As I watched my petite, size 8 wife teetering down our elegant stairway, toward the front door, I marvelled that she was actually forty years old. With her golden blonde ringlets bouncing on her slender milky white shoulders, she looked so much younger. Her expensive earrings twinkled under the light of the hallway chandelier. It was hard to believe that my wife was going to answer the door to a dirty fat old dustman and his three colleagues, dressed only in satin briefs, a stark white open bottom girdle, with suspenders attached to tan silk seamed stockings, the line of her slender legs made even more perfect by white leather high heels. Her pert 32d breasts jutted forward, held firm by pretty white lacy bra. All she wore to cover these exquisite undies was an ankle length satin and lace trimmed negligee. It did little to hide Fiona’s trim little figure and what she was wearing. As she neared the front door, I whispered down to her: ‘Open your negligee, I want them to see everything, especially the little white vee of your panties. I want them to look at you there and I hope they fuck you.’ My voice was guttural and my dirty desire out of control. Her pretty made up face looked up at me wistfully, as she opened her negligee. Her body was slightly turned towards me. I looked at her cleavage, wanting to cum at the thought of those dirty men seeing it and everything else. I hardened more, thinking of the young Pakistani with the Champagne bottle. As Fiona neared the door, I ogled her bottom encased in girdle and satin. It looked unbelievably sexy, with suspenders and stocking tops showing through the satin negligee. I was touching myself through my silk pyjamas as she opened the door wide. I felt so very dizzy. My heart was racing. We were respectable people. I should not be asking her to do this, but it was to late. The fat little dustman was speaking roughly to her: ‘I am fed up with you posh folk putting’ what yer like in yer bin. Who der yer fink yer are. ‘Come ‘ere Abdul and bring us that bottle. ‘The young Pakistani approached the open front door brandishing the Champagne bottle. ‘I know yer upper class buggers live it up an look down on us bin men, but yer ain’t puttin' bottle in yer bin. We don’t do the bleedin’ recyclin’. My wife said nothing as all of the bin men crowded round the door and were ogling my trim little Fiona. She looked so vulnerable. ‘Come wiv us woman and let me show yer what yer can’t put in yer bleedin bin.’ Obediently my wife went out onto the drive. It was dark, but there were security lights that had come on. Against my wishes, she pulled the satin negligee around her. I guessed it was because it was still winter, though rather mild. I knew they had already seen everything, including the inviting little vee of her pretty panties, peeping out under the shimmering front panel of her girdle. As she walked down the drive, the lighting shone through her negligee, clearly displaying her bra girdle, attached suspenders pulled taught by the expensive seamed stockings. She took little feminine steps, balancing herself with delicate movements of her skinny little arms, her red painted nails and wedding ring visible to my gaze. As she walked, the fat man led the way and the others followed her, visibly and hungrily ogling her petite and very feminine little body. I could see the men were talking to each other as they followed her down the sloping drive. The little fat man raised the wheelie bin lid and pointed. I could not hear what he was saying, but Fiona looked flushed, hanging her head down. The fat man pulled out three more Champagne bottles and was speaking crossly and starring my wife up and down. To my surprise, Fiona opened her satin negligee, and parted her legs and seemed to be saying something to the little fat man. He was staring at my wife’s satin fronted girdle and stepping closer to her. He said something to her and she walked towards the front of the dustcart. The other three men followed, laughing loudly. The dustcart was an especially small one for going around remote rural areas like ours. They used to turn in our drive and the cab was facing the window from which I was looking out. Fiona walked towards the dustcart and stood in front of it. The little fat man handed Champagne bottles to the other men, so that they had one each. They were laughing and joking and pointing to the little satin vee of panty showing under my wife’s girdle. The girdle was pulled tightly across Fiona’s womanly hips, the suspenders pulling tightly on her stocking tops, her tiny body carefully balanced on five inch heels. The other two white refuse men had beards and looked very scruffy. Both were broad and nearly six-foot tall, wearing beanie hats. They stood either side of Fiona and guided her back against the front of the dustcart. Her shimmering white negligee was draping wide open, displaying her so vulnerably in demure white girdle, panties, bra and stockings. I watched in awe as the fat man rubbed his dirty big hand over the white satin front panel of my wife’s girdle, before grabbing her hard between her legs. The two big men gripped her slender shoulders as she winced and arched her body upwards. The fat man was lifting her off the ground by her crotch, forcing her hard against the cold metal of the dustcart. They were saying things to her. I was hiding near the open front door and heard them calling her a whore and a slut. I heard Fiona whimpering as her pussy was groped hard through her panties for some minutes before the young Pakistani took over groping her pussy through her panties and the fat man started squeezing her pert 32d breasts. From the way Fiona was moving and the angle of the Pakistani’s hand, I could tell his hand was inside my wife’s panties. I heard him say ‘The bitch ain’t got no fanny hair, fuckin' slut. Fuck me’ He knelt down for a closer look, pushed Fiona’s legs further apart. Her satin panties were pulled to one side and he gave her pussy a hefty slap, making Fiona cry out. The sound of her little pain excited him and he thrust the narrow end of his empty Champagne bottle against my wife’s pussy lips, forcing it right into her and making her moan out very loudly. The two big men held her tightly as young Pakistani kept thrusting the bottle in and out of her little pussy slit, while the equally excited little fat man pulled my wife’s breasts over the top of her bra and kneaded them very roughly, before taking each one alternately in his rotten teeth and biting them. As he did so, he leant across the Pakistani working below him and kissed my wife’s pouting red painted lips. She held up her thing satin and lace covered arms in protest and I caught sight of her wedding and £5000 diamond engagement ring. The Pakistani was fucking her hard with the bottle, as she was held fast against the front of the dustcart. Then the fat man exchanged places with the Pakistani and started fucking Fiona with his empty Champagne bottle. The two men holding her as they took turns to kiss her pretty crimson painted lips were covering Fiona’s face. She was whimpering and moaning as the bottle went in and out of her pussy, her breasts being squeezed very painfully. But for all of the pain, I could hear my wife starting to cum, while the men abused her and called her a filthy slut who was asking for it. Their voices sounded ghoulish in the early morning air. Then Fiona came very hard. The men stood back to watch her arching body and cheered. There was a moment of peace. Fiona leant back against the dustcart, her sex and vulnerability on full display to the beats that had far from finished with her.