“Did you enjoy that?” I asked, sauntering over to Dave.
“God, I wish I had a picture. I think all the blood rushed to his face.”
“Not all of it, honey.”
“Really?”
I knelt down in front of my husband and pulled his belt open. His pants and black boxer-briefs went to his ankles and his hot cock filled my hands. “I would have been insulted if embarrassment was his only reaction.” I placed feather-light kisses all over his head and Dave groaned. “You liked my little show, I take it?”
“Yes.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. I think he was trying to picture it.
I sucked on his red, flared head, swirling my tongue and stroking his shaft. I took more and more of him into my mouth, sucking more than halfway down before reaching my limit. When I came up for air, I asked, “You liked the way he looked at me. You know he wanted to fuck me.”
“Yes…”
“This shirt might as well have been unbuttoned all the way. He saw everything.”
“God…”
“I could feel how hard he was when I brushed against him. It would have been so easy to just pull him down on the bed…”
“Fuck…Dana…”
I was stroking his cock even harder, getting very turned on myself. But I did not want to fuck him until later. I wanted to make him wait until we were done playing. I did not anticipate that being so hard on me.
“Would that have been hot, baby? Did you want to see me play with him?”
“Fuck yes, Dana!”
The time for teasing was over. I’m not that cruel. I took him back into my mouth. My cheeks sunk in as I sucked him hard. After all those years of marriage, I still loved blowing my husband. I sucked his prick and massaged his balls, knowing this was going to be quick. Dave was so worked up. Soon I was rewarded with a mouthful of cum, which I eagerly swallowed, draining him dry.
“Now let’s see what you ordered,” I said, jumping to my feet.
Dave needed some time to pull himself together, so I investigated the tray. He’d ordered an assortment of light snacks, which was perfect. A little fruit salad and a cheese plate were about all I could manage in that state. Besides, none of the dresses I’d packed were the type you wanted to wear after a big meal. We had a quick nosh, mostly keeping our thoughts to ourselves, and then it was time to finish getting ready. Dave’s job was to help decide what I would wear.
I stepped into a little black thong and he sat up like an eager pupil. I had three choices for him. Two of them were variations on the classic LBD—one of which was brand new—and the third was a little red number that had been hanging toward the back of my closet for years. I don’t have much use for cocktail dresses these days as dinner for us is usually Applebee’s with the kids. I liked the ritual of letting Dave choose my dress. It was like he was gifting me to another man tonight, so it was only appropriate that he chose the wrapping.
The first choice was a strapless black sheath that hugged my figure nicely, but I feared it might be a bit long for our purposes. I liked it, but I thought Dave would want something more obviously sexy and I could tell I was right when I did a turn for him. “It’s not really short enough, or low-cut enough,” he commented.
“You really do just want me to go down there naked!”
“Not completely naked. There needs to be some mystery.”
“Thanks.”
I modeled the red dress next, and although I could tell right away that Dave loved it, I just wasn’t comfortable with it. It certainly met his requirements of short and low-cut, but I felt it was a little much for me. Maybe if I was ten years younger, but I just felt like it would seem that I was trying too hard in the red dress. Dave gave the thumbs up, but I shook my head.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Maybe next time. I’m afraid if I hang out at the bar long enough in this dress they’re going to think I’m a professional.”
“I’d pay you.”
I just shook my head and stripped one last time. The other LBD turned out to be the one. It was snug in all the right places, the deep V—with the aid of a diamond pendant Dave gave me for our anniversary—drew the eyes to the cleavage created by my lacy black Victoria’s Secret bra, and it fell a couple inches above my knees to show off my legs—just long enough to cover the lacy tops of the black stockings I’d be wearing—though probably not when I was sitting. I felt Dave’s hot breath on the back of my neck when he stood to zip me. He trailed his fingers down my bare arm to rest on my hip, a quick, intimate touch that made me want to stay in that room with him and lose the dress. I pulled away and disappeared into the bathroom to finish my hair and make-up. My slutty red lipstick nicely offset the russet highlights I’d just had added to my brunette hair—which I wear in a bob that just reaches my shoulders. My last preparation for to take off my wedding and engagement rings and zip them into my make-up bag.
Dave walked me to the door and I asked, “Are you sure about this?” He didn’t really need to answer. He looked eager to get to it. I don’t think I’d seen him so excited since that night with Shane and Lisa. He took both my hands and stared down at me like he was trying to memorize this moment.
“Do you really want to do this?” he asked.
I nodded, but didn’t feel as confident as I tried to appear. It wasn’t that I wanted to back out; I just felt so weird about what we were doing. It was something like how I felt before the first day of high school—scared and excited at the same time, unsure of what was going to happen. I knew this could be a disaster if Dave did not respond the way he thought he would. What if I enjoyed it too much? It wasn’t like a man I met in a bar was going to get me to leave my husband, but I know extreme thrills can become addictive. I pushed all of my fears down.
“I love you,” I said.
“Love you too, babe.”
We kissed.
“See you downstairs,” I said.
