A Present for My Husband

I was a little disappointed that he had not initiated anything. I had made it as obvious as I could without saying 'please fuck me' that I wanted sex. As we got undressed, I lingered taking my bra off and after dropping it into the basket, I cupped each breast and lifted them hoping he was looking. I went into the bathroom wearing just the flimsy black thong that I had slipped into an hour or so ago, and sat on the dressing table stool knowing that as I brushed my shoulder-length, light auburn hair, my full tits would wobble and jiggle. I glanced at him several times as he undressed, hoping he would say or do something or, as he removed his boxers I might see some sign of interest. There was nothing. No suggestive phrases, no compliment on how good my bum looked in the thong or how my jiggling tits got to him and certainly there was no hint at all of any hardening of his quite gorgeous cock.

This was so different to how it used to be. Up until a couple of years ago, which I think coincided with him turning fifty, Richard would have been all over me and I doubt that I would have had the chance to brush my hair before he would have been behind me cupping and squeezing my tits.

Tonight, though, my husband of twenty-five years was more interested in getting into his sleep than getting into me!

*

It was that episode, which prompted me to put my plan into action.

Although deep down I felt that it might well be a hopeless cause, I was determined to do all that I could to save my marriage. I had tried talking to Richard, but he always brushed me off, saying he was not well, was tired, had an early start the next day or was jet lagged. I agreed that each of these were, at times, valid reasons for not wanting to make love to his wife. He was a busy and highly successful corporate lawyer, he worked murderous hours when in the UK and he travelled extensively mainly to his firm's offices in New York and Las Angeles. But that line of reasoning was no good to me. I needed sex, I needed to be made love to, I needed to be loved and pampered. I needed our marriage to be how it used to be.

Recently, particularly since both children had 'flown the coop' and were at university, I was so lonely and so sex starved. I was continuously frustrated and knew that if something did not change soon I would fall prey to the several sexual predators circling around me. Yes, I felt that if Richard would not keep up his end of the marital sexual bargain, then the obligation for me to keep mine and remain faithful to him was becoming invalid. I knew that unless something changed in our sexual relationship then I would be forced to go elsewhere to get what I so desperately wanted my husband to provide.

I had read about boudoir photography some time ago in Elle or somewhere. The article that was supported by other pieces in newspapers and on the net, said that people were attending boudoir photography sessions for many reasons, one of which was to 'spice up the sex life in a twenty plus year marriage.' The article claimed that many women approaching middle age with a marriage in which the sex life was waning, were turning to having a series of photographs taken of them in various stages of undress that they gave to their husbands as a present. It was a mark of their love, a token of their appreciation, a signal that his wife was still a sexually active and attractive woman and a reminder that he should do something about it.

I had not thought that much about it at the time and certainly could not envisage me booking as a session. That said, the concept appealed to me and the idea of being photographed in my underwear and maybe even naked excited me, for I was very aware that I was a closet exhibitionist. Other than at times not wearing a bra, showing a little too much leg and now and then going 'commando' I had not expressed my tendencies in that direction and certainly not with the involvement of my husband or another man. Nevertheless, as my levels of sexual frustration increased, the desire to do so was getting stronger so I tentatively decided to find out more about boudoir photographic sessions.

I searched the net extensively and got very excited at the quite lovely websites with incredibly glamourous women, and some men, in stylishly, erotic poses.

At the time we were living in St Albans, a town just about twenty miles almost due north from London. I found two studios that specialised in what I was after that were not too far away, one in Hitchin, the other in Finchley. Both were easy to get to, but not so near to St Albans that I was likely to 'bump into' anyone or have my car spotted when parked.

Using a private email account I had an email exchange with both, male, owners, during which I accepted their invitations to visit each studio to find out more. Both places were clean and well laid out and seemed to have all the necessary equipment for boudoir photography, not that I had any real idea in that direction. Both owners were very charming, seemed knowledgeable and were not the slightest bit sleazy as I had half thought they might be. They showed me on PCs their portfolios, which included underwear and nude stuff from a range of models including big and small women and older ones as well.

