My name is Jan, and those of you who know me in real life know me as a professional woman, a wife, mother, volunteer in and leader of youth groups and every sort of school or church related activity, the perfect image of wife and mother. I am 46 years old, with red shoulder length hair that went curly with my second pregnancy, blue eyes that are striped with all the layers of blue from ice white to royal, and a generous smiling mouth. I dress to conceal, as I have never been comfortable with people staring at my body. I stand five foot four, with 48DD breasts and nipples so prominent I double pad my bras just to keep them from distracting even through my work, golf style, company shirts. I have muscular legs which I think are too thick, but are all muscle, and a heart shaped ass. I have been a good and faithful wife for twenty years, and never have I flirted or let on that I had, let alone was consumed by, the fires of a sexuality that has been growing stronger with each passing year.
In the end, I fell by accident.
It was a Halloween party for our neighborhood. Of the six houses on our block, all six contributed to bring the BBQ and party to life, with one house getting the bulk of the kids, and one the bulk of the adults, but spilling happily an untidily back and forth. Halloween was over, we had done our good parental duty, now it was time to let our hair down and blow off some steam. I was dressed as a naughty nun, that being on the outside I was in full nun costume, but underneath I wore garter belt and panties of black lace, and no bra. The layer of black fabric and white over-layer concealed the fact that I was naughty beneath it, and the idea of secretly being so naughty beneath my nun outfit in front of my neighbors was a turn on. In the back yards it would be too dark soon for anyone to notice, so it was a cheap thrill with no risk. The high point in my sexual adventures this life time.
Our own house was at the far end of the block and a good hike, as we had to go around the fences to get to the house party, whereas the two central houses had gates in their shared fence. Backing onto their houses, and the center of our little community was the house of the five oil patch workers who lived there when they were not off in Ft MacMurray working the oil sands. They were all black Americans, but fit into our neighborhood seamlessly and had been quick to join in our traditional exchanges of backyard hospitality. The only downside of them as neighbors was their pit bull, which frankly, terrified me.
I was enjoying a vodka cooler and giggling with Annette when the pit bull barked, I was standing on the back patio by the BBQ close to the oil workers fence and the barking caused me to jump, and my costume caught on the BBQ heavy handle and tore. The side opened, and with a squeak I dropped my cooler and pulled my costume together to save my modesty. Derrick, the house owner shouted for his dog to be quiet and came over. He apologized for his dog causing me to tear my costume, and asked if he could make it up to me. I was terrified of anyone noticing what I had on underneath, and didn't fancy the walk back to the house around the block this way, but had to change. I told him not to worry about it, I would simply head home and put on some sweats or something.
Looking at me oddly, his voice got smooth and very calm.
"You know, you should come back to my place. I know I have a costume that will suit you perfectly. I need to make it up to you for ruining your costume, you can't let me ruin your night as well"
He was really looking at me, his eyes were not letting mine go, and the fear that I have when men look at me was threatening to rear its ugly head again, but his voice was so smooth, so calm, I found myself relaxing into it, and agreeing. We cut through the gate in the five foot high cedar fence to his house and he took me down into his basement. I wondered if his dog must not have more jewelry than I do, as it seemed the steps down hung with every sort of collar and leash imaginable in leather and steel, but I guess young unmarried men will spend their money on something, and it is less silly than tricking out their trucks like everyone else.
When we got to the bottom of the stairs, he pulled out a costume, but it was not a costume, I mean it was not a cheap Chinese prop costume, but the kind of thing I had looked at in my wilder moments but could never justify or afford. It was a leather corset, lacing up the back. Its leather supported the breasts, but instead of covering them, it gave way to loose black lace and elastic, such that the breasts would be supported thrust up and out, covered only by black lace. I had never even seen one so wicked, but I knew I was looking at several hundred dollars worth of lust filled fantasy, made real. I held it in my hands, and cupped it to me. My nun outfit hanging open thoughtlessly and exposing my naked side to my black neighbors gaze.
"Put it on"
I felt the command flow through me and I shuddered. I couldn't. It was not something a good wife and mother wore. This was the armour of a slut, free to live out her passions revelling and wallowing in her pleasure and shame, not the armour of a wife terrified and hiding from a body that burned with passions she can barely admit, let alone understand or control. I could not say no, but I could not say yes. I looked up at Derrick, his belly and jovial laugh made him the laughing life of the party most times, but here, now, his great belly and burning eyes made him a huge coal black presence that could not be denied, his heavy arms and brooding gaze were making my body react simply to his nearness. I looked up at him helplessly, unable to decide what to do.
"Put it on, for me"
My nipples were aching, my sex flooding as the truth came out. I wanted to put it on for him. With my husband and neighbors only yards away, I stripped off the top of the Nun costume and let him lace me into the corset. His strong black hands on my white breasts caused me to moan and push back into the bulge I could feel in his jeans. He settled the lace over my breasts, but squeezed the nipples hard forcing me to admit my own arousal. He stepped back and gave my married white as a slap.
"That heavy skirt makes you look frumpy not sexy. Take it off, and put on the leather mini that goes with it, then you will be in a matching costume"
He was mocking me, grinning openly and waggling his eyebrows. He saw my reaction when he slapped my ass, and was glorying in my helpless confusion. I looked in the mirror and the heavy black full length skirt did look ridiculous. I stepped out of it, and allowed him to slide the black leather miniskirt up my body and fasten it. It barely covered my bottom and black lace panties.
His hands and eyes lingered as he dressed me, and he trailed one hand down my outer thigh as he admired me. His amusement clear as I stood panting as if running a race, frozen in place, wanting to stay, wanting to run, wanting someone else to make the call. Making a low rumbling hum, he seemed to consider something before turning away.
"You know, that is half of the costume, I was only planning on sharing half with you, but you might like the full costume. I know how you like to get into the spirit of the holiday!"
I flushed in shame, blushing the way only a red head can. Those were my words thrown at him for not coming in costume. I mocked him for being afraid to get into the spirit of the holiday like I was. I was twitching my hands in front of me, torn by a desire to hide myself, and a desire to actually be on display for him, this laughing fat black man suddenly transformed into a dark figure of mystery and power. He returned holding three pieces of black leather, and stainless steel. The bracelets were cuffs, leather, with buckles to attach, and ring/snap hook combinations to allow them to be attached to each other or other things in some sort of bondage. I had often wondered, late at night, when alone about such wicked things, but never had the nerve to ever look them up. Last was the collar, a black leather dog collar that said simply My Slut. Seeing it made me clench my thighs and squeeze, my hands darting to my thigh front as the urge to touch myself warred with my urge to hide. Derrek simply looked at me, and held out one hand with a cuff. Wordlessly I offered my right wrist, and he affixed the cuff. Testing it for firmness. He held out his hand with the second, and I presented my unbound wrist. I cannot describe the feeling when his strong black hands tested the cuffs for hold against my whole strength and I knew myself secured. He reached out and adjusted my wedding ring, so it was centered on my finger, then kissed my hand. I was on fire, I was ashamed, I was terrified, I was more aroused than I had been in twenty years of marriage, honeymoon included.
He stepped back, holding the collar in one hand, and pulling out his camera phone in the other. Looking me right in the eye, he spoke for the benefit of the camera.
