Lindsey

LINDSEY - Part 1 by TitSlave After working sixty plus hour weeks for several years, with no vacations, I had finally arrived at the upper middle class echelon, an achievement I had thought was impossible when I first entered college. I was now VP of Finance at the corporate headquarters of a national retail giant, and making damn good money. I was determined to show the people that doubted me, or looked down at me, that I was a success. I was climbing. If people in the organization impeded me I figured out methods to get them out of my way. I was now a top executive, I drove a brand new Mercedes, I had a closet full of custom suits, and I had Lindsey. Nothing could more dramatically reflect my arrival than my wife Lindsey. I met her in Mexico on a Spring Break when we were both in college. I was in a loud, rather wild Spring Break type of club in Acapulco, "Club Bonita", and I was half-full of Tequila. I remember this night like it was yesterday: I noticed this smashing blonde participating, along with others inferior to her in looks, in a "B&B" contest, i.e., a "Boobs and Booty" contest. It was silly; five chicks at a time came on to the stage and stuck their chests out, then (or if there was not much to stick out) stuck out their asses. The crowd was partying in a cloud of alcohol and so were most of those vying for first prize. Everybody was getting wasted. The winner of the B&B contest, I learned later, got a free night at the Marriott or something, paid for by the club. Some of the contestants were all right on top or on the bottom, but Lindsey was sensational in all respects. She had these piercing blue-gray eyes, that focused on one particular guy for a full half minute, then switched to another drunken goof for another moment, and so on. These stares were quite something through that thick, long, curly strawberry blonde hair that she tossed around. The other contestants smiled or laughed self-consciously; but she glowed with a high intensity - with lust in her faint smile and a predatory stare. She was tall, very fair-skinned, and with gorgeous, long legs that, when they decided to meet, turned into this killer hind end. She had really wide hips, with plump cheeks that stuck out behind her as much as they spread across, and the whole package down there was oh so sexy. She was wearing very tight red shorts and acted like she had done exotic dancing all her life. Her rivals were trying to exude sex, through the booze and their amateurishness, and some were sexy. But Lindsey WAS sex. She was raunchier and dirtier, confidently shaking and jigglin e a whore, and touching herself and showing her body sinfully past the point of Spring Break drunken fun. After giving you that picture of her, need I say that the first feature of her that I ever noticed was her ass? Hypnotized, I had managed to get close to the stage, and she was bending all the way over, touching her toes, shaking her lucious can. She was pulling the bottoms of the shorts inward roughly, stuffing them into her butt crack. Then, departing from the contest rule that she did not have to show her naked ass or crotch, she pulled her underpants down to her ankles, then spread her cheeks. She was burying the competition. "Let's hear it for --" the MC hollered coarsely into the mike he was carrying as he strutted up and down the stage and, mouth open, paused to admire her booty show. He asked for her name and she half stood up and bent forward toward him to answer, still playing with herself in front of the increasingly hysterical audience. He turned to the crowd. "---LINDSEY!" The crowd's roar left no doubt who was the best. Again she bent over with her legs spread, pulling her top down (in the upside down sense) to her neck and that was when I saw what I could only see some of up until then: out fell two very large, breathtaking breasts. She was completely bent over, her hands on her feet, her ass sticking out, and her face looking mischievously at the audience through all of that long hair and those shapely legs. But you couldn't see much of her face with those big tits swinging back and forth pendulously. She lifted them "up" toward her middle then let one drop, then the other. Then she managed to stuff them in her top again and pulled her top back on, stood up, turned, and the MC handed her some kind of a gift certificate. "Lindsey! This night's winner of the B&B! And do you agree with me - the winner of this whole Spring Break?" The crowd responded with gusto. In gratitude she, her panties now in her hand, threw her arms around him and gave him a deep, sloppy kiss. What made this so cative was that the other babes had left the stage or remained there without sustaining any lusty attitude. For them this was a fun experience far away from home, and the instant the music stopped and the dancing ended they were done with erotic teasing. Not with Lindsey. The MC, a short, well built guy with