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Felicia's Rules

By: Secret Thoughts



Sometimes the most personal journeys of one's life begin in the unlikeliest of places. Mine began while lying on a tropical beach on the other side of the world. My friend Steph and I, having just graduated college, were vacationing at a spa in the French Polynesia, surrounded by scenery like nothing I had ever seen outside of picture postcards. The white sand sparkling in the noonday sun, gently rolling harbour lapping against the shore, and breezes whispering through the leaves of swaying palms overhead all combined to make the most tranquil setting imaginable. Yet even now, a vague feeling of unease lingered somewhere in the back of my mind – a feeling which had followed me all the way to this island paradise and seemed stubbornly immune to its beauty.

Sitting up, I reached toward the rattan table beside me and took another sip of papaya juice. My body ached pleasantly as I moved, a side-effect of all the massages, hydrotherapy sessions, and exercise we had experienced over the last four days – all prescribed by the spa to rid ourselves of impurities, both mental and physical. Still, as pleasant as these treatments had been, I welcomed the chance to just lounge on the beach unattended, without being rubbed down or oiled up by strange hands.

As I glanced over at Steph, she propped herself up on her elbows and looked irritably at her own pale skin which refused to tan. We would have appeared a very contrasting pair to anyone looking at us lying side by side. Steph was loud, bubbly, and fearless, with a head of fiery red curls to match her fiery personality. I was much quieter and more sedate, with a mane of dark brown hair cascading over my shoulders. Where my friend's skin was pale and freckled, mine was lightly tanned. And my tall, slender frame, made so by years of ballet class, was the opposite of Steph's curvy, more athletic shape. The pair of us seemed to attract our share of admiring glances from both women and men. But while Steph basked in the attention, I was often too engrossed in a book or my own thoughts to notice – a fact which Steph seemed to find amusing. Right now, though, the beach was mostly ours, save for a group of girls playing volleyball in the distance and the odd windsurfer dotting the horizon.

I vaguely remember my friend making some offhand remark about needing another mud bath for her sunburnt skin but I wasn't really listening. Somehow Steph sensed that my thoughts were elsewhere.

"Is anything wrong, Felicia?" She raised her sunglasses to look at me. "You've been pretty quiet lately. I mean more than usual."

I turned to her, surprised. "I have? I guess I have something on my mind."

Steph sighed. "We came here to relax. You're missing the point."

"I know," I said sheepishly.

"And just what is weighing on your mind this time?"

I paused before answering. "I... I was thinking about Mark."

Though her sunglasses were back on, I sensed Steph was rolling her green eyes behind them. "You're obsessing over a guy? That's even worse! Anyway, I thought everything was going perfect for you two."

"It is," I said a bit shamefully. "He is perfect. He's sweet and respectful. Since the start of our relationship almost a year ago, we've never argued, not once. We get along perfectly. It's all so... perfect."

Steph regarded me with an arched brow. "Too perfect?"

I sat right up. "Yes... that is it. It's too perfect somehow." I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. "Isn't that horrible of me to say? People live their whole lives never finding that perfect relationship and here I am complaining about mine being too good. It's absurd, I know."

Steph seemed to soften. "Not as absurd as you might think."

I held up my hand. "Anyway, I promise not to mention it again."

"Well, wait a minute," Steph persisted, "maybe we should discuss this a bit more. It might help."

"No. It's... kind of personal."

Steph seemed all the more determined to get it out of me. "If you can't tell me, then who can you?"

I thought for a moment and, after eliciting her promise to keep everything secret, began to confess my problem. "I don't know if I can explain this properly or at all. But you've known Mark as long as I have. He's always been a bit quiet and reserved. That's what I loved about him at first. He's so respectful and sees our relationship as more of a deep, spiritual thing. Always tells me he loves me, that he respects me and my opinions. But... there are also things he never says."

Steph looked at me expectantly. "Like what?"

I paused. "He never tells me I'm hot," I said finally, with a giggle that sounded forced. "Never says I turn him on or how sensual I look. Oh, he'll go on about the sacred, romantic bond we share. But he never comments on my clothes or my body or anything like that."

"Ah," nodded my friend. "Well, you know, for highly evolved types like Mark, that kind of stuff is hard sometimes. They've been taught from an early age that it's wrong to objectify women in that way, even a little."

"That's just it." I felt a blush coming on as I continued in a hushed voice. "Sometimes I wish he'd objectify me. Treat me like an object. I know that's a messed up thing to say." As soon as the words had left me, I wished I could take them back.

Steph surprised me by saying, "That's perfectly normal, Felicia. It can be a real turn-on to be objectified and worshipped sometimes. It's something all girls want but seldom admit."

I felt a tinge of relief. "Well, it doesn't matter. Mark apparently doesn't see me in that way. Sometimes I wonder if he finds me attractive at all."

Steph glared at me, almost in disgust. "Are you crazy? Look at yourself." I glanced down at my body, unable to see her point. "Remember how ungainly you used to look," Steph went on, "up until the end of high school?"

I cringed. "Don't remind me."

"Well, there's your problem. You were such a late bloomer in life that now you don't even realize those days are gone."

"If I'm that beautiful, why doesn't he say it?" I sighed wistfully. "I tell him he looks gorgeous all the time. Because he does. If only he would say it to me..."

Steph lay back down and flipped onto her stomach. "I think I know something that might help," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "It's... well, it's kind of a game."

