After twelve years of marriage, there has been a remarkable change in our sex life.
My wife has always been Miss Perfect. Cool and aloof, she exudes an attitude of superiority that has kept most people at arms length. Katheryn is always perfectly coifed, immaculately dressed, and definitely looks down her nose at anybody who isn't up to her measure. Yet, because of my position in the small city where we live, we nonetheless enjoy a rather active social life in spite of her snobby behaviour.
In the bedroom sex with Kathryn was strictly missionary, in total darkness, and largely unresponsive. Even under those asceptic terms the act seemed distasteful to her. In truth, her sighs conveyed the imposition of it all not pleasure or passion. She always undressed in the bathroom and insisted on privacy while she dressed.
On a warm night this summer we were invited to a barbecue-cocktail affair at the home of a local politician. My wife looked like the beautiful ice queen she was, dressed in a white frock, gauzy white stockings and high heels. Her long blonde hair was in French braids that gave her an aristocratic look. Upswept hair accentuated the tawny tanned skin of her neck and shoulders though, of course, there was no hint of cleavage. She would have thought that common and beneath her. Still, the bodice of the dress could not hide the swell of Kathryn's ample breasts from even the most casual observer.
During the course of the evening there was much drinking. Because of the heat, many of the guests had brought their bathing suits and were swimming. The party was divided between those noisy revelers and a few of us snobs who stood in a little group chatting pretentiously and trying to avoid errant splashes from the pool. It didn't take very long before we were labeled party poopers for not joining in. A good many of the gibes were leveled at my elegant wife who was the only woman not swimming. Resentful of her vestal-virgin image, the carousers mocked her aloofness, trying to pressure her into showing her trim body in a bathing suit. Predictably, she ignored their prompting showing them her disdain with withering glances and her snootiest look.
As the drinks flowed there was more and more tom foolery and the verbal taunts became more pointed and personal. The liquor gave them courage and they chiseled away at her with increasingly bawdy remarks about what she might be hiding under her dress.
After some conspiratorial whispering, a tipsy women in the pool called out to my wife and asked her pass over a towel. When Katheryn complied she grabbed my wife's wrist and toppled her into the water to the shreiking delight of all.
Katheryn thrashed about gasping in disbelief. She had her eyes tightly clenched to keep from losing her contact lenses as she dog paddled to keep her head above water. She groped for the edge of the pool and I pulled her up onto the apron.
Once out of the water, her virginal white dress was totally transparent with the flimsy material plastered tightly against her. To the delight of the party guests it revealed everything in glorious detail, including the fact that my stuffy wife wasn't wearing a stitch of underwear. Her nipples, stimulated by the cold water, stood out like ripe strawberries capping the fullness of her shapely breasts. Without the constraint of a brassiere they quivered delightfully as she fought to catch her breath. Across the flatness of her belly the sheer material was limply draped like wet tissue coating her thighs and highlighting the thick pelt of dark maiden hair that made a liar of her blond tresses.
Katheryn's first concern was for her contacts. Blinking repeatedly with her head right back, she was trying to clear her vision and not sure if the lenses were still in her eyes or had been lost. She had no inkling that she was so exposed to everyone's view.
The other guests milled around Katheryn getting an eyeful at her expense, and a woman's voice was gleefully proclaiming the obvious "she's got no panties on". A fleeting thought that I should cover her passed through my mind but I didn't even try. There seemed to be justice, somehow, in the fact that this was happening to her in front of people she'd treated so badly.
A videocamera in the hands of our host recorded her indecent exposure for posterity and several other guests hurried to get the definitive shot of my wife's considerable charms on their own cameras.
