Prologue
They say that the strength of a couple’s relationship can be measured by their traditions. Actually, they don’t say that at all – I just made it up – but they should, because it’s true. And not just couples, I reckon; it applies equally to all kinds of groups. Clubs and community groups have their barbeques and jumble sales, schools have their assemblies, concerts, and break-up parties, and even countries have their national days of celebration and mourning. It’s these traditions that bind us. Without them, there’s nothing to define us, nothing to hold us together, and we begin to drift apart.

So how much more important are traditions for couples and families? Countries, companies and community groups can tolerate a modest level of non-conformity; it’s no tragedy if a few people don’t turn up to the company picnic. But for families, traditions are much more important. If Daddy doesn’t make it home for Christmas then mark my words, Christmas will be ruined for the kids. And this goes double for couples.

Geoff and I are both big on traditions. He buys me a new charm for my bracelet on our wedding anniversary and we always make breakfast-in-bed for each other on our birthdays (I swear, if I ever catch him making those Eggs Benedict for another woman then the marriage is over!) We do family stuff Christmas (his) and Australia Day (mine), and like every other family, we eat and drink way too much and regret it afterwards.

We never had a Valentine’s tradition though. Is that strange for a young couple? I guess it probably is. Of course we have our tradition now, but for three years of dating and another three of marriage, we didn’t even buy cards, let alone chocolates or gifts.

Geoff reckons there’s two types of people: those who go all-out for Valentine’s with gifts and chocolates and a fancy restaurant and maybe even a limo, and then there’s the cynics (that used to be us!), people who think it’s all a big retail con to sell romantic gifts and chocolates and flowers and what-have-you.

And heaven help the mismatched couple for truly, Lord, they are doomed. It’s usually the girl who wants a big Valentine’s production, as if she can re-live her wedding day year after year. That would be sexist if a guy said it, but I can get away with it. Some guys like all the gooey stuff for Valentine’s, but I reckon if you got them drunk and asked them in private, you’d find out they only did it for the sex. That’s pretty expensive sex, too! At least ten dollars on cards, another twenty on chocolates, fifty on flowers, and heck, maybe three hundred bucks on dinner and wine. Oh, and we haven’t bought a proper gift yet; how about a little necklace? Another two hundred? Let’s face it, if a couple gets through February fourteenth for under half a grand then they can chalk that up as a win. Am I right? How much is a decent escort, anyway? It has to be less than five-hundred bucks.

Don’t get me wrong, Geoff and I didn’t suddenly strike it rich and start splurging on Valentine’s. In fact, apart from gas, we still don’t spend a cent on each other. Those are the best gifts though, don’t you think? The ones money can’t buy.

Chapter 1
Probably the thing I like most about our Valentine’s tradition is that it was unplanned – or at least the first one was. I won’t go so far as to say it was an accident. The sort of thing that happened to us that summery weekend in Feb 2010 could only happen by accident in erotica. It was a combination of adventurous spirits, quick thinking, and knowing your partner.

Geoff and I are very open and honest with each other in the bedroom. Neither of us had much experience when we got together and I found that I had to give him instructions to make sure I didn’t get left behind. Just simple stuff like telling when he did something I liked and gently letting him know the stuff I didn’t like. Hey, it works on dogs, why not on men? (Sorry, that one really was sexist.) Once the lines of communication were open during the act, it became easy to talk about it when we weren’t doing it. Like over a nice breakfast of Eggs Benedict, for instance.

I found out that Geoff loves me in short little skirts that flip in the breeze. I know what you’re thinking: all guys like girls in short little skirts that flip in the breeze, right? But Geoff isn’t watching me when I’m wearing a little skirt, he’s watching the other guys! He’s taken to carrying a camera and trying to catch the expression on their face when they first see my knickers. You’d think the timing would be nearly impossible, but he’s got quite a few good ones. Sometimes we’ll go out just to take photos; I’ll sit on a park bench and Geoff will sit on the opposite side of the path, and then when a guy comes along I’ll open my knees and fish around in the bag at my ankles. We go home afterwards and if he got a particularly good shot (for instance, one with both my undies and a guy checking me out), then we’ll go to bed and “talk” about all the things that guy probably wanted to do. We’re a bit like the Italians, when we “talk” we use more than just our voices.

