The Wedding Reception

Her dancing was smoldering, sensuous and filled with feminine power. It made the younger women all look a bit awkward and childish in their more desperate gyrations. Her performance was so seductive several of the men near her were ignoring their own dance partners to focus on my wife. It was lucky that the daggers of the other women's glares were merely metaphors, or my wife might have been seriously injured by their green-tinted envy.

When one of the buckles came undone on her high heels and she took a spill onto the floor, a detached observer might have deduced that it was because of the awkward pressure she put on the shoe while grinding her beautiful bottom against the front of her partner's tented slacks.

I was anything but a detached observer, and when I saw my wife fall to the dance floor in a heap as a result of the shoe malfunction, I had to carefully arrange my own considerable erection in my suit pants before I could spring to her aid.

I arrived just in time to see her giggling about her predicament, apparently unhurt, but in her condition unable to stand without assistance. She reached up with both hands, one to me and one to her dance partner. As she wobbled to her feet her knees spread wide and her long skirt slipped high up on her thighs, ever so briefly providing visual proof to the bald man (and everyone behind us on the dance floor) that she was nude under her skirt. He was standing close enough to her to both see and smell her potent arousal.

She didn't seem capable of putting weight on her ankle, so the two of us flanked her for support and led her back to a darkened corner table, far away from the noise and commotion of the dance floor.

"I'm so sorry," the bald man looked crestfallen. "I'll leave you two alone. Thanks for dancing with me." He took her hand and kissed the back of it gently, holding it against his lips a little longer than customary. Actually, a lot longer than customary.

The effect was more intimate and powerful than any of the illicit grinding that they had done in full public view. He apparently believed that the end of the dancing meant that his special evening with my delightful bride was also coming to an end.

My wife eyes darted around to survey the scene and she seemed satisfied that there wasn't anyone else paying attention to us. She bit her lip and looked up at me questioningly. She seemed to want permission for something, though I was not sure what it might be. I gave her a slight nod, okaying whatever she had planned. I was hopeful it was far more intimate than a kiss on the back of the hand.

She stopped him before he could turn to go. "Would you mind looking at my ankle? I think I twisted it and my husband is useless with medical stuff." She pulled the hem of her skirt up, just above her knees, and presented her long leg and potentially injured but otherwise perfectly shaped ankle to the man.

The way her pretty toes wiggled in the sheer black stockings when he grasped it softly in both strong hands, I doubted anything was really wrong. The realization that she was toying with him, enticing him to touch her right here in my presence, thrilled me to the point of palpitations.

He knelt before her. The same pose that a man might use to propose, or that a lucky garter catcher at a wedding reception uses to place the garter on the leg of the maiden who catches the bouquet. I stood behind him, positioned to see whatever he saw.

He guided her foot gently to his raised knee. The skirt slid farther down her upstretched thigh, but not far enough yet to illuminate the treasure she had momentarily exposed only minutes earlier. She made no effort to secure the wayward fabric; her hands lay folded on her lap.

He ran his fingers carefully up the instep of her foot across the sheer, cool fabric of the stockings. Her toes clenched as he cautiously probed the condition of her ankle. He looked like he might actually have some knowledge of what he was doing.

"Seems fine," he said, looking up. "Very fine, in fact. You have great legs, and very sexy feet." She smiled at the compliment, blushing lightly. Mysteriously, she has never believed me when I extol the beauty of her feet and legs. I was so happy that he helped to bolster her confidence that I could have kissed him. Well, maybe not on the lips.

He started to move like he was getting up to go. She stopped him again. "Would you mind? All that dancing in high heels is giving me a leg cramp. You have such nice hands, could you rub my calf a bit?"

"It would be my pleasure." His hands moved smoothly up her ankle to her shapely calf muscle. Tenderly at first, then with more assertive pressure, he massaged her lower leg.

"Mmm, oh, your hands feel so good." He was paying close attention to what he was doing and hadn't immediately noticed that she had gradually bunched the material of her skirt toward her hips. The tops of her stockings and a tantalizing margin of pale, soft thigh were now visible. Because of the dim lighting, the space between her thighs was still shrouded in darkness, though it was apparent from her musky, delectable fragrance that she was stirred by his sensual attentions.

