0 comments/ 11577 views/ 0 favorites A Day at the Museum By: whirledtraveler You have the rare day off and you decide to nurture your artistic side and visit the Museum of Fine Arts. This being the Friday before a summer three-day weekend, it is particularly empty this morning. It appears as if the museum, knowing this will be the case, has a skeleton crew of guards on duty. You wander with the sensation that you have the entire gallery to yourself, carefree in your halter top and short skirt, feeling a little naughty in the knowledge that there is nothing else below your skirt other than your high-heeled slides (your mother always called them F-U-C-K ME shoes and forbid you to wear them when they were in fashion before); it was too hot to wear panties today, after all. You visit the collection of old masters first, taking plenty of time as you stroll casually and examine all of the many details and features. Your sensation of being alone is interrupted by the sound of feet somewhere in the hall. You turn, but see no one. You continue to walk on, and the footsteps follow, but you still can't see their owner. Your heart begins to beat faster and you find yourself among the impressionists, with their flowers and peasant scenes; their bright colors and women dressed in flowing gowns. You decide to sit and listen – no footsteps. Yet, you now feel the presence of someone else. "Probably one of the guards," you think to yourself. Suddenly, you feel a pair of strong hands on your shoulders and a masculine voice whispers in your ear, "Don't look around." Scared, you obey. The hands begin to wander down your arms ("Where are those guards?" you think to yourself) and on to your breasts; then inside your halter top where, to your great surprise, the soft hands find your nipples ripe and firm to their touch. You start to turn again in protest, but stop when you feel a tongue enter your ear and quickly down to your neck. You begin to relax and lean back into the strong arms behind you. You still don't know who (or what, for that matter) is doing this to you. Yet, you realize that it feels very nice, especially considering how tense you've been from things going on at work lately. You admit to yourself that you want it to continue. His hands have undone your halter top now and have taken your full breasts neatly into them cupping the underside while fingers continue to play with the nipples. You realize that you have spread your legs and feel the familiar moistness in your pussy as your breasts begin to tingle with anticipation of what might be in store. Your own arms have reached up, back and around a full head of thick hair, guiding its owner's lips around your neck, your shoulders and arms. As you begin to squirm on the bench, your skirt rides up your hips, exposing your now-glistening cunt to all of those priceless paintings. Are those men in that one staring at the pink wet spot between your legs or is it only your imagination? Those strong hands find the spot, too and, both at the same time, begin to pull your pussy lips apart and plunge fingers inside. You begin to moan and your hips begin to writhe as the sensation you feel between your legs reaches all around your body. Beads of perspiration are now dripping down your forehead, your face, your breasts, destined to soon mingle with the juices between your legs. Your prop your feet on the edge of the bench, and open your legs wide to the exploration of those strong fingers. You look up and see a handsome, darkskinned man, about 35, with a mustache. He is staring in your eyes. All at once you bury your tongue in his mouth, and he responds with a deep, soulful kiss as only two strangers in absolute lust could understand. He moves to the other side of the bench and kneels in front of you. Without a word, he bends over and slides his tongue into your cunt and pulls back to start sucking your clit. Your hands have his head in them and you seem to guide every wonderful stroke and movement. You think, "I sure know which days to take off, don't I?" as your drenched pussy explodes in a terrific orgasm, causing you to scream out "OHHHHHH MYYYYYY G G-G-G-G-G-O-O-D!!!" You look down at the stranger, who is wearing a smile and some of your love juices on his face. Glancing down further, you see a large bulge in his khakis (is that a wet spot you see?). You quickly look around, as if expecting a guard to show up ("surely they must of heard me scream?"), but there is still no one in sight. You look back and find yourself staring at a stiff, swollen cock which is peeking out from the stranger's pants. A quick dart of your eyes upward meets the strangers' and then back down, you reach out and pull his thick penis closer to you, rolling your tongue around the head, flicking the little crack and tasting his already-thick precum. Inching a little more to the edge of the bench, you pull his full length into your mouth (well, almost full length – it's a bit larger than you expected) and begin moving your lips up and down the shaft, cupping his balls in one hand and playing a number on his scrotum with the other. Again glancing up, you see his eyes are closed and his head tilted back slightly, enjoying your every stroke. His large hands are on your shoulders as you bend forward, attempting to take ever more of him into your mouth and throat – you've never been this enthralled before, and you like it. Soon, you feel his cock begin to swell further and pulse. He pulls his dick out of your mouth, reaches out with both hands, pulling you to your feet. Directing you to the Rodin statue, he turns you around and bends you over so that your hands are on the pedestal (why do you obey him blindly?). You feel him enter you from the rear, filling up every inch of your cunt, and you push back to meet his thrusts. His hands are on your hips, directing every stroke, deeper, deeper, deeper. You find yourself pushing back hard against him, feeling the end of his cock against your insides, and liking it. You don't want it to stop but, all at once, he reaches underneath to your clit and, stroking it, brings you to another climax – stronger than before. As the last wave subsides, you feel him pull out and shoot his load all over your ass and legs. You reach back and rub it into your skin. Turning around you take his face into your hands and his tongue into your mouth and kiss him deeply, warmly. Then, without a word, the stranger pulls up his pants, looks into your eyes, turns and is gone. You watch him go, fix yourself up and sit back down on the bench. Looking again at the Renoir, you swear that everyone in the "Boating Party" is smiling at you – for you. You smile back. A Day at the Museum I wrote this story for someone. I would love feedback to see if anyone is interested in me continuing the story. Thanks for the feedback! * It had been years since I had last been to Montreal. It has been one of my favorite