I had told her we were going to the swinger's club. She gave me the eye, and then began to get ready. My wife has curly, blonde hair that is just long enough to pin up in a roll, at the back of her head, accentuating her slender neck; or long enough to come just to her shoulders. Tonight, she decided to wear it down.
She put on her short, blue cocktail dress. It had spaghetti straps and it gathered just below her breasts, from which it hung free to about mid thigh. No bra, her only underwear was a matching blue thong. She chose not to wear stockings, completing her attire with a pair of white pumps. For jewellery, she wore pearls, pearl earrings, ring with pearl setting, and an interesting pearl necklace. It circled her neck, close as a choker, with an additional string that hung from her throat to just between her breasts. It had an oversized pearl at the end of this string, like a pendant.
"That's a new necklace, isn't it?" I asked.
"Yes, do you like it?"
"I do! It's different."
"Maybe I'll have some pearl jam to play with before the evening's over." she said, grinning mischievously.
As I drove, we smoked and she played with her little vibrator. She got all glassy eyed, and I watched as her legs spread wider and she slumped in her seat. Her breathing slowed as she would hold her breath, feeling the sensations, and then exhale with growing passion. Soon, she was pursing her lips. Occasionally, the tip of her tongue would emerge to moisten her lips. Finally, the quiet moans began.
"Try to hold it." I said. "Try not to come, yet."
She turned her head to look at me with hooded eyes. "I love this feeling!" she said.
I smiled at her.
"O.K., I'll try." She shuddered, and took her vibrator away from herself. She used her other hand to rub her pussy, and she stretched a great stretch with her whole body. The sight of her self-stimulation, here in the car, was like taking a shot of instant lust, and it caused me to stretch, too. I suddenly realized my cock was hard, throbbing, and would soon needed some rubbing. She smiled at me, and put her vibrator back between her legs.
I pulled off the street and into a parking lot into a strip shopping center that had a collection of stores that sold adult merchandise including toys, books, tapes, and club wear. One of the stores was a massage parlor. As we pulled into the light from the storefronts, my wife took her hand from between her legs and pulled her skirt down.
She sat up and looked around. "What are we doing here?" she asked.
"Oh, I just wanted to make a stop on the way. Come with me."
I got out of the car and went around to open her door. She spread her legs wide giving me a great beaver shot as I helped her out. I walked her over to the Massage Parlor, and opened the door.
As we stepped in, the night manager greeted me by name and shook my hand, and then my wife's as I introduced them. She walked us down a hall and into a room that was outfitted with a large, wide couch, a circle shaped platform bed, and waist high, padded bench along one wall. There was a small, clean lavatory in one corner. The walls were painted in a soft peach color, and there was lush carpeting on the floors.
"So, when have you been here before?" my wife asked. I could tell by her tone that she thought I might have been a customer here before; and that she wouldn't have liked that.
"The first time I was here was just last week." I said.
We were interrupted by a knock at the door. When it opened, a young woman entered and closed the door. She was dressed in a short, silky robe, and black high heels. She was pretty enough. It was her confident manner that was arresting in this situation. She took over.
"Hi, is this your wife? You were right when you said she was really pretty!"
As I took a seat on the couch, she stepped over to my wife.
"Just what's going on here?" my wife demanded.
The young woman wasn't flustered as she explained, " Your husband visited us last week to see if we could help him to arrange a surprise for you. You see I'm a massage therapist. Mostly, I work with men. But, I'd like to work with women, too. Women generally don't come here. So when your husband talked to the manager about surprising you, they thought I'd be the right girl." She moved behind my wife and put her arms around her, hugging her. "I hope you like me."
I looked into my wife's face to see the surprise, and then the heat as the young masseuse held her. Her face grew bright red. "You rat!" she said quietly. But she wasn't mad at me. And that was the last time either of them paid attention to me for sometime thereafter.
My wife went into a kind of trance as the young woman hugged her and began to caress her. I noticed the hem of her skirt vibrating like a tuning fork. She must have been trying to hold herself still, impossibly still. Her entire body was shaking with the feelings that were starting to course through her. She was breathing deeply and strenuously and her mouth never closed, as though she wouldn't get enough air if it did. Her head tilted back onto the masseuse's shoulder in surrender.
The masseuse, still behind her, slowly pushed her hands down the front of my wife's body until they were touching her thighs below the hem of the skirt. Slowly, she drew them back up, lifting the hem as she went and using her nails to lightly scratch the skin she was baring.