He looked up and I heard the sharp intake of breath as he beheld my wife's beautiful legs, almost all the way to the source of her feminine power.

"Can you do the other one, please?" She lifted her other foot toward his raised knee, offering her other calf by placing it beside the one he had just finished massaging. He was kneeling close enough to her that she had to spread her legs slightly to position her feet together, and the skirt slid even farther up, displaying her creamy thighs all the way to her hip, and perilously close to fully exposing her womanly charms. Her movement probably would have left her pretty blonde muff completely exposed for his inspection except that a folded pleat draped itself accidentally across her sex.

I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. My neck grew hot in my buttoned-up collar. My wife was practically spreading herself open in public for a man whose name we didn't even know. Except for the barest veil of fabric she would have been wonderfully naked to him.

He took her other supple foot in her hands as I thrust my hand into my pocket to hide my hardness from onlookers. After all, I was standing, erect, and fully visible to curious eyes. What my wife and her dance partner were doing was all occurring behind a banquet table covered with a heavy tablecloth. It took all the self-restraint I could muster to keep from touching myself, because I knew I would have exploded at the merest squeeze, causing a stain on my pants that would have been impossible to hide.

I watched as this man stroked and caress my wife's calf. His skilled touch must have been extraordinary, because she closed her eyes and sighed heavily in contented pleasure. As she did, her other foot slid off his knee, but not to the floor. Instead she trailed it slowly up the inside of his upper leg, the sheer black stockings noiselessly gliding up his trouser-leg, stretched taut over his well-muscled thighs.

Now it was his turn to gasp as my wife's sweet toes grazed the head of his throbbing member. Without opening her eyes she guided the bottom of her foot up the thickness of his shaft until she was hefting his pendant balls ever so gently with the top of her instep, and tickling the pronounced head of his rod with her heel. He tried to continue delivering his massage, but all his focus was required to prevent his own premature eruption of pleasure.

She looked up with a wicked expression, knowing the tension he was barely containing. "Thank you so much, you have a magical touch." My wife brought her feet down to the floor on either side of his bent knee, sitting up in her chair and sliding gradually forward. Her skirt rode high on her thighs, but the bothersome fold of concealing fabric stayed in place, continuing to hide what we both so much wanted to see.

When she got to the edge of the chair I expected her to stop, to keep from falling off, or in her condition, at least to keep from falling over. Instead she reached forward with one hand and grabbed the stranger's tie to steady herself, and using the other to keep her skirt from sliding down over her legs, mounted his thigh like the smooth seat of a rocking horse, her naked sex pressed against him just above his knee.

I know he could feel her heat and her wetness. She stared into his eyes for a moment, gently tipping forward and back on his strong leg, not for balance, but for pleasure. Her own knee was slanted down between his legs, pressing his cock against him.

Under half-lidded eyes she whispered, "I'm sure he won't mind if I give you a kiss for all you've done for me tonight." She didn't wait for my approval, or his. She just pulled his tie forward and leaned down, grinding her sensitive clit against his twitching muscles.

When their lips met, hers were already parted. Her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth, ready to slip out and taste his mouth as soon as his lips parted in return. Breathlessly she pressed her weight against him, her breasts crushed against his solid chest, her feet lifted off the floor in order to get the maximum pressure of her hungry pussy against his leg.

As their tongues danced together in the extended kiss, and she rubbed herself passionately against his body, she seemed to lose track of her location, because her guttural sounds of pleasure went from a whisper to a growl. I positioned myself at her side to shield the two of them from view. As she reached her crashing climax she sobbed loudly in consummation.

If it hadn't been for the raucous music thrumming out of the dance floor speakers, the entire room would have turned to see her collapse in exhausted contentment into the bald man's enfolding arms.

She giggled like a silly schoolgirl as he gently guided her back into her chair, "ooh, I'm sorry, I made a spot." She pointed to the thigh of his trousers where she had left more than a spot. There was a creamy dark wetness that covered him from mid-thigh to just above his knee. He looked around the room cautiously, wondering as I had if anyone had seen or heard their unexpected tryst. No one had.