The photos are Geoff’s thing. My thing takes more time. I do like it when guys see me – even though I usually miss it – but what I really love is when they come back for more. Some guys will double back for a second look in the park, but I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about bailing them up in a confined space where they can’t help but look. The Sydney trains are probably my favourite. Loose fitting tops in peak hour when you have to stand are good, but short skirts in those seats that face each other are by far the best. I like to pick out a guy who doesn’t look all young and dumb and full of cum. No sir, give me a young, studious-looking guy. A little bit geeky, but not too much. Someone who’s really going to appreciate a flash of panty, but not cum in his pants.

I start it out slow. Knees close, but not together; you need to let them know that you’re a little bit careless and that if they’re persistent then they might be rewarded. It doesn’t take long. Most of them are looking by the time I sit down, but if not they will be within a few seconds. I like to read a book, that way they can see I’m not taking any notice of them, and the barrier of the book over the hem of my skirt makes it all the more realistic that I don’t know I’m flashing.

I’m not a tease though. I don’t promise the opportunity of a peek and then fail to deliver. Once I know they’re looking, I get started immediately. Usually I lift one leg to slowly scratch my ankle and then put it down with my knees further apart and my little skirt hiked a bit higher. Once they can see my panties, then it’s a case of rinse and repeat. You can’t just sit there like a bump on a log, you have to provide a show. Give a little more, sure, but take a little bit away too, just to keep them sharp.

It’s not all one sided. I mean, I like to peek at them watching, but I love what it does to Geoff. I don’t usually do it if he’s not there. I share my time between watching the guy in my peripheral vision and stealing glances at Geoff. And he is not one to disappoint: he always lets me see how excited I’ve gotten him, winking at me and showing me the thick bulge in his trousers. Then of course that makes me excited, thinking about the things he’s going to tell me afterwards. And the things he’s going to do! If the train trip is long enough, there’ll be a little wet stain on the gusset of my panties before we get off. If the guy has gotten me that hot and bothered, I always reward him with an extra flash, pretending I almost missed my stop and frantically fumbling with my book and my bag between wide open legs. Geoff would love a photo of that, but it’s just impossible to take one discreetly on a train.

~~~
Finding out that Geoff enjoys watching and I enjoy flashing was good communication – evidence of a healthy relationship – but finding out about the touching was plain old dumb luck.

We were on the train together (to go to work, not for flashing) so it was peak hour and neither of us could get a seat. As the train started to fill up, the people got closer and closer and we finally crossed that threshold where touching was inevitable, and from then on it was body-on-body all the way to the city. Common courtesy dictates that chaste touching on the sides and back is acceptable, but that a small space in front of you is sacrosanct. It’s not true for everyone – I mean some guys will happily dry hump you from any direction – but it’s a rule I follow and I use that little space to hold my book so that I can keep reading.

On this occasion, I was using one of those vertical hand railings to help preserve my little personal space, but as the train got more crowded, I kept getting pushed from behind, closer and closer to the bar. I was so absorbed in my book that at first I didn’t take any notice when my breast pressed into the bar, but I sure as hell noticed when the ‘bar’ moved beneath it to surreptitiously stroke my nipple. Oh my God! I’d gone and pressed my boob into someone’s fingers!

At first, I thought it was Geoff and I looked up to find him. He was holding on to another bar a few feet away, but he knew exactly what was going on! Apparently (so I found out later), I’d been edging closer and closer, and barely a minute before I touched down, this guy moved his hand down … right into the path of my oncoming breast.

Geoff’s wide-eyed look of lust sealed it for me. Within a few moments, I was taking deep breaths, puffing out my chest, and stoking my hard nipple over those loving fingers, all the while desperately watching my husband’s reaction and pretending to read my book. I never even saw the guy – he was standing behind with his arm stretched around me – but Geoff said by the look on his face, I’d given him jerk-off fantasies that would be good for a few weeks. Eeeew, really! Not a mental image I needed. He didn’t make my day though. It was hell. I spent the entire time hornier than a rhino. I was so frustrated I nearly fucked Geoff into a coma when we got home. Poor thing had to wait until round two to tell me all the things the train-guy wanted to do.

