Trying Something New 3

My wife Marie-Paule spent a considerable time thinking about buying a thong. Since very early in our relationship, she has often worn transparent underwear at my request. Once she had got used to being totally shaven, then depilated, she liked the idea of being not-quite-exposed-but-very-nearly, under the short skirts and dresses she favours. Now that so many of her non-erotic friends are wearing thongs, she wondered whether she was missing out on something. After observing her gym-friends in the changing room, then checking out the lingerie shops, she concluded that what she was looking for wasn’t available commercially. It was at this point that I opened my big mouth, and suggested, half as a joke, that she could always make her own.

Marie-Paule has often made or altered her own clothes, since she always knows the effect she wants to produce, so it was no real surprise when, several days later, I arrived back from the office to find her surrounded by samples of silk. It’s her favourite material when it comes to items of clothing for sexual purposes. She loves the cool feel of it against her nipples or on her smooth belly and sex, even if its elasticity demands that she carry out all the sewing by hand.

It took several attempts before she worked out how to make a thong to her satisfaction. The final selection for the material was some very fine purple silk. The base of the triangle was only ten centimetres across, about four inches. She made the long sides just wide enough to cover her depilated sex lips, but narrow enough to allow it to slip easily between them. She edged the triangle with a darker purple ribbon, also in silk. The two side-ribbons met where the thong would pass between her thighs. The waist-band was of the same ribbon, with just a short insert of identical elastic, to allow her, but only just, to slide into the thong.

A few days later,when this little work of art was complete, she called me into the bedroom for a private viewing. When I came in, she was standing in the middle of the room, in front of the full-length mirror. If I say that I was tempted to ruin her masterpiece there and then, it might give an idea of what I was looking at. Marie-Paule is one metre seventy, around five feet six tall, weighs 120 pounds, and has short blonde hair, green eyes, 34B boobs, and a flat belly, despite her 35 years of age. She was nude, except for the new thong, which clung to the folds of her sex like a second skin, showing clearly its contours. I could also admire the reflection in the mirror of the naked well-muscled buttocks which she maintains so carefully at the gym. The total effect was different from her usual style, which is sexy but classy. My wife’s new look wasn’t exactly vulgar, but was certainly more openly provocative than I was used to, and it turned me on hugely.

It was something quite new for me, and I concluded, privately, that if she was going to go for a new way of exhibiting herself, then perhaps she would like a further change. Perhaps she would like a bra to wear with her new thong? She didn’t own a bra, since we both decided years ago that, firstly, her breasts don’t need one, and secondly, that not wearing a bra makes spontaneous exhibition a lot easier. Besides, she says she enjoys the sensation of having her breasts free from constraint. It was clear that, if I wanted to see her in a bra, I would have to find one that she would consent to wear. It took a while to get a picture in my mind of what I wanted, and an age to dig out what I was looking for. It was to be a surprise for Marie-Paule, so I couldn’t ask her opinion. I searched through high-class underwear shops and catalogues, low-class sex-shops, all these and more, in my quest. I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy the research! Finally, I got the address of a lady in London. who supplies such items.

I hit a further hitch then, in that this lady makes to measure, and I had to persuade her that a live fitting wasn’t possible. Fortunately, I had an idea. Among Marie-Paule’s friends is Mila. All I knew about her was that she was Asian, and that Marie-Paule and she had identical breasts. Apparently once at the gym, Mila had lent my wife her bra to try, for a joke. I called her, and explained my plan. She turned out to be a really nice person, and was very willing to help. I met her for the first time in person when I went round to her house to collect the bra in question. It has to be said that, although her boobs resemble Marie-Paule’s, her body explodes from there on down! With one of Mila’s bras (white, half-cup, lacy, and rather pretty!) in my briefcase, I paid the lady in London a visit.

A significant number of weeks and a large cheque later, I got a discreet phone call from Mila, to say the bra had arrived. I shot round to her home, where she told me that she had tried it on, and that it fitted to perfection. She went on to say that she wasn’t going to model it for me, because “it exaggerates everything and hides nothing.” I concluded that the bra was just as I had hoped!

