I first met Mrs. Susan Noble on a volunteer committee for our neighborhood. She was the wife of a university professor, and I was just a student. Her grace and commitment to community betterment gained my respect, and she was quite a beauty for a woman past her prime.
Mrs. Noble was probably in her late fifties. She was tall, shapely but not plump, and still had perfect posture. She had a good sense of humor, and she was so easy to talk to. She gained the admiration of everyone, and all the guys could not take their eyes off her. Her hair had probably been tinted to delay the gray, but there was one streak of gray that only served to highlight her gorgeous black hair.
Oh, and I should add, her breasts expectations. Although Mrs. Noble dressed conservatively and gave no hint of indiscretion, she could not hide the fact that her upper body curves would put her in the top ten percent of what most men want to see, if they could see them.
After college, I remained in town and kept up a casual friendship with Mrs. Noble. As she aged into her sixties, she maintained the same appeal. If anything, a few added years only made her more outstanding, especially in comparison with other women of a certain age.
I had fantasized about her since we first met, but I tried to conceal my lust. Any time she and I talked together, just the two of us, my cock would leak and I would walk away with a stream of cum dripping down my leg.
A former college roommate turned out to offer an avenue to greater intimacy with Mrs. Noble.
He was Ricky. Ricky and I had shared a dorm room, and Ricky was a character. He was gay, and he would constantly made up sexy stories about the pretty girls on campus just to try to give me an erection. Ricky could care less about the girls, but he got a kick out of driving me crazy with his stories that always began, "Guess what I heard....?" and always ended with me fucking the girl.
At first, I was put off by his storytelling, but I came to enjoy a good story and feeling my cock grow. If I was relaxing on my bunk, Ricky could sometimes see my dick head peeking out from my boxers. I guess that was his recompense for the stories, and I didn't mind him looking. If he wanted to jerk me off while he told stories, he never acted on the impulse. But he would sometimes say, "Oh my, what's that I see?" when he observed my dick breaking free and oozing bubbles of cum.
I should add, I think Ricky liked the fact that my cock was on the whopper side. Long and thick, it reacted expressively to the slightest hint of being used in action. Once while he was telling one of his stories and I knew he was looking at my erection, Ricky began singing, "Tiny bubbles, coming out of your cock..." to the tune of the well-known song. We both laughed.
So how did Ricky and Mrs. Noble connect?
After college, Ricky followed his dream in fashion design. He studied and interned with top designers, and in a short time he opened his own design shop. I would still see him from time to time, and he would make joking remarks about my cock size, "Here's my friend, Mr. Kong," he might say. But Ricky had his boyfriends and never pressed me. He respected the way I was, and I respected him likewise.
Over drinks at a bar one evening, I told Ricky about Mrs. Noble and my fantasies about her. She was the wife of a respected professor, and she had never given any indication of awareness of her own sexual appeal. She was a good-hearted, whole-souled woman, by all accounts.
As I described her stature, Ricky asked, "Has she ever thought about modeling?"
I looked at him, "I don't know, but she could do it."
"Well," Ricky replied, "I'm working now on a brand-new dress design. Why don't you bring her to my shop for a fitting?"
"Gosh," I said, "She does love nice clothes. She might really like that."
"Ask her," Ricky said.
"Okay, I will. But what about her size and measurements? Do you need those now?"
Like the pro he was, Ricky answered, "Give me your best estimate now, height, bust and waist size, and I'll have something ready."
Little did I know that my friend Ricky was about to make my dreams come true.
Sure enough, when I approached Mrs. Noble about trying on a new designer dress, she was happy and excited. She had read about Ricky and his work in a feature of a local magazine. Mrs. Noble only wore perfect outfits and well-designed ensembles, and she was eager to meet Ricky and visit his workshop.
The date was set, and I asked Ricky, "Any last minute instructions?"
"No," he said, "I've set aside the afternoon for this."
When we arrived, Ricky met Mrs. Noble and said, "You told me how lovely she was, but I never imagined she was so exquisite."
Mrs. Noble blushed.
Ricky continued, "Please come in and let me show you around." We moved from his salon-style entryway into his large back room where we saw lots of fabric on long tables, steam press equipment, and plenty of room for workers. At the time, only Ricky was there and one assistant, Gladys, who was very plain looking and probably in her early sixties herself.
