The Lingerie Tester

Author's Note: I'd like to acknowledge Ender27 from the Story Ideas board, who came up with the core idea of this story, as well as my tireless proofreaders TerryTheTraveller and Aussie B.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment.

They say that the strength of a couple's relationship can be measured by their traditions. Actually they don't say that at all; I just made it up. But they should, because it's true. And not just couples, I reckon; it applies equally to all kinds of groups. Clubs and community groups have their barbeques and jumble sales, schools have their assemblies, concerts, and break-up parties, and even countries have their national days of celebration and mourning. It's these traditions that bind us. Without them there's nothing to define us, nothing to hold us together, and we begin to drift apart.

So how much more important are traditions for couples and families? Countries, companies and community groups can tolerate a modest level of non-conformity; it's no tragedy if a few people don't turn up to the company picnic. But for families, traditions are much more important. If Daddy doesn't make it home for Christmas then mark my words, Christmas will be ruined for the kids. And this goes double for couples.

Geoff and I are both big on traditions. He buys me a new charm for my bracelet on our wedding anniversary, and we always make breakfast-in-bed for each other on our birthdays (I swear, if I ever catch him making those Eggs Benedict for another woman then the marriage is over!) We do family stuff Christmas (his) and Australia Day (mine), and like every other family we eat and drink way too much and regret it afterwards.

We never had a Valentine's tradition though. Is that strange for a young couple? I guess it probably is. Of course we have our tradition now, but for three years of dating and another three of marriage, we didn't even buy cards, let alone chocolates or gifts.

Geoff reckons there's two types of people: those who go all-out for Valentine's with gifts and chocolates and a fancy restaurant and maybe even a limo, and then there's the cynics (that used to be us!), people who think it's all a big retail con to sell romantic gifts and chocolates and flowers and what-have-you.

And heaven help the mismatched couple for truly, Lord, they are doomed. It's usually the girl who wants a big Valentine's production, as if she can re-live her wedding day year after year. That would be sexist if a guy said it, but I can get away with it. Some guys like all the gooey stuff for Valentine's, but I reckon if you got them drunk and asked them in private, you'd find out they only did it for the sex. That's pretty expensive sex, too! At least ten dollars on cards, another twenty on chocolates, fifty on flowers, and heck, maybe three hundred bucks on dinner and wine. Oh, and we haven't bought a proper gift yet; how about a little necklace? Another two hundred? Let's face it, if a couple gets through February fourteenth for under half a grand then they can chalk that up as a win. Am I right? How much is a decent escort, anyway? It has to be less than five-hundred bucks.

But don't get me wrong, Geoff and I didn't suddenly strike it rich and start splurging on Valentine's. In fact, apart from gas, we still don't spend a cent on each other. Those are the best gifts though, don't you think? The ones money can't buy.

Probably the thing I like most about our Valentine's tradition is that it was unplanned – or at least the first one was. I won't go so far as to say it was an accident. The sort of thing that happened to us that summery weekend in Feb 2010 could only happen by accident in erotica. It was a combination of adventurous spirits, quick thinking, and knowing your partner.

Geoff and I are very open and honest with each other in the bedroom. Neither of us had much experience when we got together and I found that I had to give him instructions to make sure I didn't get left behind. Just simple stuff like telling when he did something I liked and gently letting him know the stuff I didn't like. Hey, it works on dogs, why not on men? (Sorry, that one really was sexist.) Once the lines of communication were open during the act, it became easy to talk about it when we weren't doing it. Like over a nice breakfast of Eggs Benedict, for instance.

I found out that Geoff loves me in short little skirts that flip in the breeze. I know what you're thinking: all guys like girls in short little skirts that flip in the breeze, right? But Geoff isn't watching me when I'm wearing a little skirt, he's watching the other guys! He's taken to carrying a camera and trying to catch the expression on their face when they first see my knickers. You'd think the timing would be nearly impossible, but he's got quite a few good ones. Sometimes we'll go out just to take photos; I'll sit on a park bench and Geoff will sit on the opposite side of the path, and then when a guy comes along I'll open my knees and fish around in the bag at my ankles. We go home afterwards and if he got a really good shot (for instance, one with both my undies and a guy checking me out), then we'll go to bed and "talk" about all the things that guy probably wanted to do. We're a bit like the Italians, when we "talk" we use more than just our voices.

