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LINKS
HOT LINKS     |
28/12/2008
A Dressed-up Evening
I've posted a description of my wife BJ before, but in case you haven't read it, she is petite (a little under 5'), with beautiful wavy dark-red hair, intense blue eyes, a killer smile, small but gorgeous tits, full sexy hips, and shapely legs that look great in heels! She is by nature conservative, and as a professional she is reluctant to publish our real names or photos. (I'm working on the latter, but I'm not very confident!)
We have relatives in both Scotland and England, and we often go over there around Christmas time to visit them and the many friends we have there. A couple of years ago we were in England visiting my cousin and his wife in Maidenhead (honestly! – I couldn't make that up!) a few miles west of London. As a Christmas present, my cousin Mike and his wife Annie had bought us tickets to see “The Nutcracker” by the Royal Ballet at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden! They even kept the kids (now teenagers) for us. We couldn't believe it! We had brought dressy clothes with us from the States since we had thought we might go into town for dinner one evening, but had not thought that the evening would be quite such an event! Now, don't get me wrong – neither one of us are ballet “fans”, but The Nutcracker. At Christmas. In Covent Garden! - How cool is that!?!?!?
So a couple of days before Christmas, we made reservations at a fancy hotel on Portman Square, packed our dressy clothes and light bags for the night and headed into town by train. Before we left, my cousin's wife decided BJ's coat wasn't quite classy enough, and loaned her her beautiful FAUX red-fox fur (I emphasize the “faux”, since neither BJ nor Annie would be caught dead in a real fur.) The colors of the fur were in shades almost identical to BJ's hair, and she did look stunning in it when she tried it on. On Annie it came just below the knee, on BJ it was just below mid-calf.
We got to the hotel mid-afternoon, and went window-shopping in stores we couldn't afford! In all the years I've been coming to London, I couldn't believe we were staying in that part of town! We went back to the hotel and changed into our dressy clothes. I had on a dark navy suit, starched white shirt with gold cuff-links, and a deep-red silk tie, and I must say I thought I looked “pretty spiffy”! BJ, on the other hand, looked spectacular!!! She had on a deep cream silk shirt, with a low V-neckline. I could see from the lacy outlines that she was wearing my favorite of her bras, a lacy VS number that somehow manages to give her a fairly impressive cleavage, which she was showing to advantage above the buttons of her shirt. Her skirt was a black velvet pencil-line, which came to mid-calf, and which, combined with knee-length high-heeled boots made her wiggle in a very interesting way when she walked! Under the open neck of her shirt, she wore a antique 3” collar-like gold necklace from Bahrain that she had inherited from a world-traveling relative. The matching earrings finished her ensemble.
She looked at me. “You're bulging,” she said. “Are you surprised?” I asked her, “I know you've looked in the mirror – what did you expect!?” “No, silly! Not that one! The one in your jacket!” Sure enough, the one dress-accessory I had not brought was my flat wallet, and the duo-fold I usually use was making a terrible lump in my suit. “Give it here,” she said. “I promise I won't take anything without asking first!” And she slipped it into her little black clutch evening bag.
We'd skipped lunch, so we went down early to the hotel restaurant and had a light, but delightful, dinner, with a bottle of wine and a couple of harder drinks. We finished too early to go straight to the theatre, and BJ begged to go back to Oxford St. to take a serious look at one of the major department stores there and to see the famous Christmas lights. Being a sucker for my wife with a cleavage, I said “Sure,” and we went back up to the room for the fur and my camel overcoat.
Feeling more affluent than we really are, we shopped the pre-Christmas sales for a while, with BJ picking up a couple of outfits. By the time we had finished, it was too late to go back to the hotel with the bags, so we hailed a cab and went on to the theatre. I was going to check our coats and the two shopping bags in the cloakroom, but BJ (who has a bladder the size of a walnut!) made a rush straight for the Ladies Room, bags still in hand. Once she returned, we checked the bags and coats, and hurried in to our seats.
