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My journey home from work in Central London can take ages. The transport system is so chaotic, but it is worth it living out in the sticks in rural Hampshire. We have a wonderful home, with four acres and stables for two horses. My wife Olivia has not worked since we both left Oxford University. She had no need. I come from a wealthy family and was soon earning a good salary in the City. She had wanted to be an actress, but I had rather been against it, in case she ran off with some leading man. I guess, me being only five foot eight and skinny, I have always felt a bit insecure regarding my wife’s love for me. Olivia is still in good shape at 48. She is size eight; shoulder length permed blonde hair, oval little face, pert nose, big blue eyes, classic high cheekbones and a tiny waist. She always dresses well, in expensive classic clothes and jewellery. I know that men fancy her, even young ones and in an odd way it excites me when they whistle and call out after her Our daughters have both left home so she has tended to get a bit bored. I told her perhaps she should rekindle her acting ambition and join the local amateur dramatic society. They put on a couple of plays a year and a pantomime at the village hall. She was reluctant at first, saying it was silly at her age. I told her to have ago. I think she just wanted to be sure I approved, as she did not need much persuading. I must say, that Christmas, she looked a treat as Prince Charming, her long slender legs shown off to perfection in satin tights- and the leotard showing off her pussy mound.
I was not the only one to enjoy her performance. Anyway, the following spring - last year - she was starring in a play. I was far too busy to know what on earth it was about. She was always going off to rehearsals, it seemed. Then when the production was due to be staged at the local hall, she asked me to be sure I be there for the opening night. Well I very nearly did not make it. By the time I got there, the hall was packed. I had to squeeze into a seat between some local old fat farmers and village yobs. Olivia was centre stage, trying on a wedding dress and talking to the seamstress in a rather loud posh voice. She looked rather haughty with all her make up, eye liner, mascara and blue eyes shadow. Her big blue eyes looked very young and girlie. I could see she was enjoying playing to the gallery. Then in the very next moment, I was stunned. One of the fat farmers responded immediately with the words.’GAWD, I DIDN’T KNOW I WAS COMIN’ TO A BLOOMIN’ STRIP SHOW.’ ?Fuckin hell, I wouldn’t half mind givin’ her a bloody good seein’ to the thick set yob next to me muttered to his friend who laughed along with the other farmers and yobs. Looking at my wife up on the stage, I could well understand why the men had so responded. The seamstress had let go the back of the virgin white long satin and lace wedding dress and my wife was stepping out of it in a pair of white high heel shoes. She was revealed, standing on stage for all to see, in pale blue satin and lace lingerie. My prick bulged inside my underpants as I beheld the sight before me. Olivia was on display, illuminated by stage lighting and wearing the most expensive and exquisite lingerie imaginable. Shimmering blue satin hugged her breasts, deep lace making their fullness look all the prettier and detailing the outline of two very pert nipples. The satin followed the contours of her body, hugging her narrow waits and flaring out over her hips, hugging her pretty pubic mound, the baldness of which would have been exposed to all had it not been for an inch of pretty lace around each panty leg. To make matters even more mind blowing, she was exposed in a matching deep satin and lace suspender belt attached to black silk stockings. As she turned away to pick up another dress to cover her exposure, ramrod straight seams traced a line up towards her very sexy little bottom. The men continued to mumble and titter. I was so excited to know that they were lusting after my wife that I was touching myself with my right hand in the pocket of my grey Servile Row suit. I watched the rest of the play, - which was all about a woman of class wondering if she was doing the right thing marrying a rich old man-in a haze. In the end she ran off with his lusty young gardener. It was a bold choice for our usually staid local drama group. I found out later that it was one of Olivia’s favourites and she had studied it at Oxford, where she read English. My wife met me during the interval, back stage. She was wearing the little black dress she had put on after the lingerie scene. ?Make sure you are wearing that and those undies after the show’ I insisted, trying to hide the pure animal lust that I was feeling for her. She smiled; looking puzzled at the same time. It was a cold night. She met me in the car park, wearing her mink coat and click clacking toward our new Mercedes. The tight dress and high heels caused her hips to be thrust forward. Behind me I heard a loud and rough sounding engine revving up. The sound was in marked contrast to the purr of my big Mercedes. I heard raucous laughter and whistling. I turned to look at a souped up old van, with gaudy paintwork. Hideous fat faced yobbos were looking at my wife, who was teetering toward me. They were making obscene comments and were illuminating her with their headlights. I went on to some kind of weird autopilot. Jumping out of the car and zapping it locked. I moved quickly toward Olivia, the bulge in my trousers so hard I was in danger of splitting my tight briefs. ?Come with me, quickly’ I barked, taking her tiny manicured and nail varnished left hand. I guided her toward the back of the village hall. It was quite dark. I pushed her up against the cold brick wall. It was a narrow spaces, between the hall and the tall fence and hedge surrounding the Lord of the Manor’s estate. In seconds I had pulled Olivia’s fur coat open. My hand was up her dress feeling the smooth satin covering her pussy mound and pretty little slit. Her dress was soon up around her waist, my hands pushing between her slender thighs, brushing against silk stocking tops and suspenders. I grasped the flat space between her legs, gripping her there with all my might, lifting her off the pathway/ She was moaning, eyes closed, head bowed. ?Oh Roger, what on earth has come over you?’ she whimpered as my fingers pulled the tight satin gusset aside and plunged into her rather dry little slit. ?It is too cold out here darling. Please lets go home.’ She pleaded. ?No you fucking slut, I am going to do you here, you whore, showing yourself off to all those men. This is what you deserve.’ I jumped when I heard a sneering voice behind me say; ?Right on mister fuck the little bitch. She’s asking for it. When you’re finished can I have a poke.’ I turned to look and guessed there were about six other men of various shapes, ages and sizes standing behind me in the gloom. I grabbed my wife’s hairless crotch all the harder, pushing three fingers inside her and crushing her slit with my thumb. It was all so urgent; I can’t recall the detail. I had my five inch cock exposed to the cold air and was driving it up insider her before I had considered the risk of letting half a dozen men see my wife and I so vulnerable to them all in the cold darkness. Once insider her hairless pussy, I fucked hard, pushing her up and down against the wall. Her expensive mink protected her from feeling the brickwork’s abrasiveness. Her head was buried into my shoulder. Her expensive perfume added to my intoxication, as I called her a fucking little slut, while gripping her firm breasts with both of my very cruel hands. Olivia would not admit it, but eyes closed, golden curls bouncing, she kept on cumming and cumming until at last it was all too much for me. With a mixture of fear and incredible excitement. I felt my balls tingling past the point of no return. Olivia and I were both cumming together. In the background I heard the hum of male voices young and old. There seemed to be more than I had heard at first. I did not care as the orgasm gripped me and my body shook. Olivia and I hung on to each other as I had the longest sex spasm of my entire life. As the feeling subsided, my prick withered. I held Olivia for as long as I could. The voices were those of men still hard with desire, I nestled into my wife’s perfumed body and clothing. Wishing we were now safely back in our high security luxury home. But we were not and there was no telling what these men would want of my glamorous and haughty wife who was standing backed up in her finery with my sperm and semen running form her pussy, down toward her black silk seamed stockings. Opening my eyes at last, I saw that Olivia’s were still tightly closed. Her breathing was still rapid, her body still trembling at the thought of what might happen next - I guessed. As my hazy lust filled head cleared, I tuned into those male voices, as did Olivia no doubt. The men’s desires were becoming very clear to me.
