Twenty minutes later, looking through a two-way illuminated panel on their side of Floor 2, the husbands spied their wives. Now costumed, Joan Hockaday exuded sexuality from every pore of her body. Her platforms had been replaced by red high-heeled ankle strap peep-toe pumps with the same 5 inch heels she had pranced around on since her teenage cheerleading days. Joan's legs were encased in shimmering white hosiery as sheer as the best French textilers knew how to make it. They were topped with two inches of red lace that attached to an 8-strap white lace garter belt. The white lingerie and splash of red set off beautifully Joan's blond bush. Joan's naturally blond locks were gathered by a wild red sash bandana tied up to look like a pirate queen.
As required, Joan's pussy was fully exposed, looking slightly different than Brock had remembered from their love-making earlier in the week. No one had bothered to offer Joan any panties, and knowing the rules on non-stop exhibitionism, she had not asked. In bathing during the afternoon in preparation for the Retreat, Joan had decided to shave her pussy for literally the first time ever. Below a neatly-trimmed triangle of naturally blond hair, Joan's pussy was now hairless.
Her pencil-thick womanly outer lips were exaggerated by their new-found baldness. But what was most distinctive was the conspicuous ridge down the mid-line of her crotch just above her pussy. She had always been very sensitive around the hooded area over her clit, but until she shaved off all the hair, she didn't really realize how developed the structure of her clitoral ridge had gotten. There it stood like a pup tent with her clit just barely peeking out under the end of the hood. For years Brock had used two fingers to pull on that part of her anatomy as regular foreplay but now in her early fifties, she realized his hundreds of foreplay ministrations to her pussy had really had a permanent effect.
Taken aback by his wife's transformation to a sultry sex siren, Brock was unable to speak. Stuart, on the other hand, was riveted on another part of Joan's costume and bursting to speak. He pointed saying,
"Wow, look at the nipples on those tits! I have never seen anything like that! They're out of this world!"
At the costume shop, going with the theme of her arrival outfit accentuating her new breasts, Joan had donned an open tit conical bra right out of Madonna's concert wardrobe. The open tit ends revealed the longest, thickest, reddest nipples Stuart had ever laid eyes on. Joan's tight blouses and sweaters had always featured her massive boobs but given their sheer weight, she had never gone braless. In the summer non-nylon material in her skimpiest bikini tops had not revealed the 1¼ inch elongated nipples the surgeons had been stunned by when doing her breast augmentation from a 34B to a 34D cup. Having tugged and twirled and sucked on those miraculous nipples for the four years they dated and the twenty years of marriage since, Brock had kept their existence a secret from even his closest friend. But to Stuart's new found delight, Joan's startlingly udder-like nips were now on full display.
The cone bra made Joan look like a Viking queen right out of a comic book or video game. It encased her augmented heavy breasts in tighter and tighter circles of elasticized red ribbing on a white background until at the seventh ring they encircled and left uncovered the fleshy structure at the base of her elongated nipples. Elastic pinched the nerve endings, and extra blood flow engorged and reddened the long tit shafts. Brock even imagined that those glorious pleasure centers were several shades redder than he'd ever seen them. In fact, Joan's nipples had indeed been heavily rouged by the glamour consultants on Floor 2. They had realized the Retreat members would want to remember Joan as the initiate with nipples that just wouldn't quit.
And that was not all Brock and Stuart noticed.
When Brandi appeared in the next illuminated panel, her face was completely hidden by a Rio Carnival mask, but the flaming red hair, 38Cs, and thigh-high boots were unmistakable. The rest of Brandi's arrival clothes were nowhere to be seen. In their place, female attendants in the costume shop on Floor 2 had persuaded her to wear something Stuart found incredible because it was more revealing than anything Brandi had ever put on even in their own bedroom. Brandi's gorgeous pear-shaped 38Cs, giant headlights, and erect nipples were now on full display for all to see in a cupless heavily-boned corset of Corinthian black leather. The tea cup size auroleas were her most distinctive feature; they were truly extraordinary! Had she been a runway lingerie model rather than a beauty queen contestant, the headlights alone would have assured her success. Looking lower, Stuart saw that surrounding her wide hip bones was more black leather -- a minipant that laced down over her flaming red mound, hardly covering her pussy, and then continued lacing right around and up the crack of her ass.
Stuart realized he should have been more prepared for Brandi's startling transformation by the briefing on the first floor. Tits and pussies of all women in the Dionysus Retreat were fully exposed at all times. He knew that but Stuart just had not yet wrapped his mind around the fact that this condition of admission would include his wife. There was little doubt about it now; there Brandi stood in all her sexed-up glory. If she had been stunning upon arrival, now Brandi's lusty sexpot image in the black leather corset/minipant and thigh-high boots was enough to take a man's breath away. His friend Brock broke the silence.
"Stuart, I've wanted Brandi in the worst way for years. I think you know that. We've talked about it. Even talked that one night when we were all so drunk about trying to get the girls into wife swapping, but I have to tell you. Your wife is the sexiest thing I've every laid eyes on, in magazines, on videos, anywhere! If she weren't on the other side of these two-way illuminated panels, I don't know if I could control the lust I'm feeling right now. Brandi looks like a sexpot fantasy, pure and simple. Any male she meets in that outfit will say anything and do anything to get into those lace-up hot pants. I know I would, and I'm your closest friend. What have we gotten ourselves into?"
Stuart grew momentarily concerned too, but quickly his overriding emotion again took over. This (lucky?) husband found himself feeling an uncontrollable lust not for a stripper or a porn star or an inappropriately dressed sexy woman at work but for his own wife of thirty years. The Cougar Game was already having one of its intended effects on the husbands. But, Brandi was on the other side of the glass and headed for an elevator to Floor 3.
A loudspeaker then projected a strong female voice reminding Stuart and Brock that they must now delay their progress into the upper floors of the Game while their wives got fifteen minutes ahead of them in the initiation proceedings. Just as the husbands realized their wait would be interminable, the woman's voice noted that the delay from Floor 3 to Floor 4 would be even longer -- a full thirty minutes.
Each husband was lost in his own thoughts as the big clock strategically placed beside their stairwell to Floor 3 ticked ever so slowly. Each passing minute was accompanied by a loud tick as the large hand moved one notch closer to their release. Three minutes, five, seven went by. It seemed to Stuart like hours. He could only imagine what Brandi had gotten into, and what or who had gotten into Brandi. Most importantly from the perspective of the designers of the Cougar Game, he desperately wanted to see, to watch her!
At the appointed moment, both husbands were on the bottom step poised bizarrely like tuxedoed track sprinters. When the loudspeaker announced, "You may proceed," Stuart and Brock raced up the twenty treads to Floor 3.
