Chapter 8

Connie giggled - something she seldom did - as they stepped off the ferry and started walking arm-in-arm toward the parking lot.

"OK, wife," Jerry said. "Explain the mirth."

"You were so cute at dinner, stalling and stalling and stalling - really, honey, you'd think you were condemned to some gruesome fate."

"I was not stalling." He said it with a straight face, but she walked the next few steps turned sideways, staring up at him. Finally he cracked the smile.

"'I was not stalling, '" she said gravely, mimicking him. "Oh, no, of course not. You always have three cups of coffee and two deserts after dinner at Four Seasons." They reached the parking lot and began wending their way through the cars.

"I was just trying to prolong a lovely moment. This is a special occasion, you know."

She burst out with a loud guffaw.

"And I thought it would be, you know, nice to walk past my old apartment, where we first did it."

Connie's laughter rebounded, peals of amusement that rang out in the chilly night. Jerry stopped and waited till she had calmed down and caught her breath.

"Honey, it's 43 degrees. We could have taken a cab instead of walking - and very slowly, I might add - 18 blocks. And 'nice'? You mean 'romantic, ' don't you? Because it was romantic."

"Yeah, well, I guess so. Kind of."

She shook her head and suddenly threw herself on him, clinging to him with her arms around his neck. "I love you so much, Gerald."

"I love you with all of me, Veronica." He kissed her, his arms easily holding her lithe, small frame. The kiss began sweetly and then got a lot more passionate.

Someone cleared his throat and said, "OK, you kids..." A flashlight winked on. Jerry lowered her, and they turned to the cop.

"Sorry about that," Jerry said. "The term 'parking lot' triggers a conditioned reflex in us."

"And thanks for the 'you kids'!" Connie added.

The cop walked off, shaking his head and softly chuckling. Holding hands, Jerry and Connie walked slowly to the car and climbed in. Jerry tossed his coat into the backseat, and they buckled up.

"Now you're trying to get me arrested," Jerry teased as he started the engine.

"For what? Making out with your wife on your anniversary?"

He shifted into gear. "I was thinking more of Rampant Horniness, First Degree, and Consorting With a Known Sex Object." Connie leaned over, reaching for his lap. "And what are you doing?" he asked.

"Access to my favorite sex object." She unzipped his trousers and began working his rapidly stiffening cock out of his briefs.

"Hey, you definitely are going to get me busted for lewdness or indecent exposure."

"Can't leave you exposed, I guess," she agreed - and began stuffing as much of his cock into her mouth as she could manage.

Jerry groaned as his wife's head bobbed between his abdomen and the steering wheel. Connie sucked happily, her mouth filled with his expanding meat, her tongue busily exploring all the wonderfully familiar nooks and veins she had come to know and love. She was moist under her evening dress. She'd suddenly gotten the impulse to suck her husband's cock right there, in the restaurant, a la "Shampoo." For some reason she could not fathom, the urge - the craving - was just there and undeniable. She'd squirmed and fidgeted during the main course, the sorbet, the deserts and coffees. She'd fairly trembled with the urge walking to and then past his old apartment, and she'd been unable to sit still during the short ferry ride across the Hudson. The heat and solidity of his pulsing cockhead was exactly what she'd salivated for all evening.

She didn't want him to cum - not yet - and she knew him so well she was able to keep him just... below... the threshold for the 15 minutes it took to drive to their home.

But when the car was in the driveway, the lights and engine off, the gear in PARK, Connie turned her head sideways in his lap and murmured, "Come on, honey - gimme gimme gimme gimme!" She jammed her face back over his cock, taking him to the back of her throat. She sucked hard and slow and let her tongue wriggle against the underside of his big cock. She felt him twitch, and she moaned pitifully.

That did it. Jerry let out a soft whimper of surrender and his dick erupted. Connie squirmed and pulled her head back, gulping noisily and sucking just the glans and a little bit of the massive shaft. He spasmed again, and this time he flooded her mouth with his hot, beloved semen. She sucked sloppily, knowing how much that aroused him and bobbed her head slightly. His caress on her cheek sent a shiver of love and lust through her. She moaned again as a third geyser shot into her mouth, and began moving her head up and down hungrily, coaxing a fourth, fifth and sixth welcome splattering.

She licked and sucked his dick clean before relinquishing it, then gently stuffed the half-hard length of him back into his trousers. She looked up and saw Jerry leaning his head back to rest on the neck support of the seat. He tilted his face forward and pulled her mouth to his, kissing her hard and sticking his tongue into her mouth. She loved feeling him swirling his tongue around in the mixture of her saliva and the residue of his sperm.

"Baby, you make me so hot!" she breathed into his mouth. "I wanted to do that right after the paté."

He grinned. "I know. I can tell when that's what you're craving. You get this particular look on your face and start getting very, very restless."

"OK?"

"And you only get the urge when we're someplace where it is absolutely impossible - or unwise - to indulge it."

"Remember 'Shampoo'?"

"Do I remind you of Warren Beatty?"

"Yccch. What I liked was the brazenness of it. Not to mention Julie Christie. Or was it Goldie Hawn? Whichever. Which reminds me. Let's go in the house."

He sighed in resignation. "You're sure about this? No last-minute doubts?"

She kissed him quickly on the lips. "Let's get inside."

"O-kaaaay." They disentangled and exited the car, then stood in the driveway for a moment, looking at each other across the roof of the car. Jerry cleared his throat. "Bravely go I forth to meet my fate."

"'Your fate.'" She snorted. "I'll try to make it as painless as possible."