"A game?" said I, rather intrigued.

"Yes. No one knows exactly where it came from or who invented it. I heard about it through a friend who heard it from her friend, and so on. It has a way of opening people up and freeing them to express thoughts they would never say out loud. It seems deceptively simple at first. But the night I tried it with Steve, we both got so horribly turned on that we couldn't keep our hands off each other the entire night."

"Really." I frowned skeptically, knowing well Steph's penchant for exaggeration. "So how does it go?"

Steph tossed me her bottle of tanning oil. "Here, do my back while I tell you." She reached back and untied her string bikini top. "Now then," she continued as my oily hands travelled her bare back, "the premise is this: you agree to do anything Mark orders you to do for one evening – anything at all, as long as it turns him on in some way. And he must be very detailed and specific in every order he gives for you to carry it out. You, in turn, get to ask him anything – like why he wants you to do a certain thing or how it makes him feel, and he must answer truthfully or the game ends. No simple 'yes' or 'no' answers allowed."

"That's it?" I said, a little disappointed.

"There are other rules which I'll go into," Steph added between grunts of pleasure as I massaged the back of her neck. "But that's basically it. You have to obey his orders and he has to answer your questions. First one to break this rule is the loser. The secret is keeping the dialogue going, being playful and flirty, questioning him on everything. And believe me, he'll answer no matter how probing or embarrassing your questions are because once the game really gets going, he'll never want it to end."

I was far from convinced. "It would never work. Mark would never give me orders. He's not like that. What if he just doesn't say anything?"

"Then you are allowed to make suggestions. But he has to give his consent to whatever you suggest."

My hands had worked their way down to Steph's lower back. "But what could I suggest?"

"Since it's your first time, start with something simple. Like stripping for him. Can't go wrong with that one."

I found Steph's "simple" suggestion more daunting than I cared to admit. "Strip in front of him, just like that?" I asked, trying hard not to sound too prudish.

Steph raised her head to look at me. "You mean you've never stripped for Mark?" I looked away. Her eyes widened behind her dark lenses. "What a crime." I imagined a jealous gleam in my friend's eye as she glanced over my long, elegant limbs. "With your ballet-dancer body, I'd walk around naked all the time."

Normally, I would have laughed at her brazen comment. Instead I blushed and mumbled something which Steph asked me to repeat. "Mark hasn't exactly... ever seen me naked," I said again. "Well, not clearly, anyway. I mean, we make out and everything but always in the dark and under the covers. It's, um, more comfortable that way."

Steph shook her head in disbelief. "You are so old-fashioned. Well, this game will force you out of your comfort zone, I can promise you that." Steph's game was beginning to scare me. When I looked up again, I could see her reading the nervousness in my face. "But... perhaps you're just not ready for something like this yet." She put her head back down and closed her eyes, pretending to go to sleep. "I should've known better than to suggest it to you."

Her comment stuck in my mind, turning my trepidation to indignation. "Um, what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just forget I said anything."

"You think I can't do it?" I pressed in a haughty tone. "That I'm too timid?"

"Face it, Felicia. I've met nuns more daring than you."

I was rather incensed. "Look, I can be uninhibited if I choose to be."

Steph grinned and opened her eyes. "Good. Then let's cancel tonight's spa treatments. I'm going to teach you the finer points of the game... and then we're going shopping."

I tilted my head. "For what? Clothes? What does my wardrobe have to do with the game?"

"Nothing personal," said Steph delicately. "But those boring blouses you always wear, those glasses... not to mention the granny panties ..."

"They're called boyshorts!"

Steph laughed. "Well, whatever. Your style needs a makeover. As for your attitude..." She tied her top back on, stood, and began gathering up our things.

"Are we leaving?" I asked.

"Just taking a stroll down that way," said Steph with a puzzling grin. "I hear there's a much more interesting beach over there..."

*****

The thunder and rain now rattling my loft windows had turned the street outside into a shallow, muddy river. I was lucky to make it from the cab to the apartment without getting totally drenched. It was certainly a drastic change from the paradise I had just left. I set my waterlogged luggage down on the hardwood floor and looked around. The loft was almost exactly as I had left it. In my week-long absence, Mark had altered very little except to move a portrait of me from the shelf to the bedside table. I felt happy imagining him looking at that picture every night before going to sleep. Part of me wished he was home already so I could have him in my arms this minute. The other part was thankful he was still at work, for I needed time to prepare both myself and the apartment for the little "game" I had planned. For the last four days, Steph had coached me in everything I needed to know to make this game a success. Now it was time to put knowledge into practice. I cleared an area and aimed the ceiling track lights in that direction, creating a pool of light in one corner of the loft and plunging the rest into darkness. In that darkness, I placed a solitary chair of black leather. Now I had a stage set for an audience of one.

I entered the bathroom, lit some scented candles and ran a bubble bath, hoping to soothe my jet-lagged mind. But as I stripped off my damp clothes and submerged myself, I felt only a gathering cloud of nerves in my stomach for what I was about to do. The temptation to just abandon the whole thing definitely entered my mind. After all, this game would require me to push personal boundaries I had never crossed before and do things I might be uncomfortable with. Why put myself through that stress? To prove to yourself you can do it, said an inner voice. And as I caressed my smooth skin underwater, a second thought occurred: the countless spa treatments of the past week had left my twenty-three-year-old body looking and feeling better than ever. Additionally, all the yoga, pilates and running I had done each morning, not to mention three organic vegetarian meals every day, had left me with barely an ounce of body fat on my frame. I might never look this good again!