shades on and a long ponytail, was visibly caught off guard. He was used to giggly drunk chicks shaking his hand when they received their prize. She told me later he thought she was a pro who had blown in from Vegas to go slumming, and flipped when she told him she was studying art history and graphic design at Ohio State. So on the stage he responded to her passionate kiss, pulling her close to him, and when she pushed his hands onto her ass and she turned her back to the audience again the crowd went nuts, applauding wildly and cheering. "Yeah baby!" "Give her a feel for me!" the guys on either side of me yelled. Then she said something in his ear and he sat down in a chair that was facing at a right angle to the audience. She pulled her top off, slowly, looking hard out at the audience, no smile, and roughly grabbed her breasts. She lifted them hard as high as she could, licking one, then the other, all the while grinding her hips. She pulled at her nipples vigorously and bent over to aim a tit at somebody in the front row, then mimicked squirting milk at the frantic member of the audience. "Are you thirsty, honey?" she yelled as she worked her chest. She turned and faced the MC and slowly walked toward him, her hips dramatically swaying to the high volume rap music. The crowd was yellin screaming at a fever pitch. She stood over him, his face looking up toward her chest, and, still holding them high on her chest, with nipples fully aroused, she dropped one breast, then the other, on his head. He began licking them and sucking on them. She stared out at us, her hair in her eyes but hardly blocking the sex rays emanating from her face. Then she smacked her buttock so hard you could hear the contact of skin on skin through the commotion. She was a sorceress, holding us in thrall. The audience was beginning to sound like a mob itching like mad to storm the stage. Unfortunately two unhappy guys came out from somewhere and told her and the MC that the show was over. They were clearly angry with a contest that had far exceeded the limits. The music went to half volume, and so did the crowd's yells. Then two Mexican policemen showed up and the MC and Lindsey were ushered out of the club, which now had gotten real quiet. A wave of boos and taunts erupted from the customers. One of the policemen grabbed Lindsey - who was taking her time and gesturing with a confused look for the benefit of the fans - then gave her a shove. She stopped, turned back at him and cursed him, and stared at him with a glare that seem to come from the eyes of a madwoman. Several of us were afraid that he was going to beat her, but, surprisingly, he was rather nonplussed. This girl had caught him off guard and kept him there, by the sheer force of her blazing bitchhood. I found out that she was in jail. This girl was part of my plan. I was willing to overlook her lewd conduct - it was just an aberration - I felt like I was in love. She was the Mercedes Benz of all women and I saw my star rising with someone this beautiful as my wife. It took me three hours to find the jail and thirty minutes to arrange her release. They just wanted an exorbitant amount of American cash, which it so happened I had. She was so appreciative of my bailing her out and getting the charges dropped that she married me six months later. I continued to have some apprehension about how wild she was at that place in Mexico but satisfied myself that at the time she was getting crazy at a Spring Break party bar south of the border, and she would never see any of those people again. She told me she had gone through a stage of dating a lot of guys at the same time, "exploring" exhibitionist sex, and being intimate with strangers, but that she was "burned out". She said this stage in her life had begun when she was 14 and showed no signs of stopping by the time I met her, and when I said "you must have been totally drunk at that club," she said that in fact she had been drinking only ginger ale all night. That suggested she was willing to undress in front of guys and get really wild in a sober state, without needing liquor to get loose about it, and that bothered me too. But she convinced me that her crazy phase was over. Maybe I was naive. We settled in my home town, San Diego. We both worked and I couldn't get over what a fast track she was on. She never relaxed, always was moving, slept four hours a night. Jogged at four in the morning. Took martial arts until she fought with her teacher - practically got into it physically. Always ahead of me in our conversations, she figured out my political risks at my company long before I did and practically mentored me on how to climb in the organization. She read the Wall Street Journal twice as fast as I did. But she was content to let me be the breadwinner and quit her job in sales when I started to make really good money. After just two years we had the cash to buy an old, three