Introduction:
Gypsy Wife–PTA Mom
by Willing Wimp
My wife, Gina, loves to play dress-ups and to play-act. Her favorite dress-up role is that of a gypsy. It all started innocently enough. Gina is a PTA Mom and we were participating in a charity event. As part of the fundraiser, she volunteered to be a Fortuneteller.
We set up a tent within the community fair, complete with candles, crystal ball. That first time, Gina found just the right outfit to accentuate her abundant, wavy chestnut hair that cascades to between her tanned shoulder blades. She wore a peasant blouse of thin cotton that rested loosely on her brown shoulders and scooped over her bouncy melons. Her mid-calf skirt was also translucent and loose with little sparkles running through it. Gina’s legs were clearly visible through the thin material.
She wore sandals with heels. The sandals strapped midway up her calf. To those with good night vision, or when the light caught her right, her thong bikini was visible under the skirt. I was her assistant dressed as a gypsy as well, but keeping in the shadows.
The role-playing brought out an amazing new side of Gina. She exuded sex. Her breasts heaved and seemed to beckon for play. Her dark eyes smoldered, and completely melted me. And I wasn’t the only one. Soon, word must have spread, and the neighborhood men, in particular, were lining up to have their fortunes told. She stayed in character, and flirted outrageously with each man, making each one think she was dying to get into his pants. She would read their palms, by taking their hands in hers and pulling them close to her cleavage, so they could openly stare down her blouse.
As she would tell their fortune, in all cases filled with sexual innuendo, she would rub and play with their hands, usually making comments about how she could tell from a man’s fingers what his other appendages were like. I kept in the shadows, watching with a mixture of intense jealousy and
fascination.
Gina got an instant reputation among the men in the community. And men started stopping by our house at all times for one excuse or another. Gina remained flirtatious in a friendly way, but without the gypsy costume, stayed in character as a suburban housewife, and did not stray from her marital vows.
But I think we both got a taste of something more exciting, and we wanted to experiment with the gypsy wife.
One evening, with my encouragement, and with no charity as an excuse, Gina got dressed up again. I could feel the transformation, as she swayed in front of me in her gypsy skirt. I watched her legs, those of a natural dancer. Taut, muscular, beautifully shaped. She wore dangling earrings, deep red lipstick and nail polish, and heavy eye make-up to accentuate her dark, sultry eyes. As she came into character, she seemed to suck the power right out of me and into her. She became potent, vibrant, alive, and I felt weakened, diminished, hardly able to support my weight on wobbly knees.
We decided to head out of town to a sleazy bar and dance hall that had a rather rough reputation. She let me go in the bar first and decide whether it looked like the right atmosphere–dark and smoky–with plenty of single men. By prearrangement, If I didn’t come back out, but found a place at the bar to settle in, Gina would make her entrance about five minutes after my arrival.
As soon as she walked in the room, heads turned her way. First thing, she sauntered over to me. I offered her a cigarette and a drink, and made a point of fawning over her in a nervous way, acting as though we were strangers. Although accepting my drink and cigarette, she made a point of ignoring me and checking out the male meat. As I talked to her, she wouldn’t look at me, but made herself busy making eye contact with other guys. She did this until one of them came right up and took her away from me.
He was a big guy, well over 6 feet tall and in the 200-plus pound range, whereas I am about 5’8″ and closer to 160. He took her to a booth, and after a drink from there to the dance floor. He was wearing a white “wifebeater” undershirt, which showed off not only his bulging biceps and chest, but also an intricate display of tattoos on his arms and shoulders. He looked tough and, to me at least, quite intimidating.
Gina is a terrific dancer, and can put on quite a show. But by the first slow dance, this guy was grabbing her ass and slobbering on her neck and shoulders, and they were barely swaying to the music. She wasn’t dancing, but she was responding. Her hands ran up and down his back and her fingers moved through his hair. Before long they were kissing, long and wet, open mouthed.
Arm in arm, she brought him over to introduce him to me. I was too stunned to talk, or even to remember his name. She ordered me to get the car to drive them back to our place.
