He’s a good husband and I love him. I wouldn’t say I’m always sexually fulfilled, but he takes care of me, he makes me laugh, and we are quite happy together. If there is one thing standing between me and total marital bliss, it’s our sexual incompatibility. Me–I just want a cock inside me. I’m pretty old fashioned that way. Hubby? Well, let’s just say he’s a little more “complicated”.

But we should probably start at the beginning.

I was a high school senior when we met. He was in college. I guess his “fondness” for what he refers to as “classy” underwear wasn’t entirely his fault. Growing up in the 80s and attending a private school with a fairly conservative dress code combined to set his expectations pretty high for what “real” women wear. Dresses or skirts were mandatory for girls, shirts and ties for the boys. Denim was a sign of rebellion and was definitely not allowed, so boys wore nice slacks and girls were forced into rayons and polyesters and whatever else that decade had to offer. Once the kids hit high school, the girls slowly began to realize the seductive power of their clothing choices. Dark nylons smoothed over the legs of any fashionable, attractive girl, and although their skirts were required to extend below the knee, there was no rule against slits, which inevitably served to give the boys very intentional peek-a-boo glimpses of their lace-trimmed slips. My husband was a good boy and never did much beyond fantasizing when it came to whatever other mysteries might be hidden under those dresses. Since he came of age in a world before the internet really existed and porn was never just lying around his strict Mormon home, the only clue he had about women’s under-things came from the Sears catalog, which he studied regularly. His pubescent mind was filled with page after page of shiny, satin briefs and bodysuit girdles. As far as he knew, this is what all classy women wore (along with the slips and nylons he was already more than aware of). In fairness to him, it probably wasn’t just his warped fantasy. Most feminine, attractive girls at the time–and especially in that school–probably DID wear those things.

As much as I complain about it now, I probably actually added to this expectation of his. My family wasn’t Mormon, but we did attend church. I went to a private Christian school (in a different state) and therefore had a closet full of Laura Ashley dresses and drawers of white nylons and floral-print satin panties (it was now the early 90s). As he was now attending college away from his family, he was a little more free to meet people “outside the church”. Oddly enough, he actually met my mom first, who introduced him to me. My parents liked him since he was a polite, hard-working young man, and they didn’t mind at all that he showed interest in me. We started dating. I was a horny 18-year-old. He was a couple years older and I’m pretty sure never really had a girlfriend before. I knew, given his family background, that the chances of him actually having sex with me before we were married were slim to none. Fine. Hands on me then. Hands will work for now. And his mouth. For the little experience that his mouth probably had, he figured it out pretty quickly. But he wouldn’t come right out and just make out with me. I always had to seduce him. And I knew what he liked. Out came my entire arsenal of Sears catalog wonders. He loved the feel of my slip sliding over my lycra bodysuit as he ran his hands down my sides. Stopping at my ass, he would squeeze my eager cheeks through the satin and nylons while his tongue moved expertly inside my mouth. He would almost lose his load sometimes as he stuck his head under my ridiculously full dresses and kissed my young tummy at the tops of my pantyhose. This isn’t what I would have chosen to wear normally, but whenever he came around, these clothes ensured his hands and mouth were all over me. That Christmas, unbeknownst to my parents, I got him several pairs of silk boxers. When he would do a good job of making the date worthwhile for me, I would reward him with a nice, slow hand job while I continued to let him look at and feel my layers of underwear. In retrospect, this has only come back to haunt me. But at the time, it got me what I wanted.

We were married the next year and I was eager for a good pounding at least two or three times a week. After all, I’ve waited 19 years for this. To my disappointment, he seemed just as happy making out like we always had. It’s not that he minded having sex, but by his own admission, he didn’t last very long and then it was all over. I was hardly even warmed up when his face would contort, he’d let out a grunt, and the only thing left for him to enjoy was my look of disappointment as he sheepishly tried to coax his manhood back to life. Hardly the stuff of a good porn story. He liked to make it last as long as it could and I did appreciate that. He would kiss me, suck here, nibble there. He gave great cunnilingus. I enjoyed all of it, but the illegal bahis one thing he didn’t want to do was end the ride by sticking his cock in me. And the one thing I wanted? A cock in me!

