Dressing for the Office

I wondered if Richard liked his women devoid of pubic hair.

"Fuck me," Lorraine said, possibly detecting my slight hesitation.

And so I fucked her, wondering all the while, as I slid my cock in and out of her tight, wet cunt, whether my suspicions were just a kind of sexual paranoia, or if someone else, Richard perhaps, was fucking this same cunt.

Lorraine stopped wearing thongs the same day she had her pubic hair removed. She did not wear anything else instead. She dressed in just her skirt suit, bra, suspender belt and stockings. Beneath her skirt, my wife's ass and mons were bare, even though it was now January, and cold air circulated there when she walked to the station, cool breezes swirling and sniffing around her exposed cunt, free of fabric, and of its natural insulation of pubic curls.

Not that I objected to Lorraine's new look. It suited her slender frame. I enjoyed her new nakedness beneath her kimono robe around our apartment, the absence of pubic hair exposing her slit with its delicate pink labia just peeping from within, and conveying the subliminal message that her cunt was at all times available and ready to be fucked, which, of course, it was.

I absolutely loved the way her black suspender belt and stockings now framed the white purity of her pubic region. Watching her dressing for work was a delight, marred only by that ever present question running through my head.

I have always enjoyed going down on my wife, opening her slit to reveal the inner surfaces and her neatly recessed clit, and licking at her with my tongue, tasting her secretions, stimulating her with tongue tip teases.

Lorraine's new, smooth mons made this an even more delightful pastime. I could kiss and lick between her legs, above and below her slit, with not a single hair against my lips, adhering to my tongue, or trapping itself between my teeth.

Occasionally, I wondered if there was a slightly different odour, but I know that my sense of smell is not always trustworthy, and that like any woman, Lorraine's odours vary, and are always stronger before she showers. Besides, Richard, if it was Richard, if it was anyone, clearly prefered a condom when fucking someone else's wife. Leave no traces, no hard, encrusted evidence, for the suspicious husband to detect.

For whatever reason, the thought that I might be licking where another man had fucked never put me off when I went down on her. If anything it made me delve deeper between her nether lips, wanting to give her greater pleasure.

When we fucked the experience was much the same. Thinking of the possibility that another cock had been there only made me fuck her harder, as if something deep and dark within my brain was telling me to let her know just who she belonged to, that she was mine to fuck as hard and as furiously as I wanted, when I wanted.

Then, a month or so after her pubic hair had gone, Lorraine passed me her mobile.

"What do you think?" she asked.

I looked at the photo displayed on the touch screen. I had seen similar photos while browsing online in private, but having Lorraine show me one while we were sipping wine in bed was something new.

The photo was a close up of a woman's pussy. Like Lorraine's there was no sign of a single curl, but since Lorraine had already had hers removed, that was obviously not what she was asking about. There was something else, way more daring than having a hairless slit.

I wondered if Lorraine was really serious. This was something I had never even fantasised about. I had seen them of course, in photos, and I liked the look, but I had never in my wildest dreams thought that the woman I had married would go that far.

"Think how?" I asked, not sure exactly what the question was, and whether this was a hypothetical question, set to test how I would respond, or if she really was thinking of getting herself adorned like this.

"I mean, would you mind if I got one?" she asked. She seemed to be really thinking about it.

I glanced at the photo on her mobile screen again. The woman had no protruding labia, just a slit that defined her entrance, with a sparkling imitation diamond nestling at the apex of the slit, and a gold ball an inch higher, securing what had to be a curved gold bar that pierced the woman's most intimate female flesh.

I even knew the name of the piercing, a vertical clit hood, set through the small flap of flesh that covers the clitoris when it is not aroused, so that the bar-bell rests against the clitoris, stimulating it when it is touched. I can read websites, and a guy needs to educate himself.

One of the things that I have learned is that when your wife asks a question like that, there are two possible angles. Either she has already decided what she plans to do, and is checking your reaction, knowing that she will go ahead and do exactly as she is planning regardless of what you say, or it is a trap to lure you into revealing what you think, to be held as evidence against you and used whether straight away, or later, when it suits her.

