A Waiter for my Wife - Sex Stories

A Waiter for my Wife

It's not that I notice him. It's that I notice my wife noticing him. We're sitting round the banquet table and he comes round with the champagne. It's a little glance, that's all, just a flick of the eyes up and down, but it's enough for me to know that she wants him.

I'm surprised. I wouldn't have thought he was her type. Our rules say under-thirties only, but I still feel like this one needs another five years in the oven. Or the gym maybe. That said, he's scrubbed up well. This is a high-class place and his uniform is pristine, the whites of his collar complement his Mediterranean skin tone perfectly and he's been serving with a quiet confidence all evening. He has the height and the bone structure that she likes. It kind of makes sense. Especially as she's been branching out more recently.

Maybe it's because she's already on her third glass of champagne. Or maybe it's because we're stuck here socializing at this company wedding where she doesn't know anyone. I've worked with Clive for years, but he's hardly the most outgoing guy -- probably why he's had to pack his side of the aisle with people from the company rather than genuine friends. It sounded good in theory -- spending a long weekend in a fancy hotel in Bath with the ceremony on the bank holiday. We'd forgotten how tedious weddings can be. Amy's English is good, but in these situations where you have twelve people all talking at the same table, she gets shut out easily. No wonder her eyes are ...

... wandering.

She's looking good though. She's taken the opportunity to bust out her best Qipao, black with embroidered king-fishers and the traditional Chinese dress shows how much work she's done on her figure recently. She may have had two children, but ever since we started our new lifestyle, she's really gotten back into shape. She'll never be twenty again, but that doesn't mean she looks anywhere near her actual fifty years.

"Are you okay, dear?" I ask her. It's my way of letting her know that I know.

"Sure," she says. "I just came over all dizzy for a second."

The other guests make a minor show of concern and she reassures them that she's fine.

We do these things together. That is to say, nothing will happen unless I make the play for her. That's a good rule. Makes me feel more like a co-conspirator than a cuckold. We're nearing the end of the main course. They'll be bringing out the dessert soon and then we'll adjourn to the other function room for the disco. An appearance at that is mandatory, but the changeover gives us some wriggle room. No one will mind if we turn up a bit later.

I make a show of checking my watch. "Remember you're mother is calling at eight," I say. "You can go up and have a lie down while you wait."

That's only twenty-five minutes away. I hope that no one knows the time zones well enough to work out that it's now three a.m. in China and, indeed, no one says anything.

"That's a good idea," says Amy, putting her knife and fork down and ...