'Hmm, that does look nice. May I see what it feels like?'
I started to breathe a little faster as I nodded my consent, not trusting my voice to stutter again. He put both his hands on my waist and slowly, very slowly, began to smooth his palms into the shiny nightie. I closed my eyes as the sensation and realisation of his touch began to hit me. Oh, God, that felt nice.
'Hmm, yes. I can see why you enjoy wearing it. It feels deliciously sexy on you. I think I'd better stop that, for now, before I get too carried away.'
He slipped his hands away from my quivering sides. I was sure my disappointment must have shown. But he had said for now. I shook a little from the excitement at the thought that it might happen again later.
'Hmm thank you. That felt lovely' he said. 'You must feel free to dress up any time you want to, especially if it's in satin. I must say I have a bit of a weakness for it myself. There is only ever me and, of course, my wife, who are ever in the house. We almost never have visitors, both our children live abroad, and really you'll only bump into me around the house as my wife spends nearly all her time in her bedroom.'
I looked a little puzzled, so he explained.
'Five years ago my wife suffered a stroke which left her viewing the outside world with… mistrust. The stroke left her with a much, er-', he looked for the word, 'um, simpler outlook on life, shall we say, and I care for her full time having since taken early retirement.'
I glanced about the room. It was immaculately tidy and clean. His face showed something that might have been a little sadness, and listening to the way he spoke of her, I saw that he took his caring very seriously.
'Wendy, my wife, rarely strays far from the bedroom, but since her partial recovery she has become, well, quite demanding. I'm hoping, perhaps once you've gotten to know us a little better, you might be able to help me, er, take care of her, if you're willing'.
There was something in the way he had pronounced the word demanding that made me wonder what form this demanding side of Wendy might take, then he said
'come on, she'll be wondering what I'm doing with you. I'll take you to meet her'.
To my consternation, as I began to pull my shirt together again he added
'Oh no, don't worry about your shirt' and smiled.
He lead the way upstairs and I followed finding myself looking at his bottom as we went, very self conscious about my shirt being open, my nightie being exposed to all and sundry but also feeling excitement at the exposure. On the landing, he turned a door knob to a room a little way down the passage and asked me to come in with him.
The room smelt fresh and pleasantly perfumed. Two large windows, hung with a silky white gauze, letting a generous amount of the summer evening's light into the room which only served to enhance my shock.
The beautiful four poster bed dominated the room. Matching the bedclothes, filmy cream satin drapes hung from the beds rail. Small, matching pine bedside tables contained all manner of accoutrements intended, I supposed, to make living in one room far from boring; I thought I saw at least two vibrators, but Chris padded across the thick pile carpeting to the bed, obscuring my view.
He lent over and kissed the woman, propped up by large satin covered pillows, lying on top of the satin bedspread.
The
