Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Cheating,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Ashley's husband is away and she's bored. She goes to a party where she dresses like a girl from the Fifties, complete with a girdle. There she meets Brad, who kisses her like no man has ever done before.
Ashley wasn't supposed to be here, kissing a strange man. Her husband was away on business, and she had accepted her friend Terry's invite to a Fifties party. "Come on," Terry had said. "It'll be fun. We'll dress up like Fifties girls and play Elvis Presley records and drink martinis. It'll be like that show Mad Men. You stay at home too much; this is a good chance to get out and have some fun."
It sounded so innocent. Ashley's and Bill had moved to this suburb of Atlanta a year ago, for Bill's new job, but all too often Ashley found herself stuck at home while Bill traveled for weeks at a time to factories in China and India, and it was getting tiresome to keep going across the street to Terry's house and watch TV.
A Fifties party sounded like a good idea, something fun. Terry had a friend who owned a theatrical costume store, and he lent her the kind of full skirts and heels that women in the Fifties wore all the time. Terry fixed Ashley's hair in a Fifties bob, and she attended to every detail, even giving her a white, open-bottom girdle to wear.
"I can't wear this!" Ashley said, giggling. "I don't even know how to put one of these on."
"Oh, come on," Terry said. "Women wore these all the time in the Fifties. My grandmother told me she never went out of the house without her girdle on."
Ashley had gone to Terry's house early to get dressed, and she'd already had one of the martinis that Terry's husband Paul had mixed, and it gave her a pleasant buzz that made her finally cast her inhibitions aside and put on the girdle.
"All right," she said, "but I don't know why women back then put themselves in these things. It's like a strait jacket."
It was a funny thing about the girdle, though. Something about the way it held her in, molded her, made her feel more pliant and feminine. When she put on her dress with its petticoat and her seamed stockings and her heels, she felt, well, sexy and feminine.
Terry had invited several dozen people to her house, and everybody dressed in Fifties fashions. The guys all had their hair combed back and some were wearing t-shirts that showed their biceps. Ashley noticed right away there was a tall, handsome guy who was wearing jeans and a red t-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve, and his black hair combed back, with one curl falling down over his eye.
"That's Brad," Terry said. "He's cute, don't you think?"
"He's hot," Ashley said. She was on her third martini by this point, and she was giggling like a schoolgirl. "Introduce me, will you?"
Terry took Ashley over to Brad and introduced her. Brad's smoky green eyes looked Ashley up and down, and seemed to like what they saw. Just then a slow number came on the sound system, and Brad said, "Dance?"
Before she knew it Ashley was on the dance floor, which was in Terry's basement, and she was being led around masterfully by Brad. He was so smooth and strong, and he led her around the floor with his hand pressed against the small of her back. She felt so feminine and swoony in his arms, and her whole body was on fire with every touch of his hand. They danced one song after another, only stopping for Ashley to down another martini. By now Brad's hands were roaming, and he caressed her girdled ass, pulling her closer to him with each dance. She knew she shouldn't reciprocate, because she was a married woman, but she couldn't help herself -- she ground her hips closer to him, and felt the massive stiffness in his jeans.
After several dances in a row like this she was so hot and bothered she told Brad she needed to sit down. They sat on a couch in a dark corner of the basement and the next thing she knew she was kissing him. His lips were warm and sensual, and his tongue probed her hungrily, forcefully. A little voice in her head was telling her not to do this, but the fire in her crotch was telling her to ignore the voice. Her panties were wet under the girdle, and she was squirming with passion at each new kiss. He reached under the buttons in her dress and then his hand was on her breast, caressing her nipple, and she arched her back and moaned softly. I shouldn't do this, she kept saying to herself, but she had never felt this kind of animal lust for a man, and all she wanted was for those kisses to continue.