'Commander Forbes has always made me feel uncomfortable.'

'You didn't say anything.'

'I didn't mind. I don't know why, but I liked it.'

'You liked feeling uncomfortable?'

'It wasn't creepy, it was exciting.'

'I don't understand.'

'I'm sorry, I'm not explaining very well. It's hard to explain.'

'What was it that made you feel differently than with any other...client.'

I used the word deliberately. It evoked a particular kind of relationship than referring to him as a customer or patient.

'I've thought about it, often. Maybe it's knowing he had been a Royal Navy Commander, a man who had held power over other men, the power of life and death at his prime. He just has a way of looking at me that makes me feel subservient and exposed, as if my clothes are leading him on, teasing him rather than covering my body.'

'Did you dress differently when you visited?'

'Not at first. But on my very first visit, when I put on my housecoat to begin cleaning, he told me it was a shame to cover my clothes.'

'That sounds forward, very personal, for a first meeting.'

'It does, telling you now; it was natural at the time, quite innocent. But also it was as if he was telling me to take it off.'

'What did you do?'

'I took it off.'

Why was that so erotic? Why did my cock stiffen when she said that?

'It was the strangest thing. It was like undressing, stripping; as if he had not seen me without the housecoat. Then I felt his eyes on me as I went about doing things.'

'It sounds creepy.'

'No, it really wasn't. I felt self conscious, yes, but I found myself moving more deliberately, almost performing. Not only aware of him watching me, but aware of my body inside my clothes, the materials touching my skin, tight in places, loose in others; my dress sliding over my underwear, knickers rubbing between my legs, my bra straps tight. My swelling nipples actually popped out over the cups of my quarter-cup bra and rubbed on my dress as I moved. I was incredibly aroused. It was all I could do not to pull my dress up and masturbate there, standing legs akimbo right in front of him; I didn't, of course, but I felt his eyes on me, imagined he could see my panty-line as my dress tightened across my buttocks. I found myself deliberately thrusting my thighs back as I bent to pick things up...things that didn't really need to be picked up. When I glanced round at him, he was concentrating reading his book. But I'd seen a quick movement in the corner of my eye as I'd turned and noticed with satisfaction that his book was upside down.'

I was staring wide eyed in disbelief as she spoke. This was my wife, a woman who liked the light off when we made love. A woman to whom sex was a duty. Yet here she was talking like a...like a slut or a sex worker. What else is it when a man pays for sexual services? He was offering her extra to let him watch her. Was this any different to paying for a lap dance?

Fearful, but admittedly aroused, I wanted to hear more.

'This was your first time?'

'Yes.'

'But nothing really happened?'

'No, he was a perfect gentleman, tipped me generously. I knew he wanted more, though.'

'More?'

'Oh yes. He made it plain. Just as I left, he thanked me for allowing him to watch me work and asked me outright if he might make a suggestion about my clothes for next time. He said he loved the dress but he had a fondness for skirts.'

'That was forward.'

'He said it was for my comfort.'

I laughed, 'for his enjoyment, more like. Dirty old man! I'm sure it isn't in your job description do take dress guidance from your customers.'

'Perhaps. What he did not say, but I felt and I was sure he knew, was that it was for my pleasure as much as for his, for my enjoyment as much as for his. A skirt and blouse instead of a dress would be two garments for one.'

'You make it sound like a game of strip poker, without the cards.'

She smiled. 'I think you have just hit the nail on the head, husband.'