the opera

I take Kristof's hand as we exit the opera house, the soaring beauty of the final aria of Norma still running through my mind. I've always loved the opera. The passion, the drama, the sexy story and the exquisite voices of the singers never fail to leave me breathless and, I must be honest, also a little horny. I've always found a trip to the theatre or the opera to be romantically old-fashioned, something to be savoured, with the glamour of the women dressed in beautiful silks and taffetas, covered in beads and sequins and dripping in diamonds and pearls. I love how the men are old school, dressed to impress with crisp white shirts and impeccably tailored suits. It smells expensive, oozes sophistication and makes me feel like I have stepped back in time. I adore the whispered chit-chat before it starts, sipping a martini in our box and the pin-drop silence during the performance as the audience immerses themselves in the beauty, followed by the standing ovations at the finale. I like a show; as I said, it turns me on.

I squeeze Kristof's hand, and we exchange a secret smile as we follow the rest of the audience out into the cool of the evening. I shiver as we stand on the steps, waiting for everyone to disperse. In part, from the chill of the evening; earlier, it had been unseasonably warm, so I left my jacket at home, but mainly from the anticipation of being alone with Kristof. Always the gentleman, Kristof shucks off his dinner jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The heat of his fingers against my skin as he does so ignites the fire in me further, and I look up and down the street, wondering where Beau, our driver, has gone.

"He'll be here soon, my love," Kristof smiles. He knows what is running through my mind, and I giggle as he backs me up against the ancient stone wall of the Opera House, his lips claiming mine as his body presses against me.

"You look beautiful," he whispers, "I don't know if I can wait to get you home."

I breathe in the heavy, musky scent of his aftershave, spice and an earthy vanilla note that is his signature, and let the heat of his body warm me, the thought of fucking him right here, right now, already soaking my tiny lace panties. I can feel him, already hard, straining against his tight trousers, as he whispers sweet nothings to me, kissing and nibbling at my ear, my neck and finally my lips again.

At last, when I am almost dizzy with desire, we hear the soft purr of the limousine as Beau pulls up to the pavement alongside us. Kristof pulls back, straightens his suit and takes my hand, leading me to the car where Beau is holding the door for us.

"Good evening Monsieur, Madame. Apologies for my lateness; the traffic over the bridge was shocking."

"Good evening, Beau," Kristof replies, and I nod. Beau is a handsome, older man who has been driving for us for many years. He is polite, well-mannered, and trusted, and he is always incredibly discreet.

Kristof helps me into the car, sliding in beside me. He leans forward and speaks to Beau before we depart. There is something about returning the scenic route as we are in no hurry, and the evening is beautiful.

The anticipation of what this means has me catching my breath, my nipples hardening again despite the warmth of the car's interior. It is a vintage Rolls Royce, a wedding gift from Kristof's father. I inhale the scent of the worn leather, run my fingers over the soft material of the back seat and lean back into the luxury of the car as Beau pulls away from the side of the road. I wonder how many other couples this car has carried home from the opera or intimate dinner parties in its long history, how many other women have squirmed with anticipation on its back seats. If the interior could speak, would it tell me stories of secret lovers, clandestine meetings and passionate embraces?

I snuggle into Kristof's arms as we talk quietly about the opera, kissing and giggling as the streets of the city slip slowly past. The radio is on, a classical station, and the music is reminiscent of the opera we have just enjoyed. I give in to Kristof's lips and hands, his tongue exploring my mouth as his fingers wander across my body, stroking my thigh, drifting across my breasts and cupping my chin as he kisses me more deeply. My body responds to his touch just as it does when we are alone, a burning desire igniting inside me, and all I can think about is where he will touch me next. I don't care that Beau is mere feet away from us, the thin glass panel between him and the back seat leaving nothing to the imagination.

I know that Kristof wants me as much as I want him by the soft kisses he is dropping onto my neck and the way his hands are caressing my body, the warmth radiating through the thin silk of my dress. If I open my eyes, I can see the bright lights of the city slip past the window over Kristof's shoulder. I think about the people walking the pavements as my husband kisses me, his hand at my throat, capturing me and making me his possession, his kisses letting me know exactly how turned on he is. I let my head fall back as his fingers gather the material of my dress and push it slowly up, exposing the pale, creamy flesh of my inner thigh. With a smile, I help him pull the silk and netting up my body until his fingers find what he is looking for at the apex of my thighs.

