Hooded Wife 302

About a month after our enjoyable trip to the beach, Ethan called me to invite us to come to their home for a get together with a few of their friends. He said we'd drink wine, socialize, listen to music, and maybe dance a little. I asked him how my wife would be received, since he knew she would be hooded as always. He replied that she would be accepted graciously and he would inform his guests of her status prior to our arrival. He volunteered that Olivia would not be wearing her hood because she would be busy hosting, and these people weren't familiar with her hooded persona. He said that some people were fellow fetishistas and kinksters, but everyone was open minded and sophisticated. I told him we'd be delighted to come. This came as a welcome opportunity because I had been wishing for a way for us to participate in a conventional social setting while maintaining the discipline of my wife being hooded.

When my wife came home from work I told her about our invitation and was pleased to see that she too relished the chance to integrate our chosen life style in with new friends. We discussed how she might best be presented and decided that we should come across as a typical urban couple in all regards, except for the wearing of her hood and collar. She would eschew wearing her latex leggings or anything more revealing than what others might wear. For this occasion she would dispense with the practice of only communicating with her butt. In addition to her usual spontaneous grunts, any sort of hand gestures, or even writing, could be employed to involve herself in the conversation. My only request was that she not participate in any discussion concerning her hood or limitations. She should comport herself in a totally unaffected manner. I said I would defray any questions about her condition with a dismissive: "She is always kept that way whenever we go out together." When they follow up with: "Why?" I'll just say. "Because we are most comfortable this way."

Our anticipation for a new facet of our adopted life style made the ten days until the party seem to drag on. Once again, I agreed that the long drive to Portland warranted my wife traveling unhooded. We planned to eat an 'early bird' dinner before checking into our motel. She wore a pair of purple skinny jeans, a gray stretchy top, her slim fitting black leather jacket, and black high heeled booties. We reminisced at length about the evolutionary stages of her life as a hooded lady in public. We noted that each step had provided a new thrill that we subsequently practiced as commonplace. We lamented that we wouldn't be able to repeat our beach experience until next summer, unless we vacationed in the tropics. She added that being led leashed along the endless surf line while hooded and nude was her favorite. I promised her that wouldn't be her only such opportunity.

When we got to Vancouver we stopped at a Italian seafood bistro and ate linguine with clams and mussels. I wanted my wife to eat something filling so she wouldn't get hungry again for multiple hours. She looked beautiful and dressed very much like the other urbane women dining there at that time. Her inimitable shape was what set her apart and garnered considerable attention. Had she been attired in one of her raciest outfits, she couldn't have been looked at more, but the onlookers would have been visibly shocked as well as impressed. I know we both enjoy creating such situations.

Upon checking into our motel, we had about an hour before we'd need to leave for Ethan and Olivia's house. My wife luxuriated in the bath for twenty minutes while I showered and dressed. She of course did not have to concern herself with makeup or hairdo. We had jointly chose what her outfit should be in advance and it only took her a few minutes to dress. She was to wear tight, skinny, stretch Levies tucked into calf height  black high heeled boots, a stretchy fine-ribbed rust colored sweater with a slight v-neck that came down over the top of her hips, and a snug wide black leather belt worn over the sweater at her natural waist. Her hour glass shape was aided by her maximizer bra and smooth pantyless bottom. She would finish it off with a gray print neck scarf and her leather jacket. We both agreed that the look was classy, figure flattering, and stylish; just how a foxy woman might dress for an evening with friends.

My wife didn't wait for me to initiate hooding her, and brought it, her collar, and her lock to me as soon as she'd finished inspecting her outfit in the mirror. We jointly encased her head and I secured it with the collar and lock. I loosely draped her scarf around her neck and let the tails fall down her back, which served to downplay her collar and especially the lock. I did not polish her hood so it could match her boots, belt, collar, and jacket. I held her jacket open so she could don it and turned it's collar up as further cover, however it could never be zipped up. I thought she looked very tidy and appropriate for this new social adventure. She immediately felt her way to the door and signaled her eagerness to leave.