bedroom brick house. We had no kids and converted the third bedroom into an office. Lindsey was active in community activities. We entertained often and went out two or three times a week. I was so proud to have such a fox for a wife. It made me look so good. She frequently got compliments - and so did I, from co-workers - about how sexy she was. I had to chuckle to myself at my good fortune. I bought her daring clothes and eye-catching jewelry. Having her was like having the resources for traveling frequently to Europe on vacation, or for buying a boat; the more stunning she looked, the more a reflection of my success. She helped put me on the map. Gradually we stocked the house with high end furniture and other attractive furnishings. Lindsey took up painting again and did some very fine watercolors and chalk drawings of seascapes and Mexican villages we had visited. She just plunged into it and came up with these handsome depictions. She became a genuine expert on wild flowers and planted them in our spacious back yard, along with standard garden varieties. She wallpapered practically every room in the house in a matter of days. Slowing down was death to her To me the crowning touch was my entertainment center, a solid oak piece that I paid a fortune for. It was enormous - filled an entire wall in the family room - and housed a 42" television, state of the art stereo equipment, very expensive loudspeakers, a DVD player and a VCR, a kareoke system, a Mac high-end computer with Internet access, and other goodies. Lindsey thought it was a big pain in the neck, too big, self-indulgent, etc. She just didn't get it. There was nothing about it she liked. I totally loved it and we had fights about buying it, before and after. Once she told me I should marry the "piece of shit" since I loved it so much. This disturbed me no end. I wouldn't speak to her for days after she said that about the entertainment center. As I made a name for myself at the company two things happened, one bad, one good. The bad news was that I gained a good deal of weight. Lindsey began to kid me about it, assigning me two pet names that I usually took light-heartedly: "chubby" and "butterball". But the more important, good news, was that last month we were able to buy a large, recently built home, 3,500 square feet on an acre, adjacent to county park land that would never be developed. Price: $875,000. We were excited about this big step up and I made a point of letting everyone know that we were trading up to a palace. Obviously there were numerous arrangements to be made, and near the top of the list were movers. A company someone had referred to me canceled at the last minute so Lindsey asked around, avoiding the big name outfits for some reason, and narrowed it down to a local outfit named "Macho Moving". We spoke about it on the telephone; I was concerned about an organization with such a name. "Honey, we're getting moved by 'Macho Moving'?" She answered, in her characteriscally rapid fire style: "I checked around. These guys are very dependable and not too expensive. I spoke to the head guy. When I gave him your name he said he knew you from high school and college." I asked, "what's his name?" "Greg Tucci." I laughed, and repeated his name. "Tucci? That clown? I remember what a jerk he was! Came from money and always had smart ass comments for me about my side of the tracks. Well, this is great!" "You seem like you want to make a point," she chuckled. "Oh do I," I said. "Ask him to come out to give us an estimate. I want to show that lardass that I turned out just fine." "Lardass?" she asked. "Oh, he was pretty fat in high school. Lost a few tons in college but the last time I saw him he was definitely off the charts for his weight class." "Well, butterball.....," she said. I was beginning to dislike that word. I ignored it. "Ask him to stop by tonight and give us a quote." She was ahead of me. "We only have a week, so I already did. He'll be here around 7." She hung up before I could say another word - as usual. I thought about Tucci the lardass and called her back. "One other thing, honey. I have to ask you a favor." "You want me to look really good for this guy," she said, reading my mind. "Yeah. Please. Put on something a little daring, a little sexy. And tease him till he can't stand it. I want to really rub it in." "Well why don't YOU get into something sexy, and tease him till he can't stand it?" she snickered. "Lindsey, do this for me." I heard her sigh. "I have done this kind of thing for you so many times," she said, "maybe one of these times I'll wear nothing but a bra and stockings." "Very funny," I said. She was all mine and she knew it. I really wanted to make him pay for the shit he gave me in the old days, and showing her off was going to make him damn envious. I got home around 6:30 and discovered that Lindsey had taken me seriously, maybe too seriously. She was made