I waited for this for some time. Long before we went out, when I was starting to get myself ready, I was thinking of what would come later (including me!). Drying myself after my shower, blow drying my hair, highlighting my face with just touches of mascara, blusher and lipstick - not too much just the way you like it - sliding into my black, subtly patterned, silky underwear and zipping up a figure hugging black dress with the swirly calf length skirt you love so well, my thoughts were all of later, my emotions all to do with anticipation.
Finally I pulled on the sheer, black, thigh length hold-up stockings, smoothed them down and completed the outfit with high-heeled, patent leather ankle boots. I briefly checked myself out in the mirror, twirled round to make sure that the dress swung freely, touched my lips with the tip of my tongue and smiled lasciviously.
I sensed that you shared the same sense of expectancy. When we got to the rather ordinary dinner dance we had reluctantly agreed to attend for charity, you kept touching me, gently stroking my shoulder or placing your hand on the small of my back. I confess you looked very handsome, tall and dashing in your white tuxedo. You raised your wine glass to toast me more often than was strictly necessary, once or twice with a grin I can only describe as wolfish. After the dinner you got up and asked me to dance without prompting, and when the music slowed down you held me close, your cheek against mine, breathing in the scent of my hair.
I also noted you flirting to an unnecessary extent with the attractive woman sitting on the other side of you at the table. Although I admit to having felt just a hint of jealousy, I confess it was also rather exciting, and I did wonder whether you might be having some illicit fantasies you might share (or even act out) with after we get home.
I admit that the situation made me behave uncharacteristically as well. During the meal I felt your hand touch my thigh and then slide up my skirt, until you were stroking my stocking tops through the thin material. You started, very gradually, to hitch my skirt up with your fingertips, to get to the soft flesh beneath. I waited until you had almost reached your goal and then, laughing as if at a joke you had told me, I pushed your hand away teasing you by delaying your gratification.
Then, something I have never done before in public, I reached out myself, put my hand in your groin and cupped your package. I could feel you swelling under my touch and I gently ran my fingertip along the length of your penis, caressing it through the material of your dress trousers. Without pausing to worry I pulled down the zip and slipped my fingers inside, ignoring your stifled gasp, uncaring whether it was pleasure, worry about being observed, or just fear of coming in your trousers.
For a few seconds I worked on you, teasing and encouraging, and then, with a good imitation of your own wolfish grin I withdrew my hand and turned to flirt with the man on my other side, as if nothing had happened.
You were driving and so you stayed sober. I wasn't, so I had a couple of glasses of wine, perhaps more than a couple, and I think this may have been why I started to behave a little more outrageously. I pressed myself against you while we were dancing slowly, moving my hips slightly to rub my stomach against yours, my groin against yours. At one point, sitting at the table, I deliberately dipped my finger into the cream on my desert and then licked it slowly and lasciviously, sucking the tip of my finger, in a gesture I knew you would understand, and at least some of the other guests might recognize.
On the way home I continued to tease, although I admit that the anticipation was also pleasing me. I would not let you touch me, and insisted that you kept your hands on the wheel and concentrated on your driving. I, of course, did not follow my own advice. I reached across and unzipped your trousers, slipped my hand in to free your cock, which was already almost fully erect. I stroked it gently and then, sliding down the seat, I leaned over and took the swollen tip into my mouth. You gasped and I felt the car swerve very slightly before you regained control. There are times when I am very grateful that you are a careful, controlled kind of person.
I might well have continued to enjoy myself and tease you all the way home, but I was forced to draw away when you pulled up to stop at a well lit junction, the red light against us, and I decided that it would be better to get home without being arrested.
When we arrived home it was you who began to tease. You unlocked the front door and let me in but then left me while you went back, pretending you had forgotten whether you had locked the car.
I walk into the living room, then stand and look at myself in the large mirror opposite. My face is a little flushed, unsurprisingly, and my hair somewhat disarrayed from where you ran your hands through it while we were dancing. I cup my hands over my breasts and caress them softly through the thin material of my dress.
