My wife and I recently bought a convertible. It’s hard to believe that a car can change your sex life, but it can! I now wonder why automakers don’t sell a lot more ragtops.
Zoe and I are a middle-aged couple living in London. Years ago, following the death of Zoe’s parents, we inherited a small holiday home in rural France. The surrounding countryside is beautiful: rolling hills, fields of sunflowers during summers and picturesque mediaeval villages all year round. We spend several weeks there during the summer and go there for long weekends many other times during the year.
For years we dreamed of buying a little convertible to zip around the winding narrow roads. However, we never could really afford the extravagance until earlier this year, when I received a much bigger bonus than usual. Zoe and I earmarked it to buy a new Mini Cooper convertible, red with a black top.
We behaved like spoiled children after we picked up the car. We fought often over who would get to drive it. Neither of us are particularly fast or skilled drivers, but that did not make a difference. Neither wanted to be the passenger!
We also argued over who was the better driver. Finally, we agreed that we would race to decide. We mapped out a route of about three kilometres around seldom-used roads near the house. We would each get three attempts, and the person with the fastest time would be the winner.
Of course, we had to place a bet on the outcome. A cash bet was stupid since we pool our money. I suggested that the loser had to be on top that evening, but Zoe tutted, wondering if that was the best I could think of. However, keeping with a sexual theme, Zoe said that whoever won would choose what the other would wear on our anniversary, which was in late September. “I think that would be fun!”
This surprised me because Zoe was a bit prudish. We loved sex and had some wild times during our twenty years together, but Zoe dressed pretty conservatively. She had a great figure for a broad pushing fifty, with smallish but firm breasts, a slender waist and dynamite legs. I couldn’t complain, however, because I was a pretty conservative myself and Zoe always wanted to ‘dress younger’.
“Why are you suggesting this?” I asked when she proposed the bet. Zoe said that the arrival of the Mini had spiced up our life a bit (we fucked like bunnies the first night after we got it and each successive evening), and so maybe we should extend our new image to the way we dressed. “You look foolish riding in a cool car looking like you’re seventy-five,” she told me. For my part, I often told her to wear fewer clothes, especially when we were in France.
We each got exclusive use of the car for a day to practice the chosen route and work on our driving skills. I volunteered for Wednesday, so that Zoe could have the car on Thursday, the day before the contest.
“How gallant of you,” she said sweetly, “but you’re still gonna lose!”
Zoe never had a chance. I won the coin toss and went first. She rode in the passenger seat timing me on her iPhone. I drove quickly and confidently, completing the route in two minutes, twenty-four seconds. I knew I could do better.
Zoe’s first attempt was way above three minutes, and she nearly crashed on her second try, causing her to slow up considerably, We took a break and went to a nearby village for a coffee, until she said she was ready to try again. She improved greatly, but was still thirteen seconds slower than my original time. I did not even need my second and third attempts.
The next day, Saturday, we headed to Toulouse, the nearest large city, for our shopping trip. It was the hottest day of the summer so far, and we were both dressed appropriately. I noticed Zoe had worn her shortest shorts with a low cut tank top and a push-up bra. She was showing a lot more cleavage than her norm. When I commented, she said it was hot but also attributed it to the ‘Mini effect’.
We had lunch as soon as we arrived in Toulouse. Zoe kept pestering me to tell her what I thought I would buy her, but I wouldn’t reveal a thing. That’s because I didn’t have a clue.
We began to look in shops, but most of the clothes I saw were cheap and more suited for teenagers than my beautiful, forty-seven-year-old wife. She showed me some dresses that were a bit sexier than anything she owned, but none of them impressed me. She then tried to talk me into buying her some sexy underwear, thinking she could get away with wearing that under something she already owned.
“Listen,” I said, “we’re getting nowhere. You lost the bet. Why don’t I go look around by myself, and you can do some shopping on your own. We can meet at the Place de Capitole at 5pm. I’ll call you if I need your advice.” She agreed.
