Putting On a Show

"Looking forward to seeing you tonight," read his text. "Back around 7:45. Will eat on the train. Xx"

"I'll be ready and waiting. SEEING is the word - no touching," she replied.

"What's that about?"

"Wait and SEE!"

Tonight was to be her experimental night. The idea had been quietly brewing for a while. She was drawn to the notion of testing how much she could still tease her man — a test for her and a test for him. After days away, would he be able to keep her rules? After years together and with a young child, could she cross fresh boundaries and play the wanton temptress?

Outside was the normal quiet murmur of a suburb - neighbours oblivious to her evening plans.

Tonight, here, she could shed her mum persona and become the dancer she had never dared to be. He did not know what was planned and could not know what she dreamed.

She was used to eating early with her three-year-old. Though the child was with grandparents for a sleepover, she still had her meal early. One glass of wine — the rest of the bottle left to breathe on the table beside his chair. Gathering energy coursed through her veins and melted gently between her thighs. Though he wasn't here yet, her body was already beginning to tingle.

She made all ready: no gaps in the sitting room net curtains, gentle lighting and closed curtains in the bedroom. Chairs in the right places — out of reach of the spaces in which she would move, but not too far. Wine and nibbles waiting. Clothing: grey jersey dress — figure-hugging, but not brazen. The top covered her shoulders well, the knitted fabric stretched smoothly in a cross-over across her bust, and the skirt shaped itself to follow the swell of her belly and the deep curve of her buttocks. She had not worn it often, for she feared the skirt was an inch or two too short for suburban respectability — but tonight she wanted her thighs to be eye-catching. Simple tools were in place: vibrator and oil under the pillow. And a simple message, where it could not be missed, on an upright chair confronting the door.

A taxi engine rattled outside. A key slid into the door and even in her secluded place in the bedroom, she felt the cool draft from the open door around her ankles.

Sounds of a suitcase set down on the hall parquet and a greeting strangled, perhaps as he caught sight of the note. A rustle of paper.

She had given him permission to take time to arrive home: to freshen up and then take a seat -- wine and light refreshments provided -- to see (but not to touch) what was in store.

While he was in the bathroom she took her place on the settee across the sitting room from his chair.

"Do come in. Take a seat, pour your self a glass, and make yourself comfortable."

He was a broad silhouette in the doorway when he tentatively approached. Slim waist, and definitely masculine shoulders. She was glad she had persuaded him to buy the beautifully fitting suit. No collar and tie, but a turtleneck hinted at confident non-conformity. It was strange, but exhilarating, to watch him arrive without a welcoming hug and kiss. She realised she had never before sat back to watch. Her man formally dressed was a stimulus in itself.

He stepped to the chair in front of her and sat down.

Her look met his gaze and held it for a moment, then she looked down at the book in her hands, swivelled to one side and swung her feet up onto the sofa and she was suddenly aware of the long line of her legs from ankles to skirt hem above her knees. He sipped wine, nibbled cashews, and waited. He knew that watching would lead somewhere, but he did not yet know he was in an erotic story. His wife was beautiful and he had missed her for three days, but he did not know whether she would produce a dramatic reading from the book in her hands, or a new CD purchase ... She had texted "wait and SEE", so maybe the surprise was more visual than aural, and he did notice that, as he watched from the side, her skirt showed a more than usual hint of the definition of the muscles of her thighs.

She opened the book and gazed into it. She needed not to look at him and needed to appear distracted, as if her subtle movements were unconscious.

She drew one heel closer so that one knee rose slightly, the hem of her skirt stretched a little, and soft pale flesh of her inner thigh above the knee came into view.

He began to wonder if he was expected to act. He took another sip of wine and moved forward in his seat as if preparing to cross the room towards her. But an open palm stop gesture halted him and a pointing finger sent him to settle back in his chair and watch.