"I have to get this cleaned up." He didn't sound upset, certainly not about the pants, just dejected that the interlude had to end. "Will I see you again," he asked hopefully.

"We don't live around here," I explained ruefully, making it clear I was just as disappointed as he was. She was simply grinning at us both, and I thought I actually heard her purring.

"Well, I can't thank you enough for letting me dance with your wife," he said as he started toward the restroom.

"And he can't thank you enough for dancing with his wife," my bride interjected, giggling as she playfully poked the tip of my erection through my suit pants.

She sighed heavily as she watched him walk away, and in a brief moment a waiter arrived (where had he been all the time before, I wondered?) with a fresh Scotch sour for her, a diet coke for me, and an evil grin for both of us.

My wife took a couple of deep gulps, refreshing both her thirst and any reinvigorating the effects of the alcohol that she may have burned off by bringing herself to rapture on a stranger's knee.

"Are you okay?" I was hoping she hadn't just drunk herself right through to the sleepy drunk or sick drunk stages.

"Yeah...just got a little light headed there, don't know why," she said with a wicked, guilty smile.

"You seemed to be having a good time...dancing with him. He certainly seemed to be enjoying it."

She giggled and blushed. "I guess it was a bit obvious, huh? Nobody saw, did they?" She glanced over at her brother and sisters, niece and nephews.

"I don't think anyone saw. Well, maybe the waiter." I looked over at my wife's clutch sitting on the table, and her lacey black panties were halfway out of the open purse for anyone to see.

She blushed more deeply. "You think the waiter saw what we did? You don't think he saw my pussy?" she said a little too loudly, noticing suddenly that her skirt was askew. She very nearly showed her blonde honey pot to anyone who might be looking as she fumbled to modestly rearrange it.

I shook my head in false assurance. Actually I was pretty sure he must have seen everything, since he appeared so serendipitously with a fresh drink at the merest pause in the action.

She had a dreamy look in her eyes again. "I...I just wanted to feel that man against me. He moved so well. Just wanted to touch him. You're not angry are you, baby? You always fantasized about that. Was it okay to let your fantasy come true just a little bit?"

She seemed really concerned that she may have taken our little game too far. Now that it had occurred, she was worried that my deepest fantasies, the dream scenarios I had always told her would arouse me would have made me angry in reality.

"No, I'm not angry. I'm so amazed by you. That was the most thrilling display of your beauty and sexuality. I love you so much right now, I could simply melt into you," I whispered into her ear as she held my hand. I guided the back of her fingers to touch my stiffness through my pants. "Let's go up to the room and make proper use of this big, hard problem you gave me."

My wife gave my hand a squeeze and smiled her answer. "I need to make a trip to the bathroom first," she said slipping her shoes back on. Between the heels and the drinks, she was still a little unsteady in her tipsy condition. I helped guide her to the door of the powder room, and as I stood and waited, an irrepressible Cheshire grin across my face, the bald man emerged unexpectedly from the men's room.

He saw me and walked over with a conspiratorial look. "Your wife is amazing. Really amazing. You're such a goddamned lucky son of a bitch."

"I think she really likes you, too" laughing at my own egregious understatement.

Another plan hatched in my head. I didn't want to press my luck, since the night already had presented me with the most fantastic gift I could ever have wanted. But even without taking a drink my own body was intoxicated with lust and passion. I was addicted to the feeling, and didn't want it to stop.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged in. "Do you want to see more?"

"Oh my god, yes!"

"I can't promise anything," I said, taking my hotel room key card out of my pocket. "She's always been adamant that she won't do anything with other people. But I think she crossed a boundary tonight, and if you are willing to give it a try, at least maybe you can see her completely naked, maybe more."

I pressed the key card into his hand. "Room 340, get in the closet...the door doesn't close all the way. If nothing else, you'll get to see me put her to bed, and then once she's asleep you can slip out of the room with a few more nice memories."

"I can't believe it. This is awesome!" I thought he was going to kiss me (that would have been awkward), but instead he hustled up the hall to the elevators and disappeared.

