Single Tonight

[Note from author: First I want to thank everyone who took the time to give me feedback about my first contribution to Literotica, "Angie Dates Charles." Secondly, my apologies about the alternate title, "Married Woman Dates." I got confused in the submission process and thought I had blown my first attempt to submit a story, so I renamed it and tried again. Sorry about that. One more thing: This story has been submitted under the category of "Loving Wives." I chose this category because it is the only category specifically dealing with wives. For me, this category is appropriate for any story about wives that make love, whether it be with their husbands or with someone else, and whether or not they have their husband's consent. ]

Copyright, 2004, Delia Green. All rights reserved. No distribution (print or electronic) permitted without permission of the author.

*****

Kevin will be out of town this weekend. It isn't often that he travels on business, so it isn't often that I have a Saturday night all to myself. I've been counting the days and making plans for this ever since he told me about his trip to Florida.

I'm going to have a night on the town with my friend Charlotte Billings. I know a lot of great places to go in town, but Charlotte is single and she knows all the places that single people go--to meet and get picked up.

Charlotte, being the good friend that she is, has tried to talk me out of the idea. She's known me since college and she also knows Kevin.

"Angie, are you sure you want to do this to Kevin?"

"I'm not doing anything to him. This is about me. What he doesn't know can't hurt him."

Charlotte just shrugged her shoulders and sighed, "some guy's going to get very lucky Saturday, that's all I can say." Actually, she had plenty more to say, as an experienced partygoer and an attractive single woman who always seemed to have a new boyfriend every time I ran into her. She knows the scene. She told me how to dress: "Now don't look like a tramp, but make sure you feature your assets." She also gave me some tips on what kind of men to avoid at all costs. How to "stay safe," as she put it.

A few months ago I did my husband a favor and showed a business associate of his around town [see "Angie Dates Charles]. Actually, as it turned out, I ended up showing him a lot more than the town! That event really livened things up in the bedroom for Kevin and me. He never talked about it, so I don't know if he ever put it together. I do know, however, that I could use another night out. It's not just about the sex. I can get that at home. Maybe it's the danger of it all, I don't know. I'd be kidding myself to pretend that I understood why I want to do it. I don't want an on-going thing. No, that gets way too complicated. I just want to have some fun, now and then.

Kevin asked me if I had any plans for Saturday. I told him I talked to Charlotte and that we'd probably get together for some drinks or something. That seemed to satisfy him.

I dropped him off at the airport early Saturday morning. That left me all day to decide what to wear and how to wear my hair and all those little things that women do to look good, including some strategic shaving of my pubic hair.

Charlotte called me around three and told me she'd be wearing jeans. I decided to go with the flow and pulled out some of my best-looking jeans, settling on a pair that was a size smaller than I usually wear (I find the roomier ones more comfortable). These jeans fit me like a glove—everywhere. I paired the jeans with a top that Kevin likes because it doesn't quite reach my waistline and because it shows off my bust line without revealing any cleavage. (Kevin can be a bit prudish in public.) Still, I like the look on me. Very form-fitting. Very sexy.

"Hot!" That was Charlotte's assessment. We met at the Car Barn, a former trolley car garage on the north side of town. My jeans may have been tight, but Charlotte's seemed to be painted on. She wore a blouse with hers. A blouse that was either half buttoned or half un-buttoned, depending on your point of view.

"Do you need some help … with the rest of those buttons?" I teased her. She laughed and told me she just wanted to give some guy a head start. And, looking around at all the male eyes on her, and me, there were plenty of men ready to jump on the chance to complete the job of

un

buttoning her blouse for her.

We bought our first round of drinks, but after that it seemed like every time we came back to our table, there was fresh drinks waiting for us, courtesy of an admirer.

Only a couple of guys asked me about the trace marks on my ring finger. The first time, I was slow dancing with a lanky kid with a Southern drawl, and he was studying my hand. "Recently divorced, Ma'am?"