With that thought spurring me on, I rose from the bath, towelled off, and put on an album of classical music. A glance at the clock told me there was just enough time to get in some ballet exercises, which I elected to perform in my bathrobe. When those were done, and the hard muscles throughout my body ached pleasantly from the exertion, I knew I was more than ready. I chose my wardrobe carefully, donning a gleaming white tank top, metal-studded belt, high heel shoes, and my tightest pair of black jeans, topping everything off with a hint of perfume. Then I went to the kitchen to make dinner.

I had just finished setting the table when the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway announced Mark's arrival. The door swung open and there he stood, all six feet of him looking as cute as ever to my eyes. I could tell he had been hitting the gym lately, as a layer of rainwater caused the details of his broad chest to show through his shirt. He looked haggard from his mad dash through the gale but brightened up the moment he saw me. "Felicia!" I ran forward and kissed him. "I missed you," he said.

"I can tell," I smiled.

His eyes glittered as they took in my bronzed skin and eye-catching outfit. "You look great."

"Just 'great'?" I asked.

"You look... really great," added Mark proudly. "Wow," he exclaimed, looking over my shoulder at the candlelit dining table. "What's the occasion?"

"I haven't seen you in a week, stupid," I teased. "Come and sit down."

Over a sumptuous dinner of pasta and wine – a recipe I learned from one of the spa's cooking workshops – I told Mark about my holiday and the barrage of skin treatments Steph and I had undergone. True to form, he happily sat through all of my stories, listening intently without once talking about himself. Only when dinner was over, and after profuse compliments on my cooking, did Mark turn around and look curiously towards the corner of the loft I had set up.

"I thought we might play a little game tonight," I explained casually. "One I am sure you will enjoy."

I led Mark by the hand to his chair in the centre of the room. As I went to the stereo and put on some light jazz, Mark suspected something strange was up. "A game?" he asked, looking uneasy.

"That's right. You see, I sometimes feel that you may have certain thoughts about me that you never express. There may also be sides of myself which you have never seen and don't even know exist. This game will bring these out into the open, allow us to share more parts of ourselves." He looked puzzled by my enigmatic answer. "The rules are simple," I continued in my "game" voice – a smooth, flirty and at times authoritative tone commanding obedience and respect. "I must do anything you tell me to do tonight – anything at all but only if it turns you on in some way. That's the requirement. You see, you never tell me exactly what you want. Well, now is your chance."

"Felicia," he interrupted, looking almost sorry for me, "you don't have to do this to please me. I love you just as you are."

"I know I don't have to. I want to. Now will you let me continue?" He sat rigidly in his chair, looking furtively around like a trapped animal. "And don't look so scared. I promise to make this as painless as possible. Your job is easy. It's to sit in that chair and do nothing, absolutely nothing but watch. There shall be no physical contact between us, only verbal. For anything more than that, you must ask my permission which I am under no obligation to give. Are we clear? Good. Now, for every order you give, I get to ask you a question – any question at all and you must answer truthfully or the game ends. No simple 'yes' or 'no' answers allowed."

"I don't think I like this game," Mark muttered.

"There are a few other rules which you will learn as the game goes on." I took off my glasses and placed them on a nearby shelf.

"Did Steph put you up to this?" he asked, apparently aware of my girlfriend's tendency to be a wild influence on me.

"She had nothing to do with it," I lied. "This is just between us. Now then, if you are ready..." My high heels echoed on the hardwood floor as I walked to the middle of the lit area and faced him squarely. "What would you like me to do?" As I had feared, Mark just sat there in silence. I decided to open with a suggestion. "Would you... like me to let my hair down for you? You hardly get to see me wear it that way."

"Uh... sure," came his awkward voice from the darkness. I pulled out my hairclips, bent down and, with a toss of my head, let my wavy dark locks flow loosely about my shoulders.

"How does that look?" Mark gave no reply. The soft jazz now drifting through the loft gave me another opening. "Mmmm... do you like the music?" I asked sweetly. "It's very sultry. Makes me feel like dancing. How about it? Would you like me to dance for you?"

"Uh-huh," he mumbled.

I closed my eyes and slow-danced with myself. "Is this how you would like me to move?" Mark was silent. "You have to answer my questions," I reminded him. "Don't forget the rules." I swayed my hips, raised my long arms and let the music flow through me as best I could. Mark watched me in stony silence, his face hidden from me by darkness. The seconds passing felt more like hours to me. I turned my body for him. "Do you like it when I move like this?" The self-consciousness was building inside me, verging on panic. This was not going at all like I'd hoped. I began to wish the ground would swallow me whole before I made a complete fool of myself.

Somehow I forced myself to dance awkwardly a while longer. Finally in desperation, I grasped the bottom of my tank top and slowly moved it up and down to the beat. Then I heard it – a quick intake of breath, nearly a gasp, coming from the darkness. Finally a reaction! I breathed an inner sigh of relief, then pounced on it.

"Oh, you like this, do you?" I teased, arching my brow. "You like it when I pull my shirt up like this? Showing you my belly button? Maybe I should take it all the way off. Would that get a rise out of you? You're not answering me."

"Yes," said Mark at last.

"Yes what?"

"Take it off."