The trick was to avoid enthusiasm of any kind, even if my cock was giving away what I was thinking.

"It's not something I'd ask you to do," I said, "but if you want to,..."

"I didn't say I wanted to," Lorraine said. "I was just asking what you thought."

I was glad that I had played safe. It seemed that caution had been the wiser call. It was just one of those questions that was purely hypothetical, and that giving the wrong answer might not have been a great idea. Too enthusiastic, and I might have been a pervert. Too dismissive and I might have been a prude.

"Well," I said. "It's interesting, I guess. Why? What made you ask?"

"I just came across it," Lorraine said. "That's all."

That was by no means all. I had totally forgotten about that little conversation when three weeks later Lorraine apologised.

We had both got back from work. I was home first, and greeted Lorraine with our usual hugs and kisses. Actually, I was feeling horny, and was hoping that Lorraine might enjoy a fuck before we ate.

Lorraine had taken off her spring coat, and I was embracing her in our hallway, slowly drawing up the back of her skirt as we kissed, until I could feel the warm flesh of her bare butt beneath. I had become used to her wearing nothing below her skirts, and enjoyed fingering the naked flesh of her taut, muscular buttock cheeks.

I did wonder, as I still so frequently tended to wonder, whether this Richard that I met some months before was still fucking her, if he ever had, but that simply made me more horny, and keener to get her in our bedroom and on the bed.

"I'm sorry," Lorraine whispered in my ear. "But not tonight."

My cock started to flag instantly with disappointment. It sensed that it was not going to enjoy the warmth, wetness and tightness of my wife's hairless cunt.

"Are you on?" I asked, calculating from when she had had her last period, and thinking that it had only been two weeks before.

She pulled back just a little, her head no longer beside mine, but facing me, looking up into my eyes.

"The piercer said no sex for two weeks," she said.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

The question was ambiguous, and I was not sure myself whether it was the no sex, or the implication that she had been pierced, that I had meant.

"I'm serious," she said. "She said it would slow down the healing process."

"You've had it done?" I said, disbelieving.

"During lunch," she said.

"The diamond stud?" I asked.

"Not yet," she said. "It's a steel bar-bell that she put in. Once it has healed, in four to six months, I can get it changed, or have the piercing stretched."

"It hurt?" I asked.

"It hurt," she said. "But only when she put the needle through, and again when she put the bar-bell in. Now it actually feels quite nice."

"And you went back to the office afterwards?"

She nodded.

"Sure," she said. "It felt good, knowing that it was there,"

I wondered if she had shown Richard. Then I thought that he might have actually made the appointment for her. He might had gone into the room when it was done, and watched someone else's wife having her pussy pierced just because he asked her to.

The honest truth is that I liked it. It really suited her. Lorraine has her slightly protruding labia, but the piercing complimented them beautifully, even if both the retaining balls were steel, and neither gold nor imitation diamond were yet in evidence.

The serious downside was the strict no touch rule for two weeks. I wanted to fuck her pierced pussy as soon as I saw it, but piercing safety and hygiene rules said that I had to wait.

At least he would have to wait as well. Serve him right. It probably was his idea. He was no doubt delighted with himself that he had persuaded someone else's wife to have her pussy pierced, and was looking forward to fucking her again just as much as I was.

At least, those thoughts crossed my mind, again and again in the two weeks while I was waiting. There was still no proof of anything. Lorraine had done absolutely nothing to give me reason to suspect that anything was going on, except for the way that she now went to work, not only dressing so sexually, but with her pussy hairless and now pierced. There could still be some other explanation, even if it was just my wife wanting to feel more sexual purely for her own self esteem.

Meanwhile Lorraine was following the advice that she had been given, not to wear anything that might rub against or pull on her new piercing. She had stopped wearing anything other than her suspender belt and stockings beneath her skirt to work, but she also had to stop wearing jeans at the weekend, and wore casual skirts instead.

