Jannine's Story

Cheeky bastard thought Jannine as she looked at the screen of her phone on which an SMS message had just popped up from her estranged husband.

IF VISITING MARK, HE HAS A WEAKNESS, SHOW LOTS OF CLEAVAGE AND HE’LL GIVE IN EASILY.

John always did have a fixation on my tits. They are quite nice, but did he always have to go on about them and leer at me so much? And he certainly doesn’t have to expect that every man is the same. Perhaps Mark is different? Or, perhaps he actually knows something. What’s John trying to gain out of this? Mark obviously wants his wife back, whereas I don’t want John back. He’s welcome to the slapper, presumably, she got big tits, it’s all he ever thinks about.

Jannine stood in front of the full-length mirror of the wardrobe door. She may have given the first decade of her adult life to John, but she wasn’t over the hill yet. Even standing there, flat-footed and wearing just an underskirt and a sports bra, she didn’t look bad. Not exactly willowy, but tall and thin, and with no real hips, it was her breasts that stood out. And normally she kept them well suppressed. Perhaps John did know something. Perhaps Mark’s wife had told him to send the message. If so, what was her angle? What did she have to gain from Mark buying John out of the house? To speed up getting him away from me?

Still, it couldn’t do any harm to go up there looking pretty. He was a man after all. He was more likely to negotiate in her favour if distracted.

She hunted around in her underwear drawer and pulled out a black Wonderbra that John had bought her years before. She had only worn it once, decided it made her feel like a tart and thrown it to the back of the drawer. But she’d never thrown it away. At least he’d got her cup size right.

She hooked it up and squeezed her hand into each cup in turn, settling her breasts into them and then rubbing her finger under the shoulder strap to make sure it was sitting flat. She looked in the mirror, bent forward, looked at the cleavage and then turned sideways on.

She did have a nice pair. Big, but very firm. Her weekly gym sessions ensured they weren’t sagging even by the tiniest amount and she never ran without a sports bra which prevented the tissues from getting stretched. Yes, with the padding and the push-up of the bra, they looked big, round, and firm.

Now what could she wear that wouldn’t hide the cleavage?

Finally, she settled on her favourite summer dress. Favourite, but one she hardly ever wore because when she did, John spent the evening staring at her tits.

Perhaps Mark wasn’t like that. Starting at the bottom, she buttoned it up just as far as the bra, then folded the v-neck collar out so that it exposed her chest, but not the bra. Cleavage, not tits, was the look.

She turned from side to side and the dress rubbed against her legs. Tights or stockings?

She knew what John would have said.

Stockings, and panties over the suspenders if you were wearing them to be sexy, not just for show. Models always wore them the other way around, but they probably only put them on, posed for a few photos and took them off again. They certainly didn’t have to go to the toilet wearing them or horrors beyond horrors, want to have sex whilst wearing them.

Not that Jannine could remember doing so either. Hmm, perhaps once, for John’s birthday. But that had been a repeat of their wedding night and was best forgotten.

So tights then? She finally designed to go with the stockings, she was wearing the bloody bra, she might as go the whole hog, and put the panties on last too.

Not that she was going out on a date, but this Mark bloke be might nice. He was obviously older than her, respectable, and rich. She couldn’t imagine how he could have had a wife who had fallen for John. Perhaps it was all a mistake. But she could at least treat tonight as practice. With John gone, and she certainly wasn’t going to have him back, she would need to start dating at some stage, so she’d better get into the hang of dressing up to look, if not sexy, at least attractive. She’d even put on make-up.

She took a final look at herself in the mirror.

Well, I would, she thought, if I liked girls. Now, let’s go see the man who can’t tell the difference between his wife being in ecstasy or agony. Then I’m going to set about finding myself a man who can make me scream in ecstasy rather than agony.

