Linda woke up with her husband and made him coffee while he showered. She put the cup on his dresser and went back to the kitchen to make him his breakfast. An omelet filled with ham, cheese, and onion, whole wheat toast, orange juice, and more coffee. When he came downstairs he ate and read the paper while Linda did the dishes. He finished his breakfast, checked his briefcase, and picked up the suitcase she packed for him the night before.
"What time will you be back?" she asked.
"Eleven o'clock, tomorrow," he answered, and left without another word, or a kiss, or a goodbye. He was gone.
"Thank Christ," Linda whispered.
She was free. For only 24 hours, but she was free. Free to finally give in to the desires that nagged at her every single day, desires she knew had to be slaked eventually. Today would be the day. She was so excited she ran upstairs to shower and dress.
After she showered Linda tried to take her time getting ready, trying to give her brain a chance to overrule her pussy. She sat at her dressing table applying her makeup deliberately, slowly, but it was no use. When her husband told her he would be out of town for a meeting her desire, kept under wraps for so long, flared up like a storm inside her. For four years she had acceded to her dullard of a husband's wishes, long enough that she hoped her urges were put away for good. Ha. Today was the first day he would be guaranteed to be gone for an entire day and she had everything planned, planned to itch the scratch that tormented her.
She was, at 37, still a beautiful woman. She combed her thick, lustrous black hair until it shimmered in the light. Her husband preferred her to wear her hair pulled back in a chic, lacquered bun, but today she let it fall about her shoulders in a soft, sensuous curtain. She applied her makeup expertly to bring out her baby blue eyes and high cheekbones. She painted her nails the same dark red that she used on her lips, a color that her husband would think too lewd, but it made Linda feel sexy. She looked great, hot, alluring. When she was younger she could have had her pick of men. But she waited too long, waiting for the perfect match, and when she did marry it was for money, and the hope that something like love might develop. That dream was long dead. But new dreams developed, and today she would try to make a few come true.
She stood in front of her full-length mirror, admiring her nude body. The long legs that were her mother's dearest gift to her, her stomach, relentlessly flattened by thousands of sit-ups. She gently caressed her breasts, teasing her soft nipples with her fingertips until they hardened into tight brown points, and she cooed softly with delight. Her breasts had given her some grief in her life, never measuring up to the rest of her, too small, too soft and droopy.
But look at them now. They were magnificent. After a year of pleading her husband had finally agreed to let her have the augmentation surgery. He hated the idea, but after seeing the results he stopped bitching. She had searched for months for the best plastic surgeon in the state, and the one she'd found had done wonderful work. Her 34B's were now flawless 36C's, big enough to instantly catch a man's attention, yet not so freakishly huge that you instantly thought "silicone". They didn't stick straight out, they still looked ripe and heavy, their weight gave them just the right amount of jiggle when she walked. The surgery had been painful, but the thrill of seeing men stare with lust at her tits more than mitigated any pain she'd felt. She couldn't wait to feel that delicious sense of power again.
She was already wet between her legs. She shaved herself a few weeks before, leaving just a bikini stripe above her vulva. She was ready to go. It didn't take her long to dress. Black thigh-high stockings. A black mini-skirt cut just a hair above "scandalous". A pale blue silk blouse that brought out her eyes, almost sheer enough to see her nipples through. She left the first three buttons undone, enough to show the first cool inch of her deep cleavage. She stepped into her black high heels. She looked gorgeous, hot, sexy, provocative, a head-turner. Her husband would have exploded to see her tarted up like this. Linda felt alive for the first time in months, years. She filled a black leather purse with the items she would need for her adventure, and she was off.
She drove her Mercedes across town, to a suburban shopping district far away from her home, far away from where anyone knew her. She pulled into the parking lot of a huge indoor shopping mall. It was 10AM, the stores were just opening. She walked confidently across the lot. She was ready.
When did this craving begin, this need to expose herself to men? She could give the exact date. It was her birthday, her parents threw her a pool party to celebrate. She was changing into a new bikini, hoping to impress some young man who worked for her father, she couldn't even remember what he looked like anymore. She was in her parents bedroom, so she could see how she looked in their big mirror.
The door suddenly flew open, and Mr. Palmer, her next door neighbor, walked in. To use the bathroom maybe. She never found out why. He stopped and jerked back in surprise, Linda hurriedly covered her breasts with her arm, her vagina with her hand. She thought he would turn around and go. But he didn't. He stayed. He stared at her. Mr. Palmer was in his 50's, a big bearlike man who loved working on his antique car. Linda had never had a sexual thought about him in her life. But now he was staring at her, not embarrassed, not leering, just admiring her. She let her arm fall away, moved her hand away from her groin. He looked her like he was admiring a painting by a great master, drinking her in. He smiled, said, "So beautiful," and left.
Linda closed and locked the door behind him, reached down between her legs, touched her clit, and had the biggest orgasm of her life. And from that day on, she loved, LOVED, to show her body to men, boys, anyone who would look at her and drool She couldn't do it as often as she liked, the risks were too great, to her reputation, to her marriage. But she couldn't resist. She couldn't give a fuck about her marriage. Today she would seek out places she'd never been to before, out of the way places, where she could find the right mix of crowds and privacy.
