Bright blue panties lay discarded on the floor by the foot of the bed.

I noticed them as Gina and I were about to leave for the jazz club, but I didn’t say a word. What would I have said, anyway? “Gina, is that your underwear?” Of course, it was. But why were they on the floor and not on my wife?

My better half swished ahead of me in her ankle-length black coat. All I could see was a flash of her shiny black booties, the ones with the silver zippers tracing up the backs of the heels. When she walked, she was a mystery in motion. I didn’t know what she was wearing beneath that coat, but I could guess what she wasn’t wearing. Those blue panties had given me an inkling.

Gina snuggled against me as I drove us to the club. She talked to me about the ensemble we were going to hear, but all I could think about was her ensemble. She didn’t have on panties. What else did she — or didn’t she — have on?

“They’re really the best musicians,” she said casually. “We’re in for a treat.”

I certainly hoped so.

The group was one of her favorite jazz combos, and she was all lit up. But I wondered if she was squirming in her seat as we travelled only out of anticipation of their performance, or if there were other reasons she looked so flushed.

Gina rubbed against me while we waited in line at the club. On Friday nights, she often goes a little wild. Sometimes she’ll wear a deep V-neck dress with no bra, so when she bends over, I can see all there is to see. I could see from her parted coat that was the look she’d gone for that evening.

But deep down, I knew this night was different because unlike when she shares her cleavage with me and the rest of the world, I was sure she was commando — and that it was for my benefit only.

Once we were in the club, she pulled me to a booth in the rear. There she held my hand. It was a romantic gesture, and her fingers interlaced with mine. Then she took my hand and placed it on her thigh.

My fingers rested where her garters met her bare skin. I squeezed her leg gently.

Garters send me. I like all parts of the garter connection: the way they fasten with the little rosettes at the top and hook to the hose that she always matches to her outfit.

She grinned at me and said one word: “Higher.” Gradually, moving to the beat of the music, I let my fingertips broach the hem of her dress, slip right under there and trace the path of the garters until I reached her bare pussy. I practically groaned when my fingertips met her slick, naked snatch. I had expected she was sans panties, of course, but now that I was certain I wanted to do more than our public setting would allow.

Still, touching her so intimately while we were in a crowded club was incredibly erotic. She was nude under the dress, for the most part, the stockings providing her a sense of decorum that was only for show.

I wanted to leave right then, to take her home and lift that dress, to bang out a rhythm against her beautiful body. But she wanted to hear the music. We were there for the jazz. But truthfully, I hardly even noticed the music. All I could think about was when she’d take off the dress, she’d be in heels, her stockings and garter belt, and nothing else.

“Can we go?” I asked.

“We just got here,” she said laughing. Her smile was pure wickedness. She was fine with sitting there, letting my fingers tease her juicy split. She was satisfied to taunt me, to make my dick swell against my fly, to force me to reach down and adjust my package.

How long would I have to wait? I didn’t even think I’d make it to the car. Maybe the two of us could go out back behind the club. I could push her up against the brick wall of the building. She’d lift her coat and her dress, and I would take her from behind, snapping the garters as I pounded her.

“Isn’t the music sublime?” she trilled, her breath hot on my cheek. Oh, what a vixen! She knew perfectly well I was out of my head with lust. I felt we should have a vote on when we should leave and my erection should have counted as a participant in the decision. She, me and my hard-on. She seemed completely at ease with the progression of the evening. She was nodding to the beat, tapping her fingertips against the stem of her wineglass. That’s when I decided to play dirty.

I started to pat my fingers to the music, the way she was doing — except my fingers were cresting on her split, and I was hitting a beat I knew would take her over the edge in no time. I’ve fingered her clit hundreds of times, enough to understand exactly what she needs to reach her peak. Her head snapped toward me, a look of shock on her pretty face. I am usually more reserved and don’t make such daringly sexy moves. But once her surprise faded, I felt her pushing against me, craving more of my touch. She was raising her hips off the seat of the booth, spreading her thighs a little wider to give me better access to her juicy cunt.

I didn’t think anyone was looking our way. We were tucked into that dark corner, and the musicians were really jamming. But I pretended to be focused fully on the foursome on the stage while I thrust two fingers inside my lady’s pussy. The group went to town, blowing sax and wailing on the horn, and I went to town, too, thrusting my fingers deep into her.

“Once you come,” I whispered to her, “we’re out of here. I need to be inside you.”

She looked at me with dreamy eyes. She was on the cusp. I could tell. She always has that look when she’s on the verge of orgasm. The saxophonist launched his solo. I used that joyful melody as my muse, and my fingering would have made any musician proud.

When Gina came, she hardly moved. Her whole body tensed and then a subtle vibration seemed to work through her. I pulled my hand free. She grinned at me in shock and gratitude. Then she grabbed my hand and led me from the club and out into the cool night air.

“My cock found her slit like a heat-seeking missile and plunged inside her.”

We never did make it to the car. In the dark alley behind the club, I pushed her up against the brick wall and began kissing her madly as she worked my fly open. Once she’d freed my cock, I grabbed one of her thighs and raised her leg. My cock found her wet slit like a heat-seeking missile and plunged inside her slick depths.

Gina moaned into my shoulder and bucked toward me as I pounded her fiercely.

I’d take care of her again later. At that moment, all I wanted was to get off and shoot deep inside her — and I did. Then we went for round two at a more leisurely pace after we arrived home.

It was certainly an evening of firsts, and everything began with something not quite forgotten. A pair of blue panties, left behind on the floor.

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