On the drive over I did not say anything because I didn't want to betray my nervousness. For her part, my wife appeared relaxed and beautiful in the manner I so admire.  We parked a half block away, and I escorted her on my arm up to the front door and rang the bell. Ethan soon opened the door and warmly greeted us each with a hug. He addressed us by the names we'd agreed to previously and bid us to come into the living room and meet the others. I took my wife's hand and we walked into where about ten people were either standing or seated on two large sofas and a couple easy chairs. All conversation immediately stopped, but Ethan effusively undertook to introduce us all around to break the ice. I of course shook hands with each in turn, while my wife held her hand out for them to grasp, which each did. Olivia appeared from the kitchen, followed by a couple other women, and gave my wife a long hug and asked if she could take her coat. When my wife removed her coat the sight of her spectacular boobs served to distract people's gaze from her hooded head, and probably was the most effective ice-breaker. Everyone knows how to politely react when viewing a woman's notable assets for the first time, but here their looks of astonishment were unsuppressed.

With the initial hurdle surmounted, I could observe the other guests more closely. The women were in their thirties and early forties and all were quite attractive with trim bodies. Olivia was standing next to my wife and talking with two other women about how nice it was for everyone to get together. I overheard her telling how we'd recently spent a fun weekend together at the ocean, but made no mention of the nature of our adventure. My wife gave a thumbs-up sign to express her agreement. Olivia went on, joking about how my wife had "stole the show" at the beach, while gesturing towards her body. My wife gave a dismissive wave, and from then on it was like four women chatting together. I noticed that the other two seemed to be enviously studying my wife's figure more than her hooded head. Clearly they realized that there was no need to be discreet about their inspections. Olivia wore a bright blue latex dress that nicely cupped her breasts and tightly defined her shapely bottom. Her one inch tall silver collar looked like a choker necklace without a clasp. The other gals were dressed more conventionally, along the lines of my wife.

There were three or four women dressed in racier fetish inspired outfits, while the others wore body-flattering, but more mainstream, ensembles. Two of the former wore cleavage-building bustier corsets over leather or latex skirts. There were four women, including Olivia, who wore collars; but none were as restrictive as my wife's. Two of the most conservatively attired gals were permanently collared like Olivia, which I found enticing. The most dynamic look was featured by a shapely blond with long hair. She sported a very see-through black lace bodysuit under a midriff corset, that pushed her ample breasts up and out to display her very pretty large nipples. She wore tight black leather leggings and red platform heels. She was very social and seemed to be liked by everyone. It was unusual for me to be around a lady dressed more revealing than my wife. Their comfortable acceptance of her style left me confident that my wife would be able to integrate well with the others. Most the men looked more urban-hip than me, but not too unconventional. All told, my conclusion was that I'd be accepted as being relevant because of how I chose to present my wife.

One of the women my wife had been socializing with took her hand and guided her over to a place on the sofa, sat down beside her, and continued to converse with her. I handed my wife a goblet of white wine and she lifted her hand to receive the straw she knew I would provide to her. She commanded a rapt audience as she inserted the little straw into the unseen hole at the middle of her gag base, which was holding her lips well apart. Her sucking action required to drink gave an unmistakable suggestive connotation. Still, no one had yet spoken out about her being hooded. I left her to move between a couple of small chatting groups.Yet another woman sat beside my wife and joined in their conversation. My wife seemed to stay engaged via gestures and body language. The talk I encountered within the groups tended to be typical spoofing-and-goofing , until one glib guy asked: "How do you get her into that hood?" I replied: "She knows she has no other choice, so she embraces it as a long standing discipline of our relationship. She is always kept like this whenever we go out together, so she's well practiced." He continued: "Then why is it locked on?" I stated emphatically: "Because that leaves no question about it's inviolability............ The key is left at home." He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment, but had no further comment. After I'd circulated for awhile, I returned to sit near my wife and joined the ongoing socializing amongst five guests. What I derived from getting to know these folks a bit, was that while their common denominator was evidently "individualized sexuality", they were faithfully monogamous couples. Their common-interest association had developed over quite a bit of time, and we were the latest invitees. My wife's hood was the most apparent manifestation of a special life style. I was of course as curious about the others unique sex lives as I'm sure they were about ours. No relevant explanations, innuendo, or here-say gossip was part of the conversation, in fact the subjects were as mundane as at a church picnic.

