Aniversary Waltz

This is an erotic fictional story. If you are under legal age, or are offended by sexual fantacy, please exit before reading.

I've been taking my time -- bathing, shaving, drying my hair, applying my makeup, giving myself a manicure and pedicure. Having lovingly completed those tasks, I powder my body and dab my favorite perfume, Joy, behind my ears and high up on my inner thighs.

In the bedroom, I select a black dress with spaghetti straps, black thigh-high stockings, and a strappy pair of three-inch heels. After laying tonight's ensemble on the bed, I go to the dresser and pull out the pair of red-lace panties Hugh gave me for my last birthday. While slipping into them and looking at myself in the mirror, I can't help thinking about the problems of the last two years. About my husband's almost studied practice of ignoring me and my needs.

Is he having an affair? Or is he simply overworked? I haven't found anything incriminating. No lipstick on his collar, no notes, no hidden letters, no matchbook covers. I've been so frustrated and depressed, I've actually thought about leaving him. But I've decided to give him one last chance to turn our marriage around.

Returning my attention to my reflection, I wonder . . . bra? Or no bra? Deciding to go bra-less, I shake my head at the blond-haired beauty looking back at me in the dresser mirror, briefly admiring the way my shoulder-length hair swings and sways from side to side before turning away to slip on my thigh highs. Stretching my foot out before me, I slide the sheer silkiness up one long leg and then the other. My perfectly toned legs look so polished in them. I’m sure it’s uncommon for a woman in her late thirties to be able to hold them up without garters, but I can.

“It’s all for you, Hugh, babe,” I tell his rock-hard image in the framed photograph on my nightstand, beside the bed we’ll hopefully use for our extra-lustful purposes tonight.

I’m feeling so very sexy. I pull the dress over my head, careful not to ruin my makeup or muss my hair. The delicate black material cascades over my body like a silk waterfall, pouring over my naked breasts, grazing my hardened, highly sensitive nipples, and gliding down over my hips.

Looking in the mirror again, I smooth the bottom of the dress against my stocking-clad thighs. There’s no question in my mind -- I look like a woman ready for a romantic dinner date that’ll lead to a long night of intense, sweaty lovemaking. And I am. With my husband, Hugh.

Hugh and I have been married for eight years and, I have to admit, overall it's been a good eight years. If I’m honest with myself, it’s only been the last year that he’s been so busy earning for us, establishing a nest egg for us. What the hell, I know he works hard.

He has his own company -- an interior design firm named Makeovers. He’s built up a steady, lucrative business that keeps us happily ensconced in the lap of luxury. His staff is a friendly, industrious group, most of whom I’ve met at one party or another.

Tonight is our anniversary and we’re going to celebrate it in a very big way. After leaving our modern, elegant home, I drive Downtown to Makeovers and park my Mercedes in the parking lot next to Hugh’s Mercedes. Upon entering the elongated white building, I say “hello” to Ellen, the receptionist, and “good evening” to Todd, one of the designers. Ellen has seen me looking like this before, but when poor Todd looks up to return my greeting, he’s obviously startled by my appearance. As I breeze past him, he mutters, “Oh, hello, Mrs. Ellis.”

Making my way to Hugh’s office, I pass through a considerable amount of office space, which is mostly unlit since most everyone has already left for the evening. Just as I’m passing the conference room, I almost collide with a young woman coming around the corner from a hallway that leads to more offices. Stopping in mid-stride, she looks me up and down -- as I do her. A shock of attraction reverberates throughout my body, sparking the nerve endings from my lips, to my nipples, to my innermost core, causing me to fight the incredible urge to rub my lower abdomen to relieve my burning lust.

She is ravishingly beautiful, of eastern heritage, and looks like she stepped of the pages of some slick fashion magazine. God, I thought I looked good today, but this young woman with her model’s stance and startling gray eyes puts me and everyone I’ve ever known to shame.

Attempting to give each other the right of way, she moves to her left as I move to my right, then I move to my left and she moves to her right. We stop and laugh at our unsuccessful, awkward little dance.

Recovering from our giddiness, I introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Hugh’s wife, Gail Ellis.”

She shakes my hand and I know I’m insane, because her soft, yet firm, hand reminds me of a semi-erect penis. For a moment, I’m thrown again and have to shake my head to clear my thoughts. She watches me closely as if analyzing my most secret desires.

