Respectable Rebecca

I had already poured the wine when Sara arrived, and only after setting the bottle aside did, I notice I'd filled both glasses a little fuller than usual. Apparently, some part of me had decided I might need the extra courage for what I was about to tell her--about what had happened the night before.

About what I'd done.

After twenty years of friendship, Sara knew me well enough to recognize the look on my face almost as soon as she sat down.

"You have something good to tell me."

I picked up my glass and took a long sip before answering.

"Last night, I gave my panties to a young man I met last night."

Sara stopped with her wineglass halfway to her mouth and slowly lowered it.

"You gave him your panties?"

"Yes."

The corner of her mouth lifted. "Well. Good for you."

I took another sip.

"Michael watched me do it."

For perhaps half a second, her smile disappeared.

Then it came back considerably wider.

"Now that," she said, settling deeper into her chair, "is the part I want to hear about."

"I thought it might be."

"Start at the beginning."

I sighed.

At forty-four, I'd spent enough years being someone's wife and the principal of an elementary school to become very good at looking as though I always knew exactly what I was doing. Parents believed it. Teachers usually did. Maintaining an air of calm authority was simply part of the job, and after enough years I'd become exceptionally good at it.

Sara had known me too long to be fooled.

She knew the composed voice I used when someone was upset, the expression I wore when I was patiently listening to something I'd already heard three times, and the way I could walk into a chaotic room, straighten my shoulders, and somehow convince everyone that things were about to become orderly.

She also knew none of those things described all of me.

Sara was forty-eight and almost my opposite where male attention was concerned. Younger men flirted with her regularly, and she saw absolutely no reason to pretend she didn't notice. She enjoyed the attention, enjoyed the men, and was currently dating more than one of them, with everyone involved perfectly aware that exclusivity wasn't part of the arrangement.

After twenty years, she knew Michael almost as well as she knew me. She knew how secure we were together and that he enjoyed seeing me receive attention from other men.

What she didn't know was what I'd finally done with that attention. How far I'd gone.

"If we're really starting at the beginning," I said, "then we have to start with the dress."

Sara smiled over her wineglass.

"Of course we fucking do."

I stared at her.

"What?"

"Nothing. Tell me about the damn dress."

Michael had bought the dress for me, which, looking back, probably should have been my first warning.

It was black and sleeveless, a halter-style wrap dress that left my shoulders and arms bare. The neckline formed a deep V revealing more of my breasts than I was comfortable with, while the fitted wrap gathered at my waist and tied at one hip. That tiny knot was really the only thing keeping the front closed around my midriff. The layered black lace skirt was shorter in front and longer toward the sides and back.

It showed considerably more leg than anything I normally wore.

Apparently the dress hadn't been enough, because Michael had bought the shoes too.

Black strappy sandals with heels so slender and high that when I first took them out of the box, I looked at him and said, "Absolutely not."

He smiled.

Which irritated me because he knew perfectly well that absolutely not did not necessarily mean absolutely not.

Twenty minutes later, I was wearing them.

I stood in front of our bedroom mirror, tugging at the dress almost immediately. I pulled the neckline together, tried coaxing the skirt lower and tightened the wrap at my hip.

Then I caught myself.

I was trying to make the dress respectable.

And that wasn't the point.

I let go of the fabric and allowed it to fall the way it was designed to. For once, instead of immediately searching for something else that needed correcting, I simply looked at myself.

At first, I kept trying to make it look more respectable. Then I realized I was missing the point. It wasn't supposed to look like something Good Girl Rebecca would wear.

"Sara, I looked at myself and thought I looked really sexy."

She smiled. "Did you?"

"Yes."

I turned slightly in front of the mirror, taking in the woman reflected there.

"I wasn't seeing Good Girl Rebecca. I simply saw an attractive woman in a beautiful dress. A sexy woman."

"And you liked thinking it."

"I did."

What surprised me was that I didn't need to imagine myself younger to feel that way. I wasn't trying to look twenty-five. I didn't need to. I looked forty-four, unmistakably myself, and somehow that made the reflection more satisfying.

My dark hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders. The dress followed my curves instead of politely disguising them, while the heels made my already long legs look longer and more defined.

The shoes changed more than the appearance of my legs. They changed the way I carried myself. I stood straighter, my stride shortened, my hips moved differently, my ass looked tighter and the layered skirt shifted around my legs.

So I walked across the bedroom and back. Then I did it again.

Sara laughed. "You practiced walking?"

"I was evaluating the shoes."

"Rebecca."

"Fine. I admiring the way my body looked in it."

I laughed too.

"I liked how I looked. I was starting to feel different."

"Confident?"

"Yes. But more than that. Feminine. Desirable. A little daring."

Sara smiled. "Sexy."

"Very sexy."

I looked at myself for another few seconds. When I stopped in front of the mirror again, I finally quit trying to find something that needed adjusting.

Then I noticed Michael.

He was standing in the doorway watching me.

Admiring me. His eyes traveled slowly over the dress, down my bare legs to the heels and then back to my face.

I met his eyes in the mirror. Neither of us spoke.