My eyes twinkled at him. "That's better." I raised the bottom of my tank top slowly above my abs, then across my chest and finally up over my head... exposing the lacy, white, partially see-through bra I wore underneath. My pulse quickened as I felt his attention lock onto it. I dangled the tank top on my pinkie before dropping it to the floor in front of him.

"Do you like my new bra?" I asked, looking down at it innocently. "Isn't it pretty? It is rather immodest, though. You can almost see right through it."

"Mmmmm," said Mark in a guttural voice as he shifted in his chair.


Felicia's Rules



"Do you wish I would wear things like this more often? Dress in ways to excite you? It's okay to say yes."

There was a long pause. "Yes," he finally admitted.

I flashed him a playful smile. "I suspected as much. Now... what would you like me to do next?"

"Take off your pants," he whispered.

"Take off my pants?" I exclaimed in mock surprise. "Why would you want me to do a thing like that? To see my legs? Would that arouse you? Would having a good look at my bare legs turn you on?"

"Yes," he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

"Yes what?"

"I want to see them."

"Good. Then instruct me."

"Take off your pants," he repeated.

I put my hands on my hips and smirked. "You'll have to do better than that."

Mark thought for a moment, then said, "Undo your belt... unzip your fly... pull your jeans down slowly... all the way to your ankles... step out of them."

"Better," I nodded. I could feel him watching my dainty hands as they unbuckled my belt and undid the zipper. Then I pulled my jeans down ever so slowly, baring my legs to him inch by inch – first my slender thighs... then my knees... then my long calves... and finally my ankles. I stepped out of the jeans, kicked them to the side, and stood before him under those bright lights wearing nothing but a bra, panties, and high heels.

Mark's breathing quickened as his gaze travelled up and down my long legs – now more tanned and toned than they had ever looked before. For a moment, I felt my self-consciousness lift and was proud to show them off.

From a pause in his breathing, I could tell the exact moment Mark had noticed the white panties I had on. They were a terribly skimpy affair – little more than a triangle of fabric held there by string, so scant I felt essentially naked wearing them.

"I can tell you've noticed my new panties. I hope you like them." Mark could only gasp his approval. "I'd like to show you the back. May I?" Without waiting for his permission, I turned around.

"Uhhhh," he groaned as my bare rear end came into view, with nothing but a string up the middle for coverage. He'd never known me to wear a G-string in my life and the sight of it rightly shocked him.

"It's very racy," I noted innocently. "But it feels so good on my body. I think it makes my ass look great. Do you agree?"

"God..." he whispered, staring intently at the tightness of my butt.

"I guess that's a 'yes,'" I giggled, pleasantly surprised by his strong reaction. "It's embarrassing to have my rear so exposed. But exciting also. What should I do next?"

There was no hesitation this time. "Bend over."

"Bend over?" I repeated, trying to sound shocked. "And why should I do that for you? Will that give you a better view of my legs and ass? Would seeing me in such a compromising position excite you more? Is that what you're after?"

"Yes," he grunted.

"Yes what?"

Mark spoke in a raspy voice as though parched. "It would... turn me on."

"Would it now?" I smiled with a raised brow. "In that case, instruct me."

He took a deep breath. "Put your feet three feet apart... bend at the waist... all the way down... grab your ankles."

"You're getting the hang of this," I smiled before obediently doing as told. I placed my stilettoed feet wide apart, bent over, and reached for my ankles. I was limber enough to grab them easily without bending my knees at all. Now with my head hanging between my legs, I was free to look back at Mark's awe-struck face. He had never seen me from quite this angle before and its effect on his male mind was devastating. My long gams formed a gorgeous triangle, with my rear end as its pinnacle. I watched Mark's unblinking eyes focus on my right ankle, move slowly up the back of that leg, linger on my bare ass at the top, then descend just as slowly down the other leg. His open mouth and blank stare were all the encouragement I needed to stay down in this awkward position for as long as he wanted.

Finally, Mark reluctantly motioned for me stand. He leaned back in his chair, looking drained. "Do you need a moment?" I asked jokingly, though I soon realized that he did.

"Your bra..." he croaked after catching his breath. "Take it off."

"Take off my bra?" I gasped. "Is that what you're asking? But I got it special for you. Don't you like it?"

"Yes but—"

"I thought it was pretty," I sighed, looking downcast. "But I can take it off if you don't like it."

"No! I mean yes! I mean..." I giggled as he stammered. "I love it. But... take it off for me."

"But if I remove my bra, I'll be topless. Is that what you want? For me to go topless for you? So you can stare at my bare breasts? See how they look in this bright light? Will that arouse you?" He nodded timidly.

"Hmmm," I said pensively, as though giving his request deep thought. "Before I do something like that, I need to know that you are enjoying all this, that it's turning you on – because that is the whole and only point."

"I just told you—"

"I know what you said," I interjected, "but you could be lying just to spare my feelings. I need to see some physical proof." Mark looked confused, then mortified, as he realized what I was getting at. "Show me," I ordered, my voice imbued with authority. "Show me or the game ends here." I knew that ending the game at this point was the last thing Mark would want, and that would be my leverage. But his reserved nature was not going to make this easy for him.

"I thought you were supposed to take the orders," Mark feebly pointed out, "not give them."

"Nice try," said I. "But we are playing Felicia's rules right now. And what I say goes. Now are you going to show me or end the game?" After much reluctance, Mark let me come closer as he unbuttoned his pants and slid them down a bit. Looming into my view was a long, hard shape that strained against his boxer-briefs, jutting straight out like a rigid tent pole.

