Her husband had left her; after thirty years. 

She hadn't seen it coming. 

With hindsight, she should have; without foresight, she didn't. 

Sharon, her closest friend, seemed unsympathetic. 

‘You dress like a frump,’ she said, dismissing her abandoned friend with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand. 

She looked down past the generous swell of her breasts well covered by the puritanical floral dress, her hands clasped defensively in her lap as if confirming her friends' unrestrained opinion. 

‘He didn't complain,’ she protested weakly. 

‘Really,’ challenged Sharon, ‘are you sure about that?’ 

‘He understood.’ 

Sharon barked a laugh, ‘He understood you were inhibited.’ 

‘I don't think that is why he's left me,’ she said unconvincingly. 

‘What are you wearing under that frock?’ 

She shifted uncomfortably on the hard kitchen chair, the padding between the chair and her buttocks reminding her that she was wearing unflattering plain linen knickers under pantyhose. 

'I'm sure you don't want to know that,’ she said, perhaps too defensively. 

Her friend detected the denial and cynically pursued the matter. ‘Oh, but I do, show me.’ 

‘Show you? Why would I show you?’ For some unaccountable reason, despite her outward resistance, she wanted to. Her clasped hands pressed involuntarily harder in her lap, her thumbs concealed, began to slide slowly backwards and forward. 

‘Because you are trying to deny the truth, go on, prove me wrong.’ 

‘Here?’ She glanced around the small kitchen as if she might find herself surrounded by an expectant audience. 

Sharon felt a surge of triumph; Rachael wasn't refusing, she was searching for excuses. 

‘I'm not expecting visitors, but we could go upstairs.’ 

‘Your husband…’ 

‘…is napping.’ 

‘Upstairs?’ 

‘Yes,’ she chuckled mischievously, ‘I could wake him.’ 

‘No, please…don't disturb him.’ She stood, too quickly, and her chair nearly toppled but she grabbed it in time. 

‘You want me to take off my frock, completely?’ 

‘Yes. Take off the frock,’ she ordered, her voice steely, ‘now!’ 

Rachael felt an unexpected surge of excitement, a complex cocktail of embarrassment, humiliation sexual arousal. She did not understand it, but it was delicious. She wished she was wearing something more alluring under her dress, she wanted to impress; but strangely she wanted to show this self-assured elegant woman her lack of sophistication, craving the humiliation. She reached behind her neck and fumbled for the clasp at the collar of her dress.

Sharon stood. ‘Let me do that.’ 

Rachael turned to allow her friend to unhook the clasp and slide open the zip which stretched from neck to waist. The frock slipped down to the floor without assistance from either of them and Rachael stepped out of the crumpled garment, leaving it in a pile like a discarded skin. She did not want to bend down in front of her friend. 

Sharon cast her eyes slowly over the exposed underwear. 

'No wonder he left you, you certainly know how to ruin a lovely figure.' 

Rachael was no stick insect; she was voluptuous, large-breasted, wide-thighed, but her underwear was matronly, practical. Her pantyhose rose high above her rounded belly, and the panties were full and plain and matched her unflattering linen bra.

Sharon noted with satisfaction that the large nipples on drooping pendulous breasts protruded to make a significant impression on the heavy linen. Rachael knew her body was betraying her excitement and was relieved that she had an absorbent pad in the crutch of the panties. 

A deliberate cough behind her signalled the presence of another…a man…Sharon's husband Robert. She turned in horror, her right arm flying up to cover her nipples hidden but protruding beneath the matronly bra and her left hand spreading over the crotch of her pantyhose. 

He was grinning widely and enquired with a chuckle, 'What's going on here, then?’ 

'Rachael is explaining why hubby dumped her,’ explained Sharon. 

'He's a fool,’ replied Robert, eyeing Sharon with a lustful eye. 

'Don't be shy, Rachael, let Robert have a proper look.’

'Allow me,’ said Robert, sinking to his knees behind an embarrassed Rachael. Before she could prevent him, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her tights and panties and dragged both down to her knees. Her hand, remaining in the same protective position, now covered the copious unkempt curls nestling between her legs. Looking down, she was relieved to see the pad still hiding in the crotch of her knickers. 

Leaving her hose and knickers at knee height, Robert rose in front of her, grabbing her bra and dragging it down. Both breasts flopped out to hang exposed over the bra. Her nipples stiffened further, as large and pink as ripe raspberries. 

Sharon teased, ‘Can you reach your nipples with your mouth, Rachael?’ 

Robert laughed, ‘Not with both hands occupied, not without a little help.’ 

He hoisted her left breast up toward her mouth, prompting her almost reflexively to bend her head and extend her tongue. Eyes closed against the humiliation, she lapped at the offered nipple and with noisy slurping, cheeks sucked in, drew it between her lips.

She was now so aroused that she abandoned her feeble efforts to hide, her fingers now pushing through the curls between her legs they parted her puffy aroused labia and enter her soaking pussy. She had been touched like this before, of course, but had never touched herself and never under such circumstances, watched by a man she had never met and a woman she had known since her school days.

The couple smiled at each other in triumph as the shy inexperienced woman openly masturbated, her thighs now thrusting against the fucking motion of her hand. Pushing Robert’s hand away she now held her breast and nipple to her greedy slurping salivating mouth. 

‘Goodness, Rachael,’ said Sharon in a mock scolding voice, ‘you have turned out to be a naughty slut!’ 

She wondered if the husband who had dumped this hot wife would have done so if he could see her like this. She saw with satisfaction that Robert had quickly stripped naked and was stroking a more than satisfactory erection. 

‘Are you going to use that?’ she asked. 

'That depends on Rachael.’