up with extra eye shadow and liner and wore some intense lipstick that turned her mouth into that of a burning serpent. She was wearing red high heels, dark hose, a very short, tight black skirt - I don't know how she managed to squeeze her big sexy round ass into it - and a light beige tank top that clung snugly to her body like a coat of paint. Her nipples were boldly right out there, and her rather sizable breasts were clearly, in detail, on display. She told me she had deliberately skipped a brassiere and her chest seemed to jiggle every other second, with the slightest movement. We stood in the kitchen. "I am surprised at how far you went with the outfit," I said, "when you have dolled yourself up for me to impress people in the past it has not been quite this provocative....maybe you should tone it down a little, get on a long sleeve blouse, and a longer skirt." I expected her to comply but got the wrong answer: "You said 'daring' and 'sexy'", she smiled, "you wanted to rub it in." The doorbell rang - Tucci was early - so it was too late to cool down her outfit. I was interested to see how this overstuffed brat had tumbled into the moving business. What did he weigh now, 300? It would be sweet to parade my success before him. And he would be on my payroll, taking orders from me! Lindsey got the door, her heels making her legs and ass roll enticingly. Standing on our porch was a guy who had dropped the pounds, hit the health club, bought a smart wardrobe, and moved from fatso to a stallion. I barely recognized him. He extended a large hand, part of a bulgingly muscular arm. "Hey, how are you, dude?" he said to me. He held a clipboard and looked very well groomed in khaki slacks and a "Macho Moving" jersey. Then he turned to my wife, who was gaping at him, smiling, totally impressed. "You must be Lindsey," he smiled back at her, taking her hand. "Greg Tucci." "Hi Greg," she said, "my husband has told me so much about you, but skipped over how very attractive you are." She held his hand and looked him over some more. Her coquette act was so convincing - for a moment I was afraid that she genuinely wanted this guy's bod. We relaxed briefly in the living room - to the extent my wife could ever get laid back. She let one of her shoes drop to the floor and sat half kneeling on the couch, one of her long legs curled up so that her skirt barely covered her thighs, and gestured that he sit down next to her. The tops of her stockings were black and were half peeking at him from under the skirt. As I sat at a chair next to them it became obvious to me that her posing was working immediately and that he was quite impressed with her. He and I chatted about the past and I was taken aback at how he had changed. He had become a very handsome, almost imposing, fellow with prominent Mediterranean features in his now chiseled face and a sense of confidence and an earthy, masculine presence that seemed to appeal to Lindsey. Her voice was getting very soft and suggestive with him as we talked. She was doing just as I had asked, teasing him. "You must do a hell of a lot of lifting, Greg," she smiled, "your arms are just huge. Some guys are big," and she pointed at me, puffing air in her cheeks and stretching her hands at either side of her waist, then winking at him, "and some guys are --- big," she said, staring at his arms, her tongue on her upper lip and her eyebrows raised. Did I say she should show me up while she was showing off? He smiled back, "Thank you. But this is turning into flab. I'm more in the office and selling the company now. I'm actually out of shape." She cooed at him, "do you mind?", and rubbed her hand on his biceps. No one spoke for what seemed like a few moments. They looked at each other. "Flab my fat ass. More wine?" she practically whispered. "Are you having more?" he said, "I will if you are." "Oh, yeah, I want to toast to this incredible body of yours," she chuckled. He turned to me, "Tim, hats off. You obviously are a successful guy and that certainly applies in the marriage category. If this lady were unattached I would be ---," he turned back to her and stared at her breasts. "On my trail?" she said, "or on my --- big fat ass?" He just looked at her and then said: "You keep referring to your 'fat' - uh - ass," he smiled, "but I really don't think 'fat' applies." She stood and turned her back to him, bending over. "Is it attractive?" "Very," he said, staring at her butt and then glancing over at me. I took that at his recognition of my accomplishments, including the ravishing female catch that he wanted and could never have. Although his transformation from fatso to hunk threw me off, and I was getting a tad concerned that she was more zealous about the teasing act than I wanted, I was confident that she was getting to him and to facilitate this further I stood up to get the wine from the kitchen. The phone rang and as I was fetching the chardonnay