Christine turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and dried herself, then she looked at her body in the long bathroom mirror.

“Not bad, not bad at all”, she said to herself as she raised her arms above her head, turning around to look at her naked body.

She was right, she still looked in excellent condition, still as attractive as she was some thirty years ago, before marriage and three children. Moving closer to the mirror and cupping her hands under her breasts, she thought that they still looked good. Maybe not quite as ‘perky’ as they had been when she was a teenager, but they were still firm, round, and not saggy. She liked how her nipples looked; the darker reddish-brown of the nipples themselves, the lighter, dusky red of her areolas. She loved how the skin around her nipples would crinkle up when she was aroused – which was almost all the time now. Certainly, breast feeding her three children had not ‘sucked the life out of them’, not like it had done with some of her friends. She was proud of her breasts, not just because they looked sexy, but she loved the effect they had on men. Not those who would openly leer at her, but the men who would try and fight the temptation to look at her breasts, she would see their eyes always flicking down, checking out the swell of her breasts, trying to catch a glimpse of nipple if her top was low cut – which it usually was. She would discretely tease them, subtly pushing her arms in against her breasts, emphasizing their size and roundness. When a man would lose track of what he was trying to say, distracted by her breasts, she felt a sense of achievement somehow; it was amazing just how easy it was to control most men – and more than a few women, too.

All those thoughts aside, it was time to get ready; she got her razor, quickly touched up her pubic hair. She would normally get a full Brazilian wax every four weeks; at one time there was just a thin strip of blonde hair at the top of her pussy; as one lover told her ‘an arrow pointing directly to the Gates of Heaven’. But now she wanted to be completely smooth, and since it was about three weeks since her last treatment, some hairs were showing. A few strokes of the razor had the sides of her labia smooth to the touch; she was anticipating that her date for the night would be inspecting that area closely sometime later this evening. At least she hoped that would happen, it had been far too long since she had experienced anything than her fingers and toys down there. Any gap longer than two or three days between having sex was too long for her; it had been over three weeks now, and she was in a state of constant arousal.

The ‘lady gardening’ taken care of, it was now time for her make up. First, it was some rouge sparingly applied to her areolas, she wanted to make them darker, redder than the pale skin of her breasts. Not too much, she didn’t want him to get a mouthful of make up when he sucked on them – as she certainly hoped he would be doing. Now it was time to select what bra she would wear; she looked through the lingerie drawer of her dresser; found a soft purple shelf bra. She held that up to her breasts – she liked how it would support them, but still keep the nipples, and the upper half of each breast uncovered. She knew that her nipples would be erect and poking out, making it obvious from the two indentations in her blouse that she was aroused, but she didn’t care, having others notice her in that state was half the fun of it all. When she saw people trying not to stare, but still sneaking a peek, that turned her on more; she had always enjoyed, always been turned on knowing people were looking at her that way.

With the bra in place, it was time to apply some highlighting powder, to enhance the appearance of her cleavage, making her breasts look even fuller than they actually were. Some careful brushing of the darker powder made the hollow between her breasts look deeper than it really was. Not that she really need the ‘visual enhancement’, but she liked the way it made her look. She found a matching set of panties; she always made sure her bra and panties were matching; and the panties made her feel rather ‘naughty’ when she had them on. They were crotchless, she liked the feeling of fresh air directly on her pussy, she knew even as she was pulling them up that she would be wet all evening. The knowledge that if somehow someone was able to see up her skirt, there would be her smooth, hairless pussy on display. Not that she would deliberately expose herself to public view, but the thought of somehow, someone getting an ‘accidental’ peek at her was rather exciting.

Still, no time to fantasize, and let herself get all horny; she still had to finish getting ready, she was being picked up in thirty minutes and didn’t want to be late. This was going to be the second date with Ken; a week ago he had taken her out for a lively meal; they had hit it off, spending the whole evening talking, laughing, telling each other about themselves. She had been a little disappointed that after the meal, he seemed to be content just to drive her home, and all they had shared were a few kisses in the front seat of his car. He did walk her to her front door, and they had another kiss – a rather nicer, passionate French kiss. At least he called her the next day, thanking her for a lovely evening, and asking if she would like to go out again.

“At least he didn’t find me completely unattractive,” she said to herself.

