On With The Show

“Go find some sexy music,” my wife said to me one evening. I was in the bedroom setting the alarm clock to wake us up for work the next morning, getting ready to go to bed.

“Sexy music?”

“Yeah…when you find it, put it on the CD player by the bed. And just wait in here.” She turned and left, heading for the bathroom. I couldn’t hear a hint of anything brewing in her voice or see it in her eyes. And I certainly hadn’t thought of my CD collection in terms of sexiness. But I do pay attention whenever my wife says the “s-word,” so I went to the family room and started looking.

I finally came up with a Bob Marley reggae album, rushed back to the bedroom and put it on the player, ready to start. She was still in the bathroom, the door closed. I sat in the easy chair in the corner of the bedroom, my penis already swelling between my legs and my thoughts racing. After a couple more impatient minutes, I got up and started the music, softly.

I heard the bathroom door open, and sharp steps down the hallway. Hmmm…hadn’t she been barefoot before? I quickly put the pieces together as she stepped through the door — in a near-floor-length sheer black gown, low-cut and split up the front almost to the bodice, and black, thin-strapped spike heels, with a jeweled chain on one ankle. And she wasn’t wearing panties; her soft bush peeked through the parted gown.

“I couldn’t find any that I liked that went with the outfit,” she said, smiling.

“That’s okay.” My mouth was suddenly dry and I licked my lips; she was stunning.

“I’m going to strip for you,” she said, softy but matter-of-factly. “You have to stay in the chair, and you can’t touch until I say you can, okay?”

My wife began to move slowly to the seductive beat of the reggae, swaying and gently rolling her hips, turning slowly in front of me. Her hands caressed the sheer black fabric, tracing her curves, lingering on her smooth ass. She turned toward me again, her fingers gliding down the front of her gown, parting it even more, lingering near her inviting womanhood.

She put one foot up on the stool in front of the chair; one side of the gown fell away and she caressed the inside of her leg, her calf muscles lightly tensed, the ankle chain sparkling, her pretty toes peeking through the thin straps. I leaned forward, my face closer to her pussy, and I could begin to see her swollen lips and smell the lovely aroma of her sex.

She sat down on the stool, facing me, and began caressing her breasts, her fingers teasing behind the fabric.  She suddenly spread her legs and perched them on the arms of the chair I was sitting in. Her vagina was glistening and open to me.

“Sit back and enjoy,” she said softly. She caressed one leg, slowly taking off one shoe, then followed with the other. My cock was rigid, my breathing was heavy; I ached to caress, to kiss her gorgeous feet, making my way up toward… But not yet.

Supporting herself with one arm behind her on the stool, she began to caress her pussy with the other hand. Wetting her fingers with her love juices, she massaged the nectar into one breast, then the other.

“Does that feel good?” I gasped. She smiled and nodded, whispering, “Yeah…it feels awesome.” She reached again between her legs, deeper this time, plunging first one finger, then two, then three into her womanhood, caressing in time to the music, her eyes closed, her back arched, licking her lips.

She stood, her legs spread, still fondling her pussy. She slowly slipped the thin straps of the gown from her shoulders, still moving to the music as the gown slipped farther down and exposed her breasts, her nipples flushed and erect. She caressed them as she let  the top of the gown fall farther down, then, finally, with a sensual roll of her hips, she pushed it down over her ass and stepped out of the puddle of black fabric on the floor.

Only then did she reach for me. “Let’s dance,” she said. I slowly approached her, every nerve in my body on fire; we embraced and began to move to the music. I pressed her into me and felt my cock rise between her legs.

“I need to see you,” she said. She gently lifted the T-shirt over my head as I stepped out of the shorts. Now both nude, we melted together and became part of the heat and passion of the music, moving around the bedroom in an erotic embrace.

We parted, and she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs apart. “Let’s keep the show going…for each other,” she said. She reached for the lube on the bedside table and smoothed a generous helping onto my   cock, already glistening from her juices. “Pleasure yourself for me,” she said, as she applied more of the lube between her legs and began to stroke. She drew one leg up, resting her heel lightly on the edge of the bed.

I was comfortable touching myself in front of her, at sexy moments here and there, but had never “performed” for her. Now, her eyes urged me on. “Work it for me,” she said. “Make me know how good it makes you feel.” She watched, still stroking herself lightly.

I grasped my shaft and began stroking, slowly at first. My torso stiffened; Without thinking, I ran my other hand through my hair. “Oh, yeah,” she said. My strokes became longer, and I ran my other hand slowly down my body, meeting her eyes and smiling. She continued to stroke between her legs, beginning to moan softly.

Still pumping with my left hand, I reached down with my right hand, drawing it gently down and back across my balls, stretching my fingers along the sensitive skin behind them, just teasing the opening beyond. I slowed my stroking, catching my breath, continuing to massage my balls with my right hand, beginning to moan. I stopped pumping and just played with my erect, glistening penis, rubbing my palm across the head, cupping my fingers and drawing them along the shaft. I caressed my wife’s cheek as she leaned forward to watch more closely; I could feel her hot breath on my belly as she kept pleasuring herself.

She pushed herself back against the headboard, closed her eyes and began stroking harder and faster. The sounds and smells of her wetness and her passion aroused me even more as I renewed my stroking. Did she want me to come? I got an answer as waves of pleasure swept over her, and again, and again; she squealed, moaned and wriggled in delight as she opened her eyes and beckoned me. I climbed onto the bed, kneeling in front of her, bringing myself to orgasm as she watched. I held the warm come in my hand, stroking some of it back onto my relaxing penis; she leaned forward, licking some of the fluid from my hand as well as from my manhood. “Cleaning up is yummy,” she said. “Don’t you think? As she stroked herself one last time, she offered the juices to my lips, and I, too, sucked with delight.

We fell into each other’s arms. The show was over, for tonight.

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