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Chapter 3: Getting Dressed Together

I'd agreed to put it all on when we got back to our suite, half because she wanted me to and half as an apology for how I had acted in the store. Our room had a dressing room connected to the bathroom, and I had disappeared into it, laying out the various garments next to me on the velvet-covered bench. It was far too embarrassing to put them on while she watched me — this was something I needed to do in private.

But the complexities of lingerie bewildered me. The panties were easy, but I couldn't figure out how to get the bra straps to fit right, and the garter belt was inscrutable. I hadn't even tried with the stockings. Instead, I stood in the doorway, naked with my head hung, holding the mess of elastic and lace tangled in one hand.

Katrina looked up from her phone, her curiosity morphing into bemused sympathy. She set it down on the nightstand and draped her long legs over the edge of the bed, then stood and strode across the room towards me.

Like a gazelle.

"The big, strong man couldn't figure out simple girl's clothes?" she teased. "Or was it just too cute for you to handle?"

"You girls don't get enough credit for wearing this stuff," I answered as walked into the dressing room. "There are more straps in here than I've ever seen in my life."

"Except when I wear it for you," she said, opening one of the dresser drawers where she had put some of her lingerie and digging through it. "Now you get to return the favor."

I suppressed a grimace and was silently thankful that she didn't see my cock twitch. It had remained furiously, stubbornly hard since I had carefully removed the lid of the lingerie box and brushed my shaking fingers across my new outfit. My stockings. My panties.

My lingerie.

"We can get dressed together," she said, turning back to me with something black and lacy clenched in one of her perfectly-manicured hands.

"Can't you just do it? I'm a good listener."

"No," she said, her tone firm with no room for negotiation. "Garter belt first."

I slipped it up my legs and onto my waist. The lace and embroidered flowers dug gently into my skin in a way that made all the hair on my body stand on end. The green was bold and brilliant, the shimmering material catching the light in a way that made me feel —

"Stockings next," she interrupted, my thoughts unfinished. "Make sure you keep the seam in the back."

They were silk and sheer and insubstantial; delicate nothings draped across my fingers. Just holding them made butterflies erupt in my stomach; the idea of wearing them seemed impossible, and not just because I was a man. How could such a thing even exist, much less hold together as I put it on my legs?

"How do I…?" I asked, glancing at my wife, who was already dipping her toe into the gossamer garment.

I copied what she had done, bundling them into a sheer donut, careful to keep the seam straight as she instructed, before rolling them up my leg. The sensation made me gasp. It was a tender, soft embrace of silk from all sides. It clung sweetly against my skin, brushing and stroking and caressing it as I stretched it up to my thigh. The lace top was a shade darker than my skin, the thick band interwoven with golden, shimmering threads.

"Why don't women wear stockings all the time?" I breathed in awe, running my fingers slowly up my leg. "They feel spectacular."

She giggled and shook her head. "Maybe you will — for me."

I raised an eyebrow at her, but she had moved on to show me how the metal tabs at the end of the garter belt worked.

"See, this part goes into here, " she explained, pointing. "And then the stocking goes between them. Then you put that bit in here, and it holds it up!"

It felt like magic to me, but I was able to repeat it on my other leg. I squeezed my silk-coated legs together and reveled in the grinding softness, silk knit rubbing together. It made me feel excited and sick, my stomach flipping over. A square section was darker over my toes, and I wiggled them experimentally, marveling at how smooth and elegant they made my legs look.

"Those are lovely on you," my wife said softly, tracing my garter strap with her finger. "Any closer to admitting you like it?"

"They do look nice," I offered, feeling a pang of anxiety at the mere suggestion that I might be enjoying any of this.

She blew air out between her perfect, ruby-colored lips and flung the panties at me. I pulled them roughly over my legs as I watched her bend slowly over at her waist in front of me. From behind, I could see the curve of her lips between her legs and stared hungrily at them. There were plenty of things I'd put on if it meant I could keep looking at that.

It helps that I'm enjoying the clothes, too, flashed a thought, though I chose not to dwell on it.

The panties pressed my erection upwards, the tip pointing at my navel, peaking up over the lacy waistband. The embroidered flowers punctuated the otherwise sheer front, hiding my package and giving only teasing glimpses of my shaft. The thong back sunk snugly between my cheeks, rubbing against my rear in a way that was surpisingly enjoyable.

"Those are cute on you," breathed my wife, biting her lip as she stared openly and hungrily at my cock.

"You think so?" I said, trying to sound confident but unable to hide the shakiness in my voice.

"Yes," she said, her voice low and heavy with no trace of anxiety. "I should have told you I wanted this a long time ago."

She slipped into her bra with the practiced movements of someone who had been doing it for more than a decade. By contrast, I could barely get my arms to bend behind my back the way she had. The lace-edged cups brushed against my nipples, sending sparks down my back. By the time Katrina had it fastened behind me, they were hard, poking through the sheer, floral embroidery.

My wife was warm behind me, her fingers still resting on the bra strap even though it was fastened. I felt surprisingly vulnerable to her in the lingerie — more so than I would have even if I had been naked. I could feel her looking at me, imagining what she wanted to do with me. I was still her husband, but I was also a plaything for her.

The idea made my panties feel tighter.

"You look incredible in this," she said, giving me a long kiss between my shoulder blades.

I sucked air in between my teeth, goosebumps spreading over my skin. "You think so?"

"Yes. And not just because this has been an all-time fantasy for me."

How long has she been planning this? I wondered, and then a darker thought followed it: And how much further is she going to take it?

She shoved the dressing room door closed with her foot, the mirror on the back of it slowly showing shards of the room before it finally shut and framed us. Katrina was still behind me, but had moved to my side, one hand resting on my shoulder and draped across my back.

"See?" she asked with a wide, hungry grin.

I couldn't believe it. I had expected to see a gangly man in clothes that were far too beautiful for him. Unpleasant at worst, simply awkward at best. Even if you had paid me, I never would have guessed I would look like this. I glanced down at Katrina with wide eyes, then flitted them back to the mirror to drink in my appearance.

I looked hot.