My wife loves opera.  Me, not so much. So, like with most things, we reached an understanding. When the lights went down, I'd play with her pussy to keep my self awake and distracted while she enjoyed the opera and the stimulation.  To facilitate things, she'd wear a skirt that unbuttoned at the side and crotchles panties.  I'd put my raincoat across our laps. We had good seats, two seats off the isle. 

On the isle at each performance was a distinguished seventy-ish man accompanied by a twenty-ish beautiful blond woman who sat next to me.  This time, as she sat down, she whispered to me, "I know what you do," and after a very long pause said, "it makes me wet!" 

When the lights went down I unbuttoned my wife's skirt and found her slit in the open crotch of her panties. It was getting moist as I ran my finger up and down and her pussy lips opened to the very little pressure of my finger.  As I was moving my fingers deeper into her, I felt a hand on my thigh and then, with some difficulty, it lowered my zipper.  The hand reached into my fly and found my cock, which couldn't have been difficult because it was as stiff as a railroad spike. 

I felt pressure on the head as a finger gently rubbed it.  I looked straight ahead at the stage as a hand gently moved up and down my very erect cock. And, distracted as I was, I moved my fingers deep and deeper into my wife's now very wet pussy.  The hand kept gently moving up and down my cock with a finger occasionally going to the head and finding the little slit. 

It was our custom not to rub and pull my wife's clit until after intermission and I certainly didn't want to cum during the first act.  As intermission neared, I withdrew my now wet fingers from my wife's sopping pussy and she buttoned her skirt.  The hand withdrew from my pants and I zipped my fly myself. 

When the lights came on the distinguished man and his companion hurried up the isle and we followed them to the lobby to find drinks.  My wife and I found the bar and ordered drinks.  "Did you get into the opera?" she asked. 

"You weren't as active in my pussy as you usually are," she said. 

"I'm probably just tired, but I'll make up for it during the second act,"  I said.

Just then the woman who sat next to me came to the bar, alone,  picked up my drink and drank it in a couple of gulps.  When we were back in our seats my wife whispered, " did the woman sitting next to you, drink your drink?" 

"She must have thought it was hers," I said. 

When the lights went down my wife unbuttoned her skirt again and whispered, "have at it." 

I put three fingers into her wet and waiting pussy.  I unzipped my fly in case the woman to my left wanted to have another go at it, and she did.  She whispered, "my skirt's around my hips." 

It was the only invitation I needed to put my left hand under her thong and stick two fingers between into her very, very wet pussy.  When she felt my fingers slide into her pussy she tightened her grip on my cock.   My cock was being stroked by a woman whose name I didn't know, as I was plunging my fingers deeper into two very wet and welcoming pussies. 

Just then, my wife whispered, "I could stroke your cock."

"Let's wait 'till we get home," I said.

Soon,  I felt cloth cover the head of my cock followed be some serious stroking and a hand covered my left hand and pushed it deeper into her soaking pussy. 

I was still able, out of long practice, to find my wife's clit, and she squirmed and jerked gently as she climaxed.   I came and came into the cloth, as much from the experience, as the stroking.  I found the strange "G" spot, too. 

As we were leaving the opera, the blond woman put two fingers in her mouth and sucked them, and I did the same. 

And, ironically, my wife asked if I enjoyed the opera. 

Next up was a Wagner opera.

The distinguished seventy-ish man came down the isle, accompanied be a blond seventy-ish woman.