THE DRESS

Written by Damian (November 2000)

He could not read a magazine, newspaper or catalogue without thinking of her. Young women, showing beautiful and sexy clothing filled the pages of even the most bland publications. A walk through a mall would focus his attention on clothing that he knew was made for her to wear. It was worse in the summer, when skimpy, lightweight clothes were everywhere.
And it was so easy to get things for her, for she made everything look good, and the price need not even be much. A tight fitting, tank shirt dress, red, four inches above the knee, skin tight through the waist, ten bucks. So it wouldn't hold up, but so what? For the three or four times she would wear it, she would look spectacular.

If he was lucky he would see her in it once or twice. But that was all he needed, just to see if his eye for her was right, that she would look so good in the things he would choose. That and the joy of watching her open the gifts, sometimes wrapped, sometimes in the bag they came in.

Whatever it was he could see the pleasure in her face, not necessarily for the gift, but for the fact that he had taken the time to pick something for her, that she knew he was thinking of her even when they were apart. Sometimes he would never see her wear the things she received. A set of lace shorts and tee top. He could only imagine, because he never got to see it pressed against the sweet slimness of her body.

One day as he was paging through a Sunday circular and spotted a lycra polka dot dress, tank cut in front and back, body hugging through the waist and hips, tight over the thighs ending several inches above the knees. He went to several stores, couldn't find the white with black polka dots that he wanted, but settled for the reverse. He gave it to her for no special occasion, yet another trait that she so enjoyed, the present for no reason whatsoever, showing again his interest in her. Any gift melted her, not for the gain, but for the thought. She knew this sounded trite, but she knew the effort he had made to find the gift, make time to go get it, hide it from his wife and get it to her at exactly the right moment.

When he gave her the polka dot dress she tried it on for him in the office. She wore nothing but the dress, her firm breasts were perfect within the dresses bodice, straining against the lyrca which highlighted their perfect shape. Her nipples were visible through the material, a look that he always thought to be sexy. The dress conformed tightly to her skinny waist, stretched perfectly over her smooth hips and flat stomach and ended with a dazzling display of her shapely legs. It was better than he imagined it could be. In fact, it was perfect.

He wanted to be with her when she wore it, so he could see the heads turn as she went by. He sometimes worried that he used her as a trophy, but he knew it was not true. He merely wanted to show her off, to let her understand her own sexuality, and the power that it gave her, for she did not understand this phenomenon. She was always amazed when men would come on to her, or she would catch a glance in a store.

As a teenager and college student she would have been described as ordinary, short, slightly overweight, and she had never been the object of sexual desire in this form. But in her mid twenties she lost the weight, changed her hair and the way she dressed.
As she got used to her new look her confidence grew, and with it came a hint of easy availability that was easy to pick up, a open friendliness that the less beautiful always acquired, that made them more approachable than those whose looks were a constant, who were always on their guard from unwanted advances. Since they had been together she had seemingly increasing numbers of passes from men, sometimes they would openly leer, some so blatantly obvious that she would laugh.

He always told her how great she looked, how sexy she was or what she could do to turn him on. Sometimes she was truly surprised at what worked, how certain things that she never gave a thought to were to him sexy. Sometimes it would be an innocuous move, she might lean over at work to show him a document and he would catch a glimpse of her breast, sometimes a nipple, through an awkward fold of her blouse.

Sometimes she would perch on a table, legs crossed and he would be reduced to incoherent babble as he focused on her gorgeous thighs and dreamed that he was kissing his way from her toes to the sweet and wet pussy that he knew he would find between those legs.

Sometimes he would find her bent over a table, working on something and he would quietly approach her from behind, placing his rock hard cock against her, rubbing against the slit of her firm behind. She lived for each such contact, she loved the fact that she had this effect on him. She hoped she always would, because to possess his attention was all she wanted, with ever increasing ferocity. He knew he could never get enough of her.

