More and More

We had been married almost fifteen years and we were beginning to feel it. Mike was still attentive and gentle, but even he had to admit that things were slowing down in the bedroom department, so to speak. It wasn't really upsetting me at that point, but I could see the warning signs and my body was starting to insist that the matter was addressed.

None of that sounds unusual, does it? Or unreasonable? Looking back on those days now, though, I do sometimes wonder if I over-reacted to something that was entirely normal and natural. I know that sexually, we of the fairer gender tend to mature much later than guys, and that in many ways at thirty-seven I might even have been peaking. And yet...

Mike and I had skirted around the subject for months before one evening last May (and three bottles of delightful white wine) brought matters to the forefront of our tipsy conversation.

"Am I starting to lose my looks, then? My appeal?"

Mike laughed, "Amy, you are as gorgeous now as you've ever been to me."

"To you? Do you mean I'm getting fat as I approach forty and it doesn't bother you but others might not like it?"

"Don't be silly," he poured more naughtiness, "You're no bigger now than you were in your teens. Even your nips haven't headed south by more than a fraction of an inch."

"A good inch, at least," I said with a sigh, learning what 'in vino veritas' was all about, "And let's face it, I'm not exactly Dolly Parton up here." I pointed to my t-shirt covered boobs.

"I wouldn't want you to be. Your tits are a perfect size and whatever you say, they can still turn any straight guy's head."

"So why," I asked, trying to get back to the question of Mike's waning sexual appetite, "don't you jump all over me all the time like you used to?"

It was Mike's turn to sigh, "You want the truth?"

"D'oh."

"Fair point, of course you do. Well..." he paused and I was starting to dread what he'd say next before he managed to find the words. "It's like this. I'm not bored with you. I do still find you very attractive. I'm just finding it harder to show that myself. I know the whole 'it's me, not you' thing is a terrible cliché sometimes, but, Amy, this time it's for real." He paused for a second, "I guess what I'm trying to say is that it takes more, somehow, to get me as excited now as just a look at your loveliness used to do for me."

To be fair, his words were something of a relief to me but I still needed more reassurance, "Do you mean you're bored of me?"

"No! Bored is entirely the wrong word. I just seem to need a little more stimulation from you than I once did."

"More cunning tongue?"

"No, again - although I maybe should have said 'yes' - I was... Do you remember the party last month when I got rather worked up?"

I snorted Chablis, "Oh yes!" It was hard to forget that Saturday night since it was the last time Mike had not just performed brilliantly in bed after the party, but he'd actually managed to fully satisfy me - something of a rarity of late. "So, what has that got to do with this?"

"You have to remember it was you who got me so aroused, so worked up for it in every sense, yes?"

"I certainly remember a night of fulfilment. But what exactly was the difference that night?"

He set his glass on the coffee table and put an arm around my shoulders, "Amy, I got like that because of how you looked." He stared into my eyes and when I didn't react - didn't follow what he meant - he spelled it out for me. "You looked so good in front of Tim and Simon, so sexy. And that dress..."

"You're saying that I looked good because my tits were almost falling out of it?" The garment in question had been bought by me for the occasion, but I maybe should have tried it on in the shop without a bra - when I wore it at the party sans-support I found that the dress must have been designed by a guy with a tit-fetish as I really did threaten to spill out of it with every stretch or turn.

"I guess I am, sort of."

My wine-addled mind was working overtime, "Are you saying that if I look slutty then you get excited?" I wasn't sure I liked the direction the conversation was going.

"No!" Mike kissed the top of my head, "Not slutty, you looked really, genuinely sexy and...well... daring... I guess."

"Sexy?"

"Very. And daring."

My mind insisted that Mike had made sure the conversation was avoiding the mines that it had seemed destined to meander through and those two words started to take root. Sexy and daring. "Would it have worked if I was just sexy?"

"Just like normal, you mean?"

The conversation was now heading for entirely safe ground - perhaps now you can see why I love him so much, "Good answer, but I guess what you mean is that we had that night of delight because the dress was - accidentally, please note - very revealing and always threatening to reveal even more?"

"Please don't think I'm turning into a perv, but yeah, I guess that's what I do mean."