The photos are Geoff's thing. My thing takes more time. I do like it when guys see me – even though I usually miss it – but what I really love is when they come back for more. Some guys will double back for a second look in the park, but I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about bailing them up in a confined space where they can't help but look. The Sydney trains are probably my favourite. Loose fitting tops in peak hour when you have to stand are good, but short skirts in those seats that face each other are by far the best. I like to pick out a guy who doesn't look all young and dumb and full of cum. No sir, give me a young, studious-looking guy. A little bit geeky, but not too much. Someone who's really going to appreciate a flash of panty, but not cum in his pants.

I start it out slow. Knees close, but not together; you need to let them know that you're a little bit careless and that if they're persistent then they might be rewarded. It doesn't take long. Most of them are looking by the time I sit down, but if not they will be within a few seconds. I like to read a book, that way they can see I'm not taking any notice of them, and the barrier of the book over the hem of my skirt makes it all the more realistic that I don't know I'm flashing.

I'm not a tease though. I don't promise the opportunity of a peek and then fail to deliver. Once I know they're looking, I get started immediately. Usually I lift one leg to slowly scratch my ankle and then put it down with my knees further apart and my little skirt hiked a bit higher. Once they can see my panties, then it's a case of rinse and repeat. You can't just sit there like a bump on a log, you have to provide a show. Give a little more, sure, but take a little bit away too, just to keep them sharp.

It's not all one sided. I mean, I like to peek at them watching, but I love what it does to Geoff. I don't usually do it if he's not there. I share my time between watching the guy in my peripheral vision and stealing glances at Geoff. And he is not one to disappoint: he always lets me see how excited I've gotten him, winking at me and showing me the thick bulge in his trousers. Then of course that makes me excited, thinking about the things he's going to tell me afterwards. And the things he's going to do! If the train trip is long enough, there'll be a little wet stain on the gusset of my panties before we get off. And if the guy has gotten me that hot and bothered, I always reward him with an extra flash, pretending I almost missed my stop and frantically fumbling with my book and my bag between wide open legs. Geoff would love a photo of that, but it's just impossible to take one discreetly on a train.

Finding out that Geoff enjoys watching and I enjoy flashing was good communication – evidence of a healthy relationship – but finding out about the touching was plain old dumb luck.

We were on the train together (to go to work, not for flashing) so it was peak hour and neither of us could get a seat. As the train started to fill up, the people got closer and closer and we finally crossed that threshold where touching was inevitable, and from then on it was body-on-body all the way to the city. Common courtesy dictates that chaste touching on the sides and back is acceptable, but that a small space in front of you is sacrosanct. It's not true for everyone – I mean some guys will happily dry hump you from any direction – but it's a rule I follow and I use that little space to hold my book so that I can keep reading.

On this occasion, I was using one of those vertical hand railings to help preserve my little personal space, but as the train got more crowded I kept getting pushed from behind, closer and closer to the bar. I was so absorbed in my book that at first I didn't take any notice when my breast pressed into the bar, but I sure as hell noticed when the 'bar' moved beneath it to surreptitiously stroke my nipple. Oh my God! I'd gone and pressed my boob into someone's fingers!

At first I thought it was Geoff and I looked up to find him. He was holding on to another bar a few feet away, but he knew exactly what was going on! Apparently (so I found out later), I'd been edging closer and closer, and barely a minute before I touched down, this guy moved his hand down ... right into the path of my oncoming breast.

Geoff's wide-eyed look of lust sealed it for me. Within a few moments I was taking deep breaths and puffing out my chest and stoking my hard nipple over those loving fingers, all the while desperately watching my husband's reaction and pretending to read my book. I never even saw the guy – he was standing behind with his arm stretched around me – but Geoff said by the look on his face, I'd given him jerk-off fantasies that would be good for a few weeks. Eeeew, really! Not a mental image I needed. He didn't make my day though. It was hell. I spent the entire time hornier than a rhino. I was so frustrated I nearly fucked Geoff into a coma when we got home. Poor thing had to wait until round two to tell me all the things the train-guy wanted to do.