"Will your partner be participating?" One of them asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Well watching or taking part."

"I don't think so."

"We can cater," he said searching through the files on his PC before opening one that showed a good looking couple in their forties, I guessed.

I couldn't help gasping and blurting out. "Are they actually," before stopping myself.

"Yes Missus Moore, they are actually making love, though some do some simulate it."

That evening mulling over what I had seen and learned I chose the studio in Hitchin for what well have been I realised the wrong reasons, the owner was more attractive looking.

'I look forward to seeing you on the fifteenth,' his confirmation email said, adding. 'That is for a platinum service, which includes both still and video and will be for two hours. Please let me know if you need any help with your wardrobe.'

I was alone that evening with no social activity, no friends to see, no kids and, of course, no husband.

I had a glass of white wine as I prepared a pasta dinner and two glasses of Chianti with it. After dinner, I watched the Channel Four news at seven, but my mind was straying. I could not concentrate for I had started thinking about what clothes I would take with me on the shoot. I smiled when I thought that as I realised I was starting to think in a photographic model's parlance. I poured another glass of the red wine and went to my bedroom.

I went right through my lingerie drawers and selected several pairs of white and black underwear sets. I had decided that all of the shots would be in black and white and everything I wore would also be those colours. I found some stuff I liked including a number of bras. I knew that one of the white ones was completely diaphanous. I stripped down to my panties and put that on. When I looked in the mirror I saw that nothing was hidden and I watched fascinated as my nipples hardened making indentations in the thin, white lace. I put that on the definite pile and then tried the black ones on. One of those did nothing to me, but the other, probably because it was a couple of years old and was on the tight side, made my tits look bigger and fuller. 'Like dumplings boiling over,' I thought grinning as I took it off and put that on the yes pile as well.

I added a couple of white and black, straightforward thongs to the yes pile and then slid a pair of white silk, French knickers up my legs; I could not recall the last time I had worn them They felt every bit as good as they looked and I thought that with a suspender belt, that I did not possess they would look great. A definite yes pile garment and a reminder to buy a couple of suspender belts!

My mind was swimming from the wine. Recently I had been drinking too much and when alone I rarely went to bed fully sober. As I decided what underwear I had that I could use on the shoot and from that worked out what I needed to buy, I could feel myself becoming aroused. My nipples were constantly hard and I knew that I was getting wet. I have always been a bit of a sexy lingerie freak and to be surrounded by it as I tried on the bras and panties and then the couple of waspies and basques, was completely turn on moments for me. I sat on the bed and looked at myself in the dressing table mirror.

'Not bad for forty-six,' I thought, or maybe said quietly as I cupped my C cup boobs and pinched my nipples.

My mind was on the shoot. I could 'see' myself removing a black bra and showing my breasts to the camera. As I thought that, so I caressed them sending those gorgeous sensations through my body. As I become aroused my breasts feel so full and heavy, they become full of heat and an irritation starts in my stomach and roars through my entire body. It is as if my clit is hot wired to each of my nipples.

I fell backwards onto the bed, my knees dangling over the side, my eyes closed, my hands grasping my breasts and my mind in the photographic studio. I reached out and found the French knickers. I rubbed them over my breasts. The silk felt fantastic on my tingling flesh. I caressed each breast and pinched each nipple with the luxuriant material as I imagined being photographed in just the French knickers. The thought of Marcus, the Hitchin studio owner seeing me like that and taking shot after shot of my breasts aroused me even more.

Holding the French knickers in both hands, I ran the silk down my body, which was trembling with anticipation of the sexual relief that it was now demanding. I slid the smooth and cool material past my waist and onto the, relative' flatness of my tummy. I rubbed my tawny coloured pubes that I had recently trimmed into a landing patch and then slid it just that short distance further until it was on my clit. The sensations as I rubbed that and then with the fingers on my other hand ran the silk along my soaked lips were simply amazing.