I noticed Lindsey was too involved in her teasing to answer it, so I did. Still posing with her behind aimed at Greg, she was gabbing away about her efforts on the Stairmaster at her health club to work her gluteal and hamstring muscles. The call turned out to be a business call I had to take anyway. I brought the cordless and the open wine bottle into the living room and said to her: "Why don't you show him the house. I better get this call." They disappeared toward the second floor, Greg following her swaying, lucious ass up the stairs. This is great, this is killing him, I thought. The call lasted longer than I thought, almost twenty minutes, and so did their look at the upstairs. They were very congenial with each other as they finally came down, her arm in his, and headed for the basement at the tail end of my call, then wound up in the kitchen. I pressed the button on the cordless when I was finished, and heard a few words from the kitchen. I decided to let the chatting go on without them thinking I was in earshot. "Well, I wish there was a Lindsey at every house we moved," he said. They were silent for a moment. "Did you like my tour of the house? Did I give you an eyeful?" she asked in a low, soft voice, giggling. "Definitely. Too bad there isn't another stairs for us to climb." More of a pause. "Oh, you liked that?" she chuckled tenderly. "You liked the view? Were my hours on the Stairmaster in vain?" "Yes I liked it, and no way have you wasted your time at the health club. And I think you approved of me looking up at this lovely behind. This wonderful piece of feminine architecture, right here. And the best was you on that ladder into the attic." "You should have moved out of the way when I tried to climb back down," she laughed. He laughed back, raising his voice with enthusiasm: "I noticed you started climbing down without letting me get out of the way!" They both laughed and I heard what sounded like a smack. "Take that you animal!" she said, giggling. "Oh yeah well how about this!" he said. "You ticklish?" he said. I decided this was crossing some kind of line so I made some noise in the living room and walked loudly into the kitchen. Greg was standing with his back to a counter and had Lindsey, her back to him, in a gentle half nelson with one hand. With his other hand he was tickling her waist and the arm pit under her free arm. She was swatting at him with her free hand, her chest sticking way out and shaking more than it should. Their faces were red and they were laughing like little kids. She had such a lusty, chesty, gritty laugh. So many of us laugh on cue, with no spontaneity, no outpouring. She let it out pour out like a waterfall. No one could laugh like Lindsey. "So, what's the estimate?" I said soberly, sitting at the kitchen table. I am used to people getting serious when I do but was surprised when neither one of them seemed to notice my question and my glare. I repeated the question, with an official grin. The horseplay continued. Greg then said, through a bawdy laugh: "$3,000 for the whole job, $2,500 if we leave that nine ton entertainment center behind," then returned to the tickling. My wife squirmed and squealed as his hand tickled her. "Let me go so I can smack you, you son of a bitch!" she yelled. "OK, kiddies," I said, standing up and walking over to them. He stopped tickling her and released the half nelson but kept his hands on her shoulders, pushing her in front of him so her hand couldn't reach him. I said: "Greg, you have to be joking about that entertainment center." "It's going to be a tough piece to move," he said. "it must weigh nine tons," he said. Lindsey turned to him and laughed: "So does he!" They both started snickering. Her eyes were getting that flamed look, iridescent, cosmic. His look of fascination - fearful fascination - meant that she was ahead of him too, and me, and I was beginning to tremble. Her sexiness, her laugh, her games, her posing, her energy - were in gear and I sensed that for the first time in our marriage it involved my deferring to her pushing things with another man. She was taking my request to play the flirt around the block but not coming right back. Greg then looked at his watch. "Oops! Gotta go. We'll see you on Saturday. I'll have five guys with me," then he turned to Lindsey, with a twinkle in his eye and a subtle grin, "and they'll have the qualifications you specified." He grabbed his clipboard off the kitchen table and began to hustle toward the front door. He and I exchanged good-byes. "Let me walk you out," Lindsey said. She chased him out the door and I watched from the window. I noticed her handing him something while she kissed him on the lips, then kissed him again on the lips. When she took her time getting back into the house - she waved to him from the porch - I looked at the entertainment center, thinking about how the movers would have to handle it to avoid any