Chapter 2
So anyway, Valentine’s Day 2010. More specifically, the day before Valentine’s: last chance shopping! It was my idea; as a kind of joke Valentine’s gift, I said I would take him lingerie shopping. Not lingerie buying. Buying would be breaking the no-gifts rule, but shopping’s free so it doesn’t count.

Geoff agreed pretty readily. What guy wouldn’t, really? To see their wife trying on all those sexy outfits? I loved it too; it’s just another way of getting him horny in a place where he can’t do anything about it, and then opening the floodgates later when we get home.

I took him to the Victoria’s Secret in the mall. I didn’t want things to progress too quickly, so we spent a lot of time browsing together, touching the fabric and holding items up to my body so that he could imagine me wearing them.

“What about this one?” I asked, holding up a pink satin cami set. The loose little shorts were high cut on the leg and very, very sexy. Honestly, there was no way you could wear them without flashing your pussy every few minutes.

“Definitely, yes!” he said encouragingly, but of course with absolutely no intention of buying them for me. “But maybe you’d better make sure they fit.”

“Oh, they’ll fit,” I muttered disingenuously, turning them forwards and back, looking at them and pretending not to notice the lustful look in his eyes.

“Do I need to say ‘please’?” he whispered, moving his lips close to my ear. It tickles me and he knows I’m a sucker for that.

“Yes,” I husked into his ear. “You do.”

“Please Angie,” he whispered back. “Please put those sexy, sexy ‘jarmies on for me.”

“Well,” I grinned, turning on my heel and looking back over my shoulder at him. “Since you said ‘please’.” So I strutted slowly to the changing rooms, swinging my bottom and using the mirror to watch him watching me.

The game’s afoot – as Sherlock Holmes was wont to say – and once I begin the game, all I want to do is play. I stripped naked in record time and quickly slipped into the cami and the little shorts, the cool satin sending my nipples instantly hard. I experimented with a few movements in the mirror to see what I could do without flashing my pussy. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought; standing and walking normally were fine, but sitting with knees anywhere but tightly together would get you arrested.

I opened the door and peeked around the jamb. Geoff was way out in the shop, of course. I wasn’t quite ready to go strutting right out there for him to look at me.

“Geoff!” I called. “Are you still interested in these?” He didn’t run … not exactly anyway, but it was a near thing. He spent way longer than seemed necessary getting me to turn around, “now again”, “now the other way”. Then it was “arms in the air” – I allowed that one, he only wanted to see my belly-button when the cami lifted – but for “do a star jump” I just gave him a withering glare.

“How about trying on a nightie?” he asked with a tolerant smile at my prudishness, running his fingers along a rack of sleek little shorty nighties.

“Your wish is my command,” I chirped, not waiting for him to choose, just grabbing a powder-blue lace and satin slip with deep splits over the hips.

“Are you supposed to wear knickers underneath those?” he asked through the dressing room door.

I had to laugh. What a guy! This little slip was shorter than a tennis skirt; it just barely covered my pussy. Without panties, I’d be flashing every time I moved.

“Yes, honey,” I explained tolerantly. “These things are designed to show off your sexy knickers.”

“Here you go then,” he chipped back happily, tossing a pair of panties over the door. “Try these ones.”

I’d been had! He was setting me up for that! And the panties? I swear they floated to the floor, swaying back and forth like a leaf. They were so gauzy and translucent they almost didn’t have any colour, but to give Geoff some credit, the small amount of light that didn’t pass straight though the fabric was showing powder blue like the slip.

I held them up to the mirror, trying to suppress a smile (God, they were sexy!)

“Are these for your wife, or your girlfriend, Geoff,” I called gaily.

“Wife,” he called back. “I want to get something really sexy for my girlfriend.”

I just laughed. How do you come back to that? I skinned off the satin pyjama shorts and started carefully climbing into the little panties, trying vainly not to let the almost non-existent fabric roll and bunch as I pulled them up my smooth legs.

