Revealing Roni

Everyone in this story is over eighteen. It deals with Steve and his wife Roni (short for Veronica) and all characters are fictitious, having no relation to any real person.

*

I had been married for three years when the events I am about to relate started to unfold. I should tell you about myself – stuff I had never revealed before included. Twenty eight years old, heterosexual, (though not homophobic) I have always – or at least since I had my first hard-on – been prey to a range of fantasies, some of which I think are abnormal. (though what, pray, is 'normal?')

Reading stories posted here, half the world seems to be obsessed with panties, or stockings. Although I'm by no means opposed to a pair of black stockings, especially if combined with high heels, I am much more interested in long, silky nightgowns. Before I was married, I would often sleep in one myself, and the more of my body that was in contact with soft silk – or, more likely, synthetic material – the better I liked it, and I would frequently stroke myself through the gown until I came. There, I've confessed! It didn't have anything to do with wanting to go out in drag – the idea never occurred to me. On my wedding night, Roni, who is a slim, vivacious creature with very small tits, wore a long silk nightgown bought specially for the occasion. I fucked her before she had chance to take it off, then again. But she's never worn it again since then – shit! My own inclination to don such garments seemed to have left me, but my pulse till quickened when I touched Roni's silky slips.

I mentioned panties. Another fantasy of mine is imagining girls in the street to be without them. I once actually came across a miniskirted young mum in a supermarket, who bent down to tend to her child, and afforded me an uninterrupted view of her shaven pussy. Lovely! (I've been looking for her – or another – ever since. No luck.)

You know how it is in the first years of a marriage, especially when you're young. It's tough to talk about sex, and you tend to fall into a rut. In our case, I loved it that as soon a I kissed Roni, her nipples went hard as rocks, and she moaned when I fingered her pussy, then we usually fucked in missionary position, though occasionally in doggie fashion, and rolled over and went to sleep. It wasn't that I was particularly bored with that – she was a great fuck, without doubt, and screamed noisily when she came. (though I did wonder if she sometimes faked it) No, it was great, so far as it went, but……

I haven't spoken of my other fantasy. Looking idly through porn on the internet (who doesn't?) I ran into some BDSM clips, and was especially turned on when I saw a Hungarian offering, featuring beautiful young girls being whipped, until their backs were patterned with red welts. The equally gorgeous creature administering this punishment was evidently enjoying herself, and the young ladies being whipped were obviously willing participants.

Oh, and I forgot, I get turned on when I see a girl wearing clothes that must be enormously uncomfortable – very tight skirts, ultra-high heels – I can just imagine that they get off on the restraint too.

I suppose all of that makes me weird – but I do no harm to anyone, do I?

One day I took a phone call, and ended up chatting about this and that with an old schoolfriend of Roni's whom I'd never met, Hazel. She wanted to talk to my wife, who was out, so I promised I'd get her to call back. When Roni came in, she seemed pleased that Hazel had called and rang her straight away. They talked for a while, they I heard Roni say, 'Hang on a mo. I'll see.'

She covered the mouthpiece and said to me, 'Hazel's left her husband and wants to come and stay for a while – OK?'

'Sure,' I said.

'Good, she said you sounded nice.'

'What's she do for a living?'

'She's a psychiatrist at the hospital.'

I never gave the matter another thought until a couple of weeks later, when she turned up on the doorstep. My first impression was that she was a pleasantly plain, slim young woman, a touch more curvaceous, but rather shorter than my wife, and with a nice smile that lit up her face. The idea of sharing my home with two women was slightly worrying – it seemed unlikely I should get much choice when it came to which channel to watch. But Hazel settled in almost invisibly, and all went smoothly. Then, one evening, Roni came home from the solicitor's office where she worked, and announced that we were invited to a party at the lavish home of one of the junior partners.

'And Hazel?' I asked, concerned she would be left alone.

'Oh, I told them about her, and she's invited as well.'

So we all three got ready to go.

Roni looked good in the short, black velvet cocktail dress she wore, which moulded her slim form, and showed a lot of her great legs, encased in black patterned lace stockings. She hummed and hawed over footwear, but plumped for some nice stilettos, which pleased me.