And to be honest, she had never been the sort of person to have sex on a first date; and even though it had been a while since she had last had sex, and would have liked having sex that night with Ken, she was okay with waiting until she felt the time was right, and they knew each other better, and felt more comfortable taking that step with each other. And, if all went well on this date, the time would be right later this evening.

Once her makeup was done, it was time to finish dressing. A plain white blouse, unbuttoned JUST far enough, and a wrap-around batik style skirt completed her outfit. She made one final inspection in the mirror; the effect was just what she wanted; simple, sexy without looking slutty, elegant and sophisticated without looking aloof. She was nervous; and considered having a second shot of tequila to settle her nerves, but before she could pour a glass, there was a knock at the front door. She answered the door, and there was Ken, holding a small bunch of flowers for her. He looked nice; some light brown khakis, a light blue shirt and a jacket; she was glad that she had taken the time to look presentable for him.

“Um, come in, those flowers are so lovely,” she said. “Let me find a vase for them...”

He followed her into the house, she went through into the kitchen, found a suitable vase, filled it with water, and put the flowers in it. She carried the vase into the living room, setting it on the coffee table in the middle of room.

“Thank you for these, I’ll put them here where I will be able to see them all the time,” she said. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“I was thinking of ‘The Hermitage’, I’ve booked a booth for us,” he replied. “But we have some time, maybe we can take a walk around Main Street, look at the shops.”

“That sounds lovely, I don’t get much of a chance to look at the shops,” she said.

She was quietly pleased that when they got to his car, he opened her door, and closed it once she was seated. They drove the short distance to Main Street, parked in the car park behind the restaurant, and started walking along the shops, looking in the windows. First was a cake shop, with several shelves stacked with rich, scrumptious looking cakes and pastries, several varieties of cookies, and some wild cupcakes.

“A pity we will be having dinner soon,” Ken said, “otherwise there’s some very tempting items there.”

“Not that I need to stuff myself with cakes and pasties,” she replied. “I prefer to bake them myself, if I was to eat treats like that.”

The next store was ‘Jacquie’s Boutique’, a slightly up-market women’s clothing store. On display in the center of the window was a mannequin modelling a rather fancy long halter top dress; she liked the colors; a swirling pattern of red, yellows and oranges.

“I wonder if they have that in my size,” she said out loud.

“Let’s go in and have a look,” he said, opening the door and dragging her in behind him. “If they have one, and you like it, I’ll buy it for you.”

The store was empty, save for the sales assistant at the register. Ken asked her if they had a dress the same as the one in the window, but in Cristine’s size. The assistant looked at her, appraising what would be the correct size, and led them to the back, where there were several different sizes of that same dress.

“I’m guessing a size 10?” she said.

“Either that or a 12,” Cristine answered. “It depends on the actual manufacturer, but usually a 10, unless they make it smaller than the usual cut.”

She looked through the rack, found one, and held it up against Cristine; the length look good.

“Do you have a fitting room so I can try it on?” she asked.

“Um, well, that’s going to be a problem,” the assistant said. “We were having them repainted today, and the stupid painters knocked over a big bucket of paint, all over the floor inside the fitting room. So, it’s out of service until they can get it cleaned up, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no one around in here,” Ken said. “Just try it on here, I promise to look the other way!”

“I’ll just go and lock the front door,” the assistant said. “It’s just about closing time, anyway.”

Cristine thought to herself that since the only people in the store were Ken and the assistant, and all she would have to do is take off her blouse and skirt. She unbuttoned her blouse, took it off, and then removed her skirt. She felt a tingle inside, here she was stripping down to her underwear in the main part of a store, where both Ken and the sales assistant could see her. She half wished that there were other people in the store to see her, and admire her body, something had brought out a wicked streak in her. Ken passed the dress across to her, she stepped into it, and fastened the halter top behind her neck. The assistant had returned, and helped her with the zipper at the back.

“Of course, you can’t wear the standard style of bra with that dress, not the way the back is cut low,” the assistant said. “You can either get a special halter top bra, or if you want to, rather than wear a bra, there are special latex ‘cups’, that fit underneath your breasts, that keep them steady and not jiggling around all over the place.”

“I think I would go for those,” Cristine said. “Do you have any in my size?”

“Let me guess, 38 D?”

“Sometimes a DD,” Cristine replied. “It varies from brand to brand.”

“No, not today, but I’ve got some on order.”

