Lysistrata Redux

+

"So how in hell do these things stay on?" I demanded.

I held the cups up against my chest, over my blouse. I had to admit that they were beautiful - sort of a gold-on-royal-blue brocade.

He'd presented me with the outfit when he got home from work five minutes ago.

OK, I know, not many wives would trust their husbands with choosing their Halloween costumes, especially not for a big company executive party. Hank was however different. The decor of his student apartment had impressed the heck out of me when I first saw it. His grooming was perfect and his flair for clothing impressed even my gay friends. He had, in other words, superlative taste, something so very odd in the engineering world.

And I'd been tied up of late with some particularly time-consuming litigation. My initial hopes and plans had kept being pushed to the right.

Eventually, Hank had suggested that he wouldn't mind helping me and I had gratefully accepted.

The costume in my hands was supposed to be that of a harem girl, I suppose. There wasn't all that much to it, but the circles he moved in were pretty, oh, call it relaxed. Straight nudity would be frowned on, but risqué was accepted without qualms. Think of Oscar Night gowns -- the question is how close to the edge can you go?

This thing was definitely risqué, I could tell. But also pretty.

Very pretty.

And, in all humility, I knew that, even at 31, I still had the figure to show of the costume properly. I worked hard at the gym to keep it that way.

The two matching bra cups were matched by a thong-style bottom of the same brocade, over which fitted an essentially transparent pair of blue harem pants. A matching pair of embroidered flats completed the ensemble.

Some women might have taken it wrong, being expected to wear something that skimpy in public, but I felt - among other things - a warm, confident love, knowing that my devoted man still thought me attractive enough after eight years of marriage to show me off in such a tempting outfit.

"Seriously," I said. "How? You know I hate double-sided tape, hon."

His hand came up holding three lengths of gold-colored chain, so fine as to be barely visible. There was a small clasp on the end of each chain.

I took one and examined it. It was very delicate, very feminine and I could see it would look very good with the cups, but I had some serious doubts it would actually hold. I could see myself losing a cup part-way through the evening and said so.

"There's more to it that just those," he grinned. "Skin out of that business suit, Marnie. It'll be easier to show you than to tell you." He leaned back against the wall, smiling.

"Perv," I said.

He grinned. "How well you know me, dear!"

Fine, whatever. I took off my blouse, laid it over the back of a chair, then unhooked my bra and laid it over the blouse. His eyes followed me, of course.

Men - so predictable, right?

In Hank's case, I liked it.

I picked up one of the cups. They were thicker than the material in my bras, not quite stiff but holding their shape very well even in my hands. The insides were lined with a soft black satin, something like that -- soft under my fingertips. 'Cushy.' Is that a word? They were cushy.

I shivered at the thought of it next to my boobs.

I realized that the extra thickness would add something like a cup size to the Girls. Not that I objected. I'm happy with what I have , but let's face it, what girl wouldn't like a little more wow in the prow?

"OK, Einstein. What's next?"

He shrugged off the wall and stepped over to me. He leaned down. Our lips met and my heart sped up, just as it always did. His tongue swept slowly along my teeth, then stretched out to tease the tip of my own.

I felt his hands sweep over my breasts, felt my nipples caught between his thumbs and fingers. This was hardly 'getting ready for a party'. But neither was it entirely unwelcome. Hank was the best lover I'd ever known. OK, let me be honest, the only one, for defying societal norms and the determined efforts of at least three university boyfriends, I'd come a virgin to Hank's -- our - marriage bed. And I don't regret that, for he was a patient, devoted and skillful lover, one who had given me pleasure I'd never believed possible.

He also has a fair level of kink to him. He never pushed, never insisted, but he'd taken me into some, shall we say, unexpected territory. Some of it I actually found I enjoyed. Who knew?

Hank also had a wicked - and I do mean wicked - sense of humour. I'd had to slap him down any number of times for his practical jokes - especially in the company of Tom and Eduardo, his co-workers, best friends and engineering-school buddies. Let me tell you, those three were dangerous when unsupervised. By Tom's own telling, one time it was only them having worn rubber gloves during one jape that kept the campus cops from handing their heads to the dean.