Her first stop was an athletic shoe store. It was perfect, just two pimply teenage boys working, only one customer inside, an elderly man examining walking shoes. She walked in the store and a tall boy with long blond hair smiled nervously and asked, "Hi, can I help you?" His eyes fell on her breasts and stayed there, and Linda reveled in his obvious attention.
"I'd like to try on a pair of New Balance running shoes, six 6 1/2?"
"Which ones?" the salesboy asked.
"Um, these ones?" She stretched and pointed with her fingernail at an aqua shoe on the top shelf. Her full breasts strained against the tight silk blouse, and when she looked back the salesboy's eyes were big as dinner plates.
"Sure, sure, I'll see if we have them," he said. His face was flushed red, and Linda felt her pussy warm.
She sat, smoothing out her skirt. A young woman pushing a baby carriage came into the store. An audience. Linda stretched her long legs out and crossed them. The boy came back with her shoes and Linda asked, "Could you lace them for me?"
"Sure." He sat on a stool in front of her and Linda lifted her top leg and slowly uncrossed them. The boys eyes zoomed in on her legs and Linda kept her legs parted. He was fumbling with the laces and Linda took the hem of her skirt in her fingers and lifted it just a few inches, high enough to show the boy a perfect view of her naked pussy.
The excitement flowed through Linda. The boy stood there frozen in place, the mother with her baby was just behind him, facing the wall. He stared at her pussy, totally shocked and amazed at what he was seeing. He looked up at Linda and she let him see just the hint of a smile on her lips, her way of saying, "Yes, I wanted you to see that." She lowered her skirt and took the shoe from his trembling hand. "Thank you, honey," she whispered.
He ran off to talk to his friend while Linda walked a few steps in the new shoe. She didn't give a fuck if they fit, but she wanted to keep up appearances. She was just looking for shoes, nothing wrong with that. The two boys were staring at her and whispering to each other.
"How did that fit?" the second boy asked her, ignoring his customer. The blond boy was right behind him.
"Too tight. Can I try those Nike's there?"
"I'll get them!" the second boy said. The blond boy moved off to the side and just stared at her. Linda re-crossed her legs and let him look.
The young mother asked the blond boy, "Do you sell Tretorns?"
"What?"
"Tretorns. They're canvas tennis shoes, casual."
"No, no, we don't"
Linda said, "Oh, I love those. You know what, I think Sears sells them."
"Oh, thank you!" she said and trundled off with her baby. Linda was alone with the two boys.
"Here you go!" the salesboy said returning with her shoes. He was too enthusiastic, too cocky. Linda decided not to go any further with them, they weren't quite right. She tried on the shoe, giving both boys another free peek at her pussy. She took a few steps and stopped in front of a mirror to see how the shoe looked on her. She bent over to squeeze the toes, checking the fit, and gave both boys a great view of her ass. She turned around and both boys looked like zombies.
"I don't think so. I think I'll wait." She handed the shoe back to the blond boy and slipped on her black heel. "Thank you for your help."
They looked stricken, they wanted her to stay, but the didn't know what they could do to keep her there. Linda walked out and turned left, heading down the mall. Her visit would be the high point of their year, they would tell everyone who worked there about the hot chick who came in and flashed her beaver at them. But she wasn't interested in jerking them off, or giving them blowjobs. Not them. She wasn't ready yet.
She went to a jewelry store and asked the portly, 50ish salesman if he had anything with sapphires. He brought her five fine rings and Linda leaned down to give him a view of her tits. He tried to ignore her, Linda saw his eyes going everywhere but where they wanted, but her nipples were hard and showing through her blouse and a thin sheen of sweat broke out above his upper lip. She wanted to lean over the counter and lick it off, but instead she just thanked him for his time and, when he offered his hand, she took it in both of hers and let her nails play with the hairs on his wrist. He managed a weak smile and Linda thought about it, but again decided he would not be first. Not quite right.
She loved it, she exulted in the power she had over men, power she wasn't allowed to use when her husband was around. He wanted her dressed fashionably, but nothing sexy, nothing alluring. She was his second wife, his trophy wife. He was 15 years her senior. Soon he would cut her loose and take up with an even younger woman. All his business associates followed the same pattern. What would she do when she had her freedom, she wondered.
She'd tear things up.
She went to a fashionable clothing store that catered to teens and young adults. A perky young girl wished her good morning and Linda smiled a reply. She strolled through the store, finding a pair of dark blue leather pants she loved. She held them up, checking the size, the price, when she saw him. God, he was gorgeous. Maybe six-four, short black dreadlocks, skin like café au lait. He was folding sweaters by the dressing rooms, perfect!
She took the pants and walked over to him. "Hi, could I try these on?" He responded as she hoped, instantly revved up. "Sure, please, come with me." She followed him through the doorway leading to the dressing rooms and when he opened the stall for her he said, "If you need another size, just ask. My name is Darius."
Darius, what a sexy name. She slithered out of her miniskirt and put on the pants. They fit her like a second skin, and even went well with her light blue blouse. "Darius?" she called out.
"Yes?" he said through the door.