I could hear Geoff’s voice in conversation with another guy outside, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying except for a few words. I heard the sibilant ‘she’ and the soft gee in ‘lingerie’, so I kind of got the idea that they were talking about me.

“How you going, Ange?” I heard outside the door. “Ready for the catwalk?” His voice sounded funny, a bit strained, maybe.

“Yep,” I said, still turning left and right and seeing how much those splits revealed. Like I said, I’m partial to a bit of panty flashing, but these panties were game-changers. I lifted the hem to look at myself and the dark crease at the beginning of my slit was clearly visible even with my legs together. Brave girl, Angie. Let’s go.

I stepped out of the changing room and quickly discovered why Geoff sounded funny: he’d found a mark! Oh, and he was perfect. Exactly the way Geoff knows I like them. He was tall and slim with tousled black hair and glasses so geeky they were almost cool. Well, retro-cool. Okay, maybe just geeky. He was in his early twenties and had the bearing of a guy with low self-esteem, which was weird because notwithstanding plain jeans, flannel shirt and geeky glasses, this guy was really cute.

“Angie,” Geoff started, winking overtly to attract my attention while I was doing a second pass of the new guy’s body. “I was just telling Bob here how great it was to have a personal shopper to help buy gifts for your wife.”

“Girlfriend,” Bob corrected him, still nervously eyeing my legs.

I’m no Rhodes Scholar, but I put it together pretty quickly and Geoff filled in the gaps afterwards. Apparently, Bob had heard my quip about whether the panties were for his wife or his girlfriend, and he took me seriously! He marched straight up to Geoff and asked how one went about engaging a personal shopper. “And that’s the way he said it, too,” he told me when we relived it afterwards. “How does one go about engaging a personal shopper?” We shouldn’t laugh, but what can you do?

“Did you bring any business cards, Ange?” Geoff asked with more overt winks that only Bob couldn’t see. “You might have a new client here in young Bob.”

“Oh … um …?” I began, struggling to catch up. “I’m … ah … sorry Bob. I’ve got a full dance-card at the moment. I don’t expect to take on any new clients until next year.” I looked at Geoff meaningfully, “Unless you can convince Geoff to share?”

“What a good idea!” Geoff cried, as if it had never occurred to him. “As long as we’re here, I don’t mind you trying some things on for Bob. It might be good to get a younger man’s perspective.”

Bob hadn’t looked away from my nightie yet. I glanced down quickly and could see my nipples standing out proudly underneath the slip.

“What sort of thing were you looking for, Bob?” I asked. “Sleepwear? Like this one?” I ran my hands slowly over the side-swells of my breasts and down to my hips, showing off the smooth satin.

“Um … maybe,” he said. “Or maybe an … um … underwear … you know … set …,” he trailed off.

“A bra and panties?” I asked, trying vainly to catch his eye. They were blue, and very, very cute.

“Yeah,” he said more certainly, and then ruined it with, “bra and … um …”

“Panties,” I finished. Those beautiful eyes flashed up at me; I had a feeling that that word got his motor running. Geoff noticed it too.

“What about those panties I picked out, Ange?” he asked. “Did you try them on?”

“I’m wearing them,” I said softly, coquettishly raising an eyebrow.

“But they’re a bit … see-through.” I needed to establish the rules of engagement here; I wasn’t showing Bob my pussy.

“See?” I turned around and lifted the back of the slip to show them my bottom, which of course was completely visible through the translucent panties.

“Oh, they are nice,” Geoff said in an admiring voice. He cupped a hand over one cheek and stroked it softly. “Wow, you can hardly feel them,” he said. “It’s just like bare skin. Feel these, Bob,” he invited. “They might be something you’d like for your girlfriend. What’s her name?”

“Um … Vicky,” he stammered looking nervously between Geoff and my almost nude bottom. “No, I … ah … shouldn’t.”

“No, I insist,” Geoff said confidently, taking Bob’s hand and cupping it to my bottom. “We’re all grown-ups here. You’ve got a girlfriend. Angie’s got a husband. But these things are expensive. Heck, it seems like the less of them there are the more they cost! And you need to know what you’re buying, right?”