The ballet was everything we had hoped for, but since that's not why you're reading this, I won't go into too much detail! At the intermission, we headed for the theatre bar for a drink, BJ paying using money from my wallet. Over our drinks in the crowded bar, I finally had a chance to look at her properly for the first time since we had left the department store. Her cleavage was back to its normal, pretty, but not too-impressive self, but this was made up for by the clear outline of her erect nipples through the silk. The bra was gone! I smiled lustfully, and she leaned into me, smelling erotically of “Shalimar”. She nipped at my neck with her teeth, and whispered in my ear “Green silk!” For reasons I've explained elsewhere, this had become “our signal”, and it meant that we would have fun this evening! I was ecstatic, and immediately came embarrassingly close to full attention! I could hardly concentrate on the dance and the music for the second half of the evening!
When the ballet was over, we picked up our coats and bags, which BJ held while I ransacked my pockets for a couple of pound coins to leave as a tip. We turned to leave when BJ said, “Hang on a minute – I need to use the loo.” (Have I mentioned she has a bladder the size of a walnut???) So I hung around the lobby, sighing and sharing long-suffering looks with the other guys waiting for their partners to get through the no-doubt long line to the Ladies. Eventually, she strode out, looking gorgeous, freshly made-up, and luxuriantly rubbing her cheeks into the high turned-up collar of the fur, all ready to leave. We got a cab from the theatre line, and got in for the short ride back to the hotel. BJ snuggled up to me, and I put my hand on her knee where the fur was falling open. No velvet under hand, but nylon! “It's in the bag, along with my blouse,” she whispered. “Yippee!” I thought, restraining an outright yell, and starting to slide my hand up her thigh a little. “Nuh-uh! Not yet!” she said, putting her hand on top of mine. “Not with the cabbie looking.” Sure enough, a glimpse forward showed that his inside mirror was positioned not so much for driving as for watching. It must be quite common, I suppose, for there to be fun things going on in the back of a London cab – or perhaps (to do him justice) it was for security reasons. For whatever reason, I wasn't going to get anywhere for now!
Just before we got to the hotel – about a 10 or 15-minute ride in the Christmas traffic - BJ slipped a couple of £20 notes in my hand to pay the cabbie. “Don't want you being embarrassed this evening, do we?” she said, and nipped at my neck again. I got out of the cab first, getting a glimpse of stocking-top while I helped BJ out, and all the while trying to position my body to avoid the doorman getting the same or even better view! We got to the lift, and were sorely disappointed to find we were sharing it with two other couples, one of which had a young teenager with them. No opportunity there! The family got off the floor before ours, and the other couple stayed on while we got off at our floor. Our room was about three-quarters of the way down the corridor – maybe 150 foot or so. When the lift door closed behind us, BJ put down the carrier bag she was holding and said “Wait there.” “Yes'm!” I watched her sway down the corridor to our door, turn around to face me, and undo the three buttons on the fur. With a thrust of her hip, and one boot going on tip-toe, she swept the coat fully open with both hands. One hand was on her hip holding the coat back at her waist, while she lifted the other hand high in a sort of 1920's “flapper” pose.
To use the vernacular - “Cor, gov!!!! Wot a sight!!!” Naked under the fur, but for her black stockings, garter belt and boots, and the solid gold collar! All pink nipples, red landing-strip, and moisture, and “that” smile on her face!!! I grabbed the bags and walked towards her as she held her pose, not knowing whether I should run and pounce her there and then, walk slowly and enjoy the view, or walk fast in case anyone came! (Of course, the person most likely to come at that point was me, but that's not quite what I mean!)
When I finally got as far as the room before ours, she turned, ran the key-card through the lock, went in – and CLOSED THE DOOR BEHIND HER!!! “What? What???? WHAT????” And she had my key-card in my wallet! I waited a second, expecting her to open it at any time. Perhaps, I thought, she was concerned someone might come out of the lift and see her. Yes, that must be it. What seemed like ages, but was probably only a few seconds, passed as I stood outside in the hallway. I finally knocked gently on the door. She opened it on the chain, just enough for me to see her smile and her right nipple.
