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23 Temmuz 2022, 02:02
Looking in the mirror, I can see an attractive woman of 45, with lush brunette hair in a messy bun, deep brown eyes and full lips. My breasts are crammed into a much too small navy satin dress, which also hardly covers my shapely bottom. I have a middle-aged curviness to my figure, with a great arse and thighs which taper attractively to my thin ankles. I'm wearing a pair of gold high heel courts with 6in heels. The whole effect is somewhat precarious, top-heavy and rather ill-suited to a woman of my age.
It's Sunday, and I am in our upstairs room -- ostensibly sorting through my college things, but apparently trying on the clothes and shoes I used to love to wear when I was half my age. I can't believe I fit in some of this stuff! I very much do not fit in the satin dress. It's either covering my boobs or my arse -- never both. I'm surrounded by suitcases and bags of dresses, tops, shoes and a couple of large bags of lingerie. My tastes back then were considerably more exotic and -- complicated -- than now: g-strings, stockings and suspender belts, and some very revealing, complicated and expensive knickers. Everything is strewn everywhere with no rhyme or reason.
It's Sunday, my husband is out for the day klasbahis yeni giriş (http://markslog.com/bahis/klasbahis/) ahead of a drinks party we're hosting tonight. I have the house to myself to play dress-up and be nostalgic. I've spent the last hour trying on clothes and shoes to see if there's anything I want to keep, but for the most part my now-curvy figure simply strains the seams.
"Hello?" a booming voice calls up from the ground floor and my heart sinks. It's my brother-in-law, who is -- in my very considered opinion -- a total creep. "Are you up there?" I can hear the feet on the wooden stairs so there's no point in pretending. "Hey, I'm up here, sorting through some clothes".
He rounds the doorway and instantly makes me feel uncomfortable. "Woah, you look fantastic!" he says eyeing me up in the tight-fitting navy dress, as I stand uncomfortably in my heels. I feel extremely exposed. "Just come in, and don't be weird otherwise you can leave". He comes and sits on the single bed at the end of the room. "I mean it -- don't be weird".
I carry on sorting and tidying, acutely aware of how short my dress is, and my exposed legs. Every time I bend over, I either flash my arse or my cleavage. I try another couple of klasbahis giriş (http://markslog.com/bahis/klasbahis/) pairs of heels on, ignoring the stupid comments from the end of the room, before giving up. I've had enough: I need to get changed.
"I am going to change -- look away please? And I swear if you look at me, you will never set foot in this house again." He raises his big hands in protest.
I turn my back and, taking a big breath, lift the hem of the satin dress over my thighs and waist and up over my h--.
I freeze, terrified at the realisation that my arms are stuck. Shit! Shit! Shit! I don't move hoping that he hasn't noticed but -- yes, the dress is firmly stuck over my head. My arms are trapped. My back, arse and legs are exposed, and I physically can't leave the room in these heels. I can't see a thing. I feel queasy and panicked.
"Need some help over there?" This is not good. This is really not good. "Fuck off! Just stay where you are."
I wriggle, and twist, but I can't get out and I don't want to fall over. I turn to face him, knowing full well that I am now completely on show: my tits and crotch barely covered by the sheer peach satin underwear I wear day to day. I can feel my nipples are not covered. klasbahis güvenilirmi (http://markslog.com/bahis/klasbahis/) God, he must be loving this.
I hear him get up and walk the length of the room. "Here, let me help you". I tense but I am literally unable to move for feel of falling.
My heart sinks as I feel his thumb in the crack of my bottom, before my panties are yanked over my round cheeks and down my thighs. They fall gently down my calves and settle around my ankles. In a single swift motion, with his other hand, he hoists the flimsy peach bra over my head -- into the mess of satin fabric above me-- and I feel my heavy boobs drop. I am totally, utterly exposed.
"You bastard!", I hiss, "Get the fuck out of here". He says nothing but I hear the shutter click of an iPhone camera -- a lot of clicks -- and some rustling. After what seems like an eternity, there are the footsteps again on the wooden stairs.