Our marriage is strong and we love each other. Married life was wonderfully happy, but sex was lacking. Not absent. Just lacking. Once we were married, I didn’t feel it necessary to keep dressing like a church girl. Pantyhose were definitely out and anything satin was traded in for much more practical cotton. As could be expected, this made him less interested, which I found frustrating. Why should I have to wear this stuff for my husband to find me attractive? I tried to seduce him like I used to, but this time without the top-drawer treasure trove of intimate apparel. One day I set up a game of strip poker that I would of course lose on purpose. I lost enough hands to get my pants and shirt off, exposing my quite functional cotton briefs and utilitarian bra. Throw one more hand, I thought, and it’s crazy, mad sex for the next two or three hours. Imagine my surprise when I lost the hand and he actually started asking me to put things on! Pantyhose? Lingerie? I’m not throwing poker hands to put more clothes on! I want to be naked! Why doesn’t he want me naked? This is the point that I started realizing my husband had a fetish. Hard core. All those years of private school. All those girls in slips and nylons. Shoot! My own seductive underwear choices when we were dating. And now my husband’s view of womanhood and femininity is completely and utterly wrapped up in underwear!

But I was only scratching the surface.

I knew what he liked and would occasionally comply as we went out for a date. But I always felt self conscious. Nobody else seemed to be wearing pantyhose these days. So I would wear them for him, but then I would wear high boots so nobody could see them. Even the slips made me feel awkward. “Why?” my husband would ask. “Me and you are the only ones that know what you have on under your dress.” I knew he was right, but I still hated wearing it and I felt like every person in the restaurant could somehow see through my dress and they were inwardly laughing at my ridiculous get-up. The slip would get all twisted, the panties were never cut right, nothing worked. He would buy me expensive–and at times exotic–lingerie. If I wore it at all, I would capitulate by putting it on right before bed. “No,” he would whine, “I thought you could wear it under your clothes when we go out.” What was his deal? He told me repeatedly that he didn’t just want me to wear that stuff, he wanted me to WANT to wear it. In his mind, this was feminine. This is what women did. He wanted me to be a girly-girl. He wanted me to be feminine. I was supposed to be wrapped up like some sort of Geisha girl, ready to be slowly unwrapped layer by ridiculous satin layer when the time came. He wanted me to be the kind of mysterious, demure girl that just wore this stuff because that’s who she was. But that was NOT who I was. Not that he was overly demanding or abusive or anything like that. Again, we were happy. But without all the appropriate underwear, I just couldn’t seem to get him turned on.

Hope came in an odd way a few years into our marriage. To this day, I’m not sure why he did this, but I came home to find him relaxing on the floor next to the fireplace. I sat down next to him with my back against the wall. “Hey,” he said, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Interesting,” I said slowly. He had a goofy grin on his face that betrayed his obvious mischief. “What?”

He was wearing running pants and a t-shirt. Nothing too odd. But he pulled off his socks and tugged the running pants up a little to reveal… Oh my goodness! Are you wearing…? It was! There he was showing me his feet up to his calves clad in nude Sheer Energy pantyhose! I laughed. Not a mean sort of laugh. More a laugh of shock and disbelief. He still had the same goofy grin like he was proud of himself. I couldn’t help it. I immediately pulled back the waistband of his loose-fitting pants. My suspicions were confirmed. Through the sheer-to-waist nylons showed a pair of my bright pink, hi-cut, satin bikini briefs which, in turn, were stretched over one fully engorged erection. This was certainly not the surprise I was expecting, but I was intrigued. “Go put some jeans on. We have to meet my mom in the city, and you’re wearing that for the rest of the day.” He definitely didn’t argue, and emerged a few minutes later looking completely normal with the exception of what I have to admit was kind of a sexy ass. Nobody else would have probably noticed, but I knew why it was so tight and shapely, and I kind of liked it. I gave it a squeeze which he visibly appreciated and out the door we went. For the rest of that afternoon on the town, whenever there was an opportunity, I would pull the waistband of his jeans back to get a peek of his shiny, pink ass. Of course, I was careful to not expose his secret to anyone illegal bahis siteleri else. But every time I looked, his cock immediately re-inflated to its full glory. If you knew what you were looking at–and only I did–you could just make out his panty-lines from the wide, zig-zag elastic stitching so common back then. Sometimes I would quickly reach my hand down under his jeans and give his ass a good squeeze through the nylons. The entire afternoon, I marveled at his erection. This is the first time I can remember that he was this turned on and I didn’t have to wear nylons and satin slips to do it!