"Oh my God," I shuddered. My surprise was genuine for I never expected to find him quite this hard, this early. I probably stared longer than I should have, turning his face a deep red. "I see you were telling the truth," I observed, quickly composing myself. His relief was palpable when I finally stepped back. "Don't be embarrassed. It pleases me immensely to see how turned on you are getting. And now, since you have been such a co-operative audience... instruct me."

"Reach back," he began, "unhook your bra... slowly slide the straps down over your shoulders... drop it on the floor."

I turned my back to him and pretended to fumble with the strap in the back for a while, relishing his every impatient groan as he watched my hands "struggle". Finally, I decided I had dragged it out long enough and heard the distinct creak of leather as Mark leaned forward in his chair at the exact moment the strap came loose. I slid one shoulder strap down over my right shoulder, then did the same with the left.

With the straps dangling, I kept holding the bra over myself... and in that position, I froze! An all-consuming fear had suddenly come over me, the fear of being totally exposed. I tried to face him but felt unable to move. In that moment, all the insecurities I had been repressing up to this point came raging to the surface. Chief among them was the true belief that my breasts were small. Pert and well-shaped, certainly, but they hardly even needed a bra to support them. This new bra made them appear larger than they really were. But once it was off... I wondered what Mark would think. I felt my heart begin to pound in my chest, my confidence bleeding away. Baring my breasts under lights this bright, with nothing left to hide behind – what was I thinking? Fortunately, the sound of Mark's stern voice kept me from dwelling on it much further.

"Turn around," he ordered. I swallowed hard and managed to face him – still covering myself with that loose bra in my hands, like a shy girl trying to retain her modesty until the last possible moment. "Drop your hands." I hesitated. He repeated the order more loudly. Finally, I just closed my eyes and obeyed.

"Uhhnnn..." he moaned as the bra fell away. I could feel my nipples quickly hardening as the cool night air hit my chest. It took every ounce of my courage to stand there, unmoving, arms hanging uselessly at my sides. By the time I opened my eyes again, Mark looked so horribly turned on that I hardly recognized him. I soon realized the reason for his amazement. My nipples were stiff and pointing straight out – the hardest I had seen them in a very long time.

I should mention that my nipples are the pointiest I've seen (Steph calls them a "freak of nature") and a source of much embarrassment on cold nights in thin T-shirts. But this moment more than made up for it. Seeing those nipples stiffen up and poke right out before his eyes was a spectacle I knew Mark would not soon forget.

"Your nipples," he managed to gasp. "They're so hard... that's incredible."

God, how he stared at them. He had that blank, open-mouthed expression that men get when their minds are too aroused to even think; but I'd never seen such a look directed at me before and certainly never from Mark. It took me a moment to regain my composure. "Do you like when my nipples point out like this?" I turned sideways to accentuate them. "Do they look better from this angle? How about this one?" I caressed one nipple with my finger, pushing it down and letting it pop back up, then did the same with the other. It seemed to be driving Mark out of his mind. "Do my hard nipples arouse you, Mark?" I persisted. "Does it turn you on? You're not answering me."

"Yes," he spoke in a husky voice.

"Yes what?"

"God, your tits make me so hard!" I was shocked. Never had Mark spoken to me like this before. And the breathy, desperate tone of his voice told me that every word of it was true. I felt my own spark of arousal being fanned into a flame but knew I must contain it. It was imperative that I remain in control for the game to progress as it should.

"I love to hear you say that," I encouraged him. "Why haven't you ever talked this way to me before?"

His feverish mind struggled to piece together an answer. "Because... I didn't think it was right, And... I've never seen you like this before. Acting so different. I didn't know you could be this way."

"It excites you to see this side of me?" He nodded. "Good. It turns me on to know how turned on I can make you."

For the first time since we started, Mark managed to tear his eyes away from me. "Go... go to the bathroom," he stuttered. "Get the bottle of massage oil in the cabinet... and return to your place."

This was unexpected. I walked to the bathroom, conscious of my bare breasts bouncing slightly in the cool night air, and found the bottle.

"Open it," said Mark as I resumed my place. "Pour some into your hand... rub it all over yourself." I unscrewed the cap, spilled a generous amount into my palm, and began oiling my long arms. The sweet smell of coconut began to rise from my body while the oil tingled and warmed my skin. Soon my upper body began to glisten and shine. As I reached my chest, I rubbed on the oil in a circular motion with both hands, from the outer edges of my breasts to the hard nipples in the middle. It felt so good, I began to massage them vigorously, helpfully leaning forward for Mark's closer inspection. He looked entranced, staring blankly at my glistening chest as though hypnotized. I probably could have massaged those breasts for hours and held his attention the entire time! Only when I stopped and heard him groan with disappointment was I assured that his brain was still functioning.

I turned around, bent over and began to work on my best feature: my legs. As I slathered the oil slowly up my right leg, I could see it helping to bring out every little curve and detail in my leg muscles as the bright lights reflected off them... turning my performance into a sensuous feast for the eyes.

