Party, Party, Party

Michelle hated parties.

Hard work to organise, a mess to clear up and in-between, boring conversation with boring people whom she hardly knew. Everyone knew that Michelle hated parties.

There was a song that went 'Everyone loves to party'; well count her out of that. Bad music blaring out, guests that would never otherwise pop around for a coffee, crappy food that would never make the table on a normal day, there were no redeeming features.

Derek, her husband loved them. She wondered how they had managed to survive all these years together - except possibly as an attraction of opposites. He enjoyed impressing his work colleagues with the lovely old house that they lived in, that she had chosen and decorated. He liked loud thumping music, talking 'work' with his mates whilst holding a warm beer - and waking up with a hangover. Michelle despised these things.

So, as rarely as possible she would surrender to his endless suggestions for a reason to invite his friends. This time it was not even a proper reason for a party as far as she was concerned, which strangely was better than some silly anniversary, New Year, Halloween or some such nonsense. Just a random date meant that there was no pressure for a theme or fancy dress and there was much less stress.

This time it was St. Valentines, which she never had any regard for -- it was merely an excuse for florists and restaurateurs to double their prices and for couples who were about to divorce to get stupidly schmaltzy and declare their everlasting love.

So here she was cleaning and scrubbing, shifting furniture in the lounge that merged into the kitchen and worrying about menus whilst he stayed at work blissfully unaware of the effort that went in to organising these shindigs.

She didn't have anything to wear. That was another problem that he wouldn't understand, he just saw a closet full of clothes and assumed that she could wear anything in there. But of course she needed something new, something different. The whole ensemble -- shoes, the lot. Jewellery she could manage; she had a good selection already but people never noticed that they had seen a necklace before.

Eventually the house was clean and she had a shower to recover herself. Next she would need a trip to the mall to purchase a new outfit, so she dressed simply in a dress that was easy to take off, to simplify the trying on of clothes in tiny cubicles.

When she looked in the shops it was difficult. That was another thing she was supposed to enjoy but didn't. Other women might be in ecstasy choosing a new dress but she struggled to get excited especially for an event that she would happily cancel.

Michelle looked at dresses, skirts, blouses, pants but nothing was 'flying off the rail' at her. There were black outfits, red outfits, blue outfits. Was there anything suitable in the world? It wasn't as if nothing would fit. She knew that some women were very short, very tall, thin or fat and could never find clothes that fitted. But she was slim, fit, average height, blue eyed.

The only thing was her red hair that clashed with some things. Plus of course her breasts which were large, which meant that manufacturers assumed that she had fat arms. Arm openings were always too loose and showed the side of her bra, or had sleeves that were just plain baggy. Never mind, if she could get it right she had assets that still caught everyone's eyes even as she was reaching her mid-thirties.

She wanted something conservative but interesting. Not 'Mother of the Bride' or 'Immature Teenager'. Something to impress her husband's colleagues but not be ridiculously out of place. Something that would please her husband but not give his friends cause to scoff.

She had been in this position so many times; every party that she had been to, to be exact. Then a thought came to her.

If she pleased Derek endlessly with these stupid events, inevitably he would continue with them.

What she needed to do was to put an end to them. To embarrass him in some way that he didn't want to do it ever again.

Soon she saw the ideal outfit. A dress a little too short, a little too tight. Single shouldered, leaving a bare arm and a low scooped line over her left breast. It showed her almost to the nipple and continued showing skin right around the side to below her shoulder blade. It even managed to be low cut over the right side and displayed her ample cleavage.

Black, always the most flattering shade, it shimmered with a silvery sparkle. No way would she be able to wear a bra underneath, but it was fitted with a loose lining across the breasts to conceal and protect her modesty.

'Well,' she thought 'those big girls had better stand up for themselves tonight.' She tried it on and stood sideways to the cubicle mirror. Her chest showed no sign of sagging, although -- or maybe because, she always wore a bra when in public; usually a big battleship of a garment as she was normally very discreet about her shape. Plus her sessions at the gym had kept her well toned so she had good legs and a flat stomach.

