Melting The Ice PrincessbyMichaelPatrick©
After twelve years of marriage, there has been a remarkable change in our sex life.
My wife has always been Miss Perfect. Cool and aloof, she exudes an attitude of superiority that has kept most people at arms length. Kathryn is always perfectly coifed, immaculately dressed, and definitely looks down her nose at anybody who isn't up to her measure. Yet, because of my position as a bureaucrat in the small city where we live, we nonetheless enjoy a rather active social life in spite of her snobby behavior.
In the bedroom sex with Kathryn was strictly missionary, in total darkness, and largely unresponsive. Even under those aseptic terms the act seemed distasteful to her. In truth, her sighs conveyed the imposition of it all not pleasure or passion. She always undressed in the bathroom and insisted on privacy while she dressed.
On a warm night this summer we were invited to a barbecue-cocktail affair at the home of a local politician. My wife looked like the beautiful ice queen she was, dressed in a white frock, gauzy white stockings and high heels. Her long blonde hair was in French braids that gave her an aristocratic look. Upswept hair accentuated the tawny tanned skin of her neck and shoulders though, of course, there was no hint of cleavage. She would have thought that common and beneath her. Still, the bodice of the dress could not hide the swell of Kathryn's ample breasts from even the most casual observer.
During the course of the evening there was much drinking. Because of the heat, many of the guests had brought their bathing suits and were swimming. The party was divided between those noisy revelers and a few of us snobs who stood in a little group chatting pretentiously and trying to avoid errant splashes from the pool. It didn't take very long before we were labeled party poopers for not joining in. A good many of the gibes were leveled at my elegant wife who was the only woman not swimming. Resentful of her vestal-virgin image, the carousers mocked her aloofness, trying to pressure her into showing her trim body in a bathing suit. Predictably, she ignored their prompting showing them her disdain with withering glances and her snootiest look.
As the drinks flowed there was more and more tom foolery and the verbal taunts became more pointed and personal. The liquor gave them courage and they chiseled away at her with increasingly bawdy remarks about what she might be hiding under her dress.
After some conspiratorial whispering, a tipsy woman in the pool called out to my wife and asked her pass over a towel. When Kathryn complied she grabbed my wife's wrist and toppled her into the water to the shrieking delight of all.
Kathryn thrashed about gasping in disbelief. She had her eyes tightly clenched to keep from losing her contact lenses as she dog paddled to keep her head above water. She groped for the edge of the pool and I pulled her up onto the apron.
Once out of the water, her virginal white dress was totally transparent with the flimsy material plastered tightly against her. To the delight of the party guests it revealed everything in glorious detail, including the fact that my stuffy wife wasn't wearing a stitch of underwear. Her nipples, stimulated by the cold water, stood out like ripe strawberries capping the fullness of her shapely breasts. Without the constraint of a brassiere they quivered delightfully as she fought to catch her breath. Across the flatness of her belly the sheer material was limply draped like wet tissue coating her thighs and highlighting the thick pelt of dark maiden hair that made a liar of her blond tresses.
Kathryn's first concern was for her contacts. Blinking repeatedly with her head right back, she was trying to clear her vision and not sure if the lenses were still in her eyes or had been lost. She had no inkling that she was so exposed to everyone's view.
The other guests milled around Kathryn getting an eyeful at her expense, and a woman's voice was gleefully proclaiming the obvious "she's got no panties on". A fleeting thought that I should cover her passed through my mind but I didn't even try. There seemed to be justice, somehow, in the fact that this was happening to her in front of people she'd treated so badly.
A video camera in the hands of our host recorded her indecent exposure for posterity and several other guests hurried to get the definitive shot of my wife's considerable charms on their own cameras.
Our hostess graciously came to Kathryn's rescue with a tablecloth to wrap around her shoulders. My wife, eyes still tightly shut, was led into the poolside cabana, and I stepped aside to let the ladies take care of her. They quickly helped her out of her sopping dress and stripped off her stockings. Having worn no bra or panties she was left with only a flowered garter belt girdling her belly. Eyes closed, naked and shivering, not realizing that no one had bothered to close the cabana door, she was unaware that the rest of the guests looked on. A few feet away, Morris circled with his video camera, capturing her plight, zooming in on all that she had kept hidden.
When she finally did open her eyes I expected her to blow her top. Instead she wrapped herself in the tablecloth, gathered up her wet clothes, and strode off toward the car with me close behind.
As we backed out of the driveway she slid down into the seat and closed her eyes in what I assumed was mortification. She said nothing until we were on the highway.
"We're they all looking at me?" she asked in a faintly quavering voice.