Without lifting her eyes from the book, she turned back towards him. Her feet rested on the floor and she demurely crossed her ankles. Still not knowing where to focus his attention, he became aware that this grey dress which he did not recognise showed the round separation of her breasts, and the width of her hips tapering to her knees which now seemed to point straight towards him. Those knees were gently moving. She crossed her legs and uncrossed them. As if she had forgotten he was there, her knees parted slightly and came together again. Then her thighs relaxed again and her knees parted, the grey jersey stretched gently over the deep, dark tunnel between, and his eyes could look nowhere else.

When her knees closed again, only one of them moved, so that she turned slightly to one side. Then they opened again, wider this time to the point where the tension of her knitted skirt made the hem begin to slide higher up her thighs. All was still darkness between, but he was beginning to suspect black panties at the target of his breathless attention. When he tore his gaze away and looked for guidance at her face, he found she was watching him intently over the top of the book.

She cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. There was now no doubt, the play of her thighs was no accident. His gaze returned to try to pierce the dark shadow. Her knees widened and her buttocks slid forward so the skirt now concealed little and the panties were confirmed as black.

She slid her hips slowly forward on the sofa and the hem of her skirt crept higher until she was half reclining and the glossy black fabric of her panties was revealed, to hold his eyes fixed on the mound over which it was stretched.

Over the top of her book she peeped to see that, without any doubt, she had his attention. She glanced quickly at his crutch and then focused on his eyes. She wanted to know where he was looking. Abandoning all pretence of reading, she put the book aside and set out to discover whether she could offer him more interest than just her silky smooth black mound.

For a moment he looked into her eyes and squirmed slightly in his seat, though more with excitement than discomfort. Then, as she slowly parted her knees, he quickly focused again on those black panties with their rise and fall as her thighs opened and then closed again. The skirt of the jersey dress was now bunched around her hips and she needed to decide whether to removed the dress over her head or downwards over her feet. Upwards would grant him a view of her breasts lifted as the dress briefly blindfolded her; downwards would offer him a deep down-blouse view of her enticing cleavage. Whichever way she went this time, she would choose the other way next time. Oh yes, there would be a next time, for she was really enjoying the liberation of teasing and enticing.

Over my head this time, she decided, then I'll lead him to the bedroom. So she sat upright, crossed her arms in front of her body, emphasising her cleavage, and reached each hand to the opposite hip to grasp the stretchy fabric. In the classic smooth undressing movement, she turned the grey dress inside out as she reached upwards and peeled the knitted skin from her body. Blindfolded as the dress passed her face, she did not see his indecision as he tried to watch both silky black undergarments. When she could see him again, he was still trying to drink in the sight of her rising breasts and his right hand, she noticed, was adjusting the fit of his pants.

She spread her thighs wide, so that her weight was above her feet, and in one smooth movement beckoned with her left hand, stood, and, with the dress trailing from her right hand, led him towards the bedroom.

Without looking back, she quietly said, "Bring the wine with you, if you want to." And she smiled to herself as she heard him scurry back to complete this practical detail.

She sat on the bed and watched him enter. The voyeur's chair was clearly his place -- not in its usual corner, but focussed on the bed, close enough to observe, but too far for touch.

He sat, leant back, and took a sip of wine.

A smile played at her lips. She drew the trailing knitted dress smoothly upwards. It ran between her knees and caressed her thighs. She reached above her head so that the soft fabric stroked her belly and breasts. Then she tossed it behind her.

Her hands rested a moment by her sides, then reached for her knees and ran lightly to her hips, crossed her stomach and climbed so that each reached the opposite shoulder - with her forearms crossed in front. Their warmth on her breasts was almost like his gentle touch. She watched his eyes caress her and almost invited him to cross the space between them. But the point of the evening was to keep him watching and waiting.

"Hi," she smiled and leaned forward a little. "Do you want to see a little show?"

With a murmur of appreciation low in his throat, he nodded. Her excitement gave an answering shiver and giggle. She had a rash of goosebumps. She moved to smooth them away as she stroked her shoulders in circles widening towards her breasts. She reached into her armpits and then below her breasts, moving her elbows back so that he forearms ceased to hide her treasures and each hand had the freedom to cup and lift the nearer breast and then give them a playful shake for her audience.