But when she speaks, she’s unexpectedly demure with a vaguely British accent. “Oh, I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Ellis.”

She laughs one of those strong, infectious laughs that draws everyone’s attention within hearing distance and seduces them. Instinctively, I sense a naturally dominant aura about her as she leans toward me, very closely. Her darkly exotic presence breaches my personal space, but I welcome the intrusion.

She smiles, flashing even, meticulously white teeth. “Don’t they call that something?” she asks, her breath smelling like sweet almonds, tempting my parted lips, making my mouth water. “The sidestepping dance we were doing? The Dipsy Doodle, I think.”

“Yes,” I say, returning her smile. Even though she pulls back slightly, I still feel her presence surrounding me like a warm cloak protecting me from the harsh elements. “I think they do call it that. We did it well, didn’t we?”

I didn’t think her smile could become any more radiant, but it does. “I think so.”

“You can call me Gail. The missus makes me feel too old.”

“Okay.”

Blinking to avoid looking too deeply into her eyes, I ask, “What’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Budwa. Nasei Budwa. I’m the newest designer around here.”

“I hope you’ll be happy in your work here, Nasei.”

She smiles again. “Thank you, Gail.” There’s a mysterious lilt to her voice, which I’m sure demands superiority even over the fiercest of personalities. I’m the most willful person I know and I’m melting like butter before her.

She sidesteps me -- successfully this time -- and moves on. As she passes, I look around to see how much attention we’ve drawn. When I see there’s no one paying any attention to us, I turn and watch her undulate down the hall and then around another corner out of sight.

This woman is truly a hotty, maybe the hottest woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t help thinking that maybe she’s the reason my husband doesn’t come home on time anymore? I think that is a possibility. I wonder. I definitely have to find that out.

Remembering Hugh and suddenly wondering how long I’ve been standing here, mesmerized by this woman, I look at my watch and discover it has only been three minutes since I entered the building. Somehow that beguiling encounter with Nasei seemed as if it lasted much longer.

Pulling myself together, washing my mind of any lingering foreign illicit images, I stride to Hugh’s office and enter. The large suite is paneled in lush dark wood and furnished in even more dark wood and plush leather.

He seems absolutely startled to see me, but then smiles. “Hey, you look beautiful. And sexy too.”

I stand there a moment, waiting. But then I realize he’s forgotten our anniversary. Damned if I’m going to tell him. His new watch suddenly weighs heavily in my purse. Despite my promise to myself, I can’t stand his ignorance. “Our anniversary?”

“Oh, my God, no.” He seems genuinely shocked. “Gail . . . how could I let it slip my mind.”

He’s asking me?

Hugh jumps up from the lumbar support luxury chair that had been my father’s and comes around the desk that had also been my father’s. Staring at the scattered papers on his desk, I allow him to kiss my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Gail. I’m really very sorry. Just last week, I was thinking that our anniversary was coming up.”

I pull his gift out of my purse and hand it to him. “That’s all right.” Actually, it isn’t. “I got this for you.”

He stands there holding the nicely wrapped package in his hand. “I’m such an ass. I didn’t think to get you anything.” Turning, he waves at his desk as if it were an excuse. “I’ve been so busy. We’re working on this project and I have to deliver our proposal tonight. We’re fighting on all fronts right now and I’m gonna be late tonight. I’m sorry. I’ll pick up something nice for you on the way home. Something beautiful like you, I swear.”

“Tell me something, Hugh, is that young vixen I met coming out of your door the reason you’ve been coming home later and later as the weeks of your ignoring me pile up?”

He stares. Finally, gulping, “you mean Nasei? Miss Budwa?” He laughs in my face. “She’s a dike,” he says. “A lesbian.”

Now it’s my turn to be shaken. “Just don’t get me red panties again, Hugh. I’m wearing the last pair you bought me and you can see what that got me.”

I walk out and as far as I know he doesn’t follow.

* * * * *

What does a woman all dressed up for a night on the town with her husband do when she finds herself on her own? Do I go out to dinner? By myself? Without the son-of-a-bitch? Or do I go to a hotel bar and flirt with strange men? Should I go to a modern dance club? One of those low-class joints with a swing band? Or do I just go home?