"Well, not all..." I lied.
"Could they see anything?"
"Probably not much at all in that light."
"They had cameras..." she whispered.
Nothing more was said for a few moments until I heard a whimper. I was sure she was crying softly. She inhaled audibly, holding the shallow breath for a few seconds and then inhaled again without seeming to empty her lungs. Her legs were folded beneath her and she had the tablecloth was wrapped around like a cloak. She was rocking slightly and I thought for a moment that she was cold. Then the flutter of the tablecloth where it draped across her belly made me realize that she was masturbating.
"They saw everything." I rasped. "They saw your tits with the nipples sticking out hard and pink. And they saw your cunt.
She shuddered at the word, moaned plaintively and pushed her head back against the seat. Her face held a half grimace but I couldn't tell whether it was from embarrassment or from the steady rhythm of her fingers.
I slowed the car and turned into a laneway that dipped off to the side of the pavement before disappearing into a pine grove. Beyond the trees it was just two tire tracks, worn into the grass, leading to a small open area bounded by a farmer's wire fence and hidden from the highway by the pines. Kathryn had stopped masturbating now and was watching intently as the car came to a lurching stop and I stepped out.
Grass, thick, green and ankle deep, covered the half-acre clearing. The soft earth beneath still held its warmth from the heat of the day. Only the sound of crickets broke the evening silence.
Making my way to the passenger's side, I pulled open the door and reached in to help her out. She still looked vulnerable and beautiful with her hair still in the French braids clutching the tablecloth as her only covering. She stepped out onto the grass in her bare feet and I felt a tremor as I held her hand. She was changed, different in so many ways. Unexpectedly, her arms went around my neck and we kissed hungrily. Not the pristine peck she usually proffered but deep, tongue probing, lustful, sucking kisses that brought a moan of desire from both our throats.
"Tell me what they saw again."
"Everything. Your nipples were standing up like spools and your bare tits." The water had pasted your pussy hair to your belly. Everyone could see the pink of your slit.
"Did I see cameras, too? Were they taking pictures?"
Morris recorded everything on video and half the other guests had cameras too.
A soulful shudder shook through her, and the half smile on her face avowed her true feelings. My passionless wife had discovered the joys of exhibitionism. Far from scandalized, she was more aroused than I had ever seen her before...
There was no resistance when I took the cloth from around her and threw it in a ball beneath the trees. She snuggled against me putting her hands beneath my jacket and around my waist as I walked her out into the middle of the field. We stopped and kissed again. I could feel her extend her thigh between my legs, then warmth of her hand groping the front of my trousers searching for the zipper. I found myself looking around to ensure there were no onlookers but Kathryn showed no such inhibitions.Unfastening my trousers, she slid down onto the grass imploring me to join her. But I had my own agenda brought on by a thousand cool rebuffs in the bedroom. "Kneel up." I said, and she knew immediately the thoughts in my mind.
I expected she would be tentative, unsure of herself or lacking in technique. But once again my wife surprised me. Like a pro Kathryn sucked and licked my cockhead, cradling my balls with one hand and stroking the shaft with the other. It was the first time my wife had ever sucked my cock. It amazed me how good she was, taking more and more of it in until her lips were brushing against my pubic hair. Smiling down on her bobbing head I could look between her tits and watch her fingering her clit. The sight was too powerful to resist and within seconds I experienced the most explosive orgasm of my life.
Arching toward her, every muscle in my legs and belly tensed, I felt the glorious gut wrenching pleasure. She didn't pull away as I had expected she might, but stayed swallowing my come like caviar.
Since that pivotal night my wife is no longer the frosty bitch that she once was. Between the guests at the party, the snapshots and the video, more people have seen her goodies than I could count.
Trips to the mall or the post office quite often bring her face to face with individuals who waylay her with embarrassing comments on her escapade. Some have even managed to get copies of the photos that were taken. Far from offending, these confrontations are very arousing to her and she often masturbates in the car on the way home.
Our phone number is a favorite with the bored and the bawdy who like to call her up and talk dirty to her. She loves it, and never hangs up until they do. Our sex life has become a whore master's dream. Her penchant for exhibitionism has blossomed into a basic need for humiliation and she combs the sites feeding her fantasies and entertaining others. Whereas before, I almost needed an act of Congress to get between her legs others now share that privilege with me. I've become better known as Kathryn's husband rather than the person I was before. But at the same time, my career has improved significantly and my salary along with it. In my new role I'm doing a lot more travelling out of town. Kathryn is kept busy with her new friends and doesn't seem to mind my being away and my boss always makes a point of having people check in on her to make sure she's ok.