He grinned at her, and they entered their home. The only light was in the kitchen, which Connie had switched on before they'd left. "Hmmmm. Looks like your fate hasn't arrived yet," she said, removing her coat. Jerry took hers and hung it next to his in the foyer closet. Connie was wearing her drop-dead jet-black Armani sheath, the one with the spaghetti straps across her shoulders. It molded itself to her every lovely curve. She could feel her husband's gaze on her as she walked gracefully into the kitchen, the high heels stretching her legs, her pert ass twitching under the fabric.

Look and lust, honey, she was thinking. You're going to need all the lust you can muster before the night is over. And as she thought of what the night had in store for both of them, her nipples hardened and crinkled under the dress, and her cunt renewed its moistening. She drew a tumbler of water from the faucet of the filter - New Jersey's water was officially safe, but the taste was only slightly better than that of the residual semen she was rinsing from the roof of her mouth.

"Want me to bring you something?" she called.

"Some juice?"

She drew a second tumbler of water for herself and poured Jerry a tall glass of his grapefruit juice. She returned to find him sitting stiffly in his favorite chair, a leather recliner half-facing the fireplace. When Jerry was nervous, he always became very still.

Connie handed him the glass. "Fair enough - you already gave me my juice." She licked her lips for emphasis. He showed little sign of seeing the gesture or hearing the remark.

She folded easily to her knees beside him and rested her arms on his thigh. "Hey - loosen up, honey."

He cranked his head around to look at her, a machine-like motion. "I'm just afraid - " He clamped his lips.

"Afraid of what?"

He was silent for a long minute before blurting, "You've been telling this woman what a stud you've married, and she's all worked up for this, and so are you and, well, I just don't know what I'll do if I start feeling left out or can't - can't - you know: perform."

She'd considered the possibility that this would come up, so to speak. An introverted man by nature, she'd known that if the worry was really in his mind, he wouldn't be able to tell her till the last minute. Connie had given this situation thought and had a Plan.

She held his gaze for a moment. "Honey, I can still call Kimberly and cancel this. I don't - " She held up one finger, shushing his protest. "I do not want this to become a problem for us. And if you really believe you might find it that much of a worry, I will gladly trade this for us, every time - and never regret it one iota."

"But - "

Again she shushed him. "But first, before you decide, I want to show you how much confidence I have in you and how much you should have in you. Deal?"

"But - "

She glanced at the clock. "This won't take long. There's plenty of time. Indulge me?"

He drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. And nodded.

She ducked her head down and grazed his thigh with her teeth through his trousers.

"First, will you please get rid of that damn jacket and tie?"

He stood as she leaned back. He began unknotting the tie as he turned toward the stairs and the closet set in the wall beneath the steps.

"No - just toss them onto the couch."

He shrugged and quickly complied, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt for good measure.

"Isn't that more comfortable?" she teased, knowing how much he hated having to wear them. She rolled smoothly to her knees. "What do you like best about me?"

That got a genuine smile from him. They'd had this exchange the first night and on many nights since. It was almost a script, but the ritual of the dialogue was a comfortably exciting thing that they enjoyed.

"I like everything about you best!" he answered. Of course.

"That's sweet, but you know what I mean," she cued, getting to her feet with the lithe grace only a dancer could supply.

"What?"

She stood before him, fingers laced and hands in front of her, slowly turning a little to the left, a little to the right. She was a shade over five feet tall and after the night's big meal, was perhaps up to 97 pounds. Her dark hair and big, brown eyes and fair complexion were perfect for the demands of the sheath dress she was wearing, and she knew how much it appealed to him.

"Oh, you know - some guys are tit men, some guys are leg men, some are ass men... You know."

"Oh, that!" he said. "Well, I'm really a tit-leg-ass man, but if I had to pick just one - "

She nodded, exaggerating the gesture.

"I guess - your butt. You've got the cutest, ripest, most delectable peach of an ass I've ever seen on a woman of legal age."

"So you like my tush?"

"First time I saw you in that cheerleader's outfit, bending and strutting, I said to myself, 'I have got to grab those buns!' - "

"And you did - eventually." She reached up and pulled one spaghetti strap off her left shoulder. "I have a surprise for you." The other strap was removed. "Special - for my husband, the ass man." She reached behind herself and nimbly undid the four hooks-and-eyes. She began squirming sensuously. The sheath began to flow off her, lower and lower. Once it was past the pert thrust of her tits, it slid down the rest of the way in a soft, sussurant swish of fine fabric until it lay in a small heap about her ankles.

She stepped back and out of the circle of discarded evening dress.

"Like?" She raised her hands above her head and slowly turned for him. The flimsy, non-support bra was blue and nearly transparent.

So were the thigh-cut panties.

When she had turned a full 360 degrees, she watched her husband swallow.

"I like," he said simply, his voice thick. His lovely, petite wife stood before him in her bra, panties and - this was a first, really - garters and stockings.

"That's new," he said, raising his eyebrows. "The stockings."

"Got the idea from Emily." She'd told him some things about Emily - including a description of her remarkable tongue - but not about what she and Kim had done with Emily.

"Thank her for me."

She smiled slightly and turned to her right, then executed a majestically smooth bend from the waist. Her knees stayed straight, as did her back and shoulders. She bent lower and lower, until her forearms were wrapped around her calves, her nose was against her knees and her gorgeous little butt was outthrust in all of its rounded glory, inside the taut, blue sheen of the panties.

Connie could hear his breathing grow shallow. She watched his fingers twitch, the jerky stretching of his arm. His hand came to rest in a long caress on her ass, his palm almost covering one cheek, his splayed finger lightly pressing the other.

"Step up behind me," she whispered, voice throaty. "Get close behind me. I want to feel you pressing against me."