She complemented it with killer-heels; the sort that someone once called 'fuck-me shoes'. Then she admired the full effect again in the mirror. 'Wow, that really cuts a dash'. She was transformed into a man-eating siren, the sort of woman that she would normally hiss at and call a slut under her breath.

Michelle paid for the dress and shoes, then made her way across town to her hairdresser. To their surprise, she insisted on a change to her usual style and had her hair piled up transforming her into a vamp.

When it was finished and Michelle was driving home however, she had a sudden change of heart - a lack of courage to go through with the plan. 'Maybe next time,' she pondered. 'I'll just put on what I wore last time and change the jewellery.'

* * *

When she was ready to dress for the party, alone in her bedroom Michelle did her make-up and then tried on the outfit, just for fun. Under the dress her bare flesh was a little wobbly and she decided that she needed some support. She raided her lingerie drawer and put on a safe pair of panties and a lacy basque which cupped her breasts, giving her a little support although it didn't cover her nipples. It was strapless and the laces at the front could be tightened enough to hold everything firmly in place. It had suspenders which meant that she had to put on a pair of stockings, luckily she had a pair with traditional seams at the back.

The basque had been a Christmas gift from her husband years earlier and they had christened it enthusiastically before breakfast. It was black with red trim and made her look a complete slut but it would be better than being naked under the dress -- not that she intended to go through with it any more.

She pulled on the dress and shoes and stood in front of the full length wardrobe mirror to admire the effect. To be fair it was spectacular, she could tell. Not her normal style at all.

She then looked in the dressing table mirror to check out the rear view in the full wardrobe mirror behind her. The unfamiliar aspect of the double reflection took her by surprise and she went cold at the transformation.

Her legs appeared to be twice their normal length, her ass was more prominent than she had ever known; emphasised by her incredibly short dress and waspishly narrow laced-in waist. Her shoulders appeared bare; the single strap over her right shoulder was spaghetti-slim and almost invisible. Her tits projected as if they were silicone bolt-ons and her mane of red hair was piled high so that her height was out of reach of the mirror.

There was a problem - her stocking-tops were visible. She leaned over slightly; the giggle-band could be seen clearly. Did anyone still call it that? Get as far as that and you're laughing, they used to say.

She removed the stockings and then found that the suspenders could easily be detached from the basque. Problem solved.

Another check in the mirror - her legs were still tanned from a winter-sun holiday so didn't look bleached deathly white. She found that the black lining of the dress was a mere strip in front of her boobs and it could be seen against the paler flesh. The rest of the garment showed an impression almost of the skin underneath and the outline of the basque could be made out.

She lowered the top of the dress and saw that the lining was attached by a couple of loops so she removed it and pulled the top back up over her chest. The dress looked much better with her natural body underneath, but if she looked closely the outline of her nipples was visible through the material. She decided that it was too obvious and she looked too much like someone recently escaped from a Paris bordello.

She blanched at the thought of being seen in such an outfit and started looking for an alternative; something boring and respectable, something that had been worn before.

Just then she heard the sound of the back door opening downstairs as her husband returned home. There were the sounds of feet on the stairs, then the bedroom door opened and Derek entered.

There was a long pause as he stood still and took in the scene, then he breathed out heavily. "Bugger me, is that your dress for tonight?" Then he laughed, "You're not wearing that, you haven't got the bottle."

She flared angrily. "What if I do, is that a challenge?"

Derek sat on the edge of the bed and snorted. "Ridiculous. My friends will choke on their tongues. You're not eighteen any more, act your age."

She sat down at the dressing table and fumed. How dare he? The dress wasn't that bad. Anyway the whole point was to put a stop to these horrible parties. She decided; that was it, she would wear it. However, she wouldn't get into a fight at the moment, she'd bluff it. The fight would come later, afterwards when the deed was done.

"I know, I wasn't meaning to. I'll be wearing my long green dress with the gold belt."

