'Did anything interesting happen at Mr Forbes'? You were late home last night.'

It was unusual for her to be late home and that combined with the splendid breakfast she had served up on a weekday, was suspicious; no, suspicious is not the right word...it was interesting. You know, when two unusual events create a ripple in the usual calm of an uneventful life.

I have to confess that it wasn't only those two things that aroused my interest. I'd noticed a stocking top hanging out of the laundry bin. Why did that trigger an investigation into the bin's content? Simply that Patricia didn't wear stockings. Rifling through the contents of the bin, you could say I struck the motherlode; a black frilly quarter-cup bra, another stocking clipped to a suspender girdle, a pair of panties that matched the bra and, I could scarcely believe my eyes, the sexy French maid's outfit I had bought her that (disappointingly) she'd never worn for me. I sniffed at the panties. The oddly familiar smell triggered the final stiffening of an erection that had begun as soon as I had first handled the discarded outfit. Careless of her to leave the evidence like this. But evidence of what?

She was busying herself with loading the dishwasher, replying in an off-hand disinterested manner.

'No, nothing. He just had a few more chores for me than usual.'

'He takes advantage of your good nature.'

'No, not really, he's a busy man.'

'He doesn't go anywhere,'

'He works from home, gets up early, and goes to bed late. Hardly has time for everyday necessities. I don't mind and he's very generous. His wife passed away quite recently and I don't think he has coped very well. I think she did everything for him.'

She spoke quickly and, I thought, defensively.

'I suppose that's why he needed a maid.'

'A maid? She paused in her activity to look at me quizzically, 'I'm not a maid, I'm a home help.'

'There's a difference?'

She did not hold eye contact with me for long, turning back to loading the dishwasher with an unnecessary urgency.

'Will you be doing any laundry today?' I asked, as casually as I could.

'Yes, I have a few bits I need to run through. Do you want me to put anything of yours in?'

'I could use some undies washing. Are you doing smalls?'

'Yes, just bung them in the laundry bin.'

'OK, I noticed it was full to overflowing. I was surprised to see your maid's outfit in there.'

She shut the dishwasher door harder than necessary, clearly rattled. After frantically fiddling with the control settings, she switched it on and turned to face me, a forced smile clamped on her pretty face.

'I thought I'd give it a rinse through before wearing it, I thought I'd been a bit...err...neglectful of you recently.'

'You've never worn it. Does it need washing?'

'Oh yes, you have to wash new intimate clothes.'

'I thought it looked as if it had been worn. I was surprised to see stockings.'

'Oh yes, I know how you like stockings.'

'One was attached to a girdle, it looked worn to me.'

'I tried the outfit on,' she claimed, weakly.

'And the knickers...looked like cum on them...smelt like cum...semen.'

She sat down on a chair at the kitchen table, her expression pained, defeated. Tears welled up and clung poised to drop.

'I'm so sorry.'

Her deep brown eyes appealed...for leniency? For forgiveness?

'I think you'd better tell me what has been going on at Forbes' house.'

She sighed, sat down heavily on a chair, and began to tell me her story.

'Commander Forbes has always made me feel uncomfortable.'

'You didn't say anything.'

'I didn't mind. I don't know why, but I liked it.'

'You liked feeling uncomfortable?' It seemed to me an odd thing for her to say.

'It wasn't creepy, it was exciting.'

'I don't understand.'

'I'm sorry, I'm not explaining very well. It's hard to explain.'

'What was it that made you feel differently than with any other...client.'

I used the word deliberately. It evoked a particular kind of relationship than referring to him as a customer or patient.

'I've thought about it, often. Maybe it's knowing he had been a Royal Navy Commander, a man who had held power over other men, the power of life and death in his prime. He just has a way of looking at me that makes me feel subservient and exposed, as if my actual clothes are leading him on, teasing him rather than covering my body.'

'Did you dress differently when you visited?'

'Not the first day. But on that first visit, when I put on my housecoat to begin cleaning, he told me it was a shame to cover my clothes.'

'That sounds forward, very personal, for a first meeting.'

'It does, telling you now; it was natural at the time, it seemed quite innocent. But also it was as if he was telling me to take it off.'

'What did you do?'

'I took it off.'

Why was that so erotic? Why did my cock stiffen when she said that?

'It was the strangest thing. It was like undressing, like stripping; as if he had not seen me without the housecoat. Then I felt his eyes on me as I went about doing things.'

'It sounds creepy.'

'No,' she protested, ‘it wasn't. I felt self-conscious, yes, but I found myself moving deliberately, carefully, almost performing. Not only aware of him watching me but aware of my body inside my clothes, the materials touching my skin, tight in places, loose in others; my dress sliding over my underwear, knickers rubbing between my legs, my bra straps tight. I felt my swelling nipples actually pop out over the cups of my bra and rub on my dress as I moved. I was incredibly aroused. It was all I could do not to pull my dress up and masturbate there, standing legs akimbo right in front of him; I didn't, of course, but I felt his eyes on me, imagined he could see my panty-line as my dress tightened across my buttocks. I found myself deliberately thrusting my thighs back as I bent to pick things up...things that didn't need to be picked up. When I glanced around at him, he was concentrating on reading his book. But I'd seen a quick movement in the corner of my eye as I'd turned and noticed with satisfaction that his book was upside down.'

