Walter Kresky's Loving Wife

After some time had passed, long after he had finished his martini, he pulled himself out of the chair and made his way to the kitchen.

Joanna was just about finished with dinner. It would be his favorite: mushroom soup, leg of lamb, brussels sprouts simmered with bacon, and garlic mashed potatoes. And, if that was not enough, Joanna was now naked.

Well, actually, that wasn't entirely true. She was wearing a red and white checkered apron that was tied around her waist and looped around her neck. As such, her modesty was well protected, at least from the front. From the side it was a different story, as the sides of her white round breasts were quite exposed. It was a quite titillating sight, so to speak, realizing that with just any little movement a tit could fall out. Or, alternatively, one could quite easily reach into the apron and grab hold of them both. Of course, she would get a bit upset about. After all, she was really quite busy getting the dinner table set up.

The best view though was from behind. The apron did nothing to protect her there. The only clothing providing any coverage from behind were the two thick ties of the red and white checkered apron, hanging down across her white apple cheeks. There was really something quite appealing about one's wife in the kitchen, preparing dinner wearing only an apron. It was like two major animal hungers were being satisfied at the same time. In fact, it might be kind of nice to try eating dinner while having sex at the same time. He could feast on rump of Joanna while devouring his leg of lamb.

As Walter approached her, however, Joanna turned and shook a big serving spoon at him, her boobies notably jiggling beneath the apron. "Now don't you get frisky, Walter, dinner's almost ready. We don't have time for any such hanky panky right now. You wouldn't want your dinner to get cold."

Joanna had a good point. There was little worse than a cold dinner. But, still, he would have been willing to sacrifice dinner for a little funny business in the kitchen. It would have been rather nice to bend her over the sink in that apron, grabbing hold of her soft squishy milk bags as he fucked her from behind. Well, maybe he could do that after dinner, while she was washing dishes. That did actually make better sense. "Well, I am mighty hungry," he replied, "and I do love a good leg of lamb. Call me when it's ready," he instructed and retreated back to the den.

It wasn't terribly much longer when she arrived to escort him to dinner. She had though changed her outfit once again. This time she was wearing her waitress costume. She wore a short light blue skirt, a white blouse with a rounded collar and puffy short sleeves, light blue thigh high nylons (the tops of the nylons quite evident beneath the very short skirt), and a large light blue bow tie. And, of course, high heels (they were even light blue). She was again wearing an apron, this time blue and white checkered and, more importantly, it only covered her from the waist down. Its "waist band" was misnamed as was not actually at her waist. The checkered shoulder straps did come down either side of each breast (pushed out to the side by each breast) but the waist band went along just beneath her breasts. Most importantly, the three middle buttons of her blouse were undone and pulled well apart and tucked beneath the straps so that her light blue plunging brassiere covered breasts were jutting out. With the tight fit of her apron straps and waist band, along with the top and fourth buttons of her blouse still buttoned, the impression she gave was that her breasts had literally burst through her buttons and were bounding out of her blouse, like escaped balloons. It was a really wonderful way to wear a blouse, as it covered everything that didn't matter and revealed the only things that did matter: her bulging boobs, thrusting out from her chest in two tight light blue cups of feminine lace.

"Honey, your tits are so fantastic."

"Do you really think so, dear?" She proudly thrust them out even further, if that was actually possible.

"They're perfect."

"Oh sweetie, I so much like it when you tell me that."

Dinner was very nice, particularly with his wife so provocatively dressed. Walter especially liked it when she was serving him. They would normally just pass dishes back and forth, but Joanna wanted to take full advantage of her outfit. You don't get all dressed up and not show it off. So, whenever he wanted some potatoes, or more vegetables, she brought the dish over to him, like a waitress should, and bent over for him to scoop out what he wanted; well, almost anything he wanted.

Walter resisted the urge to give her breasts a little squeeze, but he would invariably pat and fondle Joanna's pantied bottom beneath her short skirt, just to express his appreciation for such a fine meal and her considerate behavior. Joanna didn't mind. If only all waitresses were so receptive to such sincere expresses of appreciation.

