by Gwen Masters
(01/07/09)

The tiny bell tinkled merrily as Karen and Heather pushed open the door of Rosalie's New To You Shop. The thrift store was filled with rack after rack of clothing, some old and classy and some very modern, but all of it with price tags that were great for a tight budget. And as busy mothers with four children between them, Karen and Heather were definitely on a tight budget.

"Jeans," Heather said. "The young man needs jeans."

They made their way to the back of the store, where denim in every color lined the rear wall. Along the way they passed racks of coats and sweaters, sundresses and even a rack of bikinis. Karen stopped and looked at the neon colors with a critical eye.

"How long has it been since you wore a bikini?" she asked.

Heather thought long and hard, and was shocked at her own answer.

"Ten years," she said. "Since before Andrew was born."

Karen looked at her with eyes that were suddenly sad. "It's been about eight years for me."

"But there is no reason not to wear one," Heather said. "You have a beautiful body."

"So do you. What's your excuse?"

Heather shrugged. She looked at the bikinis and suddenly felt old and frumpy -- as un-sexy as a woman could possibly get. She fingered the soft nylon fabric and pulled on a tiny string.

"I just never bothered," Heather said quietly. "I don't know why."

Karen turned and walked toward the front of the store. Heather watched curiously until Karen approached the bins in the corner, the ones hidden by long racks of men's suits.

"Get over here!" Karen hissed, and Heather obliged.

"What?"

"Look!" Karen held up a pink thong, a tiny slip of a thing that would barely cover a pencil. "It's only fifty cents!"

Heather laughed. "It's smaller than two quarters, that's for sure."

Karen threw the thong back into the bin and came up with a pair of fishnet stockings. Heather raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you wear those?"

"I did once. Under my wedding dress." Karen beamed from ear to ear.

"Really?"

"I swear."

Heather tried hard to picture the demure Karen, soccer-mom and car-pooler, as a vixen in high heels and fishnets. She couldn't.

"What did Ronnie say?"

Karen looked Heather right in the eye. With a conspiratorial whisper and a slight blush, she admitted, "I left them on. That night. You know? And the heels."

"And?"

"He came all over them."

Heather laughed out loud, and Karen blushed harder.

"Why don't we do things like this anymore?" Karen asked, holding another thong in her hands. This one was silky and black and had a line of lace that looked soft enough to melt.

Heather thought about her sex life with Ken. It was still good, and they still enjoyed it, but they didn't do anything crazy anymore. Even when they went on vacation without the kids -- their first in ten years -- she hadn't worn anything sexy for him. They hadn't had sex anywhere but in the bed at the hotel. Ken never complained, but Heather sometimes saw him looking at lingerie ads in magazines and lingering there a little too long.

"What size are those?" she asked Karen, and her friend's eyes widened.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Karen teased.

"Are there any garters in there?"

Karen's eyes widened even more. "You're serious?"

"Why not?"

With feminine giggles and blushing cheeks, Karen and Heather started digging through the lingerie bins, all thoughts of jeans forgotten. They touched things they hadn't thought about in years -- silky stockings, thongs made of lace and little else, bras that were satin instead of their normal, run-of-the-mill cotton.

Karen picked up a leopard print thong and a matching bra and announced, "These are mine!"

Heather was focused on black lingerie. Anything black -- she had to have it. Why hadn't she done this in so long? She remembered shopping for things when she was dating Ken, spending hours in lingerie stores when she had more money than she knew what to do with, before kids and responsibilities came along. She used to surprise him with new things: pretty gowns, gorgeous babydoll outfits, even negligees with daring cutouts in all the right places.

Where had that woman gone?

Heather wasn't sure, but as she held up some slinky fishnets and smiled, she thought maybe she had found her again.

They spent thirty dollars. It was an extraordinary amount for a thrift store where even a nice pair of shoes ran only a few bucks, but it was worth every penny. They bought jeans for the kids too, so there was no guilt in the back of their minds. They practically ran to their cars and waved goodbye as they headed out of the parking lot.

Heather hurried home and scampered happily to her bedroom, where she upended the paper bag and watched her treasures cascade onto the handmade quilt.

Black. It was all black! Fishnet stockings, those lacy thongs, two bras trimmed with heavenly satin, a long sheer robe that left nothing to the imagination, and even a pair of pretty gloves that went all the way past her elbows, the kind that old-fashioned starlets wore. She dug into the back of her closet and found her black high-heels, the ones she hadn't worn in years. She slipped them on and the sudden height made her dizzy with anticipation. She looked at the lingerie on the bed, then at the clock. She had a few hours before everyone got home.