When I took it out of the wrapping, and unfolded the tissue paper, I confirmed that my wishes had come true. The bra was in satin, the colour identical to the thong. I could imagine Marie-Paule’s breasts, totally exposed, gently pushed together by the shape of the little cushions on which they would rest. I could see that it would give her a cleavage as if she was a 36C rather than a 34B. I was itching to have her try it, but I also was aware that I should wait for the right moment, when she would be ready to indulge me, to ask her to put it on for the first time. Torn between these two thoughts, I decided to wait for our planned holiday in the USA.

Atlanta in August is hot and sticky. We had been on holiday for over a week, and had got used to the idea that, once out of the hotel’s air-conditioning, we would sweat like pigs! Marie-Paule’s usual chic was forgotten, as she could not stand anything more than a baggy cotton tee-shirt, and a loose pair of shorts. Very sexy….Not! It didn’t really matter, since our major interest was the exploration of this fascinating part of the country, and our love-life had taken a (relative) back seat for a few days. To add to her discomfort, Marie-Paule was waiting for her period. One of the things which I have always noticed in my wife, is the fact that, in the days immediately before and after her period, she has an (even more) intense sex-drive, and her boobs become larger and particularly sensitive. So it wasn’t really a surprise when she pointed out a sex-shop, during one of our walks through the downtown.

For one reason or another, we had never been into a sex-shop together in the twelve years of our relationship! This one looked very welcoming and non-sleazy, so we went in. We were the only clients, and the soft music and lights made a very favourable impression. We went round the displays, admiring the vibrators and dildos, some of which made my eyes water while still in their packages, they were so huge. We chose a group-sex video to watch in one of the cabins. It was good enough to give me a solid erection, and sufficiently exciting for Marie-Paule to make her want to give me a blow-job there and then. Nice though this was, I was surprised when she swallowed at the end, as it isn’t something she often does, and I understood that she was more turned-on than I had realised.

While I was paying the rental of the cassette, Marie-Paule had made another circuit of the shop on her own. After we had come out of the cabin, she showed me to a small section of clothes for women which she had found. I have to confess that most of them were so vulgar as to make us laugh, but there was one item which we guessed must be a skirt. The little tube of pink lycra couldn’t have been more than thirteen inches form waist to hem. Pink isn’t one of my wife’s usual colours, but with her tan, this shade suited her. I asked her if she wanted to try it on, but she said that in her current state she didn’t feel up to it. We asked the owner, a distinguished-looking, sixty-odd year-old black man, if he had other, similar skirts, but he hadn’t. He did say, though, that if Marie-Paule didn’t want to buy it immediately, he would put it aside for a few days, in case we came back.

It was a week later when I returned to our hotel room after an early-morning solo dip in the pool, and found Marie-Paule naked and freshly shaven, with the thong in her hand. She fled into the bathroom to put it on, calling out to me that she had seen the look in my eye, but that she really wanted to go shopping for a skirt… When she emerged, naked except for the thong, I was again staggered by my good luck in having a wife who is not only fascinated by sex, but also looks good enough to eat. Standing there with just a tiny scrap of silk highlighting, rather than hiding her sex, she gave me an immediate erection. Resisting the temptation to grab her, I dived for my suitcase and took out the bra in its gift-wrapping. When the contents were revealed, there was a moment’s pause, first because it had never occurred to her that I would buy her such a thing, then a question in her eyes as to whether I thought her boobs needed support. I quickly reassured her that this was a sex-toy, not a necessary evil!

She turned away as she fastened it, then turned back to face me. What a vision! One hundred per cent pure sex! Her breasts seemed a lot bigger, pushed up and forwards by the little cushions under them, and her nipples were fully exposed and erect. She looked magnificent. She reached down and slid the front of the thong into the slot of her sex. Her lips were bulging on either side of the silk. I was speechless. In no way was she obscene, but this was my wife, exposed in the most extravagant way, her most intimate parts on display. She smiled and asked if I liked what I saw …What a question! She could see the proof in my shorts that I was as turned on as she!

Even the baggy teeshirt could not hide the increase in her boobs as we headed towards the sex-shop She said she was very aware of their movement as she walked, that she felt exposed, even if nothing was on show. Her nipples, rubbing against the teeshirt, excited her even more, and by the time we arrived at the sex-shop, she had already pointed out to me how the shape of her hard nipples was visible through the cotton.

It was around lunchtime, and, this time there were other two other customers, who looked like mid-thirties businessmen in suits, killing a little time. They both glanced at Marie-Paule, then returned for the second look which she deserved! With a broad smile the owner came from behind the cashdesk, holding the skirt in his hand, and saying that he had been sure we’d be back.

