Chapter 01: The Naughty Nun

Okay, Valeria Jones, I thought, it’s time to get sexy.

I undid the tuck in the towel between my breasts and let it drop to the floor. I took one small foot and kicked the towel to the side, where one of the maids would pick it up later.

The young maids in their tiny French outfits, I thought. My husband loved those outfits so much. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. We both loved them so much. Thankfully, my daughter had moved out of the house a year ago, and my son was finishing his senior year of high school; otherwise, those outfits would have gone back into the closet until Colton went off to college.

I fluffed my hair, throwing my wavy, spun-gold locks behind my shoulders. I had to get ready for the long drive to my in-laws’ house. I had to dry my hair, put on my makeup, and then my Halloween costume, where it sat atop the mannequin sculpted to my forty-year-young body. And it was a young, forty-year-old body. I had breasts that just passed for big, a narrow waist, a round butt, the tapered thighs of a woman who did squats, strong shoulders, and I had just a little bit of the meat on my bones that comes with age. My bikini model days were over, but I was still a sexy, bendy MILF who enjoyed her husband’s cock nearly every day.

I pulled my eyes from my costume, thinking, I’m going to be a nun for Halloween, then I thought of my husband. We are some kinky fuckers, aren’t we, Val?

I gave myself one last look in the mirror, checking the mascara darkening my eyes, the red brightening my lips, and the blush rosying up my cheeks. If I only had ten more minutes, I always wanted ten more minutes when I was putting on my makeup.

“If time had no meaning, you women would spend an eternity on your faces,” Dex loved to say to me ... and our daughter, but unlike our daughter, I didn’t have a team of professionals working on me for hours at a time before a shoot.

Must be nice, I thought, thinking of my daughter’s modeling career. I was only ever a bikini car show model, standing next to cars at car shows with my twin sister, waving at the men who were taking pictures of my G-string from all angles. I sighed, then looked up toward the vaulted ceiling of my coastal bedroom, and I rolled my eyes. Not too bad for a car show model.

The door to the bedroom opened, and my husband’s deep voice boomed, “Hey, hey, hey, where is that sexy bitch who married me?”

I smiled and turned away from my vanity, looking at my husband as he closed the door behind him. Dex was tall, lean, blue-eyed, brown-haired, and handsome—a slightly smaller version of our son. Or, our son was a slightly larger version of him, either way ... the man was sexy.

“If anyone else called me a bitch...” I said, trailing off as my smile overcame my face.

“I know, you’d cut their sack off,” Dex said, laughing. “Should I stop calling you that dirty word?”

“I like being your bitch,” I said as my husband walked toward me. “But if I ever want you to stop, I’ll let you know.”

“Aw, che bella che sei oggi,” Dex said, stopping to put his hands on my hips. “Maybe we should have dressed you in one of those sexy poodle-girl costumes.”

“Too bad that’s the only Italian phrase you know.” A blush reddened my face as my insides warmed, and a tingle massaged me between my thighs. “And it always makes me so wet.” I licked my lips. “You should learn Italian for me.”

“Oh, my,” Dex said. “You really are the naughty nun I hoped you’d be.”

I laughed as my husband turned me around, making me face my vanity mirror. I was a naughty nun, and there was no mistaking it. My nun’s gown hugged my breasts instead of dropping straight down, clinging to their underside, then riding my slender tummy down to my hips and round ass before dropping to the middle of my thighs. The hem barely hid the welts of my black, mid-thigh stockings, and I could see the outlines of my lacy garter belt and matching suspenders through the nude-sheer fabric of my gown. I had a thin rope belt around my waist, a white bib, a silver crucifix, a white habit with a long black veil, and white cuffs at the collar of my sleeves. At the moment, I was wearing plain white tennis shoes, but I had a pair of black, come-fuck-me heels in my weekend luggage for later.