After

"I'm wearing stockings," your wife said, pulling up the hem of her dress, flashing you the top of her nylon stocking.

You swallowed, stomach churning. She was always in such a good mood when she was going out with him, playful, flirty, teasing. "Kristen," you said softly.

"Stop," she said with a smile, "you know you like when I wear them as much as he does."

"I..."

"Come here," she beckoned you over to her, took your hand in hers, pulled your fingers to her thigh, ran your hand up the nylon to the garter strap, to her bare skin. 

"Kristen," you moaned, moved your hand to the top of her thigh. She squeezed, stopped you.

"Just on the outside, baby, you know the rest belongs to him."

"Kristen," you moaned again, felt the tension between your legs, the tightening. Your balls were full, heavy, desperate. "Please, it...it's been months..."

"Shhhh," she said in a soft, gentle tone. "You're in such a good place, that plateau..."

The first month caged was always an adjustment as you entered a state of easy arousal mixed with guilt and jealousy. The second month was difficult as you began begging her to release you. Into the third month, it wasn't easy arousal, it was constant arousal. The jealousy of the time she spent with him gave way to realization that surrendering her to him was bliss. 

Where you were reluctant and petulant the first month, by the third month you begged her to be with him, supported her, encouraged her.

"Can...can I..." You asked shyly, meaning kissing her pussy through her panties before she left.

"No, love," she said, "not till after, not till I get home."