A special outfit

In the back of my wife's now nearly empty closet is an expensive costume I bought for her more than a dozen years ago. The costume party was for a fundraiser for a scholarship program that I worked on as an advisor. Most of the guests invited to this soiree were in tax brackets two or three times higher than ours, but Walt, our stockbroker and friend insisted that we come and have a good time. Long story short, my wife and I went as a belly dancer and eunuch, my costume was a pair of baggy pants and a gold trimmed red vest but Fran spent over $200 to buy a her outfit from a seamstress who worked on the costume for over a month.

The outfit consists of a billowy skirt of layers of gossamer silk and a bodice short enough to expose the belly. Both are heavily decorated with traditional beads and sequins that clatter softly when the wearer shimmies her body. The costume is completed with multiple matching veils and a face-covering that hangs just below the eyes and partially obscures the face from any man who wants to see the true beauty of his **** girl.

Fran wore the outfit for me a couple times after that first night and played the harem-**** sent to the Sultan, fulfilling my fantasies by dancing for me and then climbing on top of my reclining body and fucking me energetically as the the hanging bangles jiggled and clicked above me.

As good as those times had felt, I find I am looking forward to having Alison in the same get-up and the games we'd be playing together. I could feel myself getting a little hard just thinking about her young teenaged body wiggling and bucking under mine as she begs me not to deflower her. The actual sex in the Harlequin isn't quite ****, but the innocent young woman taken to the Desert King's chambers is a captive so it comes close to crossing the line. My wife never really got into this kind of ****-sex and I always had to hold back a little, but Alison's fantasies are even more **** than mine. I have more work to do however before to night, so I ignore the bulge in my pants and head into town.

At a fancy woman's boutique I find jasmine scented bath oils and a body wash infused with rose-water that seem to fit the theme of the exotic Arabian night that I have planned. At the supermarket I buy lamb and couscous to cook in a tagine for later in the evening.

When Alison get home she smiles at me shyly, but I keep my smile hidden. As amazing as she looks in her hoodie and jeans, I am even more excited to see her dressed in the silks.

“Dinner will be late tonight.” I tell her as I pass her a peanut butter sandwich and tall glass of milk, “So I made you a snack to hold you over.” Alison eyes me suspiciously as she eats, in spite of my best attempt to hide my excitement, she senses that something is up.

“What's the plan Mr. P?” She bats her eyes sweetly and smiles at me encouragingly, “I hope it's something I can help you with.” I keep my face neutral and take the empty plate from her as she wipes the little white mustache from her upper lip. As tempting as it is to just tell her, I decide to let her discover the surprise I left her hanging on her door.

Her squeal of delight is followed by the clatter of her shoes as she comes flying back down the stairs to find me waiting for her in the dining room with a grin on her face.

“You Mr. P are a very wicked man.” Alison wags her finger at me, “but where ever did you find that dress? It's beautiful.” I shrug casually, not wanting to let my young tenant know that the outfit had belonged to my wife.

“I thought it would be the perfect thing for my run-a-way bride to wear when I come to her room to claim what is mine.” The way Alison licks her full lips makes it clear that she is looking forward to tonight as much as I am.

“What will you do when you discover I'm not the woman who jilted you, but her college room mate from America?”

“I'll take you instead,” I growl, “I know how loose you slutty Western women are. You're not suitable as a wife, but you're certainly good enough to fuck.”

“But your majesty,” Alison protests, playfully pretending that she is the innocent heroine from the book, “I'm not like that, I'm still a virgin.”

“Like I'd believe a beautiful American whore like you has kept her legs closed all these years?” I snort dismissively and send her back upstairs. “You have two hours to bathe and get ready, then I'm coming for your sweet young body.”