As I masturbated by rubbing my clit and pushing two silk covered fingers inside me, my mind was 'seeing' me laying on the studio floor naked, holding my breasts as Marcus knelt beside me recording every detail in digital splendour. I came very heavily and slept well that night.

*

There was four days before the shoot. Time enough to order some more lingerie online and maybe pop into Agent Provocateur in town.

I spent the entire next evening browsing round the net looking at lingerie. Although I had no desire to buy any of the more bizarre stuff I could not resist looking at sites showing half cup bras and ones with the nipples cut out, crutch less panties, knickers slit at the back so that the crease in the bottom was on show and tight corsets in PVC and leather. I could not envisage myself ever wearing anything so 'obvious,' but I did find looking at them and the beautiful girls modelling them mildly arousing.

From last night's stock take I knew that I needed some black French knickers, silk of course, black and white lacy suspender belts, a black waspie, the white one was fine, camisoles, lacy top holdups and seemed and fishnet stockings in both colours. With the choice available and next or two day delivery times, I realised that a journey to a shop would be unnecessary.

Just as promised the packages from the two different sites arrived two days later, both being delivered by UBS at the same time, just after three.

I had just got home from work and was wearing a grey business suit and white blouse with black heels. I had my hair up and, although it was late October I was not wearing tights or stockings as I still had a nice tan from the ten days we had recently spent in Southern Spain. I removed the suit jacket and draped that round a chair in the kitchen. As my contacts had been playing my eyes up a little recently I was wearing my horn-rimmed glasses.

I took the packages upstairs to my bedroom and with shaking fingers I undid them. It was like being a young girl and receiving loads of presents, but these were not the sort of gifts for young girls. No these were very grown up gifts, these were gifts for women. I undid everything and was pleased with my online shopping spree. I was now fully kitted up for my boudoir adventure.

I picked up the lacy, black suspender belt and wondered just how long it had been since I had worn one. We did wear them at uni, but that was the mid-eighties and thigh highs, self-support or hold ups or whatever people called them then did not stay up high on the thighs as they do now. In the early days of our relationship I seem to recall Richard buying me lingerie including a sussie belt, but that was years ago. The memory of wearing one and the feeling of its tightness round my hips came into my mind and I suddenly had an urge to try it on.

I slipped the, probably slightly too short, grey suit skirt off and stood there in my heels, panties and white blouse. Looking in the mirror, I wrapped the flimsy, black lace garment round me and clipped it together just beneath my tummy button. With the black suspenders hanging down my legs, I formed a strange, but to me quite arousing image in the mirror. I had to put the stockings on as well. Rolling them up my legs and feeling the smooth nylon against my bare flesh aroused me and made me wonder just how the hell I was going to cope when being photographed. I had no answer to that.

The night before the shoot I packed the various outfits and then suddenly thought I had never posed before other than for holiday snaps and had no real idea how to do it. Marcus had said that he would organise everything and decide on the positions and that between us we would select the outfits that I would wear. It was how I should hold myself, my posture, eye contact with the camera and breathing in to expand my chest, and reduce my tummy that I realised were all mysteries to me.

Thank god for the Internet, I smiled googling how to pose for glamour shots.

After an hour so cruising around loads of sites, I felt better. I had learned that I needed to lift my head up more than I would naturally, that I should make eye contact with a corner of or just above the camera, that I had to hold myself very upright and push my chest out and not stand with crossed legs.

Additionally I found out something else. Well not found out, but suspected. Although the group of girls I was in at university had messed around with groping and snogging and I had experienced female induced orgasms, it was so many years since I had done anything along those lines that I considered myself now to be dead straight. Looking at the gorgeous and highly sexy girls modelling on the sites, I began to doubt that a little. I found my arousal rising as I looked at bare breasts, naked bodies and girls touching themselves. Also I realised I wanted to see more.

