Trading

"I have an idea, honey," my wife began in a tone which suggested that she had a sexual idea which she wanted to try. That was how we had begun breath play, with me strangling her with the belt of her favorite robe while I made love to her. That was how we had begun experimenting on occasion with bondage, discovering how she enjoyed being teased while restrained so that she could pull against her bonds and truly feel like a helpless damsel in (sexual) distress. That was how we had begun occasional roleplay, usually with me in some type of authoritative position, such as a professor or a boss, and with her in a subordinate role, such as a student or a newly-hired employee.

When I heard that tone of voice again, I thought nothing of it. "What's your idea, hon?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible, hoping that she would not catch on that I knew what her tone of voice truly meant.

"Swimwear."

That surprised me. "What? Should we go buy some swimwear for next month's vacation?"

"No," she admonished me with a soft laugh, "although perhaps I should buy a new swimsuit for the Jamaica trip. But I was thinking..."

"Yes?"

She hesitated, much longer than she had with any of her ideas in the past. "Let's go swimming," she finally said.

"That sounds like a good idea, but we just ate. We should wait a little while longer."

"True," she admitted. "But let's go swimming tonight in each other's swimwear."

Crossdressing? I definitely had not considered that idea. Then again, I would never had considered strangling my own wife, not matter how much we might occasionally fight, so I knew from experience that her ideas could indeed have some merit to them.

Then I thought about that a little more. If she were to wear my swim trunks, then she would be topless in the pool...

"Okay," I agreed as evenly as possible, as if agreeing that the sky would brighten in the morning.

*****

I looked at myself in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. It was clear that I did not have a female's body.

The swimsuit was definitely stretched on me -- after all, I am fourteen inches taller than my wife. Missing were the sensual curves one typically sees giving shape to a swimsuit. Missing also was the cleavage inherently visible due to the low neckline. And most importantly, most distressing visually, was the clearly-male genitalia pressing against the lower front of the all-blue material. Wearing the swimsuit also simply felt weird -- after all, I did not need to cover my chest to appease society when I was in public, and often walked around topless when in the house or in the enclosed backyard.

Yet, I could not keep my eyes off my reflection in the mirror, in part because I saw the basic blue swimsuit and kept "seeing" my wife in the mirror, not me. The straps bothered me, clearly because I was not accustomed to wearing any garments with straps. Perhaps if I had envisioned the straps as the suspenders I wore for the jazz band's performances, then they might not have felt so strange to me, but just the entire idea of wearing something intended to be worn only by a woman kept the thought of suspenders from germinating in my mind.

I was still looking at my reflection, a but perplex at what I was seeing, when my wife stepped out of the master bathroom wearing only my swim trunks. The drawstring certainly must have been tightly tied, for while I am just slightly skinnier than average, I am still thicker than her. Seeing her wearing swimming trunks, however, was not quite as strange as seeing my reflection of me in a swimsuit.

...and I had the added bonus of seeing my wife topless, which is always nice.

She stopped and appraised me for a moment, raising an eyebrow as she considered the vision of me in her swimsuit. "I should've thought of the stretching," she muttered briefly, then shrugged her shoulders. "Oh well..."

She approached me, her unconfined breasts quivering just enough with each step to attract my attention. She smiled, enjoying the attention of my eyes upon her, and even stopped to twirl for me. Even her spankable ass seemed flattered by the swim trunks, while the swimsuit just looked completely wrong on me.

Nonetheless, we embraced warmly, my wife's touch and her kiss as mesmerizing as always. The swimsuit, however, made the feel of her breasts somehow more sensual.

We hugged, and she sighed. "I could get used to wearing swim trunks," she offered quietly. "It feels nice to have my breasts uninhibited unless I'm pressed against you."

I smiled at that, gently stroking the back of her head, running my fingers through her hair. What felt strange, however, was the growing between us, within the nether region of the swimsuit, and it was a growing, a lengthening, a thickening which would not be denied.

"Hey, I'm the one wearing the swim trunks now. I'm the one who's supposed to be getting erect."

I smiled at that. "You are getting erect," I countered, noting how her nipples reacted to the growing within the swimsuit -- within her swimsuit.

"Shh..." my wife admonished me playfully. "You're not supposed to notice."

"I've definitely noticed," I assured her, then turned her and pushed her away, causing her to fall to her back upon the bed. I had done that quite a few times with her before, so it did not surprise her, and doing so while she was wearing the swim trunks gave me a nice view of her breasts as she fell, as they settled again atop her ribcage.

Then I was next to her, bending over her, taking an erect nipple into my mouth while gently pinching its twin between my fingers. I am very much a breast man, and that was quite likely part of her calculation in suggesting that we swap swimwear. With her small, sensitive breasts, my wife would not achieve orgasm just from breast and nipple stimulation, but she would indeed feel a good amount of pleasure, as noted by the soft sounds rising from her throat and my the way she was soon writhing for me, from what I was doing to her breasts.

She fumbled with the drawstring for a moment, then once it was loosened slid a hand down the front of the swim trunks. Her moan was soft yet telling, and I knew that she was already wet. "So much easier..." she observed quietly, then moaned again from her hidden actions.

Together, we worked happily and diligently to assure her pleasure. The sounds she made and the way she moved were proof that our combined efforts were having the appropriate effect, and all too soon, she was trying to be quiet but not particular successful as her love gushed forth, the flow extended by the slight pain of my teeth biting at the base of a nipple and tugging carefully.

As my wife basked in her afterglow, I turned my attention to me, gently stroking myself through the swimsuit. It suddenly did not matter that I was wearing clothing intended for a woman, but the lack of a slit in the swimsuit did present an interesting challenge, for having witnessed her orgasm made me crave one of my own.

"Let me," she pleaded softly, reaching for the crotch of her own swimsuit. I assisted her by moving to straddle her, kneeling over her chest and sitting back on my heels. Nudging aside the crotch of her swimsuit, she exposed my genitalia and began to gently caress my testicles and stroke my hardened arousal. Closing my eyes, I enjoyed her touch, enjoyed her enthusiasm for this exchange of swimwear, enjoyed her presence, unabashedly moving against the motions of her hands, not even trying to hold back so that when the moment of truth wracked me, I grunted with each hot jet of white, swaying as my love coated my wife's hair and face and neck.

...and when my orgasm had passed, she replaced the crotch of her swimsuit to "properly" cover me. I opened my eyes at last, impressed at how she was marked, my heart melting from her smiling lips and her love-filled eyes.

We never did make it to the backyard pool that evening, but I have no doubt that eventually, at some point, we will trade swimwear and use those garments as they were intended: for swimming.