cities since the first time I visited it more than 20 years ago. I had stayed away too long, and missed this beautiful city. It was July, and the weather was beautiful. The natives were complaining about the heat, but as a life-long resident of Florida, I was used to much worse. One of the first places I visited was the Musee des Beaux-Arts de Montreal. As an art lover, this was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon; I could slowly stroll through the galleries, take in the art, and just relax. As I wandered through the museum, I came across a stunning sculpture, Et toujours!! Et jamais!! (Forever and Never), by the French artist Pierre Eugene Emile Hebert. A robed skeleton is depicted rising from the grave, embracing a beautiful, young nude woman. The piece is an erotic work of beauty, as the skeleton has his right hand on the woman's thigh, his left hand wrapped around her just below her breast, and their heads nearly touching, as if the two were about to kiss. I circled the piece several times, enjoying it from all angles. That is the one thing I love about sculpture. Unlike a painting, which you view from one position, you have to take in different angles and views of a sculpture to take it all in and truly see it as a whole. If you merely look at the sculpture from the front, you miss so much of the work. As I circled the piece a final time, I noticed an attractive young woman about 10 feet away holding a large sketch pad staring intently at the piece. She had pretty auburn hair and a serious look on her face. The sketch pad was hiding her from the waist up, but from the waist down it revealed a lovely pair of legs, in a green skirt that ended just above her knees. Her legs were beautifully pale. I quickly followed her legs down to find her feet in a simple pair of sandals. I walked by her nonchalantly as if to view a piece of art a few feet behind her, but my primary motive was to see what she was hiding behind her sketch pad. As I walked by, I quickly glanced over and found a thin frame wrapped in a patterned shirt that buttoned up the front. Her breasts were not large, but that's okay, as I never was a fan of big breasts. As I passed her, I turned to check out her ass, and was rewarded with a view of an ass that could be framed and displayed very easily in any museum. I stood behind her and continued to check her out. She appeared to be at least 10 years younger than me, but again there was nothing wrong with that. She was so occupied with her sketch pad she didn't notice me staring over her shoulder as she busily sketched, then erased, and then sketched again. This young lady had true talent. I continued to watch her for several minutes. As I looked over her shoulder, I inhaled deeply; she smelled delicious. Whether it was her shampoo or her perfume, I was uncertain. All I know was that I was entranced. After a few more minutes, I finally said, "That is beautiful. You are really quite good." I must have startled her, for she jumped and said "Excuse moi?" "I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you, and I am sorry, but my French is very bad." "It's okay, and thank you. " Her accented English pulled me further in. I pointed to her pad and asked, "How long have you been drawing? You are really very talented." She smiled modestly, and said she had been doing some kind of art most of her life. We briefly discussed the sculpture we had both been admiring, and I finally asked her if she would like to join me for a coffee in the museum's cafeteria. "By the way, I'm Troy." She reached out her smudged hand, "Lise." "It's a pleasure to meet you Lise." After picking up our coffees and finding a table, we started talking about the sculpture again, which lead to a discussion about other artists and art in general. It turned out that we both admired some of the same artists. I asked her if she liked the artist Sir Edward Burne-Jones, and she replied that she did. "Let's go then. I have something I want to show you." "I'm not sure if I should" "Don't worry, you can trust me. I want to take you to church," I said. "What?" "Just come on, I promise you won't regret it." She sheepishly agreed and followed me out of the museum. We took a short walk down Rue Sherbrooke and stopped in front of the Church of St. Andrew and St. Paul. "Here we are," I said. "And, why exactly are we here?" she asked. "You'll see," I said, as I placed my arm around her waist and led her up the steps and through the church door. The place was empty, cool, and silent. As we entered, we were greeted by a member of the church staff, who asked if she could help us. "My friend and I wanted to view some of your stained glass windows. I hope it is not too much trouble," I replied. "No sir, not at all. However, we will be locking the church up for the night in about 15 minutes." "Thank you," I said. "That will be fine." I guided Lise to a small chapel at the front of the church. Before we walked in, I asked her to close her eyes. "Why," she asked? "I want to surprise you." Reluctantly she closed her eyes, and I led her into the chapel and sat us down in the front pew. "Can I open my eyes now?" "Not yet. I want to tell you why I brought you here. The very first time I came to Montreal, I wandered into this church, after leaving the museum, just like today. I love architecture and wanted to see the inside of the church. I was walking around admiring the stained glass, when I found this. I had no idea it was here and was amazed at how lucky I was to stumble upon it. It's something I think you might enjoy seeing. You can open your eyes now." She opened her eyes and found herself in front of a stained glass window designed by Edward Burne-Jones. She gasped and then giggled with delight. "I didn't know this was here." "Hardly anyone does. As I said I found it quite by accident." We sat silently admiring the window together. I reached out and placed my hand on her exposed knee.; she covered it with hers. After a few more minutes, I said, "We probably should get out of here. It looks like they are ready to lock up." As we stood up, she reached out and took my hand. I thanked the woman who had let us in, and made a small donation to the church before leaving. A Day at the Museum I've previously shared something extraordinary I witnessed during a charity gala held at the museum at which I hold a very high position of authority. One of the gala attendees, who happens to be one of the most glamorous, lovely, and famous women in America, upon encountering a long queue at the ladies room, slipped out of the party and into an area of the museum that had been designated off limits. I followed her, and still can't believe what I saw. This elegant beauty, believing herself to be completely alone, deliberately urinated on the floor of the institution, in a gallery filled with priceless paintings and antiquities. I caught up with her as she