Cristine felt disappointed, she had hoped she would be able to remove her bra in front of the woman, and maybe even ask her to ‘assist’ with fitting those cups. Maybe another day ... She looked at herself in the mirror, the dress looked good on her. It seemed a little tight across the bust; the assistant suggested she try on the next size up. She helped her unfasten the zip and catch at the top, and Cristine slipped out of the dress, handing it to the assistant, who had to bend down to pick up the hanger where it had fallen to the floor. Of course, when the assistant went to stand up, her face was right at the level of Cristine’s groin, and she was looking directly at her exposed pussy through the gap in her panties. Cristine could see the assistant looking at her pussy, blinking, and looking again. The thought of someone else having such a ‘close and personal’ view made her quiver inside; then the assistant stood up, her face red as she put the dress back on the rack.

She tried on the larger dress, while it wasn’t as tight across her breasts, it didn’t fit her as well around her hips, somehow it didn’t hang on her body as well as the smaller sized one.

“Remember, if you aren’t wearing that bra, but have the latex cups on instead, it won’t feel quit as constricting across the bust,” the assistant said. “Do you want to try it on, and then remove your bra? Just to see if it’s not too tight?

Cristine wondered if the assistant made that suggestion just so that she could see her breasts, without the bra on – not that the shelf bra left much to the imagination. Ken had discretely wandered off to another part of the store; probably not wanting her to feel embarrassed with him seeing her while she was changing in and out of the clothes. He would get his chance later tonight, she said to herself, and see more than just her breasts, if things worked out the way she had hoped. The assistant helped her out of the dress, Cristine unfastened the bra catch, and handed it to her, and then slipped into the size 10 dress. Once it was done up, it felt better across her breasts, however they did tend to sway and jiggle a bit.

“The latex cups will stop that,” she said. “Now, they aren’t going to do much if you do some really energetic dancing, they are going to bounce around. I guess that’s a downside of having nice, generous sized breasts.”

“Well, I don’t plan on doing that, not in this dress at least! I like how this feels, I like the sensations of the fabric against my skin, it fits well. I think I’ll take this one”

She helped Cristine get out of the dress, and took that to the counter to wrap it up while Cristine put her bra back on, and then her blouse and skirt. She was now relatively decent again, sadly, she enjoyed being semi naked in the center of the store. Even if there had been only two others who had seen her, she enjoyed the feelings, knowing that the sales assistant was constantly sneaking peeks at her body. At times, she would see the assistant looking a little flustered when she must have thought Cristine had seen her staring at her boobs. If only the sales assistant knew how much she enjoyed being looked at that way...

At the register Ken paid for the dress, and the sales assistant gave the bag with the dress in it to Cristine. She thanked the assistant for all her help, and when the assistant said that the latex bra cups would there on Tuesday; she gave her her phone number.

“Thank you so much for that,” she said to Ken. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“No, you look great in it, my only request is you wear it when I ask you out next Friday, I was thinking we could go to the dinner / dance at the Hawaiian room, you know the one, at the Hilton Hotel in Auburn,” he said.

“You’re asking me out on a third date, and we haven’t even finished this one?” she said.

“Well, I’m thinking this one might go well, and...”

“I would love to do that; I’m not much of a dancer, but it would be fun.”

“Deal. I’ll work out what time I will need to pick you up, and let you know.”

They had now reached the restaurant; at least the car park behind it, where Ken had parked his car. He opened the trunk, and Cristine laid the bag with her new dress on the floor of the trunk. They then went into the restaurant; Ken had booked a table in one of the old private booths located in the back area of the restaurant. There was a story – back during Prohibition – that those private booths were fitted out with privacy curtains, so people could drink (illegally) and not be seen. Later, they were popular where a man would take his mistress out for a meal, they could close the curtains, and not be seen by anyone passing by. And of course, with the curtains closed, they could get up to all sorts of ‘mischief’ in the booth.

When they were shown to their booth, Cristine slid in along one of the benches, and sat at the back of the booth, so no matter what side of the table he chose to sit at, Ken would be next to her. He slid in, so he was sitting to her left; they then ordered drinks, and the waiter left them with the menus, closing the privacy curtains.

“This is all rather nice,” she said. “I’ve never eaten here before, but I knew all the stories about it; it was a speakeasy during Prohibition, people could sit in these booths in private, and drink without being seen. Or so I was told, anyway!”