So anyway, Valentine's Day 2010. Or more specifically, the day before Valentine's: last chance shopping! It was my idea; as a kind of joke Valentine's gift, I said I would take him lingerie shopping. Not lingerie buying. Buying would be breaking the no-gifts rule, but shopping's free so it doesn't count.

Geoff agreed pretty readily. What guy wouldn't, really? To see their wife trying on all those sexy outfits? I loved it too; it's just another way of getting him horny in a place where he can't do anything about it, and then opening the floodgates later when we get home.

I took him to the Victoria's Secret in the mall. I didn't want things to progress too quickly, so we spent a lot of time browsing together, touching the fabric and holding items up to my body so that he could imagine me wearing them.

"What about this one?" I asked, holding up a pink satin cami set. The loose little shorts were high cut on the leg and very, very sexy. Honestly, there was no way you could wear them without flashing your pussy every few minutes.

"Definitely, yes!" he said encouragingly, but of course with absolutely no intention of buying them for me. "But maybe you'd better make sure they fit."

"Oh, they'll fit," I muttered disingenuously, turning them forwards and back, looking at them and pretending not to notice the lustful look in his eyes.

"Do I need to say 'please'?" he whispered, moving his lips close to my ear. It tickles me and he knows I'm a sucker for that.

"Yes," I husked into his ear. "You do."

"Please Angie," he whispered back. "Please put those sexy, sexy 'jarmies on for me."

"Well," I grinned, turning on my heel and looking back over my shoulder at him. "Since you said 'please'." And I strutted slowly to the changing rooms, swinging my bottom and using the mirror to watch him watching me.

The game's afoot – as Sherlock Holmes was wont to say – and once I begin the game, all I want to do is play. I stripped naked in record time and quickly slipped into the cami and the little shorts, the cool satin sending my nipples instantly hard. I experimented with a few movements in the mirror to see what I could do without flashing my pussy. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought; standing and walking normally were fine, but sitting with knees anywhere but tightly together would get you arrested.

I opened the door and peeked around the jamb. Geoff was way out in the shop, of course. I wasn't quite ready to go strutting right out there for him to look at me.

"Geoff!" I called. "Are you still interested in these?" He didn't run ... not exactly anyway, but it was a near thing. He spent way longer than seemed necessary getting me to turn around, "now again", "now the other way". And then it was "arms in the air" – I allowed that one, he only wanted to see my belly-button when the cami lifted – but for "do a star jump" I just gave him a withering glare.

"How about trying on a nightie?" he asked with a tolerant smile at my prudishness, running his fingers along a rack of sleek little shorty nighties.

"Your wish is my command," I chirped, not waiting for him to choose, just grabbing a powder-blue lace and satin slip with deep splits over the hips.

"Are you supposed to wear knickers underneath those?" he asked through the dressing room door.

I had to laugh. What a guy! This little slip was shorter than a tennis skirt; it just barely covered my pussy. Without panties, I'd be flashing every time I moved.

"Yes, honey," I explained tolerantly. "These things are designed to show off your sexy knickers."

"Here you go then," he chipped back happily, tossing a pair of panties over the door. "Try these ones."

I'd been had! He was setting me up for that! And the panties? I swear they floated to the floor, swaying back and forth like a leaf. They were so gauzy and translucent they almost didn't have any colour, but to give Geoff some credit, the small amount of light that didn't pass straight though the fabric was showing powder blue like the slip.

I held them up to the mirror, trying to suppress a smile (God, they were sexy!)

"Are these for your wife, or your girlfriend, Geoff," I called gaily.

"Wife," he called back. "I want to get something really sexy for my girlfriend."

I just laughed. How do you come back to that? I skinned off the satin pyjama shorts and started carefully climbing into the little panties, trying vainly not to let the almost non-existent fabric roll and bunch as I pulled them up my smooth legs.

I could hear Geoff's voice in conversation with another guy outside, but I couldn't make out what they were saying except for a few words. I heard the sibilant 'she' and the soft gee in 'lingerie', so I kind of got the idea that they were talking about me.

"How you going, Ange?" I heard outside the door. "Ready for the catwalk?" His voice sounded funny, a bit strained, maybe.

