It had been a pleasant evening. After another long stressful week at work for both of us, the short walk to the local Thai restaurant was about as close to “going out” as either of us could manage. To be quite honest, I had been in too much of a rush to get home, change and go out again to pay too much attention to the way she looked. Not very attentive, I know, but she is never one to complain on crazy days like these.
Dressed in a light knee-length skirt and a tight-fitting cardigan that she often wears as a blouse, she was not overly dressed – just apparently wearing normal work clothes. I, on the other hand, could not wait to get out of my suit and swap it for my more comfortable black jeans and a t-shirt. Her beauty, though, resided not in her clothes, but in the way she was so relaxed – softening her features once more and revealing the underlying beauty that had so attracted me fifteen long years ago.
The restaurant surroundings are fairly nondescript, but the food is very good. We just spent an hour and a half or so chatting and catching up on what we had each been up to during the week – sometimes it is hard to believe that we live in the same house. As the meal progressed her relaxed state rubbed off on me more and more – just what the doctored ordered for a Friday evening.
After I had settled the bill we wandered back along the road home, arms round each other, just like old times. I couldn’t resist lowering my arm down over her back and onto her buttocks – just feeling them move as she walks is an electrifying experience. She did not complain or wriggle away, although obvious and public signs of sexual affection are not high on her list of favorite activities; instead she gripped me more closely. The words we spoke meant not so much as the words that were left unspoken – I wanted her and I believed that she wanted me.
When we got to the front door I fumbled around in my pockets for the door keys. As I started emptying the pockets of my tight black jeans I felt her hands beginning to squeeze my buttocks – massaging them and sending flashes of pleasure up my back. She must have known how much she was arousing me, even though my tight clothing was doing a very good job of keeping the most obvious signs pressed against me.
When I opened the door, she went to phone to check for any messages – usually just the usual end-of-week chatty people ‘phoning us. This gave me the opportunity to dash up the stairs, fly into the bedroom and strip, all in what seemed like a fraction of a second. I fell backwards on the mattress totally naked, waiting. I wanted her badly; this – and the sexual tension caused by the faint worry in my mind that I had misread the signals – made me aroused and made my penis stand proud and erect.
After what seemed like an eternity – why did I rush to disrobe, only to lie naked and visibly aroused on the bed all by myself and looking ridiculous? – I heard her slow footsteps climbing the creaking stairs. Every step I heard made me tingle with anticipation. When she finally turned and walked into the bedroom all she said was “Mmm, I was hoping this was what you were up to”. Saying nothing more she leaned on the bed and swiftly knelt astride my prone body, hitching her skirt up slightly so that she could kneel across me.
As I felt her body pressing my erect penis back down against my tummy, I noticed that where her skirt had ridden up slightly there was a brief flash of stocking top. If this was true, this was an unusual treat, so it needed further investigation. As she subtly and sexily rubbed herself gently up and down my midriff, I slid my hands up the outside of her thighs, under the lining of her skirt. My hands confirmed what my eyes had seen in the dim light afforded by the streetlight through the curtain. I suppose I am not unlike many husbands in that I enjoy my wife wearing stockings, but I find it difficult to quite put my finger on why. Maybe it is the way the stockings give a beautiful, sheer finish to the lower leg, without losing the touch of the soft silky thighs, not to mention the easy access to the other delights of her lower body.
Becoming even more interested, and while she rubbed her hands over my tummy and chest, I struggled to undo the fastening on the skirt. Fumbling, without really being able to see what I was doing, I somehow managed to undo the button and the zip. She made a move to get off me so that I could pull her skirt down over her pert buttocks and soft thighs. Holding her in place, I tugged her skirt up and we pulled it off over her head like a pullover. There was no way I wanted her to move her warm body of mine.
I then got a further delight – she was wearing the sexy g-string panties I bought her the previous Christmas (it had caused the usual jokes between us about it being more a case of me buying her a present for me). The feel of her buttocks resting on my legs, her legs around my middle; the sight of her lace-top stockings ending halfway up her thighs, her underwear straining against her body and rubbing softly against my aching, desperate penis was getting too much. My state of unbearable arousal was also becoming obvious to her as I fumbled to undo the endless tight buttons on her cardigan-blouse. She took my hands in hers, then laid them back onto her legs as if to say, “concentrate on what you are good at”. As I ran my fingertips over her legs, up the inside of her thighs and against her underwear, she continued gently rocking over my midriff. Her arousal was now evident, and I could detect her growing wetness through her thin, silky underwear. She managed to keep the slow, hypnotizing rhythm going even while undoing each of her buttons.
Throughout all this, she kept her eyes on my face – I must have been showing the signs of the battle I was having in struggling to keep myself from climaxing and spoiling what was becoming a very promising session of making love. As I concentrated on trying to keep my excitement under control, she whipped off her top, revealing her small, pert breasts. She had not worn the bra that matched the g-string. Any thought I might have had about complaining in jest about the rejection of my present was lost as she leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, towards me. She obviously had better ways in which to occupy my mouth – I immediately recognized this well-used signal and leaned up, smothering her breasts with my lips and hands – kissing, caressing, sucking, licking. Her “Mmm”s changed to “Oooohs” as I felt her nipples arise and I brought my tongue to bear on these sources of delight.
It must have only been a matter of seconds before we both decided that coming is something better done together. For the first time since she climbed on the bed, my wife got off me and half-rolled off the bed to stand on the floor. My eyes were transfixed as she rolled the g-string down her legs, over those stockings that had so entranced me and onto the floor. For the brief second before she climbed back to the bed I studied the naked body before me, pondering the contrast between the soft, wild black hair that had been hidden by my Christmas gift and the light, silky sheen of the stockings.
She was clearly in no mood to be kept waiting while I considered such abstract matters. Kneeling astride me as before, except this time with far fewer clothes, she guided and coaxed my penis into her – my desperate penis into her warm, wet body. It was all I could do to bite my lip and concentrate so that my love and my desire would not explode forth before I could feel the wonder and delight of her orgasm. I need not have worried too much – my desperation and desire seemed to have pushed the right buttons and within seconds she was crying for me to come. With that, she gave one long, last squeeze with her muscles, unleashing deep gasps from both of us as we reached a crescendo of orgasms, squeezing for what seemed like forever until we were both fully satisfied.
When we had both caught our breath, we nestled down in bed, my arms round her waist. As she was falling asleep, to recover from that short yet intense burst of energy, she mumbled into the pillow, “I didn’t think you were ever going to notice the clothes I wore for you tonight”.
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