I finally get the dress off my head and catch myself in the mirror. The same woman -- but now her breasts and hairy pussy are exposed, and her face is flushed red with shame and anger. I feel utterly ridiculous. I only start crying when I receive the picture message -- it's amazing the resolution of these new phones, they capture all of the detail. I read the text over and over: "Wear this tonight, and maybe we can keep it to ourselves". I look to the bed, and see an outfit laid out which makes me gasp and my pulse race. I feel sick to my stomach as I think of the drinks party in a few hours.
It's Sunday, and I am in our upstairs room -- ostensibly sorting through my college things, but apparently trying on the clothes and shoes I used to love to wear when I was half my age. I can't believe I fit in some of this stuff! I very much do not fit in the satin dress. It's either covering my boobs or my arse -- never both. I'm surrounded by suitcases and bags of dresses, tops, shoes and a couple of large bags of lingerie. My tastes back then were considerably more exotic and -- complicated -- than now: g-strings, stockings and suspender belts, and some very revealing, complicated and expensive knickers. Everything is strewn everywhere with no rhyme or reason.
It's Sunday, my husband is out for the day klasbahis yeni giriş (http://markslog.com/bahis/klasbahis/) ahead of a drinks party we're hosting tonight. I have the house to myself to play dress-up and be nostalgic. I've spent the last hour trying on clothes and shoes to see if there's anything I want to keep, but for the most part my now-curvy figure simply strains the seams.
"Hello?" a booming voice calls up from the ground floor and my heart sinks. It's my brother-in-law, who is -- in my very considered opinion -- a total creep. "Are you up there?" I can hear the feet on the wooden stairs so there's no point in pretending. "Hey, I'm up here, sorting through some clothes".
He rounds the doorway and instantly makes me feel uncomfortable. "Woah, you look fantastic!" he says eyeing me up in the tight-fitting navy dress, as I stand uncomfortably in my heels. I feel extremely exposed. "Just come in, and don't be weird otherwise you can leave". He comes and sits on the single bed at the end of the room. "I mean it -- don't be weird".
I carry on sorting and tidying, acutely aware of how short my dress is, and my exposed legs. Every time I bend over, I either flash my arse or my cleavage. I try another couple of klasbahis giriş (http://markslog.com/bahis/klasbahis/) pairs of heels on, ignoring the stupid comments from the end of the room, before giving up. I've had enough: I need to get changed.
"I am going to change -- look away please? And I swear if you look at me, you will never set foot in this house again." He raises his big hands in protest.
I turn my back and, taking a big breath, lift the hem of the satin dress over my thighs and waist and up over my h--.
I freeze, terrified at the realisation that my arms are stuck. Shit! Shit! Shit! I don't move hoping that he hasn't noticed but -- yes, the dress is firmly stuck over my head. My arms are trapped. My back, arse and legs are exposed, and I physically can't leave the room in these heels. I can't see a thing. I feel queasy and panicked.
"Need some help over there?" This is not good. This is really not good. "Fuck off! Just stay where you are."
I wriggle, and twist, but I can't get out and I don't want to fall over. I turn to face him, knowing full well that I am now completely on show: my tits and crotch barely covered by the sheer peach satin underwear I wear day to day. I can feel my nipples are not covered. klasbahis güvenilirmi (http://markslog.com/bahis/klasbahis/) God, he must be loving this.
I hear him get up and walk the length of the room. "Here, let me help you". I tense but I am literally unable to move for feel of falling.
My heart sinks as I feel his thumb in the crack of my bottom, before my panties are yanked over my round cheeks and down my thighs. They fall gently down my calves and settle around my ankles. In a single swift motion, with his other hand, he hoists the flimsy peach bra over my head -- into the mess of satin fabric above me-- and I feel my heavy boobs drop. I am totally, utterly exposed.
"You bastard!", I hiss, "Get the fuck out of here". He says nothing but I hear the shutter click of an iPhone camera -- a lot of clicks -- and some rustling. After what seems like an eternity, there are the footsteps again on the wooden stairs.
I finally get the dress off my head and catch myself in the mirror. The same woman -- but now her breasts and hairy pussy are exposed, and her face is flushed red with shame and anger. I feel utterly ridiculous. I only start crying when I receive the picture message -- it's amazing the resolution of these new phones, they capture all of the detail. I read the text over and over: "Wear this tonight, and maybe we can keep it to ourselves". I look to the bed, and see an outfit laid out which makes me gasp and my pulse race. I feel sick to my stomach as I think of the drinks party in a few hours.