In fairness, the constant threat of exposure in front of Mike's two friends had started to warm me rather than annoy me after a glass or two that night. And, my Chablis-influenced mind asked, 'was that such a bad feeling'? It wasn't. Daring, yes, but too much? No. "You're no perv," I told Mike, "And do you know what? If that's the sort of night that follows me being daring... well, maybe I think it's worth it!"

I was looking up into his eyes and they seemed to swell. His right hand dropped to my t-shirt and his lips descended to meet mine as he started to fondle me. Within seconds, the kiss had become ravenous and clothing was being pulled from our eager bodies.

Mike took me - entered me - as I was bent over the back of the sofa, his hardness parting my still-tight labia with a force that had me wailing with delight. We fucked then - no love-making, pure fucking - and to my happy surprise my own climax began seconds before Mike's cum spurted inside me. It was all so fast and furious and left me thinking hard as much as I was panting.

We lay together on the sofa after that first bout and my mind was whirling. Sure there was Chablis involved, and sure I'd just been well and truly fucked nearly senseless, but some logic circuits were still clattering away. That had been great sex and I knew there was more to come when Mike recovered a little - but that was just after talking about something. The night of the party had been after it had happened physically and I just knew I would go a long way to have that repeated. If it meant that I needed to take a chance with my dress, so what? I wasn't actually doing anything untoward, just allowing the threat of an accident...

I turned my head to Mike, "You really think that a little excitement like a daring dress is all that's needed to rekindle your fire, then?"

He raised himself on one elbow, "Put simply, yes. You know I've always thought you were oh-so beautiful and it's always turned me on knowing that others see you that way as well. Being that daring is like... well, it's like taking that little extra step that I seem to need these days to get me fired up."

"I'll do it again, then."

His eyed widened, "You mean..."

"Mike, I want us to enjoy each other as much as we can." I meant it wholly and completely, "If all it takes," (I really did say 'all'), "is for me to wear something desperately low-cut or loose or badly tied up then, yeah, I'll do it. Just remember, though, this might be for us overall, but the dress thing is purely for you."

"Can we... really plan something tomorrow, maybe?"

"Just so long as you promise to come dress shopping with me - promise to buy the right dress - then yes." I wasn't that dumb, honest, "We'll find something that comes within a millimetre or two of showing these off, shall we?" I placed his hand on my tits.

We were fucking again within seconds, and all night long all I needed to do for more was remind Mike of my promise. I finally fell asleep, exhausted and sated, my wine-fuelled mind wondering just how much better it could possibly get when I did the real thing and didn't just talk about it...

*****

The next few days saw me soul-searching but I came up empty-handed when it came to anything 'wrong'. No matter how I looked at things the benefits so far outweighed the drawbacks that there was simply no doubt in my mind that I should go through with things. Certainly I'd already told Mike I would do it anyway, but if the worst had come to the worst I would have blamed the French vino and reversed my promise. Thankfully, by the end of the week I was still firmly in the 'I'll do it' camp.

It's true that I have a modicum of shyness but I genuinely think that it's more a case of me being 'reserved' rather than 'shy as a church mouse'. I won't go to the beach if I can avoid it and when I can't dodge events, I always wear a figure-covering one-piece bathing costume. I have chosen a succession of female doctors and even avoided getting ill for a year when we lived in a village where they only had male practitioners. I've never been seen topless, let alone photographed - and the photography thing includes Mike - and I have never dared volunteer at a hypnotist's show just in case it's not utter garbage and I'm susceptible enough to have him or her showing off an inch more than I am comfortable with normally.

I'm no prude, either. My tits might not be Parton-esque, but my 34b (I just knew you'd want to know) bust has been well-outlined by many figure-hugging garments over the years. I don't always wear a bra, either - just so long as everything is hidden away I can actually be quite daring (well, it makes sense to me).

So, my decision was founded on a lovely mixture of love, lust and personal-sensibilities. I won't pretend for a second that I didn't enter into the 'game' willingly and happily.

