Written by Alistair

Fact
9 Jun 2010


I am a successful sixty five-year-old businessman. I had the good fortune to marry my forty-year-old secretary, Fiona, after my wife died.

Fiona is a petite size 8 blonde, with 32d breasts and slim legs. She has the body of a woman half her age and a very young complexion. Her big blue eyes and well made up face just makes me want to cum all over her.

Anyway, not long after we were married, Fiona discovered that I had kept all of my wife’s clothes, including her undies. Among her undies were various panty and open bottom girdles with satin front panels and suspenders. She picked through them, held them up and laughed, saying she had never seen such things, asking if I thought they were sexy. I gulped, before saying, ‘Yes, actually I do,’

My late wife was also a small woman. She wore girdles under tight dresses and skirts, as women often did in the early 1960s. ‘Would you like me to wear them, she asked, smiling at me, but blushing a little. My prick throbbed as I looked at her angelic face, framed by shoulder length blonde ringlets. ‘Yes,’ I stuttered.’

One thing led to another and before very long she was wearing pencil skirts, full slips, open bottom girdles and seamed stockings. Old as I am, I was constantly hard. But an evil fantasy was forming in my mind. I wanted other men to see her in her white bra, tight little satin and lace panties, open bottom girdle high heels and seamed stockings. I also wanted them to fuck her.

Even worse, I wanted the men to be rough working class types, as my wife was a haughty upper middle class product of an exclusive school and Cambridge University. I wanted her to be sued by dirty rough men.

I formed a little plan to expose her to such men. We live in an exclusive little country lane. Once a week the dustcart reverses up the lane, around 6 am. They collect the refuse from the bottom of our drive. There is a landing leading to the airing cupboard at the front of our house. Next to the landing is a huge glass picture window. Last January, in the winter darkness, with the light of the stairway chandelier behind her,

I persuaded Fiona to go to the airing cupboard and stand in that window as the dustcart and four refuse collectors’s arrived. All she was wearing was her make up, perfume, jewellery, shimmering white satin fronted open bottom girdle, tight white satin panties, tan seamed stockings, pretty white lacy bra, high heels and expensive white lace and satin negligee. She was standing in that big window; well illuminated when the filthy rough refuse collectors arrived at the bottom of our drive. I was watching from the bedroom and could see her little red painted nails shaking with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. The dirty looking men piled out of the dustcart and saw her immediately. Their rough horrible faces said it all about their dirty desire and my old prick felt fit to burst.


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