Bob didn’t need too much convincing. Geoff took away his own hand but Bob’s stayed, stroking gently over my panties. Bob was watching my bottom, Geoff was watching Bob, and I was watching Geoff. We were all having a grand old time! I could feel Bob’s hand shaking, he was so nervous. Seeing how excited he was, how much he wanted me, it was intoxicating. I just wanted Geoff to take me now and do all those things to me that Bob was probably thinking.

“Are you done, Geoff?” I asked, stepping away from Bob’s hand. “Or did you want me to try on something else before you hand me over to Bob?”

“Something else,” Geoff agreed happily. “I reckon Bob’s got the right idea, how about a bra and panties set?”

“You’re the boss, Geoff,” I said teasingly. “You know what your wife likes, don’t you?”

“I know exactly what she likes,” he said flashing his eyes at me with a wicked grin. Then to Bob: “What size is your Vicky, Bob?”

“Oh! Um?” Bob looked momentarily panicked. “I don’t … I mean … I’m not sure.”

“Well is she bigger or smaller than Angie?” Geoff asked helpfully. Bob seemed happy for the excuse to appraise my figure more closely. All this attention was giving me a warm feeling inside.

“Um?” Bob mumbled, his hand over his mouth and a look of worried concentration on his face. Poor kid was so conflicted; he wanted to be true to his girlfriend, but he had also clearly enjoyed touching my ass and was undoubtedly looking forward to the moment in the not-too-distant future when he would get to see me in a sexy little bra and panties of his choosing. If ONLY he could get past this one little question.

“Close your eyes for a moment, Bob,” I said softly, stepping forward and taking his hands in mine. He gaped at me for a moment – standing close enough to kiss in my tiny satin slip with transparent panties – and then closed his eyes. “Now take a deep breath,” I said. He did. Good boy. “And let it out.” He blew toothpaste-scented air towards my face. “Keep those eyes shut.”

Holding the backs of his hands, I cupped them to my breasts, soft and free beneath the slip. I heard him take a sharp breath, but he kept his eyes closed. His thumbs stroked searchingly along the creases underneath and his I felt his palms mould lovingly around the side swells. It was electrifying! Another man hadn’t touched me so intimately since I met Geoff.

“Is Vicky bigger or smaller?” I asked softly.

“The same,” Bob replied confidently, still not peeking. “Perfect,” he finished, more to himself than to me, I thought. It was nice to know my girls could still knock a guy’s socks off.

Holding him by the wrists, I slid his hands slowly, slowly down my body, into the narrows of my waist and then out over the curve of my hips. Then stepping even closer I guided them both around to cup my bottom. With my nipples now brushing his chest, I tilted my lips up to his ear: “Is Vicky bigger or smaller, Bob?” I husked.

I peeked at Geoff; his jaw was hanging agape. He was so utterly turned on by this, imagining the things going through Bob’s head and knowing that he was going to be doing all of them and more when we got home.

Bob gulped nervously. “Smaller,” he whispered.

Bitch! I thought uncharitably. My ass was smaller when I was twenty, as well!

“Just a little smaller … maybe,” Bob backpedalled, probably sensing my unwarranted reaction. I recovered quickly though, a cute guy’s hands on your ass will do that.

“Go find a 32B bra that you like, Bob, with matching size 5 panties,” I said, stepping back and getting a bit more businesslike (give ‘em a little, take a little away). “But bring back a pair in size 6 as well if you want to see what they look like with a girl inside them.”

Geoff wasn’t fussy, he just wanted to keep me busy and keep me flirting. He went straight to the nearest rack and blindly grabbed a cheeky-panty and matching bra in navy blue with white lace. Maybe I don’t give him enough credit, but I thought it was miraculous that they were actually in my size.

He came up close so that we could talk privately. Poor thing, I could see perspiration beginning to shine on his forehead and his eyes had this pleading, hunted look.

“More?” he asked hopefully in a whisper as Bob went back to the racks. He didn’t mean “more” sexy lingerie. I could read him like a book. He meant more teasing, more touching.