A wife is always pleased and happy when her hubby so obviously enjoys his meal. Compliments and pats on the bottom are certainly very clear signs, but they can be as readily faked as a woman's orgasm (not that Joanna ever faked any; well, perhaps a few, when it looked like it would mean a lot to Walter). What is perhaps most convincing to a wife though are the second helpings and, this evening, Walter had up to three servings of some dishes. Of course, a few times he took very, very small helpings, just so that she would have to come back to serve him some more, and he could again fondle, squeeze, and pat that equally deliciously rump of Joanna.

By the time he was done with desert (peach pie, naturally) he felt too full to have sex, contrary to his original plan. Plus, there was in fact a big game on tonight. The Livingston Scholars were playing Templeton. That was always a big game. It was only basketball. It wasn't football. But it was still a very significant and important rivalry.

It was only on ESPN's secondary channel and was only being provided regional distribution. But, still, Livingston athletics were very rarely on television. It was part of ESPN's small college rivalry week.

"Honey," Joanna warned toward the end of dinner, "You better get ready for your ball game. It's going to start soon."

"Oh, that's alright. It's no big deal. I'll help you clear the table and clean up."

"Oh don't be so silly, Walter. That's a woman's job. Now you get in there and root for our Scholars. We don't want to lose to Templeton again, do we?" Livingston very rarely beat Templeton in basketball.

Walter smiled. He was quite willing to help pick up after dinner, but he really didn't want to miss any of the game. Livingston had to get off to a good start if they were going to have any chance of winning, and this might be their best year for an upset. They were starting four seniors, whereas Templeton was clearly rebuilding. "Thanks dear," he said, and gave her a peck on the cheek and a pat on the bottom as he prepared to leave for the family room. "What did I do to deserve you?" he pondered out loud.

"Oh, I can think of a few things," Joanna replied, squeezing his stiff dick through his slacks. She was in fact quite happy to notice that he was so visibly aroused. There is perhaps nothing more reinforcing for a wife then to see her husband with an erection. It's really better than flowers, a new dress, or even expensive lingerie. "I'll be there in a second. Now, run long." It was her turn to give him a pat on the bottom.

Walter proceeded to the family room and settled down on the couch in front of the television. He was justly rewarded. The Scholars did get off to a good start and he was there to see it. It was indeed a very exciting game, and not one in which he wanted any distractions. It is striking how some wives just don't appreciate how important a sporting event can be. Right in the middle of some intense action, perhaps the turning point of the game (although sports announcers seem to suggest that most any time during the game is a potential turning point) they might want to discuss how distant their sister has lately seemed, whether their husband thinks they've gained some weight, or how come they don't go out as often as they used to.

Joanna interrupted the game, but for a good reason. She entered the room carrying a large, hot metal cookie sheet, filled with tortilla chips fresh from the oven, upon which was melted a considerable amount of shredded cheddar cheese. Balanced on the corner of the sheet was a bowl of sliced hot peppers. Hot tortilla chips with melted cheese and hot peppers was always an outstanding accompaniment to a sporting event, but perhaps so was the missus herself, as she was now dressed in her blue and white Livingston Scholars cheerleader outfit, which she often wore when he was watching sports.

But, her uniform though was not regulation Scholars cheerleader. She did have the right colors, the hair scrunchies were regulation, and her pigtails were a nice touch. However, the top was really low plunging, revealing quite a bit of cleavage, even for a cheerleader. Walter did like how "Scholars" was widely stretched across her breasts, a rather incongruous exclamation. What was most problematic though, at least for a Livingston regulation outfit, was that the top didn't make it entirely over her breasts, as the bottom of them were peeking out from beneath. If Joanna pulled the top down it could loop under her breasts and completely cover the bottoms of her boobs, but then her boobs might just pop out the top. And, besides, she couldn't just keep pulling on the top. So, she just let it take its natural course, which was to ride up and expose the soft, round underbelly of her boobs, a sort of reverse cleavage that was really very sweet to the eye.

The blue and white striped skirt was comparably short. In the front it hid her panties only if she remained motionless; otherwise, she would be liable to reveal a peek of the little pink cup of her cunnie. And, Joanna was not one to stand still. From behind, even standing still her pink pantied bottom was peeking out. It was like she had purchased a skirt that was a couple of sizes too small, yet was not really aware of the fact.

