The fancy New Year's Eve party my wife and I attended this year outdid all others in the past. Our friends asked everyone to wear suits and gowns, and they even hired a bartender and cocktail waitress. The fancy mixed drinks and excellent service turned a run of the mill house party into an event.
While getting ready for the party, I encouraged Brooke to wear a racy dress with a long slit that ran from her ankle to the top of her thigh. She'd bought it a few years earlier as part of a Jessica Rabbit costume for Halloween. The halter top of the dress meant she couldn't wear a bra to contain her large breasts, and the red spandex clung to her round bottom but left my wife's back completely bare above her slim waist.
When Brooke complained that she'd get cold, I argued that our friends' house was always too hot even when it wasn't filled with people, and she'd probably be more comfortable than me in my suit. Truthfully, I just like showing her off because it's a huge ego boost being the guy with the hottest wife in the place. Thinking back to that Halloween party, I remembered fondly how her nipples poked up the material of the dress, not to mention how mesmerizing her breasts became as they jiggled and swayed whenever she moved.
Predictably, she'd been leery of wearing such a sexy dress to our friends' home when it wasn't part of a costume. I subtly implied that her other two choices made her look fat, and Brooke reluctantly gave in. After pairing it with a tan thong that didn't quite conceal her thick red bush, she stepped into a pair of stilettos she'd bought at the same time as the dress. My wife looked so hot that I had a hard time keeping my hands to myself as she styled her hair into a loose updo that left just a few strands of auburn hair dangling down around her slender neck.
When we arrived, Brooke and I split up almost immediately since we prefer to mingle independently to give us something to talk about after we leave. I tend to be on the quiet side, and I often end up helping the hostess in the kitchen or just lurking at the edge of a conversation with a group of guys. On the other hand, my wife is the consummate social butterfly, flitting from one conversation to another with ease.
I couldn't tear my eyes from Brooke all night. After about an hour, our friends uncharacteristically opened some windows to cool off the house, and Brooke's body reacted to the chilly air whenever an occasional breeze blew through. Not only did this leave her nipples prominently on display all evening, but she had the cutest case of goosebumps on her arms and back. With all her drinking, my wife wasn't even aware of how sexy she looked. At least, she didn't appear to.
Of course, I wasn't the only one who noticed her. Some of the other wives and girlfriends looked great, but none of them could compete with Brooke squeezed into that slinky mermaid dress. I felt tremendous pride each time I caught my buddies checking out my wife, which happened pretty much constantly.
Our hosts had cleared away the furniture in their living room to create a place to dance, and Brooke spent a great deal of time on the hardwood floor dancing with a string of my friends. I don't really dance, so she and I have a standing agreement that she can dance with other guys without me getting all stupid, but that night I noticed my wife and buddies dancing more slow songs than usual. I felt a little jealous when they danced a little too close, but I brushed it off as innocent flirting.
Besides, my wife ended up in my arms at midnight as we welcomed in the new year with a kiss. Because Brooke had overindulged at the open bar, it turned out to be more of a make out session than a simple kiss. Forty minutes later, I half-carried her to the car.
She'd overindulged as usual, and that's undoubtedly why Brooke let slip information she probably should've kept to herself. Then again, everything worked out in the end, so maybe a little liquid lubrication can be a good thing. That's especially true when your wife has spent the last fifteen years pretending to be more prudish than she actually is.
"You're going to get tho lucky tonight," my wife slurred as she sat beside me on the way home. I never drink more than a few beers in an evening, so I serve as Brooke's de facto designated driver whenever we go out.
"More likely you'll pass out before we get home," I replied as I concentrated on keeping the car on the icy street.
"No! I'm feeling really horny!" Brooke insisted as she kicked off her heels and propped her feet up on the dashboard so the defroster could blow warm air them. Her dress fell away from her legs, and I had to force myself to keep my eyes on the road. That reminded me of something that had happened earlier.
"I'm not surprised you're horny. I noticed you putting on a little show for Eric," I remarked casually as we merged onto the expressway. Thankfully, it had been plowed and salted, so I felt more confident in my ability to get us home safely despite all the drunks out and about.
"What do you mean?" Brooke asked guardedly, and I could tell she was struggling to remember what she might've done.
My wife gets flirty after a few cocktails, but I don't think she's ever actually cheated on me. She just likes the attention, and in all honesty, I enjoy watching her be wild since I tend to be overly serious. We have different strengths that compensate for each other's weaknesses, and I think that's why we're such a strong couple.
"You know what I mean," I admonished her, trying not to sound angry or jealous. "You let him stare at your legs for over half an hour while you two talked."
Most of the guys had been glancing her way all evening, but their attention dramatically increased about a half hour before midnight when her dress fell away from her legs as she sat on a couch drinking Cosmopolitans. She kept her knees together at first, but eventually her thighs parted an inch or two. From my vantage point across the room, I could just see the tan triangle of her thong and curly red hair escaping out the edges.
As I talked with our hostess, over her shoulder I saw Eric ogling Brooke as he engaged her in conversation. Despite my jealous thoughts, he didn't try anything, so I just kept my eye on them. I know some husbands would've demanded their wife cover up her legs or at least cross them, but I'd have looked insane making a scene about her showing too much after I pressured her to wear that revealing dress. This was especially true since I hadn't objected to her breasts being mashed against my friend's chests on the dance floor all night.
Besides, it's not my fault she drinks so much. We've talked about her overdoing the booze many times, but Brooke insists that she only drinks a lot when I'm there to keep her safe. Frankly, it annoyed me that night that I had to be responsible for a grown woman, and if my wife got embarrassed by some of our friends seeing her hairy pussy, I figured that was
her
problem.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Brooke lied lamely as she rolled her window down in the hope that the night air might sober her up a bit.
"I'm not mad about it," I assured her, and I really wasn't. To be honest, I don't even know why I brought the whole thing up. "I know you've always liked being the center of attention. I just thought it was cute."
"Cute?"
"Yeah. I know you aren't interested in him, so it's no big deal."
"It
was
sort of hot," she admitted, confirming my suspicions that my allegedly demure wife had been aware of her exposure the whole time. Brooke's speech and focus improved as the frigid air blew across her face. "Are you sure you're not mad?"
"Positive. Like I said, I thought it was cute," I assured her. I had to deal with some nasty slush as I changed lanes, so I stopped talking and focused on my driving.