He didn't need to tell me what he thinking, I saw it and I liked that too.

You should have seen the lounge when we walked in, it surprised me.

I'd expected something obvious. Tacky, a little seedy perhaps, but instead, it was very elegant.

Low amber lighting softened the room. There was a beautiful bar, good music and well-dressed couples talking over drinks. The dance floor was large enough to feel lively without being crowded. For the first few minutes it could almost have passed for an upscale nightclub.

Of course, Michael found a high table overlooking the dance floor. I had to practically climb into the chair. It was so high it caused my short skirt to ride farther up my legs almost as soon as I sat down. I reached automatically for the hem, intending to pull it back into place, but my hand stopped when I noticed Michael looking at my legs. I really liked his eyes washing over me.

I was looking at the drink menu when I noticed a really good-looking guy passing on his way toward the bar glancing down at my legs as he walked by. It didn't take me long, but I saw another guy looking... staring at me from across the dance floor. He was a bit younger, but I didn't look away as quickly as I should have, I held his gaze considerably longer.

I saw Michael smiling.

"They're looking at your legs."

I glanced down at them and then back at him.

"Can you blame them? You have beautiful legs." He said giving my thigh a quick squeeze.

The compliment made me smile. Then he added, "Show them a little more."

I held his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, do it"

There was a moment when Good Girl Rebecca probably should have tugged the skirt down, instead, I shifted higher on the chair and deliberately let it ride farther up.

Michael watched me do it and so did the guy across the room.

And this time, when he looked at me, I didn't look away.

Something about doing it deliberately made me feel different. Before, my skirt had simply ridden up and I didn't adjust it, but now I was showing even more of my legs because I knew men were admiring them.

And because Michael wanted them to. I liked knowing he was proud of what they were looking at and to be honest, it excited me being looked at the way some of these guys were looking at me.

We sat there for a little while with our drinks, taking in the lounge when I started seeing a pattern, when I began paying closer attention to what was happening on the dance floor right in front of us. The longer I watched, the more I realized these weren't ordinary dances some of the ladies were enjoying. Since the music was only slow, couples were slow dancing, but as I watched them, I started seeing the touching was more intimate, some of the same women dancing, but different partners and I even watched a few women sharing a brief kiss and light up when her dance partner leaned close to whisper something into her ear.

But the strange part, their husbands were watching. Nobody seemed surprised or threatened, if anything, some of the husbands appeared to enjoy watching their wives receive that kind of attention.

Then the women would go back to their tables, back to their husbands. That was the part I couldn't stop noticing.

I saw one return to her husband and immediately kissed him. Another slipped an arm around her husband's neck, kissed him as he caressed her body. There was one, absolutely beautiful in a tight dress. When her dance ended, she went back, took a sip from her husband's drink and whispered something that made them both laugh.

Sara smiled over the rim of her wineglass.

"And that's when you started wondering what it would feel like."

"I was curious."

"Bullshit."

I tried not to smile.

"You were sitting there in that little black dress, showing off your legs because Michael encouraged you, watching other women enjoying attention from men who weren't their husbands."

"I was observing."

"Of course you were. Very professionally, I'm sure."

"Sara."

She laughed. "You wanted to know what it would feel like if it were you out there dancing."

I looked into my wine.

"Yes."

"There she is."

"Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything. I'm just enjoying the fact that Good Girl Rebecca was sitting in an adults-only club wondering what it would feel like to be getting all that attention from some hot, young guy"

"I didn't say I was waiting for someone." I took a quick sip of my wine.

Sara gave me a look.

"Fine. Maybe I wondered whether one of them would approach me."

"Much better."

She knew me too well, because she was 100% right.

I'd looked down at my legs and the dress, then across the room at one of the young men who had been watching me.

What would it feel like to be one of those women?

Well, I didn't have to wonder for very long.

This guy approached our table from behind me. He was attractive, confident without being obnoxious, but the strange thing, he didn't speak to me at first.

He looked at Michael.

"May I dance with your wife?"

Something about the question went straight through me. It felt like he was asking for Michael to share me.

Michael looked at him and then at me.

"Yes."

One word.

That was all.

Hearing my husband give another man permission to dance with me produced a little rush I hadn't expected. Felt like he was offering me over to him with that single word.

The man turned toward me and offered his hand. Suddenly the decision belonged to me, just like wearing the dress, going to the lounge, showing more of my body.

Michael wasn't urging me forward, but he wasn't rescuing me from the decision either. He simply watched, waiting to see what his wife would choose.

I looked at the man's hand.

Then placed mine in it.

The first dance was almost innocent. Almost

His hand settled at my waist as we began moving with the music. There was nothing unusual about that, and for the first few moments I was almost amused by how nervous I was of something so ordinary.

Then his hand moved from my bare arms, lingering against my skin to the small of my back.

Still perfectly acceptable.

Except it stayed there long enough for me to become conscious of its warmth through the thin fabric of the dress--and equally conscious that Michael was somewhere behind him.

The man's fingers moved slowly against my back, tighten around me every so often and moved along my waist. Nothing I couldn't have ended simply by putting another inch between us but I didn't.

