The Power of Clothing Pt. 01

This is a run of stories within my 'The Power of......." series.

These, maybe shorter than usual, for me, stories look at how the clothes we wear influence and promotes our sexual feelings and arousal.

As I have some photos from that party, I did try posting this to the Illustrated Story category. I couldn't make it work, but if you would like to how I looked, contact me and persuasively explain why.

Let me know your thoughts and any other ideas.

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Chapter 1

I stood in front of the mirror staring at myself.

I had arranged my long, chestnut coloured hair in a rather untidy pile on the top of my head. It had two large combs holding it up. Some stray locks tumbled down both sides by my ears and over my forehead across my eyes. My 'tart just got out of bed' look I thought, smiling.

I had applied heavy make-up. Deep red lipstick and more mascara than was tasteful. I had dangly earrings hanging down and a gold chain round, my neck.

I was wearing a tight, three-buttoned, grey jacket, a black skirt and dark tights, the skirt being too short for stockings, and high-heeled, patent leather, almost stiletto, shoes. The jacket was long, the skirt was short; there was lots of nylon covered leg on show. The lapels of the jacket were cut so that they flared down in two arcs from my shoulders to meet midway between my breasts. The top button was undone, the other two were done up. Between the lapels of the jacket, my black, lacy, silk camisole was very evident. I wasn't wearing a bra. My heavy breasts moved sensuously inside the cam and jacket. Lacking support, my D cup boobs sagged a little, both to each side and downwards. The didn't, therefore, form a deep, narrow cleavage, but instead a shallow, wide one. Where the lapels gaped and the lacy top, of the satiny camisole sagged, most of my breasts could be seen. When I leaned forward, the top of the camisole was almost at nipple level.

My skirt was tight, everywhere. It was stretched round my bum, across my legs and over my stomach. When I moved, it was like a second skin moving with me showing the outlines of the cheeks of my bum, the fullness of my thighs, the slight bulge of my tummy and the prominence of my pubic mound. It was also short. Far shorter than a thirty something married woman with a child should really wear, it ended mid-way down my thighs; another way of looking at it was that it ended some ten inches above my knees.

Chapter 2

He caught my eye across the room. This was the focal point of the party in the large house in the country. It was a noisy, busy and crowded party; there could well have been over a hundred people there. The house, though, was large enough to cope. The theme of the party was 'tarts and vicars.'

We smiled at each other. He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head to the left, towards the French windows. I nodded. It was a very warm, balmy evening and the windows were welcomingly wide open. Putting my glass down, I strolled towards the doors. They were nearer to me than him, so I was standing on the patio when he came out.

We hardly spoke, it wasn't really necessary. We hadn't moved from the blare of the music to the relative quiet of the outside to discuss topics. We hadn't swapped the crowds of the house for the solitude of the huge garden to debate issues. We knew why we had done those things and we had no need to talk about them.

He took my hand as we walked slowly away from the house, my high heels sinking into the lush turf of the, which at other times I knew was used as a croquet lawn. We left the noise behind and we removed ourselves from the crowds as we sought our own special place. That was some hundred yards from the house, slightly into a wooded area, under the branches of a large evergreen tree, which I think was a cedar.

The night was very clear, the moon was bright, giving just enough light under the tree for us to see each other.

He took me in his arms and kissed me. He was already hard. That felt good and I was pleased at the effect I had on him. As his tongue slid past my lips into my wide-open mouth, so he thrust his erection against me. I responded by writhing against it. His cock and my pubic mound seemed to dance together in a simulated fuck. I liked that.

His hand slid between us, searching for my breast. I stopped him.

"Wait," I whispered.

"What? Why? What for?" He asked.

In the dim light, I looked into his eyes and smiled.

"For this?" I murmured, my slightly shaking fingers fumbling at the two buttons on my jacket.

His eyes seemed to be devouring my breasts; they certainly never left them as I undid the jacket. I took it off and laid it on the ground. I felt every bit the tart the clothes made me look.

We kissed again, this time his hand did find my breast and caressed it through the smooth, lustrous silk of my camisole.

"Mmmmm, lovely, no bra, I like that," he murmured.