“Ah, you found the bags. Just pass the through for me, please.” OK – she was playing a game. I can do this. “Yes, madam.” I said as I hand them through to her. “And will madam be wanting anything else this evening?”. This is where she opens the door and pulls me in, right? “No, that's all, thank you,” and the door closes again.
So I'm standing in the hallway, not knowing whether to be more horny or more confused. It's a close call. I knock again. “Yes?” “Er, may I come in?” The door opens on the chain again. Delightful erect pink shows itself again. “Give me your coat.” So I shrug off my overcoat and hand it in. And again the door closes. Knock. Chain. “Shoes and socks”. I'm starting to get nervous as to where this is going, but I'm getting increasingly horny, and I'm not totally hating it! Knock again. Chain again. “Jacket, please”. I oblige. Surely this is enough to get me in the door now.
But no! Knock. Chain. “Trousers, please!” “Er, I thought I'd give you a treat this evening – I'm not wearing any shorts,” I stammer. “And your point is...?” she replies. And once more the door gets firmly shut. I look around anxiously. It's still dead quite. From what I can see of the indicator lights it looks like the lifts are down at ground level, but this is a big hotel, it's London, and night-life here goes on till the wee hours. Someone could come by at any time. And isn't Britain “the most watched society on earth”? - there has got to be a security camera around somewhere! I scan the hallway, but don't see any obvious cameras or black-plastic domes anywhere. What the hell! It's obvious if I'm going to get any (and god do I need to get some!) tonight, I'm going to have to play along!!!
I undo my belt and knock on the door. Pink again, and I'm about ready to explode! “Take the trousers off, mate” she says in a lousy Cockney accent! I undo the buttons at the waist, pull down the zipper, and take them off. My prick is at full attention, looking (to me) a little silly pushing out between my shirt tails and brushing the tip of my silk tie (which BJ has graciously allowed me to retain!). However, I know this is a look she enjoys. She takes the pants, looks me up and down appreciatively – and shuts the door! This time I just know she's doing it so she can undo the chain, and I wait for the rattle. And wait. And wait. I'm getting really nervous now. The Brits are pretty liberal and all that, and I'm thinking they probably won't pay much attention to a naked woman (except to enjoy the view) but with guys it's different – much more threatening, especially if there are kids around, and I suspect much more likely to produce a visit from the local bobbies! I knock again, and this time the door is opened fully. She has now lost the fur coat, still has on the rest of the outfit, and is in all her tiny but magnificent glory! I go to step in, but she puts her hand on my chest and stops me. She looks up and down the corridor, and kneels down in front of me. Between nerves, anxiety, and lust I can hardly stand, and I have to support myself with my hands on the door frame! She kisses my prick along it's length, leaving lipstick marks all down it, while she gently massages my balls with one hand, and runs the finger nails of the other hand down my ass. Her middle finger-tip and nail pushes slightly at my anus, and I almost fall down. I force myself into balance and run my hands through her lovely hair, starting to forget we're in a more or less public place, and she slips her lips over the tip of my penis. I moan as she gently tugs on the tip of my foreskin with her sharp front teeth, then slides her lips about half-way down the shaft, sucking and licking as she goes. She pulls away from me, dragging her teeth gently down its length, and stands up. “There is just one more thing I need tonight, laddie,” she says, and she grasps my prick in her little hand and leads me inside as if it were a handle. We collapse on the bed and fuck like rabbits till we finally both fall asleep somewhere in the early hours of the morning.
The next day, we got back on the train to Maidenhead, making jokes about the place name for the whole train ride. My cousin's pretty wife picked us up at the station. “Did you two have a fun evening?” she said, giving BJ a knowing look and me a grin. “Absolutely,” I said, “Thank you so much for the gift!” “You'll have to tell us all about it when we get home,” she replied. I looked at BJ in the back seat and mouthed “Does she know something?” BJ grinned. “It was everything that you and I talked about, and more!” she said to Annie. “And the ballet was wonderful too!”
Annie turned her head from watching traffic to look at me in the passenger seat. “Lucky you, Andy,” she said. I couldn't have agreed more!