That night we had some great sex! I let him keep his panties and nylons on as long as he pleasured me, which he did marvelously. He worked back and forth between kissing my neck and back and working my nipples with his tongue. I reciprocated by caressing and gently rubbing his satin encased cock. He progressed down to my thighs and kissed his way up to my womanhood, where he licked up and down my engorged lips. I let out of few short gasps as he landed his lips around my clit and gave it few flicks of his tongue. As the wet spot on the front of his panties grew and grew, I figured we had better get down to business. He seemed more than happy as I slid his nylons down. As the panties dropped, his cock hardly deviated from its nearly vertical position and pre-cum dribbled out onto my hand. I got up on my hands and knees and reached back to gently guide his manhood into my ready-and-waiting pussy. I was very wet by this point, and he slid in easily. He grabbed my hips and thrusted about a dozen times. He paused, and I felt his cock swell as it filled with cum, so I gave his shaft one good pussy squeeze. I felt his entire body tense and he exploded into me. Did it last hours? Okay, no. But that was the biggest, hardest, most explosive I have seen him since… well, since the hand jobs before we were married.

I’m sure part of it was that the panties felt good sliding around on his member. Part of it was probably the “forbidden” excitement of wearing women’s underwear. Part of it was definitely that he had a thing for pantyhose, and it apparently didn’t even matter WHO was wearing them. But I think most of it was the trust involved in letting me see him this way. This could destroy his social and probably his professional life if anyone ever knew. And he let me into his warped, weird, crazy little world. He trusted me.

And we were onto something.

Over the course of the year, we had sex more often. He always enjoyed the panties, and nylons were a special treat. My husband was incredibly lucky that we both wore the same sizes (which I would quietly sulk about). I eventually got him to branch out and try some other things. Well, let’s be honest–I’m pretty sure he couldn’t wait for me to suggest some other things. He enjoyed slips. He especially liked the way they brushed his legs over nylons. I dug through all my old high school Christian school girl underwear and found some petti-pants. For those unfamiliar, it’s basically a half-slip, but with legs, so you could wear it under culottes. Not sure what culottes are? Go find a Christian school girl from the 80s and ask her. He loved the petti-pants. They came down to his knees and were all the fun and feel of a slip, but could be worn under trousers. He even ventured into the bodysuits he loved me to wear so much. Never the nice, sexy ones like you would find at Victoria Secret either. Nope. Just the plain, jacquard, white ones from Sears. If he ever liked feeling me in one, he LOVED what it felt like to be wearing one himself. Weird. I always hated them. I didn’t like being bound up in layers of tight-fitting underwear. But he loved it. Some parts of this I’ll probably just never understand. He never really got into wearing bras. He said that was just silly as he didn’t have boobs. I think it was more that you can’t really hide a padded underwire bra under your clothes. I always found it a little ironic that my husband–wearing satin panties, nylons, a bodysuit, and a slip–was trying to convince me that wearing a bra would be silly. But sometimes, you just have to smile and nod.

The more adventuresome his clothing became, the more adventuresome the sex became. There came a point when I didn’t even mind dressing up a little. There were plenty of “modified” pantyhose in the dresser–pantyhose with a hole cut in the gusset. If I was wearing them, he could screw me through the hole. If he was wearing them, he could pull his cock out through the hole. Several pairs of satin panties were similarly modified. He couldn’t get enough of my satin covered ass shining through a pair of nylons while he pounded me from behind. I still remember the first time–after a few drinks–that we had sex while BOTH of us were wearing nylons. You would have thought it was early Christmas for him! He was so excited he barely made it in. I’ve realized since that a lot of it is visual with him, and the sight canlı bahis siteleri of two satin/pantyhose-clad pelvises coming together and his cock disappeared into me was something special for him indeed.

