I lay under the duvet and watched my fiancée stride naked into the bedroom, her body fresh from a bath. She approached her drawer of sexy underwear and peered inside. Her figure was insanely gorgeous. It never ceased to amaze me how fantastic she looked without clothes on. She was slim with a voluptuous ass that I could always compare with the most stunning models in the world. Her legs were beautiful, her waist tight and her tits small and perky. She hated me calling them small, often threatening to save for a boob job, but they were perfect for fitting in my mouth. She was 31, more than 2 and a half years older than myself.
"I wonder what I should wear," she said, turning to face me with her hands on hips.
Her pussy was shaven bald. That was something she had obviously done in the bath and without my prior knowledge. I loved it in all kinds of fashion, bald, hairy or cropped. She had a habit of taking the whole lot off when she intended to be naughty.
She pulled out a pair of boy shorts and slipped them up her legs until they were clinging to her hips and accentuating that magnificent rear.
"Do you remember that guy on the internet bought me these?"
I was erect. Her history of male admirers on the web was something we rarely talked about anymore. She had never met any of them, but she had plenty of fun and there were times when rewards were arriving through the post on an almost daily basis.
"You may masturbate over me," she said, eyeing me through the mirror. "But do not come."
I needed to wank, badly. She had enforced a sex ban for the last few days, saying she was saving herself. That I was not the man she was saving herself for sent shock waves to my loins.
"What about these?" She was holding up the skimpiest of g-strings with a pink garter attached.
I nodded, almost begging for her to wear them. I had tried to touch her several times that week, but each time I was dismissed and teased that her body temporarily belonged to someone else and only when that someone else had enjoyed the pleasure of it would it be returned to me. She enjoyed teasing me and I was addicted to it. She rarely wore lingerie for me anymore, but she was certain she would for him. "I'm going to be for him everything you wish I'd be for you," she had promised.
We had a great relationship. An understanding one which few could appreciate or emulate. We could never say either of us had been unfaithful because everything we had ever done had been either with the others approval or so small it wasn't worth the hassle. We had occasionally swung with another couple. The girls sometimes did things together, my fiancée once even going as far as to 69 with the wife. We had few rules. If one of us went out we could pull another person, but only if no one we knew was there. We didn't often socialise outside of our home town and so it was on only a few occasions either of us had kissed someone else in our 6 years together. It was more something that we knew and had never played with. Once on a holiday we had been drinking too much wine and I was speaking to a woman, who confided she was a lesbian. I soon had my other half joining us and before long they were kissing. They kissed for most of the night and eventually disappeared into the ladies toilets for forty minutes. I was jealous only that I didn't get to watch, but loved the fact my fiancée had finally gone all the way with another woman.
"Is this cute?" she asked, giving a twirl.
"Very. You should put on your matching stockings."
She paused, then clasped the g-string with her fingers and pulled it off. "I've got a better idea." She looked at me, a devilish smile on her face. "You're going to hate me when you see this." She disappeared to the spare bedroom.
The man she was dressing for was the husband of the couple we had a habit of swinging with. He had told me of his desires for my fiancée for years, and she had often fantasised about having him to herself for a night. It was only since the couple's relationship had hit a particular rocky patch, of which we were not even sure of the depths or facts, that she and he had begun texting on a regular basis. They only did it during the day and often when both were at work. I got to read the messages and the arousal was tremendous. There was never a hint of jealousy, as this was one of my all-time greatest fantasies. What was happening was open and with permission. Occasionally my fiancée, and only very recently, had experimented with humiliating me about him. It was not something I had thought I would enjoy, but each time was mild and in the heat of the moment. My cock always grew to its hardest so it wasn't easy to deny my own enjoyment.
"I'm doing this for you as well," she had insisted earlier in the week when they made the final arrangements. We agreed certain rules and then she offered her darkest requirement. "You have to let me do this."
"Tell me what it is first."
"I might want a few minutes alone with him at some stage in the evening."
"To do what?"
She looked at like I was an idiot.
"Okay," I agreed. "That should be okay." My cock was pulsating. It was more than okay.
"I'll let you know if and when the time comes," she added.
She entered the bedroom, barking a reminder that I was not allowed to come. My eyes darted to her outfit. Her cruelty was mesmerising. My favourite outfit, which I often begged her to wear for me. A fantasy she rarely indulged.
"This is what I'm wearing tonight," she said. "And that's final."
She admired herself in the mirror. Her purple basque corset, black stockings and suspenders and a g-string. There was a matching thong for the corset which she evidently decided wasn't revealing enough. The g-string was cleverly worn over the suspenders for easy removal. She completed the look with a pair of the sluttiest red heels, which she had only ever worn once. I was jealous. It had finally been achieved. I pleaded with her to jerk me off.
She laughed at me. "I'm not yours and I'm not cheating on him." She came to the bed and pulled back the duvet, her eyes on my fingers wrapped around my shaft. "If you dare come..." There was a silent threat. "I'll not be happy." Her words promised a punishment of more depth if I dared.
I couldn't help myself, the sight of her and the thoughts of the night ahead overwhelming. I came hard and in front of her. She watched each spurt, smiling.
"You can't say you weren't warned," she said, and turned on her heel. She picked up a short denim skirt and black cardigan. "Just something to wear over my lingerie... For a bit."
As my orgasm subsided, I became clouded with doubts about what was to happen later that evening. I put it down to the fact I had just masturbated to a climax and that sooner or later my arousal would return. I noticed the smile on my fiancée's face as she gave the mirror a final glance. She was looking forward to the evening ahead.
The front door was knocked at 7:45pm. She had told him to be there at 8 and we suspected we had an unwelcome visitor.
