Butterflies

I walked into the hallway carrying my wife's overnight bag, set it by the door, looked over into the living room, saw her sitting on the window seat staring out the window. I cleared my throat to catch her attention, waited for her to look over at me, but she appeared to be in a trance, unaware I was there, obviously anxious for him to arrive.

"I...I brought your bag down," I said out loud.

She finally looked over at me, smiled. "You're a doll," she said.

"You have fifteen minutes," I said.

"Hmmm?" she asked.

"It's only 11:45," I said, "he won't be here for another fifteen minutes."

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs and at the sound of nylon rubbing on nylon, my eyes went to her thighs. I knew she was wearing stockings and a garter belt and I hoped to catch a glimpse of her stocking tops. "I know," she said, "I just...I have butterflies...I mean...the whole weekend."

I bit my lip, looked down. She'd been seeing him for several months now, but before today they'd never had an overnight date, let alone longer, let alone an entire weekend. "The whole weekend," I said, my tone betraying my inner turmoil.

She either didn't catch my mood or ignored it; instead of responding, she looked at the bag. "Everything from the bed's in there?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered softly. She'd set out all her outfits for the weekend-preppy casual clothes for the day, dresses for the evening, lingerie for under both and for night time. Folding and packing each was both thrilling and painful for she was bringing elegant, sexy things she'd never worn for me.

This time she sensed the feelings behind my answer. "He likes to see me in those things," she said.

"I...I know," I answered with a slight grimace, leaving off the second part of my thought...so do I.

"Is is too painful?" she asked, glancing for less than a second at my midsection.

"N...no," I answered, a white lie.

"I know it's an adjustment," she said, "but it seems to help."

"I suppose," I said, not wanting to talk about it.

"Honey..."

"I'll be fine," I said, not sure if I meant it.

"You know you're happier when you don't do that."

"I...I know," I said, praying she'd just drop it.

"You asked for it," she said.

"I...I know...I just...you're not wrong, it's just...I didn't think it would be so...I mean...it's fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, you're right, it's better and I think..."

"He's here," she exclaimed, cutting me off, standing, a smile on her face.

I looked through the side window, saw his BMW pull into the drive, saw him get out. I opened the door, waited. He smiled as he walked towards me, gave me a nod, walked in like he belonged. He looked right, saw Anna, walked right up to her and kissed her deeply, a hand on her ass pulling her to him. 

"God," Anna said when he ended the kiss.

He looked back at me, his arm around her. "Bring her bag to the car," he said in a tone one used with a trusted servant.

I knew better than to linger when he talked like that so picked up the bag, brought it to the car, put it in the trunk with his suitcase. 

As I walked back to the house, they came out, hand in hand. I looked around, hoped no neighbors saw. Anna paused when she was next to me; he let go of her hand, continued to the car. "I'll be back Sunday," she said, reached for me, let her hand brush mine, her little finger on my little finger. I wanted to kiss her goodbye but knew he was watching, knew he didn't permit public displays of affection when he was there. 

"Love you," I whispered, hyperaware of the softness of her skin where our fingers touched.

"Love you, too," she mouthed. He didn't forbid that, but didn't want to hear it either.

"Ready, Anna," he said, a statement more than a question.

"Ready," she said, looked at me. "You sure it's okay?" she asked, looked down then looked up.

I knew what she meant, knew she was asking about the cage as well as the weekend. 

"Yea," I nodded, silently curing the cage, desperate to go inside and masturbate, knowing I couldn't, knowing I'd be horny the entire weekend.

"Anna," I heard him say, his tone a command.

"Coming," she said, pulling her finger from mine, walking to him. "Coming."

"Coming," she smiled at him,