“Uh huh,” I nodded, grinning at him like a schoolgirl. I hadn’t decided yet how far I was prepared to go, but Bob had me tingling all over. He was so vulnerable and so inexperienced; I never would have guessed he had a girlfriend. And one with a killer bod, to boot!

I gave Geoff’s backside a little pinch and fled back into the changing room before he could return the favour.

Chapter 3
His random underwear selection was actually pretty sexy. I don’t wear cheeky panties at all; I figure if you’re going to have them riding up your backside then you might as well wear a thong and avoid the panty-line altogether, but looking at them on my trim backside, I was beginning to come around. The cheeky definitely has its place – in a teasing, give-a-little, take-a-little-away kind of fashion. They show off their sensuous, lacy fabric around the waist, but they still leave your butt-cheeks temptingly bare. It’s a visual feast for lingerie-lovers.

I stepped into them without any of the difficulty I had with the last pair, shimmied them up between my cheeks, and then donned the bra. Very sexy! I thought, running my palms over my breasts and my backside. And very, very revealing! The navy blue seemed to show an awful lot of pale breast through the lace, but a close inspection in the mirror convinced me that I wasn’t showing any nipple. And those panties, oh my goodness! They moulded so snugly around my sex; the little lacy windows over my mound and the smooth, seamless lines of the gusset made it abundantly obvious that I was clean-shaven.

Would I step out of the changing room in them? Good question. Under normal circumstances, no way – but these weren’t normal circumstances. I was so horny from having Bob touch me while Geoff watched; I just wanted to do it some more. I wished that I could see how hard he was, and that I could hear him whispering to me about all the things he wanted us to do. Would I go out there? Try stopping me.

“Coming out, ready or not,” I called playfully over the door.

“Oh, I’m ready,” Geoff replied confidently.

I opened the door and peeked out in both directions. Bob was still looking through the racks, so Geoff and I were alone.

“Oh good Lord, Angie,” Geoff breathed. “You … are … just … stunning!”

“Are you sure this isn’t too daring for your wife?” I asked loudly. Bob was coming over and Geoff’s back was turned.

“Too daring?” Geoff scratched his chin thoughtfully as he stepped back and regarded my almost naked body. “What do you think, Bob?”

Bob was carrying a really pretty black and white silk brocade bra and panties. They weren’t as sexy as what I was wearing, but they were absolutely gorgeous … and expensive!

“Oh! Um, yeah!” Bob stammered, drinking in the smooth curves of my thighs and bottom. “It’s pretty … um … daring.”

There was an uncomfortable-looking bulge forming in his jeans and I was trying my hardest not to look, but the sexy, wanted feelings coursing through me were making it hard to deny those base instincts.

“Is it comfortable?” Geoff asked, returning me to the here and now. It was actually a good question, just the sort of thing a loving husband should ask his personal shopper. Go you, Geoff!

“Um? I guess,” I replied uncertainly. “It’s as comfortable as it possibly could be with fabric riding up your butt.”

“Does it ride up … you know … anywhere else?” he asked cautiously. Oh Geoff, sweetheart, are you blushing?

“Oh!” I exclaimed with a shy giggle. “I see what you mean. No, it’s really comfortable ‘down there’.

“Look,” I continued, lifting one foot onto a chair and giving them both an unobstructed view of the thin strip covering the full length of my slit. “It doesn’t even bunch at the bottom. The cheap ones do, and they feel like you’re riding a broomstick.”

“Oh yeah,” Geoff replied, his voice filled with surprised curiosity. “It doesn’t bunch at all, does it Bob?” He reached out a hand and touched me down there, gently stroking his finger back and forth over my perineum where the panty artfully disappeared between my butt-cheeks. “These are nice,” he went on. “I think my wife will be really excited to wear them.”

“Uh huh,” I gulped, trying to control my breathing as he teased my pussy and pretended that what he was doing was all part of the Personal Shopper experience. I broke first and had to put my foot down. Honestly, he probably would have kept going forever and spoiled the whole charade for Bob. Besides, if I’d waited any longer then Geoff would have been stroking a little wet spot.

“Well I guess that’s me all sorted,” Geoff said. “I might just browse while you finish up with Bob.”