I decided not to lie. "No."

"You just decided not to wear your ring tonight?"

"That's right. Tonight I'm single."

PART TWO

"Whoa, did you see us?" Charlotte asked me between dances. "Us" was her and a blue-eyed blond hunk of beef who went by the name of Keith. And, yes, I did see them. They were hard to miss, bumping and grinding with the precision of a reflection in a mirror.

"He wants me leave and go to his apartment."

"With you, right?"

"Of course with me, silly," she giggled.

"Just checking."

I reminded her of one of the safety rules she had so sisterly informed me of earlier in the week: "hotels or motels but no apartments on the first date."

She laughed. "Rules are made to be broken. Some times. Angie, you should feel this guy's muscles. He's built like a rock."

"Are we talking about any particular muscles?"

Charlotte nuzzled her face into my shoulder, laughed, and said something that got lost in the noise of the night. The band had just started up and Keith, the hunk, was walking toward us. "Want me to see if he has a friend?"

"No, I'm fine," I told her.

Keith did know someone he could fix me up with, he told us. It was one of the guys I danced with earlier in the evening. Nice enough, but there was someone else I was interested in.

"You two run along and … have fun." From the way the two of them were eyeing each other up, the fun would probably begin in the parking lot.

Charlotte apologized for leaving. I assured her I was fine. And to prove it, I kissed her good-bye and immediately walked over to the bar where one of my earlier dance partners sat, waiting for another dance with me.

More than one guy tried to feel me up on the dance floor that night, but there was only one that I let get away with it. His name was Owen. He noticed my ring finger indentations right away, but it was much later in the evening when we were seated at a table that he brought it up.

"Did you forget something tonight, honey?" His smile was contagious.

I bit my lower lip, playfully, and nodded.

He took my hand and squeezed it between both of his. "Great. Are you ready to go someplace … quieter."

"What did you have in mind?"

"My place?"

My first impulse was to say, ‘let's go, " but Charlotte's rules got in the way.

He was about my age, 30, maybe a few years older

"I don't know about that. I hardly know you …" I told him, still smiling, and gripping his hand encouragingly. I wanted him to suggest a hotel, but I knew that he was too much of a gentleman. "His place" didn't have to mean sex. I would get to decide that once we were there. A hotel, on the other hand, well, that would be a clear and unmistakable declaration of intent.

Owen wasn't sure what to do. He looked perplexed.

"Want to go for a ride? Just drive around?" he asked.

He had already had a lot to drink, so I wasn't sure I wanted to be the same car with him. The same bed, maybe, but not the same car.

"Hey, I know someplace we can go," I told him, warming to the way he threw his arm around me and pulled me up against him.

"Where?"

"My place," I whispered in his ear.

PART THREE

The main reason for my trip to Orlando was to show my client that we appreciated their business. They had some concerns about our current contract, but by dinnertime our differences had been worked out and the future was looking brighter.

Over some excellent Italian food and some even more excellent Italian wine that night, Jack Clausen, one of the firm's vice presidents, asked me about my wife. He had met Angie once and always asked about her whenever we got together. "You sure hit the jackpot with her," I remember him saying.

"She's fine," I said.

"If I was married to a woman like that, I'd drag her with me everywhere I went," he said, cleaning a drop of wine from his lower lip with a quick swoop of his tongue.

"I almost did." I joked.

"You know what they say: When the cat's away …" he belted out, punctuating is unfinished cliché with some hearty laughter.

The truth is I suspected "the cat" was playing that night. She's already fooled around once on me, I'm pretty sure. It was half my own damn fault, though. I asked her to show a business associate around town. He didn't know she was my wife and later told me what a great time he had with her, without going into any of the nitty gritty. I could read between the lines. I'm not a fool.

