Tara and the Dance

My name is Tara, age 27; married to Bob, 29, for four years; a sexually adventurous couple, but no penetration outside marriage. I'm telling this story to raise a question about sexual adventure within marriage. If a husband actively encourages his wife's "sexiness" can he blame her if she loses control and exceeds the boundaries they have set? I honestly think that I'd still be a fairly conservative midwestern girl if Bob hadn't constantly challenged me to be bolder and more daring. And I think he forgot the message in an old country song... "A woman's only human, this you should understand... she's flesh and blood, just like her man."

So today, l am an enthusiastic exhibitionist, encouraged by Bob from about our third date in college. He loves short skirts, skimpy panties and windy days — or whatever method I dream up to show off. He also likes the idea that other guys are watching. So at first I did my showing off for him, but when I figured out how much hotter our sex is after a good show, I began liking the idea for myself.

Throughout our marriage, we've been in a social set that enjoys couples parties of six to eight people. Depending on how much wine flows, these parties become pretty risqué, and an exhibitionist's dream come true. I can show off on my own, or sometimes Bob challenges me to show my panties to every guy at the party at least once. And on especially hot party nights, usually involving the host's favorite rum punch, I'm aided by truth or dare, or strip poker. Bob has been "all in," turned on by the scene and eager to be alone with me.

This brings me to this story's main scene. It was a house party with an unusually large crowd - thirteen total. The odd man was Steve, a friend in our social set who had been transferred to Atlanta three years before. He was back in town solo for a business conference and dropped by for old-times sake. I always liked Steve. He was ultra-cool looking, but also had the confident, attentive look-deep-in-your-eyes charm that made women simply enjoy being with him. He clearly liked legs because he was always smilingly attentive when I was accidentally flashing him. And he had seen me close to naked, so a lot of normal barriers had been broken down by prior history.

Here's the part of prior history that explains why I sought Steve out on this night. About two years before, I lost at truth or dare, and my dare was to take off my top and bra — made simpler because I wasn't wearing a bra — and select a guy other than my husband, to slow-dance with. He was to "go topless" too. So I picked Steve. We pulled off our shirts. Some music started. We danced chest-to-chest, or maybe I should say chest-to-nipples, in the middle of the rec-room, and I got so hot I nearly orgasmed on the dance floor. In fact, the watching party-people were so aware that they were actually cheering for it, but I managed to hold on, not sure that Bob would approve going as far as a public happy ending. Later, Bob was richly rewarded for sharing temporary access to my boobs. At the first moment I could find an empty bedroom, I guided him inside and had my way with him, as they say.

So at this party, the crowd was big enough that some were upstairs where drinks were flowing and a playoff basketball game was on TV, and some were downstairs where dancing was the current activity; sexy dancing allowed; swapping allowed, but not topless. As you've no doubt predicted, Steve and I were dancing. He had already been well and truly flashed thanks to a skirt that was a lot like a cheerleader's skirt, with matching tube-top. As we danced, he told me I was "lookin' good." I laughed and thanked him for the compliment. He asked me if I remembered the last time we danced. I laughed again and said, "Like it was yesterday." And that was basically true. It was an awesome memory that had become the all-time favorite in the fantasy world of my mind. I hadn't imagined that there might be a repeat, but I sought it out when the opportunity presented itself.

Here's a pretty close account of the conversation that followed, no doubt helped along by ealier visits to the hosts' fully stocked bar.

"Still enjoy a bit of exhibitionism, I see."

"I'll bet you did see."

"Did I see a thong by chance?

"Yes, that would be true?"

"You really shouldn't do that, you know?"

"Do what?"

"Wear undies that are so clearly designed to make you fuckable?"

"Whoa — that's a bit, uh, direct."

"Well, it's true isn't it?"

"Um, well, I mean, yes... Bob likes how little effort it takes to... you know."

"So don't you see why you shouldn't party like this?"

"I guess not, why?"

He pulled me closer. It was evident that an erection was forming.

"Because you're also telling me that you are fuckable?"

"I don't think so, Steven. You know this is just..."

"I'm going to show you."

"Show me what... what the hell are you talking about?"