She waltzed to the kitchen with a handful of lingerie. She hand washed each piece, lovingly bathing it in suds, rinsing it out, then hanging the pretty things over the shower curtain, which was the best place she could think of, and started an impatient wait while they dried.

Heather lay down on the bed. She held up a foot and looked at her high-heeled shoe. Should she pull her hair up? Leave it down? Should she wear makeup? She hardly ever wore it anymore -- what would Ken say?

She thought about touching herself. Her nipples were hard, her clit begging for something, anything, preferably a release. She considered the idea, but didn't do it. The anticipation was too delicious. She wanted to come while Ken fucked her.

"He came all over them," she said out loud, remembering Karen's blush, and Heather laughed out loud. The sound echoed in the empty house.

As soon as the lingerie was dry she started with the thong. It slipped against her skin with a secret kind of touch, a seduction in and of itself, and Heather had to fight the urge to rub herself through the fabric. Then the garters. The feeling of them against her skin excited her. She pulled the fishnets back on and fastened everything, then slipped on the high heels. The bra came next, and she took her time fitting it, looking in the mirror the whole time. She enjoyed the way it lifted and shaped and made her look bustier than she really was. She grabbed her breasts with both hands and pointed them at the mirror, then dissolved into gales of laughter.

Ken was going to love this.

She slipped on a dress, one that didn't really fit so well anymore -- it was a bit too big, a holdover from the days when she was trying to lose weight after the last child was born. It would hide everything underneath it, which was fine with her. The only thing Ken would notice would be the fishnets -- and the heels, of course.

And oh, did Ken notice!

He didn't walk into the house until dinner was almost ready. The kids had enjoyed seeing Mom in high heels, but didn't think much of it -- after all, there were more important things, like video games and homework and friends coming over for pick-up baseball. When Ken came in, the kids were in the backyard and Heather was at the stove, cooking his favorite dinner. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he noticed she was a bit taller than usual. His eyes immediately went to her feet, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Damn," he finally murmured, and the sound was filled with the kind of anticipation Heather recognized, for she'd felt the same thing all day.

"You like?"

"Are those fishnets?" he asked incredulously.

Heather turned to the cabinets to hide her smile. When Ken's hand slipped under the dress, she slapped it away, but not fast enough.

"Garters?" he asked, and this time his voice was so filled with amazement that it came out as a squeak, as if he were a boy whose voice was just changing, not a full-grown man.

"Later," Heather reprimanded, and Ken broke into a saucy grin.

"What else are you wearing under there?"

"Later!" she said, more sternly this time, and Ken advanced on her like a pirate who has the fair maiden cornered. She lifted a spatula and whacked him across the hand as he reached for her chest. He stopped reaching but pinned her with a stare that could have melted that plastic spatula.

"What have you done, you little vixen?" he asked, and the sweet words shot right through her.

"Later," she said softly, and pulled him in for a kiss. He kept his hands to himself this time, but let her know exactly what he was thinking by the motion of his tongue, sliding deep into her mouth and then thrusting, mimicking what he wanted to do right then.

Dinner was a long torture. They sat at opposite ends of the table and listened to the kids talk about everything under the sun. They couldn't take their eyes off each other. They tried to eat but nothing seemed to taste right. They drank water and wished it were wine -- a bottle of their old-time favorite cabernet. Once Heather reached into the neckline of her dress and tugged at the bra strap, just to give Ken a jolt, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The feeling of power was heady enough to make Heather wet all over again.

Nightfall seemed to take forever, and bedtime even longer than that. Finally they were alone, no more distractions, no more interruptions -- and suddenly Heather was nervous.

Ken walked into the bedroom and closed the door. He slowly turned the lock while he eyed her with a wicked grin.

"What are you wearing under there?" he asked, and Heather blushed.

"I bought some things at the store."

"I can see that." Ken stood quietly in the corner, not moving at all, but his eyes were filled with encouragement. Heather unzipped her dress. Ken watched every move. She turned her back to him and slowly slid the dress down her shoulders. He could see just enough to tell that it was a black bra under the dress, and she heard his gasp of approval.

"Damn, girl -- I love seeing you in black," he said.

She had never heard him say that before. Suddenly bolder than ever, she looked over her shoulder at him and wiggled her hips. She slipped two fingers into the back of the dress, right above her ass, and gave the thong a little snap. Ken's eyes widened.

"What was that?"

She shimmied the dress down her hips, and this time it wasn't a gasp she got from Ken. It was a groan, deep and tortured, the kind of groan that betrayed the fact he was hard as a rock already. He started for her, then stopped and gazed at her instead.