When we went downstairs, Hazel was standing there waiting, and I was immediately struck by her transformation. Plain she wasn't – any more, with artful make-up and long, dangly ear-rings, but it was her dress that caught my attention – all of it! She wore a bronze-coloured, silky, floor-length gown with a halter-neck, which left her long back quite naked, right down to the very beginning of the crack between her buttocks, and revealed a tattooed red and blue butterfly on her lower back. The loose bodice allowed what looked like nice, high breasts a little movement, so that even walking a few paces to the front door caused them to jiggle pleasingly.

We took a cab to the big house in a posh suburb, and a uniformed maid (hired for the occasion?) showed us into a big room, where all the furniture had been cleared, apart from tables groaning under food of all kinds which lined two walls. In the corner beside the door was a well-stocked bar.

The hostess came to greet us. She was a willowy blonde, dressed in a fifties-looking white taffeta skirt, and a blue silk blouse. She introduced herself as Karen, and invited us to help ourselves to food and drink. I reckoned about thirty people were already engaged in just that.

After we had enjoyed some of the tasty snacks and a couple of glasses of wine, Karen announced that she was putting music on for us to dance to. She then dimmed the lights, and the music started with a smoochy number. Karen took to the floor with a young guy, who Roni whispered was a colleague from the office. Karen's husband James was in a clinch with an Asian-looking girl with long black hair, and a long slit in her silver-grey skirt. When another two couples joined in, a guy I knew to be a senior partner at Roni's firm came over and asked if I minded him dancing with my wife. I said I didn't, and took a draught of wine as I watched them go onto the floor, and get lost in the growing number of couples.

'Why don't we have a dance?' asked Hazel, quietly, and we sidled out into the slow-moving throng. She moulded herself to me in a very nice way, I thought, and soon laid her head, with its mane of soft brown hair, on my shoulder. I pulled her even closer.

'Do you like to dance, Steve?' she murmured in my ear.

'Not normally, but I could easily be persuaded,' I replied, 'I like your dress, by the way.'

'I'm not wearing anything underneath it,' she said, in a matter-of-fact way.

Almost automatically, I moved my hand lower, from where it had been resting at the top of her dress's low-cut back, and, with a life of its own, it made its way to the silky material which covered her buttocks. Simultaneously, I was embarrassed to realise that my cock also had ideas of its own, and a rock-hard erection was insisting itself against Hazel's flat stomach.

'Was it something I said?' she said teasingly, pressing her slim body even tighter against me, and I was lost for a reply.

Her nice buttocks were softer than they looked, and as I felt them, she snaked her arm around my neck, and presented her lips to mine. Desperately, I shot my eyes around, but seeing no sign of my wife, I gave in and kissed Hazel's soft lips, letting her dart her rapacious tongue into my mouth. My erection grew, if that were possible, and I suddenly felt in real danger of cumming, there and then. I tried to think about something else, and partly succeeded, because just then I saw Roni dancing closer to us, and smiled at her.

As she moved out of range, Hazel said, 'Who's a naughty boy, then?'

'You don't know how naughty.'

'It was when I told you I wasn't wearing panties, wasn't it?'

I murmured my assent, as my cock again ground into her stomach.

'Let's go sit down,' she suggested.

'Walk up close in front of me, or something's going to be obvious,' I said.

I safely negotiated a path to two chairs, helped by the gloom, and sat down gratefully, and Hazel leant across to talk to me, a subtle perfume invading my nostrils.

'I know you love Roni,' she said.

'You're thinking there's a "but" somewhere there, aren't you?'

'Well, is there?'

I hesitated. 'You can tell me,' she said, her eyes looking startlingly gorgeous so close to.

'I know, you're a psychiatrist.'

'But I'm a friend of you both – I hope.' Her long fingernails trailed along my thigh, almost casually, and I could have fucked her there and then. I was still reluctant to open up to her, though.

'If it's a no panties thing, I could talk to Roni about it,' she said, 'would you like that?'

I nodded dumbly.

'But I don't think that's all, is it?' she persisted.

'Do I have to pay for the psychoanalysis?'

'Look, Steve, I want to help you both, that's all, and I just might be able to.'

'So I tell you my innermost secrets, fantasies and all that?'

'Ideally, yes, the I may be able to make some suggestions.'