It took me over a half hour to get back to our room. My wife's older sister stopped us to confront my wife with a slanderous story she overheard from our waiter. She was always more of a prude than the rest of the family, and was pressing her self-appointed job of morality police a bit too far. Damn Lutherans!

It took a bit of convincing, but she didn't really want to believe the outrageous accusations she had overheard, and since nobody else in the family witnessed anything really, she finally was satisfied and allowed us to get back to our room.

When we entered, the bald man was nowhere to be seen, but my card key was on the dresser, which either meant that things were going exactly as planned, or he had given up and left. I decided to act like he was there. Even if he wasn't, it would be a lot of fun to imagine that he was until I found out otherwise.

I stood my wife up at the foot of the bed, with her facing the closet behind me and with the bed behind her. Without a word I lifted off her blouse as she raised her arms. She tried to kiss me but I demurred, putting a finger to her pouty, full lips. Silently I started smoothing her long hair and positioning her like a posable doll, initiating a favorite bedroom game that she immediately recognized, where she had to stay silently in any position I desired.

Her perfect tits were half exposed already by the demi-cup bra, erect nipples proudly confirming her continued state of arousal. She knew the game, keeping still and and quiet as I stretched her arms straight out and unhooked the back of her bra, letting the strapless garment drop at her feet. I stepped to the side knowing that, if my wife's new boyfriend were in the closet as I imagined, he would see her in all her topless glory.

I knelt behind her on the bed and brought her arms down to the small of her back, wrists together so that she was jutting out her firm breasts toward the secret viewer. I pulled her hair gently but deliberately, making her head tilt upward slightly toward the ceiling. I brought my hand down over her eyes, closing the lids. She was such a good wife, such a perfect and obedient love-doll.

Whenever she was inebriated my perfect little mother of three and model housewife liked to have her nipples tortured. She often enjoyed it at other times, but she always enjoyed it when she had been drinking. I reached around from behind and took both erect buds firmly between my thumbs and the middle joints of my pointer fingers. She knew what was coming and gasped.

"Shhh," I insisted with my lips grazing her earlobe, as I started to gradually increase the pressure. With my chin on her shoulder I studied the opening of the closet door for a sign of my special guest, but could see nothing to confirm or deny his presence. I imagined him in there, stroking his stiffness silently in the dark as I tightened my grip.

My wife typically encouraged me to pinch her harder than I felt comfortable doing. Since I didn't want her to urge me on verbally, I pushed myself beyond my normal limits, knowing she could object if I went too far. She didn't.

Instead her breath came faster and I could feel her getting more excited. I told my little love-doll to hold still and I pulled her nipples away from her chest firmly, toward the stranger in the closet. She couldn't help but gasp with the mix of pain and pleasure. I shushed her again.

I knew her mouth would be watering. Usually, when I pinched her this hard, what my wife enjoyed most of all was for me to force her to her knees and make her suck my cock. She would orally pleasure me as I pulled and twisted, and she would work her fingers between her legs until she came. Then she would reach up and take my hardness out of her mouth, and stroke me until I spurted my warm cream all over her tender breasts. But I had other plans tonight, so I released her.

She whimpered quietly in disappointment, but I ignored her. This wasn't about pleasing her right now, this was about exposing her, displaying her like an object of erotic art, to our silent observer.

She kept her hands behind her back, as though I had bound them together. Observing the rules of our game she gave her no freedom to do anything but whimper, and even that was a violation. I reached down to the waist of her skirt, deftly unclipping it and lowering the zipper. I let it slide down slowly, and could feel her quivering under my touch as the skirt revealed the perfect globes of her ass to my view, and the golden warm fur of her pussy to our voyeur's inspection.

I had her step out of her skirt. All she wore now were the high heeled sandals, sheer black stockings and garter belt that held the stockings up on her long, beautiful legs. Still behind her, but now seated on the bed, I parted her legs to give me better access to the wonders between them. Her hands were in the way of my access to her backside, so I placed them up behind her head with her fingers interlaced as though I were placing my divine love-doll under arrest.