One late afternoon my wife and I were having a couple of glasses of wine while sitting in the shade in the backyard. She had on a thin cotton print dress that left a lot of breast-top and shoulder bare, and reached down well below her knees. She called it her "lucky dress" because it showed her body to such advantage that she invariably got lucky when she wore it. She eschewed underwear of any sort, so was bare beneath. When she would stand with the slanting rays of the sun behind her, I could see a perfect outline of her nude form beneath the light dress, and her hair glowed in beautiful red highlights.
She was in quite a mood — the wine had apparently gone right to her head. She walked up right in front of me and reached down to grab the hem of her dress. Slowly, she twitched it up her legs, to her knees, then higher, revealing smooth pale thighs. She quickly flashed a glimpse of red fur that grew still higher, then turned. She sawed the hem of her lucky dress back and forth across her rear, swaying her hips to an unheard rhythm. Inch by inch, her bare bottom came into view, like a full moon peeking from behind slow moving clouds.
It was then that I noticed a movement in the bushes behind her. There was someone there, watching. I was so surprised that I didn't say anything for the moment it took to recognize him as a young man who jogged by our house every morning. I was even more surprised when I saw what he was doing. His jogging shorts were down, but he was up — way up — his exposed penis standing at attention in a most needy fashion.
There are a lot of reasons I should have done something, of course, but at that moment, the tableaux hit me with such an erotic charge that I was paralyzed. It was my sweet little redheaded wife that had brought this young man's cock to such an impressive erection. If I had seen the shadowy outline of her bare body, so had he. If the jiggle of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her dress had caused my member to twitch, it had had the same effect on his. For a moment, the thought crossed my mind that she would enjoy seeing this young man's long, thick penis hard just for her, but I quickly rejected the idea. Her first impulse would be rational and proper — she would run from a peeping tom in the bushes. The guilty decision had already been made for her, though. Such a wildly perverted opportunity might never come again. I would have my wife give a show that this young man would never forget, nor would I.
I turned my attention back to my wife's performance — the internal debate, if you can call such a one-sided argument a debate, had lasted only a second. She had bent forward to give me a fairly complete view of her breasts hanging down below her neckline. Unknowingly, she was giving the stranger a good view of her rear end; probably even a tantalizing glimpse of slick pink flesh between fringes of red hair.
I stood up and gently spun her around so that the front of her body now faced away from me — toward the unseen eyes I knew were drinking in the sight of her. She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder, her expression playful. My hands moved over her body toward her breasts. Her naked throat was a long, pale curve as she tilted her head back to receive a kiss. I massaged her breasts under her dress, pushing them into swells of lightly-freckled flesh above the low-cut collar. Nipples stiffened under my attentions, neither revealed nor hidden by the thin material. Then one hand moved down, across the curve of her belly, leaving one breast pushed up into prominence. She pushed her hips backwards against me, wriggling against the stiffness she found. Our kiss broke with a slight gasp from her lips. Eyes closed, tongue moistening lips, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.