It was true of course that the three were gentlemen and reasonably housebroken when their women had them in tow. Petra, Carla and I had met through the boys and had become good friends. Petra was a chemist working as a sales rep for a drug firm and Carla worked in IT. One of the reasons I was looking forward to this evening was a chance to spend some time with them. It had been a while. The chance to schmooze with my hubby's bosses was another good reason, of course. A skimpy outfit on a hot broad -- me, of course -- wouldn't hurt his chances for a raise.

Hank examined the one cup, pointed to a tiny, inconspicuous 'R' embroidered inside.

"Right," he pronounced. "Here, give me your hand."

His long fingers guided my own to the tip of the cup. Hidden under the fabric was a hardness, a small cone or disc made of something i couldn't identify -- a solid disc maybe the size of a silver dollar, hard but with slightly springy edges. It certainly didn't show through the material.

"Feel that?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Squeeze it a little."

The edge of the disc proved flexible enough that my squeezing fingers could easily close a bit.

Hank pointed inside.

"Put your finger inside," he suggested, pointing with a finger. "Right down in here."

An exploring fingertip soon discovered a nipple-size hole or cavity at the far end.

"Squeeze again," he suggested, "then release."

I gasped just a little as I felt a circle of firm but gentle jaws grasp my fingertip. I gave a small tug; my finger was held by no means painfully, but quite firmly.

I looked up at him, a bit of a frown on my face.

"OK, Hank, let's get real. I'm supposed to spend an evening with these things..." and here I waved the cups at him, "...hanging off my nipples?"

I'll admit that I was a bit worried. I had so been looking forward to this evening. If his adolescent fantasies ruined my time out...

"It's not like dead weight hanging from them, Mandy," he said, his voice placating. "Your boobs actually support what little weight there is; the clips just keep them from sliding off. The chains will help, too. The outfit is actually supposed to be quite comfortable - and without glue or tape.

"I could have had the place that made them use straps or thicker chains, but I thought this would be prettier, more exotic."

I saw his point. Moreover, unless I intended to pay a flying visit to Walmart (eeew!), I had best at least try them on.

I bent forward at the waist, leaving my breasts hanging beneath me. I brought the right-hand cup up, eased my boob into it. It fit surprisingly well, but I then remembered it'd been Hank who had bought it. The boy knew my sizes and paid attention to details like that.

Holding it in place with one hand, I squeezed the outside of the hidden disc inside the cloth. When I released my squeeze, I could feel the gentle jaws close firmly on my nipple.

I kept my fingers in place, half-expecting it to pinch or hurt. To my relief, it didn't. Indeed, I found the soft pressure was almost comforting. I know, I know, that sounds weird, but 'comforting' is how I felt. Your mileage may vary, of course.

Certainly, the whole device was comfortable. When I stood up, I saw the brocaded cup conformed to my normal shape almost perfectly. Moreover, I could see no sign of it sagging or being likely to fall off.

And, I realized, the constant gentle pressure on my nipples for the entire evening would be a turn-on.

I quickly bent, put the left cup on and examined myself in a mirror.

"Put the chains on for me, will you, hon?" I asked. Hank's fingers worked the small clips, one after another, made some adjustments before he stepped back.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I shook a little, bounced -- the cups stayed put just fine.

I had to admit that they looked good. They looked exotic, expensive and sexy as all get out -- just what an 'adult' Halloween costume should be.

I quickly pulled off skirt, pantyhose and panties, this time letting them just fall to the floor beside me.

I wasn't surprised to find that the bottom fit perfectly, too. The barely-there harem pants, of course, merely highlighted what I thought were still remarkably good-looking legs.

I twirled in front of the mirror. I liked what I saw.

From the look on his face and a subtle rearrangement of the material of his suit trousers, so did Hank.

"Oh," he said, "almost forgot." He handed me a square of the same material as the harem pants, about the size of a large slice of bread. A fine gold chain extended from one corner, a matching clip on its end. Hank stepped behind me, reached around my head and fastened the veil over my nose and mouth before stepping back.

"Like it?" he asked.

I looked up at his eyes reflected in the mirror in front of me. They sparkled -- that mix of love, mischief and imagination I knew so well in my man.