I am no longer thinking about anything but my desire to fuck my husband. I barely notice that the music has been turned down. I don't care that Beau is watching us in the rear-view mirror, and I don't care if anyone sees us through the windows of the limousine. All I want is him. I spread my legs wantonly for him, clutching his face as I kiss him passionately, letting him know that I am desperate for his touch. He spreads me wider, his fingers moving over the brightly coloured thong that barely contains the juices running from me. Slowly, deliberately he rubs from my wet lips to my clit, standing to attention beneath the lacy covering of my panties and back again. He dips his fingers inside, a quick tease and then back over the top of the scrap of material that covers me. It is as though he is testing the water, making sure I am comfortable that I want this as much as he does. And I do; I have never wanted him more.

We lock eyes, and I smile, biting my lip and holding his arm as he plays with me. I want him to continue, to take it further. He nods, kissing me again, kissing my neck as I lean back on the old leather and let his fingers work their magic, circling my clit as I try to remember to breathe.

My dress has slipped down, the frantic kissing and touching too much to keep the beautiful strapless silk in place and my breasts are exposed, my nipples rosy pink and hard, a stark contrast to the deep russet of my gown. I glance up and catch sight of myself reflected in the window, wanton, spread out across the back seat, my husband's hand between my legs, my sleek chignon comes loose, tendrils framing my face. I think this is what Beau can see, and it excites me further. I want him to be watching us. I want him to be turned on by what he sees.

Kristof pulls my panties to one side, exposing my shaven pussy completely and slides two fingers into me. I can't help myself. I cry out with pleasure, the exhibitionist in me revelling in the show we are putting on. I know that my moans of pleasure mixed with the soft suck of his fingers inside me will excite him. He knows exactly how to play with me, his fingers crooked to hit the sweet spot inside and the base of his palm on my clit, making me gasp. He switches between focusing on that little bundle of nerves, teasing me, knowing that I want more, and then delving deep inside until I am on the brink of orgasm. He holds me there, over and over, until I am almost undone.

I want more of him, I want to fuck him, I want to make him feel the same delicious desire as I do and I feel for his cock, my fingers rubbing it through his trousers. We tussle as clothes come off, freeing him from the confines of his dress suit, shoving his trousers to his knees so that I can taste him. Kneeling up on the back seat, I take him into my mouth, and he moans, leaning back and letting me do to him what he has been doing to me. I can smell the musk of his lust, the masculine scent of his cock as I take it down as far as I can, covering it with my saliva as I show the city just how good I am at blow jobs. I love his cock, the weight of it in my hand, the taste of it in my mouth and the way he gives himself over to the pleasure that I give him with my lips and tongue. He has his hand on the back of my head, guiding me to take more, watching the lights out of the window as I lick and suck, my hand a fist around him, pumping his thick shaft as I revel in the taste of him.

It still isn't enough to slake my lust; I want more, and so does Kristof, so we hurriedly take off his shoes and his trousers until he is naked from the waist down. He pushes me down on my side, in front of him, and pulling me tight against him, he lifts my leg and eases himself inside me, entering me from behind. It is a little difficult, but I don't care. I need to feel him filling me. I am open for all the city to see if they should happen to look through our window. He cups my breast, gently kissing my back and brings his hand around to play with my clit as we fuck.

It's so sensual and erotic, watching him sliding in and out of my cunt, my leg in the air, spread, my dress bunched around my waist, exposing me, my pussy, my breasts. I wrap my hand around my thigh, opening myself wider, allowing him better access to fuck me harder. We kiss passionately as he thrusts into me, holding me tightly to him so that we don't roll onto the floor. I hold the handle above the door to allow him to thrust deeper, pushing back against his cock. I wonder again how many other couples have fucked in this car, how many drivers have heard the passionate groans and whimpers of forbidden, exhibitionist lust. Kristof is teasing me, holding me on the brink of orgasm, one minute stroking me, giving the hard nub of my clit his full attention with his fingers, and then taking me roughly and pounding into me, claiming his dominance as he takes his pleasure in my body, his hand on my throat holding me firmly in place as we fuck.