"Good, wear something decent." With that, he turned and left for the shower. Shortly Michelle could hear the shower running so she took off the dress and pulled on a robe and slippers and went downstairs.

* * *

Michelle finished preparing the room for the party. The table was laid, snacks and nibbles spread out. Ice filled the bucket and lagers and wine filled the fridge. There was a pot of chicken stew for main course, this was put on to simmer slowly. It was a routine that she was well used to so it didn't take long.

Soon Derek came down, wearing a bright shirt and tight jeans. He started getting the music ready as Michelle went back upstairs. Man-work, she thought; she had done most of the preparation for his party, he turned up at the last moment to potter around with some music tracks.

Soon she heard the front door open; the first of their guests had arrived. She shed the robe and slippers then pulled the dress and high heels back on. She gave her make-up a final check and added simple stud earrings and a gold necklace.

She admired the result in the mirror; damn she looked hot. She remembered the words of her late Grandma: "When you're dressed to go out, it's guaranteed that you're overdressed. Take something off."

Hmm, there wasn't much there. She could already, possibly, make out the outline of her nipples but the scrap of lining wasn't beautiful and to be honest she wanted the slutty look anyway. She didn't want to put something else on, the idea was to remove the excess. A bit of jewellery? Either the earrings or the necklace -- but the earrings were essential and the chain link necklace dipped perfectly into her cleavage and nestled between her breasts.

She turned around and looked at her rear profile. She could see the black panties through the dress. The elastic was cutting into the tops of her thighs and she had the worst thing ever -- a Visible Panty Line. She hitched the dress up and removed the panties.

She needed a thong, but she wasn't sure that she had a really nice one in her drawer. Michelle took a couple of steps across the room, whilst still checking her rear. It was a real improvement and satisfied her Grandma's memory. No knickers? That was totally slutty and she felt naked and nervous at the prospect. But the view from the front and back was so good. Luckily she kept herself well-shaved so there was no patch of pubes visible, just a clear, clean body-line from her hips down to her lean thighs. She liked it.

She heard more guests arrive downstairs and the music had started.

As if in a dream, she slowly descended the stairs. As she approached the front door she could feel cool air on her pussy where she was normally covered by her panties and the roughness of the dress without a bra felt unfamiliar against her breasts. She could feel her nipples stiffening and a moistness between her legs. Would they be able to see that she was going commando? At the hallway she turned to enter the main lounge and opened the door, standing still as the music was suddenly louder.

* * *

It appeared that all the expected guests were present and they all turned to look at the vision silhouetted in the doorway. There was a complete hush in the conversation for several seconds.

Emboldened, Michelle stood up straight and strutted into the room. She had not felt such a sensation in her breasts for many years. She quickly looked down and saw that her nipples were protruding clearly through the thin clinging material and were standing out like the proverbial truck wheel-nuts.

She recognised Derek's boss and his two colleagues together with their wives. All the men were wearing jeans and smart shirts, the women were in dresses much more respectable than hers. More cleavage on display than on some other days, as befitted St. Valentines evening and some ankle-jewellery to indicate romantic intentions, but more Cougar than MILF for sure.

She swayed her hips for added effect as she crossed to the drinks table. "I'll have a red wine, is everyone sorted?" She could feel her dress move across her bare buttocks.

In front of her, Russ, Derek's boss stepped forwards and picked up a bottle. "Shall I pour?" In the corner of her eye Michelle saw his wife Hannah flash a glare at him. He didn't notice, his eyes were fixed firmly on her chest.

She waited for Russ to give a generous slug of wine into the large glass, then sipped it with a quick swirl of the liquid. It was pleasantly fruity but they had had similar wines many times before. She noted that the candles had been lit around the room and the music was softer, more romantic than she had feared.

She was suddenly surrounded by Russ and the other two men Mike and Richard. For the first time in many years she was the centre of attention. Giddy with the fuss around her, Michelle drank her wine and flirted shamelessly. Her glass was refilled and a plate of nibbles passed to her. She was suddenly enjoying this, a sensation that she was not expecting.