made her way back to the party. While subtly implying that I had seen what she did, I offered to give her a private tour of the museum. I had found something deeply exciting in what I witnessed, and wanted to share that excitement with her, while letting her know that her secret was safe. Honestly, I expected that to be the end of things. Although a treasured memory, the incident slipped from the forefront of my mind as time marched on. Several months later, my office phone rang and I found myself speaking to a woman whose voice I did not recognize. To my surprise, it was the actress herself! She apologized for not reaching out sooner, but explained she had been filming on location out of the country but she wanted an opportunity to take me up on my generous offer. I told her it was quite all right, and that frankly, I had never expected to hear from her again at all. I was also surprised that she had called me directly as I frequently deal with the wealthy and powerful, and often only ever speak to agents, assistants, or other intermediaries. But with her, there was none of that. She told me that she had enjoyed visiting our museum in the past, and also informed me that she had an intense interest in the arts. Had she not gone into modeling and acting, she would have studied art history in college. She maintained an interest in the subject and read up on it in her downtime. Not to dwell on the procedural details, but she wanted everything kept low key and informal. We arranged for her to come to museum on a Sunday afternoon because the museum would be closed to the public and few additional staff would be present. She arrived at the scheduled time wearing a sleeveless dark gray top over a long thin white skirt with black stripes. The skirt was cut with slits that ran from her ankles to a few inches above her knees, offering me a pleasing glimpse of her tan and well-toned legs. She appeared comfortable and fashionable, though I'm sure with her elfin face and curvaceous body she'd appear resplendent no matter what she wore. Her hair, blonde last time I had seen her, was now dark brown. She looked perhaps more lovely as a brunette. Over the next few hours, I led her on a guided tour of our galleries, showing her the highlights that everyone who visits wants to see, as well as some lesser-known but quite interesting pieces. Near the end of the tour, we found ourselves back in Gallery 15, home to works by 16th century Italian and Spanish masters (as well as a very happy memory). The last time I had seen her in this place, she had drawn up the hem of her evening gown, squat down, and sent an amber stream of pee cascading down to wood and granite floor. I have no way of knowing what she was thinking, but her demeanor betrayed no malice, mischief, or intoxication. When the need arose, it was as though she simply felt entitled to pee wherever she pleased. Despite standing in the very room she had, depending on one's point of view, desecrated or consecrated with that golden surge from between her legs, I made no mention of the events from that night. If she thought about them at all, her body language betrayed nothing. As the tour wound toward its conclusion, I mentioned that only a small fraction of the museum's collection was on display. She became excited at the topic of curation, and asked if she could see some of the 'behind the scenes' workings of the museum. Since she was so keenly interested, I agreed to show her more. Who wouldn't want to spend more time with such a delightful woman? We started with the preservation and restoration areas. Now, this story isn't about museum management and operations, so I'll skip the details. But, suffice to say, I was impressed by her knowledge of art and her intellectual curiosity. Having seen the galleries, the workshops, and the back offices, I offered to take her down to the archive, if she wanted to see it. The archive holds a significant percentage of the collection. Pieces that are not on permanent display rotated are in and out as necessary. Keeping the collection organized, orderly, and safe is important work. Short our educational mission; it is perhaps the institution's most important task. For that reason, access to the warehouse is not granted haphazardly. Few people even know its location. To get there requires summoning a rather ancient, slow freight elevator with a keycard and entry of a code, then riding down quite a long ways into the subterranean warehouse. Once we arrived, we beheld a vast storeroom full of great artistic and cultural treasures, although you wouldn't necessarily know it by looking at it. Rows and rows of metal shelves full of boxes occupied a great deal of the facility. Dozens of racks of narrow drawers lined one wall. Cases, trunks, chests, and pallets of materials clogged formed corridors through the vast space. Another section of the warehouse is dedicated to 15-foot long metal mesh panels running floor-to-ceiling. Paintings can be mounted on either side of the panels, which rest tightly packed roughly 18 inches apart. The individual panels travel on rails so it can be pulled out away from its neighbors, and a curator can easily access the pieces on it. All of these treasures are meticulously organized, catalogued, and retrievable to those select few who know the system, and know what they are looking for. I admit to perhaps showing off a bit, as one does around beautiful women who demonstrate interest in your field of expertise. As we walked around the premises, inspecting objects and artifacts I found significant and interesting, she stopped and asked if we could pause so she could use the restroom. Unfortunately, I told her, there were not any bathrooms in the warehouse. We would have to take the elevator back up to the museum and use facilities there. She stopped walking and sighed with frustration. I apologized again and promised we could come back if she wanted to explore the collection in the warehouse further. She let out an indignant sigh. "I don't want to have to ride up then ride back down. I can save us a lot of time and just go right here. I don't mind," she said as she pulled her skirt up. I could see the outline of a prominent mons pressing against the fabric of her pale blue panties as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband. "Wait!" I cried out. "Please, wait. People know I came down here. If anything is found, there will be an investigation." She raised her eyebrow, smiled and nodded. "Sure. Don't worry, I can be discreet with this." I started scanning the room for something that could serve as a viable receptacle - a bucket, an empty box, even some piece of ancient pottery. She, however, had other ideas. She coolly walked to the panels holding the archived paintings. In a blur of motion suggesting she was well practiced at the maneuver, she pulled her skirt up, panties down around her knees, and squat