He squeezed it with just the right amount of pressure, lifting the orb a little and flattening the flesh a bit by pressing it against my rib cage. He slid one of the thin spaghetti straps off my shoulder. I slid my hands round his neck.

"Ok?" He asked.

"Yes," I replied loving the feel of him peeling the material away from my breast and feeling the air on my skin.

My nipples immediately hardened. He slid the other strap off and folded the camisole down so my breasts were completely bare. He beautifully caressed them both, cupping them, lifting them, squeezing them and pushing them together. He bent his head. He moved his face towards my breasts. I lifted one and offered it to him. He kissed the top of it and then, as I leaned slightly backwards, he took my extended, swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked it. The rush of pleasure made me gasp.

"Nice?"

"Mmmmm, lovely.

He sucked and chewed my nipples for some time as his hands squeezed and caressed my bum. He fumbled the buttons on his shirt undone. Infuriatingly, I couldn't remove the dog collar he was wearing as part of his vicar's outfit. It didn't matter, though; it was his chest I wanted to feel.

He pulled my bare boobs against his quite hairy torso. That was lovely. Like that, we kissed more as his hands went down my body, stroking, then gripping and then squeezing the cheeks of my bum inside the tight skirt. By holding my bum and pulling, he squashed my pubis against his hardness. He thrusted and I squirmed. Magic.

I felt his hands lifting my skirt, easing it upwards, rolling it. It was very tight across my hips and bum; truth be told it was too small for me, but then tarts wear tight, too small for them clothes, don't they? I helped him; I wiggled my hips a little. That worked, for it then slipped up easily and quickly the hem was sliding past my pubes and over my bum.

I was now very aroused indeed. I needed to feel him, touch him, hold him. I got my hand between us and ran it up and down his hard on outside his trousers. He knew what I wanted. He undid his zip and, together we got it out. It was gorgeous, hard, warm and throbbing. I revelled in running my fingers and hands up and down its marvellously sensuous length. It made me shudder with want.

His hands were all over my nylon-encased bum. I was wearing a black thong so there was no interruption to the smooth voluptuousness of the cheeks. He stroked, rubbed, squeezed and pinched them making his way occasionally between my legs and, a few times round the front onto my mound and near my clit. At the same time, I had opened his trousers at the top and had wiggled my hand inside his nice, tight boxers, easing them down a little so that his cock was uncovered apart from the tail of his shirt, which annoyingly kept flapping round my hand. Despite that, I was now able to really enjoy his erection and I did.

He was also getting more adventurous.

He had slid his hands inside my tights at the back and had given me the luxuriously sensual sensation of his hands on my bare skin. Lovely. He pushed the top down a little. Then some more. The rolled down top was now by the top of my pubic hairs. He slid one hand round me. Slipping a finger between my cheeks at the back, he cupped me at the front and rubbed me in both places. That was wonderful. He found my clit and rubbed that, he got my lips and rubbed them and he found my anal hole and rubbed that. I was a quivering mess of sexual pleasure. He made me cum.

That wasn't hard, but it was great.

I moaned and thrashed around a bit squeezing and pumping his cock as the waves of glorious feelings swept over me. He pushed my hand away from him.

"Not yet," he whispered, sounding encouraging about what was still to come.

It was a shame we couldn't lie down as we had to be careful we didn't dirty our clothes, but sex standing up against tree can't be bad, can it.

And that's exactly how he fucked me, and from behind. Awesome.

Chapter 3

It was squelchingly tart like to walk around the party his sperm still in me, some of it seeping out into the gusset of my thong and tights.

"Ready to go?" He asked an hour or so later.

He helped me up into the passenger seat of his Range rover Sport. It was parked way down the drive away from any other cars.

"Why don't you take these off?" He asked running his hand up my thigh on my tights.

"Why not?" I replied.

I snuggled down in the seat lying out nearly straight and lifted my bum off the leather. I slipped my hands up my skirt and into the waistband of my tights. A little, pushing, a few wiggles and they were sliding down my legs. As I was fiddling them off my feet, he reached out and pushed his hand up my skirt taking the hem upwards with his wrist. He slipped his fingers into my thong as I eventually, removed my tights.

"Might as well lose this too," he said, rather thickly.