'Wait while I get us another drink,' I told her, and as I walked to the bar, I saw that Roni was deep in conversation with the same young guy she'd been dancing with, and they had been joined by a pretty young brunette. She would be leaving us undisturbed for a while.

After a good draught of wine, I poured out my heart to Hazel – well, some of it! I told her about how I should like Roni to wear silky and transparent things around the house – without ever admitting that I had once liked wearing them myself - and how I liked the idea of a girl who was without underwear, especially if she risked exposing her nakedness from time to time. I started to say more, then clammed up.

'There's more!' said Hazel, bluntly, looking at me intensely.

'I suppose I'm really weird,' I said.

'You don't know the half of it,' she replied, 'you just wouldn't believe some of the fetishes I hear about.'

'Restrictive clothing?' I murmured, hesitantly.

'Mmm,' she said, 'like it!'

'You mean………?'

'It excites me to wear a very tight corset, or a hobble skirt, yes.'

'Wow!' was all I could say, but she went on, 'And what tends to go with that is a spot of sadism, right?'

I cast my eyes downwards, but nodded. She put a long-nailed hand under my chin, and raised my head so that I was obliged to look into her serious face.

'Steve, it's nothing to be ashamed of, as long as the object of your sadism is a true submissive, a masochist who enjoys receiving whatever you wish to inflict.'

'But…but, how would I know?'

'It takes, perhaps, a conversation such as this, don't you think?' She looked at me with a new, almost coquettish, expression on her face.

'You… you?'

'Yes, Steve, I am a submissive. Would you like to picture me chained up, being brutally whipped?'

'I…I don't know what to say.'

She patted my knee, as if the conversation were coming to an end. 'I'll talk to Roni tomorrow,' she said, ' now let's go and mingle.'

Next morning was Saturday. Before Hazel came down to breakfast, Roni told me that the two women had arranged to go shopping together for the day. It suited me fine, as I needed to go into my office for the morning, and there was what promised to be a good match on the telly in the afternoon.

No sooner had the final whistle sounded on a boring drawn game, than I heard Roni's key in the door, and the two women clattered in with arms full of shopping bags. They greeted me, and both went about their girlie business while I watched Discovery Channel and drank a cold beer.

Later, over dinner, I felt rather than saw a subtle change in the relationship of my two female companions. I couldn't put a finger on it, but they were somehow more….intimate? Secretive? No, probably not really, but I sensed that whatever they had bought (and they didn't show me anything) was secondary to whatever they had discussed. I just wondered if I had imagined what Hazel said to me about her being a submissive, and if she had, in fact, spoken to Roni about the things we had talked about last night.

I didn't have long to wait for at least a part of my answer.

'Coming to bed?' asked Roni. That was new – she normally just sloped off, and when I got upstairs, she was sound asleep.

We went up togther, and I did my usual act of undressing in half a minute, and diving into bed, while my wife called, 'Won't be a minute,' from the en-suite bathroom.

When, after more like five minutes, she eventually emerged, my jaw dropped open with astonishment. For she was wearing a long, black gown, long sleeved and with a silky sheen, but completely transparent, with a lace fringe at the hem and cuffs. As she walked up to the bed, I saw beneath it a heavy silver chain hanging loosely about her narrow waist, its loose end dangling suggestively around the neatly trimmed black triangle of pubic hair. Her nipples – always her best feature - poked out at the sheer material from the small mounds of her almost adolescent breasts, and my cock rose uninvited just from the erotic sight of her.

'I can see you like it,' she said, walking very slowly, sexily, towards me, smoothing the hem of the gown up her slim legs.

I lay there and let her climb onto the bed and straddle me, allowing the lovely, silky gown to trail down over me as she impaled herself on my rampant shaft.

'Oh, Roni!' I said, hoarsely, as I felt her agile cunt-muscles grip my cock, then release it, as I drove into her with my hips, simultaneously sliding my hand under the gown to massage her clit. She threw her head back and moaned as I thrust into her very centre. I came almost immediately – too quickly, I thought – but the moisture oozing from her pussy, and her extravagant moans told me that she too had cum.

'Hazel spoke to you,' I managed to say, when I had partially recovered.

'Yes, darling,' she said, 'If only I'd known.'

'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but we never seemed to talk, at least, not about…..'

'She told me a lot of things,' Roni said, nibbling my ear-lobe, and snuggling closer, the soft material sensual against me.