low on her haunches. She opened her legs and carefully aligned her pussy with the narrow gap between two of the panel walls. Suddenly, I was aware of the racing of my own heart. I was completely bewitched. I wanted to tell her to stop, but my mouth was dry and the words would not form. Within seconds, a stream of piss emerged and threaded the gap between panels with laser-like precision. Priceless masterworks and cultural treasures were mounted on the panels inches away liquid danger, but her aim was flawless. The urine landed noisily on the concrete floor a few feet beyond the edge of the panels, puddling out of sight. Once again, I found myself aghast and aroused. Relieving herself here, I found, had a provocative artistry of its own. A peeing woman is simultaneously incredibly vulnerable and incredibly powerful. She must expose the most intimate parts of her body to the world. Yet in that vulnerable state, she is exercising a kind of elemental power. To piss somewhere is to leave a mark. That mark can be discreet and ephemeral, or bold and irrevocable. Where, how, and why she chooses to leave that mark conveys a message and meaning. Is the mark made in an act of desperation, of convenience, for amusement, out of contempt, or even as a sign of affection? (Even using the toilet, at least in the West where we deliberately pollute clean water with our urine, then immediately replace it more fresh water could be interpreted as a demonstration of power over nature.) The tension between these elements of vulnerability and power, between intent and meaning, is what I find so compelling. I moved to get a closer look. Though she expertly targeted her steadily forceful stream between the panels, as the piss impacted with the unyielding concrete floor, it formed spatters that splashed against a painting mounted near the floor. In a panic, I raced to pull that panel forward, to move that priceless work out of the piss corona that threatened to destroy it. In doing so, I disrupted the young woman's concentration. She turned slightly to look at me, resulting in the painting receiving the full brunt of her crystalline deluge. My actions to rescue the artwork had guaranteed the item was now hopelessly vandalized. "Why did you do that? We're fucked now, aren't we?" she cried. She stood up, still with her skirt bunched up above her hips, panties now around her ankles. I looked at the painting, confirmed it was utterly ruined, and said "Maybe not." She looked at me quizzically, and I continued. "This piece is by Erich Dragenbach, who was a briefly a shining star and enfant terrible of the art world in the 1920s and 1930s. His work is rarely displayed anymore as modern audiences find that whatever merits can be found in his work, they no longer outweigh his rather aggressive misogyny and fascist sympathies. Few people think about him anymore. This painting could sit in this warehouse unobserved, the damage undiscovered for years," I said hopefully. She nodded. "Erich Dragenbach. He was an awful person from everything I've read, and not that great an artist." I nodded in agreement at her assessment. With that, she laughed mockingly as a short clear gush of piss jet out from her vagina and struck a neighboring Dragenbach canvas, which greedily absorbed the liquid. Another burst followed, thoroughly soaking the second canvas, ensuring it too would carry the stain of her wrathful piss. Finally, a weak spurt followed by several drops of pee falling straight down to the floor announced her bladder was thoroughly drained. She exhaled slowly, almost blisfully. "I wasn't quite done, and if what you say is right, what difference does it make now?" More softly she remarked, "Besides, I kind of always wanted to do that." She shrugged and pushed the panel back into its slot, once again hiding the evidence of her misdeed. "If you ever get tired of acting and modeling, you'll make a fine art critic," I smirked. She flashed a smile in return. I had seen that smile before in magazines and on the big screen, and I would never look at it the same way. Although a large pool of her urine lay cooling out of sight beneath the panel walls, drips and drops in the aisle needed to be cleaned up. I unbuttoned my collared shirt. "What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously. I explained that I was going to use it to mop up her mess. As soon as I removed the undershirt, she snatched it from my hand and used it to soak up the piss drops on her thighs, then wipe her vagina dry. She slapped the soiled garment back in my hand, and I finished cleaning up the visible mess. We returned to the ground floor, and the tour was over. She thanked me for a memorable experience, and I told her she was welcome to schedule another private tour any time she wished. A Day at the Museum The story below is entirely fictional, any resemblance with real persons or places is a coincidence. I would like to thank Dawn for editing my story and her time and effort invested in me. If you like this story and the others, please leave a comment! My getaway with Roxann had started off in a wonderful way, and we hadn't even gotten to our room yet. This was turning out to be a great weekend. Once the bellboy had set the bags in their place, he got his tip and shut the door, after taking a last good look at Roxann and enjoying the view. I walked over to the bed and collapsed on it, still winded after our little adventure in the elevator. Roxann got to her side of the bed and lay down next to me, resting her head on my chest, so my chin touched the top of her head, letting me smell her hair. She gave a contented sigh as she lay down on me. "Wow, what a way to start the weekend!" I said to her. "Oh yes," she agreed, "and we have 'till Sunday before we have to go back to reality." We lay like that for a while; and eventually Roxann casually draped a leg over mine. I gazed at her boot and panty-clad leg, lost in my thoughts... "Roxann?" "Hmm?" she purred, eyes half closed. "I was wondering..." "Yes, what about?" "Where did you get the idea for this outfit you are wearing?" "I don't think you want to know," she purred, tracing a line across my chest with her finger. "I really do, because you really hit the nail on the head with this. Please, tell me?" "I will tell you at the end of the weekend, if you still want to know by then. But for now, forget about it and just enjoy the ride I am offering you, Okay?" "But.." I started to protest, I was so curious. She raised herself up and laid her finger on my lips and shook her head. "Hey, remember what I said. Play by my rules and we are going to have a great weekend, otherwise I walk out of here right now!" She meant it; if I pushed further, I might end up ruining the weekend I was offered. "Okay, I get it. I won't ask again." I sulked a bit and lay silent for a while. Roxann laid her head back on my chest and gave a contented