*****

The first of the 'games' had been planned for the next Saturday night. Mike obviously didn't want to hang around for too long in case I changed my mind or he had a heart attack or something, and for my part I wanted to get the first deliberate play out of the way so I could assess just how it affected all of us and would prepare me for further forays into the territory of risk.

Part of the deal had been a new, Mike-funded, dress and my lovely husband was as good as his word. He came along with me to select the daring garment and even managed to avoid spraying me with his excitement in the dress shop's changing room. We lasted as long as the shopping mall's public lavatory where Mike came into the loo with me and 'helped me with a stuck contact lens'. Quite how him cumming hard in my eager pussy was 'helping my eye' I don't know - but I wasn't complaining (as long as moaning doesn't count).

The evening was planned as a dinner party for the lucky guys from before, Mike's friends Tim and Simon, and I prepared the two courses (none of us were into a starter) well in advance so that re-heating and serving were all that was required. This was partly to make everything run smoothly, and partly because I wasn't so sure my hands would be sufficiently tremble-free to carry out the preparations after I was dressed for the night. Sure, I was all for doing this thing, but that didn't mean to say I wasn't as nervous as a kitten.

Half an hour before Tim and Simon were due to arrive I took myself off to the bedroom where I changed into the dress. I stared at the mirrored doors of our wardrobe for fully five minutes after that, astonished and ever-more nervous as the minutes ticked past.

The garment in question was midnight blue. The hem of its dress hung loosely, almost to my knees, plenty long enough to hide the fact that I was wearing a pair of dark hold-ups that finished mid-thigh. But the top... Well, the lower half of me wore small silky white panties under the dress, but if I'd tried to wear a bra - even a strapless one - it couldn't help but be seen. The neck plunged into a wide 'v' shape that finished a fraction under my bust, exposing my cleavage completely. And the panels of material on either side of that 'v' were certainly very wide apart. Even when I drew the two halves together as far as the dress would allow, my nipples were barely covered, my pink - and mercifully small - areolae just millimetres away from exposure. The fact that the whole situation was arousing was a blessing in disguise, the hardness of my nipples serving to snag the top parts of the dress in such a way that they stayed covering me.

This was a monster risk and for a few seconds I wondered whether it might not be best to find something else to wear, something a little less risky... But then a memory or Mike's eyes sprang to mind, followed by the delightful memory of him virtually jumping on me just talking about this moment...

Sure, this was a risky dress and sure, this was a risky adventure - but that was the whole point, after all. If this went well - as I was sure it would - then I would have the old, ever-horny husband back where he belonged: inside me. This would be the first occasion of as many as it took to make sure my satisfaction levels were met in the best of possible ways.

Heat flashed through my sex and my already firm nipples turned to stone. I was ready.

*****

When I went downstairs to wait for the remaining ten minutes, Mike's eyes nearly popped out of his head - and his cock tented the rather nice trousers he was wearing, now rather uncomfortably.

"I take it you like my dress?"

"Holy fuck, yes!"

Any lingering fears and doubts evaporated from my mind, "Just remember, I'm yours and yours alone, so don't let anyone get too close."

"I promise."

"And, Mike, this really is a risky little number... so if anything slips even the tiniest bit, if there's so much as a millimetre of pink on show, you must - MUST - tell me, ok?"

"You mean straight-away, don't you?"

I gave him a dark stare, "You know I do."

"Ok, ok, I promise."

"Mike," I said softly as a car drew to a halt in the road outside the front garden, "If you are a good boy and keep those promises, I will do this again and again for you. For us. Ok?"

The utter wildness left his eyes for a few moments, "Amy, I will. And baby?"

It wasn't a word he used for me very often, and when he did it was always in the most loving of moments, "Yes?"

"I adore you and I will protect you forever."

"I love you too, Mike - so very much."

*****

The dress was an obvious hit right from the moment we opened the door to Tim and Simon, the latter in particular making no effort to hide his delight.

"Amy," he said immediately, "You look absolutely stunning. You're a lucky man, Mike."

"Thanks," I said, "And he'd better know it!"

"Yeah, thanks, and I do, I promise."

I turned quickly and led us all into the living room where glasses of wine had already been poured for everyone. I pointed them out to our guests and excused myself so I could retreat to the kitchen.