It was tiny--small enough that nobody watching would have recognized it as a decision at all--but I did. I let him pull me into his body.

And just like that, it felt more intimate. I knew there was slightly less distance between us than there had been thirty seconds earlier and I knew his hands had become more comfortable against as we danced, but I rested against him and I let him feel me trembling.

I glanced toward Michael. He was watching.

My mouth opened slightly before I realized it had, and for a moment I wondered whether he could tell how much I was enjoying another man's attention.

That thought sent another warm little rush through me.

I let myself move naturally with him. His hand continued to move between my back and along my waist, his fingers occasionally shifting with the rhythm, and gradually I stopped being nervous about every second of what was happening.

For the remainder of the song, I simply enjoyed our dance

When the music ended, he smiled.

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

My voice sounded perfectly composed. That almost made me laugh because I wasn't at all.

I walked back toward Michael, and only when I reached him did, I realize I'd begun smoothing the skirt of my dress.

He noticed. He smiled and watched me as I sat down.

"It was just a dance." I said to myself. I saw Micheal's smile widen from the corner of my eye. If he only knew what had started inside the dress he bought for me.

Across the table from me, Sara gave me a look.

I pointed at her. "Don't."

"I didn't say a damn thing."

"You didn't have to."

She took a sip of wine. "You were already giving Michael the Good Girl Rebecca version, weren't you?"

"I wasn't giving him a version."

"Bullshit."

I laughed.

"It was just a dance, Sara."

"And?"

"And nothing happened."

She stared at me.

I stared back.

Neither of us said anything for several seconds.

Finally, I sighed.

"Fine."

Sara waited.

I looked down at my wine before confessing it.

"I liked having another guy touching me while my husband watched."

A slow smile appeared on her face, then she laughed, and despite myself, so did I.

But admitting it felt different because when I'd returned to Michael after that first dance, I hadn't really been thinking about what had just happened. I was already wondering what might happen next.

I climbed back onto the tall chair beside him, but this time I didn't even try to cover myself. If anything, I settled into the seat more comfortably and left the skirt untouched.

Michael noticed too because I'd seen his eyes drop briefly to my legs before returning to my face, and the hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

We both knew better.

The first time I'd sat there with so much of my thighs exposed, I'd needed Michael to tell me not to cover them. Now I was leaving them exposed without being asked, watching the room differently than I had before the dance.

Not nearly as nervous, just... expectantly.

I took a sip of my drink and let my gaze move across the dance floor. When I noticed another man looking toward our table, I didn't immediately turn away.

When he didn't either, I smiled.

"Oh, shit" Sara gasped. "You smiled at him, with your legs all out?".

"I know, I couldn't help it". I took another sip.

I felt Michael's hand settle lightly against my knee.

"You're enjoying this." It wasn't really a question.

I kept watching the man across the room for another moment before looking at my husband.

"Maybe."

Michael smiled.

"Maybe?"

"Don't ruin it."

He laughed softly, removed his hand and retreated farther away from our table. I was now front and center and on display for anyone.

I noticed another guy was now standing next to the one I was watching, both of them were looking at me, really looking at me, the new guy was younger than that first guy I danced with. Considerably younger and now he was coming toward us.

I noticed immediately how much younger he seemed to be, but he approached our table with the same confidence as the first and asked the same question to Michael.

"May I dance with your wife?"

Michael barely hesitated.

"Yes."

The word affected me differently this time. The first time, it had surprised me; this time, I was hoping for it, and I took the man's offered hand more quickly than I had the first.

Sara noticed the distinction immediately.

"You wanted another dance."

"I wanted to see what would happen."

"Rebecca."

"Yes," I admitted. "I wanted to dance again."

His hand began at my waist and moved naturally around my back as we found the rhythm together. I was already more comfortable being close to him than I'd been with the first guy, it was probably the drinks, but there was something about this guy.

When his hands moved to my hips, I allowed it, but after a while he got bolder--really bold. He moved one hand lower and let it drift along the outside of my thigh as we moved. I felt myself tense for an instant, but instead of pulling away, I relaxed against him and moved a little closer letting him feel the softness of my body. When his hand ventured farther, caressing along inside my thigh and just under the skirt, my breathing deepened and my lips parted slightly. I looked up at him and held his eyes, and when a small smile escaped me, I saw something change in his expression. He knew.

That seemed to give him confidence. His touching became more assured, and each time his hand returned, I found myself leaning subtly into it rather than away. He'd been touching me long enough that I'd become acutely aware of the warmth of his hands, when he suddenly stopped, I noticed immediately.

My eyes looked for his hands, I found them moving from around my waist toward the knot in the sash. A nervous little thrill went through me before his fingers even reached the knot and I knew what he was about to do, and simply watching his hand travel toward it made my breathing deepen.

He found the sash, and I looked up at him.

"You're going to--"

He gently pulled, loosening the knot.

"Oh..." The sound escaped me before I could suppress it.

He smiled at my reaction. "You have a beautiful body. I want to see the dress stop hiding it." His voice low and deep.

