New Wardrobe?


New Wardrobe?


Copyright Oggbashan March 2017

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.


I was sitting at the kitchen table ruefully going over my finances. They had taken a large hit with our daughter’s marriage to Graham three weeks ago. It had been a low key wedding because Sophie had chosen a small wedding with a large paternal contribution towards their new house.

It would take months, or more realistically several years, to rebuild our capital. At least I hadn’t gone into debt. I had been saving for Sophie’s wedding since she was five years old. I couldn’t have saved any earlier because equipping Sophie as a new baby and a daughter had been so expensive. Unlike Alan, born eight years before Sophie, she had been unexpected. We had disposed of all the baby equipment years before she was born.

I put my pen down and reached for the cup of tea Maureen had placed beside me a few minutes ago. I looked at her. She was standing by the ironing board pressing her mother-of-the-bride dress. I still love Maureen and appreciate her even after decades of marriage. She had her tongue sticking out as she worked on a detail of the dress. She always does that when concentrating hard.

As she finished that detail she stood up and put the iron on its stand. She noticed me looking at her and smiled. That smile still affects me as much as it had done on our first date. From time to time I wonder what this woman had seen in me. She is such a happy person with a wonderful sense of humour, traits that Sophie had inherited. I will miss Sophie but I still have Maureen, the woman I love.

Maureen put the dress on a hanger and hooked it onto a cupboard door. She put the iron on a work surface, folded the ironing board, and put it away in the cupboard under the stairs. She picked up her cup of tea and sat down facing me.

“Not good?” she asked looking at my paperwork.

“Could be better but Sophie’s wedding and house were worth it.” I replied.

Maureen reached out a hand and patted the back of mine.

“I hope you can afford the cruise we’re going on next week,” she said.

I knew she was teasing me.

“It’s fully inclusive, paid for months ago, and I bought the foreign currency last year. It won’t affect my bank balance now unless you want some really expensive souvenirs.”

“I won’t. All we will need to bring back are photos and memories,” Maureen replied.

She was looking at me quizzically. After all these years of marriage I recognised that look. She was going to ask me something, or say something, that I might not like.

“Jack? I really need a new wardrobe.”

I looked despairingly at the figures in front of me.

“Now? When I’m more broke than I’ve been for years?”

“It shouldn’t cost much, Jack.”

I felt like exploding into swearwords. I held my tongue. I couldn’t do that to Maureen.

“About fifty pounds might be enough,” Maureen continued.

“Fifty pounds? That wouldn’t buy a dress!” I said more loudly than I intended.

“But it would buy a flat pack wardrobe.”

Maureen was grinning at me. She knew she had wound me up almost to an eruption. She stood up, came around the kitchen table and hugged from behind, her breasts pressing either side of my neck. She stroked my hair slowly before bending around and kissing me on the cheek.

“You’ve had plenty of practice with flat packs recently. Graham, our new son in law might help too.”

“Sophie would be more useful,” I retorted.

It was true. As a child Sophie samsun escort had followed Alan around as I taught him basic do-it-yourself skills. Eventually she was better than Alan. In their new house Graham had been Sophie’s unskilled assistant as the three of us assembled flat pack furniture. He was learning but would need much more tuition before he became as good as Sophie.

Sophie and I had spent several hours in my shed and garage deciding which tools she could take with her to her new home. She wanted the tools she was familiar with. I hadn’t lost too much — except a loved daughter. Even then I hadn’t really lost her. She had moved on to a new stage in her life but their house was only a few miles away. Alan and his family were three hundred miles away and visited a couple of times a year.

That thought started another. When Alan and family visited they stayed with us. If Maureen had another wardrobe, where would it go? Maureen already had three quarters of the sliding wardrobe in our bedroom. Another wardrobe would have to go somewhere else.

“Where?” I said abruptly.

Maureen hugged me again.

“Where what, Jack?”

“Where is there room for another wardrobe? The other bedrooms are crammed when Alan comes. And why do you need another wardrobe? For what?”

Maureen wriggled around to sit on my lap. She kissed me full on the lips. I responded. Our cups of tea were getting cold by the time we stopped kissing.

“You’re right, Jack. It might be a problem. I don’t need much but I’ve run out of space to hang long dresses. What prompted me to think about wardrobe space was that dress…”

Maureen pointed at the dress hanging on a cupboard.

