I kind of promised some people that I would include a little insight in my blog this week about my weekend … and the assorted antics that can, on occasion, occur when I’m in “Andee” mode. As much as I would like to live my life in continual pursuit of all that side of me has to offer, sadly there is some reality that interferes. Family, work and the societal stigma of “sex” tend to be an alarming wake-up call.
My husband and I finally managed to arrange a night out at our favourite “adult” club. Some might label it a “swingers” club, but in reality it is just a great place where couples can go and be a lot more expressive than they might be at your everyday kind of “bar.” The idea behind it remains a sexually-charged atmosphere, where couples can explore among themselves and with others the limits of their desire (within reason … some things are still not legal in public!)
For us, this was kind of a personal Christmas party … free from the watchful eye of coworkers, business associates, kids, etc. that keep those other get-togethers a bit vanilla. We had been trying to get together with another couple for a while and Saturday was the first time in months that we’ve been able to do so. I’m sure some of you have your mind headed somewhere intriguing, but truth be told, these friends do not yet come with benefits. We have only hung out with them a couple times, and like the singles’ scene, we’re still trying to see if the chemistry is there.
It’s kind of a weird thing to wrap your brain around. I know I still do when I really sit and think this is where my road of exploration has taken me so far. Dating alone was tough enough, now it’s a bizarre puzzle with four people involved.
Anyway … onto the interesting part of the night; which strangely turned out to not really include our friends.
One of the obviously-designed-by-a-man things about this club is how some of the tables are set up. Several of them are situated on little landings that essentially put the level of the stools at about the same level as people walking past on the main floor. OK, we all know this is absolutely intentional … I mean I myself have managed more than a passing glance or two on my way back from the washrooms. With that many sexy people in one place, often wearing less fabric than a linen napkin for clothing … it’s hard not to notice.
Not that the set-up was involved in my fashion plan for the night, the club isn’t the kind of place where you just slip on some jeans. I picked one of my favourite minis and a sheer top. As I mentioned in a previous post about my personal Panty Strategy, this night wasn’t all that different. With a “Welcome to Winter” theme happening, it seemed natural to go with white. Now, before all you fashionistas jump on me for daring to wear white after Labour Day, don’t fret. About halfway through the evening I caught my own mistake and remedied it by ditching some of it. I kept the bra and top, more out of a thought of “you gotta work” to see those, baby.
Normally I tend to be a bit reserved at clubs like this. I truly am a voyeur and prefer watching all the sexy stuff as opposed to be the centre of attention. Usually a couple drinks will loosen me up and I’ll settle into my own little horniness. Saturday wasn’t all that different.
As we kind of settled in the night, and found my groove, my husband leaned over and told me that a couple of the guys from across the way were trying to steal a little peek every now and then. They were situated in a way that gave them quite the view of most of the women on our little landing - and I’m not talking about eye colour here. Most other places being so obvious would be an issue, but as I said this place is designed exactly for that kind of voyeurism and exhibitionism. We had a little quiet chuckle and teasing around the table about the whole thing and left it at that for the moment.
Jump to a few minutes later, I slipped off my stool and headed to the ladies room; returning after doing what I needed to do, but now without my panties on. My plan was to completely torment my husband so that I could guarantee a good ending to the evening. At the right moment, I guided his hand along my thigh and under the hem of my skirt. As we all just sat and chatted, he knew what to do under the table. Not that it wasn’t obvious or anything …
As he discovered I had removed my panties, that familiar little grin appeared. From there, the teasing began. His fingers found that spot that puts me over the edge and makes all the inhibitions disappear. I’m certain that our friends - the wife had been beside me the whole night so far - were completely aware of what was happening. This was exactly what I was looking for; what didn’t occur to me was the show I had been giving anyone that happened by on the lower level - or the guys who had been admiring the occasional peek of my panty-covered pussy earlier.
After maybe an hour of so of my husband‘s constant stroking, teasing and fondling of my pussy, things had heated up all around. The dance floor was packed with couples in an assortment of fondling, kissing, groping stages and I was turned on by the sights, not to mention what my husband had been doing. I’m pretty sure it was obvious to anyone who was able to see what the result had been down there. I mean, with guys you get a definite idea when they are turned on, and women aren’t all that different. Things do tend to change a bit down there ;-p
I had made my way back and forth to the dance floor a few times with both my husband and our male friend (and a couple turns with our female friend too), each time returning to the stool at the table with the intent of picking up where the teasing had stopped before the turn on the dance floor.
Then one time I returned, the female friend of ours had positioned herself to the one side of my husband, with her own on the other side of her … imagine if you will, the typical boy-girl-boy-girl arrangement. I was now sat along the railing beside our table. I hadn’t really noticed too much of who was on the lower floor, as I simply immersed myself back into the conversation among the four of us at the table. My husband had his hand back on my knee, so I kind of shuffled a bit to inch closer to him … not a really conscious thing I guess, just a couple thing. I was enjoying the moment when I felt a very odd sensation. OK, maybe not “odd” but definitely unexpected. Someone was gently stroking my ankle and calf. I kind of twitched in surprise at the initial moment, but chose to “ignore” it. I mean, let’s be honest, I was completely and utterly enjoying it!
I didn’t look down to see, partly because I was afraid they might stop, and also I didn’t want to give any clues to my husband and friends at the time. I had strong suspicions it had to be one of the guys that had watched just a few minutes early; so I left it with that in mind.
Gradually the person turned from just a casual light touching to a gently massaging of my lower leg, and then in a most deliciously teasing way, inched ever so slowly higher towards my thigh. This continued for a few minutes, and it was making it hard for me to keep up my end in the conversation, as I was obviously distracted. As this mysterious hand worked its way higher, he would slide it along the outside of my thigh, his fingers just sweeping under the hem of my skirt. At one point I shuffled so that my angle was a little more towards whomever it was, all the while keeping my other knee close to my husband. I was not yet ready to spoil the moment.
It was driving me crazy how whomever was doing this would inch high up my leg for a moment, and return to stroking my ankle and the top of my foot. I think he must have known that such actions would torment a woman, and he must have known how to test the limitations of whether or not this was a welcomed touch. By now, of course, it must have been obvious to him that I was neither going to stop him, or rat him out to my table mates.
When my husband excused himself to go the washroom, I think it must have been the window my mysterious man was looking for. I adjusted myself to lean a little bit more into the table, so it looked like I was leaning in to keep up the conversation, keeping my legs just slightly parted. I felt the hand on my other leg now, gently caressing again, then with no risk of being found out by my husband, he slowly stroked the inside of my thigh. I edged forward just a bit more … and there it was! His fingers delicately swept across my pussy.
I kind of flexed my hips ever so slightly in a way to say “I want it.” I hooked the heels of my shoes into the stool and pushed back against this mysterious hand. He lightly brushed the back of his fingers along my very wet and swollen lips and then - just before I damn near begged out loud, slipped one between my lips, but just not quite into me. It was the most incredible sensation and I was trying very hard to push against him without being obvious.
The torment continued for several minutes and in my mind I was pleading for my husband to take a good long time in the loo! But, to my extreme frustration, he returned and the teasing came to its end. My curiosity was far too powerful, so as my husband resumed his seat, I glanced to see my who my hand-lover was ... more on that in a future blog!
Later, as my husband and I drove home I was wondering if I dare say anything, until he informed me that he had initially had some suspicions, so when he was returning from the washroom, he had waited and watched a good part of my torment unfold at the hand of this man. And then he made me “pay” for my horniness once we were alone!
Andee
xoxo