I should have reached for the sash to stop him. Instead, I became acutely aware of the loosened wrap against my body and of how much that simple gesture had affected me. My panties suddenly felt sticky against pussy and my skin felt sensitive against the dress.

Then I looked across the room for Michael, he was watching. Knowing he'd seen another man deliberately loosen my dress sent another warm rush straight between my legs. When I turned back to him, I didn't fix my dress or create distance between us.

I moved closer.

The loosened dress changed the way I felt inside it. The deep V was less secure now, my breasts could have been exposed for all I knew, I was definitely too nervous to check. The wrap no longer held the dress neatly against my body, and every movement reminded me that another man's hands had deliberately left it that way.

My breathing had changed. My mouth was slightly open without my realizing it, and warmth rose into my face as I became increasingly aware of how aroused I was becoming.

I found Michael's eyes again, definitely still watching.

I wet my lips and held his gaze while I moved my body to the music and my partner's rhythm.

Seeing my husband watch made the feeling stronger, so instead of retreating to create some distance from his body, I sank into him.

I knew then that I wasn't merely tolerating the attention. I felt charged by it.

His hand returned to my thigh, and this time I relaxed into his touch without pretending I didn't understand what it was doing to me. We continued dancing, his hands moving over me while every touch seemed to leave me more sensitive than the one before it.

When the song ended, I returned to Michael, still flushed and my breathing wasn't quite back to normal. The wrap was untied and the dress hung more loosely around me than when I'd left him.

For several seconds, I made no attempt to fix it. I wanted my husband to see me before I made myself respectable again.

His eyes traveled over me, when I felt like he had taken me all in, I gathered the dress together slowly, crossing one side securely over the other, I took the two ends of the sash in my hands.

I knew Michael was watching me tie it so I took my time. I pulled the knot snug at my hip, smoothed the skirt into place and squared my shoulders. I broke eye contact with Michael for a moment to look down at my breasts, making sure they weren't exposed.

"There."

Michael smiled.

Putting myself back together hadn't made the feeling disappear. If anything, I was already wondering what the next dance might do to me.

I slipped from the tall chair and stood beside the table, resting one hand lightly against its edge. After a moment I leaned back against it, crossing one ankle in front of the other.

The position changed everything.

The dress settled differently when I stood, emphasizing my ass while leaving my legs completely visible beneath the short-layered skirt. I knew exactly what I was doing.

I wasn't adjusting anything and I wasn't pretending the attention was accidental anymore. I was definitely displaying myself.

Michael's eyes traveled slowly over me.

I held his gaze.

He gave me the slightest nod, nothing more, just a nod that was all. But I knew what it meant.

Approval.

A smile touched my mouth before I looked away from him and noticed another guy watching from across the room.

This time I didn't wait for Michael to point him out.

I reached for my glass from the opposite side of the table, knowing the stretch would drape me over it. I let it. I knew it would catch his eye, and I stayed there long enough for him to look--really look--before I met Michael's eyes again.

He was still watching. Still smiling.

Earlier, my skirt had ridden up by accident and he'd told me not to hide my legs. Nobody had told me to stand, or lean, or push my ass out. I'd done it because I wanted to be seen.

It worked. He started toward us.

Young. Thirty at the most. The kind of confident that doesn't bother checking the room.

By then I knew the ritual.

"May I dance with your wife?"

Admiring me. Not speaking to me.

Michael looked at me. I was already smiling.

"Yes."

Sara's mouth curved. "Good Girl Rebecca wasn't putting up much of a fight anymore."

"She wasn't."

He was free with his hands before we even reached the floor. One settled at my waist as he steered me between couples, then slid to the small of my back and pulled me in as the song began. From there it moved to my hip. Not a polite hold. A grip.

What surprised me wasn't the touching. It was that it didn't surprise me anymore.

At one point his hands started to leave my hips. I put mine over his and kept them there.

Sara's eyebrows rose. "Rebecca."

"Not to move it."

"I figured."

I smiled at the memory. I'd kept his hand exactly where I wanted it.

He told me I had a beautiful body. Delicious curves.

"You seem to be enjoying them," I said.

"Can you blame me? I can't help it. I can't keep my hands off you." His palm slid lower, cupping the curve of my ass through the dress. "You feel incredible. Soft. I keep thinking about getting my hands on all of you."

"No." Then I surprised myself. "I like knowing you can't."

He laughed, low, and pulled me closer. That was when I felt him. Not fully hard yet, but getting there, thick against my hip as we moved.

The hands got bolder. Over my hips. Under the skirt. Palms sliding up the outside of my thighs and back down. On the next pass one hand came around and stroked the inside of my thigh--slow, high enough that his fingers caught the hem and pushed it higher.

"I could've stepped back," I told Sara. "I knew that. Every time he got a little freer with me, I just wanted to see what he'd do next."

My breathing had already changed. My skin felt hot wherever he touched it, and instead of stopping him I hoped he'd go further. And every time I shifted against him, I felt him harder.