Andy.
I've posted a description of my wife BJ before, but in case you haven't read it, she is petite (a little under 5'), with beautiful wavy dark-red hair, intense blue eyes, a killer smile, small but gorgeous tits, full sexy hips, and shapely legs that look great in heels! She is by nature conservative, and as a professional she is reluctant to publish our real names or photos. (I'm working on the latter, but I'm not very confident!)
We have relatives in both Scotland and England, and we often go over there around Christmas time to visit them and the many friends we have there. A couple of years ago we were in England visiting my cousin and his wife in Maidenhead (honestly! – I couldn't make that up!) a few miles west of London. As a Christmas present, my cousin Mike and his wife Annie had bought us tickets to see “The Nutcracker” by the Royal Ballet at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden! They even kept the kids (now teenagers) for us. We couldn't believe it! We had brought dressy clothes with us from the States since we had thought we might go into town for dinner one evening, but had not thought that the evening would be quite such an event! Now, don't get me wrong – neither one of us are ballet “fans”, but The Nutcracker. At Christmas. In Covent Garden! - How cool is that!?!?!?
So a couple of days before Christmas, we made reservations at a fancy hotel on Portman Square, packed our dressy clothes and light bags for the night and headed into town by train. Before we left, my cousin's wife decided BJ's coat wasn't quite classy enough, and loaned her her beautiful FAUX red-fox fur (I emphasize the “faux”, since neither BJ nor Annie would be caught dead in a real fur.) The colors of the fur were in shades almost identical to BJ's hair, and she did look stunning in it when she tried it on. On Annie it came just below the knee, on BJ it was just below mid-calf.
We got to the hotel mid-afternoon, and went window-shopping in stores we couldn't afford! In all the years I've been coming to London, I couldn't believe we were staying in that part of town! We went back to the hotel and changed into our dressy clothes. I had on a dark navy suit, starched white shirt with gold cuff-links, and a deep-red silk tie, and I must say I thought I looked “pretty spiffy”! BJ, on the other hand, looked spectacular!!! She had on a deep cream silk shirt, with a low V-neckline. I could see from the lacy outlines that she was wearing my favorite of her bras, a lacy VS number that somehow manages to give her a fairly impressive cleavage, which she was showing to advantage above the buttons of her shirt. Her skirt was a black velvet pencil-line, which came to mid-calf, and which, combined with knee-length high-heeled boots made her wiggle in a very interesting way when she walked! Under the open neck of her shirt, she wore a antique 3” collar-like gold necklace from Bahrain that she had inherited from a world-traveling relative. The matching earrings finished her ensemble.
She looked at me. “You're bulging,” she said. “Are you surprised?” I asked her, “I know you've looked in the mirror – what did you expect!?” “No, silly! Not that one! The one in your jacket!” Sure enough, the one dress-accessory I had not brought was my flat wallet, and the duo-fold I usually use was making a terrible lump in my suit. “Give it here,” she said. “I promise I won't take anything without asking first!” And she slipped it into her little black clutch evening bag.
We'd skipped lunch, so we went down early to the hotel restaurant and had a light, but delightful, dinner, with a bottle of wine and a couple of harder drinks. We finished too early to go straight to the theatre, and BJ begged to go back to Oxford St. to take a serious look at one of the major department stores there and to see the famous Christmas lights. Being a sucker for my wife with a cleavage, I said “Sure,” and we went back up to the room for the fur and my camel overcoat.
Feeling more affluent than we really are, we shopped the pre-Christmas sales for a while, with BJ picking up a couple of outfits. By the time we had finished, it was too late to go back to the hotel with the bags, so we hailed a cab and went on to the theatre. I was going to check our coats and the two shopping bags in the cloakroom, but BJ (who has a bladder the size of a walnut!) made a rush straight for the Ladies Room, bags still in hand. Once she returned, we checked the bags and coats, and hurried in to our seats.