Why had she never done this before? She had always wanted to show and tease. Why was it now that she could give herself permission? Good questions, but not for this evening. This evening was for the experience, not the explanation.

Now that he knew what "Wait and SEE" had meant, he would give her the space to act it out. Nothing else mattered in that moment. The world was just the two of them. Her fantasy. His voyeurism.

"Ready when you are," added his voice deep voice.

Her breasts were warm and weighty and soft in her hands. They moulded themselves to her palms and shimmied as she played. There was delight in the touch of her hands on her body and in the weight of her flesh. With a hand between skin and satin, she drew down a cup to reveal a breast to his gaze. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

She released the clasp and shrugged off the bra. Cupping and lifting, she trapped each nipple in the V between thumb and forefinger. This felt good, but dry — more saliva, then circling and the pinch between thumb and forefinger that signalled straight to her clit. Her moan made him shift in in the chair: his hips had a mind of their own too.

Widening her legs, she leaned forward a little, continuing to taunt with a shimmy. He still could not quite maintain just one visual focus. He was far from just an observer. Though still keeping the no touching rule, he was more and more ready to pounce. She was achieving what she wanted: to create desire in him. Yet to be decided were the intensity and speed of their lovemaking once her show was over. She wanted him to long for every part of her, but she could not tell whether he would be able to spare the time for all that exploration or just need to charge to completion.

Fantasies of how much she wanted him had filled her while he had been away. During this trip, on the phone, she had kept to herself the tales of her solo orgasms, but now he could watch and listen live. The yearning to show him her shamelessness, the wanton side of her that pushed the boundary of pleasure and pain was on show tonight.

She was flushed. Her pendulum was swinging between coy and wanton. There was unexpected excitement in making him watch and wait. And she too wanted to watch him masturbate. She imagined his trousers open and his cock ready. Would he hold back to work slowly changing his grip and his style for tantalising variety? Would he cum energetically and quickly, and then be ready for a long fuck. They had never done this before; she could not tell.

It was time for the next moves, time for another focal point. Her cunt needed attention. "Pussy" was a warm and furry name, but "cunt" carried more desire. Her hands left their breasts to glide over her belly, following and enjoying the contours. Like a film director judging a shot, they framed for him her pudenda and said, "focus here", before cupping her needy cunt.

There was deep warmth between her hand and her mound. The black silky satin had been a good choice. Not sluttishly skimpy — but close fitting, smooth, and with a sheen which would show off her contours. She knew he loved to gaze at the swell of her mound where it rose from her belly and stood out from the junction of her thighs. She did not need a brazen camel-toe to snare him. Her full smooth rounded mound, cushioned by her bush beneath the satin, was quite enough to fascinate him.

So she cupped her mound with a slight undulating massage from her hand and for a few seconds kept the treasure hidden from him. Then she closed her thighs and slowly drew her hand up to her belly. A glimpse of the swell of the satin veil was visible to him above the skin of her thighs. It hid and promised. Slowly she parted her knees so that he could revel in the sight of her comely belly with its muscles softly articulating her fitness and calling for his hands to trace her rounded contours.

She let her own hand play the role of his. She began to stroke the flesh between her bra and her panties. Her fingers circled her navel, then, moving gently downwards, her hand glided flat across the satin over her belly and again cupped her mound.

As if she needed confirmation of her readiness, against her fingers she could feel her silky, wet warmth. She took the front of her knickers and pulled it up and the crotch began to work its way between her plump outer lips. Although this was not yet real contact, the pressure on her growing clit promised more to come. Her body longed for more attention, but she still had enough control to spin out the foreplay.

He gazed on her beauty, her softness, her readiness. "Wait and SEE", she had written. He was seeing an act he had not seen from her before. And, hard though it was, the waiting added excitement. The slow progress to completion allowed for glimpses of different possible routes to take, and each of these held promise of a different future game to play. The evening's welcome home was sowing the seeds of varied celebrations to come.

She sat up, then stood and turned her back to him. She glanced over her shoulder, finding his hand now resting on his crotch. She had not doubted, but it was good to have confirmation of his desire.

