I knew from her body language that she was upset as soon as she stepped out of the car. Wiping her eyes, it was obvious that she'd been crying on her way home from work. My wife had come home crying several times since she started working for Ballentine Smythe, a successful but tiny firm, and each time the story was the same. Sure enough, she walked straight into my arms and started sobbing out the usual tale.
"I can't do anything right for him, he's so vile - I try so hard to do what's right but even with the slightest mistake he's so vicious and degrading. Do you know what he called me today? A stupid cow! All because I posted a letter that was in the out tray. Why did he put it there if he didn't mean for it to go? It's not my fault he'd mis-addressed it or that it cost us a deal..."
I held her in my arms, waiting for her tirade to give way to more tears as it always did. Sure enough, she burrowed her head into my chest, and I could feel my t-shirt getting wet as she sobbed.
Tina is petite, blonde and 28. I'm tall, aged 40, and a little out of shape. We've been married for five years but she still made my pants go tight when she snuggled up against me. A bit like she was now, but my groin wasn't that close enough for her to feel me becoming erect. I knew she'd be shocked that I was aroused when she was so miserable, when all she wanted right then was comfort and security, so I made sure I didn't push too close against her.
But honestly, I thought to myself. Apart from the arousal of holding a beautiful, sobbing and defenceless woman in my arms, I was getting a little tired of the regularity of this event. When she first told me how she was treated at work by her boss, I - like most husbands would - wanted to storm around there and punch his lights out. How dare he criticise my perfect jewel? But she begged me not to be silly and each time, I'd offered advice on what to do. But I don't think she really wanted my advice, just somebody to vent to, and I was beginning to suspect she never even listened to me when she was like this. Tina is stubborn, incredibly so - and she hates being beaten by something. She'll work and work at a problem until she beats it, like a dog gnawing at a bone, and I suspected some of her tears were from frustration that she hadn't been able to solve this problem yet.
I don't know why I said what I said next. As she stood weeping into my shirt, I lowered my head and whispered near her perfect ear, "Perhaps you should sleep with him?" Her breath caught momentarily, but otherwise she ignored what I said, and I half hoped she hadn't heard me.
I love my wife hugely, but I'd always had a secret desire to know she was wanted by another man. In a strange way, knowing that she was desired by someone else would confirm that I had done well by marrying her, that she was a hottie. I'm not sure how "desired by another" had jumped in my mind to "sleeping with another" in my mind, but a couple of years ago that became a theme to my private fantasies. I'd kept it to myself, scared of sharing it with Tiny in case she thought I was sick, scared of risking our marriage.
She sobbed for another few minutes then seemed to pull herself together and we went inside for a cup of tea. She asked about my day, gave me a quick hug to say thanks for listening to her, then went to get changed before cooking dinner. She seemed a little quieter than normal, as if she was thinking something over, but otherwise seemed fine.
I leave for work before Tina, so I kissed her sleeping form goodbye the next morning and let myself quietly out of the house. That evening, I heard her car approach as usual and, steeling myself for more sobbing, we out to the driveway to welcome her home. But there were no tears this time, she climbed from the car dressed, not in her usual heavy jumper and trousers, but in a very sexy black dress. I raised an eyebrow, and she did a pretty twirl as she walked towards me.
"I went shopping at lunch time to cheer myself up. You like?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at me.
I did like, and embraced her, my hands reaching low behind her, snaking up under the mid-thigh hem of this dress to tickle the tops of her legs. I felt lacy underwear under my fingers - another change, Tina normally wore cotton briefs all the time. She wriggled away from me, embarrassed of being felt up in the street and went inside. I followed her to our bedroom and watched, with a painful erection, as she removed the dress and folded it neatly away. After redressing in comfy wear, she went out to the car and fetched in some bags, emptying them into her underwear drawer. They contained three more figure-hugging dresses and some sexy underwear, including thongs. I softly wolf whistled as she tidied her new purchases away and asked her to model them for me. She tutted and smiled, obviously pleased they had invoked a reaction, but she declined to show off. Too soon, dinner was cooking, chores were being done and a sexy time with my wife seemed far away.
I soon became used to seeing my wife return from work in ever more revealing clothing, always showing a lot of leg up to mid-thigh, sometimes even higher - barely covering her cheeks and offering no modesty at all if she bent over. I knew her job involved filing and I hoped she was keeping decent when putting papers in the lower drawers, but this seemed a faint hope as she hardly ever wore a bra to work nowadays. Usually just a low-cut blouse which, again if she bent over, would give a rare view of her 36c breasts if you were in the right place. I enjoyed more than usual our routine of giving her a kiss and a hug as she left her car, and my hands would seek lower. She tolerated this for a while but wriggled free after a few seconds. This nearly always left me hard and frustrated, and she would also turn away if I tried to cuddle her in bed. My sexual jollies were restricted to watching her undress and masturbating when she wasn't around. I'm not proud to admit that I used her used, sexy lingerie from the laundry basket for this, and would inhale her womanly odours as I hung some skimpy piece of lace or cotton over my face, pumping away with my fist at the same time.
