to lay her down and enjoy her properly: lingering and exploring, tasting every inch of her. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet, maybe a small test will help make my decision.

He comes to sit next to me again and this time he slides in close and drapes his arm around me.

"Are you enjoying our date?" I ask in his ear, then I kiss his cheek and inhale. Yes. He definitely smells like her, not that I had any doubt. She glances from halfway across the room and he holds up his empty glass. She has one eyebrow cocked as she approaches us, trying to figure out what to do. She just fucked my husband in a dirty bathroom and now she has to come look me in the face. I love this part. I love it. Some women won't face me at all, some act like superior bitches who think they just stole my husband, she looks like she is about to shit her pants. When she is almost at our table, my husband tilts his head down to give me a long, deep kiss.

In the moment after the kiss, I deliberately decide to fuck with her head. As I pull away from my husband's kiss, I scrunch my brows, slowly run my tongue across my lips then bring the taste into my mouth. My face registers recognition. I look at him and then look up to her face imploringly. Her eyes are fixed on my lips, her breath is shallow, her face is flushed, and when she realizes that I am looking at her, she flicks her eyes quickly up to meet mine. I hold her gaze for three long seconds before slowly forming an enlightening smile. "You taste wonderful," I say, and her mouth drops.

Yes, I think we need more time with her.