Unbidden, a vision of Nasei’s crotch grinding against my mouth as she inserts a dildo in me comes to mind. I wallow in the fantasy for a moment before pushing it from my mind. Forgetful jerk or not, I couldn’t do that to Hugh. Or could I? But, in the end, I decide to just go home. It’s what we loyal wives have been trained to do, isn’t it? What we’ve been brainwashed to do?

I’m so angry and disappointed the house I’ve spent the last eight years in feels like a morgue to me when I enter it. God, am I pissed. I don’t feel at home here anymore. Maybe I never will again. It feels foreign. And I feel raw, like a sore that needs to heal. It can’t be this bad, can it?

Inside, I scream, “It’s just a missed anniversary!”

“Shit,” I say as I pull down my red birthday panties, hike up my black dress, and sit on the toilet. The sound of my water hitting the toilet’s water reminds me of things. Wet things. Rubbing together. My unfulfilled need is too much to bear and I break down into tears -- right there, sitting on the throne.

When I hear the phone ring, the tears stop and anger flares again. I’ll tell that bastard what I think of him. What I’ve thought of him. Without wiping, I rise off the toilet and shuffle over to the bathroom phone, hopefully dripping on the red panties that still encircle my thighs.

Answering the phone on the second ring, I hiss with all the venom churning in me, “Hello?”

“Hello, Gail,” comes the smooth British voice that’s been plaguing my imagination since I stormed out of Makeovers. The sultriness smoothes my furrowed brow and my angered heart. I love the sound of my name on her lips.

“Yes, it’s me,” I say in a breathy rasp, a quality I never knew my voice to possess. I hadn’t realized it before now, but I’d been secretly hoping for this call. The image of her rounding the corner at Makeovers and her swaying ass drift through my mind.

“I got the number from the office files when the secretary left.” She pauses, her breath slowly gusting over the line. “You don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.” Feeling like a parrot, I quickly add, “No, I’m glad you called.”

“I thought you would be,” she states confidently. “I know your husband is working tonight. And tonight is a special night, isn’t it?”

I’m wet from the mere sound of her voice -- from just the thought of her. I can almost feel her tongue laving me, teasing my clit as her fingers probe inside me.

“Yes, both are true,” I confess, sliding down onto the bathroom floor in my finery. I can’t stand this. I want something. Something new. Something profound and earth-shaking. Something . . . forbidden. I want her. Nasei. And my body is shaking from the intensity of my hunger.

“I thought you might want to play with me tonight.”

I heard her correctly, hadn’t I? Sure, I did. What a brazen bitch!

I laugh throatily in reply.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Surprises,” I admit. “Strength.”

“You’ll get all that and more from me.”

“I know that.”

I can’t say I haven’t thought about this before. But that was years ago, before I decided to go the more accepted way and married Hugh. I’ve always known I could go either way. The idea of being with another woman has always been attractive to me, but I haven’t been severely tempted to explore that interest since my marriage. It’s a path I’ve never walked and wouldn’t have walked. But now, it seems to have become the path of least resistance for me. And my cunt is on fire with excitement.

“Where?” I ask.

“Zendela’s,” she purrs. I can feel the wetness, which is not urine, clinging to my cunt hair. “Know where it is?”

“No.” I pause and then confess in a rush. “This is all new to me. Are you sure you want to be involved with the boss’s wife? This might lead to some immense complications for you!”

“I want you. Nothing else matters.” Her bold statement shocks me to the core and uplifts me at the same time.

“Where is this Zenderrela’s?” My voice sounds gruff even to my own ears. I know I’m acting the slut, but I don’t care anymore. I want her, too. And for once, I’m determined to go wherever my lusty soul leads me.

She laughs lightly. “Zendela’s, darling. It’s at the corner of Post and Livonia. Are you familiar with that area? The park area?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath to slow my racing heart. “I’ve driven through the area.”

“You can find it?” she asks in a more demanding tone. Her dominance calls to something deep within me I’d never imagined was there. A buried need to serve.

“Of course,” I respond softly. “I’ll be there in a half hour.”

“I’ll be waiting, Gail. Don’t take too long,” she says sternly. In a lower, softer, more intimate tone, she adds, “I need you badly.”

She hangs up without any further comment and so do I. I rise, go back to the toilet, and wipe myself dry with toilet paper. As I stand again, I pull up my red panties and smooth down my dress over my thighs. I leave the bathroom and pick up my purse as I pass the living room couch. My mouth forms a small smile and my clit tingles as I exit the large structure I’ve called home for the last eight years. Walking out into the beautiful moonlight night, I wonder if I’ll ever be back. Somehow, I know my life will never be the same again.