“At least this gives us a chance to talk, and get to know each other better, without competing with the noise of everyone else in the restaurant talking,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, then you can ask me about what I do?”

She found him easy to talk to; she told him a lot about her life; her divorce, job, growing up on her parent’s farm. After a while, she realized that she had been dominating the conversation, so she decided to ask him about what he did.

“I remember you telling me you worked with computers, so what is it you do, and why are you here in this backwoods part of Northern California, rather than down in Silicon Valley? Isn’t that where all the top computer companies are?”

“Well, until a year ago, I ran a computer software company, we developed computer systems for courthouse operations. But I sold that company, and the software and licenses to a company in Dallas, Texas, but retirement wasn’t for me, I couldn’t just sit around all day, doing nothing. So I’ve just taken a job here, in charge of developing smart phone applications. And why here, and not Silicon Valley? Cost of living, as simple as that. We can attract the same top quality people here; but because it’s so much cheaper to live here than the San Francisco Bay area – the cost of housing there is crazy – it’s easier to attract good software developers. Plus the rental on our office space is a fraction of what we would be in places like San Jose, Santa Clara, Cupertino, or any of those places down there.”

“Seems fair enough. So what does your company do?” she asked. “What are the phone apps that you develop?”

“In a word, teledildonics.”

“Tele what?”

“Teledildonics. Basically, remote control ... um ... sex toys.”

“You’re kidding, right? I mean, I know what sex toys, vibrators, dildos are. But remote control? How does that work?”

“Well, for a number of years, the company has sold an ‘insertable’ vibrator which comes with a remote control, and uses Bluetooth to turn it on and off, controls the speed and type of vibration. Now with Bluetooth, that has a range of up to twenty feet, but we are looking at having them controlled by an app on a smart phone, and being accessible anywhere through the Internet.”

“I can understand the concept, but ... why? Who would use something like that?”

“Well, some couples like to get them to tease each other,” he said. “The remote control vibrator has sold in the tens of thousands since it was released a few years ago. I mean, imagine if you had been wearing one while we were at the dress shop, I could have controlled it remotely, and you would have to act as if nothing was going on.”

“My God! I don’t think I could cover up what that would be doing to me,” she said, her pussy tingling at the thought as she said that. “I mean, I don’t think I could stay quiet, and ... well, at the critical time, my legs would probably give out!”

“That’s half the fun of it; at least that’s what the product designers tell me,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “I mean, all I do is design the remote control software, there are other engineers who designed the actual vibrator, who work on the little servo motors that make it vibrate, control the patterns.”

He continued talking about how the products worked, but Cristine couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying, her mind was filled with images of her having one of these inserted in her vagina. What if she was at work, and while sitting at her desk, the vibrations on slow? She could feel her juices flowing already. If only the nuns from her high school knew what she was thinking, she was sure Sister Scholastica would hit her on the back of her legs with the long ruler she wielded. Of course, she was sure her thoughts were always a disappointment to the nuns, she had been taught that ‘sex was dirty, and only to be engaged in to conceive a child’. She could never understand why God would have made something as wonderful and as enjoyable as sex, and then made engaging in it for pleasure ‘a sin’. Once she had discovered how to pleasure herself – or, as the nuns would say ‘ringing the Devil’s doorbell’, she was insatiable, she had to have sex, or at least an orgasm once a day, if not more often.

She liked to think that she had a strong, healthy sex drive. Some people might say that she was a nymphomaniac, but that was one of those judgmental words; there was no equivalent term for a man who enjoyed and wanted lots of sex. Yet another example of society’s double standards when it came to sex; just like the word ‘slut’, no one called a man who had lots of sexual partners a ‘male slut’, did they? There was always a constant battle in her mind between her sexual desires and what she was taught by the nuns; at times like this it was almost as if there were two people on her shoulders, Sister Scholastica on her right shoulder, reminding her that ‘sex is dirty’, and the image of her desires, saying ‘sex is God’s gift to you’. It had always been a constant struggle for her; at least when she was married, her husband never went without sex; Cristine was sure he had no idea of just how lucky he was to be married to her, with her constant desire for sex. She never turned him down, was always ready to kiss, make love, whatever he wanted. But then, he lost the desire, not just for sex, but even to be close to her, to share physical contact, there was no companionship, nothing.