I was lucky that Zoe was a pretty standard size; when I bought her clothes as a gift, they usually fit. Still, I walked around for nearly an hour without seeing anything promising until I headed up a side street and stopped at a small, privately owned shop. I was attracted by a mannequin in the window wearing a pair of tight black leather trousers, more like leggings, with a matching jacket. Very sexy. Most of the other windows still showed summer clothing, so I was intrigued and entered the store.
I was greeted warmly in French by a gorgeous, full-figured woman about my age. The shop was very small and chic, but had relatively few clothes on display. I stammered in my best French (which is not all that good) that I was looking for a very special outfit for my wife.
“How special? she asked. It turned out that her English was a lot better than my French.
I tried to stammer a response, but didn’t really know what to say. So, she smiled and said, “If I am to assist you, Monsieur, I need to know precisely what you are looking for.”
I decided what the hell. So I explained the bet.
“I understand,” she said somewhat seriously, taking in everything I had said. “You want her to look – how can I put this – delightfully slutty but let her still feel halfway comfortable in public … or at least as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.” She smiled and winked at me.
“I also imagine that you are in my shop because you liked the look of the leather outfit in the window,” she continued. I nodded affirmatively.
She gave me an even broader smile and shook my hand. “I am Mme Bertrand, but please call me Martine. I can help you with your, ‘er, problem, but I require more information. Tell me about your wife.”
“Well,” I replied, “she’s a bit conservative and …
Martine interrupted. “No, tell me about her body. That will allow me to focus on what styles would suit her best. Do you know her bra size?”
I did know that: Zoe was a 34B. “Ah, 85B,” she responded, translating the size into the European equivalent. “How tall is she and how much does she weigh?”
I was pretty good with metric conversions, so I replied slowly (so I could double-check my maths): “She is about 1.60 metres tall and weighs about 55 kilos. She’s fairly slender.”
Martine was about four inches taller than Zoe and much more curvy, but as I described Zoe, she smiled. She then shouted, “Nicole!”
After a moment, a beautiful young girl appeared through the curtains that presumably led to the storeroom. Although she could not have been older than twenty, she was about 5-foot-4 and probably weighed about 120 pounds – in other words a body double for Zoe. She was dressed in a baggy red t-shirt and black jeans.
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” Nicole shyly muttered.
Martine read my expression and said, “See, Monsieur, I think we have a suitable model. Please allow me to introduce my daughter, Nicole. Now, we can get to work.” Martine said something rapidly in French to Nicole, who looked embarrassed but replied, “Oui, Maman.” Martine continued to give instructions to Nicole, who then disappeared through the curtain.
“Monsieur,” the older woman said, “feel free to look around the shop, although most of our stock is kept in the back. We tend to work closely with our clients; I think in England you would call me a personal shopper. Let me know if you see anything you like besides the suit in the window. Meanwhile, let me get you a cool drink on such a hot day.”
So I looked around. The few clothes hanging on the racks were beautiful, and some were quite sexy. I spotted a very short black knit dress that would look sensational on Zoe, but I knew that she would really be embarrassed to wear something that skimpy. The prices were high, but not as much as I would have expected.
Martine returned with two glasses of white wine. She handed me one of the glasses and clinked hers against mine. “Here’s to your wife, who I am sure is very beautiful. However, I believe that I can also make her look sexier.”
We chatted for a moment when Nicole slowly and shyly reappeared through the curtains, wearing the black leather suit over the red t-shirt she was wearing before. The trousers clung to Nicole’s legs like a second skin. The jacket was tight, and I noticed it did not have buttons … it was not made to be done up.
Martine clucked at Nicole. “I apologise for my daughter,” the older woman said. “She should have changed her shirt, and she failed to put on any type of footwear.” Martine reached for a pair of black high heels on a shelf and tossed them to Nicole, who slipped them on and immediately.
She looked even more sexy, if that were possible.
“What do you think?” Martine asked.
I said nothing for a moment, attempting to take in the sexy minx in front of me without insulting her or her mother. I finally replied “I think that’s perfect.”