The ballet was everything we had hoped for, but since that's not why you're reading this, I won't go into too much detail! At the intermission, we headed for the theatre bar for a drink, BJ paying using money from my wallet. Over our drinks in the crowded bar, I finally had a chance to look at her properly for the first time since we had left the department store. Her cleavage was back to its normal, pretty, but not too-impressive self, but this was made up for by the clear outline of her erect nipples through the silk. The bra was gone! I smiled lustfully, and she leaned into me, smelling erotically of “Shalimar”. She nipped at my neck with her teeth, and whispered in my ear “Green silk!” For reasons I've explained elsewhere, this had become “our signal”, and it meant that we would have fun this evening! I was ecstatic, and immediately came embarrassingly close to full attention! I could hardly concentrate on the dance and the music for the second half of the evening!
When the ballet was over, we picked up our coats and bags, which BJ held while I ransacked my pockets for a couple of pound coins to leave as a tip. We turned to leave when BJ said, “Hang on a minute – I need to use the loo.” (Have I mentioned she has a bladder the size of a walnut???) So I hung around the lobby, sighing and sharing long-suffering looks with the other guys waiting for their partners to get through the no-doubt long line to the Ladies. Eventually, she strode out, looking gorgeous, freshly made-up, and luxuriantly rubbing her cheeks into the high turned-up collar of the fur, all ready to leave. We got a cab from the theatre line, and got in for the short ride back to the hotel. BJ snuggled up to me, and I put my hand on her knee where the fur was falling open. No velvet under hand, but nylon! “It's in the bag, along with my blouse,” she whispered. “Yippee!” I thought, restraining an outright yell, and starting to slide my hand up her thigh a little. “Nuh-uh! Not yet!” she said, putting her hand on top of mine. “Not with the cabbie looking.” Sure enough, a glimpse forward showed that his inside mirror was positioned not so much for driving as for watching. It must be quite common, I suppose, for there to be fun things going on in the back of a London cab – or perhaps (to do him justice) it was for security reasons. For whatever reason, I wasn't going to get anywhere for now!
Just before we got to the hotel – about a 10 or 15-minute ride in the Christmas traffic - BJ slipped a couple of £20 notes in my hand to pay the cabbie. “Don't want you being embarrassed this evening, do we?” she said, and nipped at my neck again. I got out of the cab first, getting a glimpse of stocking-top while I helped BJ out, and all the while trying to position my body to avoid the doorman getting the same or even better view! We got to the lift, and were sorely disappointed to find we were sharing it with two other couples, one of which had a young teenager with them. No opportunity there! The family got off the floor before ours, and the other couple stayed on while we got off at our floor. Our room was about three-quarters of the way down the corridor – maybe 150 foot or so. When the lift door closed behind us, BJ put down the carrier bag she was holding and said “Wait there.” “Yes'm!” I watched her sway down the corridor to our door, turn around to face me, and undo the three buttons on the fur. With a thrust of her hip, and one boot going on tip-toe, she swept the coat fully open with both hands. One hand was on her hip holding the coat back at her waist, while she lifted the other hand high in a sort of 1920's “flapper” pose.
To use the vernacular - “Cor, gov!!!! Wot a sight!!!” Naked under the fur, but for her black stockings, garter belt and boots, and the solid gold collar! All pink nipples, red landing-strip, and moisture, and “that” smile on her face!!! I grabbed the bags and walked towards her as she held her pose, not knowing whether I should run and pounce her there and then, walk slowly and enjoy the view, or walk fast in case anyone came! (Of course, the person most likely to come at that point was me, but that's not quite what I mean!)
When I finally got as far as the room before ours, she turned, ran the key-card through the lock, went in – and CLOSED THE DOOR BEHIND HER!!! “What? What???? WHAT????” And she had my key-card in my wallet! I waited a second, expecting her to open it at any time. Perhaps, I thought, she was concerned someone might come out of the lift and see her. Yes, that must be it. What seemed like ages, but was probably only a few seconds, passed as I stood outside in the hallway. I finally knocked gently on the door. She opened it on the chain, just enough for me to see her smile and her right nipple.
