"What was that smell?" You thought as you pulled the sweater over your head. It was a mild chemical smell. It was not pungent or unpleasant and was barely discernable unless the fabric was against your nostrils. It was just out of the usual.
Your man had you hand over what you would be wearing the night before for approval, and you had been surprised when he agreed to the conservative sweater and pants combination. Normally, he made you wear plunging necklines and short skirts when you went some place in public together. As much as he enjoyed seeing other men admire your cleavage or ass, he got just as much a thrill from watching you tug down at your hemline or up at your neckline as you subconsciously tried to cover up self-consciously. You had good reason for wanting to cover up for this particular event, but he wouldn't care about that. Nevertheless, you were just relieved when his only requirement was that you not wear any bra or panties. The sweater was loose and thick enough that it wouldn't be too apparent that your breasts were not restrained, and, if your nipples got chilled, they wouldn't stick out much through the bulky cloth. A little chaffing of your nether region was a small price to pay.
"I'm ready." You called out to your husband who was waiting in the living room to go to the event.
"Come here." He said. "We've got a little time." He was standing in front of the picture window on the street side of your house. You complied and went to stand in front of him. As you were giving him a little kiss, you heard a "ZIPPP" as he pulled down the zipper on his trousers. You took this as your cue to go to you knees and fish his semi-flaccid member out of his khaki slacks. His cock swelled inside your mouth immediately. If the mailman, Seventh Day Adventists, or a traveling salesman had come to your door just then, they would have had the show of their lives, because there was nothing but glass between you sucking off your hubby and prying eyes.
"Yeah, baby. Make me cum. All your co-workers are going to smell my cum on your breath at this thing." He said as he impaled your mouth with his stiff cock and messed up your straight black hair with his big meaty hands that seized your skull. Within moments he was shooting a stream of his viscous essence into your mouth. "Don't swallow yet. Not until I tell you to."
He helped you up, and you went together out to the car in the drive. It was harder to hold the mouth load of your man's creamy glob than you would have thought. Your mouth started to create saliva, and the impulse to swallow was strong. Finally, as he turned out of the subdivision, he spoke. "You can swallow it now."
You did as you were told.
The event was a charity event to raise funds for disaster relief. While it was all co-workers and a few spouses, it just happened to be a cause near and dear to your husband's heart. Your bosses had rented out a recreation facility just for the event, and it was part casino night, part competitive games, and a few other usual suspects of fund-raising - including a kissing booth and a dunk tank. The dunk tank was why you had particularly wanted to dress conservatively. Any participant could pay $10 per ball for up to three balls, and have an opportunity to dunk the employee of his or her choice. One sat on a ledge suspended over a tank of water that was about shoulder deep, and if the philanthropist could hit a target mounted on a swing arm they would drop you into the drink. It was mostly the upper management types who were at risk, and it was a long shot that anyone would pick on you. In fact, when you started to bring a towel and a change of clothes, your husband had told you to stop being ridiculous and to put them away.
However, as soon as you got to the party and started to mingle, he started to plant the idea in all the men's heads that it would be worth their while to spend $30 to try to dunk you. Part of you wrote this off as playful teasing because that was his tone, but there was a sly edge to his jovial expression. It was not long before there were three employees signed up to take a shot at you. So that a crowd could gather to watch, they conducted all the dunks at once about two hours into the three hour event, and they shut down some of the other activities during that period.
After a couple upper-middle management types were dunked - the second one twice, it was your turn. You sat on the cold and wet metal ledge that was still moist from the last individual's ordeal. You were surprised how cold the seat got so quickly through your dark cotton slacks. Of course, the two previous individuals had brought towels and a change of clothing. You prayed for nine bad throws. You knew that you should taunt the pitchers as the previous dunkees had done in order to break their concentration, but, somehow, you couldn't find your voice. You were too nervous. The few insults you got out were hesitant and felt feeble.
You flinched with each pitch. The first pitcher missed with his first two throws. He was clearly concentrating during the last throw. When the third ball hit the target there was no bracing for impact. Your seat just fell away and you were momentarily completely under water. You pushed up when your feet touched the bottom, and your head broke the surface while you took a deep breath. Your eyes were pinched shut with the stinging of the heavily chlorinated water. There was an odd tingling sensation on your skin, and you rubbed your eyes with your fists reflexively to ease the burn and get the water out. When you opened your eyes blurrily, you immediately noticed a discoloration of the water, and there was something floating in your peripheral vision. You looked at it. It was a misshapen patch of cloth floating on the undulating water, and it appeared to be breaking apart.
It was then that you looked down, and through murky water saw that the odd sensation you had felt was your clothing sloughing off. You could see the outline of your bare breasts in the water. You then looked up and saw that everybody could faintly see the same thing. They were seeing your nude form in the water that had grown murky with the dissolved fibers of your entire ensemble. Some of the crowd members were mortified, and others seemed enthralled. You looked to your husband for assistance, but he just smiled a wicked grin. You then realized the full extent of his duplicity. You understood why he had let you wear the decidedly unsexy outfit, and why he had been so eager to get men, in particular, to bid on the chance to dunk you.
Instead of offering to find you cover, which others had looked around to do. He gestured for you to get back up in the seat for the next donor to have his shot at you. The other two, however, forfeited their donation, because they could not bring themselves to further participate in your humiliation. Your hubby, on the other hand, had no such reservations, and gestured for you to come out of the tank and over to where he was standing with two guys from your office, one from Human Resources, Jack, and the other from Marketing and Communications, Ted. Jack seemed embarrassed for you, and averted his eyes from your body and even from your face. Your husband kept talking as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