sigh. "Mmm. Listen, shouldn't we get ready for the museum visit soon, or are we just going to lie here all day?" I heard Roxann ask after a few minutes. "Well, the museum is, of course, interesting, but I can think of other things to do right now," I purred as I stroked her leg, with my hand disappearing under the hem of her dress. "Whoa, slow down there, stud," Roxann half joked as she stopped my hand from venturing further up her leg and brought it back down from under her dress but still on her leg, " You need some rest from the elevator, otherwise you will be useless this evening, if you catch my drift. No, let's get ready and do something outside the hotel for now. Deal?" "Sounds like a plan to me." I started to get up. She gestured for me to sit down again. "I want to take a shower first, and change into something else, for both our pleasure, of course. You lie still and don't get off the bed." She gave me a knowing, cheeky smile when she said that. I wouldn't argue with that smile! I lay back down on the bed again as Roxann walked over to a chair in the corner, and sat down, facing me. She then turned to the side, setting her long legs in front of her, laying her hands on her knees. She bent forward, letting her hands slide down the leather shaft of one boot, almost caressing it, all the way down to her ankle. She looked over at me, smiled seductively and let her hands slide up again, to the top edge of boot, ever so slowly. She was putting on a private show for me. I tried to get more comfortable on the bed as she continued. She took hold of the zip of one boot and started pulling the zipper down. There was not a sound in the room, beside the zip of the boot, going down, ever so slowly. The leather parted above the zip, falling to the sides, as the zip continued its travel downwards. I started to get hard as I listened to that sound of her zipper and enjoyed the image of Roxann leaning forward, half in the sunlight, undressing very slowly for me, teasing me, but ignoring me. Once the zip had reached the end of its journey, Roxann reached down and placed a hand on the back of the boot, above the ankle and slowly slid it off her foot, revealing her leg and foot. The pantyhose sheen on her calf was lovely to look at in the late morning sun, falling through the window, giving her leg a slight shimmer. Roxann laid the boot to the side and repeated the show with the other boot; first caressed her leather calf, then found the zip and slowly pulled it down. As she pulled off the other boot, I could hear the soft creaking of the leather and the purr of her pantyhose. Roxann stood up, fixed my gaze and slowly walked towards the centre of the room, almost feline, and faced me. She stopped and stood there for a moment, giving me that coy smile again. She put her hands on her neck, then slowly let them glide down, over her chest, over her breasts, down over her abdomen, down her hips, on to her legs. She walked towards the bed, letting her hands slide up her legs, taking the hem of her dress up just a bit, enough to show her thighs, but not enough to show the rip I made earlier. The pantyhose shimmered in the light, emphasizing her toned legs. I was having a hard time staying on the bed and not getting up to help her get undressed and into bed, she looked so gorgeous and hot! Her hands glided up further, letting the hem drop and found the knotted sash which kept the dress closed. She tugged on one end, slowly. The silk whispered as the knot was tugged free slowly. Finally the bow was released from the knot. As her hands went to the sash to pull it free, she turned her back to me. She looked over her shoulder, mouth partly open, as the sash fell away to her side, letting her wrap dress fall open. She then slowly walked to the shower, but halfway, shrugged the dress off her shoulders. It fell off her in a green silk cloud to the floor, revealing her toned back and red satin panties, covered by the pantyhose. I had made a neat hole earlier, the rip wasn't visible from the back. One final coy smile over her shoulder and she grabbed her toiletries from the edge of the TV-stand and closed the bathroom door. After a minute she opened the door again. She threw something at me, which landed in my lap...her red satin panties, moist and warm. I could smell her musky, hot wetness in the fabric. She was still looking around the door as I looked up again. She had a broad grin on her face, "Now, you lie there, no peeking in my suitcases, I will be with you in a little while. I promise I won't be long." She then closed the door and I could hear her start the shower. With nothing else to do but wait, I switched on the TV and flicked through the channels, desperate for something to take my mind of her and her show, unable to do anything for now to relieve myself. Finally I found something I liked and settled in, waiting for Roxann. It did not take long, just as she had promised. The door opened and the humid air wafted out into the room, scented with her shampoo and soap scent. Roxann appeared, dressed in the hotel robe, towel around her hair. She walked over to me and leaned forward, giving me a long kiss, enveloping me in her fresh-washed smell. "I hope I didn't make you wait too long", she said softly, gazing into my eyes. I drowned in her blue eyes again, she was so beautiful! At the same time, I peeked down her robe, spying the ever-so-sexy swell of her breasts from the edge of her robe. "Not at all, it is always worth the wait," I said. She smiled as I said that, then took the panties off the bed and walked over to her suitcase again. "Now you take a shower while I get ready for the museum." Roxann opened her suitcase as I got up. "Wait, one more thing," she said as she tossed something to me. Reacting instinctively, I caught what she threw me. I looked at what it was. "Electric clippers? Why?" "I want you to shave, " I looked at her puzzled, feeling my hair. Roxann shook her head. " No, not there, but THERE! " and she pointed at my crotch. "You want me to do what?" "Return the favour I did for you, so you are going to shave yourself. Remember, play along!" "Ok, I will, I have no idea how to do this though." "You'll figure it out, I am sure!" I got up off the bed, now used to her wishes and did as I was told, I knew it was worth it and was happy to play along. I took exactly 15 minutes, taking a very cold shower to cool down first, then I took the clippers in my hand. I took a hand mirror and set it before me and sat on the toilet seat. With some difficulty I managed to trim everything down to a stubble. Now came the tricky part, actually using the razor with a new blade to give my skin a silky smooth finish. First I lathered up, applying the foam generously. Then I started, slowly but surely, careful not to nick my skin anywhere. It took another half an hour before I was satisfied I had gotten everything. I rinsed and then admired my