Date Night

I stood silently in the bathroom doorway watching my wife carefully arrange her bra. My eyes quickly darted back and forth, from admiring her breasts in the mirror to admiring the curve of her ass in her thong.

"Enjoying the show?" she said as she adjusted the bra straps.

"S...sorry," I said, looking down, embarrassed to be caught ogling her, embarrassed that I was embarrassed to be staring at my wife with such obvious sexual desire, like that was somehow wrong.

"You may look," she said, obviously proud of how she looked in the new bra and panty set. She emphasized the word look, making it clear that was all she would permit. Looking but not touching.

"I...we...our reservations are at seven," I reminded her.

"I just need to slip on stockings and my dress," she said, "I'll just be a minute." 

"Hmmfff," I gasped, barely audible.

She looked at me in the mirror, knew that would be my obvious reaction when she said she was wearing stockings, knowing how much I loved her in nylons. "He's got a thing for stockings just like you do," she said.

"What...what time will he...will he..." I tried to talk, couldn't.

"Ten," she said, "he's meeting us at the restaurant at ten."

A three hour, romantic dinner date with my wife capped off by her lover meeting us at the restaurant and finishing the evening with her. "Is he...are you...spending the night?" I managed to ask.

She smiled at me. "It's our date night," she said, "I told him I had to be back at some point..."

Her vagueness of time was deliberate. I didn't know if she'd be home at midnight, two, or later. I didn't know if I should wait up or hope she'd wake me when she got home. "Will...will you..."

She finished adjusting her bra, kept the smile on her face. "It's our date night, of course I'll wake you," she said. "Just because I'm spending time with him doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to your pampering."