I stepped out of the shower and began to towel off. I heard the muffled rumble of a motorcycle get louder outside, then abruptly shut off. Tony appeared in the bathroom doorway. "Most of the guys have arrived. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"Well sure. You said this is your greatest fantasy, didn't you?"
"It sure is!"
"Well, we all deserve a shot at making fantasies come true. I just hope it will be everything you've dreamed."
He reached toward me and slid one hand over my breast. He pinched the nipple and rolled it between his thumb and finger. I have very sensitive tits and adore having them fondled and teased. He knew just what to do to get me in the mood. "Having you as my wife is already everything I've dreamed," he said.
"Well," I replied with a coy smile, "how can I possibly say no to a guy who tells me I'm his dream girl?"
"Okay," he said, "if you're really all in, here's your outfit." He set a small gift bag filled on the vanity and left. I recognized that it was from the lingerie store at the mall; Tony encouraged me to shop there often and made a habit of buying me sexy little gifts from there. I reached down into the tissue paper inside and could tell there wasn't much else in there. How extreme was this going to be? I pulled out a tank top—a small, very cropped tank top. Was that all? No, wait. There was also a tiny, bright orange micro-bikini bottom. Actually, "bikini" was an overstatement. It was hardly even a g-string—one ridiculously narrow wedge of lycra fabric with some elastic sewn to it.
I arranged the tangle of strings so I could step through them properly and pulled it up over my hips. The tiny elastic straps were incredibly stretchy—it felt like I was wearing nothing at all. I reached in back and pulled the thong up between my ass cheeks. I liked the sensation; just putting on a thong has always felt rather arousing to me. I then attempted to position the scrap of fabric in the front so that it covered my bare pussy. Even stretched as wide as the fabric would go, it barely covered my mound. "He's got to be kidding me," I muttered. "Good thing its all shaved." That wasn't completely correct. I have a little, trimmed "landing strip" above my pussy that was plainly visible above the top of the fabric. I had to admit that it looked incredibly sexy, but the fact that my little strip of pubic hair was hopelessly uncovered just highlighted how low cut the tiny thong was compared to normal underwear; it made me feel even more exposed.
At least I had a shirt to put on, even though I already knew it would be nowhere near long enough to cover the tiny bottom he'd bought for me. I took it out of the bag and pulled it on. It was the same vibrant shade of orange as the tiny thong. The neckline and arm holes were generously cut, and the hem only came down to about my diaphragm, maybe two inches below my breasts. The fit was loose, so that my tits forced the bottom half of it to hang out away from my torso. I am fortunate to have tits that look perky enough that I can go without a bra. They aren't absolute monsters—right in-between a B and C cup (which complicates bra shopping, but that's another story)—but they are firm, round and slightly pointed, just the way guys like 'em. Well, at least all the guys I've been with seemed to be impressed with them.
I examined myself in the mirror. My nipples were obvious under the thin cotton shirt. I liked the way that looked, and decided I needed to go braless much more often. I twisted around slightly and tried to see my ass in the mirror. I was glad I'd started sunbathing nude in the back yard; I still had some tan lines, but my ass wasn't snow-white, either. Besides, I thought, tan lines will remind Tony's buddies how much extra I was showing compared to my swimsuit.
Oh my god, I thought. I am going to be damn near nude around Tony's friends. They'd all seen me in my bikini, but this was different. Not only was I showing a hell of a lot more skin, but unlike our our summer road trips to the lake, their wives and girlfriends wouldn't be here to divert their attention, or stop them from staring. "You are going to make those boys so horny," I said to myself in disbelief. Looking in the mirror, I was making myself horny.
As I walked to the bedroom in my bare feet, I decided that my usual sandals would not do the outfit justice. It needed something more. I dug through the pile of shoes on the floor of the closet and found a pair of black, backless stilettos with 4" heels. "Perfect!" I said.
I started down the stairs, sashaying my hips as my high heels descended from step to step. I stopped Tony in his tracks.
"Like what you see, Sailor?"
"Damn, girl," he muttered, slack-jawed.
About halfway down the stairs, I felt the g-string shift. One of my pussy lips slipped out from behind the tiny patch of cloth. Once on the ground floor, I examined my cunt. The whole right side was exposed. I have prominent labia, and it was pretty obvious. Tony stared as I pulled the tiny wedge or orange lycra back into place. "This is just too damn small, Honey."
"Hell no," he replied. "It's perfect!"
"It won't even stay so that it covers my whole cunt."
"That's what I was hoping. That's what makes it so fuckin' hot!"
I followed Tony as he headed toward the door to the garage. With every step I could feel how perilously close my pussy lips were to popping out again. Oh, man, was I in for a wild ride.
"Ready?" Tony asked, his hand on the doorknob. I nodded silently, too anxious to reply. He opened the door and ushered me out into the garage. As I stepped down the two steps between the first-floor level of the house and the garage floor, that tiny panty slipped again (damn, already?) and I felt one edge of the tight, stretchy fabric drop into my sensitive cleft. It was rather arousing.
