The Importance of Being Naughty Part 1
Introduction
Let's be honest, catching a flash of a ladies underwear or stocking-top during an unguarded moment remains THE most popular gentleman's pastime, and even Vladimir Putin is known to drop a pencil so he can look up the dress of a beautiful German spy.
So in that regard I was no different to all the other round-shouldered loafers floating around London with their eye's peeled. We didn't have much option. It was the 1970's. No videos, no internet. Just seedy old sex shops or air brushed magazines.
However, it was a vintage period for TV shows where naive or unsuspecting heroines were routinely captured or manipulated by Dick Dastardly types before being placed on display for some leering henchman. Yep, those shows did add a little frisson to my nightly manipulations.
But the big problem was London girls being way too smart for idiots like me, so I had more chance of copping a black eye than finding a damsel to rescue. I had to bide my time and spend a few years studying basic courtship, chivalry, and understanding the positive effect of a dozen roses.
By the way. My given name is Dicky, but in 1980 my friends began calling me Lucky.
Because that's when I met Maggie.
She was twenty one when I was first introduced to those perfectly proportioned legs floating around under a pretty party dress. Five foot six, long auburn hair, fair skin and emerald eyes. A softly spoken Irish princess well out of my price range. Yet the Gods thought it would be funny to watch me dance around like a demented puppet until she took pity, and changed my life completely.
Maggs was in her last year of a Teaching degree yet her innocent disposition and religious upbringing made men want to protect her, take advantage of her, or fuck her! I first experienced all three at a summer garden party, where she was sitting on a manicured lawn with her knees drawn up, unaware she was exposing the underside of her thighs and a triangle of pretty lace underwear.
I could've easily warned her. Instead I allowed a procession of men to enjoy that thin strip of material valiantly trying to hide my girlfriend's pussy. For fifteen minutes she was left vulnerable and exposed while I ran through every emotion from guilt to arousal. Arousal won and from that moment, finding ways to expose my unsuspecting girlfriend became my guilty pleasure.
It began that very night as we drove home when I convinced Maggs to unbutton her new dress and flip out those wonderful creamy white tits.
"No one can see me right?" She asked innocently.
"Only me sweetheart, it's way too dark inside the car."
This became my regular treat and I stopped counting the swerving vehicles, as drivers glimpsed my girlfriend's beautiful knockers as she chatted away beside me.
Once we crossed the small hurdle of her virginity, my devious nature and her repressed sexuality meant I could introduce Maggie to all kinds of sexual shenanigans while refining my own guilty pleasure. An old Ford Escort was where most of the action took place and we developed various warm up routines to get her in the mood. Number one was cheap red wine. Number two was sex toys!
Nowadays we are spoilt for choice and have the luxury of discrete delivery. Back then it wasn't so easy. Fortunately I worked near an old sex shop and treated Maggie to her first vibrator. Man alive, she never looked back. Parked up in a deserted side street I only had to produce it from under the seat for it to be greedily snatched from my hand;
"Oh you're so naughty. Do you want me to use it now?" She asked.
Seconds later her dress would be hitched up, and a low voltage hum was competing with Cat Steven's Greatest Hits.
I took to driving through town at night while she used it. Occasionally her eyes might flicker open as we drew alongside a double decker bus, but being on display never seemed to register (and if it did, she never let on). I must say that driving along a busy High Street while your girlfriend sits beside you having a lip biting orgasm is seriously one of life's greatest pleasures.
"You're sure no one can see me?" Became her constant refrain.
"Don't be silly babe." Always enough to allay any fears.
After a few late night drive-bys we began parking in the quiet shadows of a block of flats where my buck naked, primary school teacher girlfriend would bounce up and down on my cock in full view of any eagle-eyed individual having a smoke on the communal balcony.
One night we moved out from the shadows and parked under a street lamp. Again, being bathed in tungsten light didn't seem to bother Maggs and I was on the receiving end of a topless blow job when an elderly gent came along with his dog. He watched her for a moment before giving me a thumbs up and continuing on his way. The old fella was hardly out of sight before I filled her pretty mouth with sticky cum.
"Wow, where did that all come from?" She coughed. I never told her of course.
Although exceptionally beautiful, Maggs was burdened with a hang-up about her freckles and refused to believe she was sexy. The only thing she would acknowledge were those gorgeous legs. yet I still had to wait for the weekend before she broke out her shorter skirts and pretty dresses.
To be clear, these were for Maggs to enjoy her femininity and not for men to admire her calves, but after watching yet another bloke check out her thighs as she dived into a supermarket freezer cabinet, I mentioned it to see her response;
"Honestly, you men. You can see more over the swimming pool." She was right of course, but that's not how it works.
Maggie became an eager sexual companion. Happy to indulge my liking for blindfolds and a bit of mild bondage, or posing naked for Polaroids over the local forest, and after eighteen months we got engaged and celebrated with a week in Spain.
As the holiday approached I began dropping hints about her doing some topless sunbathing. She remained non-committal right up to our second day by the pool, when she finally released those two beauties into the wild.
"Does it feel weird?" I croaked.
Without a hint of false modesty she replied, "Don't be silly, there are plenty of boobs here better than mine."
There wasn't of course. Those perfectly formed 34D's were only twenty three years old which meant at least ten pairs of male eyes were watching them bounce around like naughty puppies.
To be honest, it was a little disconcerting having different Spanish waiters take turns feasting their eyes on my fiancee's tits, but when we got back to our room she was always desperate to be fucked so, swings and roundabouts.
Back in London we rented a flat above a launderette and the sex became wild. She began caring less about closing the curtains properly or cramming cock into her mouth in the car park of a busy McDonald's. And, although nothing was ever said, I got the distinct impression she enjoyed being compliant.
VHS recorders and camcorders arrived and we built up a collection of Maggie showering, modelling underwear, and using her favourite toys while on the receiving end of a warm oil massage.
Back then the internet was like the wild west with couples sharing home-made videos, but it still took the promise of a new sofa before she allowed me to exchange a few underwear clips with a guy in Canada.
"|Honestly, you're like a bloody kid." She moaned.
His missus was nice but Canadian Bob definitely got the better deal. Maggie read a few of his replies but quickly grew bored. I wouldn't have mentioned him again until he asked me for a favour.
"Can you get her to say my name while she's sucking your cock?"
Holy fuck! What? The more I thought about it the naughtier it sounded, but it took a fancy Indian restaurant and three glasses of her favourite tipple before I floated the idea.