Time had passed. It was autumn when Lorraine had stopped wearing tights to work and started wearing stockings. It was late spring when she had her piercing done. The weather was warm enough not to need a coat, which meant that Lorraine's commute by tube was in her skirt-suit. My wife was riding escalators and taking stairs naked beneath her skirt, her pussy bare, devoid of hair, with its new steel piercing nestling at the apex of her slit. That thought got to me.

She was walking around her office like that as well, at her desk, attending meetings, sitting on chairs and sofas for in more formal and less formal settings, her hem line rising, maybe the bare flesh above her stocking tops showing at the side, needing to cross her legs or keep them tight together, to ensure that no one opposite saw what I saw when she was dressing, and undressing, back in our apartment.

I wondered if Richard had private meetings with her in his office.

The middle of that fortnight was Lorraine's mother's birthday. There were six of us at a celebratory restaurant dinner on the Sunday. Her parents', her younger sister and her sister's boyfriend, and ourselves. Lorraine wore an electric blue dress with a high side split. She was still following the piercer's rules. Beneath her dress, Lorraine wore a bra, to smooth out the inevitable profile of her nipples, and nothing else.

The meal was superb, but the fact that Lorraine's family, her parents in particular, would have been shocked had they been aware what lay beneath her dress made it all the more enjoyable. It was just a pity, and seriously frustrating, that I could not yet fuck her when we got home.

The sex, when we finally resumed a fortnight later, was just incredible. Lorraine had told me that just walking around, she enjoyed the sensations that her piercing gave her. The curved steel bar bell had been inserted under her clit hood, right against her clitoris, and every step she took, every movement, reminded her that it was there, and stimulated her with pulses of sensual pleasure. She loved it.

Lorraine has always enjoyed it when I fuck her, by which I mean not the whole beginning to end of making love, but the actual thrusting in and out of her. She is sensitive enough to love the feeling of bare cock sliding in deep, and then withdrawing, only to be repeated time and time again. With her piercing, she loved it even more, enjoying my cock as deep inside her as it could get, because then my lower belly pushed against hers, her bar-bell moved against her clit, and she enjoyed not just one, but a series of ongoing orgasms that she said were hard to tell when one ended and the next began.

It was good for me as well. The pulsations of her vagina when she came felt incredible around my cock head and my shaft. What worked for her pussy, worked for my cock. As Lorraine put it, we really could not understand why every woman would not get herself pierced right at their clitoris, just like hers.

Three weeks later, we were drinking Moet.

Lorraine had bought the Moet on her way from the tube station to our apartment. She was grinning from ear to ear when she walked in.

"This is for us," she said. "I want you to take me to bed right now and fuck me while it's cooling, and then we can celebrate my good news."

A gentleman never turns down his wife's request to fuck her, not even when he is intrigued as to what the good news is all about. I took the champagne from her hand and put it in the freezer, as a faster way to chill it then the fridge. Lorraine was already in our bedroom.

She was out of her skirt-suit, blouse and bra, and lying on the bed in her stockings and suspender belt, her steel piercing twinkling. I got undressed and joined her. I was moving to intertwine a little before getting on top and sliding my cock inside her, but she intervened.

"Lie on your back," she said. It was said gently, a request more than an instruction, and I went with the flow.

It was Lorraine who moved between my legs, licking my already erect cock from my balls to the tip of the head.

She looked at me, still smiling.

"I want you to enjoy this," she said. "It's my way of saying thank you, for letting me do what I've been doing."

Then she got to work, using her mouth on my inner thighs, balls and cock, exploring every nook and cranny with her lips and tongue, and taking my cock head in her mouth as far as it would go. She even got me to raise my butt, and went below my balls with her wet tongue, rimming and probing where the sun never shines.

I lay there luxuriating in everything she did. What guy would not enjoy their wife doing all that to them?

I also wondered exactly what it was that my wife was thanking me for, letting her do what she had been doing. For more than six months I had never been sure exactly what she had been doing. I was trying to work out if the pleasure I was received was really the way a wife would thank her husband for allowing her to fuck a guy at work, letting this guy tell her how to dress, tell her to keep her pussy hair free for him, and then giving her the neatest piercing ever.