I turned, flowed into his arms. "It's lovely," I said. "Thank you, darling man. What will you be wearing?"

Through his shirt, I could feel his chest muscles move against my cheek as he chuckled.

"Does it matter, Mandy? Really? Nobody's going to be looking at me with you three there."

I stepped back, again looked him in the eyes. My forefinger came up, poked him in his chest.

"Henry Stedman! Don't you dare tell me Petra and Carla are wearing the same thing?"

"Mandy..."

"Because I wouldn't put it past you three to set us up like that!"

His hands came up defensively. "Whoa! Yes, I'll admit that there's been some 'coordination' between me, Ed and Tom. And, yes, the costumes are the basically the same, but the colors are all different. You three will look like a set or coordinated trio.

"Trust me, Mandy. The three of you will like how you look together. You'll be outstanding, trust me."

He gave me his 'sincere' smile. Sometimes, I'd learned, that meant he was sincere. It wasn't as if I had much choice anyway. The party was tonight.

"OK, Hank, OK. I need to get showered and such."

"Leave in an hour?"

"OK."

"Mandy?"

I turned to him, waited.

"If I might suggest, bold makeup for tonight. Your call, but..."

"I agree, handsome. Gotcha."

+

An hour was scarcely enough time, but donning my costume wasn't going to take long. I'd washed my hair at the gym this morning, so I could wear a cap to keep it dry in the shower tonight. I shaved here and there and brushed my hair.

As I did so, I contemplated the bits and pieces of costume lying on the bed, I realized how well Hank had chosen the costume, for the gold of the brocade perfectly matched my hair color. I decided to keep my hair in sort of an elaborate pony-tail, something simple enough to avoid drawing attention away from the costume itself.

And from me inside it.

I took Hank's advice and went bold on the makeup, especially eye makeup. When I clipped on the veil over my face, my eyes were spectacularly bright, alluring.

Perfect.

I had a perfume I rarely wore, something labeled 'Turkish Nights'. Normally I found it too spicy, too overpowering, but tonight I thought it might work. I put a little behind each ear, a tiny drop on the inside of each wrist, and another between the Girls.

I had 10 minutes to spare to put on the outfit. It took two.

I spun myself in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom.

The bottom was hard to describe -- more than a G-string, less than a thong. In any case, it covered the essentials up front and left little to the imagination in behind. The harem pants over them drifted down like sea mist.

I slid on the flats, took one last look at myself in the mirror. Hot. I loaded a minimal purse and opened the bedroom door to see how Hank had shaped up in the spare room.

He was dressed as some sort of soldier or guard, with a simple pointed helmet which left his face bare, a long shirt of faux mail armor, some sort of simple knee-length kilt and high-laced sandals. A curved sword hung at one side and a simple pouch -- what a Scot might think of as a sporran -- hung in front of him. A short cloak hung over his back.

He looked infinitely masculine, amazingly handsome -- my Hank. Frankly, my mouth almost watered.

"Wow!" I breathed. "That's amazing."

It was, too. Did I mention Hank had a perfect sense of style? OK, check this out -- his costume matched mine across the board. His kilt, his sword belt and scabbard, whatever he was wearing under his armor -- they all were the same hue, the same color as my brocade, but of a somewhat darker, more masculine shade.

Looking at the two of us, there was absolutely no doubt, despite the totally different outfits, that we belonged together.

"You're awesome, Hank!" I said softly. "You are so darned good at this."

"Glad you like it, hon. Just wait, the evening's full of surprises."

It was a bit cool outside and we could in any case hardly drive around in what we were wearing. Hank helped me into a long coat and found another for himself before opening the garage door.

+

When we got to the office building, Hank parked in the basement garage and suggested we leave our coats in the car.

"There's nobody else here and the elevator takes us right up to the top floor," he smiled, locking the car door and pocketing the key.

I saw what Hank had meant about the three girls making a matched set when the elevator door opened and we caught up with them at the table reserved for us.

Both girls were wearing the same costume as me -- essentially strapless cups, tiny thong, harem pants and flats. Petra's however costume was basically green to match her red hair and Carla's was silver-on-black, emphasizing and matching her dark skin perfectly. Tom and Eduardo were wearing essentially the same outfits as Hank, with the colors altered to suit those of their own wives.