I brought the car around, and they piled into the back-seat. During the drive, they were necking the whole time. No conversation, just groans and moans, as I drove home in silence, my head pounding with jealousy and my stomach heavy with a feeling of my own inadequacy. At the same time, my below-average-sized dick was hard as a rock. There was no denying that despite the sick feeling, I was also highly turned on.
I quietly arranged the rearview mirror so that I could catch the action in the back-seat. Gina’s dress was high off her thighs, and the guy’s hands were already busy playing with her pussy when they weren’t fondling her breasts. When we got home, he actually carried her into the house and up to our bedroom. It was as though I wasn’t even there. They both were so into each other that they ignored me entirely. I could have been invisible. I followed them into the bedroom, but remained quietly to the side and out of
their way, being the silent, quiet voyeur.
They had wild, passionate sex completely unlike anything I had experienced with Gina. He was rough on her, and she was equally rough on him. I was quite taken aback by her aggressive, animal abandon. I watched her dig her nails into his back, as they bit and clawed each other. In contrast, our love making has always been quiet and gentle. I didn’t know the same woman could respond so completely differently sexually to another man.
I made another discovery. Usually intercourse for me lasts about 5 minutes after perhaps 10 minutes of “warming” Gina up. My erection is short-lived, we almost always use the missionary position, under the covers, in the dark, my orgasm comes quickly, and then I fall asleep, never going for seconds. This guy, however, seemed to last forever, switching positions, the bed not a resting place at all, no covers, completely three-dimensional sex.
I don’t think they used the missionary position at all. He was banging Gina every which way. And she was taking him in her mouth, from behind, and with her legs wrapped around him. To my chagrin, this guy was also very well hung. A long, full, truly impressive cock that stayed hard, as he stayed in control, bringing Gina to crashing orgasm after orgasm.
That night, I curled up on the floor next to our marriage bed after the gypsy lovers had finally fallen asleep exhausted in each other’s arms. In the morning, the guy let himself out. I have no idea how he got back to wherever he came from. I spent the morning, nursing Gina as though she had survived a traumatic experience. Breakfast in bed, gentle, gentle, gentle wake up.
Her body was bruised. She had bite and suck marks on her neck and breasts. I traced them with my fingers. Gina pulled my head to her, and I gently kissed all the places that had been treated so roughly. We moved quietly, wordlessly. I was weeping, as I slowly moved down from suckling her breasts, lower, lower, until I was directly breathing the earthy smell of her night of debauchery, my mouth and nose resting on her mons veneris. Tentatively, I stretched my tongue, tasting the bitter aftermath.
I stayed with her, and kept tonguing her until I had cleaned away the sour taste and restored her sweetness. She had a sleepy orgasm, and pulled me up between her legs and let me come inside her. After a nap, I fixed Gina a nice bath. and laid out her suburban housewife clothes to resume our life of normalcy.
But we are anything but normal. We have both discovered her sexual appetite, and my submissive voyeuristic enabling of her quest for sexual excitement.
Gina has tried other forms of dress-ups and play-acting, including whore, nurse, French maid, and dominatrix. But I think her favorite remains the Gypsy Wife. Dressing like this transforms Gina into a cat on the prowl. As a gypsy, she becomes a seductress par excellence, hungry for a man who can take her and try to tame her. I know I am not that man. When she dresses for action, it makes me wimp out and grovel at her feet. I can hardly stand up when she’s near, but sink to my knees in awe of her sexual power and beauty. She responds to this display with contempt and abuse, shoving me aside with her foot and telling me I’m hardly a man at all. I beg her to let me help her find a real man, and she will let me take her to a bar or dance hall to watch the seductress at work. I become the eager assistant, the invisible voyeur, and after it is over, the tender husband.
I worship Gina. Although others would find our marriage strange and perverse, it is actually quite filled with love and mutual understanding. She has had many assignations, and seems completely happy both with me and with her lovers, some of whom are favorites and invited back for repeat performances. When she isn’t dressing up and play-acting, however, she is a great PTA Mom, a pillar of the local community.
Proudly signed,
Willing Wimp

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