“Oh,” I said, sounding disappointed. “Don’t you want to do a final test?” I nodded towards the changing room. “You know … to make sure you can get them off and …,” I paused, trying to make up something plausible, “… and everything else.” I had no idea where I was taking this, I just wanted him in my arms and I wanted it now.

“Final test?” Geoff looked confused, but he could see the urgent look of desperation in my eyes. “Oh, of course, that final test. Yeah, I forgot. Let’s do that now.”

“Give me those too, Bob,” I said, perking back up. “I’ll try them on for you when I’m all done with Geoff.” I grabbed the silk bra and panties in one hand and Geoff in the other and almost dragged him into the changing room, kicking the door shut behind us.

“What’s a Final Test?” Geoff whispered, grinning at me disingenuously.

“This,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around him and tiptoeing up for a kiss. Our lips met, mine with hunger and his with a measure of surprise, although to his credit, he came around very quickly to match my intensity, pulling softly at my lips and seeking out my tongue with his own. I felt his strong hands close behind my back and pull me tight, and he held me there with my breasts hard against his chest while one hand migrated south to inspect the edge-detail of the cheeky-panties.

I couldn’t stand the waiting. “I want you now,” I mumbled softly through his kisses as I pulled the panties down beyond his reach and then scissored my legs to work them past my knees where they dropped under their own weight.

“Not yet,” Geoff whispered without breaking our kiss, but his hands had other ideas as one cupped my bare bottom and the other stole between my parted thighs. With a single light touch, I opened like a flower and gasped at the feeling of cool air against the damp inner-folds of my sex. Geoff stroked a finger up through my slit, lubricating my clitoris, which he circled and teased without actually touching it. Moving back down, he gently pushed the first knuckle of his middle finger past my entrance, just enough to give me a taste, just enough to confirm how ready I was, but not enough to satisfy.

“Please,” I whispered urgently. “Take me now. In here.”

“Not yet,” he repeated, withdrawing his finger and cupping his hand over my swollen lips. ‘No deliveries beyond this point’ was the very clear message. “Finish Bob, then me.”

“Finish him?” I asked, wondering how far he thought I was prepared to go.

“Make him come,” he said.

“But not …?” I left the question unasked. We’d talked about teasing before, but never about going all the way. We used flashing and touching to excite, but we used each other for the satisfaction of that final release. I think we both understood that penetration was a step too far.

“No, not that,” he agreed, kissing me through an understanding smile.

“But should I …?” I began.

“Be creative, honey,” he said, shushing me with his lips. “I trust you. And I love you.”

We kissed again deeply and he moved both hands back to PG13 positions around my bra strap. “I like these,” he said, releasing the catch with a practiced snap of his fingers “Maybe we really should buy them?”

“Not for Valentine’s Day,” I said, frowning. “No gifts, remember.”

“Birthday then,” he smiled.

“Mine or yours?” I laughed, hushing myself at the last moment as I remembered Bob outside.

“Stop mucking about and get into Bob’s panties,” he said, pinching my naked bottom. “Eeew, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Get out of here and let me seduce that nice young man,” I giggled quietly, pushing him to the door and then hiding my naked body behind it as he slipped out.

“She’ll be ready in a minute, Bob,” I heard him say from outside.

“Oh … alright,” he replied. “Was the … um …the test drive …? Was it okay?”

“A-okay, my friend, A-okay,” Geoff replied jovially. “That Angie really knows how to put lingerie through its paces. ‘Leave nothing to chance’, that’s her motto.”

“So she … ah …?” Bob sounded nervous as I listened at the door.

“She’s a pro, Bob,” Geoff reassured him. “Just let her do her job, okay? You won’t be disappointed. See you later, man, I’m gonna go browse.”