We sat while Gladys poured tea, and Ricky talked about his current work and about the fashion business. Mrs. Noble was clearly fascinated. She asked him about how he knew me, and Ricky -- never the shy one -- told her that we had been college roommates, and he looked at me and winked and started to hum the tune "Tiny Bubbles."
Mrs. Nobel asked, "That's a fun old song."
Ricky added, "Your friend David can blow bubbles like you've never seen."
I was horrified, but at the same moment, I felt a bubble oozing out of the tip of my dick. Luckily Ricky jumped in and asked Mrs. Noble, "Have you ever considered modeling?"
Mrs. Noble said, "Oh no," as she smiled and seemed embarrassed by the compliment.
"Well, you have the stature and looks for it," Ricky told her. "I have a new line for women your age, and maybe we can talk about you helping me in a local showing that we'll do next month." Then Ricky added, "Would your husband mind?"
Mrs. Noble obviously had never considered such an opportunity, and she said, "I don't suppose so."
"Let's see how this goes," Ricky said, as he jumped up and led us into the large workroom space.
"Mrs. Noble, I have laid out the dress in a dressing room behind you, pointing to a doorway. Please take a look at it and take you time putting it on. Gladys will help you. Also, and I'm sorry I didn't mention this before, please use the undergarments that are laid out. They go with the outfit. I find that a woman feels the uniqueness of a garment if she wears appropriate underthings that make her feel special."
Ricky nodded, and Gladys escorted Mrs. Noble into the dressing room and closed the door.
"Underthings?" I asked Ricky.
"Ha, you'll like what I'm about to do for you my old friend. I owe you."
It took a while, but in about twenty minutes, Mrs. Noble came out of the dressing room wearing a gorgeous gown that was almost floor length. It fit modestly over her upper curves. Ricky said, "That's fine, now please step over here," pointing to a small riser.
Mrs. Noble stepped up on the platform while Ricky walked around her looking at the fit of the garment. "Naturally, we will need to make adjustments," he said as he pinched the fabric here and there and shifted the material.
He asked her to hold out her arms and turn around as Ricky examined the fall of the fabric. He used pins to mark this and that place. Gladys stood nearby with a clipboard making notes as Ricky called out numbers and technical information.
I sat in an armchair that was next to the riser where Mrs. Noble was standing. Looking at her face, I could see her delight. She seemed so appreciative and appreciated, and that also satisfied me. She trusted Ricky's expertise and judgment. "What a nice thing for Ricky to do," I thought to myself.
Then it happened.
Ricky said, "Gladys, will you help me remove this?"
Mrs. Noble's face had a look of concern.
Ricky explained, "Mrs. Noble, we need to remove the dress, and we can do it while you stand here."
In two seconds, the dress was down, and there stood my divine Mrs. Noble in the lingerie that Ricky had selected.
She panicked and moved her hands to conceal herself. She was about to dash into the dressing room, but Ricky said firmly, "We need to inspect and adjust the undergarments, too, so please stay where you are."
Mrs. Noble froze. I stared.
Ricky had done a first class job on the lingerie. Mrs. Noble was all in white. The bra was more like a bustier. A lower portion supported and lifted her large breasts, and they were covered by tight fitting material that fully covered each breast. Below, an old fashioned garter belt supported stockings. Her white panties that were a bit more full-fitting than youngsters wear. They fit sung to her tummy and plunged down between her legs where the slightest crease was visible. A quick look confirmed that her true hair color was indeed black.
Needless to say, both Mrs. Noble and I were shocked. She looked desperate to hide her intimate parts, and I was desperate to see them. As she struggled to stay in place, I felt cum bubbles oozing.
Quite quickly, Ricky and Gladys laid aside the dress and returned to Mrs. Noble. "Don't worry," he said, "Mrs. Noble, we do this will all the models. It's routine. Try to relax."
Her face showed concern and confusion. Should she trust this stranger who undressed her? After all, she loved being part of the fashion world, and she did not know what was normal. It's a good thing Gladys was there. She lent an air of calm and normalcy to what otherwise would appear to be two men undressing an unsuspecting women.