“Men, they know nothing,” Martine laughed. “You’ve only seen one horse, and you already want to place a bet. And, you haven’t even seen the whole horse. Are you proposing that your wife wear a baggy red t-shirt under am expensive, black leather suit? That’s not very sexy.”
She had a point.
Martine turned to Nicole, murmured something else, and the young woman went back into the storeroom. Martine then said, “File the picture of Nicole in that outfit in your mind, then compare it with what you see next.”
Several minutes later, Nicole reappeared, wearing the short black knit dress I considered earlier. She looked really embarrassed this time, as the dress was so short, it barely covered her essentials. Her legs were bare, and I could see the edge of her pink knickers beneath the hem. Her mother adjusted the dress, so it fully covered Nicole’s ass and crotch, although not much of her thighs. I felt my cock harden rapidly under my shorts.
“How does this look?” Martine asked.
“Nicole looks beautiful … I mean the dress is beautiful, but I don’t think my wife would ever wear that, no matter what the terms of the bet.”
Martine smiled slyly, with her eyes focused on my crotch. “Yes, it is a very sexy dress, and” she said raising her voice for Nicole’s benefit “it would look much better if one wore hosiery.” Nicole looked even more embarrassed and perhaps a bit angry.
“I have shown you possibly two sexiest outfits I have that would be perfect for your wife. I assume you like the first one better. If your wife is of a certain age,” Martine said diplomatically, “I would agree the suit would be preferable. However, have you thought about what she would wear under the jacket? I would suggest nothing, ‘rien’, but it would take a very brave woman to wear nothing or just a brassiere under a jacket without buttons. Please wait here and enjoy the rest of your wine, while Nicole and I think of something suitable.
They both disappeared, so I sat in the lone chair in the shop, sipped my wine and tried to make the bulge in my shorts go away. But, what I saw next only made matters worse.
Mother and Daughter emerged from the curtain. Nicole was again wearing the leather trousers and the high heels, but this time with a grey mesh top minus a bra. It was nearly transparent. She looked devastatingly sexy, and I could hardly take my eyes of her small but perfect breasts, clearly visible under the sheer material. But, Martine was perhaps even more sexy. She was still wearing the tailored blue trousers that she previously had on, but she had changed from the printed blouse she had been wearing to a white version of Nicole mesh top. Martine was also not wearing a bra, but if Nicole was a 32B (delightful), her mother was a 36DD (Wow!). Even though Martine must have been in her mid-forties, her tits were firm without hardly any sagging.
“I thought you would like to compare colours,” Martine explained, “and Nicole was getting tired of changing into different outfits, so she decided I should also be a model. Which do you prefer?”
My cock, which was now fully erect, liked them both. I chose the grey top Nicole was wearing, because I thought it would actually look better with the suit, but I could not take my eyes off Martine’s ample chest. Maybe it’s because I did not see big tits that often or maybe because Martine was much closer to me in age, but I could not help but stare … and Martine was well aware of it.
Martine whispered something to Nicole, who again disappeared through the curtain. Martine then walked over to the door of the shop, locked it and hung up a sign.
“Perhaps we should go back to my office so that we can take care of the payment?” I murmured yes and followed Martine through a room filled with women’s clothing to a small office with a desk, chair and sofa.
Martine closed the door and immediately dropped to her knees, tugging at the zipper of my shorts. My cock sprang loose, and Martine was soon had my entire seven inches in her mouth. She sucked me with a vengeance, obviously trying to get me off as soon as she could. I thought about her tits and then Nicole’s and then how Zoe would look when dressed as Nicole had. Spurred on by Martine’s frenetic slurping and my vivid imagination, I began spurting my gooey cum down the shopkeeper’s throat in no time flat.
Martine, still on her knees, reached for a tissue and carefully wiped my cock, even though she had already licked off any cum that she had not swallowed. She then dabbed at the small amount of cum trickling from the corner of her mouth. She carefully put my deflating manhood back where it belonged, raised the zipper and stood up. She began kissing me passionately, placing my hands on her large breasts, I realised now why it was called French kissing!