“I bought it a week before the wedding and it hung on the back of our bedroom door. Now I need to put it away, and I don’t think I can.”

“Surely you could make room by losing a few dresses?”

“My storage problem is your fault, Jack.”

“My fault? Why? I don’t wear your dresses.”

“Maybe not, but you like me wearing big dresses and you get inside them to get at me. You’re a sentimental idiot. That’s part of why I love you. I keep most of my big dresses because you want me too.”

“I admit I do like burrowing under your skirt to kiss between your legs, Maureen. But sentimental?”

“I’ve still got the old Prom dress I was wearing on our first date at the university ball. Whenever I wear it, and I only wear it in our bedroom, you don’t need Viagra. That dress works on you instantly. So do most of my big dresses. We don’t use my wedding gown but we do use the one I wore for my Hen Party and my two bridesmaid’s dresses. After dinner tonight we’ll have a review and perhaps a fashion parade. You can tell me if I can get rid of any of them. They ALL mean something to you. OK. I’ll admit it. They mean something to me too, particularly when I produce such an effect on you. You still love my body, old and wrinkled though it is.”

The only response I could think of was to kiss Maureen. She’s right. I do still love her, and her body, and I get turned on whenever she wears a dress I can burrow under to get at her pussy.


Late that evening we showered and stripped. At Maureen’s request I was wearing clean Y-fronts and nothing else. She wore a white satin bra and panties with a short slip. She was wearing white hold-up stockings and white heeled shoes.

She took her old Prom dress out of the wardrobe. I remembered her looking great in it but even then it had been old.

“Look,” Maureen said holding the dress up, “it didn’t reveal much. It’s high-necked with sleeves and I was wearing long white gloves. The only skin I was showing was my face and some of my neck. I had a stiff petticoat underneath, now long gone, but I have a modern hooped petticoat that works just as well. Even then it was years old. I had been told that the University ball could be a riot and dresses might get damaged. I wore this old Prom dress because it didn’t matter. It didn’t then. It does now. It’s a reminder of our first date. You’ll have to help me put it on. My mother did that for my Prom. My flat mate did that for the University ball.”

She stepped into the hooped petticoat and tied it around her waist. She eased long white gloves up her arms. I helped her to struggle into the dress. I had to zip her up at the back because she couldn’t operate the zip with gloves on. She couldn’t take the gloves off while wearing the dress because the sleeves covered the upper end of the gloves.

“It’s not practical for anyone living alone,” Maureen said. “You can’t dress or undress yourself. Once it’s on and you are wearing the gloves, you can haul it up to go to the toilet but that’s it. You’re imprisoned in it until someone unzips you.”

“Surely you could undo it…”

“You can’t.” Maureen was definite. “Want to try?”

She was teasing me. But I was sure it ought to be possible to undo that zip. I said so. That was a mistake. Minutes later I was standing in the centre of our bedroom zipped into Maureen’s Prom dress. Although she is slightly shorter than me, I wasn’t wearing heels and the hem of the dress splayed across the floor. I wriggled and stretched. All I did was prove Maureen right. Wearing gloves I just couldn’t grip the pull on the zipper. It was too small and hidden in the back seam of the dress.

“OK, Maureen,” I said. “You’re right. I’m wrong. I can’t undo the zip nor take the dress off without help. Can you…?”

“Not yet, Jack. Remember that first date? Now we couldn’t do the contortions we managed in the back seat of your car. But I can do this…”

Maureen ducked under the skirt of the dress. She grabbed and pulled down my Y-fronts before I stepped out of them.

“I was going commando that night. I thought I would be safe with such a long dress and layers of petticoats but you found a way in.”

Maureen’s voice was muffled. I flinched as her hands touched my erection. Her head made a bulge in the skirt as she slid her lips up and down. She opened her mouth before sliding my cock inside. I flapped my gloved hands helplessly as she brought me close to a climax again and again.

Finally she let me come into her mouth. I shuddered above her.

She emerged slightly red in the face but licking her lips.

“I wondered what you found so erotic about being inside my skirts,” she said conversationally, “but I can see the attraction. Inside there you have complete access and no distractions. Your whole concentration is about sex and giving the best experience.”