"That's what I was enjoying. Not just being felt up. Knowing he wanted me badly enough to keep testing how far I'd let him go--and realizing I wanted him to keep going."

I paused.

"And every time I looked over and saw Michael watching me enjoy it, it got worse. I could feel myself getting wet."

His hand left my hip. I followed it as it traveled toward the knot at my waist. He noticed and smiled.

"You know what I want."

I swallowed. "I do."

His fingers closed around the sash. I could have stopped him with a word. Instead I glanced at Michael, then back, and felt the knot give.

The wrap loosened around me.

My nipples stiffened against the thin fabric. A sound left me before I could catch it. "Mmm..."

His smile deepened. "That's better. You shouldn't hide this." His hand slid under the open front, palm flat on my stomach, then up until his thumb brushed the underside of my breast. "Fuck. You feel even better than you look."

The other hand dropped to my ass and squeezed, hard enough that my back arched and I pressed into him. The skirt had already ridden up. When he gripped me again, the hem lifted further, and I knew much of my thighs--and the lower curve of my ass--were on display. Including for my husband.

I didn't fix it.

I moved closer. His cock was fully hard now, thick and hot against my stomach through his trousers. Every slow grind of my hips dragged me along the length of him. He felt it too. His breath caught.

"You feel that?" he said against my ear. "That's what you're doing to me. I've been hard since I got my hands on your ass. I want to fuck you so bad I can barely dance."

His hands left my ass and came around to my inner thighs, both hands. Slow strokes from just above my knees, higher each time, until his thumbs were grazing skin only inches from my pussy. The next pass, his fingers brushed the edge of my panties. Already damp. He felt it. I felt him feel it.

I looked toward Michael. Still watching.

"Your husband seems to be enjoying this."

"He is."

"And you?"

I held his eyes. "More than he knows."

After that the dance changed. His hands stayed under the skirt. One cupped my ass and kept the hem high; the other worked between my thighs, stroking the wet fabric over my pussy in slow, firm passes that made my knees soften.

I ground against his hand, and against the hard length of him, without meaning to. My dress hung open. Every turn showed the deep V, the inner swell of my breasts, the bare line of my stomach. Groped. Exposed and wet enough that I could feel it slick between my legs.

He kept talking, low, breath warm on my neck.

"God, you feel good. This ass in my hands. Your legs. God, I can feel how wet you are through your panties." His fingers pressed a little firmer. "I want them off. I want my cock in you. I want to fuck you as deep as you can take me"

Some of it made me laugh. Some of it didn't.

"I mean it," he said. "I want to take you into one of the rooms and fuck you right there. Feel this body take all of me."

By then there was no pretending this was only the thrill of something new. My clit throbbed every time his fingers dragged over the soaked crotch of my panties. My nipples ached against the loose dress. His cock was a hard, insistent pressure against my hip, and every time I rocked into it, I felt him throb.

I wanted him to push the fabric aside and touch me properly, right there, with Michael watching.

Sara's eyebrows lifted.

I stopped. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're smiling."

"I'm enjoying this."

"Oh, shut up."

"Keep going."

The grinding had pulled the skirt even higher. Thighs bare almost to the panties, ass half out of the dress, the wrap hanging open so the front barely covered me. I knew how it looked. I knew my husband could see another man's hands all over me, and I knew he could see how close I was staying to the hard-on I kept rubbing against.

I kept dancing. That was the hottest part. I wanted it to keep going.

Eventually he said something so simple it stopped me. I pulled back just far enough to look at him.

"Then tell me to stop. Because if you don't, I'm going to keep telling you how bad I want to fuck you, and I'm going to keep my hands right where they are."

I could see Michael across the room. I knew exactly what I was supposed to say.

"I don't want you to stop."

The song ended. I didn't move. He didn't let me go. I could still feel how hard he was.

Sara leaned in. "You stayed."

"I stayed."

Another song started. There was a moment I could have thanked him and walked back. I even looked across the room. Michael looked back.

I turned to the man who had practically undressed me--hands still under my skirt, still stroking the wet fabric between my legs, still hard against me, still murmuring that he wanted to fuck me--and settled against him again.

"The whole second song?"

"Every second of it. His hand never left me. He kept telling me how good I felt, how bad he wanted to be inside me. By the end my panties were soaked through, my skirt was up around my hips, the dress was hanging open, and I could feel how hard he still was. I could barely walk straight."

When I finally went back to the table, the skirt was still high and the wrap was still untied. I stood in front of Michael and let him look--flushed, breathing hard, dress ruined, thighs slick--before I made any move to put myself back together.

I stood in front of Michael breathing harder than I wanted to admit, my dress considerably less respectable than when he'd sent me onto the dance floor.

And I let him look at me for a few moments. Look at what another man had done to his wife. After I was sure he knew how horny I was only then did I slowly pull the dress back into place.

I tied the sash carefully at my hip while Michael watched, smoothed the skirt down and squared my shoulders.

"There."

Michael smiled.

"Good Girl Rebecca is back."

I held his eyes.

"For the moment." I replied and waited.

"So how many guys did you dance with? Sara asked

"Just four," taking a sip of my wine, waiting for her to ask the question I knew she would figure out.