The thing is, ever since those "dates" with Charles Metzger our sex life has been off the charts. So, what's a guy to do? Kill the golden goose? I don't want to go back to the old Angie who slept in flannel pajamas and was never interested in sucking my cock, or, when we did make love, only wanted it one way: me on top, her underneath.

The "new" Angie is inventive. She's oral. She wears interesting things to bed. Or, sometimes, nothing at all. Now, tonight, she's out on the town with that slutty girlfriend of hers, Charlotte. I'm sure the two of them will find some mischief to get into. I just hope she has the good sense to be careful and go easy on the booze.

PART FOUR

Owen was very nervous about being in my house. I had to tell him over and over that my husband would not be back until late Sunday. There was no reason to keep checking the clock, I told him. Hell, I might even want him to spend the night with me, if he's any good in bed, but I didn't tell him that.

He was slow to make any advances, so I broke the ice by removing my top.

"It's a little warm in here, don't you think?" The bra I wore on my "date" that night was white, silky, and, most notably, see-through.

"Why don't I get us some drinks?" I said, getting up from the sofa.

Owen reached up and grabbed my arm, before I was all the way up. "Nothing for me. I'm not thirsty."

His tug on my arm caused me to lose my balance, and I clumsily fell back down on the sofa beside him. I guess the sight of my tits, with my nipples all on display, is what did it.

He pinned me down and began kissing me, as though he was afraid I might change my mind and try to get away. But his tongue tasted just fine with me, and "getting away" was the last thing on my mind, especially when I reached down to touch him and discovered how hard he was.

We kissed and petted on the sofa for a while. I felt like a teenager all over again. I didn't feel married at all. I unbuttoned Owen's shirt and rubbed my hand across his chest and stomach, as we kissed. He squeezed my tits and even kissed them right through my thin, little bra, playing and chewing on my nipples.

I ran my hand over his crotch. He reached for the snap on my jeans. Just like teenagers in the backseat of a parked car, or something. God, it was so erotic!

"How about if we go upstairs?" I suggested, as he fumbled with my zipper.

He looked at me quizzically. Was I suggesting we finish our naughtiness in the same bed I shared with my husband? I was sure that was what he was thinking.

"There's two beds upstairs," I told him, pulling him to his feet. "One is for guests, and it's not all that comfortable." We stood there, our arms around each other. His erection pushing out the front of his pants.

"The other bed is larger. It's

very

comfortable. And it's the one I prefer."

"Your preference is my preference," he said, sliding both hands down my back until they were resting on the seat of my tight jeans. He squeezed my ass, pulling us tighter together. His dick was making its presence known. I was wet.

I led him upstairs and asked him to wait outside my bedroom. There was a framed photo of Kevin and me on my dresser. I quickly put it away, and then pulled back the blankets and sheets from the bed.

"All clear, loverboy!"

I took a deep breath.

Was I depraved! Was I really doing this?

I let Owen take off my bra. He had been dying to for about an hour.

Still in my body-hugging jeans, I kicked off my shoes and dropped onto the bed on my back, my titties dancing for attention.

Owen finished undressing me and I helped him undress, and then I attacked his cock. It was an out-and-out assault. It looked so good to me. I had to put both hands on it, and I had to kiss it and make love to it. And it was so appreciative. Like a little boy. It grew taller and taller and harder and harder. Owen seemed to like the way I used my tongue on him. Not just on his cock, but also under his balls, down a little bit of his thighs, and back up the length of his big erection, up to the slippery head.

Owen returned the favor, burying his head between my legs, and kissing and licking my pussy, making it even wetter than it already was. He stayed down there the longest time, toying with my clit. Time enough for me to come once and then get worked up for another round.

Breathing heavy, I reached down and grabbed his hair. "Baby, let's do it! Let's fuck!"

His erection needed some minor repairs—nothing my mouth couldn't handle—and then he mounted me. He was a good fit. Had I not been so wet, it might have taken a little effort for him to stuff his whole loaf into my oven, but as greased as I was, he went in with one long stroke.

