Claire and I had been married a month or so when she told me a story about her new job at the local bank. "Bobby was teaching me how to count money, today," she said. "It was pretty funny."
"How could teaching to count money be funny," I puzzled.
"Oh, he was having trouble getting the correct perspective. He tried standing beside me, which didn't work at all. Then he tried facing me, which didn't work either. Finally, he came up with the idea of getting behind me and putting his arms around me to count the money on the counter. That worked pretty good, and we got a good laugh out of it."
It was a surprisingly smooth move for a guy who I thought was basically an asshole. Claire is petite, at 5'2" and 115 pounds. She has long, blonde hair with blue eyes, and perhaps a little bigger than average tits for such a small girl. She wears a size 32 C bra, so she sticks out enough that it would be difficult at best to reach around her and count money without making some contact.
"Did he get any tit in the process?" I asked.
Claire gave me a "whatever" look and said, "No, he didn't get any tit. He was teaching me to count money, not feeling me up."
"Was there any contact at all?"
"Well, of course there was some contact. He couldn't help it. There's not all that much room between my waist, the counter top, and my tits, you know."
"What do you mean: some contact?"
Claire looked at me again, impatiently, and said, "Look, he didn't feel me up, OK?" He put his arms around me and showed me how to count money. In the process, his arms kinda touched my tits off and on."
She thought a moment, then continued, "Now, that I think about it: once, when I kinda turned a bit and looked up at him to ask him a question. He didn't take his arms from around me and I guess there was some contact, for awhile, between his hand and my tit."
"Was he wearing a suit coat?" "Well, no. He took it off before we started and rolled his sleeves up."
"So he was dressed to feel things. What were you wearing?"
"The same thing I'm wearing now." She was wearing a soft, summer cotton blouse.
"Which bra do you have on?"
"It's one of the ones you like: very flimsy and shear. The kind I like to wear when it's warm, or when I want to bounce a little when I walk."
"So, let me get this clear," I said. "He was coatless, with his sleeves pulled up, and you were wearing a very thin blouse with a sheer bra, when this contact between your tit and his arm and hand occurred. Is that correct?"
She nodded.
"And how long did this contact last?"
She shrugged. "Not long. Only a minute or two."
Then she thought about what she had said. "I guess that's quite awhile, isn't it?" Maybe it wasn't an accident."
"On his part β or your part."
"Well, I can't say that I totally didn't like it. You know how I like getting my tits felt."
Yes, indeed. She liked telling me about all the guys who had felt her up through the years. She was now 21, but the first time she gave out some bare tit was at a party in the seventh grade. She liked it so much that she made a pact with herself at that time. She would not fuck until she was married, then she would fuck only her husband, but there would be no limits on getting felt up. She later expanded that mantra to allow finger fucking, but no real fucking.
"So you got felt up on the job?
"Well, yeh, I guess I did, kinda. I mean he didn't grab me by the tits and get inside my bra and play with my nipples, but I guess, in retrospect, you could say that I got felt up, a little. Are you mad at me?"
"Of course not. You know I like to hear stories about what you did with other guys before we met. I just wish you had fucked more of them. Actually, I wish you had fucked any of them. While you were not fucking anybody, I was fucking lots of girls, so you have some catching up to do."
"Don't be ridiculous. Maybe I got felt up a little bit today β a very little bit, but I'm not interested in carrying it any further. Bobby just doesn't appeal to me. He's arrogant, and I know that he's fucked half the women that work at the bank β married or not. You know there was a good reason for him to teach me how to count money, but now that I realize it was a ploy to feel me up, he's not getting any more tit from me."
I looked my sweet, innocent young wife up and down, then said, "Don't be so narrow-minded. You are one helluva piece of work, and it would be a shame if only one guy ever gets to see you naked, feel you up, play with your pussy, and fuck you."
She blushed and said, "Nobody else is going to see me naked, feel my up, play with my pussy, and fuck me. Even if somebody figures out a way to see me naked or feel me up, there will be no fucking, except with youβand that's that."
So, she was allowing for the possibility of being naked in front of another guy β and possibly even getting felt up and finger-fucked. That was a positive sign.
She moved toward me as she pulled off her top to allow me to see her nipples through the very shear bra she was wearing β and had been wearing to work. She unbuckled, unzipped my pants, and pulled out my seven-inch cock. She cranked it a few times, then took it in her hand like a handle and led me to the kitchen table. She scooted up on the table and pulled up her short skirt. She was wearing no panties β and had been wearing no panties at work. (She had told me in the past that when she had decided in advance she was going to let a guy finger fuck her on a date, she often went pantiless). I started to reach for her pussy to loosen it up a bit with little clitoral action and finger penetration, but she stopped me. She grabbed my cock and pulled it against her pussy.