Jannine sat back down on the bed. Who was she kidding? Ten years of marriage and she wasn’t a virgin but she’d never been close to screaming in ecstasy, never even got close to having an orgasm with John. She’d been foolish to go to her wedding night a virgin. What a disaster that had been. John wasn’t a virgin but he wasn’t very experienced and when he’d climbed on top of her and tried to push his cock into her, all she’d felt was pain. They kept trying, and after what seemed like an eternity he was in her, just a bit. It was far too painful for her for it to be enjoyable, and then he came, flooding the area with cum and swearing at his premature ejaculation. He’d cuddled her then and promised her it would be better next time, before rolling over and going to sleep, leaving her disappointed, disillusioned and lying in a very damp patch.

But then the next morning it wasn’t better. It was just the same, except as she was expecting it to hurt, she was tense, clamped shut and it hurt even more. John pushed harder, hurt her more and finally gave up and stalked off to the bathroom. She knew he was relieving himself and rolled over, sobbing and feeling a failure.

And so their married life had begun and so it continued. It eventually degenerated into a Friday night ritual. They’d have a bottle of wine ‘to relax’ and then John would try and push a bit of his cock into her until he came, and then go to sleep. He even called her frigid and sexless. But she knew he sort of loved her. They’d been childhood sweethearts, she’d never even dated anybody else. But as time went on, John just seemed to resent her. He’d stare at her tits whenever she didn’t hide them away, become aroused and they’d either argue, have unsatisfactory sex or he’d storm out and go and get drunk.

She’d even been so desperate that she almost asked her doctor when she had a routine smear test if everything was alright 'down there' and he’d said 'fine, nice and healthy' but he had handed the speculum back to the nurse and asked for a smaller one.

That day she’d gone home, laid on the bed and played with herself for the first time in years. Before the wedding, on the advice of a girlfriend who was visibly shocked that Jannine was going into marriage a virgin and totally unpenetrated, she’d taken to fingering herself each night before she went to bed. She dreamt of John then, John taking her manfully and penetrating her as her finger was doing, sliding easily inside her until, with some rubbing of her clitoris, she’d cum, soundlessly and with a nagging feeling of guilt. But at least she was going to be prepared for her husband.

Except she wasn’t. She’d held John’s penis and it wasn’t her finger. It was never going to fit in her. It wasn’t erotically big, she just found it horrifying and the dread of his approach made her shy away from him. She stopped trying to look nice for him, gave up on her contact lenses, went back to spectacles, always wore a sports bra, and whenever she did dress up to go out, she began to resent his leering at her breasts.

It was him, it was his fault. He had to be the one at fault, perhaps there was a kind man out there with a nice prick that would allow her to discover the ecstasy and not the agony.

Jannine lay back on the bed, pulled up her dress and pushed down her panties. Her fingers slid smoothly over her curly brown pubes, rubbed between her legs and slowly she let her middle finger slide between the sides of her vulva, parting herself until her finger touched her moistness. She couldn’t even picture John now, now it was some unidentified lover, noble and gentle, a hunk that cared for her, that held her in his arms and stroked at her pussy. Her finger slid easily back and forth between her labia now and cautiously she explored the entrance to her vagina, feeling that there was a way in, feeling every millimetre of her fingertip as she slid it into herself. How wet she was. Her other hand briefly squeezed her breast through her dress and bra. That aroused her even more and she knew her nipples were hard. Why couldn’t John just fondle her breasts gently, rather than just grab at them and then try to push his cock into her?

She had to stop thinking about him. Her dream lover had vanished into the mists and she closed her eyes again, searching her mind for him as her finger dipped in and out of her vagina, and her other hand parted her vulva, spreading herself apart and then rubbing her clitoris. Now she was wet, wet and slippery and now, now this was what she wanted.

With her finger inside herself, all the way up to the knuckle, she rubbed her clitoris and came. A wave of emotion and relief spread through her. There! She wasn’t frigid. She just needed a proper man who could take care of her properly. A man who knew what he was doing, a lover, a proper lover.

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