After a moment, she broke off. “I am so sorry, Monsieur,” she said. “I should have let you fuck me, but I did not think you had the time and it would have been awkward with Nicole here. Perhaps, next time?”
Martine resumed her business-like attitude and scribbled a hand-written bill. The total came to 740 euros, and it was worth every penny. The clothes were nice, too. As she was placing my credit card into the machine, I heard a knock on the door. Nicole entered, having both changed back into her t-shirt and jeans and exquisitely wrapped my purchases.
Mother and daughter bid me adieu at the door, kissing me on both cheeks. Martine asked if I would return, and I promised her that I would be back later in the year to buy Zoe’s Christmas gifts.
I met Zoe at 5pm, carrying a large bag. She had also been shopping, with many bags, some from French clothing chains and others with names I did not recognise. We decided to call it a day, get into the Mini and motor back to our home.
Once we got into the country, Zoe looked at me and said, “Notice anything different?” I was still so preoccupied by memories of Martine and Nicole, I did not know until then that Zoe was no longer wearing a bra. Her nipples were clearly showing beneath the thin material of the yellow tank top.
“What brought this on?" I asked. I wasn’t about to scold her for walking around a busy shopping district with her tits on display … not after I just got a blowjob from a woman I met a half-hour earlier.
Zoe looked at me. “Well, there was two reasons. I was trying on a lot of clothes, some of which required me to remove my bra.” That piqued my interest. “So, it was easier to just leave it off.
“But,” she added, “I was thinking of what you could be buying me, and I started to get really horny. I can’t explain it. Even my pussy got wet. And, riding in the Mini with the top down makes me so randy. So, I decided to look extra-sexy for you, and it also has other advantages.”
With that, she undid the button on her shorts and pulled down the zip. She reached into her shorts with her left hand, and it was clear that she had also failed to put on her knickers as well as her bra. As she diddled her clit more quickly, she started to moan and eventually reached under her top and began rubbing her tits. This went on for about ten minutes until she began to writhe in the passenger seat. Suddenly, she held perfectly still and then shouted as her orgasm hit full stride.
I was lucky to keep my eyes on the road.
She was still cumming as I turned off the main roadway onto the much smaller country road that led to our house. She was still fiddling down below and, finally, she reached up and pulled her top off over her head. My conservative wife was now riding topless in a convertible … and seemed not to give a damn.
“I want you to pull over, now!” she said, only about two kilometres from our house. The road really did not have a shoulder, but I found a track that led into a forest and turned right. About 100 metres off the road, I finally stopped the car and, for the first time, could look at my wife. Although she was twenty-five years older and her hair was much shorter, the resemblance between her body and Nicole’s was striking.
Zoe opened the door of the Mini, let her shorts fall to the ground and climbed into the back seat. She reclined with her legs spread wide and said, “What are you waiting for? Do I have to spell it out to you?”
She didn’t. As we were in a forest, I quickly got out of the car, removed my shirt, shorts and boxers, raised the seatback and tried to figure out how to fuck my wife in the back of a Mini. It took some time and many aborted positions to decide that the best way was for me to sit on the back seat and for Zoe to kneel over top of me (after scooting the front seats as far forward as possible) and lower herself on me. I was afforded a bit of privacy – no one could have seen my cock unless they were standing next to the car – but Zoe’s tits were on full display as she rocked up and down on my cock.
Even though she had cum only ten minutes before, she quickly began shouting again as another orgasm rippled through her body. It took me a while to cum, as Martine had sucked every bit of semen from my cock earlier in the afternoon, but when I did, my climax was amazingly strong. Zoe finally fell forward with her head on my shoulder, literally fucked out.
It took us awhile to sort ourselves out and put on enough clothes for the short ride home.
The day was full of surprises, but there were more to come when Zoe began to show me some of what she had bought that afternoon.
To be continued …