I googled bisexual porn. A number of video sites came up, but they all offered two men and a woman and in the few I glanced at the men got it on together. I have to admit that I have always had a yen to see men together and seeing them kissing and sucking each other's cock did make me tingle, but was not what I wanted to see just then.

I googled lesbian porn and got loads of sites. I flicked through a few and although the girls were gorgeous there was no story and it really was wham, bang and thank you ma'am with the girls getting down to it without any build up. Then I found a site that had a search facility so I tapped in lesbian seduction. Bingo, just what I wanted. It was a MILF as they called her seducing her friend. It was a slow build up with them starting with a drink and slowly moving onto sex. However, it was a good ten minutes, before they kissed and that went on for another ten or so. As the seducer caressed her friend's breasts, opened her top and slowly attended to her, unfortunately surgically enhanced, boobs my temperature must have risen and my heart must have been pounding so hard I was surprised the neighbours did not hear it.

As they slowly and tenderly undressed each other I found myself following them and I was down to just my panties at the same they were. I got so excited when they manoeuvred their legs and bodies so that they could press their pussies together and simulate fucking each other. We had a wonderful, three-way, mutual orgasm.

As I recovered from that, I could not help wondering just what the hell was going on with me?

*

"Great Cat, you have got some lovely stuff that should be very photogenic. You said that wanted everything in black and white, didn't you?" Marcus asked shortly after I arrived at the studio.

He was wearing a white tee shirt and blue track pants with two white stripes down each leg

He had emptied all my 'outfits' onto a table at one end of the room. It was quite a strange sensation to be with a man, especially one I did not know, as he sifted through my panties, bras and other intimate apparel. Strange, but also mildly exciting I realised with a worry.

"Well let's make a start, shall we?"

"Sure, what shall I wear?"

"To get used to the lights and camera and for that to get to know you, just as you are will be fine."

I was wearing blue, denim jeans with heels and a white button up the front shirt.

He stood me against black backdrop alongside a chaise longue and started shooting. He fired out his directions.

"Just move around, turn side on then back on, put your hand on your hip, now in your hair. That's good Cat, in fact it's great."

I was remembering to hold my head up, maintain my posture and look just above the camera. Marcus was moving around using alternately a tripod camera and one that he held. With that he would bend down and shoot upwards or stand on a ladder and shoot down. Several times he altered the lighting, making it brighter, then dimming it and using spot lights so that just my head and shoulders were lit up.

"Ok, let's look at what we've got shall we," he said directing me the table that not only held all my underwear, but also a laptop. He unloaded the cartridges from both cameras and uploaded them to the laptop. "Might be better in here," he said opening a door off to the side. "It's my viewing room." All that was in there was a four-seater, black leather sofa, a couple of side tables and a large plasma on the wall. "Take a seat while I set it up," he went on leaving the dimly lit room

I sat down. He returned quite quickly and directed a remote control at the TV. I was astonished when I saw myself on the screen. As the slide-show continued, it was like watching a film.

He was silent for a while, but then thrilled me by saying.

"Cat, I think you are a natural."

He pointed out a few minor points and then said. Come on then let's go for it, let's go boudoir."

"What shall I wear first?"

"I know you are not wearing a bra, but you aren't wearing panties are you?"

"No I did what you said to avoid any red marks."

"Good, let's do the black vamp gear, suspenders, fishnets and French knickers."

I took those pieces of underwear into the changing room and almost shaking with excitement I undressed. Checking in the mirror to ensure that they were no marks, I took a deep breath.

"Well here you go girl, enjoy it," I whispered as I slid my tits onto the slightly too small, black, lace bra and silk French knickers. Breathing in I, rather excitedly wrapped the suspender belt round me and clipping it together at the front I spun it round to its correct position. The tightness felt good. Undoing the cellophane packet, I removed the seemed, black fishnets. My fingers were shaking as I rolled them one by one up my legs and clipped them onto the suspenders. "Not bad for forty-six," I smiled looking in the mirror. I slipped the sensual material of the silk, knickers up my legs and snuggled them round my mound and bottom. I felt good and they looked good.