'Things?'

'Yes, things. I think our lives are due for a change or two.'

She wouldn't be drawn on just what Hazel had said, or what changes she envisaged, and we drifted off to sleep, entwined together.

When I awoke, though, I patted the bed alongside – it was empty. I showered, dressed and went downstairs. Since Hazel had been with us, I no longer slouched down in my tatty robe; it seemed better to look presentable.

The two were having breakfast in th kitchen.

'Coffee?' asked Roni, and got awkwardly to her feet to get the percolator. Awkwardly, because, as I saw to my astonishment, she was dressed in a black skirt so tight she could hardly move. It was real 'restraint' gear, a broad band at the knee-length hem which was tightened with a big silver buckle. She also wore black patent heels at least twice as high as any I had seen her in. She saw my surprise and laughed. 'Do you like my skirt, Steve?' she asked.

'Do you like wearing it?' I rejoined.

'Mmmm, it makes me feel very sexy, and the corset too.'

'Corset?'

She lifted the hem of her ribbed cotton top, to reveal that her waist, already narrow, was pulled in cruelly by a black, whaleboned corset. When she spun around, I saw that it was laced up tightly.

'Hazel must have helped you with that,' I said, glancing at our guest, who was sipping her coffee and smiling at me.

'She's helped us a great deal,' said Roni, 'made me see the light, so to speak.'

I didn't question her as to that last statement – things were becoming clearer by the minute.

There was no hurry, as it was Sunday, and the shops opened late. Roni had told me she'd like us to go shopping together some days ago. As I was finishing breakfast, Hazel stood to start clearing the table, and my eyes took in her bare legs, which she had scarcely exhibited before. God, they were lovely! She wore a miniskirt, a flared and pleated little tartan job, making her look like an erotic voyeur's version of a schoolgirl, further accentuated by a transparent white blouse, buttoned up the back, to allow an uninterrupted view of her lacy white half-bra, nipples barely hidden by the lace frill at its top. Her shoes were white stiletto-heeled sandals, and a silver ankle-chain was a pretty accessory.

'You look gorgeous,' I told her, when Roni was out of earshot.

She smiled gently. 'I am yours to command.'

My prick rose unbidden as she spoke. Did she mean that, apropos of our dicussion a couple of days ago, or was she teasing me?

She showed me her answer, slowly and deliberately bending over the kitchen counter right in front of me, looking over her shoulder into my eyes as she did so, and letting the very tip of her tongue protrude from between her slightly open, even white teeth. Her skirt wasn't all that short, as miniskirts go, but she knew it would ride up sufficiently as she bent over to afford me an enticing view of her shaven pussy.

'You forgot your panties,' I pointed out.

'Yes, Steve,' she replied simply, and stood up straight, just as my wife returned, hobbling into the kitchen, her skirt restricting her paces to little, mincing ones, tottering just a little on her heels.

We left the car in the big Commercial Centre's underground car-park. As soon as we emerged from the lift (Roni said they couldn't manage the escalator in their heels) I saw people – men especially – gazing hungrily at my two companions. Christ, but they were incredibly sexy. Hazel was an enticing 'Lolita' in her tartan miniskirt and transparent blouse, and the mere thought that she was without panties, her shaven pussy inches away from full view, was enough to set my cock pulsing. Roni, on the other hand, was an erotic vision, her cruelly tight skirt and ultra-high heels giving the whole world a signal: here is a girl who enjoys suffering, who will willingly endure and embrace discomfort. Hazel walked along between us, and when I took her slim hand in mine, she offered her other one to Roni. Everyone must have wondered what our relationship was, and I enjoyed the experience.

'Let's go and have a coffee,' said Hazel, 'we should make a few plans.'

When we sat in the big open café area, eyes upon us from all around, it was Hazel who spoke first.

'As you both know, I am a psychiatrist,' she said, 'but that doesn't mean I want to tell you what to do. Quite the reverse, in fact; I know that, by my very nature, I am a submissive. If you've read "O" you'll know that the submissive, according, anyway, to the book, is really in control.' She looked from me to Roni, to see what effect her words were having, then went on, 'There's another book, supposedly by a Jean de Berg, but really by a woman. In it, a couple take a young girl as their sex-slave.' She smiled and said, 'You should read it.'