scuffs or damage of any kind. She walked over to me and gave me a very passionate kiss. "Let's go upstairs and fuck," she moaned. She had never spoken like this to me before. "Yeah sure," I said, caught by surprise, "you in the mood?" "I'm soaking wet," she said. "How'd I do? I gave him that video we made of this house at that party" she asked. "Well," I replied to her question, "maybe too well. And you have to cut out the ribbing about my weight - especially in front of others." "Yeah yeah," she said, then, softly as she kissed my neck: "you told me this guy was a 'lardass'? He's a total babe! " I could feel her heart pounding. "You gave him what video?" I asked, puzzled. She looked at me closely. "The video we made when we moved into this house." I panicked - totally panicked. "You mean the one where you -?" She smiled at me with kind of a spooky expression on her face. "You told me to tease him," she chuckled, "that should get things rolling." I sat down, my head spinning. "I can't believe you gave him that. I'm going to call him at home and flag it. He can't see that video." Lindsey snickered some more, and puckered her lips, raising her chin at me. "Now now, chubby," she whispered loudly, her breathing agitated. "I told him this was going to help him prepare for the move. He'll be so hot and bothered after he sees it he won't see straight." I raised my voice. "Don't call me 'chubby' when I'm upset. Well, he's not going to see it. What's his number?" I reached frantically for the business card for Macho Moving. I grabbed the phone and called his number and got an answering machine. "Hey Greg, it's Tim. We gave you that video by mistake. It has some sensitive family footage on it and PLEASE don't look at it. Call me as soon as you get this message. 555-7890. Repeat. DON'T watch the video! Call me! I need to come by your place and pick it up. ASAP!" I was shocked that she had done this, along with the request for five guys to help Greg move. When I asked what he had meant when he said his helpers would have the "qualifications" that she had "specified", she was evasive. "I figured you wanted to show how successful you were and that you could afford so many guys because money was no object," she said, looking away from me. "But what 'qualifications' did you 'specify'?" I persisted. She said she wanted to make sure there was diversity, i.e., racial diversity. This sounded like crap, but I was too perturbed about the video to pursue it. Later she shifted her reasoning and said: "Oh the real reason for six people is because of your entertainment center. It's impossible any other way." This didn't wash either because three guys (with my help and supervision) had moved it in when I bought it. And what video was she referring to? Allow me to elaborate. On the night we moved in to the house we were now moving out of Lindsey and I had a little too much to drink to celebrate and at the end of a house warming party for those who helped us move in, she insisted on my making a tape of her showing the house off. There were only three guests left, all guys from work. They were half bombed also. I had mixed emotions about the way she was acting because she was acting flirtatiously with them and I absolutely will not tolerate such behavior - unless I have control of it and it has some business objective to it. But on the other hand her awesome body was all mine and I crowed to myself that she was completely unattainable and I was the proud owner of this beauty. Let them eat their hearts out, I thought. She changed into a pink blouse, a flimsy French woven brassiere, a black skirt, very sexy red hose with garters, a very sexy thong, and spike heels. We were all in a party mood. I made up a title card "LINDSEY SHOWS OFF" and cranked up the video camera. The video focused on the card while someone's drunken voice tooted a trumpet call. Then the video showed a view of the kitchen. The camera panned in slowly on her sitting on a high stool, her legs crossed provocatively. Everybody else stood behind me. I couldn't wait to use the camera because for my own private enjoyment I could aim at her bod and zoom in on her charms. No one else would ever see this video. She sat smiling, and a designated narrator, Ron, my now former friend, for reasons that will become clear, said: "Hello there, are you the lady of the house?" "Hi there. I am indeed." "So this is your new home?" the voice asked. The camera went to her chest, and then moved to get a close-up side view of her big tits. "This must be the kitchen," the voice said. The camera stayed on her upper body, and she responded to the situation by placing lazily her arms behind her and sticking her chest out. "You're very observant," she laughed. We skipped a few beats and I kept the camera on her breasts, congratulating myself on having this knockout sexy woman that I could dangle in front of guys. "Those are really big tits," the voice