"Well, this guy who almost made you cum was what, your third dance? Tell me about the next one. Is this the one who has your panties?

"Yes, yes it was. I refilled my glass before I started.

I was worse at telling her this one. The others I could still tidy up while I talked. This one kept snagging, because I wasn't only remembering what he did. I was remembering what it felt like while he did it.

"Same as before," I said. "He asked Michael. Michael said yes. I took his hand."

Sara waited.

"I was still wet from the last guy. I knew it."

Standing there with my panties clinging, trying not to look like a slut, while the ache between my legs hadn't gone anywhere. When he offered his hand, I could feel my own pulse in my wrist.

"And you went anyway."

"Yeah."

"Okay." She took a sip. "So, what was different?"

He pulled me in before we really got onto the floor. His hand already onto my ass under my dress and stayed there. Bare skin and warm. He didn't grab and let go. He held me, fingers spread, and the sway of the music moved me against his palm.

Every step, the wet cotton dragged over me. I was breathing too hard and hoping he wouldn't notice. The air on the back of my thighs felt cooler than his hand.

"He noticed," I said.

Sara snorted. "No shit."

I had known he would. That was the embarrassing part. I could hear myself.

"I've been watching you," he said. Quiet. Right by my ear. His breath touched my neck. "All night. Those other two. You keep going back over there and fixing your dress like it didn't happen. I was hoping I'd get you before you did that again."

I looked up at him. He was looking at my mouth. Not past me. Not at the room. I remember thinking, he means it, and feeling my stomach drop in a way the groping hadn't managed.

"Oh, come on," Sara said. "He actually said that?"

"Pretty much."

"And you fell for it."

"I didn't fall for it. It just... worked. The other ones were grabbing me. He made it sound like he'd been waiting."

His hand tightened. I felt him getting hard against my stomach, heat through the trousers, the shape of him thickening while we moved. A noise came out of me. "Mm." Small. I felt it in my throat. I hated how easily it got out.

"I don't want to just touch you and let you go," he said. "That's what the others did. I want more than that." His thumb kept moving under my ass, slow, over the softest part. "I want this to stay with you. I want you sitting over there still thinking about my hands."

I thought, I already will. I didn't say it. My nipples tightened against the dress before he'd even touched my breast.

Sara stared at me. "What did you say to that?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I let him leave his hand there. Don't look at me like that."

"I'm looking at you like that."

He slid his other hand up the inside of my thigh. The skin there felt thin. He followed along the edge of my panties with one fingertip, hip to the inside of my leg, never under the fabric.

When he put his fingers over the crotch he didn't even move at first. Just held them there. I could feel how damp the cotton was, warmer than his hand, clinging when I shifted.

"They already touched you," he said. "I know. I watched. I still want to be the one you remember. The one who got you like this."

My hips moved on their own. The pressure landed right over my clit and my breath broke. "Ah--"

I stopped.

For a second I was back in it. The music. His chest against mine. The wet spot under his fingers getting worse because he wasn't rushing.

Sara tipped her head. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I just heard it again. I sounded stupid."

"You sounded turned on."

He undid the knot. The sash gave, and the dress loosened around my ribs again. Cooler air on my stomach. His hand came up and cupped my breast, skin on skin under the open wrap, thumb circling around my nipple until it ached.

He didn't look down, he just watched my face the whole time. That was the part I couldn't shake. If he'd been looking at my body, I could have called it groping. He was looking at what it was doing to me.

"You want me to stop?" He whispered into my ear, his mouth right against it.

My mouth opened. Nothing. I could hear my breathing, short, uneven. My eyes stayed on his, and I knew he was reading that instead of an answer.

Sara leaned on the table. "Well?"

"No."

"Did you say no?"

"I couldn't say anything. I looked at him. That's all. He had my ass in his hand, I was shaking, and I just looked at him."

He pulled me in. He was hard, thick against my stomach. I pushed back on it before I'd thought about it. The ridge of him dragged along me and the sound I made didn't feel like an accident. My thighs were trembling. The panties were stuck to me.

Sara laughed. "Rebecca."

"I know."

"You were grinding on him."

"A little."

"A little."

"Fine. I pushed back on him and I moaned. Happy?"

"Getting there."

He rubbed me through my panties. Slow at first. Two fingers, up and down the length of me, the cotton getting wetter, heavier, every pass louder in my own head than it probably was.

Then he stopped wandering. Both fingers settled right over my clit and pressed. Not a brush. A steady pressure through the soaked fabric, small circles, then a hold that made my knees go loose.

The ache stopped being something I could stand there and describe. It climbed. My breath broke into short, useless pulls. I could feel the cum sitting right under his fingers, close enough that one more firm pass might have tipped me.

My thighs shook. A sound came out of me that I didn't recognize, high and caught in my throat.

"Oh God--"

I buried my face against his neck. His other hand tightened on my ass and held me against the hard line of his cock, and I pushed back because I could help myself. My panties were stuck to me. His two fingers stayed exactly where they were, pressing, patient, like he could feel how close I was and wasn't going to let me hide it.