“What I feel,” I added, “is that by being inside your dress I have penetrated you far more than I can with an erection. You are surrounding me, the whole of me. It may be only your dress but that dress seems to be part of you, holding me tight.”

“And now my dress is holding you more than it ever did when you were under my skirt, Jack. Apart from your head you are completely surrounded by it.”

Maureen sat back on her heels.

“I wonder…” she started to say.

She got up and walked across to her dressing table. She pulled out a condom, opened the packet with her teeth and eased the condom out.

“I don’t want you to mess my petticoat,” she said.

She dived under the skirt again, stroked my cock and with some difficulty slid the condom on my diminished penis. She crawled out.

“OK, Jack. Please get on the bed.”

Maureen had to help with the skirt as she positioned me on the bed with my legs beyond the foot of the bed.

“Just lie there, think of England, or preferably of me, while I get dressed for part two. Which one?”

Maureen opened the wardrobe.

“My Hen Party Wedding dress, I think. It is easy to get on and off and you’re in no position to help.”

She didn’t need help. I was familiar with it. She had bought it cheaply in a charity shop and had only worn it for one hectic evening. The dress is strapless and has zips at the side of the bodice. The skirt has sewn-in stiffening and a silky lining. Unlike her real wedding dress and the Prom dress I was wearing it was ankle length even without Maureen wearing heels.

I could feel sensation returning to my prick as Maureen put that dress on. Her bra and slip straps looked slightly wrong as she shook out the folds of heavy satin skirt. But it came with a cropped jacket that had a short zip at the front. I had never seen her wear the jacket with the dress.

“The dress and jacket were cheap in the charity shop because this top doesn’t fit,” Maureen said.

She pulled at the front of the jacket to show how loose it was.

“But I think it might work for this,” she said as she straddled me.

I was looking at the white satin jacket sagging forwards. She unfastened the zip. The two sides of the jacket blocked my view except straight at Maureen’s cleavage. Slowly she unzipped the sides of the dress’s bodice before folding it down. One-handed she unfastened the front of her bra. That too fell either side of my head.

“And now, I think this will work.”

Maureen slid the two parts of the jacket behind my head. My nose was deep between her breasts. She lifted my head as she forced the zip up dragging the sides of the jacket together. It did work. My head was trapped in between her breasts. I couldn’t move it up or down. Maureen was smothering me in her cleavage.

As I was failing to get a breath I heard Maureen say:

“There. You’re completely covered inside my dresses.”

I shook my head despairingly as I ran out of air. Maureen realised I was suffocating and desperately yanked at the zip. It seemed to take too long but even her frantic pulling gave me a few breaths as she and I struggled.

I panted after she had released me.

“Sorry, Jack,” she said. “Perhaps there wasn’t enough room for you. Wait a little and I’ll try something better.”

A few minutes later her pussy was poised above my face. Her heavy satin skirt was slid down behind my head. She had tied pantyhose over the skirt of her prom dress around my legs clamping them together. Her pussy lowered towards my eager lips. I kissed, licked, nibbled and final tongued inside her warm damp cleft. She and I were enjoying ourselves.

I found that being wholly wrapped in her clothing was stimulating. I seemed to have penetrated Maureen’s essence even more than usual, or had I surrendered completely to her? It didn’t matter. Whichever it was we found it exciting. She was squealing as my gloved hands eased her legs further apart.

As she reached another climax she pushed the heavy skirt tight around me. I still had just enough air to keep tonguing her until she relaxed in the aftermath.

I was able to repeat the process several times before I ejaculated into the condom. Maureen felt me slump and uncovered my head. I rested it on her skirt. She gently stroked my head.

“Do you want me to get rid of either of those dresses, Jack?” She asked.

I shook my head.

“Then tomorrow we must find somewhere for another wardrobe. We can play with the big dresses I’m keeping. They work for you and on you. They work for me too.”

We did find space. The new ‘play’ wardrobe has replaced a bookshelf in my study. But I think Maureen might have planned the whole scenario. She had tricked me into giving up space in my study. After decades of marriage I ought to have learned by now that if Maureen really wants something she’ll manipulate me into agreeing.

Tonight I’ll be under a big skirt or wrapped in one of Maureen’s dresses and under a big skirt. Or perhaps Maureen’s head will be under the skirt of a dress I’m wearing. Whatever happens this older couple will be enjoying sex again.