went on. "Right again Sherlock," she smiled. I stopped the tape. "All right Ron, let's keep it clean. And Lindsey, don't go along with it, OK?" Ron saluted me. She looked at him, smiling, and said: "But I do have really big tits. They are hard to right guys?" The three lustily agreed. I snapped at her: "Just keep it clean. I thought you were going to do a serious tour of the house we have finally come to own." I turned the camera back on. "Tell us about your kitchen," the voice resumed. She stood up and walked to the counter that extended from the sink down to the refrigerator, her high heels making a wonderfully feminine sound. She placed her hands on the counter with her back to us and looked at us over her shoulder through her hair, arching her back and bending her left knee. "I just love this counter space, " she said, putting her left hand on her hip. The camera moved slowly down from her smiling face to her back and then to her outthrust behind, then to her legs. Her bedroom voice was disconcerting but I knew that it was meant for me and only me. "I can do all kinds of things in this kitchen. I can't wait." Then she turned around, and in a complete surprise to me she raised her skirt above her garters, which she was wearing very high on her thighs, and hopped up backwards onto the counter. She crossed her legs and stopped looking at the camera and just looked at our guests, mostly Ron. "So what e an I show you?" More silence. "Give me a minute to settle down, babe," the voice said. The others were whispering enthusiastically. I had to admit it was great fun having her show her legs almost all their entire beautiful length to these tortured goofballs. The camera toured her body and she looked at the lens and said, kind of sing-songy: "I'm, uh, going to stick 'em out again." She extended her arms on the counter behind her and we all sighed watching her big tits stick out under that thin blouse. "Keep it clean," I reminded her. "But I didn't mention my big tits," she said in a little girl voice, looking straight at Ron. Then she hopped off the counter. "Let me show you my upstairs. It's huge," she smiled. "Your upstairs is definitely huge," the voice said. They laughed. "Yeah, show us your upstairs, honey," one of the others said. I stopped the camera, frustrated with the way it was going. "Look I don't like this." She ambled into the dining room and observed: "You're the one who is turning this into a porno movie." "Maybe they don't realize it, but you're aiming the camera at my tits and my ass all the time." "That's for me," I said, feeling my face turn a little red. "Let's go upstairs," she said, touching my nose with her extended index finger. The others followed me as I followed her up the stairs to the second floor. As she slowly mounted the stairs she pulled the skirt as tight as possible around her buns, then pulled it up over her ass. The guys got real quiet. We poked the camera in the home office and in the second bedroom, without incident, then entered the master bedroom and she stood on the bed and announced: "Here's the master bedroom, and this" - she turned around and stuck her butt out at the camera - "is where my husband gets satisfied." Ron said: "You mean in your butt?" Befor ould answer she said, very suggestively: "You tell me," and pulled her skirt up again, then this time she pulled down some black weave panties she had on and collapsed on her stomach on the bed, arching her ass up in the air. She looked back at Ron and began rubbing her ass crack and grinding her body into the bed. I was shocked. I had thought this side of her died in Mexico. "All right, show's over," I said, royally pissed, having lost control of my home, and I shut off the camera. But Ron, the other two applauding, climbed up on the bed and practically dived on top of her. "Ron!" I yelled, "Get the hell out!" I pulled him off of her and he left, they all did. I was furious with her, how she had made me look like an idiot. "One day you'll learn that you have no power over me," she laughed through tears. She had very strong hands and held my wrist like a vise. "You think you're my chief executive, but you got it backwards," she smiled. The next couple weeks were kind of rocky. She wanted to talk about "us" but I refused. She talked for both of us and told me what I was thinking and what an imperious idiot I was. Everything she said was accurate. When she finished she went into the basement and "I feel like I'm in a straightjacket," she complained. I put the tape away and watched it occasionally, late at night. I always became aroused watching her on camera like that. And now, in the present, this relatively short but intimate video was in the hands of Greg Tucci. And what if he showed it to others? The situation was fraught with danger. Lindsey and I ended the evening with some very intense sex - I could have sworn, however, that she half spoke another name when I was