My Christmas Lights Accident: How I Blew My Husband's Display

My Christmas Lights Accident

I think it reminded him of his childhood, but my husband loved Christmas lights. Preparations for December’s display started in January and by mid-November strings of coloured lights festooned our yard, covering pretend pine trees, stripy canes, winged angels and a Santa sleigh and line of wooden reindeer.

“This year I’m going to build a grotto to hide the computer and sound system in."

“What sound system?” I said. “We’re not buying a sound system when the kids need new school uniforms. And what’s a grotto anyway.”

“Only those old speakers from the garage,” he said meekly. “And Joe is lending me his old computer for the light controller.”

“Grotto?” I prompted firmly.

“Like a cave to keep the electrics dry if it rains,” he said, sounding a little more confident. “I’ll make it from that scrap timber out the side and with a coat of paint it will look like it was part of the yard.”

I really shouldn’t complain, he loved working on that display, and at least I always knew where he was. “You’ll have to show me when it’s built, I’ve never seen a grotto.”

“It’ll be great, you see. We’ll have to christen it together.”

He seemed so happy I didn’t ask any more questions, but maybe I should have.

- - -


“For this year’s display it would be best if you wore an elf costume.” That request came out of the blue over dinner.

“You’d look base as an elf,” our oldest said. Everything good was called base to him at the moment.

“I’m not into costumes.”

“Just plain white with the red and green trim,” my husband said. “It will add to the atmosphere.”

“Go for it Mom!”

I had to promise to investigate the idea, and the next day I did look but the only costume I could find was not really in my size, seeming far too short, more for a child, but I bought it anyway and hid it in our bedroom. While it might be too skimpy for the lights display, I’m sure it would give my husband a thrill one special night.

- - -


I tried the costume when no one else was around. The only way I could get the fleecy material to fit was with nothing else underneath, not even my bra, the stretchy garment hugging the bare flesh over my shoulders and down tightly pressing my tits hard and then flattening my tummy to what it had been before the kids. The material over my hips was green, as though it was part of a skirt, ending in a roll hem that was definitely too high up for me but then my legs were so long, maybe I’d need to wear long boots to match.

Standing before the mirror, both hands pulling the hem down as I turned from side to side, a red rolled trim around the neck and another as a belt around my navel. The fleecy material softened my body, although I could glimpse my nipples when I looked, and that green skirt was not really hiding the bump of my pussy mound, but… I could still turn heads.

Slowly turning from left to right and back I remembered that I’d often caught my husband eyeing women with tits pressed in like this. Always when they were wearing a light coloured top, the garment shaped like a man’s top with no sight of any point, but he still saw something erotic there. I let both my hands smooth higher, sliding easily over the slippery fleecy material toward my flattened tits. Ooooh! Tingles of sparks as the tips of my long fingers rubbed against the swell of my chest. Was it the pressure or was it the cloth, or maybe it was thinking of looking sexy again. Whatever, I wasn’t ready to stop.

Make them stick up I thought. Poke them hard against the cloth. Watching the reflection in the dressing mirror increased my pleasure. The image seemed apart from me, as though it was someone else’s hands that were actually touching me.

“Harder!” I said aloud to the hand in the mirror. “Squeeze them tight.”

It was sinfully good, but I needed more. “Pleasure my pussy too. Make me come.”


...o O o...


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