We spent Saturday shopping at the high-end mall and played grab-ass around the concourses like a couple of teenagers. Stephanie picked out some expensive things at Victoria's Secret and some intentionally cheap things at Fredrick's of Hollywood and teased me with many other things she tried on at both.
She wouldn't let me know what she purchased. We'd each grab an armful of pieces that she'd take into the changing room and close the door behind her. I'd watch her feet and see the delicacies puddle on the floor. She opened the door occasionally and let me see a corset or bustier or garter belt and ask my opinion. Every once in a while she peeked around the door to see if the attendant was there.
"Want to come in here and help me out?" she asked with a mischievous grin. "You can stand in one of these bags and they'll think you left me to my own devices."
"After this morning's--activities--I'm not sure I'd be much use to you."
"You're no fun," she pouted, and closed the door again. She gave me a good look at her ass as the door hit it on the way back.
When she had made her choices she sent me out of the store so that I could be surprised when she put them to their intended uses, and I went out and looked at the miserable guys being dragged around the mall by their wives and remarked again on how lucky I was, and how I had made my own luck, just a little. Stephanie was on-air talent at a local television station and had a pretty generous wardrobe allowance, so she was more free to take advantage of our own clothes budget for fun things. Usually, though, they were expensive jeans and billowy sweaters.
When we had piled our treasures into the car to go home, Stephanie gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, no!" she said. "I think I left one of the bags behind. Can you wait here while I check?"
I was famished from all the activity on only a half-eaten croissant and a couple sips of coffee. "I'll be right here," I said.
She gave me a kiss on the neck and whispered into my ear, "I can still taste you on my tongue." Then she fled across the parking lot.
I let her rush back through the doors and went over to a hot dog stand and inhaled one with everything. I had just finished wiping my hands on my jeans when she came back out a different door. She had tucked her purse under her arm and was holding it close and closed.
"False alarm," she said. She gave me a peck on the cheek and pressed her other hand against my burgeoning cock and slid into the passenger's seat.
I was worried that my work had the effect of turning Stephanie into an incorrigible tease. She didn't wear anything special to bed that night, or Sunday. She was more aware of my eyes on her during the day. She worked the Sunday crossword with her pen in her mouth, running her tongue around the circumference and sucking on the tip, but came to bed in a long t-shirt. She rubbed her ass against my groin in the grocery store, but gave my dick only a firm squeeze before rolling over and falling asleep.
There are a lot of good things about being a professor in a college town. One is that you have hundreds of young co-eds arriving on campus every fall, and most of them are coming into their own and putting themselves on display. Another is that the early summers are slow. When I went into work on Monday I talked to my colleague in Psychology about side effects of hypnosis, and all he could tell me was that the effects were sometimes unpredictable. He said that it sometimes take multiple sessions with even a willing subject to get the desired results. I was worried that I might have to revise my plan, but also knew that I should give Stephanie a little more time to settle into my changes. I wanted to help my wife develop a healthy sexual appetite and a more varied diet, not turn her into an insatiable nymphomaniac.
I came home at the usual time and wasn't surprised to find Stephanie's car absent from the driveway. She usually worked out at the gym after work. She had left that morning wearing a tight black pencil skirt and dark red heels with a white blouse that showed the texture of her lace bra if you were looking but wouldn't show up on-camera. She called it professionally sexy. She was working on some nonsense human interest story that drove her nuts but paid the bills. I thought I might put her back into her trance and lead her upstairs and push that pencil skirt up to her waist when she came home, even if she was fragrant from the gym.
I hung up my coat and satchel without even looking around. I was going to go relax with a drink and watch television when I noticed Stephanie standing quietly in the kitchen. Although "noticed" might not be strong enough of a word.
Her hair was lightly curled and spilled over her shoulders and down her back. Her bangs swept across her forehead above her eyes, sparkling with lust. She wore the pearl necklace that I'd given her as a wedding present around her neck and the earrings I'd given her on our first anniversary. She'd tied a white apron around her neck and tightly around her waist, but nothing was under it. The outline of her erect nipples puckered the cotton across her chest. The apron ended at the top of her thighs, where high white stockings began. They rested snugly across the middle of her thigh by a cuff of white lace, and tapered down her legs to white, four-inch, open-toed heels. I thought twice about that instinct not to remake her into a nymphomaniac.
My mouth gaped open, at a loss for words. She brought her finger up to her rouged lips and pressed it against them. The only sound was the click of her heels as she walked toward me.