"Ok," I replied feeling wonderfully sluttish.

"It's probably wet in any case, isn't it?"

"It may have dried," I replied smiling, as I repeated the tights removing manoeuvres with my panties.

It had been years since I had gone commando. It must have been before I was married when my husband and I were quite adventurous lovers, before becoming husband and wife.

I can't say that it felt much different physically to what it did wearing them. It was emotionally where the difference arose.

We started on the journey from Kent to Essex by driving through some lanes onto the A28 near Wye, before turning onto the M20 and then the M25. That took us through Dartford Tunnel into Essex. I was aroused nearly every mile of the way, especially when we pulled up at the tollbooth at Dartford Crossing. The guy peered into the car and it seemed as if he was staring at my bare legs although, probably, he couldn't see a thing.

That wasn't the case though when we stopped at a service station. The skirt had looked and felt short when I had the cover and extra protection of my tights. Without them, and with what seemed like acres of leg on show, I felt as if everyone was staring and would somehow know I wasn't wearing any knickers. It made me feel like the real tart I looked like. We only had a coffee and used the toilets, so we were soon on our way again.

However, before leaving the car park, he reached across and kissed me. As he did, he slid his hands inside my jacket. Removing his lips from mine, he took hold of the scooped, lacy top of the camisole right where the thin straps joined the neckline. I imagined he was going to caress my breasts and I probably slightly arched my back. I was completely wrong, though. Suddenly with no warning, he yanked hard on the lace by both straps. A cami such as I was wearing is designed for looks, not robustness. It ripped. The neckline came away from the straps.

"What you doing?" I said grabbing the ripped front, which had fallen away from my breasts.

"Making you look even more like the tart you really are."

"Gee thanks, I have to go home like this you know?"

"Never mind, now let go of the camisole and undo the buttons on your jacket."

"Why?"

"Cos as I drive I want to see your tits," was his matter-of-fact and, I suppose, perfectly logical explanation.

I did as he asked.

I felt a little foolish at first. However, as he kept glancing across at my bare breasts and occasionally reaching over and fondling them, so I became more and more aroused.

"Squeeze over towards the centre as far as you can," he said.

I did.

"Open your legs."

I did.

"Put one across this," he said touching the centre console.

I did.

He now had my spread legs and pussy to fondle as well as my bare tits.

"This isn't fair," I said reaching across the centre, squashing my boobs on the raised box.

"True," he muttered cupping one of my bobs.

I undid his trousers, fiddled around in the folds of his shirt and pants and found his cock. Directly I released it from its confines, it sprang to attention.

"Shall I?" I asked, holding it upright, opening my mouth and slipping my tongue out.

"Mmmm, yes."

It actually wasn't that good for either of us when I tried sucking his cock. There were too many extraneous influences, like keeping us on the road for instance. But it was fun and it did add to the tart like behaviour I had been exhibiting for most of the evening.

We turned off the M25. We were in a wooded area that I knew well. He was driving slowly.

"I want to fuck you," he said. "Ok?"

"Yes," I replied.

"I mean in here, now, in the car in a car park."

"Fine," I replied, excited at the thought.

We were going a little too fast to turn into the first car park.

"There's bound to be another."

"Yes I think there is," I advised.

There was and we turned into it. He pulled the car up in the corner.

"Quick in the back."

I didn't need a second bidding.

I slid my skirt up and lay back in the corner of the big seat. He got on top of me, caressing my breasts and feeling my bum, I was holding his cock.

"Open your legs."

I did.

He got between them and we kissed. I felt him pressing against my lips.

"Ok?" He asked.

"Yes," I grunted.

"You want to be fucked like this do you?"

"Yes," I groaned.

"You want my big, hard cock right up your slut's cunt do you?

"Yes."

"Tell me, say it," he said squeezing my tits, quite hard.

"I want to be fucked, by your big, hard cock," I willingly moaned.

"And where do you want my cock? Where do you want to be fucked?

"In my pussy, up my cunt, please fuck me up my cunt now.

He pushed and was in me, quick and deep. I was very wet and very ready. Fucking on the back seat of a car in a car park was, I felt, very tart-like indeed.

I was amazed at just what effect tarty, slutty clothes had on my husband.