The tremble grew more aggravated and visible as my wife began to make a quiet, keening moan. When the masseuse had her skirt well above her hips, she gathered it under one arm, still hugged around my wife's waist. My wife's loins were now deliciously bared and wonderfully contrasted by the tiny blue thong that girdled her. With the other hand, the masseuse rubbed my wife's tummy in a circular motion, gradually widening the circles until her fingertip slid under the waistband of the thong. I saw that little pouch that cups her vulva expand as the masseuse's fingers reached in to touch the pussy inside.
The masseuse moved her other hand to join the first, sliding them under the thong, taking time to lingeringly touch, moving from front to back, caressing that sweet womanly bottom, and from inside the thong, began to push it down and over my wife's hips and thighs and down her legs, all the while rubbing, sensuously rubbing and touching the naked flesh as she moved the thong down thighs, and trembling knees, stiffening calves, as my wife stood on tip toes in her high heels; and then ankles and feet, one by one. It was a masterstroke, and watching my wife tremble through it made me rigid with sexual intensity.
The masseuse rose to take her place behind my wife again and hugged her like she loved her. My wife was leaned back into the masseuse's embrace. Her thighs were closed and rubbing against each other. I don't think the masseuse could get more than one finger in to do its rubbing. "Open your legs for me, Sweetie." She said.
My wife stood away for a moment, catching her balance, and looked over her shoulder to see the masseuse's face. She sighed, and spread her legs. This afforded the masseuse more room to work with, and she squeezed that pussy, and then began to rub it gently with her three middle fingers. My wife moaned low, and held the masseuse's arm, hugged around her waist. She began to bend her knees and move in a fucking rhythm with her torso to the gentle rubs of the hand between her legs.
It was like a dance, and watching them was so stimulating, so lustful. It was like the masseuse was fucking her from behind as they moved together. Occasionally, my wife would bend at the waist, and moan as her head rolled forward, feeling the sensation of a well-placed rub.
Slowly, the spaghetti straps on her dress worked their way over her shoulders and down her arms. The masseuse rubbed her hand up from my wife's waist, over her breasts still rubbing and up until her hand was about her throat, my wife's chin resting on it.
The masseuse gently pushed my wife's head back, held it on her shoulder, and began to kiss and lick her ear, and the sensitive part of her neck just under. My wife squealed, and began to writhe between that sucking mouth on her neck and the probing fingers in her vulva, hips working like she was fucking, driving herself even more into the masseuse's embrace.
The masseuse has my wife's ear in her teeth, not biting, not releasing. She drew her hand from my wife's throat to push down the top of the dress, exposing the beautiful orbs of her breasts, nipples blood red and rigid with stimulation.
Now the masseuse released her ear and just hugged her powerfully, hand to breast, torso to torso, fingers working rapidly between her thighs, fucking with the pussy, I watched as my wife surrendered and groaned out a powerful orgasm, thrusting, mewling, and sighing great groans of relief.
As she quieted, they stood in position, body to body, for a timeless moment, both panting and heaving great inhales to catch their breath. They were both damp with a fine sheen of intense physical exertion, which I could smell along with the musky odor of female sexual emission. I knew that both their pussies were wet. And their eyes held a look of insatiate hunger.
And there she stood, my wife, her dress above her hips and her top down, all female desire and carnal as a woman can be. I never loved her more, or wanted her more. But I held my position on the couch, overwhelmed by what I had witnessed and waiting to see what would come next. The faintest of smiles was on her face as she turned in the masseuse's arms to come about face to face. And she kissed her, and as she did, their arms came round about each other and the kiss became a devouring rain of kisses. Mouth kisses, face kisses, hugs, hands exploring, thighs between each other's thighs, they gave in to a primal woman thing that, as a man, I felt in awe to witness.
And, so I watched quietly. I had to rub myself, but I didn't even expose myself, just wanting to be there, and be unobtrusive. I can still remember looking at her from behind, my wife, naked from shoulders to waist where her blue dress gathered, her most perfect feminine ass exposed, with long legs bare to her high heels. One leg was straight, foot on the ground, as the other leg, bent at the knee, reached to probe between the masseuse's thighs, while the masseuse's hand probed between those milk-white cheeks. I fell in love-lust with her all over again, and marveled at the over-the-top experience of making her wild beyond thinking about it.
My reverie was broken when I heard the masseuse say, " What's this you're wearing honey?"
"It's my new necklace. I just got it!" my wife said.