“Ah, you found the bags. Just pass the through for me, please.” OK – she was playing a game. I can do this. “Yes, madam.” I said as I hand them through to her. “And will madam be wanting anything else this evening?”. This is where she opens the door and pulls me in, right? “No, that's all, thank you,” and the door closes again.
So I'm standing in the hallway, not knowing whether to be more horny or more confused. It's a close call. I knock again. “Yes?” “Er, may I come in?” The door opens on the chain again. Delightful erect pink shows itself again. “Give me your coat.” So I shrug off my overcoat and hand it in. And again the door closes. Knock. Chain. “Shoes and socks”. I'm starting to get nervous as to where this is going, but I'm getting increasingly horny, and I'm not totally hating it! Knock again. Chain again. “Jacket, please”. I oblige. Surely this is enough to get me in the door now.
But no! Knock. Chain. “Trousers, please!” “Er, I thought I'd give you a treat this evening – I'm not wearing any shorts,” I stammer. “And your point is...?” she replies. And once more the door gets firmly shut. I look around anxiously. It's still dead quite. From what I can see of the indicator lights it looks like the lifts are down at ground level, but this is a big hotel, it's London, and night-life here goes on till the wee hours. Someone could come by at any time. And isn't Britain “the most watched society on earth”? - there has got to be a security camera around somewhere! I scan the hallway, but don't see any obvious cameras or black-plastic domes anywhere. What the hell! It's obvious if I'm going to get any (and god do I need to get some!) tonight, I'm going to have to play along!!!
I undo my belt and knock on the door. Pink again, and I'm about ready to explode! “Take the trousers off, mate” she says in a lousy Cockney accent! I undo the buttons at the waist, pull down the zipper, and take them off. My prick is at full attention, looking (to me) a little silly pushing out between my shirt tails and brushing the tip of my silk tie (which BJ has graciously allowed me to retain!). However, I know this is a look she enjoys. She takes the pants, looks me up and down appreciatively – and shuts the door! This time I just know she's doing it so she can undo the chain, and I wait for the rattle. And wait. And wait. I'm getting really nervous now. The Brits are pretty liberal and all that, and I'm thinking they probably won't pay much attention to a naked woman (except to enjoy the view) but with guys it's different – much more threatening, especially if there are kids around, and I suspect much more likely to produce a visit from the local bobbies! I knock again, and this time the door is opened fully. She has now lost the fur coat, still has on the rest of the outfit, and is in all her tiny but magnificent glory! I go to step in, but she puts her hand on my chest and stops me. She looks up and down the corridor, and kneels down in front of me. Between nerves, anxiety, and lust I can hardly stand, and I have to support myself with my hands on the door frame! She kisses my prick along it's length, leaving lipstick marks all down it, while she gently massages my balls with one hand, and runs the finger nails of the other hand down my ass. Her middle finger-tip and nail pushes slightly at my anus, and I almost fall down. I force myself into balance and run my hands through her lovely hair, starting to forget we're in a more or less public place, and she slips her lips over the tip of my penis. I moan as she gently tugs on the tip of my foreskin with her sharp front teeth, then slides her lips about half-way down the shaft, sucking and licking as she goes. She pulls away from me, dragging her teeth gently down its length, and stands up. “There is just one more thing I need tonight, laddie,” she says, and she grasps my prick in her little hand and leads me inside as if it were a handle. We collapse on the bed and fuck like rabbits till we finally both fall asleep somewhere in the early hours of the morning.
The next day, we got back on the train to Maidenhead, making jokes about the place name for the whole train ride. My cousin's pretty wife picked us up at the station. “Did you two have a fun evening?” she said, giving BJ a knowing look and me a grin. “Absolutely,” I said, “Thank you so much for the gift!” “You'll have to tell us all about it when we get home,” she replied. I looked at BJ in the back seat and mouthed “Does she know something?” BJ grinned. “It was everything that you and I talked about, and more!” she said to Annie. “And the ballet was wonderful too!”
Annie turned her head from watching traffic to look at me in the passenger seat. “Lucky you, Andy,” she said. I couldn't have agreed more!
Andy.
Poster:
Andy