results in the mirror. It looked very strange and naked, seeing myself so bare like that. But, thinking of Roxann's shaved lips, and then imaging how my shaved member would look between those lips, I quickly warmed to the idea and had to stop there, before getting too worked up. I wanted to appear in control in front of her, but she actually had the reins firmly in her hands. I wrapped a towel around my waist and opened the door to the bedroom. As I walked in, Roxann was standing at the mirror, putting the final touches to her hair by the looks of it. She looked amazing in what she was wearing this time! She was proud of it, and rightly so, it was something completely different and yet still very sexy, but elegant and understated. She was wearing my favourite pair of tight dark blue denim jeans. They showed off her rear by their nice and tight fit, but with a wider boot leg cut at the bottom. She wore them together with a black satin long-sleeved blouse, combined with the same boots she was wearing this afternoon, under the jeans. She had her hair up in a high pony tail, showing off her long neck. She turned towards me, and as she walked to me, I stared at her blouse. It was deep black, nearly blue with long sleeves. The blouse had a tight fit, showing her profile very nicely. Her breasts were two separate bulges in the blouse. The buttons were done up to a modest height, you could just see the swell of her breasts starting to rise before the satin covers her skin. It fit her wonderfully, like a glove. A final touch was a little delicate silver necklace which rested on the rise of her collarbones and skimmed her cleavage. I loved her look! Her perfume rose in my nose as she approached me. I could feel her warmth as she inched closer to me whilst slowly walking around me, looking at my body, inspecting me almost. I could feel myself stiffen again, working against the towel around my waist. Once she was back in front of me, she laid her arms around my neck and kissed me, a long deep kiss, her tongue darting in my mouth. I slid my hands over the satin around her waist, pulling her towards me. Roxann pressed her body against mine, her satin blouse against my bare chest, my building erection rubbing against the towel and her body. I was just a bit disappointed to feel a bra-strap under the satin material. I love the idea of her breasts only covered by the satin, moving freely as she moves. "Well, hello there, you like this as well I think?" Roxann asked huskily. "Mmm, very much so.." I answered. "Let's see how much..," she said and slowly went on her knees, making sure her satin blouse touched my skin all the way down. Once on her knees, she removed my towel, and dropped it on the floor. She looked up and smiled, as she gently stroked the length of my erection with the tip of her finger. "You have shaved yourself nicely by the looks of it," she commended me as she let my erection glide through her hand and took my balls in her hand, stroking my skin everywhere. This was a first for me, having Roxann down below me, on her knees. I had never had a blow-job before, I thought I was going to get my first ever, the way she was looking at my erection and playing with it. I gave a small groan as she 'inspected' me. It was by far not enough to get me to orgasm, but it was more than enough to keep me hard and wanting more. Just when I thought I would have to take matters into my own hands, she kissed the tip of my erection and then stood up. "Now, I think that is enough foreplay, we will have plenty of time to finish that later. Get dressed, will you?" Just like that, she had stopped, gotten back up, walked over to her chair and sat down, knees crossed, looking at me, waiting for me to get going. I stood there for a moment, still with my erection going strong but nothing to do with it. I gave it a moment's thought, then caved in. "OK, I'll get my stuff." "Good, don't forget the camera when you are ready? " she said cheerfully. Ten minutes later, I was dressed, with some difficulty, and we were in the lobby downstairs. I had to give it to Roxann, she looked great! Her heels clicked over the floors as we went outside, heading towards the city centre. I so much loved her looks and her, for dressing the way she does, for me. She was enjoying it herself, not shy at all, confidently stepping with me. She locked her arm into mine as we walked, a bit slower as we entered the pedestrian area, looking around, enjoying the view as we neared the museum. We took some pictures of the local buildings, and enjoyed each other's company, feeling very much in love and happy. This part of the trip was my favourite part, visiting the warbird museum, besides spending time with Roxann, of course! It had every kind of plane from their early beginnings to the present. I love the planes from the Second World War; they look so sleek and sexy, yet deadly at the same time. Roxann wass not as passionate as I was about them, but she understood what they meant for me, and she was at least a bit interested in them. We had agreed to do something on each other's wish list. This afternoon was my turn, Saturday evening would be her turn. So we got to the entrance of the museum and went to the counter to buy the tickets. The crowd at the museum was mostly male; they had noticed our, or should I say, Roxann's arrival immediately. As she walked in, her heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing through the hall. Just like in the hotel lobby, Roxann knew she was being watched and loved it. I saw a man, who was standing at the toilet entrance, staring at Roxann, checking her out. His eyes swept quickly over her face, down her breasts, over her legs to her heels and back up, lingering on her rear. He then looked over at me, with a mix of envy that I had Roxann's arm locked inside mine and embarrassment that I had caught him out. "Was that guy at the toilets checking me out?" Roxann whispered in my ear, after we had passed him. "He sure was; I cannot blame him though, you look fabulous," I whispered back. "All yours babe, it's all yours, and not, " she turned around briefly, saw the man staring at her and blew him a kiss, laughed when she saw his embarrassed reaction as he quickly turned around, "that guy's. I am totally in love with you!" She then pecked me on the cheek. " Same here, I am so glad to have you as my girlfriend, I love you too!" I said as I slid my arm around her waist and squeezed her briefly as we walked to the counter. We got the tickets and walked in, I went straight to the Second World War section. Roxann was interested as we looked at the different planes, asking questions and listening intently as I answered. She even wandered off every now and then to look at something that interested her, before calling me over, taking my arm around her waist and then pointing at what she had seen. At least she was not totally bored by our visit, which