A few days after he had given her the polka dots, his wife was out of town, and he invited her over for "breakfast." This was, of course, a code, for breakfast was rarely had, rather they would make passionate love until they passed out, making sure they left the house before the children returned from school. On this day he hustled the kids out of the house, and then paced anxiously while he awaited her arrival, worried that something would interfere and spoil the opportunity. Sometimes things happened, their lives were now so dependent on events they could not control that their plans often took detours

But on this day, with the all clear sign of his car in the driveway and the garage door open, she arrived just a few minutes late, and he watched as she pulled into the driveway and drove up into the garage. He opened the garage entryway, closing the garage door behind her as she got out of her car, her presence now beyond detection by the neighbors.

They would usually hug, or sometimes just touch, to assure themselves that they had succeeded in stealing yet another few hours for themselves. On this day she slid from the car, dressed in the polka dot dress, and his jaw visibly slackened as he looked at her, simply unable to comprehend just how good she looked. It was times like these that he could not believe how fortunate he was to have her, he was truly astounded that she was attracted to him, or that they had such a serious relationship.

Nor could he control just how much he wanted her. This time, as soon as she entered the house, his lips were on her, his tongue frantically searching her mouth. He could smell her, feel her, touch her, and, most vividly, see her. They kissed in the doorway for several minutes, and her reaction was exactly what he had hoped, he could feel her relax, he could hear her moans of desire, as she kissed him wildly, dropping her pocketbook and touching his body with anxious hands. He picked her up, still kissing her, and carried her to the living room, where he laid her on the couch, kneeling before her and kissing her face, her mouth, her neck, her arms.

He slipped the dress straps off her shoulders, patiently pulling them down, exposing her breasts, now free from the dress or any other restraint. He licked and sucked her nipples until they were hard, her areolas now enlarged, her moans now louder as she laid back and enjoyed the gift her lover brought to her.
Each new touch sent thrills from the contact point to her brain, and from there to between her legs, which was now wet in anticipation. His right hand had been slowly caressing her leg, starting at her ankle, and it now reached the upper part of her thigh, finding the slippery wetness between her legs, massaging her clitoris as she could feel her hips begin their rhythmic thrust toward him.

Still nuzzling her breasts, he reached under the polka dots with both hands, taking off her bikini panties as she thrust up toward him, with a smoothness of timing that they both found compellingly sexy. There was never any fumbling in sex between them, buttons magically opened, garments seemingly fell off, all in one perfectly orchestrated maneuver.

She felt so safe with him, as if she were in the hands of an infallible creature put on the earth with the single purpose of giving her pleasure. And now he was between her legs, hungrily licking her pussy until she came, loudly, screaming with such ferocity that a passerby might think that murder was afoot, thrusting uncontrollably, crying in pleasure, and then she could hear herself demanding,

"Fuck me, oh please, fuck me, fuck me," surprising herself with the strength and volume of her demand, amazed that she could say such a thing, pleased that she could do so, knowing that she wanted him so much that it had emboldened her to so clearly state her desire.

He loved it. He mounted her, drove his cock fully in, hearing her gasp as he hit bottom, taking her ass in his hands as he met her thrusts with his own with ever increasing tempo. She asked him to take her dress off, but he refused, wanting to take her while she was still partially clad in the polka dots, so that whenever he saw her in the dress he could remember her as she was now, hot with ecstasy, pleading with him to come hard between her gorgeously spread legs, polka dot dress pulled down under her breasts, the skirt pulled up to her waist, kissing him urgently between cries of pleasure and words of encouragement. He exploded into her, screaming himself,

"Oh, baby, Oh baby, Oh baby", feeling her pleasure as he did, as she held more tightly to him, kissing him again and again, wanting this to last forever, wishing he could somehow stay inside her permanently, where she could be sure that he was hers and hers alone.

They would continue to make love that morning, and he would remove her dress and they would hold each other in the freedom of full nudity so their bodies could remain in full contact. He would carry her upstairs and they would shower together, making love a third time in the shower.

Each time was sublime, each time he marveled at her sexuality, at her desire for him. But for him the day would be remembered by the polka dots, and whenever he saw her in the dress, they both could think of only one thing, that morning and the closeness they felt as they held one another in the aftermath of the morningÕs adventure.