Just then, I noticed something in the corner of my eye. Mark's right hand which had lain at his side this whole time was now resting on his inner thigh. By the time my right leg was done, his hand had slowly moved to his crotch. I started on my left leg as though I hadn't noticed anything. For a time, it seemed that his hand would move no more. But by the time the oil had reached my left thigh, I was hearing rubbing sounds behind me, like skin on fabric. My heart skipped a beat. Thinking quickly, I summoned up the most angry face I could, spun around, and glared at him.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" I demanded. His hand darted back to his side in a flash.

"What – what do you mean?" he asked, looking as guilty as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"You were supposed to just sit in that chair and do nothing. Absolutely nothing but watch. Those were the rules, if you recall. Were they not made clear to you?"

He swallowed hard. "They were but..."

"But you broke them anyway. Why?" He had no ready answer. "You couldn't control yourself? Was all this too much for you?" I crossed my arms as I scolded him. "This is a serious infraction, Mark. And according to the game, when one of the participants willfully violates a rule, the game must end."

Mark's guilty expression turned to one of panic. "No! I – I'm sorry! It won't happen again. Can't we continue?"

I softened a bit. "Well... you have been a very appreciative audience up to now. But if you wanted to do anything besides watch, all you had to do was ask my permission. If you ask for it now... I may consider continuing the game."

"Uh," mumbled Mark as he looked at the floor. "Okay. Could I... that is..." He didn't know quite how to put it. I grinned as he squirmed.

"Touch yourself?" I blurted shamelessly. "Is that what you're trying to say? You wish to masturbate as you watch me? Would that give you pleasure? To rub that hard-on in front of me?" I was relentless.

"Yes," he admitted, his face flushed with embarrassment. I felt almost sorry for him.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

The top of Mark's pants was still open so I stepped forward for another look. The bulge was even larger now, visibly throbbing and stretching his underpants at the seams. "Oh, God," I whimpered. "I've never seen you this hard before. Why didn't you tell me it had gotten this bad? God, that looks almost painful." The fact that my shiny breasts were now dangling right in his face as I bent over him wasn't helping. "Well, you really should take care of that. All right, you have my permission. But you are not allowed to come yet – not until I say. Agreed?" Mark nodded, though with little choice. I stepped back into place.

Now Mark was leering at my panties – the one pesky piece of clothing that still lay between him and a completely unobscured view of my body. His next order was no surprise.

"Take off your panties."

I raised my hand to my mouth. "But this is all I'm wearing. Without it, I'd be naked. Is that what you want? To see me naked? To stand here in the nude for you, with not a stitch of clothing on? So you can look over every inch of me, with nothing in the way?"

"Yes," was his whispered reply. "I need to see you. All of you."

"And just what would you do for such a rare viewing?"

"Anything," he gasped.

I was immensely pleased. "Excellent. It arouses me to know how much power I can have over you."

But my outward display of power belied an inner fear. The game had gone exceedingly well up to now. Though Mark was ostensibly in charge and giving the orders, each order I obeyed had put him more and more under my spell. The more clothing I shed, the more empowered I felt as I witnessed his desire intensify. But what would happen once the last piece of clothing was gone? All secrets would be known, the mystery revealed, and every flaw laid bare to his critical eye. There would be nothing left for him to imagine. And wasn't seduction based more on imagination than reality? Mark would see all of me for the very first time. And though I knew he would accept me no matter what, I also knew some of my feminine mystique would be lost forever. This made what I was about to do one of the bravest moments of my life.

"Slip your thumbs under the waistband," Mark instructed. (He called it a "waistband," though it was more accurately a piece of string.) "Slide your panties down your legs... all the way to the floor... and step out of them."

Turning my back to him, I put my thumbs under the flimsy elastic at my waist. Then I bent way down, causing a long groan to escape Mark's lips, and set those panties on their long journey down my legs. When they reached the floor, I stepped out of them but didn't turn around. That G-string looked so tiny lying there at my feet that I could scarcely believe it had been virtually the only thing covering me for the last several minutes.

"Take your shoes off, too," Mark added. I preferred to keep them on but dared not refuse his order. I slipped out of the heels and set my bare feet down on the cold wooden floor, suddenly feeling about a foot shorter. "And your watch," Mark continued. I'd forgotten I was even wearing one. I removed it and set it gently on the floor. I was now completely stark naked in the middle of the living room and the sensation of it thrilled me. Though I couldn't see Mark, I knew he must be busy enjoying his first view of my naked backside. Moments later, he spoke again. "Turn around."

This was it. I willed the butterflies from my stomach, swallowed hard... and courageously turned to face him.

Mark gasped loudly as my moist, neatly-trimmed body hair came into view. His eyes locked onto that thin sliver of brown hair down there as though drawn to a magnet. My cheeks reddened as I prayed he would fail to notice how embarrassingly wet I had become. Finally, and with great effort, he raised his eyes to look the rest of me up and down.

I lifted my arms, raised myself on my tiptoes, and turned for him slowly. Mark's eyes eagerly explored every inch of my body, drinking it all in. He looked almost in agony, as though seeing me all at once were too much to bear, like gazing too long at the sun. He was seeing parts of me he'd never seen clearly before except perhaps in his most torrid wet dreams. All my shame and self-consciousness evaporated like fog before sunshine as I basked in the attention Mark lavished upon me. He was the voyeur and I his willing object of worship. I had never felt so appreciated or so gorgeous in my life.