* * * * *

Zendela’s: A Ladies Club

That’s what the discreet sign hanging above the door in the center of the club’s glass and chrome façade reads. As I enter the dark, sultry place, my heart stutters in my chest and my skin feels prickly and too tight for my body. It feels as if every eye turns my way when I walk in, but I know that’s paranoia. Sure, a few sets of eyes do give me a lingering once-over, but most of the club’s patrons are too busy writhing against each other on the dance floor or flirting over drinks.

Some of my uneasiness is because I haven’t been in a place like this since my college days. Truth be told, I’ve never been in a place quite like this. However, the real reason I’m so edgy is because I’m walking into the unknown. Part of me wants to turn right around and go back to my safe, comfortable life with Hugh. But what the hell has safe and comfortable gotten me except a husband who forgets our anniversary and a sex life that’s been severely lacking any spark or imagination for some time? Certainly nothing like the spontaneous combustion that occurred when I met Nasei earlier.

The club’s interior is much softer and relaxed than it’s flashy exterior. With the exception of the mirrored bar against one wall, all the others are intermittently covered in drapery and well-hung art that is both subtle and powerful. The whole color scheme incorporates rich, earthy shades of brown, green, and a deep, dark red. Many round tables fill the club, surrounding the small dance floor and separating it from the bar. Some have been pulled together to accommodate larger groups who’ve commingled for purposes that tingle my mind. As the sign said, this is a girl’s only nightclub, where women come to meet other women and couples come to dance and explore each other in dimly lit corners.

I look around the club trying to locate Nasei, but I don’t see her. A wave of disappointment rolls over me, finally settling in the pit of my stomach. What if she’s changed her mind? What if she's decided her job is more important than me? What if she's decided I'm not worth the risk? What if she’s laughing at me?

On the verge of tears and ready to leave, I’m startled when a pair of long arms circle my waist and a lusciously endowed female presses her front against my back. “You came,” Nasei’s richly cultured voice murmurs in my ear. “I’m so glad. I want you so.”

Immediately, I relax into her embrace, a delicious burst of warmth erupting in my lower abdomen and spreading throughout my entire body. I’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be wanted like this. So completely. Like a jolt of adrenaline, it invigorates, rejuvenates, and makes me feel invincible. But instead of feeling wired and jittery, the warmth relaxes my muscles and loosens my limbs, so I feel ready for anything. And then there’s the tingling in my taunt nipples and the moisture seeping from my inflamed cunt, making it obvious exactly what I’m ready for. The fucking of a lifetime.

Nasei begins to move, leading me as I’ve never been led before, to a place I've never been. A tango is playing as she guides me onto the dance floor and begins putting me through my paces, like an expert rider would a frisky filly. I feel outrageous and alive, throbbing with excitement. We move smoothly, her fathomless dark eyes mesmerizing me, seemingly telegraphing each move before she makes it.

Even when the song has ended, I stand there still captured by her eyes and the mysteries I see in them. The pull I feel towards her is astounding. Like some wanton star being pulled into her galaxy. Panting from our rigorous dancing and more, I want to touch her so much. Somehow understanding my need, she takes my hand and entwines our fingers.

She smiles at me, a bold, teasing smile that makes my heart flutter. Like a vampire or some other mythical, predatory being, she has me under her spell. Under her control. But her power over me isn’t at all frightening. Although, I’ve never experienced anything like it before. I hadn’t ever imagined I’d let someone have this much influence over me -- not even Hugh, my husband. And why would I? I’ve never been a meek, weak-willed person.

But now, with Nasei, I don’t want to be the one in charge. The feelings bombarding me are so foreign; I have no idea where they are coming from. All I know is that I have this intense desire to please her. At that moment, standing there on the dance floor, hypnotized by Nasei’s exquisite eyes -- by Nasei herself -- I know I’d do anything she’d ask of me. Surprisingly, the epiphany floods me with a warmth that is both comforting and invigorating.

Finally breaking eye contact, Nasei leads me to the bar where we take two available seats. “Two Cosmopolitans,” Nasei tells the bartender and then turns back to me. “You are so beautiful tonight. Absolutely luscious.”

Uncharacteristically demure, I bow my head, suddenly unable to behold her radiance. “Thank you.”