PART FIVE

It was now after midnight. Angie would surely be home by now. Or maybe not. There was only way to find out. I studied the hotel phone instructions to see how to make a long distance phone call. I wondered how she had dressed for the evening. Just drinks with Charlotte could mean anything. Charlotte was always showing off her body. I wondered if Angie had done the same thing. Had she worn a hot miniskirt? A low-cut blouse? Had she showed herself off to men in bars? Danced with them. Maybe even got them excited. Hell, of course she would have gotten them excited. I was excited just thinking about her. I reached into my boxers and touched myself, as I punched in our number. My dick was hard before I finished placing the call.

Angie picked up on the second ring. She was wide awake. Maybe she she just got home.

"Hi, sweetheart. I didn't wake you did I?"

"No, not at all. I got home about an hour ago, but I couldn't sleep."

"Oh? Nothing's wrong is it?"

"No." Not at all."

"Good. Did you have a good time?" I asked her.

"Oh, yeah! Charlotte and I had a

great

time, although I probably drank more than I should have."

"What did I say about drinking too much?"

"I know, honey. I know. But when you're with Charlotte, I guess you behave like Charlotte."

Oh, God! Behave like Charlotte? Charlotte, the slut?

My cock literally jumped in my hand. I needed to hear exactly how she behaved. I wanted to know if she let any guy touch her, or kiss her … or whatever. Could my Angie—even the new Angie—be as slutty as Charlotte? I doubted it.

"Did you guys do any dancing?"

"Yeah, we both did, honey. But I thought of you the whole time."

"Really?" I was flattered.

"And, honey, I have to tell you this. I hope you won't get angry with me."

"What Baby Doll?"

"Well, this one guy, an older guy, got all hard when we were dancing …"

I tried to visualize my wife in the arms of another man, pressed so close that she could feel his dick up against her.

"And I pretended I was dancing with you, honey."

I stroked my cock as I listened to my wife then describe in great detail how she felt in the arms of a stranger whose cock she had aroused. Now, you have to understand that Angie and I have never had phone sex. Even before, when I traveled more, she would have nothing to do with it. She said it was sick and perverted. But now, here she was telling me that she could feel my "hard cock" rubbing up against her, moving with her, with the music.

"And I pushed my tits up against you, honey. My nipples were so hard!"

"Like I am right now," I told her. I thought it only fair that she knew my condition.

"I was getting wet, honey, just being close like that … and when you moved your hand down to my ass … and kept it there … Oh, God! I just wanted to get naked with you … Are you naked now, Baby?"

"Yes, I am, sweetheart. Are you?"

"Yes, Kevin. I'm naked right now."

My cock was listening with baited breath, stretching, throbbing with every dirty syllable coming through the phone.

"Honey, all I wanted to do was get you home and you into bed with me … so I could suck that beautiful hard cock of yours … feel it in my mouth … on my tongue …"

I tightened my grip on my hard-on, not wanting to come yet. "Oh, yes, Angie!"

"Are you holding your cock for me, honey?"

"I am. I am."

"Stroke if for me, honey. Feel my lips on it, Baby," she whispered, her voice getting breathier, her breathing quickening.

"Feel me kissing you … licking you …sucking you…"

"Oh, God, Angie! I want you so bad!"

"I want you too, Baby," she said. " I want you … inside me!"

My dick was ready to explode.

"I want you in me now …. inside my wet pussy!"

That did it, that forbidden, alien word from the mouth of my loving wife, sent me over the edge.

"Oh, yess, honey! OHH, God, YESS!" I yelled, my release going everywhere.

PART SIX

"Oh, yeah! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!" I hissed, with gritted teeth, into the phone, on my hands and knees now, as Owen plowed his huge cock deep into me from behind, the bed bouncing up and down to the beat of the quick smack-smack-smack of fornicating flesh on flesh. "Oh, that feels so good!"