licking her pussy - and afterwards I said to her: "Look babe, the tease thing is all done. When Greg shows up on Saturday it's strictly business." She said nothing. "Did you hear me?" I said. "You did ask me to drive him crazy. That's what you told me to do," she said, rolling over in the bed with her back to me. "Well, I changed my mind," I almost pleaded. Her tone was uncooperative. I was getting nervous. "Let's just say on Saturday I am going to do what I want to do. If I feel like it, I am going to pick up then where I left off tonight." She was challenging me. I did not know what to say. To my discredit I said nothing and had a sleepless night, anticipating Saturday fearfully. Saturday morning found me with mixed emotions. I was eager to get us into our new home but was apprehensive about my wife's defiant attitude. Her outfit for the day only somewhat mollified me. She had made her self up like it was time to leave for a dance club: deep red lipstick and purple liner, alot of cosmetic attention to her eyes, and flashy earrings. She wore a sleeveless blue T-shirt with a reasonable neckline but the material was two sizes too small. This item of clothing was full bodied; when I suggested it was way too tight on her she explained that it was kind of a leotard, and tapered into a narrow band at her crotch. "But that top is way too tight," I insisted, "It's automatically, intensely, drawing attention to your chest." "Cool!" she said in this perky voice that made me homicidal. Whatever brassiere she wore under her top pushed her very full breasts up and out, and, with the tightness of the jersey material over her chest, every stitch of her brassiere cups was obvious, outlined clearly. This totally dramatized the size and roundness of her F cup bust. Any man who appreciated well endowed women would immediately be aroused. I mean the look was intimidating. She wore white shorts that were not as tight as her top. On her hind quarters overly tight shorts would obviously be whore-ish but she looked real sexy anyway, in shorts that suggested her ass, not advertised it. And she knew how to walk and stand in poses that called out Lindsey's pelvic and gluteal wonders. Her shorts, however, were not exactly subtle. They had the look at the top of being undone - I supposed they were designed to have open space between the fabric and her skin all around the top - and when she came downstairs carrying a box of books and wearing these shorts I noticed they were, in fact, undone. There was this openness around them of about a half inch from the fabric to her skin and it stopped you right off the bat, holding your eye there, insisting you fall into some kind of trance and ponder what was just beyond the space. It was bold of her and because the hems of her shorts were loose fitting this looseness at the top and bottom gave a sense that at any second the shorts were about to slide down to her knees. It was as if this item of her wardrobe, which only came up to a spot just above her hips, was about to fall off, except for their snug fit around her hips and her bubble ass. I refrained from a comment about her top because she would just say that she was wearing a jersey and she was quite large on top anyway so what would be the point of trying to hide her bosom. But staring down at the shorts I said: "Uh, honey, your shorts are unbuttoned." She glanced casually at them and then kept walking. "Yeah, I know." "Well, don't you think you ought to finish getting dressed?" I said. "I am dressed, honey," she said, "what's the problem?" "There's this space all around the top of your shorts, and it looks like they're about to slip off. You can see down into them." She laughed: "Exactly! That's the way they're supposed to look!" Between these precariously positioned shorts, her jutting, to-die-for breasts, her dolled up face, and the way an apparently brand new pair of shiny white high heels fit eye-catchingly on her gorgeous feet, I feared I saw a prowling man-eater, and it made me damn nervous. We were very well organized by the time the movers arrived. Lindsey had worked hard. Practically everything that could be was boxed, the boxes each marked as to what room and the category of the contents. All the prints, other wall items and drapes were down. With the packing up done the soon to be former house was giving us an echo sound when we spoke. A large moving van rolled to a stop in front of the house at 10, and an Econoline pulled up behind it. The weather was perfect: sunny, around 70. I mentioned their arrival and my wife swayed out to the front door. I watched her - if the devil is a she this would be devil's enticing ass - and a deep apprehension settled over me, like the fear of going out on that first date - only this was much more profound. She was a second sexual self now, and as she changed so did her husband. Lindsey was beginning to turn me completely inside out. 4787 1.39/512345