She moved her hips again, swiveling them from side to side, and bent over slowly. She trailed her hand down her spine, down to the small of her back. She lifted one high heel and ran it against her other leg, teasing him with the sharp point and the lure of the fishnets. They felt heavenly on her skin, so different from her usual stockings.

The dress finally shimmied down enough, and Ken made a strangled sound. "A thong," he said. "My wife went out and bought a black thong."

The dress dropped to the floor. Ken was on her in an instant.

They hit the bed together, Ken's weight pushing her into it, his hands all over those stockings. She turned underneath him and he moved back enough to look at the thong, to trace the lines of it with one fingertip. Heather let him look but before he could move forward over her again, she planted one of those stiletto heels on his thigh and pushed. He looked down at the point of the heel and then back up at her.

"You're going to watch," she said.

A look of utter surprise flooded his face. "Oh, God," Ken murmured.

They had done damn near everything together in their early years, but pleasuring herself in front of him had never really crossed her mind. Now that the lingerie was cradling her skin with a touch as soft as a lover's hand, she was feeling bold.

Heather slid her fingertips over the satin thong, and the first touch was enough to send a wild jolt of electricity through every cell of her body. She wouldn't last long at this rate, and from the look of the bulge behind Ken's slacks, he wouldn't last very long, either.

Her nipples were rock hard against the satin. The thong was already slippery with her wetness. She ran her fingertips along the garters, the stockings, the thong, the bra. She never delved underneath, simply traced the line of the fabric against her skin, and watched Ken's eyes as they followed along.

She touched her clit through the thong and arched into her own touch. Ken groaned. Her stiletto heel pressed harder against his thigh as she let her leg fall open, showing him everything.

"This is torture," he whispered.

Heather stroked slowly, building a momentum that seemed to have a mind of its own. She bucked against Ken and he had to brace himself to keep from being pushed away. She wiggled on the bed. Even the old quilt, the thing they had slept under for years, felt different against her skin, more sensual than it ever had.

Her clit was hard under her fingers. She pushed down and slid the fabric of the thong on either side of it. Her whole body shuddered, and the orgasm started to rush up to meet her fingers, coming hard and fast right from the core of her. She knew it was going to be a big one -- huge. It had that feeling of all-over tingles from head to toe.

Ken knew. "That's going to be hard," he said, panting right along with her. "Come on, baby -- make yourself come like that for me. Show me how good it's going to be, honey."

Heather came with a long cry. Ken gently placed his hand over her mouth to stifle the screams. Heather's hips rocked so hard her stiletto slid away from Ken's thigh. He fell on top of her with a moan, even as her body was throbbing from the inside out.

"Good girl," he whispered into her ear.

Heather watched as Ken pushed down his slacks and settled between her legs. He touched the thong, and then the garters, considering.

"Don't you dare take them off," she ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am."

He slid the thong to the side and impaled her with one long thrust. She watched as he reached down between them and pulled the thong tight against his cock. He stroked into her and the satin stroked him.

"Fuck," he uttered, and threw his head back. The veins in his neck stood out. His teeth were clenched. Heather recognized that he was on the edge already, surprised but not surprised enough to keep her mouth shut.

"You like that, don't you? Like that satin? That's just the beginning," she purred up at him while he pumped her. "I'm going to wear silk and lace and peek-a-boo gowns and flouncy little robes and stockings in every color you can imagine and I might even buy some leather stuff. Would you like that? You want to fuck a different look every night, don't you?"

She wrapped her legs around him and rubbed stiletto heels against his ass. She pushed her breasts up against him, letting him feel the satin. Ken ground into her and came. The throbbing was exquisite, and suddenly her thong was dripping.

Ken collapsed on top of her, muttering apologies. "Too fast...I was too fast...I'm sorry..."

Heather laughed out loud. She laughed hard enough that tears came to her eyes. Ken laughed too, even if he didn't understand what the joke was. She touched his jaw and kissed his lips.

"Fast was good," she said with a secret smile. "Fast was very, very good."

"Why?" he asked, bracing himself up on an elbow to look at her.

"Fast means you were so turned on you couldn't wait."

"I might not be able to wait for another round," he said, grinding against her. He wasn't entirely hard, but he was getting there again, faster than he had in years. Heather smiled up into his eyes.

"I bought other stuff," she confided, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Do tell?"

"Babydolls," she said, making each word a long, drawn-out tease. "More garters. A robe. Gloves..."

Ken slid his hands up and down her fishnet stockings. "Keep talking," he whispered. "Keep talking, and I'll keep showing you how much I like your new ideas."

Heather talked for hours.

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