The gal sitting next to my wife arose and turned to ask her if she'd like to accompany her to the bathroom. My wife stood, extended her hand, and the gal took it and led off towards the hall. She exercised considerable caution to ensure my wife didn't run in to anything. Other people politely moved back as they saw them coming. From my seat, I liked seeing how very noticeable my wife's extra-prominent shapely bottom was, as she was led off by someone else; not a view I often get. Her cinched-in waist really emphasized it. I didn't think any other street wear could have flattered it better, but certainly this was not comparable to her custom latex leggings that so explicitly depict her body. 

Ethan had been  circulating around filling wine glasses while tending to the music; which had been gaining tempo with each CD. Several different guests were congregated near my wife, who seemed adept at participating in the conversation via the means available to her. I think the others were fascinated by her ability to stay engaged despite her predicament. I appreciated how her face was still able to show expression. Raising her eye brows, furrowing her brow, or moving her lips, were apparent despite their rubber encasement. The 1 5/8" diameter internal gag's shank held her lips open, but the outer end could be forced forward flush with the front of her plump molded lips; out from it's normal position recessed inward just behind her protruding  lips. This occurs when she pushes up against the large replica penis head, at the inner end of the gag, with the back of her tongue and squeezes her cheeks in.  She tended to subconsciously repeat this periodically, which gave a very eye catching look. Providing her with this opportunity was a fundamental design objective of the whole affair, intended to keep her continually aware of our sexual relationship.This action also nicely showcased the sexual connotation of her hooding. 

A few guests were up dancing, I think three gals and two guys. I hadn't yet figured out who went with whom because no pairing was apparent. I wandered into the kitchen to get a wine refill and encountered the hot blond and another woman talking. They right away turned to me and started to effusively expound on how impressed they were with my wife's persona and how much they admired our apparent well established loving relationship. I thanked them and replied: "It works for us, we never deviate from this practice when we leave our house together. I  first always lock her into her hood. She gets to be kept anonymous, and loves to trust in the expectation that she can depend on me for her well being. Our sexuality has been greatly enhanced." They both cooed about how exciting that all sounded. Right about then, the other woman's date came and retrieved her to go dance. I was eager to complement the hot blond on her look, so I smiled big and said: "You have beautiful jewelry." She looked right at me, smiled without blushing, and said: " Thank you, I'm glad you like them." I quipped back: "Do you wear them frequently?" She replied: "Always". We both then headed back into the living room.

I went over to my wife's gathering and said: "Would you folks please excuse my wife so that we can dance." She slowly arose and presented her hand like she was in a receiving line. At that moment I was taken by how proud I was that she was my dutiful wife. Her poise had been exemplary, evoking the desired impression that she is content to accept her mandatory subjugation and wishes to openly participate in life's normal activities while burdened.

We joined the others dancing in front of the fireplace to a fast Stone's tune. I kept hold of her hand to lead in a swing dance style that allowed me to position her adroitly. As she energetically spun and gyrated she projected her breasts and bottom to their best advantage. This was a skill that I did not have to encourage, I think she had probably adopted it when she was about fifteen. Next came a classic Patsy Kline ballad. She put her arms around my neck and I cupped one buttock with each of my hands and pulled her pelvis against me. This is the way we always slow danced. I liked to let her decide how she wanted to hold her breasts against me. She laid her head against my cheek, which necessitated pushing her majorly projecting breasts hard into me. I caressed the side of her face with my nose and reveled in the smell and feel of the slick rubber. We danced several songs before I led her back to the sofa. When I headed to the kitchen to refill our wine glasses one of the guys told me that she was: "The shapeliest woman he'd ever seen." I replied: "That's what I thought the first time I laid eyes on her." He said: ''Sure makes you curious what she looks like!"  I replied: "You'll never see her, but I assure you she's beautiful."

When I returned to the sofa the available seat was between my wife and the hot blond. I sat down and initiated a three way conversation. Soon the blond was complementing my wife on how classy she looked. I made no reference of the blonds stunning style to my wife. After a bit, the blond leaned across me and asked my wife if she minded her asking me to dance with her. My wife immediately signed with a thumbs-up approval and the blond stood and reached for my hand. This caught me by surprise but I followed her to the dance floor, with a departing: "I'll be back sweetheart" to my wife. The blond lady danced in a showy manner similar to my wife's. She made sure her exposed nipples were thrust out towards me whenever her tight butt wasn't. I admit to being taken with her sassy style. It had been quite awhile since I'd had the opportunity to intimately dance with a lady totally exposing her breasts, except for my wife. I've always liked this behavior, and it had been a precursor to my wife's current presentation. The third piece was sedate enough that we could converse while loosely holding each other. She told me that she found my wife incredibly alluring owing to the combination of her body, the mystery of her hood, and her self-confident demeanor. I smiled appreciatively and she continued: "I feel inferior to another woman for the first time in a long while!"..................."And I don't even know what she looks like!" I replied: "I don't think you're inferior to anyone, but thanks for making me feel good about my wife. I am very attracted to her this way." She looked at me and said: "It's obvious, but so are all the other males, that's what makes me feel inferior." I told her she was a spectacular beauty with special style and that I was sure her husband was very proud of her. 