One day, he came to bed and snuggled in next to me like he always does. Wait. Something was different. I ran my foot up his smooth leg. “Did you shave?” I asked. You see, he’s not a complete gorilla or anything, but my husband’s kind of a hairy guy–at least his legs and chest.

“Yeah,” he answered, “it took a while. It’s so much more comfortable.” Now, I believe my husband that being hairy might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, and I’m sure that this probably did feel better, but I wasn’t just born yesterday either. There was more to it than that.

“Go put on some nylons and let’s see how you look,” I told him. Minutes later, he emerged from the closet with a smile wearing a pair of red, satin panties I had bought him and a pair of nude pantyhose. Damn! His legs looked better than mine! I’m starting to take this personally. He must have agreed because next thing I know he’s checking himself out in the full-length mirror. He must have liked what he saw, because there was a definite bulge growing under the satin. The one thing I noticed was that there was no hair coming out from under the panties either. “Where all did you shave?”

“Everywhere,” he grinned.

He took off his shirt and I inspected his work. Chest, legs, privates–bald. Not bad. I suggested he see how a camisole feels on his now-hairless chest. He eagerly complied and then climbed into bed next to me. Normally, I wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity for some sex, but I was already half-asleep, and he seemed content experiencing the new sensations of how all of this underwear was really meant to feel. I smiled, reached down, and put my hand on his crotch. Wow! That’s an impressive bulge. I gently rubbed while he squirmed and slid his legs around between the sheets. I eventually fell asleep, and I’m honestly not sure how long he stayed awake enjoying the new feelings. Probably all night.

He later described to me how much better pantyhose feel on shaved legs. He loved how they accentuated the slightest breeze on your legs, even when worn under slacks. He also loved the visual. He enjoyed looking down and seeing his shiny, almost feminine legs made smooth without the dark matte of hair poking through everywhere. Fortunately, we live in the northern part of the country, where shorts are not an option from October to about May. This means that, although he feels he has to grow his hair out for the summer (so he can wear shorts and swim suits and nobody thinks he’s a freak), keeping himself shaved six or seven months out of the year has become an annual tradition. I have to say, I’m a fan. His shaved cock is quite attractive. He has always been kind enough to pleasure me orally, and with his nice hairless cock looking so–shall we say–“appetizing”, let’s just say 69 happens a lot now.

I found early on that the nicest thing I could do for my husband was set things out for him to wear, especially under his work clothes. I know that he has no problem helping himself to anything in my underwear drawer, but I think when I lay underwear out for him, it makes me part of his little game. Instead of him having a little secret, WE have a little secret. Call it bonding. Sometimes while he’s in the shower, I’ll set out a pair of panties. Sometimes pantyhose. When I’m feeling particularly nice, I’ll set out a bodysuit or maybe a camisole or a short slip. His work clothes do a good job of hiding it. But whatever I set out, he has to wear. I’m pretty sure he has never refused anything or complained about my selections. The most fun is when he travels (which is a LOT). He generally packs the night before, which makes it easy to swap out all his underwear for mine before he wakes up. I do this for several reasons. 1) He likes it and I don’t mind. 2) He’ll never cheat on me when he travels, because his legs are shaved, I paint his toes, and he only has lacy, satin panties to wear. 3) This makes him so horny that he is desperate to flat-out drill me by the time he gets home. As a matter of fact, he almost always comes home with more undergarments than I sent him with. He’ll get off the plane and I’ll put my hand on his hips or on his back as I kiss him hello. “Yikes! What are you wearing under there?” He’ll grin and tell me he went shopping. And then we’ll find the first secluded spot on the way home to screw in the car.

So why did I tell you all this? Because I’d like to tell you some stories about the fun we’ve had, some of the fantasies that I know are bouncing around in my hubby’s head, and maybe some more details about our earlier days. But I can’t share those things with you until you truly know who we are.

We are two happily married people. My husband has a CRAZY fetish for women’s underwear. I wear it for him, and he also wears it for him. He’s definitely not gay in any way. I’m the only one in the world who knows what he wears under his clothes. I don’t always completely understand it, but I don’t mind it. Why? Because it’s fun for him and leads to great sex for me. More to come on that…



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