Julie and I had been married five years. We had been moved, more-or-less forcibly, by my firm, from the North of England, to the Commuter-belt, semi-detached, keeping-up-with-the-Jones's-country, and all that. Our marriage was OK. If I say it lacked a certain spark, I risk a visit from the ACP (Authors' Cliché Police) but it was probably true of many five-year-old marriages, anyway.
Julie had a circle of friends, most of whom she had met around the school she took our two young kids to, or at the library where she did some part-time work. I had made some friends amongst workmates and fellow cricketers and rugby players. One way and another, we started getting invited to more and more parties, and, as the kids grew old enough to leave with a sitter, we stayed out later, and went to yet more parties – they seemed to be the social life of the suburb where we lived.
As we got into the 'party circuit' – even threw one or two of our own, farming the kids out to neighbours – we started, inevitably, I suppose, seeing the same faces at many parties. It became a routine, and it also became almost as familiar to dance with, say, Linda from the Day Nursery, or Brenda from the Bookshop, as with my own wife. It got so that we danced to a fairly regular pattern at the parties, some rock numbers, then some slow stuff, when someone invariably dimmed the lights, and it was tacitly accepted that you were dancing with someone other than your wife at that point. I tried to make sure I was dancing with the sultry Linda, or a pneumatic young lady called Sue whenever the lights went down, and spent a happy few moments with an alien tongue probing around my mouth, and a raging hard-on pressed against the lady's stomach.
One evening, as Julie was getting ready to go to a party, our second that month, I said, 'Another new dress!' She looked pretty good, I had to admit, long blonde hair, brushed straight down her back, and a simple long, backless green silk halter-dress – or perhaps it was man-made fibre, we didn't have that much money - but it was silky, anyway, and felt nice. The girls were forever trying to outdo each other, which was OK by the fellows, I suppose.
She turned to look at me, 'Do you ever get jealous, Tom, when I dance, and snog with other men?'
'Perhaps a little,' I admitted, 'and you?'
'Well, I suppose so, yes,' she said, 'but it's OK if we come home together, eh?'
I wondered where this was going, and a sudden thought came to me. 'Do you want to take it further, ever?' I asked.
She hesitated long enough for me to know that there was a doubt there, before saying no, and a sudden idea struck me. 'Do me a favour, Julie,' I said, 'in that dress you can't wear a bra, I know. Take your panties off as well, tonight. I shall know when I see you dancing with someone else that you are naked under your dress. It will turn me on.'
She looked at me as if I had gone mad, then saw I was serious, reached up under her skirt and pulled her black lace panties down, over her sandals, and off. 'No harm done, I suppose,' she said.
The party was at a house a bit like our own, a normal semi-detached, and there were no more than ten couples invited. I danced a lot with Linda, whose racial origins I could never be sure about. She had dark olive skin-tone, and the blackest of eyes, which she accentuated with heavy make-up, and she always wore slinky, skin-tight dresses and very high heels. She had a way of moulding her body to you when she danced that suggested – well, it suggested a first-class fuck. As we danced, we brushed past Julie, dancing with Linda's husband, Gary, who was an engineer of some sort. She gave me a look over his shoulder, and I knew what was passing through her mind. My cock hardened instantly against Linda's intimate closeness.
'Ooh,' she whispered in my ear, 'down, Fido!'
But 'Fido' wouldn't listen, and I had to sit down quickly when the music stopped in order to save embarrassment.
When we got home that evening, I left the car on the driveway, in order to take the babysitter home. She only lived two minutes away. After Julie had discussed the kids' bedtime antics with her, I took her home, and, when I arrived home again, was surprised to find the downstairs lights still on.
I walked into the lounge to find Julie waiting for me, still in her party dress, stood by the dining table. As I entered, she slowly lifted up the skirt of her dress, revealing her long slender legs, and her trim little bush, through which she deliberately ran her finger, her eyes never leaving mine. I came and lifted her bodily onto the table, and parted her legs. My prick was already engorged and waiting, the hours of the party, dancing with the sexy Linda, thinking about my wife dancing around naked under her dress – all this meant that my erection was just below the surface. I didn't have to check to know that Julie was wet through in anticipation, and my shaft slipped into her with rare ease, drawing a contented moan from the back of her throat. The wetness of her cunt made slurping noises as I drove in and out, slapping my balls against her arse with each deep stroke, then she cried out, 'Yes, oh yes, Tom, I'm coming, oh Tom, yes, yes! Oooh!' I shot my load in a great hot, liquid stream, as she writhed and bucked with the force of her climax.
'Good idea of yours, the one about no panties,' she said later, 'I got quite excited dancing with Gary.' I wasn't sure what to think of that, but we had certainly had our best fuck in years. I decided to think about taking things a step further.
Next morning was Saturday, and over a leisurely breakfast, whilst the kids had gone out to play, I said, 'Apropos of what you said last night, what do you think to having a word with all your girlfriends? You know they like to compete – they're always appearing in new dresses – how about you start the fashion for no underwear?'
'You dirty bastard,' she said, 'you just want to get a grip on that slut Linda with no panties.'
I tried to look hurt, but Julie was smiling, 'It's OK,' she said, 'it may be fun, but I don't know if I can bring up the subject.'
'Sure you can,' I said, 'why not talk to Kathy first?' Kathy was a well-known gossip, who ran a Charity Shop where just about everybody congregated.