was a relief. As we darted around, I enjoyed the sight of her, drinking in every detail of her body and clothing. As she sometimes bent forward to read a sign, I enjoyed the view of her rear sticking out. When she walked around, I liked the click of her heels on the marble floors; it gave her a certain powerful stature. We walked over to an engine which was cut in half, and stood on either side, facing each other, but looking at the engine. I glanced over every now and then, peeking at her blouse, looking at the swell of her breasts, seeing the necklace dangling down. It gave her a certain delicate, almost fragile look as she intently gazed at the engine's inner workings. I loved her; I was certain again as I saw her this way. She looked up and caught me staring at her breasts. She stared down her chest, then looked back up with a wicked smile. "You just cannot stop yourself!" she said. "No. Do I have to?" "Oh no, not for my sake, I enjoy it very much...let's make things a bit more interesting though. Wait here for me, I'll be right back." She stood up and headed off towards the main hall, leaving me behind. I saw the guy who was checking Roxann out earlier as well. He was lurking around nearby, at another exhibit, but not interested in what was in front of him at all. Since Roxann's path was crossing in front of him, he had all the time to check her out, without being noticed, or so he thought, as the sound of Roxann's clicking heels died away into the main hall. The guy looked to me as I could have become, if had not changed my life a year ago; clearly single, badly dressed in worn-down clothes with some dubious stains on his pants, hair not washed and probably not smelling all too fresh. A fine specimen of a nerd-turning-hermit. A couple of minutes later, I heard her heels come clicking back to me. I looked up to see that Mr. Hermit was already on the lookout, having shifted his position a bit to get a better view of her as she would walk in over to me. As I heard her heels round a corner, I saw Mr. Hermit's eyes nearly pop out. He just missed having his tongue roll out of his mouth like a cartoon character. I looked over to Roxann to see what he was so excited about. At first I didn't notice to be honest, as I saw Roxann walk over to me, with a triumphant look in her eyes, and holding something in her hand. As she came over to me, gave me a kiss on the cheek, she handed me what she was holding in her hand. "For you." I looked into my hand at what I was holding exactly. As I opened my closed fingers, a familiar bra strap fell out. I immediately closed my hand and looked at Roxann, who was now positively beaming with slightly rosy cheeks. She even pumped out her chest a bit, to show me what she had done. Now, clearly visible to me, was the difference between her wearing a bra and not wearing a bra in that satin blouse. They were both pressing against the tight fabric, the outline of the entire breast clearly visible, not just a swell of breast, but every detail. The blouse could just as well have been painted on. A pebble was sitting on top of each breast, sticking out a fraction. I felt my crotch stirring as I drank in that sight of her, surprising me totally and doing this for me. "Roxann, I ....you, I mean..." "I thought I could use some breathing space, and," she leaned forward and whispered in my ear, tickling the hairs in my neck as she spoke, "this makes me feel really sexy. The satin sliding over my nipples makes them hard." The stirring in my crotch was becoming an erection now, I had difficulty looking normal as the rest of the visitors milled past the exhibits. Mr. Hermit was still staring at Roxann, with a look I was probably wearing on my face as well. A Day at the Museum "Come on, let's get going, people are staring at you! I think we should look over there." Roxann pushed me forward, slowly taking us to a corner where a large bomber was standing. I could not take my eyes off her breasts as we went there. The bomber was in front of some floor-to-ceiling posters, concealing the hanger wall. As we milled around the bomber, I noticed mr Hermit had followed us at a distance. We circled around the bomber, getting to the tail area, where we were mostly hidden from the rest of the visitors. Roxann obviously had planned this, as she then stopped me and bit my ear softly as she pressed her body against mine. "Oh, hello, do I feel your control column, or are you just happy to see me?" she whispered huskily in my ear, placing my hands on her rear. "Roxann, I don't think this is a good time...ooohhh!" I exclaimed softly, as she let her hand glide over my erection, massaging it through my jeans. "I think you need to let off some steam, my love, you are not in a state to walk, are you?" "But, people can see us, I mean..." Roxann gently pulled me behind one of the posters, pushing me up against a wall. "There we go, nobody can see us now, can they? I told you, I was going to push your boundaries, here are two firsts for you.." Before I could even protest, she had undone my zip, belt buckle and button and revealed my erection. A small drop of fluid glistened on the tip of it. Roxann licked it off with the tip of her tongue, very slowly. "Mmmm...., you taste sweet," she murmured. She slowly got down on her knees. She teased me by rubbing it against the fabric of her blouse as she went down on her knees, letting it slide up, from her stomach to between her breasts, very slowly. Once my erection was at that height, she pressed them together with her hands, trapping my erection between her satin-covered breasts, gently moving up and down, letting my shaft travel the full length between her satin folds. The softness and warmness of her flesh, together with the slickness of the fabric, felt fantastic. I tried to control myself and not to move, although I actually wanted to start thrusting between her breasts till I reached my climax, this felt so wonderful! After a few moments of this massage, she released her breasts, which was a little disappointing for me. I now wanted more of her. I needed release! Roxann was not finished yet. She undid one sleeve, let the satin slide over her hand, covering her palm and then cupped my balls with that hand, playing with them for a moment, before letting that hand then slide up my shaft. She gripped it a bit more firmly and let the tip of my erection draw circles around her nipples. Her nipples were already hard, but her playing with herself with the help of my erection made them even harder. As she flicked one with my erection she shuddered with pleasure. After teasing her nipples a bit more with my erection, she looked up and settled down on the floor. She undid her other sleeve, covering her hand with the satin fabric the same way. With one hand she cupped my balls again, with the other she gripped my shaft, firmly this time and starting moving her fist up and down, massaging