I should've been suspicious, right?

But we three girls did indeed make an outstanding trio. Add the boys into the mix and I was hoping that there was a competition for best costumes. The girls smiled at each other devilishly. It was shaping up to be a fun night.

I asked Hank to order me a drink then stood up. Heads turned to follow Carla, Petra and I as we made our way across the floor to the Ladies' to check our makeup.

Yes, we were checking out the other people there. OK, the other women there. Of course. There were some really good costumes there and some dreadful ones. And yes, I reflected, some of them had indeed hit the Big Box for their costumes. So sad.

There was also a wide degree of 'risqué'. Although some had chosen fairly staid costumes, there were others -- particularly other women -- showing more skin. Yes, I know, compared to what we three were wearing, that might be hard to believe, but there were. some further along that track. Several women, I was sure, were wearing little more than a very good paint job.

Something to check out for later, I thought to myself.

"It looks like those three have finally got their acts together," Carla said, emerging from a stall. "When Eddie showed me this, I was ready to flip."

"No kidding," Petra replied. She settled her harem pants higher on her hips as she spoke. "But these do look good."

"Well, points to them," I said. "Truly hot outfits, ladies."

The two smiled broadly in reply. I realized that all three of us were, in a sense, at the top of our game -- old enough to have some solid confidence in ourselves while still young enough and cute enough to pull off costumes like this.

The three boys were waiting when we returned to the table. They too were about at their prime, I thought.

"How long did it take you three to set this up?" I asked as I sipped my drink.

"Long enough," Tom replied. "What was really hard was finding the right place to make them."

"Where'd you go?" Carla asked.

"Trade secret."

"Please?" she asked Eduardo, laying her hand on his forearm.

Eddie looked at the other two men.

"Nope," he grinned, shaking his head. "It's a guy thing."

Like it matters,  I thought.

"Well, they're outstanding, boys," I said. "Thank you so much -- this is just thrilling."

The three grinned a little as the band started.

One of the things about Corporate parties, I knew, was that they didn't skimp on important details. In this case, there was a live band. A good one.

They opened with a waltz for some reason. Hank touched my shoulder. "Care to dance?" he asked. He knew what the answer would be. I smiled, rose and took his hand. The others came along.

We were the first three pairs on the dance floor, but others followed, including Hank's boss, and a couple of VPs. Points for leading,  I thought.

Now, I love dancing. It's vertical seduction, as close to sex as you can have with your clothes on. Hank knows it and -- no surprise -- is a superlative dancer himself.

We moved around the floor, smiling at each other and the various couples we passed. I felt truly happy, like a load of work-related frets had somehow been lifted from my shoulders. I was with the man I loved, in good company. It was promising to be a fine evening.

Truth be told, I was getting a bit turned on. I normally do when I'm dancing with Hank. But this seemed to be special, something more than the norm. It seemed like I could feel every step we took throughout my body. My nipples seemed electrically charged, as if performing their own dance. I could feel the music in my pussy.

It was, in other words, a really good   dance.

The waiters started serving meals and, by unspoken agreement, we moved off the dance floor and back to our seats.

It was clear that Carla and Petra were enjoying themselves; they looked as flushed as I felt. The three men were for some reason grinning like a trio of adolescents.

In retrospect, knowing them, I should have been more suspicious.

In retrospect.

The meal was excellent -- surf and turf all around and table chatter was minimal under the sound of a roomful of people enjoying their food.

Picking over the last lobster leg, I realized that my physical excitement hadn't died away. Yes, the food was excellent, but why was I still turned on?

It was Petra who broke the code. She suddenly grabbed her boobs, held them for a minute and then hissed at Tom beside her: "You asshole! What have you three been up to?"

The three men broke out in a massive explosion of laughter. Eduardo held up his hand and got a high five from the other two.

"Owned!" Tom crowed. I realized that something was going on, something that these three jokers had set up.

Probably something involving these costumes.

The boys, as one, reached into their pouches. Each pulled out a small fob, not much bigger than a car key. Careful not to bring them within the grasp of any of the women, the laughing men started prodding the controls.