I was staring wide-eyed in disbelief as she spoke. This was my wife, a woman who liked the light off when we made love. A woman to whom sex was a duty. Yet here she was talking like a...like a slut or a sex worker. What else is it when a man pays for sexual services? He was effectively paying her to let him watch her. Was this any different to paying for a lap dance?

Fearful, but admittedly aroused, I wanted to hear more.

'This was your first time?'

'Yes.'

'But nothing happened?'

'No, he was a perfect gentleman, tipped me generously. I knew he wanted more, though.'

'More?'

'Oh yes. He made it plain. Just as I left, he thanked me for allowing him to watch me work and asked me outright if he might make a suggestion about my clothes for next time. He said he loved the dress but he had a fondness for skirts.'

'That was forward.'

'He said it was for my comfort.'

I laughed, 'for his enjoyment, more like. Dirty old man! I'm sure it isn't in your job description to take dress guidance from your customers.'

'Perhaps. What he did not say, but I felt and I was sure he knew, was that it was for my pleasure as much as it was for his, for my enjoyment as much as it was for his. A skirt and blouse instead of a dress would be two garments for one.'

'You make it sound like a game of strip poker, without the cards.'

She smiled. 'I think you have just hit the nail on the head, husband.'

'Don't tell me, the next time you wore a skirt and blouse.'

She lowered her eyes, which at first I took to be out of embarrassment, but when she continued there was a new strength, a new confidence, in her voice. She had rightly deduced that I was not angry with her, on the contrary, subconsciously I'd been fondling my crotch and she had noticed.

'Yes,' she confirmed, 'that pencil skirt with the slit so high my stocking tops show...remember the one I wore to that fancy dress party? And a white blouse that I'd struggled to button, it was so tight across my bosom. Even if my bra had been white it would have been visible,' she announced proudly.'

'He seems to have had quite an impact.' And in turn, her story was having quite an impact on me.

'The whole situation had triggered something in me, I was so excited the night before I couldn't keep my hands off you, do you remember?'

I did. Two weeks ago she'd been insatiable, suddenly from nowhere, or so I'd thought at the time.

'Did you wear stockings?'

'No, not that time. I didn't know how it would turn out. It would have been uncomfortable and it seemed...brazen.'

'As brazen as a black bra under a white blouse straining to stay closed?'

'I know it sounds crazy, but I felt shy. I dressed in a more practical way, with tights and knickers. That way I could do my job without feeling awkward.'

'What happened, did he approve?'

'He never said a thing, just like the first time, but this time I'd taken off the housecoat without being instructed - I'd worn it leaving here.'

'To keep me from asking questions?'

She avoided my gaze.

'I'm sorry...but also because I was afraid anyone seeing me would think me a slut.'

'Did you look like a slut?'

'Yes, even without the stockings, I was showing leg all the way up to my knickers when I walked and I was bursting out of my bra.'

'Quite the treat for your Commander.'

'He was reading a newspaper when I started but it ended up on his lap, covering some activity in the crotch area.'

'He masturbated?'

'It looked that way, but I didn't see anything other than movement under the newspaper. Maybe he had an itch,' she chuckled.

'Part way through he asked me if the skirt was restrictive. I knew what he was saying.'

'He wanted the skirt gone?'

'Yes.'

''You took it off?'

'Yes. I stood in front of him in the living room, unzipped, unhooked, let it fall.'

'He didn't tell you to take it off?'

'He didn't have to and I wanted it gone too.'

Picturing her in tights and knickers standing in front of the masturbating pensioner nearly sent me over the edge. I stopped fondling or I'd have cum.

'Did he talk to you?'

'You need to be aware, all the time I was performing my usual duties, we didn't discuss what we were doing...him playing, the clothes I wore...that's what was so erotic. I found myself compliant. I realised that I would simply do whatever he wanted me to do. When it was time to leave, I put my skirt on and the housecoat. He paid me. As I left, he thanked me as before, but he suggested stockings next time.'

'Were you aroused, doing your work in knickers and tights?'

'Oh my god yes. When I got home I found my knickers were soaked...the crutch of my tights was frothy white...I'd been almost subconsciously rubbing myself as I worked, rubbing my thighs together, pinching my nipples through my blouse and bra. He must have noticed.'

'Yet he had made no attempt to touch you?'

'He's a gentleman.'

'Masturbating? Making you undress? Not things I'd associate with gentlemanly behaviour.'

'He didn't make me undress,' she protested, 'he just suggested things.'

'Would you follow any suggestion he might make?'

'Yes,' she responded immediately, 'at least I have so far. I can't help myself.'

'Yes, I've seen the stockings and knickers.'

She smiled, 'I believe you want to know how they came to be in that condition?'

I nodded mutely. Pointless denying my interest or my excitement.

'He suggested stockings, he got stockings. The maid outfit came later.'

'I'm sorry,' I apologised. She had been unfaithful, doing kinky if not adulterous things and here I was, apologising. I couldn't help myself. Just as she could not refuse her Commander, I was enthralled with her story. I wanted to hear more - I wanted him to have humiliated her further. I wondered how she would react if she knew what I was thinking. Perhaps I might find out.

'The next time I wore stockings, hold-ups. Sexier lace-fronted knickers and the same skirt, bra, and blouse. Again he concealed himself under a newspaper...I took off my skirt without being told. This time as I left, he suggested that my bra must have been uncomfortable to work in.'

'So the next time you wore no bra? You did as he suggested?'

To be continued...