I heard Geoff walk away, but I presumed Bob was still out there, so I voiced some positive reinforcement, “Mmmm”, and “Oh, yes” as I put on the bra and panties he had chosen. It wasn’t much of a stretch, they were stunning. The silk cups of the bra were so wonderfully soft, but also firm and uplifting, hoisting my breasts high on my chest like when I was a teenager. The panty was a bikini style brief, not too revealing and not too modest. It was cut sensibly through the crutch, the luxuriously thick brocade silk cupping and hugging my pussy in a firm embrace – it reminded me of Geoff’s hand from a minute earlier. Moulding sensibly to the edges of my butt cheeks, these were panties made equally for the girl’s comfort and the guy’s eye. I wished that I owned something this beautiful, something I could wear all day and then let my man undress me when I got home and still feel sexy.

And boy, do I feel sexy right now. Phew! Deep breath, Angie. Let’s do this! With a perverse, last-moment smile, I slipped back into my high-heels. Bra, panties, heels: now I was ready!

“Hi Bob,” I peeked out of the dressing room to make sure there were no other shoppers around. There weren’t, so I stepped out where he could see me properly. “How do I look?” I was so nervous without Geoff there; it must have been killing him not to watch.

“Oh wow!” Bob shook his head, his eyes wide with admiration. Whether it was for my underwear, or me it was hard to tell. Maybe a bit of both. “You look … I mean they look … fantastic!”

“It’s okay if you think I look fantastic too,” I said, smiling and touching his arm to reassure him that he was doing nothing wrong. “You know girls like it when handsome men tell them they look beautiful, don’t you?”

“Um … yeah, but …,” he began.

“But what?” I asked, one eyebrow raised as if to say ‘I want to hear this good reason why I shouldn’t be told I’m beautiful’.

“But I have a girlfriend,” he said, hoping that explained it.

“And I have a husband,” I reassured him. “I don’t want a relationship Bob, I just want to help you buy a nice gift for Vicky.”

“I know,” he sighed. “It’s hard to explain. It just feels … inappropriate.”

“Listen,” I said in the most convincing ‘no-nonsense’ voice I could muster while standing in a lingerie store in my bra and panties. “If a woman stroked and touched your hair, and ran it through her fingers with her face right up close to you, and told you how nice it looked, would that be inappropriate?”

“Well … yeah!” Bob said, sounding surprised at the question. “That’s really inappropriate!”

“What if she was a hairdresser?” I delivered what I hoped was the closer.

“Oh …,” he left his mouth open, but nothing came out for a few moments. “It’s okay because … because that’s her job.”

“Of course it is,” I agreed.

“And what you do,” he went on, “it’s not intimate, it’s just a job.”

“Just a job,” I agreed. Oh, you lying bitch, Angie, you’re going to hell for that. “Buying lingerie is much more than about how it looks,” I explained. “It about how it feels, and not just for the girl wearing it. Understand?”

“Um … uh huh,” he gulped. I could see his hand twitching, as if he was in a battle of wills to stop it from reaching out and touching me.

“Do you like how this one feels?” I asked, stroking the underside of my breast. The texture of this bra was exquisite, such a rich feeling to the weft and warp, both silky and coarse all at once; it was like it was singing beneath my fingers.

Bob’s hand made a tentative movement away from his hip and I encouraged him with a nod. He touched his fingers to the side of my breast so lightly that I couldn’t even feel it through the bra. I let him trail his fingertips over the silk for a few more moments, and then I guided his hand to gently cup me and stroke across my nipple with his palm.

“Mmmm,” he said. “That’s nice.”

“It has a lot of support,” I said, encouraging his fingers to squeeze me and feel the resistance of the bra-cup. “Small girls like me and Vicky don’t need a lot of support,” I explained. “But it feels nice, though. Kind of like a warm hug.”

“Uh huh,” Bob was still watching his hand stroke my breast with a disbelieving look on his face. It felt like he’d keep going forever if I let him, so I drew out my explanation and encouraged him to cup my other breast as well.

“If you buy one of the light, lacy ones,” I continued, making it up as I went along. “Then it would feel more natural, like this,” I took him by the wrist again and slid his fingers beneath the top of the cup to touch my breast. I had to pause to catch my breath as his fingertip grazed over the edge of my areola. Oh my goodness, the feeling of power! Standing there and telling a man how and where to touch me, it was exhilarating! He was so compliant; it was like he would do anything I said. How far could I take this?