He danced me backward through the door of a second bedroom (or maybe 3rd or 4th or 5th— it was a big house). Once inside, he closed the door, then as he turned back toward me, he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head. As you can imagine, multiple thoughts went spinning through my mind, most of them related to re-enacting the fantasy. One of them should have been the meaning of the moment when the bedroom door closed. But I didn't grasp the significance. He pulled me toward him to continue the dance. We were chest-to-tube-top close, but he was treating me gently rather than the more forceful body contact I remembered from the first dance.

I was liking the moment, a lot, and fully expecting his, "This is for old time's sake."

His hands moved to my sides and lifted the tube-top to my shoulders., then over my head. Again he was gentle, as we began dancing, but the moment of contact was electric. I told him the truth as I snuggled against him, "Oh, man, unreal... I've thought about being here again." My voice was already husky, I was breathing noticeably harder.

We kept dancing, maybe a minute or two. All those feelings from the old dance were coming back, big time. He leaned back, lifted my chin and met my eyes: "You can leave now if you want to." Again, I missed the significance of the moment. I definitely didn't want to leave. But he was signaling that the stakes were higher, in effect, asking for my consent. I didn't see it in time.

Now the old dance was being re-enacted totally, and then there was more. I felt his hands going from my waist toward my buns, then under my skirt. We danced on. The hands felt delicious, palms caressing, fingers probing. My breasts were sending signals all through my body as I found myself pressing against him, wanting to be closer.

Then he danced me to the edge of the bed. "You can leave now if you want to," he repeated. I put my arms around his neck, held him closer, pressed closer, and I said, "I want to stay."

He pushed me gently onto the bed. While I was still sitting upright he said, "Now I'll teach you why you're playing with fire." I grasped that he was talking about his warning that I shouldn't have teased so much with panties so skimpy, but I was so thoroughly turned on that anything he wanted to teach me was fine with me.

"Lie back," he instructed. I obeyed after sliding backward enough to let my head reach the bed's pillow row. Still standing at the foot of the bed, Steve said, "Nice." I used one arm to cover my breasts and gave my skirt a token tug, but knew it was meaningless. He slid onto the bed, on his knees, and began moving toward me, between my legs. As my legs opened for him, I knew where this was headed, but I couldn't find any source of resistance. He leaned to kiss my left leg, just above the knee. He kissed and tongued up my thigh to the very edge of my panties, then backed up and repeated on my right leg. And he repeated all that twice more. I was absolutely lost, teetering on the edge or orgasm. Then he finished me off...

"Here's the problem with your outfit," he whispered, "too easy." He easily pushed aside the thong's tiny bit of coverage, and his tongue was on me, then in me, then flicking my clit. I was moaning uncontrollably and managed one, "Oh, my God." My back arched. Hips thrusting toward him. "Oh my God. Oh my God...I'm cumming. Oh God I'm... " and my orgasm seemed to explode through every part of my body.

After a bit of recovery time during which he slid off his tennis shorts, I propped myself up and found his very erect cock. I was preparing to reciprocate, but he said, "Do you need to stay a virgin tonight?" I thought about it for a very short time, although aware that this was the moment that would let everything change -- well beyond the Bob-Tara no penetration agreement. I stroked him, then took him into my mouth for a few seconds, then said, "No I don't want to be a virgin tonight. Lie back." And he did.

I stood above him, straddling him, lowering myself toward him, then gradually filling myself with him, loving every inch it. As we began moving together, I leaned to kiss him, whispering, "You're bad....but I love this."

He smiled, a special kind of expression, all mine somehow. "I've thought about this moment a thousand times. You are a very special lady." He began thrusting upward, powerfully, holding me at the waist. "And not just because you drive me crazy sexually." I came again, instantly.

Not long after that -- partly because we knew there was a party to get back to, but mostly because we couldn't hold out much longer -- we had an incredible, gasping, moaning, stroking, hugging, thrusting finale. This time he did the exploding, deep inside me, but to say it was mutual would be an understatement.

----

I didn't confess to Bob, beyond saying that Steve and I had another sexy dance. I think I learned a lesson about playing with fire, but I'm not sure what to think about the future. I think about it too much. I loved it too much. I love Bob. I don't want to be a slut-wife, but I can't imagine not seeking excitement in our marriage I think I may be at a cross-road that goes with the territory. More later, maybe.