"Yeah. This," he said. "Not just my hands on you. You, shaking. Looking at me like you're trying not to say yes. That's what I wanted."

I looked at him. I couldn't answer. My mouth was open. My breathing wouldn't level out. He saw it.

"I've been thinking about these since I first saw you out there," he said. Low, close to my ear. "How wet they'd be if I ever got my hands on you. I want them. I want to take them home with me."

Sara made a small sound. I didn't look at her.

He didn't rush the next part. His fingers pressed a little firmer, right on my clit through the wet cotton, and my hips jerked. I was so close I made a broken noise and grabbed his shoulder.

"Let me have them," he said, still watching my face. "Right now. While you're this close. Take them off for me?"

I still couldn't say a word. What he got was the tremble, the way I rocked back onto his cock, the shaky breath I let out against his mouth without kissing him. And under that, clear as anything, the yes. I wanted him to have them. I wanted Michael to see me hand them over.

"He asked you while he was doing that?" Sara said.

"Yeah." My voice was thinner than I meant it to be. "Two fingers. Right there. I was about to come. He said he'd been thinking about them all night. Then he asked me to take them off for him."

"And you didn't tell him no."

"I didn't tell him anything." I turned the glass and didn't drink. "That's why this one's different. I already knew I was going to give them to him. He just said it out loud while I couldn't pretend otherwise."

Sara was quiet for a second. She nodded at my glass.

"Okay," she said. "Then tell me that."

He held my eyes. His fingers stayed pressed over my clit, slow enough that I felt the cling, the heat, my own heartbeat under his hand.

"You don't have to say anything," he said. "Stay right here. Let me feel how close you are. Then let me have them."

"I didn't tell him to stop," I said. "My legs were shaking."

Sara waited. She knows when I'm about to skip the part I actually came to tell.

"So," she said. "You took them off."

"Not out there. I took him back to the table."

The song thinned under the noise of the room. His two fingers were still pressed over my clit through the cotton, a last slow circle, and the ache sat so high I had to lock my knees. If he'd kept that up, I would have come standing there exposed, his cock hard against my stomach.

He eased off. Not away, but just enough that I could get a breath. I was a mess under my skirt. My nipple was still tight from his thumb. I could hear myself breathing.

I didn't fix the dress. I grabbed his hand.

"Come with me," I said.

Sara blinked. "You brought him to Michael."

"I wanted Michael to hear it from me. I was too worked up to do it neatly."

The floor felt longer than it had on the way out. Heels clicking. His hand in mine. Every step dragged bare thigh against bare thigh where the skirt had ridden, and under it that buttery feeling of my pussy, sticky, obscene, a reminder of how close I'd been. The wrap hung open down to my stomach. Someone looked. I didn't care. I was watching Michael.

When he saw us coming, his eyes went to our joined hands, then to my face, then down the open front of the dress. He smiled. That made my stomach drop in the good way.

I stopped in front of him, still holding the other man's hand. Close enough that Michael could see the flush on my chest. Close enough that I could smell my own perfume warmed on my skin, I couldn't get the smile off my mouth. I was still breathing like his fingers were right there.

"He asked me for my panties," I said. It came out excited. Almost bright. The words felt hot in my mouth. "I want to give them to him."

I looked at Michael. Then at the man. Then back. The man was watching my mouth again. Michael was watching my eyes.

"Can I?"

Michael looked at my face. At our hands. At the dress I hadn't bothered to close. At the hem, high on my thighs. I shifted my weight and felt how wet I was, the cotton pulling, and I knew he could see it in the way I was standing.

"Yes."

One word. Same as the dances. It went through me harder, because this time I had asked. A pulse kicked between my legs and I heard myself make a small sound, not quite a laugh.

"He said yes," I told the man, and my voice shook on it.

I let go of his hand, took a small step back so they could both see. I didn't rush. I wanted the slowness to be the show. I held Michael's eyes and reached under the skirt and felt dampness inside my thigh. My own fingers trembled when they found the waistband, warm cotton, darker where he'd been pressing. I looked at the man while I hooked them.

Peeling them down felt better than his fingers had, because I was doing it, and they could both see what it was doing to me. The fabric stuck to my pussy and came away with a soft, wet sound I felt more than heard. I gasped. My hips swayed, but I didn't cover myself.

My mouth stayed open. My breathing wouldn't settle. I got them to the tops of my thighs and had to shift my weight in the heels, slow, working them lower an inch at a time. The lace skirt brushed my wrists.

I looked at Michael when they cleared my hips, and I let him see my face while I held his eyes. Flushed. Eyes too bright, trying not to press my thighs together.

I looked at the man when I bent to draw them down my calves, and I held that look on the way back up. Neither of them looked away. I didn't want them to. I wanted them to see the shake in my hands, the way my chest was rising, how aroused I was to be taking my own panties off in front of my husband for another man.

I stepped out of one side. The heel wobbled. Michael's hand hovered but didn't quite touch me.

Then the other side. I straightened with them hanging from my fingers, warm, heavy with my juices. The smell of my own arousal came off the cotton. I was completely bare under the dress.