"Yep," I said, still turning left and right and seeing how much those splits revealed. Like I said, I'm partial to a bit of panty flashing, but these panties were game-changers. I lifted the hem to look at myself and the dark crease at the beginning of my slit was clearly visible even with my legs together. Brave girl, Angie. Let's go.

I stepped out of the changing room and quickly discovered why Geoff sounded funny: he'd found a mark! Oh, and he was perfect. Exactly the way Geoff knows I like them. He was tall and slim with tousled black hair and glasses so geeky they were almost cool. Well, retro-cool. Okay, maybe just geeky. He was in his early twenties and had the bearing of a guy with low self-esteem, which was weird because notwithstanding plain jeans, flannel shirt and geeky glasses, this guy was really cute.

"Angie," Geoff started, winking overtly to attract my attention while I was doing a second pass of the new guy's body. "I was just telling Bob here how great it was to have a personal shopper to help buy gifts for your wife."

"Girlfriend," Bob corrected him, still nervously eyeing my legs.

I'm no Rhodes Scholar, but I put it together pretty quickly and Geoff filled in the gaps afterwards. Apparently Bob had heard my quip about whether the panties were for his wife or his girlfriend, and he took me seriously! He marched straight up to Geoff and asked how one went about engaging a personal shopper. "And that's the way he said it, too," he told me when we relived it afterwards. "How does one go about engaging a personal shopper?" We shouldn't laugh, but what can you do?

"Did you bring any business cards, Ange?" Geoff asked with more overt winks that only Bob couldn't see. "You might have a new client here in young Bob."

"Oh ... um ...?" I began, struggling to catch up. "I'm ... ah ... sorry Bob. I've got a full dance-card at the moment. I don't expect to take on any new clients until next year." I looked at Geoff meaningfully, "Unless you can convince Geoff to share?"

"What a good idea!" Geoff cried, as if it had never occurred to him. "As long as we're here, I don't mind you trying some things on for Bob. It might be good to get a younger man's perspective."

Bob hadn't looked away from my nightie yet. I glanced down quickly and could see my nipples standing out proudly underneath the slip.

"What sort of thing were you looking for, Bob?" I asked. "Sleepwear? Like this one?" I ran my hands slowly over the side-swells of my breasts and down to my hips, showing off the smooth satin.

"Um ... maybe," he said. "Or maybe an ... um ... underwear ... you know ... set ...," he trailed off.

"A bra and panties?" I asked, trying vainly to catch his eye. They were blue, and very, very cute.

"Yeah," he said more certainly, and then ruined it with, "bra and ... um ..."

"Panties," I finished. Those beautiful eyes flashed up at me; I had a feeling that that word got his motor running. Geoff picked up on it too.

"What about those panties I picked out, Ange?" he asked. "Did you try them on?"

"I'm wearing them," I said softly, coquettishly raising an eyebrow. "But they're a bit ... see-through." I needed to establish the rules of engagement here; I wasn't showing Bob my pussy.

"See?" I turned around and lifted the back of the slip to show them my bottom, which of course was completely visible through the translucent panties.

"Oh, they are nice," Geoff said in an admiring voice. He cupped a hand over one cheek and stroked it softly. "Wow, you can hardly feel them," he said. "It's just like bare skin. Feel these, Bob," he invited. "They might be something you'd like for your girlfriend. What's her name?"

"Um ... Vicky," he stammered looking nervously between Geoff and my almost nude bottom. "No, I ... ah ... shouldn't."

"No, I insist," Geoff said confidently, taking Bob's hand and cupping it to my bottom. "We're all grown-ups here. You've got a girlfriend. Angie's got a husband. But these things are expensive. Heck, it seems like the less of them there are the more they cost! And you need to know what you're buying, right?"

Bob didn't need too much convincing. Geoff took away his own hand but Bob's stayed, stroking gently over my panties. Bob was watching my bottom, Geoff was watching Bob, and I was watching Geoff. We were all having a grand old time! I could feel Bob's hand shaking, he was so nervous. And seeing how excited he was, how much he wanted me, it was intoxicating. I just wanted Geoff to take me now and do all those things to me that Bob was probably thinking.