The plan was for me to go down and get comfortable at the bar and Dave would follow in about twenty minutes. We didn’t even want anyone to see us walk in there together, afraid that someone may put two and two together. That may sound paranoid, but we didn’t want to take any chances. If some bartender started smirking at me because he figured out what we were up to I would never be able to go through with it.
There were several bars throughout the casino complex, and we’d scouted them all online before coming up there. We decided to avoid the club because it would be too crowded and too loud. There was another bar that overlooked the casino floor and would have a cover band later, but it looked like it would be a good fit for our little game.
I had started to think of what we were doing as a game, albeit a dangerous one. At first I wasn’t sure how to think of what we were doing. Did it make us swingers? That felt like a label I didn’t want; it felt so 70s and called to mind key parties and fondue. Besides, if we were swingers didn’t that mean that Dave would be fucking another woman? I didn’t think either of us was interested in that. But thinking of it as a game made it seem light and fun and sexy. We weren’t really doing anything wrong—we were just playing a game.
The bar was half-empty when I took a stool and ordered a white wine. I sat so anyone coming in the door would be able to see me with my legs crossed and my five-inch heel hooked on the footrest bar. Two other couples sat around the bar with me and there were two groups sitting out at the tables: several guys in their twenties in one, the other looked like a bachelorette party. I pretended not to notice the younger guys checking me out and a secret smile formed on my lips.
My second glass of wine came and Dave had not come down yet. I did not think he would be so far behind me, but I guess he wanted to give me plenty of time to be approached before he came onto the scene. That seemed to be taking forever. I checked my phone, which sat out on the glass top of the bar, and only forty minutes had passed. It felt like I’d been sitting there all night. No men had tried to pick me up yet, but no single men had co
me into the bar either. A trio of businessmen had come in, but they just had one quick drink and left. None of them were appealing anyway. The group of younger guys was probably my best bet, but while some of them continued to look over at me, they did not make a move. As they talked amongst themselves I wondered if it was about me. Did they think I was some desperate divorcee out looking for a night of fun? If so, they also probably thought I was an easy lay. Sorry to disappoint, boys. Maybe they thought I was waiting for some kind of internet date who stood me up. That was embarrassing—not the vibe I wanted to put out at all. But then, I did not know how to put out any kind of vibe. I felt like I was being dangled on a line, sitting on that stool waiting to be picked up. We may have been overconfident in just assuming if I sat there some hot guy would come along to sweep me off my feet. I had not even been there an hour, but a sudden crisis of confidence made me move. I left a tip on the bar and moved on out to the casino floor with my drink.
The casino was hopping and the energy of the crowd calmed my nerves. The slots were busy, but mostly with senior citizens—I was not going to find any fun there. I drifted past the poker and blackjack tables, but those players were focused on their games and the couple cute guys I saw didn’t look like they would notice me. A raucous group was gathered at a roulette table on the end and I joined them.
The tiny white ball whizzed around the wheel and then clicked as it slowed and finally settled on 22 black. All I knew about roulette was that you put your chips on the table and hope the ball landed on your number, or color, or both. I had no idea about strategy. Dave is the gambler in our family. He loves his poker and craps, while I usually busy myself sitting in front of a slot machine or maybe with a little blackjack. But the energy of the group around the roulette table was infectious and soon I was cheering along with the others when the ball landed—even though I hadn’t placed a bet.
“You don’t want to play?” The voice was smooth and confident. I turned to my right to see a tall, well-dressed man in his late forties. His hair was black and swept back from a widows peak, the goatee on his handsome face was shot with gray. His sensuous lips were curled into a playful smile.
“I’m not a huge gambler,” I replied. An anticipatory buzz filled my brain. I could tell by the way his gaze casually swept down to my cleavage and back to my face that he was interested and didn’t feel the need to hide that.
“This is an odd place for you to be hanging around.”
“I didn’t say I never gamble. I just don’t do it often.”
“You don’t like to take risks?”
“I never said that.”
“Life without taking risks is boring, isn’t it?”
“It is. And I’d never want to be boring.” It was all in my head, but it felt like this handsome stranger was speaking directly to my situation. He was probably not a mind reader, though.
“Then you should try your luck…” He paused, waiting for my name.
“Dana.”
“Try your luck, Dana. I’m Charles. Here, let me get you started.”
Charles took my hand like it was his and pressed a stack of chips into my grasp. This was just the type of forward man I needed. His strong hand on my waist turned me back toward the table. Our bodies brushed together and the rush made that buzz in my brain fill my body. “What should I do?” I asked.
“It’s easy. Just pick your favorite numbers and put down some chips.”
I leaned forward and laid down chips on 7 red and 14 black, my anniversary, which I thought was oddly fitting. Charles also leaned forward and his arm went around my waist. My new gentleman friend was not shy at all, and that confidence was exciting. “Now, you don’t just have to bet on single numbers. You can also put down chips over two or four numbers.” He ran his hand down my bare arm, raising goosebumps, and placed it over mine. He guided my hand and I dropped a couple chips at the corner of four numbers. It reminded me of how Dave was when we first met—how he just took possession of me like I was already his.
