Las tetazas de mi esposa: June 2009

A headline from Wickedelic's blog. Seems they first thought men were buying french knickers or tap panties for their significant others (since they are super sexy, of course). Turns out, a large percentage of men are BUYING THEM FOR THEMSELVES.

It dawned on them that crossdressers love french knickers, too.

What to say, what to say?

1. Duh.
2. As a crossdresser, I love french knickers and wear them often, especially under a suit or to bed.
3. I don't like being called a man when talking about lingerie purchases for myself. Just a weird thing to voice...man instead of CD or TV or sissy.
4. I'm certainly going to order a pair or four from Wickedelic to see if I like them.

Large pants are proving popular with MEN!!!!! | Wickedelic Lingerie Blog

As I mentioned on twitter, Emily was in Chicago this weekend for a bachelorette party with something like fourteen friends and friends of friends. She got home sometime around 6:00 Sunday evening, where I was waiting for her...more below the fold.

Remember when I was out of town a few weeks ago and came home to find Em waiting for me, scantily dressed, teasing me. Well, I thought fair was fair and that I should do the same thing to her!

I bought some sushi and a couple of bottles of wine for dinner. After I was done doing my "boy" things yesterday, after I showered, I got dressed. I did my makeup, put on one of my favorite wigs, slipped my breast forms into white pocket bra, all designed to take the masculine part of me and hide it, to emphasize the feminine part of me.

Have we discussed before Emily's thoughts on the feminine side of me? Before she learned about Sara, she was attracted to my "softness." She always knew I wasn't a "man's man" and probably was attracted to me in part because of that. It was only later she learned that her boyfriend wasn't merely metrosexual, that rather, I had this entire feminine side. Granted, there are times she wants the "boy" part of boyfriend. But she's also very attracted to, very much in love with Sara. I do not think she'd give up either. She'd not give up the "boy" nor would she give up Sara.

Well last night she was getting Sara. Last night I wanted to dress up, I wanted to tease her, I wanted her to want me, I wanted her desperate. I twittered last night I felt like wearing stockings. I did. I felt like wearing something that would drive Emily wild.

I had a special outfit I'd bought back in December that she'd not seen before. What better time to wear it? A nice little surprise for Emily.

Then ensemble is pretty much as pictured on the model above (I love Secrets in Lac). The pink set consisted of a silk camisole and tap panty, a lace overlay bra, and a matching garter belt. I went with nude stockings and a sling back heel with a pretty bow. If I do say so myself, I looked quite stunning.

I was sitting on the couch in the great room, reading the Sunday New York Times, when I heard the garage door open. Quite suddenly, a couple of strange thoughts hit me. Was Emily alone? Odd, in that a few of, but not most, of our friends know about Sara. To several of Em's girlfriends, it would be quite a shock to for them to see her boyfriend sitting in the living room dressed as I was. I doubt any of her friends thought of me as the most masculine of men, but most did not know of the sissy, of Sara.

The other thought, much more evil. What if she wasn't alone and it was a man with her? Yes, yes, cuckolding fantasy is fun. But I certainly did not want Em walking it with a man, even if that's exactly what I fantasized about.

I wasn't sure what to do, but took a deep breath, just assumed, hoped, Emily was alone.

And she was. She walked in the garage door, saw the table set for dinner, then saw me sitting on the couch.

Then she did a double take, when her brain caught up to the image it just saw. Her boyfriend dressed as seductively as possible.

"Well, well well," she laughed walking into the kitchen holding her overnight bag and garment bag, "I guess someone must have liked the reception he got a couple of weeks ago."

"What, this," I smiled shyly, "I just wanted something comfortable to wear reading the paper."

"Stand up," she said from across the kitchen and great room. I did, meekly modeling my outfit for her. "You know, if I didn't need a shower so badly, I'd be half tempted to ravage you right here on the kitchen floor."

"You like,"I asked, knowing the answer.

"Ugh," she grunted affirmatively. "You're kidding, right? Um, yea!"

I almost blushed.

"Seriously, I need to shower," she said. "Why don't you open what ever wine you got, move things to the couch, and I'll be down in a few."

