Date Night

 

It turned out to be a different weekend that I'd planned; than we planned. There was family emergency on Friday that almost scuttled everything ("You know this puts Saturday into flux," she commented. "I know, I know," I said. "Whatever you need."). 

There were weather challenges (winter has yet to give up its icy grip) that made travel unknown (I watched the weather as much as anyone all week). 

And there was a personal illness (me; no Covid, thankfully, but sick Friday and Sunday, somehow better enough on Saturday). And still sick, more than two weeks later. Hence my delay in reporting back (sorry everyone!!!)

But despite the emergency, her parents still wanted the baby Saturday and overnight. And I felt better enough on Saturday. And given the unknown weather, I'd cancelled our travel plans and brainstormed alternate plans for Saturday.

So we all slept in on Saturday and got a late start, dropping the baby (she's not a baby in age, just a baby in our hearts) off late morning, and went to a town with a bunch of antique shops and quirky clothing shops and galleries where we would not be the only girls holding hands. 

It was nice. Walking around. Holding hands. A nice lunch. Shopping. Skirts and tights and sweaters and boots and overcoats and pretty hats and leather gloves. Just girl stuff.

We had late dinner reservations (glad we got them, making them the night before) so came home and took a nap. We did a little more shopping; I bought a dress to wear when working from home

Then we went home to change for dinner. I had the dress I'd previously shown while Em had the dress above (with the bare back, see below).

It was a surprise, a no lingerie needed for her, just sheer pantyhose (Wolford Fatal 15, the best of sheer nylons)

Given my dress, I went the more traditional route for lingerie

Dinner was nice. Romantic, tender, peaceful, with good food, good wine, a nice cocktail, and the many glances of two people who know at the end of the night, they are going to end up in bed together. (I wasn't sure earlier, given how I felt sick on Friday. She said at lunch, "if we make love tonight, you know there won't be kissing.") "I know," I laughed, "I know."

There wasn't kissing, but there was love making. She excused herself while I got out candles, came back into the bedroom still in her dress and hose. We sat on the edge of the bed and kissed, rubbed our nylon covered legs together. I touched her back, the bare skin, her breasts through the smooth fabric of her dress, her legs, let my hand slide up the nylon.

That's when I felt it, hidden by the fabric of the dress, the hard, thick cock under her pantyhose. I knew what it was the second my hands brushed against it, the realistic cock with the bulbous end filling her. "Emily," I moaned softly, hand drawn to it, playing with it through the dress, her hose.

"Hmmm,," she cooed, "you found my surprise." She hiked the hem of her dress up, exposed the sheer nylons, the thick cock held against her by the hose. "A special treat for a special night."

I was rubbing it through the hose, knowing how to do it so it pressed against her. "Sara," she moaned as she reached for my head, gave it the gentlest of touches. 

In a flash I was on the floor, spread her legs apart, leaned forward and kissed it and licked it, well aware the dichotomy between her femininity-her nylons, her dress, her body-and the hard, thick cock under her pantyhose. I kissed it up and down, licked it up and down, all the while running my hand over her nylon covered legs. 

She laughed, rubbing her hand through my hair.

"What?" I asked even as I licked the cock.

"Someone's as eager for cock as I was last month," she said. "Of course, the one I had last month was real."

I started to pull back, to say something, but she pushed my lips against it. "No, don't you dare talk," she said, "your mouth belongs right there." She adjusted herself, reached under her hose; I noticed a hole at the base of the cock and she moved it so it went through.

"Go on," she said, nodding to it. 

What could I do but the most sissy thing in the world - give my beautiful wife a slow, sloppy, sensual blowjob. Give her a blowjob as I thought of her sucking Evan's cock. Give her a blowjob as I thought of myself sucking cock. Give her a blowjob as I thought about this is exactly what a 'wife' should do.

I was good at it, I was able to make her orgasm all the while drenching her cock in saliva. Eventually I couldn't contain myself anymore, I looked at her, "I...I want to feel you inside me," I said.

"Feel what inside you?" she teased.

"I...I want to feel your cock inside me," I said, "please, I want you to fuck me."

She pulled me to the bed, on my back, reached for my panties and pulled them down, moved her hips so her cock rested on my cage. "I love the contrast," she said, "my hard, thick cock, your small, caged clit."

"Emily," I begged.

"You sound like me," she said, "Evan, please, I want to feel your cock inside me."

"Emily," I moaned.

She reached for her nightstand, took out a bottle of lubricant, put it on her fingers and pushed them inside me. "I like it when you're wet," she said.

"Emily, please," I begged.

She pushed my legs up, held my ankles, pressed her wet cock against my wet pussy and pushed into me, slowly at first, but quicker and quicker as her strokes made her shake, cum.

I found my legs spread apart, Emily leaning into me as she fucked me, her chest pressing against mine. I felt her shaking, knew she was cumming, felt the warm sensations all over my own body, felt the wetness, the dribbling as her cock pushed deep inside me.

"That's my love," she said, "such a good girl, such a good girl." We kissed, or rather, she kissed me, deep and hard, breasts against mine, holding her cock deep inside me, steady, like a man would after he cums. I was shaking, the emotions, the physical sensations, dripping still, the orgasm continuing and continuing, soft waves of pleasure. Not explosive like a mans, but gentle, over and over, gentle, the length so much better than the intensity.

Eventually she reached down, touched my stomach. "You made a mess," she said

"I'm sorry," I said, misreading her tone.

She smiled. "Don't be sorry, Sara," she said, "be proud, this is why we don't need to unlock it."

"I know," I said, dizzy "I know."

"I love making you cum like a girl," she said. She reached down again, scooped the mess with her fingers, brought them to my mouth, fed them to me. I licked her fingers, cleaned them, one after the other, taking everything she fed me as I felt her still in me.

I realized we both get what we want from her, what we need from her. He gets her like a man wants a woman, but I get something deeper, something so intimate. She might be his girlfriend, but she's my lover. Mine.

P.S. The back of the dress.