Marie- Paule took the skirt, and asked where she could try it on. The question seemed to amuse the owner, who said that it was the first time he had had to answer that question. Most of the women’s clothing was bought by men for their wives or girlfriends as a present, or of course for themselves, so there wasn’t a changing room. At the back of the store, though, there was an office, which had a big mirror on the wall, so off she went to change. I closed the door behind her, as I wanted to see the total effect. I waited.

Five minutes later, the door opened a fraction, and her head appeared. She asked me to go into the office. When I entered the room, she was facing the mirror, with her back to me. I don’t know a sexier woman, but this time she was even more exciting than usual. From her bare shoulders to below the waist, she was wearing just the bra, and her reflection showed me her exposed breasts, with her nipples fully engorged. The skirt, seen from behind, reached just below her cheeks, but showed their shape clearly. Marie-Paule turned round and gave me the front view, which was stupendous. The skirt reached barely an inch below her sex. I know because she lifted it to show me! She had pulled up the thong so tight into her sex that she must have been almost cut in two. She bent over, to let me see how that movement exposed her buttocks and the valley between. Finally, she turned her back on me again and, legs straight and feet apart, bent over and put her hands flat on the floor. The sight was just amazingly erotic, and I asked her if she would like to show the other customers. At first she was concerned, and a little frightened. We know all about the reactions of Europeans to her exhibitions, but neither of us could be certain that the situation we were in could be controlled as easily. Finally, I said I was sure it would be OK, and she nodded her agreement.

I went back out, closing the door, and approached the customers and the owner. I told them my wife would welcome their opinion on a skirt she was thinking of buying. The owner, with a grin, went over to the shop door, and put up the closed sign. The four of us stood in a semi-circle in front of the office door. I called to Marie-Paule to be ready to be exposed, and opened the door wide.

She stood, a little way into the room, framed by the doorway. She had chosen to show us the rear view first, leaning slightly forward to let us see under the skirt. I’m used to seeing her like this, but for the others the view must have been more exciting, if that’s possible! I could hear them breathing heavily. One of them opened his fly and took out his erect penis. The other three of us followed his example. Marie-Paule turned round, to show her exposed breasts, as we all started to masturbate. She took a step beyond the open door, into the store, and the harsher lights of the shop made her look as if she was on a stage. The younger of the two suits took a step forward towards her, but she stopped him with a gesture. We were all under her control!

Eyes closed, she raised her arms above her head and did a slow, 360 degree rotation, then lowered them again and took hold of the hem of the skirt. She slowly raised the pink lycra until her sex was on show. I know her sex well, but I had never seen her sex-lips so swollen, and as she raised the skirt higher, the stretched shape of the thong showed how tightly she had pulled it deep into her. She slid one finger down into the slot of her sex, and showed it, dripping with her juices. Again turning her back on us, she walked back into the office and leaned over onto the desk, feet wide apart to show us everything as she caressed herself. She pulled her sex-lips open to reveal the scarlet interior of her sex, divided by the purple ribbon of the thong.

Wriggling her buttocks, she reached round behind herself to release the trapped thong, and managed to find a way to push two, then three fingers deep inside her vagina. With her other hand, she was pinching her swollen clitoris. The orgasm struck her, and she groaned, then was convulsed by the spasms which twisted her whole body. Like a priestess receiving offerings, she stared at us, her congregation, in the mirror as, one after another we spurted semen at her feet. For a count of ten, nothing moved, then she pushed the door shut.

Suddenly the background music seemed very loud. One of the suits looked embarrassed and disappeared. The other turned to me and said “I guess you should buy that skirt. If you don’t, I will, as a souvenir!” The owner smiled at me and went to get a mop, saying that he wished that all his cleaning duties were as well paid. Marie-Paule appeared, once more wearing the tee-shirt and shorts which hid her charms. She looked pale, and slightly nervous. I paid for the skirt, and we left the store. On the way to the hotel, she asked me to stop at a café. She was shaking. We talked through what we had just experienced. She wanted to know whether I had thought of letting her suck or have sex with the other men. I replied by asking her whether she had considered it. She admitted that she had been so excited that she would have agreed had I asked. I said I would think about it for another time...