I moved dinner to the coffee table, poured wine, waited for Emily to come back for dinner. Amusingly, as "dolled up" and feminine I was, when Emily came back into the great room, she was the opposite. Her hair, still wet, was pulled back into a bun, a look she often did when she did not have time to dry her hair. Where I was wearing the prettiest of lingerie, Emily was was on the verge of androgynous, if not masculine, wearing a short pair of powder blue work out shorts and a white "wife beater" tank. With her long, smooth, thin legs, her perfect skin, her small, but firm breasts, Emily looked like a woman, by all allowances, but sitting down next to me, in contrast to what I was wearing, she appeared almost masculine.

She picked up a glass of wine, we toasted, started to eat the sushi. She was telling me about her weekend, her hand constantly moving, touching my leg through my stockings. Looking at her, I wondered if her outfit wasn't deliberate. Here I was, her "boyfriend" looking as feminine, seductive as I could. Here she was, my "girlfriend" looking incredibly beautiful, but almost masculine.

"So, how was the weekend," I asked. "Did you behave."

Emily tilted her head, caught and hold my eye. "Yes, of course. Disappointed?"

What did I want her to say? No. No, I met a guy Friday night and we hit it off and I asked him up for a drink and we fucked all night? Of course I did not want her to say that. Well, maybe say it, but not have done it. That was my dark fantasy, my deep fantasy.

But she knew it.

We ate. We drank. Em told me about the weekend. They stayed in at a friend's house on Friday night. Went to a comedy club and club hoping Saturday. I had seen a few pictures of her on facebook that one of her friends posted.

"You looked...nice."

"Nice?"

"Okay, hot," I admitted. She did in a cute little dress.

"Well, I was hot," she laughed. "I don't know why they make it so hot in those clubs where they know people are going to be dancing."

"I saw. Jenny had some pics on facebook."

"I know," she said, laying back on the couch nuzzling her wine, her legs resting on and in between mine, her soft skin resting on the nylon over my legs.

We said nothing for a few minutes, just sipped wine, touched. Finally I broke the silence. "You looked like you were having fun," I said, picturing the half dozen pictures Jen has posted to her facebook page showing Emily in her low cut dress, sweating, dancing close to some guy.

"That's okay, isn't it?" She was moving her foot, lightly running it up and down the inside of my right thigh.

"Yes," I answered, sharply inhaling as her foot moved slightly higher with each circle, coming closer to the lace edge of my tap panties.

Cuckolding is my fantasy. My private fantasy. My fantasy. She knows. Emily knows where my brain sometimes goes and she'll sometimes go there with me. She knows she can tease me.

"You liked looking at the pictures, didn't you?" Em's foot, her pretty toes, were touching me now, lightly tickling my balls.

I inhaled again, my eyes fluttered.

"I saw Jen taking them. She was drunk. I saw here taking pictures of me dancing with that guy. I knew she was going to facebook them. I knew you'd see them. I knew where your mind would go seeing me dancing with a man."

Her foot was now pressing into the front of the satin panties, pressing the swelling.

"Did it turn you on seeing him touching me?"

I expected to be seducing her, teasing her, yet the opposite was true. She was teasing me, she was not the seduced, she was the seductress.

"Emily," I moaned.

"Did you fantasize about it?"

"Yes, Emily," I moaned, "yes."

"Did you touch yourself thinking of him touching me?"

I opened my eyes to see her staring at me, watching me, a grin, a look on her face. She was teasing me. Fuck. I was supposed to tease her and here she was teasing me.

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Go upstairs."

"What?"

"Go upstairs and wait for me," she said, no, commanded, a tone, an almost angry tone in her voice, moving her foot away from me. The tone she used when she was mad. When I displeased her. When we were about to fight.

"Emily..."

"Upstairs!"

"Em..."

"Now!"

I sat nervously on the edge of the bed. Mother fuckers. What the hell had I done wrong? Why was she pissed? What's it to her what I fantasize about? Those are my private thoughts. Why should I have to apologize for this?

After five, maybe ten minutes, Emily walked in, still dressed as before. If anything

"Emily," I started, defending myself before she could say anything, "listen, just because I think..."

"Lie back," she said, cutting me off.

"What?" I looked at her. Was she pissed or not?

"Lie back," she said again, "and put your hands up over your head. There, through the headboard."

It dawned on me she was holding a belt in her hands. At first I thought she was going to hit me with it. I even hesitated moving, as if my love would ever really hurt me. I listened. I followed her directions, put my arms over my head, through the head board. Emil climbed onto the bed, onto me, and wrapped the belt around my wrists, tightened it, bound me to the bed, tight leather imprisoning me...

And the rest of the story waits until tomorrow!