(This goes a little further than we actually did, but it was really fun.)
*
We're out to dinner with a client from Europe. German. Karl's English isn't very good, but he seems nice. Forties, tall, thin, blond, very handsome, very Aryan youth. He's a little arrogant, too, no surprise. And he's, well, overly friendly. Very touchy feely. She's not used to this, but I ask her, Don't make waves, sweetie. There is a big deal in the offing here. Spare no expense.
We're all in the limo after dinner. We have a long way to go. His plane back is late tonight, and the airport is a solid hour away in traffic. We're all sitting close, three across the back seat. We all had a lot of very good wine with dinner and are feeling warm and chummy. And the privacy screen is up. At one point, I put my arm around her and kiss her.
When we break and she sits back, he leans over and kisses her, too. This is a little surprising but not offensive. She looks at me, "What do I do?"
I return her look with an affirmation, "This is not a problem, is it? No big deal." He leans in again, this time for a longer kiss, and he puts one arm behind her and the other hand across to her shoulder to hold her. Now she has a slightly worried look. I shrug, Go ahead. She leans back against me, turning a little toward him. He pushes forward to kiss her again, harder and deeper this time. Their mouths are open and their tongues are playing with each other. Serious kissing, not just a friendly peck, but the sort of kiss that speaks of serious interest.
His hand slides down her arm from her shoulder, and then inward, and his palm is over her breast. Whoa. He is feeling her breast now, clearly a sexual touch, cupping its roundness in his hand. And he kneads it and pinches it with his fingers. I watch him cup her breast and I'm jealous. That's my breast. I should be feeling that, as I have so often. She moves his hand down to her waist and they break the kiss. She turns back to me with big eyes. She has an alarmed look, she kisses me, puts her cheek to mine and whispers, "He's putting his hands on me, he's feeling me up. Did you see his hand on my boob? This is too much. . . ."
"It's okay with me if it's okay with you, sweetie. We'll be at the airport in a few minutes and he'll be gone. Let's not end the evening on a sour note."
She nods and turns back to him and they kiss again, longer and deeper. He gets much more aggressive now. I guess he understands that he has limited access and limited time. He runs his hands over her breasts again, cupping and squeezing, and finding the nipples to pinch. I watch him slide his hand all over the top of her dress, over her breasts, cupping them, kneading them, trying to find the nipples through the fabric. This isn't an innocent touch. It's clearly a lover's touch. He's starting to have sex with my wife. I'm jealous, but I'm turned on at the same time.
He slides his hand down from her breast to her hip and onto her leg. Over the skirt and on the outside of her thigh, but still much more intimate. She turns to kiss me again, gives me another look. "This is getting serious. He's all over me. He wants to have me. It will get out of hand."
I whisper back, "It's still okay with me if it's okay with you. You want to stop? Push away."
While she is kissing me again, he is running his hand over her thigh. "For God's sake, Tommie, he's really feeling me up, he's feeling up your wife, he's going between my legs."
"Yes," is all I answer. She lets him continue. I figure she's okay with it, a little turned on from the wine and the closeness of three bodies and the attention of this stud of a man. And I'm there for reassurance. She knows it won't go too far.
He's at the top of her thigh, pushing skirt up so that the hem shows a lot of leg now. "He's lifting my skirt, trying to get under it. He wants to feel me all the way up to the top, it's going too far."
"No, it's okay, it's just a little touching. Whatever you do, it won't bother me. You know I like it when men look at you and touch you. Open up for him, let him feel, it's just a feel."
"What?"
"Let him feel under your skirt. Let him feel your beautiful legs. If he wants to get between your legs, let him." Jesus, did I say that?
"You want me to let Karl get between my legs?" She digs her nails into my leg, I think as a sign that she is not happy with that answer, but she doesn't stop his progress over her body. He presses his hand into her crotch over the knit skirt, outlining the shape of her belly and the top of her thighs. He pushes the stretchy fabric into the feminine triangle of her legs, a little between her legs. She slouches down in the seat and her skirt rises as her bottom slides out of it. Wonderfully, her legs relax a little and he can push in, reach farther between them. He pushes down, rubs between her thighs. Mmmph, she moans and pushes her hips up to rub her crotch against his hand.
"Oh, oh oh," she squirms, pushes up, opens a little more. His fingers are now pushing hard into her mound, pushing against her lips even through all her clothes. "Oh, god, Tom, he's on my pussy. His hand is on my mound, under my sex, I can feel his fingers pushing on my lips." I wish that I were feeling between her legs instead, but I'm so turned on watching him do it. And watching her let him.
"Go ahead, go ahead." Did I whisper it or just think it?
She leans back against him to give him a better angle, looking toward me. I am looking right up the vee of her legs. She moves her knees further apart, now a foot or more, the vee widens, and the skirt slouches between them. He moves his hand up and down, in and out. It catches her skirt, which slides up easily over the slippery pantyhose. She gives me a look, languid, she's so turned on now, hating it and enjoying it at the same time. His hand moves down her thigh to the hem of her skirt, onto the smoothness of her firm, shiny pantyhose thigh. She looks down at his hand stroking up her thigh and then back up at me. She's not scared anymore. She looks me right in the eyes, like I want this, I'm going to do this. He looks right at me, too, as his hand goes up her leg. I look down at his hand, her leg, that beautiful, open crotch that I love so much, the red panties shaped over her mound.
She relaxes, enjoys it. It's clear now that she is not going to resist his advances, whatever he does. She begins whispering a running commentary to me of how he is feeling her body and how that is making her feel, what he's touching and what she wants him to touch.
"He's going under my skirt, he's going to feel me, feel my pussy. Yes, he's going to put his hands on your wife's sex, on my privates."