And like an adolescent boy glimpsing his first naked woman, Mark couldn't resist the urge to plunge his hand deep into his boxer-briefs and stroke eagerly up and down. I felt compelled to watch as he settled into a hypnotically rhythmic pace. His technique looked well practiced and I felt the rush of witnessing something from Mark's secret life coming out into the open. Was this how he liked to handle himself in private? It took some effort to tear my eyes away and keep my distracted mind on the game.

As I stepped back, allowing him to better fit all of me into his field of view, Mark noticed something. "Your tan," he exclaimed in shock. I laughed. I'd been wondering when he would finally notice my curious lack of tan lines. The rich hue that covered me like a layer of liquid bronze was a sight to behold.

"Steph and I went to this beach," I explained slowly. "A nude beach."

Mark was floored. "You lay outside... with nothing on?" Such an act was totally out of character for me.

"We both did." I could imagine the kind of images now racing through his mind. "Are you picturing me and her lying together? Stripping off our tops and bottoms? Rubbing oil on each other's nude bodies? Giving the men and boys all around us hard-ons? Does thinking about it give you a hard-on as well? It's okay to say yes."




Felicia's Rules



Mark looked on the verge of fainting. "Yes," he said hoarsely.

"I thought it might," I winked. With his approval, I began to do some stretches – graceful yoga-like postures – literally bending over backwards to please him. I listened with glee to his every gasp and moan as I moved seamlessly from one sensuous pose to another, stretching out my long nude body. "Have you always wanted to see me like this?" I asked, mid-pose. "Imagined what I might look like under my clothes? Undressed me with your eyes? Pictured me naked? I won't be offended if you say yes."

"Yes," he croaked.

"I love having you see me. Having all your attention focused on me and nothing else. It makes me feel beautiful."

"You are," declared Mark, hyperventilating. "More beautiful than I ever imagined."

I wanted to cry at that moment, throw my arms around him, and kiss him all over for saying those things I'd always wanted to hear. Instead, all I could do was watch him back – stare at the rigid shape in Mark's boxers as he pumped it. I know I should have averted my eyes because before I knew it, and completely against my will, I was horribly turned on at the sight.

"Take it out," I whispered, completely forgetting that it was not my place to give orders.

Mark looked at me, surprised. "Would that turn you on?" he teased, cleverly turning the tables on me. "To see me rub it in front of you? To stare at its hardness? Would that excite you, Felicia?"

"Yes," I confessed, unspeakably embarrassed. "I want to see you."

Mark pulled his hand out and tugged down his boxer-briefs. As the elastic waistband passed over that hard shape, his boner sprang out with a force that made me whimper. I stared at it, transfixed. The shaft looked solid as a rock and longer than I expected.

"See how hard you've made me?" he panted. I was flattered beyond words. Mark made a tight fist around the shaft, then stroked up and down its considerable length. From the rhythm of his breathing, I could tell every stroke was sending a wave of pleasure coursing up his spine. Having me watch only seemed to arouse him more, forcing him to loosen his grip several times just to keep from erupting. His hands glided like pistons up and down his pole with an almost hypnotic rhythm. Soon, I was shamelessly kneeling in front of him for a closer look, to satiate my girlish curiosity.

"I always wondered," I said slowly, "whether you played with yourself... and how often."

Mark slowed his rubbing down to a leisurely stroke and looked at me. "Often I come home late and you've already gone to bed. I see you lying there, so peaceful. I love watching you sleep – the slow rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the way your skin shines in the moonlight. And then... it happens."

"I... I don't know what you mean."

He looked down at his own pulsing hard-on. "I lay down beside you... and do this." Mark's confession floored me. I pictured myself asleep in bed, completely oblivious as Mark lay beside me, stark naked, rubbing his aching erection as quietly as possible.

"How... how often would this happen?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Some weeks, when we hardly saw each other... pretty often."

"Oh... my God." Though I'd always been drawn to Mark's quiet strength, he never seemed to have much in the way of hot, sexual energy like other guys. But now it was clear he did have a libido, a raging one at that – one so strong that just seeing me asleep in my sheets and silk was enough to drive him to distraction. "I had no idea. I just wish you had woken me up so that I might help you relieve yourself. Or at least watch."

He shook his head. "I was always afraid you'd wake up, catch me doing it, and be shocked."

"Well, perhaps I would have been," I admitted. "But not in a bad way! Knowing you masturbate so much is kind of a turn-on actually."

Mark smiled and stroked himself with renewed vigour. He spread his muscular legs a bit, as if to grant me an even better view than I already had. I watched hungrily for a while longer, until both his face and his boner had turned deep red and he appeared on the verge of insanity. "Any more orders?" I finally asked, seriously doubting whether Mark was in any condition to form a coherent sentence. I had to repeat the question again before he heard me. With superhuman effort, Mark let go of his quivering staff and composed himself.

"Go over to the bed," he begged. "Lie down... spread your legs... touch yourself."

Even after everything I'd already done, this request greatly unnerved me. I went to the bed, lay on my back, and very reluctantly splayed my legs like he wanted. I felt tawdry assuming such a position but forced myself to keep it after an appreciative groan from Mark. I touched my crotch lightly with one hand, keeping the other free to caress my breasts.

Now, I am a girl who seldom masturbates. But I must confess that at that moment, I was certainly feeling the need! The act of shedding my clothes, of being watched, and of selflessly giving pleasure to another person were bigger turn-ons than I'd ever imagined. I touched myself lightly, fearing that anything stronger might quickly send me over the edge. But even those gentle touches were enough to make me whimper. My shame and self-consciousness returned in a flash. Up to now, I had kept my own passions tightly controlled. To lose that control in front of Mark, be seen in the throes of orgasm, was too embarrassing to contemplate. I was determined not to let it happen.

