New Year's Eve

The dress we selected for the evening was absolutely stunning -- a long, slinky Calvin Klein design in a thin fabric clinging to every curve, bold blue-and-white diagonal stripes all but demanding focus on said curves. Her long platinum hair with natural blonde highlights draped past her waistline, an exclamation point above her fabulous derrière.

My darling wife Cyan is a sight to behold. Breathtaking. She knows it, but not in a haughty way, that self-awareness only from my constant reminders of how great she looks. She is self-conscious about her beauty in spite of her advanced age, always concerned about being judged harshly by those around her who may not have fared as well.

Our plans are a hotel New Year's party, something we have never done in our 35 years. I drop her at the door, advising to wait in the seating area next to the lobby door while I park the car. We're seeking to "make an entrance". I'm wearing black to not draw eyes away, the only concession to style being cowboy boots and a turtleneck.

We make that entrance. I witness men's heads swivel, she gets the "how dare you!" side-eye from several women, even 20-somethings. We wend our way toward the ballroom; I lose track counting double-takes as we pass through, but it is amusing. She would have probably garnered less attention had she been naked, although a fair number of guys were likely conjuring that very vision. Good thing I don't have to.

A stroll down a long hallway finds the party. Ballroom is half capacity, with music too loud for conversation. It's 10:30; enduring the pounding noise until midnight is guaranteed to give both of us headaches. We certainly don't want her to have a headache given her objective for the evening is finding a gentleman to screw; not just anybody, someone appealing, definitely. And she's picky. So we turn and make our way back to the lobby and bar.

We are regulars; the bartender knows us. We find seats at a table, and it is not very long before a fellow in his 50s leans in to chat us up. Introducing himself as "Ted", he compliments her, and we make small talk. She lights up a little since he is tall and attractive, and has that "silver fox" look she enjoys.

He continues to flatter Cyan, enough so that it's clear he is angling to get into her panties... had she been wearing any. She's engaged in the conversation, too, a confirmation of her interest. For these occasions I have pictures of her on my phone to share, including standing nudes from 35 years ago, from when she was a model.

Ted comments, "She hasn't changed much."

I confirm, "The biggest change is she shaves it now."

He smiles at the invitation. He lightly touches her back; Cyan turns so his hand lands on a breast. He cups it, fingering the nipple.

"Room 826," Ted informs.

We both rise from our barstools.

"Can I watch first?" he asks.

"Sure!"

The three of us stroll towards the elevators. I call the car, the door opens, and we step in.

"Ready?" I ask as the door closes.

A knowing smile from Cyan, "Yes."

I reach for Cyan's hem and lift the dress off.

"Holy shit," gasps Ted. "Incredible."

I gently nudge her to him; he reaches for her pussy.

"Wet!"

Cyan grabs his belt, unfastens, and yanks his pants and boxers to the floor. His already hard cock springs into readiness.

"Uncut!" as a delighted Cyan kneels to suck. "MMMMmmmmm."

"About there!" I announce, the indicator at "7".

Ted grabs his pants for the walk to his room. Cyan saunters proudly in her nakedness, advertising to whoever may see that she is bedding two men.

Ted opens the door, "You first and I watch."

"Deal!"

Cyan dives for the bed, landing spread-eagle.

"Do it!" she commands.

I quickly strip and Ted follows suit.

My wife is always a great fuck. Ted is wanking to stay ready.

I finish inside her and roll aside. Ted takes his place between Cyan's legs, she reaches to push his foreskin back; he glides in given the extra lube. The foreplay was too intense for him, apparently, cumming after very few strokes into her. He lifts off.

We clean up and dress.

"Say, Ted?" I prompt as we open the door.

"Yes?"

"She's 75."

"Shit! No fucking way!"

"Yep. Way."

Cyan grins real big, "Thanks!"