A trickle of cooling air on the back of my thighs. I stood there a moment longer than I needed to, skirt still short, wrap still open, and let both of them look at my mouth, my eyes, the state of me.

Then I put the panties in the man's hand. I made him take them from my fingers. I watched his hand close around them.

He felt the spot where is was most damp, and his breath changed.

"Thank you," he said. He slipped them into his pocket and walked away.

Sara's eyebrows went up. "You did that at the table."

"In front of Michael. Yes, that was the point and I made sure they both saw my face while I took them off."

"And then you went after him."

"No, not right away."

I stood there Michael for a few minutes, him was looking at me. The other one was already out walking off with my panties in his pocket, but I could still see him just past the bar, standing in a shadow.

Hands on Michael's chest. The music still slow. I kissed him, a little unsteady, told him how much I was enjoying tonight and he kissed me back without hurrying. His hand dropped lower and found what wasn't there. I stayed against his mouth and told him the rest too quietly for anyone else to hear. How I wanted to go to the guy, where he was and what I wanted when I got there. Michael smiled, then kissed me deeply and nodded.

I went quiet telling Sara that part. My hand had drifted up to my mouth. She watched the wine instead of pushing.

I took his hand and we made our way to the end of the lounge, past the last high table, where the light gave out and the wall turned.

We walked it together. I saw the man before he saw me. Back to the wall, in the shadow holding my panties up to his face with his head was tipped back.

I stopped. Michael stopped a little behind me.

The man looked over at me, slowing taking his hand holding my panties away from his face.

"Hi," he said.

I left Michael where he was and crossed the last of the dark. I put my mouth by the man's ear. I could smell my pussy on his face where my panties had been.

"Can I suck on you??" I whispered as I began unbuttoning his pants. His hardness brushing against my fingers.

He kissed me. Soft. Unhurried. His cock rested in my hand now, hot and fully erect. I kissed him back long enough to feel it, then looked over my shoulder. Michael hadn't moved. He nodded.

I sank down.

My back was to the room. If someone glanced over, they would have understood the shape of it. A woman in a short dress on her knees, a man against the wall, her head moving. They would not have seen what Michael could see. They would not have seen how hungry I was.

I took the panties from his hand, wrapped them around my hand. Then I wrapped it around his cock. Thick. Hot and wet at the tip already. I ran my hand up him once. He throbbed into my palm and moved his hips against my hand.

I licked on him before I took him. Tongue under the head, slow, tasting salt and the faint trace of myself off the cotton. I looked up. His mouth was open. I kissed the tip and fed him into my mouth.

He filled it. Heavy on my tongue. I stayed there, sucking gently, letting him feel the heat, then drew back with my tongue pressed under him the whole way. Down again. A little deeper. My hand followed so he never lost the warmth. I could hear the room behind me and, closer, the soft wet sound of my own mouth.

When I took him deeper the head nudged my throat. A sound got out of me, muffled, and I didn't pull off to hide it. His fingers slipped into my hair. Not pushing. Holding. I moaned around him and felt him jump.

"God," he whispered. "Your mouth."

I looked up. Lips stretched around him, chin wet. I looked over my shoulder; Michael was still there.

Sara didn't fill the quiet. Then she said, "Was it good?"

"So good." I uttered.

"God, you were hungry, weren't you?"

I turned the glass and didn't drink. "I took him out of my mouth and just... held him there. Against my cheek. My lips. The head of his cock smearing over my mouth, then up the side of my nose. Hot. Slick from me. I licked the underside, slow, from his balls to the tip, and did it again because I liked the weight of him on my face."

Sara's mouth parted. She didn't interrupt.

"It made me feel filthy," I said. "In the way I'd been afraid of all night. On my knees, his cock rubbing my cheek, the smell of him, my panties still in my hand stroking him around my face. I wasn't performing it. I wanted my face used like that. I wanted Michael to see me wanting it."

I pressed a kiss to the head and licked him again, flatter, messier, then rubbed him along my nose until my skin was slick. A sound came out of me that wasn't pretty. I looked up at him while I did it.

"I felt his thighs tightened," I told her. "His breath broke. I took him back in, deeper when his thrusting became stronger and I didn't release it. He started cumming my mouth. Hot. Pulse after pulse. I swallowed all of it.

After cleaning him off, he helped me up. We hugged, he gave me a quick peck on my cheek as he put himself back into his pants. I made my way back to Michael.

His hand settled at my waist like he was claiming the me back, and I felt myself sink into him.

Sara was watching me over the wine. "You liked it."

"I liked all of it," I said. "Not just the guys and the dancing, but the dress. The way men looked at my legs, my body. Michael seeing it and not taking it away from me. I spent the whole night feeling desirable, and I didn't have to pretend I was younger to feel it. I was forty-four in a dress my husband picked, and I liked what that did to me."

I looked at the glass, then at her.

"If he bought me another one," I said, "I would wear it."

Sara smiled. "Good Girl Rebecca."

"For the moment," I said. And this time I was smiling too.