Normally Louise and Angie, the respective wives of Mike and Richard were very much more the party animals and would behave outrageously before being reined in by their spouses.

This time, the conversation centred around her. Jokes were cracked for her and she laughed willingly at them. More wine was poured and more snacks passed as the soft music continued.

She noticed Derek talking to the wives Hannah, Louise and Angie. They were simpering at his conversation and befuddled by the alcohol, she couldn't put up with that. Was he flirting? Holding her glass in one hand and a vol au vent in the other, she made her way between the guys and across the room to Derek. Suddenly the room was swimming from her wine and she had to check herself.

Once steadied she reached Derek. "Hi, hunn'. You all okay here?"

Hannah and the other women seemed unusually frosty. Derek had thin lips, "We're good here, you enjoying tonight?"

Before she could reply, she realised that the vol au vent was crumbling in her hand and was falling to the floor. She bent down, teetering on the high heels. She picked up the pastry, looked around for a bin and dropped the debris in one that was conveniently placed under the table.

Looking around the room, Michelle noticed that the guys behind her were standing still, staring at her. Mike's mouth was open.

She wasn't too drunk to work out what had just happened. Her too-short dress had ridden up her ass when she had bent over, her legs had been well apart for extra balance and she had flashed her bare pussy straight at them.

She could feel her face reddening, her legs started to buckle but with an effort she locked her knees straight.

She looked back to Derek and the women. Derek's eyes were wide open, glaring at her but the three women were smiling. She saw Derek's mouth move and his hand came up to paw at her but she instinctively stepped back to avoid it.

Then she noticed fresh air circulating on her chest and followed the eyes of her husband, which were aimed several inches below her face. Her left breast had popped completely out of the dress and was swinging freely, unrestrained by any garment except for the tiny platform of the basque which held it out for all to see. She quickly grabbed the top of the dress and hitched it over the loose boob.

There wasn't a great deal of spare material but she managed to conceal the nipple again.

The music was still pumping and flushed with embarrassment she felt the need for a distraction. This was way more exposure than she had planned.

She started to sway to the beat and caught hold of Derek with her empty hand. "Let's dance." She placed her glass on the table and dragged him to the centre of the room.

He held her close and steadily as they moved slowly to the music. "Well, I did have the bottle. How are their tongues?" Michelle giggled nervously.

Derek did not seem amused, "They're keeping the floor clean, I've never seen people lick the floor whilst standing upright."

Around the room she saw that the other couples had come together and were all dancing and talking. Talking about her no doubt. How could she make such a spectacle of herself, she wondered? If the floor could open up she'd offer herself willingly to be swallowed.

She felt Derek's hand on her hip, then slide gently down to her thigh. It didn't have to go far before it was on bare skin. He moved, backing her towards a corner and then his hand was up, caressing her bum. He looked at her with a quizzical expression, "Heck, are you wearing anything at all under that dress?"

She thought that this was hysterical and laughed, "I do believe that I'm not. I'm seriously busted."

His hand moved around to the front and suddenly she was being groped like a teenager at a disco, his fingers between her labia feeling the moistness and on the very entrance to her vagina. Just as quickly his hand was being removed, just as she separated her thighs to allow better access. She felt disappointed.

His eyebrows lowered, "What the bloody hell are you playing at? These are people that I work with."

As Michelle staggered on her heels again however, she brushed against him and felt a bulge in his trousers. Clearly he wasn't as upset as he appeared.

She leaned in to whisper in his ear, "You challenged me, remember?"

"Not to show everyone your left breast, you harlot."

Emboldened she sniggered at the quaint term of abuse, "I think you'll find that they saw more than that when I bent down."

Derek didn't seem to understand what she was saying, but she was feeling the effect of the wine and her legs were struggling to cope with the high heels. It would be much easier if she sat down.

Without warning her ankle buckled sideways and she collapsed in a heap on the floor. Uninjured as Derek caught her and helped her to her feet again, she hobbled to the sofa which was against the side of the room.