I am so close to climax, but he stops. He wants more and pulls gently out before helping me over onto my knees. Now he can bury himself deeper, take his turn using me for his pleasure and I push back onto him gripping the seat in front of me as he thrusts inside. At first, he holds my arse steady, fucking into me, his grunts of pleasure turning me on even more. I turn my head and catch Beau's eyes in the mirror. For a moment, I can't tear my gaze away; the knowledge that he is watching swirls through me. I should be embarrassed, I should look away, but instead, I bite my lip and moan louder, pushing back onto Kristof's thick hardness. I roll my hips, pulling him deeper into me. He holds still, his hand on my back, and I fuck him, bucking against him, using his cock for my pleasure. He watches me bounce back onto him, then gripping my bum, he pounds his dick into me, stroking my inner walls and giving the sensitive spot the attention it needs, making me scream. I have never been so turned on, knowing that we are totally exposed, fucking like rutting animals for anyone to see, our naked flesh visible through the windows of the car, his arse from one side and my breasts, as he clutches at them, from the other. All inhibitions have disappeared, and I am revelling in our exhibitionism. I am aware that Beau is watching everything, and it excites me even more.

I need to cum. I need to finish, my pussy is aching with the desperate need for release, my clit tingling with sensations. We uncouple for a moment, take off my shoes, rearrange ourselves, and I straddle him, impaling myself on his cock, where he has easy access to my breasts and mouth, and Beau has the perfect view of my pussy swallowing Kristof's cock to the hilt.

I take a moment to settle around him, my pussy filled completely, sucking in a breath at the sensation of him so deep inside me. This position always does it for me, heightening every sense. It feels so naughty, shamelessly riding my husband's cock, taking my pleasure from him, using him to make me cum. Tonight, it feels even better. The car slows in traffic, and I can make out silhouettes of people in the vehicles alongside us. I know they can see me too, my head thrown back, my breasts escaping from my beautiful dress, the diamonds glinting at my throat and ears. It will be unexpected; but if they turn their heads, they will know what I am doing and will know that I am being gloriously fucked in my diamonds in our luxury car. They will know that our driver is watching us, that he can hear the sighs and moans of our desire. Will it turn them on, too? Will they go home and fuck their partners thinking of me? I wonder if Beau is touching himself as he drives or whether he will wait until he has dropped us off. Will he stay parked outside our apartment in the dark, his cock heavy in his hand as he thinks about what he has watched this evening. Will he make himself cum thinking about my tits, my pussy, thinking about how he watched me orgasm, how Kristof made me come apart? I cry out as I think about it, my dripping slit clenching around Kristof's cock as I imagine all those eyes on me.

My husband, too, watches me as I fuck him, and I cling to his shirt, riding him harder and faster, the rhythm of our coupling making the back seat squeak, the neon of the city illuminating us as I near my climax. I bounce and roll, building up friction which drives me closer to release. We kiss again, the rub of his body against my clit almost sending me over the edge. I love him so much, love the way he knows exactly what I need, and love how he lets me take it, my pleasure becoming his pleasure. I am so close, my head thrown back as I clutch at his waistcoat, letting the sensations flow through me. He smiles up at me, his eyes dark with desire, and I know he is close, too. We shift position a little, my hand clinging to the handle above our heads, fingers gripping the walnut sides of the car.

I let myself go, fucking him hard, whimpering, "Yes, yes," and "Oh fuck, yes," as I edge closer and closer. The car slows at a junction; I know this will allow Beau to watch us properly again, and it is all I need to tip me over the edge. My orgasm claims me as my body shakes, my pussy pulsing around Kristof's cock, and he grips my arse, kissing me softly as I come back to earth. I don't stop riding him, I want him to cum too, I want to feel him fill me, and he grips my thighs, holding me up as he thrusts into me. I watch his face. His eyes closed as he fucks me hard until, with a groan of release, he cums, his heart pounding, legs shaking, as he gently lowers me back down onto him.

The aftermath of our passion makes us giggle together. We can't stop kissing, still desperate for each other's touch. I slowly ease myself off him, and the dribble of spunk makes me laugh again. I feel woozy with lust, replete and happy. We smile at each other, not quite believing what we have just done but not wanting the feeling to end.

"Did you enjoy that?" Kristof asks.

"I did," I nod, smiling again, my face aching from it but unable to help myself. "I think plenty of others did, too!"

He grins, and I lean over, picking up my handbag from where it was discarded on the floor earlier and retrieving a tissue to clean us both up. We dress, chatting as though this were an everyday occurrence, casually rearranging our clothes, and Kristof, always the gentleman, helps me put my shoes back on. I notice that Beau has turned the music back up, the soaring notes of the opera filling the car once again.

"We finished just in time," Kristof says, stroking my cheek. "I think we're nearly home."

"A perfect evening at the Opera," I whisper, kissing him again.