She had placed the lights to show her rounded buttocks to advantage. She knew that the Y cup shape of her gap would fascinate him. She knelt on the bed sure that, as she bent forward away from him, the full rounded bulge of her cunt, with just a hint of the furrow in the black satin, would hold his breathless gaze. So she lent forward and rested on her elbows and undulated her hips a little. She was offering him the mystery of how human beings could be so fascinatingly different.

With fingers one side and thumb the other, she reached back with one hand into both leg holes of her panties. The thong she was creating made her furrow clearer and began to separate her lips. Full and warm and ready, decorated by the outer edges of her bush they begged him to reach out, to touch, to explore. She pulled harder and the pressure on her clit sent a shiver through her.

Reaching down further she drew the gusset to one side. Her bush made a darker mystery of this place, but she could still show him the long line that ran from between her buttocks to the hood of her clit, with inner lips peeping out and promising further depths to explore.

She breathed in her own scent and suddenly knew he that he would too. There was no denying now the message of arousal from her glistening pussy.

With the middle finger of her free hand she traced a circle from inside her mid-thigh to groin, across the top of her trimmed bush to the other thigh. The circle became a spiral slowly stalking towards her cunt. She let herself fall forward to present her open vulva to entice him. As her roving finger reached her lips, she trembled and shook her buttocks at him.

She was surprising herself with her enjoyment of her show. There was heady strength and power in holding her audience captive. Suddenly she could understand women who would do this for a living. Yet the desire of this man who knew her so well was a greater treasure than the gaze of strangers.

She needed to free the hand that was stretching her panties. With a little sadness she left her inviting position and rolled to one side onto her back. She raised her legs and smoothly slipped the panties off. She was a stripper. Through her imagination flashed the notion of being videoed, with film crew standing around to watch -- the object of desire of more than her husband -- camera capturing details for pleasure to be lived again later.

With her legs held high, she knew her pussy must be peeking out. She could coyly look around her raised thighs and act as if she did not know what she was revealing on his side of the scene.

She still held her panties. She had not planned what to do with them. Their sheen over her mound had been part of her planning and she was reluctant to just drop them now. They would, of course, carry her scent, so she brought them to her own nose, made sure he was watching the gesture, and then tossed them to him — he caught them with both hands and inhaled deeply.

She slowly parted her feet and opened herself wide. There could be now no pretence of not knowing what she was showing as she looked over her bush, between her thighs to see where his attention was focussed.

She licked the fingers of one hand and the other hand spread her labia. Her caress was searching but gentle. His hand cupped and lifted his bulge.

Sounds deep in their throats connected them as she explored herself. The sleek hair of her mons was soft beneath her hand and her folds slick and warm. They each filled their lungs, closed their eyes and clutched cunt and cock.

When she breathed again and looked at him, she found she was longing to touch. She itched to trail her fingers over his muscles, to map the terrain of his form, to kneel before him, to stroke her cheeks inside his thighs and over his sack, and kiss his cock.

He was now clearly kneading his erection. With the permission of her nod, he lowered his zipper and freed himself. She licked her fingers again and began deeper exploration, showing him she knew the place he wanted to visit. Fingertips circled the opening of her vagina. Her middle finger curled inside and her hips rose to meet it. She had always enjoyed this rolling, milking motion.

In her cunt another finger joined the first. She gasped as she spread herself open. Her moans rose.

"Keep going, love." His voice seemed relaxed, but she felt an intensity in its depths which caressed her like silk.

She took in the sight of him stroking his cock and her clit sparked in response. Her free hand found her tits once more, cupping and kneading and tweaking.

"Do you want to see more?" she asked.

Could there be any doubt? He nodded.

The bottle of oil was in just the right place and the flip top opened with a deft movement of her thumb. Lavender and bergamot filled the air as she dribbled a trail from one nipple to the other, then around her navel and towards him and to her pussy. She no longer cared about possible stains on the sheets as the oil beaded on her pubic hair and slowly slid down the furrow of her cunt and between her buttocks.