The wheel spun and the ball took flight and I won on one of the numbers on my multiple bet. It wasn’t much, but it was exciting to win and I whooped and jumped up and down. The bouncing of my breasts was not missed by Charles who grinned as he took in my charms. I tried to hand the chips back to him, but he insisted I use them to keep playing. He also flagged down a passing cocktail waitress and ordered dirty martinis for both of us.
“You look like a martini kind of woman,” he commented.
“But how did you know I like it dirty?” I placed my hand over his on my hip. Once he’d put his arm around my waist he’d never removed it.
He chuckled. “It’s just a lucky guess.”
“I’d better keep you around if you’re so lucky.”
I stayed with roulette for another half hour or so and my winning streak held. As I moved to place my bets, Charles’s hand strayed to my butt more than once, and I didn’t move it. His casual touches had me going. I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if he had free reign with my body. Charles suggested we try another game, but I told him I needed a break. I wondered where the hell my husband was. He never replied to my text about leaving the bar. I collected my winnings and tried giving the chips to Charles, but he flatly refused. “I can’t keep all of this,” I insisted. There had to be almost five hundred dollars in chips in my hands.
“You won it all. I just stood here,” he said.
“But it’s too much money.”
“You earned it, hon.”
Charles stood firm and used his hand on my hip to steer me away from the table. His use of the endearment hon wasn’t lost on me, nor that he told me I earned the money. I wondered if what he really meant was that I would be earning it. That this man might think he could buy me so easily—that maybe I was some kind of slut—made my panties damp. It went right to the heart of why doing this excited me. It wasn’t all for Dave. Breaking the mold of the good little suburban wife and mother appealed to me.
We moved through the casino floor and my question of Dave’s whereabouts was answered. I saw my husband sitting in front of a slot machine, but paying no attention to it. He was fully focused me and Charles. His eyes tracked us as we walked toward one of the lounges, looking every inch like a couple on a date. How long had Dave been watching us? And was he enjoying what he had seen? I couldn’t stare at him to read his face, but Dave winked and that was just what I needed to know it was okay to keep going.
I had begun to relax with Charles, but now knowing my husband was watching us those nerves flooded me once more. It didn’t help that Dave refused to be specific about what I should do tonight. I tried to recall that night with Shane and Lisa and how everything just flowed. But that had been easy because it just happened.
Dave trailed as Charles led me into the trendiest bar the in the casino, which centered on a large, glowing oval bar with chrome accents. High top tables were scattered throughout and padded benches lined the walls with tables placed in front of them, too. A DJ played muted ambient music and lighting was dim—mostly provided by recessed fixtures that glowed in soft pastels like the bar. Charles took my hand as we threaded through the crowd and we found a spot on the bench toward the back.
The couch was barstool height and it was tricky to maneuver in my short dress without flashing Charles, not that he would have minded, I’m sure. I tugged at the hem of my dress as I settled in, but I just could not get it to hide my lacy stocking tops. Charles smiled as he took note, but was polite enough not to comment. I spied my husband taking a seat at the bar. The view was imperfect, but when there was a gap in the crowd he would be able to see us. Our eyes met just briefly, before a cocktail waitress moved to our table.
“I’m Tricia. What can I get you guys?” Tricia was a petite, curvy redhead. The white satin bustier which comprised the top of her outfit offered up her breasts for anyone who cared to look, but Charles only glanced at them for a moment.
“We’ll have two dirty martinis,” he s
aid, ordering for us both.
“I think you’re trying to get me drunk, sir,” I said, after Tricia departed.
“Do I need to?”
I tried very hard not to blush, but did not fully succeed. It was the most overt statement of his plans that he’d made. “That all depends on what your intentions are, doesn’t it?”
“Yours too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I may have intentions, and trust me I do, but on their own they don’t mean anything unless you’re out to play tonight.”
“Out to play?” I laughed. “You make it sound like I’m some teenager who snuck out.”
“Maybe you didn’t sneak, but I don’t think this is an average night for you. I think you came out looking for a good time.”
“Sounds like you have me all figured out. Tell me more, please.” The banter was to hide the shiver of fear that shot through me. For a second I thought Charles had figured out what I was up to somehow. Had he noticed the dent on my finger where my rings would normally be? I could not do much about that.
“I’m guessing recently divorced, or maybe just separated. Either way, you don’t look like you’re used to being out on the prowl. You seem a little nervous, like you haven’t done this for a while.”
“There could be some truth to that,” I acknowledged. I was not going to confirm or deny anything. If he wanted to think I was some divorcee out looking for a good time that was probably for the best. But I had thought I was doing a good job at covering my nerves. Did Charles come over because he thought I was out of practice and I would be an easy mark? If he thought I was just going to fall into bed with him, he had another thing coming.
Charles slipped his arm around me and moved closer. His other hand came to rest on my knee, his thumb lazily tracing upward toward my stocking top and the edge of my dress. “But none of that really answers my basic question. What are your intentions, Dana?”
“I really don’t have any. I am just out to have fun tonight.” I was glad I could answer honestly.
“Just what I like to hear.”
Hot Dates: Becoming a Shared Wife Page 6