With my husband due back from his fishing trip that very afternoon, I barely had time to clean up both myself and the house, make sure that I had the proper wine to pair with hubby-caught fish, and finger my aching, aroused cunt to multiple orgasms. At least I knew which shoes I was going to wear. I considered a garter belt and stockings, but I really didn’t feel like doing any more washing. Besides, the dryer was acting up, which meant I’d need to call Manuel or another handyman again.
Mentally lecturing myself about charging up my new, rechargeable toys beforehand, I finished myself off just as the third one died on me. Another closet ransacking followed, and I finally found the perfect dress to go with my new, stylish, and elegant heels. It was devilishly provocative, though not intended for everyday wear.
Black and just a little bit on the silky side, my goth-inspired Betty dress was designed to entice. I only wore it once before, several years ago, for Halloween. It had silvery threads woven through the high-thread-count fabric, giving it some extra, sparkling enhancement. The main attraction was the mid-thigh hemline that billowed out, looking scandalously sexy, with little, lacy ruffles for trim. It gave the skirting a faux-petticoat sort of look.
The upper portion, however, was straight out of a man’s wet dreams. Hinged, silvery clasps went up the front, locking the bodice top in place. Baring my sensual shoulders and exposing ample cleavage, the top tapered in sharply, forcing my already feminine curves into further allure. The dress straddled the line between sexy and slutty; it took longer than I had hoped to get my makeup just right to swing my ensemble back into sexy territory. Going both light and bright on the tones softened it all up.
Of course, all the fussing with my dress, my makeup, and my clit made me run behind schedule. I was well on my way to becoming a bad wife; a good wife has everything perfectly timed. Rushing and scrambling, I desperately upped my pace to ensure everything was perfect. I failed.
The flowers of the dining room table’s centerpiece didn’t perfectly match the decor; the tableware wasn’t suitable for the early summer, being more of an autumn pattern; and one of the crystal glasses had a dishwasher speck on it. When I discovered that I only had one cream-colored candle instead of two, I nearly had a mental breakdown.
However, I was determined to atone for my lack of housewifely skills, so I hastily grabbed a Chianti bottle and dripped multiple candles over it, sticking the cream one into the neck. The multicolored, folksy look did the trick. But, that necessitated rearranging the entire table and adding some mismatched items here and there. A Bohemian theme would have to do. All that was left was to slip into my new shoes—the fancy ones with the sculpted contours and the cum in them.
Although less than perfect, as I’d just barely finished applying some liner to the edges of my lipstick when I heard the door open, I managed to have everything ready in the nick of time. Nobody will notice how poorly you failed at creating the perfect atmosphere, I thought to myself as I hurried into position to greet my husband.
"Hiya, honey, we’re home,” Mike announced. By his plurality, I assumed Ben was with him. I’d assumed correctly. “Wow! Just wow.” My husband’s smile and lecherous leers told me that I’d at least chosen my wardrobe correctly. “You look amazing.”
I ran up to my husband, nodding at the smiling Ben. Allison’s husband looked as sexy as ever, with that huge bulge in his pants looking better every time I saw it. I hugged my husband tightly, one hand slowly tracing down his body, then firmly gripping his cock through his pants.
“I hope Stacy didn’t wear you out. I want that cock deep inside me tonight,” I whispered into his ear. When his manhood jumped, swelling in my hand, I knew I’d be getting some later.
“Where’s my damn wife?” Ben asked. His tone was humorous.
“She’s getting ready and will be along shortly,” I responded. “Drinks! I’ll get you boys a tall, stiff one. Be right back.”
As soon as I disappeared into the kitchen, I texted Ginger. 'They're here. Remember what we talked about.’ I got a thumbs-up emoji in response.
Allison and I had agreed that we’d test the waters, not revealing our lesbian antics or our merciless teasing of Jackson until the time was right. With me sending Mike’s secretary to fuck him, plus the video of me being gang fucked by the entire band, I was uncertain that my marriage would still be on solid ground.
Within minutes, Ginger arrived. Ever the attention-seeker, she made another grand entrance. Allison chose the perfect moment to open the door wide, not bothering to knock. The later-afternoon sun shone behind her, highlighting her fiery hair. She’d tousled her hair, giving it that sex-kitten look, and it rebelliously lashed out in long, languid curls. Her makeup was dark and smoky, giving her a slutty vixen aura, but what made one stop and stare was her dress.
Ginger wore a pale green, almost translucent dress. It was a simple affair, with an open V-neck that flared at the waist just enough to give it some shape. It extended down to her calves, hanging loose and crinkly over her body. However, with the sun shining through it, her figure’s silhouette showed through the ultra-thin material. The swell of her perfect breasts, spilling over the sides of her torso, drew one's attention first, and then her nipples, on nearly full display, mesmerized. From shoulder to foot, one could see the contours of flesh and the lack of undergarments. My pussy erupted when I saw her dressed like that.
“Sorry I’m late, guys,” she smiled. “Where’s the fish? I’m starving.”
The men insisted on grilling their catch-du-jour in the back, so we convened outside as the sun began to set. When the mixed variety of fish was perfectly grilled, under my tutelage, we went back inside, and I brought out the side dishes I’d prepared. My seasoned potatoes, glazed vegetables, and home-baked bread were the perfect choices.
“So,” Ben asked as we ate. “What did you girls get into while we were gone?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Allison blurted out. “It’s not like we had lesbian sex all night then flashed the shoe guy, making him jack off into Mary’s shoe or anything!”
"Ginger!"
“Huh?” She paused. “Oh, fuck. Just kidding.”
“Come into the kitchen—now—and help me with dessert.” I addressed our open-mouthed husbands with a soft, delicate voice. “We’ll be right back.”
I stood, my body moving a bit more agitated than I wanted to show, and gave Ginger “the look,” my eyes darting toward the kitchen. She hurriedly followed.
“We agreed to tell them when it was time, not just blurt it out when…”
She hushed me with a passionate kiss, her hands roaming all over my body, cupping my butt, and finally slipping under my dress. “Why are you wearing panties?”
“Those are for Mike, not you.”
“Are you sure?”
I’d pushed her hand away, but she slipped hers around my resisting appendage, right back to my dripping pussy. I thought about telling her to stop, but it felt too good. Also, I didn’t want her to stop.
“This is not the time, Ginger,” I moaned. “The boys are out there waiting.”
“Spoilsport! Later then.” She removed her hand from my gushing pussy and ignored my whimpers.
I hadn’t had the time to prepare a proper dessert, so store-bought cheesecake had to do. A few sprinkles of brown sugar and some mixed fruit on top gave it more of a late-season vibe, but it was a Bohemian night, after all. A small tray with glasses of Riesling wine paired well with the fruity sweetness.