Somehow, Mark could sense my reticence. "Harder," he demanded. "Do it harder." I was reluctant. "I said harder," he repeated sternly. "And faster. Are you refusing my order?"

"No. But I —"

"Then do as I say." He spoke with uncharacteristic authority. I felt compelled to obey.

I rubbed a bit more vigorously. "Oh!" I cried, taking my hand away.

"Who told you to stop?" he scolded. "Keep going."

I gripped myself firmly and felt a corresponding spasm of pleasure coursing up my spine. I bit my lip in a pitiful effort to keep from crying out. Mark sensed I was still holding back.

"Let yourself go," he said. "Let it out."

My defenses collapsed. I could hold back no longer. To even try would be futile, like standing before a tidal wave, hoping to hold back the water. All I could do was let it wash over me like a kind of insanity. I felt dizzy, feverish, as beads of sweat formed on my trembling body. A loud moan escaped my lips... then another and another, each more shrill than the last. I forgot where I was, even who I was. Every part of me from head to toe now quivered with torrid energy. My game, for all intents and purposes, was now over. I could no longer think straight, nor did I care. My rational mind was gone, replaced by a seething, desperate hunger. Little micro-gasms tore through me, heralding the approach of a big one still waiting in the wings. My hands wandered over my body with reckless abandon as though guided by minds of their own.

As all this was going on, I happened by accident to look back at a large mirror on the wall. The image it now reflected practically drove me insane – a beautiful girl, naked and writhing on the bed, groping herself furiously. I could scarcely believe that person with the flushed face and trembling limbs was me! Her eyes and mouth were wide open, staring back at me like a woman possessed... or some wild animal in heat. And watching her in the darkness was her handsome admirer. His aching erection stood in plain view, pointing at the ceiling like a pillar of strength. It was beautiful in a way, a symbol of his desire for her which he held fast with both hands, pumping up and down with expert control.

Seeing this image drove me over the edge. "Oh, God, not yet!" I pleaded with myself. But my responses were beyond my control. I felt the space between my legs begin to convulse – the epicentre of a powerful quake radiating spasms of ecstasy throughout my body. "I'm coming!" I cried, shaking as though having a seizure. Mark nearly fell out of his chair as my arched back, heaving rib cage, and badly trembling thighs made for a very erotic display. It was the most explosive orgasm my young body had ever felt, so long and torrid it caused hot tears to flow down my face and a trickle of drool down my chin. My forehead crinkled in its withering heat while I screamed in a voice unrecognizable as my own. Searing heat engulfed my body as delirium engulfed my soul.

At long last, the waves began to subside. My screaming voice fell back to a whimper and my gyrating limbs grew still. Reason and sanity slowly returned, like waking up from a feverish dream. My body felt as though it had just run a marathon. Drenched in sweat, I collapsed back down and lay there, both astounded at how incredible it felt and humbled by the realization that Mark had somehow outlasted me.

But it would not be by much. My orgasmic performance, it seemed, had driven him over the edge as well. His rod began to convulse in his hands. "God, I'm coming!" he howled. I gawked as the first hot sprays came shooting out of him like a geyser.

"Don't waste it!" I cried. "Stick it in me!"

Mark stood and ran to the bed – quite a sight in itself – while I opened my legs to let him in. He maneuvered into position, making a mess of my inner thighs as he did so, then thrust inside.

"Ohhhhh!" we cried in unison. I felt Mark's body shudder against mine. I wrapped my arms and legs around him as, on and on, he shook and groaned. I wondered whether it was normal for a man to last so long – it was like he hadn't come in a month! I basked in the feeling of warmth it created inside me, imagining how incredible he must be feeling at that moment. Finally, he was spent and lay gently down on top of me. To my delight, he stayed hard for a minute or two afterward, creating a pleasant feeling of fullness inside me. We were one.

"I love you," Mark whispered, raising his weary head to look at me. I felt a tear run down my cheek which he wiped away with his hand.

"I love you," I whispered back. I held his head lovingly to my bosom, letting the sound of my heartbeat lull him to sleep. And we lay in each other's arms until the sun came up.

*****

The following weekend, Steph and I biked down to the small municipal beach not far from my place. We lay on our stomachs with our tops undone as I told her everything that had happened in meticulous detail – or at least everything I could without getting too graphic.

"You see?" she laughed triumphantly when I was done. "What did I tell you? I'm glad it worked out so well for you guys." I smiled thankfully. "And you tell it so well. I got wet just listening to it."

"Oh, too much information!" I cringed.

Steph laughed at my disgust. "You know... you used to write great stories in high school, remember? So why don't you write about this?"

"Yeah, right." Steph looked at me squarely. "Wait, you're serious?" I shook my head uncomfortably. "Oh, I don't know. It's too personal. And who would even read it besides pervs like you?"

Steph rolled her eyes. "All right, it was just a suggestion. And what do I know about making suggestions, right?" She yawned and put her head back down. "Should've known you could never do something that daring. It was a bad idea. Forget I said anything."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

*****

Later that evening, I sat at my computer and began to type: "Sometimes the most personal journeys of one's life begin in the unlikeliest of places." Not a bad beginning, I thought...