After seven years of marriage, my underwear collection has steadily gotten more and more conservative. It’s not about sexy anymore, it’s about comfort. I stopped wearing tighty whities in high school, went through a period of some sexier stuff in college and have been wearing boxer shorts ever since.

Unfortunately, Jane’s taste in underwear had gone in the same direction – cotton granny panties had become the norm and honestly, I couldn’t be more turned off by them.

Since we’ve started our foray into the seedy underworld of the “lifestyle,” she has been on a lingerie binge – new bras, new slinky things and lots of very expensive (and very comfortable, I’m told) thong panties.

Normally, I would be complaining about how much money she was spending, but my penis thought otherwise and apparently overruled my brain.

“Just shut up and enjoy it, bro,” my cock would tell me, could it speak. It must be enjoying the extra room provided by my empty wallet.

Jane buys most of my unmentionables and she usually does pretty well. Lots of loud, embarrassing patterns are the norm. However, nothing that I currently owned was suitable to wear in the club.

“I need some sexy underwear for Saturday,” I said to her the Wednesday before our excursion, “My neon green boxers with the bulldogs are cute and all, but I really don’t want to look cute.”

“If I have my way, you won’t need underwear,” she replied.

“You love to shop – just go buy me some black boxer-briefs that will make my butt look cute,” I said.

So, she comes home with my new undies and they are just what I asked for, as is the outfit she got for the club’s “theme night.”

She’s so good to me. While she models her sexy new clothes, I grab the digital camera and ask her to pose for me. Like the dirty girl she is, she starts giving me coochie shots and playing with herself.

After twenty minutes or so of that, I can’t hold back anymore and attack her in the foyer of our house. Ten minutes later, she’s bent over the love seat, ass in the air, screaming her head off.

”Oh my God! That’s the spot! Holy shit – that’s the spot! Don’t you dare fucking stop!” she screams while I have her at a particularly vulnerable angle.

I pound her as hard as I can, carefully aiming my thrusts into the same little corner of her pussy. She nearly passes out from the repeated orgasms and I finally spill my seed into her. Nothing gets me off like making her cum hard like that.

Jane says that she doesn’t like to open her eyes during sex, especially if she’s in the middle of an orgasm because she hates looking up at me and seeing that smug little smirk that I get when I know I’ve done something right.

”Guess I found a new spot there, eh Chief?” I matter-of-factly state as we carefully disembark from the top of the couch.

”Holy crap! That was about the best orgasm you’ve ever given me,” she pants, exhausted. She collapses in a heap on the couch for a minute before her typical post-sex dash for the bathroom.

”I like that outfit. It should get plenty of use around here from now on,” I say, revealing my proclivity towards short skirts and bobby socks.

It was only Thursday. Will the weekend ever get here?