Right then, with everything she was doing, it might even have been worth it. If the amazing sex we had been enjoying, and the delicious treatment she was giving me, were the pay back for not asking what was happening at work, then maybe it was better not to ask.

Looking at her as she sucked my cock, and then having her reach both hands to play with my nipples while I just lay there, accepting, I was thinking how many guys get to enjoy sex like this with their wives. I guess not that many, at least not after the initial honeymoon period has died down, and things have become more routine.

Lorraine finally moved up, kneeling on either side of my torso and reaching between her legs to angle my cock just right before lowering herself onto it.

Her cunt was beautifully wet and tight. It was almost like it felt too much, too intense.

She stayed like that, using her red painted finger nails to tease my nipples, and I took in the slender seductress I was lucky enough to have love me, and who I loved so much.

My eyes went to her pussy. I had become used to the absence of hair, and loved the look of milk white flesh all the way to the neat pink lips stretched around my shaft. I loved the contrast of her soft, vulnerable flesh, with the hardness of the steel set through that flesh, and the glint of the balls securing it, one larger than the other.

I reached for my wife's cherry nipples, but Lorraine eased my arms away, saying that there was something that she had to tell me.

I waited, wondering if she was finally about to be open about what had been happening, and how I should respond.

"You remember the guy we met at the concert last year, with his wife?" she said. "I introduced you to him."

"Sure," I said. "I remember. Richard, wasn't it?"

"That's right," Lorraine confirmed. "Well, what I didn't tell you, was that a month or so before then, he came onto me."

I sensed my cock twitch inside her, but I said nothing, waiting for what was to come. I knew the way that office politics can work. There were still plenty of men around who think that the women in their office are fair game. It seemed that I was right about Richard being one of them.

"It was in his office," Lorraine said. "He closed the door, and sort of got me against the wall, so there was no way out."

I just listened.

"He used one hand to cup my breast. The other was under my skirt before I could even react, and he was telling me that he'd wanted to fuck me for a long time."

Inside I was getting angry at this guy doing that to my wife, but my cock was somehow getting harder.

"So that's what the stockings and everything have been about?" I said. "Those were for him?"

"In a way," my wife said. "He seemed surprised when he tried to finger me and found that I was wearing tights. He even said they didn't suit me. Real women wore stockings. So I thought okay, then I might as well let him know that I'm a real woman."

"Okay," I said, although I was not really feeling okay at all.

I guess up until then I had been able to repress the thoughts of this guy fucking my wife whenever those they had come into my head, but hearing Lorraine tell me what had actually happened made it all too real.

"You seemed to like my stockings too," Lorraine went on. "I love the way you watch me getting dressed, and the way we made love more often. I guess I'd been neglecting that side of our relationship."

She gave a squeeze with her vaginal muscles, tightening them around my cock.

"And I'd never dressed sexily for the office before. It felt good, especially when I realised that other guys were noticing my stocking tops as well."

Listening to my incredibly sexy wife talk like this was sending confused messages from my head to my cock, and back again. It was a turn on, and it was a turn off, both at the same time. Lorraine looked amazing, squatting on my cock, and the sensations I was experiencing were exquisite. But the thought of her wearing stockings because this guy had told her to, and was regularly fucking her, was flipping the switch the other way.

I guess, like any married guy, I wanted my wife for myself. The way that it is supposed to work, a wife is supposed to dress sexily for her husband, not for some other guy, who is fucking her on the side.

Having suspected something like this was going on for over six months, I guess I should have worked out how I would deal with it if it turned out to be true, but I had not got that straight in my head. It did not help that everything about our relationship was so good. Our sex life was wonderful, our day to day living together was good, relaxed, and fun, and I just loved the woman, even more than sex and our easy, supportive relationship could ever explain. Everything was absolutely perfect. I really did not want that to be disturbed.

But now I knew there really was this other guy.

I pictured Lorraine bent over this guy's desk, the door locked against interruptions. All he had to do was lift her skirt. Her cunt was bare and waiting for him. I wondered if his cock was bare as well, and then remembered that there had never been any sign of semen. Maybe she douched.