As we danced and talked, I looked over and saw that one of the guys who had been over chatting with a couple other guys was now standing in front of my wife, and she was reaching forward with her hand and getting up. He led her out onto the dance floor, separated from us by another couple. The guy was one of the more nondescript guests, maybe ten years younger than me and handsome. The tune was fast and he kept hold of at least one of her hands at all times to guide her, as I had been doing. This was fascinating for me since never before had I witnessed some other guy dancing with my hooded wife. She appeared to be enjoying herself as her body language was as sexually pronounced as ever. I liked the chance to view her from a little further away, and once again was captivated by the effect she had on me with the combination of her amazing shape and hooded anonymity. I appreciated that her conspicuous lock and apparent gag lent the coup-de-grace to her overt sexual-submissive image. No one could misconstrue but that she was kept this way to concentrate and accentuate her sexuality for our mutual benefit. All eyes were on her, not the stunning blond I was dancing with. My blond friend nodded towards the seating area, indicating she wanted to sit, and I escorted her back to where the three of us were sitting. She told me that the man dancing with my wife was her husband, and she felt uncomfortable dancing close by when he was so obviously smitten by her. She was jealous! I assured her that while my wife was intended to be enticing, there would be no hanky-panky. She said her husband always encouraged her to dress hot and flirt with other men because it turned him on, but that he had previously only had eyes for her. After two songs he led my wife back to me, and then sat next to his wife, who looked relieved but peeved. For the rest of the evening my wife and I only danced with each other.

We were one of the first couples to leave, after hugs all around, because I was so pleased with how my wife had been received I was eager to be inside her and tell her how proud she made me. On the drive to our motel I described each person's look in detail so she could build mental images of our new friends. I told her how the beautiful blond that had asked me to dance had confessed she was envious of my wife's allure. I stated emphatically that she had been the most captivating woman there and that I'd been immensely proud to display her as my submissive mate. She reached over and squeezed my thigh with both hands to express her appreciation.

When we got to our room we undressed and got into bed quickly. She knew to lay on her side with her bottom facing me and her legs pulled up to her breasts. I had already lubed my hard penis with KY and wasted no time starting the slow process of inserting my way into her tight anus, as I  took hold of her lock in my mouth to prevent her from pulling away from my thrusts. She emitted the strident grunts that I love so much as I repeatedly pushed my head past her sphincter and then pulled it back before finally burying myself to the hilt. I had held her with one hand cupping each breast and her nipples squeezed between my fingers, but now I could  free one hand to attend to her clitoris. I tried real hard not to move once inside her so that I could prolong our connection as long as possible. Her sphincter held the base of my penis so tightly it felt like I was wearing a **** ring, which helped maintain my fullest erection. She languidly flailed her legs around in her ecstasy, but fortunately her anal skewer in conjunction with her grasped lock served to hold her in place. I alternately stroked and pinched her clitoris in a slow rhythm before progressing to stick my fore finger into her vagina and stroke it's front wall while leaving my thumb to circle her clitoris. She clasped both her hands over my hand to press against her genitals. This was everything I could possibly do concurrently to pleasure her. It always occurred sooner than I would have liked, but I managed to hold out until she started thrashing against her restraint, barking more than grunting, and explosively came. She washed my hand with her juices and then gradually settled down while emitting a low purr. I held her tightly until I became small enough that she could expel me, and then she turned towards me and wrapped her arms and legs around me. I kissed her rubber face all over while quietly telling her how much I loved her. After a bit, I whispered: "Only a woman held in sexual bondage gets to come like that."
Iluvvamps Iluvvamps
41-45, M
Dec 4, 2012