There, I first checked that the dress was still in place - it was - and then checked that my make-up was still hiding the deep blush that I felt burning my cheeks. My face seemed fine but a tell-tale pink patch was glowing either side of my throat and I quickly added more powder to those areas to disguise the fact that I wasn't feeling quite as comfortable as I wanted to appear. Suitably camouflaged I returned to the living room, a small slam of oven door completing my excuse before I left the kitchen.

The conversation was rapidly altered as I entered the room but I affected not to notice anything, picking up my wine glass as I told them that I would serve the first, main, course in a few minutes. I glanced at Mike then and the love and lust in his eyes almost made me choke on my first sip of wine.

That look deepened as the conversation stuttered on, me seemingly unaware of the repeated glances at my barely covered breasts. The wine disappeared from my glass in no time and I replenished everyone's drinks before heading back to the kitchen, still clutching my own beverage.

Once again, my first action in the sanctuary of the kitchen was to make sure the dress still covered everything properly - which was thankfully true - and then I busied myself setting out the four dishes that comprised our main course.

I was serving an over-elaborate but rather pretty baked vegetable mixture with pieces of warm, exotically spiced beef. It was a far simpler task to prepare than it looked on the four plates, where spirals and whirls of thinly cut aubergine, chard, sweet peppers, courgettes and half a dozen other delicacies vied for space with the aromatic strips of meat. I took four seed-speckled rolls from the lower oven and arranged the warm breads in a wicker basket. Happy that everything looked ready, I glanced down at myself and shuddered delightfully when I saw a thin crescent of bobbly pink flesh protruding from the left side of the top of my dress. Covering myself again, I wondered which of the guys might explode first if they had seen that much of me - and without meaning to, how many climaxes I might receive from Mike...

I quickly slammed the brakes on my over-heated mind and grabbed the first two plates. I gave my oh-so nearly exposed breasts a last safety check then headed backwards through the kitchen door.

Our guests were in a positive rush to seat themselves in the dining room and I received an unexpected - but not unpleasant - surprise when I realised that my bust was at their head-heights when they sat

Simon asked half a dozen questions about the food in quick succession, forcing me to stand no more than two feet from his side, and I answered as quickly as I could in a polite manner before finally excusing myself, saying something about them needing to get the rolls to go with their main courses. To my surprise Mike, who had been standing across the table from me and the guests, followed me out into the kitchen 'to grab the bread things'.

"There's really no need," I began when the kitchen door swung closed behind us.

My husband put a finger to my lips, "There is," he said with a sigh, "I must be mad, but a promise is a promise."

"Mad? Promise?"

He nodded down at the front of my dress, "I can see the tiniest hint of pink on your left breast. There, promise kept."

I looked down and he was right - just barely, but right. "Well, thank you... it's not too bad, either, but I guess once a slip starts it must get hard to stop!"

I went to adjust the top of the dress, but Mike's hand stayed mine, "Amy... if I asked for something really outrageous from you, would you kill me? Would you file for divorce?"

I knew - absolutely knew - what he was going to say if I let him. And yet he'd been so good about coming with me to warn me... And something was happening deep inside my mind and belly. If it pleased Mike, it would please me... so if it delighted him, then surely it would end up delighting me?

It was my turn to put my finger to his lips. I turned and grabbed the wicker basket, spinning and handing it to Mike in one movement. And then, without adjusting the dress at all, I picked up the last two plates. "See? No murder and no divorce. Now open that door for me before I change my mind."

Mike's eyes rolled - genuinely rolled - but he recovered in no time, and before my screaming brain could make itself heard, I stepped after him into the dining room. A silence spread between the guys as I set Mike's plate down first and then mine. I had to lean forward to put my own plate on its mat and I felt the top of the dress slip just a tiny fraction, felt my hard left nipple snag more firmly in the material.

I dashed back to the kitchen to find my wine glass, downing the last of its contents before I looked down to see what I knew was already so visible. Almost half of my left nipple was exposed and now one wrong move would see my breast slip free completely. The small area of visible pink flesh took on monstrously large proportions in my mind, but then I thought about the looks in the eyes of our guests - and Mike.