twisting her fingers nervously.
“Come here, dear. There's no need to be shy. Michael's seen a naked girl before, you know. Anyway, you're not much older than our own daughter.
Is she, Michael?”
He still hadn't found his voice. He kept staring at Jean, unable to recognise in this poised, sexy looking girl his mousy, quietly-shy wife. Michael could only stand there in front of her, his mouth comically open in amazement, watching as Monique came slowly across the room to stand next to the confident, unabashed woman whom he could scarcely believe was his wife.
“Show Michael how well they fit you, darling!” Jean was saying. “Come along, you don't have to be coy and bashful! I'd like Michael to see how similar our figures are, despite the difference in our ages!”
When the girl looked uncertainly from her to Michael and back again, Jean reached out for the cord which held her robe together.
“Oh, really Monique!” she exclaimed with a smile. “How on earth did all those stories about sexy French girls start if they're all as shy as you!” Her fingers swiftly plucked the knot undone and Monique's dressing gown fell open, uncovering the girl's skimpy briefs and blatantly sexy suspender and stockings.
It opened sufficiently to expose half of her breasts, but the edges remained in place across Monique's nipples, keeping them hidden from Michael's involuntary appraisal.
He ran his eyes instinctively over the girl's semi-nude body, feeling as if he had suddenly been plunged into an erotic daydream. But the fantasy was three dimensional and he could also smell the sweet, arousing perfume which both his wife and Monique were wearing. Michael was suddenly aware that his life had switched into another gear: what was happening now was so utterly, so fantastically out of the ordinary that it was something like moving into a new and totally alien existence. As if, (he remembered a half-forgotten science-fiction story) as if parallel worlds did exist and he had abruptly been transported from the one in which a mediocre, bored and humdrum Michael Cameron lived into a dimension where the same man, with the same wife and day-to-day routine, was subtlely different in one major respect: he was free from all sexual prudery and inhibition!
Jean tutted impatiently at Monique. “Really, darling', she protested crossly. “Why don't you slip the robe off altogether? Look at me — I'm wearing as little as you are, and I'm not embarrassed,
am I?”
She gave Michael a brief smile which seemed to bring him more fully into the game of getting Monique to strip off her dressing gown. If, Michael reflected, if it really was only a game…
His wife moved behind Monique and put her hands down over the girl's shoulders. She took the lapels of her robe and slowly helped Monique's arms out of the sleeves, peeling it gently away from the nipples — which Monique quickly covered with her hands as soon as the cherries popped into view.
Jean let the robe drop to the floor. Keeping her arms on Monique's shoulders, she said: “What do you think, Michael? Don't my panties fit her perfectly?”
She turned Monique around until the girl faced her. “Look at the back view, darling! You'd never know they hadn't been bought specially for her, would you?”
Michael could feel his prick stiffening as he stared at Monique's bottom. The white silk of the panties was still drawn right up into the girl's arse-crease — leaving the cheeks themselves completely unadorned. They had two darling little dimples on the far side of each globe where Monique had tightened the muscles. He longed suddenly to licked them, to put his tongue where Jean's own lips had been…
Jean followed his eyes. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “They're not really supposed to look like that! We were just fooling about — ”. At last, his wife had the grace to blush slightly. Her eyes twinkled, though, and Michael's cock thickened and bulged noticeably out of his trousers as Jean stretched her hands right down Monique's bare back and primly pulled the girl's briefs back into a more respectable position.
Michael finally found his voice. “I thought they looked better before you adjusted them, Jean', he heard himself saying. And it was as if the words had come from a source other than his own mouth. They sounded deeper and more breathy than his normal tone, and Michael realised that his desire was mounting rapidly.
The close proximity of the two girls was driving him crazy. Monique's body was obviously pushed so tightly against Jean's that their breasts must be touching! And their tummies… certainly their bellies were pressing together. And what about their panties? Yes! Definitely, the vee of their crotches would be moving and, perhaps even pulsing, next to one another…
Michael cleared his throat. He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and gave his prick a surreptitious press. It strained urgently against his fingers, warning him that he couldn't stand very much more of this sexy scene without playing an active role in it.
Jean now moved from her position behind Monique and gave the girl's bottom a critical look. “Mmmm', she said at last. “Perhaps you're right!',
Her fingers again adjusted the tightly clinging material of Monique's panties, hoisting them firmly into the French girl's arse and letting them rub sensuously across the pretty white orbs before leaving them.
“Does that feel too tight, though?” she asked the girl. He saw Monique's head shake. Her hands still covered her breasts though her back was turned towards the man.
In a small, husky voice she whispered: “No, I like them better that way, Jean”. She began to turn around of her own accord. “What about the front, though? Isn't it fashionable to wear your panties as small as possible now?” Her lilting French accent was slowly driving Michael insane. “Could you tuck them up for me, Jean darling?”
Monique's face was coloured, her eye lashes fluttering nervously. But she obediently allowed Jean to stoop down in front of her and persuade her thighs open with a gentle pressure from her fingers.
Michael's wife fitted her hands shamelessly under the white silk, keeping her own body out of the way so that her husband could have an uninterrupted view of Monique's thinly-covered sex… and could also see clearly what she was about to do with it.
First, Jean took the V of the briefs in her fingers and tugged it gently upwards. This action caused the seat of the panties to sink sexily into Monique's slit — at the same time making the bulge above the girl's quim stick out on either side of the material.
This was provocative enough; but Jean now commenced to tuck the garment boldly up, doubling the already abbreviated panties so that they finally looked like nothing more than a stripteaser's G-string.
Jean moved her head back to admire her handiwork from a distance. “There!” she exclaimed. “I think that looks very nice indeed! What's your opinion, Michael?”
He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. Monique was the picture of demure, artfully disarrayed sexiness. The girl's well-shaped legs, small waist and flared hips, together with her now daringly minute panties, gave her the appearance of a strikingly experienced yet somehow innocent child. Probably it was the attitude of her hands, still clasping her young breasts tightly, which contributed the innocence to her other qualities.
Michael hadn't realised before what a very pretty girl Monique was! He had scarcely given her a second glance when she arrived at the house. She was a companion and helper for Jean, that was all.
Now, he could see what a voluptuous and beautiful young creature she was! Standing before them, blushing shyly, Monique aroused a sharp desire in him which ached for satisfaction.
He didn't even begin to question Jean's motives in arranging this sexy display of their charms. For the moment all Michael could think of was the sheer delight of their combined bodies. His mind sought frantically to somehow prolong (and extend) the erotic situation.
“Your pants look very odd beside Monique's,” he said with sudden inspiration. “They're so large, so old fashioned, Jean. Why don't you wear them as brief as Monique, darling? Go on — pull them up! Let me see if you can get the same effect”.
Jean smiled. “I've got a better idea', she told him. “Monique, would you like to adjust my panties for me?” Her eyes met the French girl's and Michael was sure that he detected a familiar, secret intimacy flash between his wife and Monique.
Then, as Monique began to kneel down in front of Jean, finally removing her hands and letting him see her breasts, he dismissed the thought as nothing more than idle fancy.
He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it to the bed, settling himself in the easy chair and loosening his tie — ready to savour every moment of the girls' delicious fashion parade.
Monique imitated Jean's arrangement of her briefs, carefully pulling the panties into a taut and rucked-up strip of silk over the woman's crotch. Jean posed for her husband, placing her feet firmly astride and letting her hips