"Are we winning?" Joanna asked as she bent over, way over, to set the tray of tortilla chips and cheese on the coffee table. The top of her breasts seemed to almost spill out of her top.

Yes, Joanna, like most wives, could be quite a distraction but a very pleasant distraction, even during one of the biggest games of the year. "Hey, yea, well, um...yes, but not by much. C'mon, sit down here with me and enjoy the game. It's really exciting!"

"Just a second, honey," she replied. "You'll need a beer to wash down those peppers."

"Oh yea, hey, thanks," Walter replied, glancing back at the game, but only momentarily, as the sight of his wife's sashaying bottom was so pleasant to view as she retreated back to the kitchen to retrieve a drink for him.

By the time she had returned Templeton had regained the lead, and Walter was feeling discouraged. He was always discouraged when he watched Livingston sports. Only if they were ahead by 15 points with a minute left would he relax. He recalled how Templeton scored 10 points in just one minute to win the game in 2002. He almost broke the television when he tossed a beer at it. Fortunately he missed. That was a rather embarrassing loss of self-control, but Joanna understood. It can be so frustrating at times!

Joanna could see the dismay and tension within his eyes. As she poured his beer into a frosted mug (it was a porter, his favorite) she asked, "Goodness, honey, it isn't going badly, is it?"

"That coach Ryan just has no sense of offense. It's all defense with him. We can't score worth shit."

After she laid the cold fresh beer down on the coffee table she turned to consider the game. Joanna did in fact know basketball pretty well, and she knew that indiscriminate expressions of confidence and assurance would not cheer Walter up. What he needed was a comrade in arms, someone who also appreciated the trouble, the danger, and would be there with him to the end. She began to yell at the screen, "C'mon you bastards, move that fucking ball up the court!" She was punching the air with her fist, jumping up and down, screaming at the players to hustle, to get the fucking glue off their fucking feet, to smash the damn boards, to check that asshole hard, and shoot the butt fucking ball!

It was a really nice couple of hours. It was a very exciting game, and so much fun to share it with Joanna. Even better perhaps than with the guys. She was a great cheerleader. She was certainly as active and boisterous as one. And, far more lascivious.

Joanna would jump, scream, punch the air with her pom poms, and even do a few cheers during the commercial breaks. She wasn't a very skillful cheerleader, but she had taken the time to learn a few cheers.

"Clap your hands!" She clapped three times.

"Stomp your feet!" She stopped her left, her right, and then her left foot again. It wasn't much of a cheer, but her breasts were really bouncing around beneath her top.

She picked up the pompoms and alternately thrust out each one, at each syllable, cheering, "Scholars can't be beat!"

Her bobbling breasts wriggled around, kind of following the lead of the pompoms, but adding their own fascinating twists, wobbles, and wiggles, like they had a life of their own. Walter's dick twitched instinctively.

Joanna yelled while dropping down on one knee. "Go blue, go white!" There was again more bouncing and bobbling. Walter had to wonder if the cheer was designed to bring breasts expressively into the routine, highlighting their importance to generating fan spirit.

Joanna added, shifting to the other knee, "Come on team you can do it!"

She leapt back up onto her feet and then went down into splits, her breasts bobbling mightily, "Just put some power to it!"

And, while throwing both hands up in the air, she finished, "Goooooooo Scholars!"

They might be losing the game, but they were going down with the full support of their fans.

It was particularly fun when Joanna would try to distract a Templeton player at the free-throw line by lifting up her top and shaking her titties at him. One time she even stuck her butt at the television screen, bent over, pulled down her panties, and spread her cheeks, challenging him to give it to her with nothing but net. The funniest part is that it did seem to work. The Templeton player missed both free throws. Walter swore that if Livingston won the game by just a couple of points he would take her out for dinner the next night.

Livingston, of course, did lose, but Walter would still take her out the next night. She gave him a big hug and kiss for that. He needed it as he was feeling a bit dejected. He always felt a bit down after a Livingston loss, even though these losses did seem rather inevitable. It made it a lot worse to be the first Livingston game in years to be televised, if only regionally.

