The subdued lighting of the bar gleamed on her wavy, dark hair, hiding her pretty and delicate face in its shadows. She sat very upright, her 5’ 7” petite body clad in dressy, short skirt, heels, and satiny top that strained in enticing fashion to mask breasts that seemed her surprisingly full on so slight a frame. The drink that she toyed with in her hand was reassuringly cold; what caught her off guard was the sudden warmth between her thighs that raced through her body and burned in her cheeks as the stranger waited for her response. Her thighs parted slightly, instinctively, as she bit back a little cry of embarrassment. “I would like that,” she managed, raising her eyes to his only after she had gotten this out. A slight, knowing smile played across his face. He was dressed for work, a dark custom suit concealing his 6’2” muscular frame. The silk tie, still expertly tied, gleamed in the dim light. He studied her face a moment, and she felt her cheeks and pussy flame again. His eyes fell, lingering on her breasts. She felt her nipples harden under his gaze, hopelessly betraying her efforts to be calm. He lifted his martini glass toward her, letting the smile break out completely, and she felt herself melt into complete compliance. Whatever he asked, she would do. Anything. He tossed the icy martini down with practiced ease, then twirled the olive on the miniature plastic sword. He lifted the olive to her lips, and instinctively they parted. Her tongue curled around the salty olive, taking it in her mouth. She froze, fearful that the scent of arousal she felt sure he could smell was spreading pungently throughout the bar. “Chew it, silly.” His voice recalled her and she obeyed. “I will dismiss my driver,” he said, pushing his empty glass across the polished oaken bar. He got out his phone, sent a quick message, and then produced several bills from his wallet. “I assume you husband will drive us to my home?” She nodded, unable to speak, ashamed, aroused, afraid, and thrilled. She finished her drink with a trembling hand. He offered his hand to her and helped her descend from the high bar stool so that she stood unstably on her heels. He bent his head toward her, inhaling as his face nuzzled the long dark waves of her hair. A guttural murmur of approval escaped his mouth. “You smell delicious.” It only took an instant, but she felt his words in her loins. Did he mean her hair? Or that warm wetness she felt spreading as she walked. They moved casually toward the door, approaching a man who had watched them with uncommon interest. The stranger paused, nodding to him. “You have a very beautiful wife,” he said. “I understand from her that you wish to drive us to my home?” The husband nodded, his own cheeks flushed, though whether from embarrassment or arousal, she could not tell. Regardless, he quickly rose, moving ahead of the new couple, and disappeared out the door. By the time the stranger was holding the door for the wife to exit, the husband sat in a dark SUV, engine idling, waiting for the two of them to climb into the rear. “17 Windsor Place,” the stranger said, naming a well-known street in the affluent part of town. Within the vehicle, the street lights flashed on the passengers faces as the SUV moved smoothly down the streets. The husband’s face was tense, uncertain, expectant. His wife’s face now strove to hide carefully suppressed desire: the stranger’s hand rested casually on her thigh, and she felt its weight and warmth like an electric current moving through her veins. The stranger himself was smiling. He leaned forward, addressing the husband. “May I indulge …?” He left the question unfinished, but his meaning was unmistakeable. The husband nodded, eyes flitting from road to mirror, road to mirror, straining to see the stranger’s movements in the pulsing dark. Instead, he only heard his wife’s sharp intake of breath, following by a low but unmistakeable moan as the fingers slid from her thigh, under her skirt and on between her legs, the stranger’s hand settling over her mound as the middle finger, pressing from the bottom of her slit to her clit, drew the moan from her lips. “Aren’t you a wet little slut,” the stranger growled, a touch of animal passion displacing his gentleman’s demeanor. His fingers swirled her clit through the fabric of her panties, and she suddenly threw out her hands, gripping the door handle with one and the stranger’s thigh with the other. Her knuckles were white, her body tight. A passing light flashed on her face, and the husband saw her eyes were closed, her mouth parted, her head thrown back. A second light flashed by, and he saw she had thrown her breasts forward, her nipples hard and pronounced in the fleeting light. Her husband’s penis was straining against his slacks where the seatbelt pulled the fabric tight, and he nearly missed the driveway but recalled himself in time to sweep the SUV up a steep curving driveway toward a large mansion on the hill.
Worth posting Part II?