As Joanna took the tray of remaining chips and peppers back to the kitchen she reminded him that one of his favorite shows was about to start: "The Girls Next Door." The Girls Next Door would invariably cheer him up. It was a silly premise. He knew that. It had always been a pipe dream of Playboy that the playmates were just like girls next door, albeit ones with big tits. But, any reasonable person had to appreciate how true it was that Bridget, and even Holly, were very much like girls next door. Walter really liked Bridget.

He was though losing interest in the show, ever since it became known that Hefner wasn't going to marry Holly. He had figured that the climax of the show would be their marriage, and it had seemed that Holly had always expected that herself. But, it wasn't to be.

The episode tonight was a repeat but that wasn't so bad as it was the one that concerned Bridget's photoshoot. Walter really liked that episode. Seeing it as it was broadcast on TV wasn't as good as it appeared on the DVD as the latter wasn't censored, but it was striking how even weakly censored was the broadcast version. It wasn't long before Walter forgot about the game. He would remember it the next morning but for now it wasn't on his mind.

It helped that Joanna went upstairs to change once again. She came back down in a new outfit, one obviously befitting the show: her playboy bunny costume. It wasn't regulation Playboy bunny. Surprisingly Playboy didn't offer bunny costumes for sale. They had lots of other costumes (nurse, cop, witch, maid, referee) but no bunny. She had to get one from a lingerie website.

But, it did at least have the pink strapless body suit with a built in, deep cleavage, push-up Wonderbra and, of course, a fluffy white bunny tail and pointy, floppy ears. The suit naturally rode up in the bottom, exposing the bottom of her white cheeks through the black fishnet stockings (which she had to provide herself, along with the black high heels), as well as being a bit small in the front, exposing a bit of her white vaginal flesh.

Walter found it to be a wonderful accompaniment to the show, as if a bunny had in fact left the television to join him in real life. Whatever failures in authenticity existed in the costume he did not notice. He was just so proud of his wife that she could put together a costume that was so very close to the real thing. He smiled as he realized that in this regard his wife was just like Bridget, on the show, who was really into making outstanding costumes and outfits for various occasions.

Plus, this bunny provided him with a lap dance. Walter enjoyed a good lap dance. He didn't go to clubs terribly often. He didn't have a reason to go to a club with a wife like Joanna, although he would at times partake in the novelty of the experience, if he needed to entertain a client. His job at times depended on a well-entertained client. Joanna didn't mind.

But, she did provide a pretty darned good lap dance herself, and she was far more reliable than the girls he would hire at clubs. Going to a club could be a tricky exercise. Walter would get rushed by a number of girls, most of whom would not provide a particularly good dance. Some might not have make contact with his body. Walter referred to them as "air dances."

Joanna would begin with what is perhaps the most common lap dance position: her bottom pressed against his crotch, her hands propping herself up by holding onto his spread thighs. As Walter watched Bridget pose for her photoshoot, Joanna rubbed and rotated her soft, squishy bottom cheeks against his stiff dick. It was a difficult choice for his eyes: the irrepressibly engaging Bridget, her so large boobs jutting out from her chest, or the tight little tush of his wife. Actually, it wasn't really a contest, particularly as Joanna's taut bottom, upon which was perched the cute little bunny tail, was wiggling and writhing against his hard dick. Walter wondered if the early Playboy clubs provided lap dances. Probably not, but one never knew what happened in the grottos and caverns of the clubs.

Joanna did enjoy so much giving Walter a lap dance. There was something both innocent and naughty about lap dances. It reminded her of when she was young, dry humping with a boyfriend, not being quite ready yet to go all the way, or even to be naked together. But, they could make at least some contact through their clothes, rubbing their sex parts against each other, the intensely intimate friction making her feel so aroused, so excited. She particularly liked it when she wrapped his thigh tightly within her own, which she did now, turning to face Walter, sitting on just one of his legs, pressing her breasts against his face, his face pressed into her plunging cleavage, scrunching and squirming her cunt against his thigh.