my hardness in her satin-clad fist. I tried not to moan, all too conscious that only a vinyl poster was between us and the rest of the hall. I looked over nervously, just as I thought about that poster, to make sure we were really alone. I thought I saw some movement from one of the posters at the far corner. But Roxann distracted me then, by placing her lips on the tip of my shaft. I bucked in her palm from the unexpected warmth coming from her mouth. As I looked down, I saw my erection slide in her mouth. This was really happening; she was giving me a real blowjob. I was in her mouth! I rolled my head back after a moment, closed my eyes and focused on the wonderful feeling of her mouth and tongue sucking on my shaft. I could feel her tongue slide around the rim, gently sucking every now and then, while she kept up her tempo of stroking my shaft with the satin. I noticed another twitch come from the poster, but I couldn't care anymore, I was too far gone. "Oh...Roxann, please, stop, I am... going to..." "Mmm-mm" she mumbled in denial, indicating she would keep going. The tremble of her voice added another thrill to the sensations I was feeling. I gently placed one hand on her head, feeling her head bobbing up and down, feeling her soft hair, so neatly done up for me. I could still hear the crowds in the hall, but they were far away, as I started to feel the familiar sensation in my balls. I noticed yet another twitch from the poster, and now I saw Mr. Hermit, peeking around the corner! I was too far gone, I should have stopped her, but she was so good to me, she had been winding me up since she stripped for me, I needed release! I started thrusting in her mouth, gently, but started to build up the pace. Roxann took that as a queue to intensify her stroking, playing with my balls at the same time. All together, it did not last long after that, I felt my orgasm thundering up, almost from my toes. I had a brief moment to wonder what she would do once I had ejected my semen, but that thought flitted by as I felt the first wave going up, and out, and into her mouth. Roxann did not flinch, instead kept on sucking, swallowing every drop that came out. She stopped stroking me, but gently teased me with the satin sleeve on my balls. As I shuddered to a halt, feeling spent, Roxann released me from her mouth, looking up at me, with a sensual smile. "How was your first blowjob, and sex in a public place?" "I..." "Oh, by the way, I think that that other guy enjoyed a good show too." "What, you knew? Why didn't you stop?!" "Because it turns me on even more, if a guy sees something he cannot have. I like the idea of being caught," she said casually as she did up my trousers. I could not believe my ears, and at the same time, I could. This was Roxann after all. She had done this before; she is far more adventurous than me. Am I becoming more adventurous as well? I sure did not complain anyway; I kind of liked the feeling! "Right, ready to go, lover of mine?" And just like that, after my first blowjob, we walked out from behind the posters. Mr. Hermit was still there. Roxann took me in her arm and walked to the exit, which happened to pass very close to Mr. Hermit. As we walked past, Roxann looked at him. "I hope you enjoyed the show!" She winked and blew him a kiss, before pulling me closer, laughing as we left the museum..... A Day at the Museum Before I met Kat, I never viewed museums as sexual. Now I can't walk into one without getting an erection. It was a simple enough place, a small two story house of historical significance, run by a small foundation. I was just killing time. I had a meeting in a few hours and nothing to do in the meantime. I was walking the streets and noticed the museum. It was only five dollars, so I decided to go in and look around. It was nothing special. At first. Nobody else was around, so the tour guide took her time, letting me look around and enjoy the rooms as long as I liked. She also didn't seem to mind me enjoying her low-cut period dress. Somehow, every question required her to bend over right in front of me. She was picking things up, pointing things out. Always close. Always bent forward. I could see right down her dress. I could almost see her nipples. I could see her watching me watching her. It was clear that she was enjoying my reaction. It would have ended there. It almost did end there. I finished the tour, thanked her and, as I started to walk out, she put her hand on my arm. "Please. Come again." She put just a little extra emphasis on "come". Anyone who overheard her would think nothing of it, but the way she squeezed my arm at the same time made it clear what she was implying. I paused. Looked at her for a moment. "Will you be here to guide me?" "I just might be. I work every Tuesday." She laughed. She licked her lips. A toss of her head. "I'm here right now." Her hand was still on my arm. Never breaking eye contact, her other hand slipped up to her neck. She began to caress herself, just above her collarbone. You know the spot. The invitation was unmistakable. She began to breathe a little harder as she gazed up at me. I allowed the moment to stretch. Finally, I let my eyes fall to her neck, then down to her cleavage. She noticed and let her hand follow. She began lightly stroking her upper breasts with her fingertips. First one, then the other. Drawing little circles that captivated me. I moved closer to her, my right arm naturally finding her waist. She smiled slightly as she melted into me. Watching my face intently, her fingertips dipped under her dress, then out again. Deeper with each repetition. The show was spellbinding. I felt when she first touched her nipple. It was almost as if an electric spark jumped between us. I pulled her body closer to mine. Hers eyes began to glaze over a little as she touched herself. She was keeping her hand in her dress now, on her nipple. I could see her teasing herself lightly, then pinching and pulling. As she began to squeeze her breast, I lowered my hand to her ass. Even through the skirt, crinoline, and god knows what historically accurate panties she was wearing, I could feel how tight and firm her ass was. I slipped around behind her, taking her hand out of her dress. "Isn't that my job?" She giggled in agreement. I reached over her shoulder, put my hand inside her dress, and began to tease her nipple. She was soft but firm. Peeking a little, I could see her hard nipple as I worked it. I found the same rhythm she had been using. A little caressing, stroking, and then a pinch, a pull. Caress some more. Squeeze the entire breast. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Her head fell back against my chest, her breath quickening. Her eyes closed. Through the front window I saw a car pass on the street outside. With a start I remembered we were standing in the foyer of a house, a public museum. I began to back away, but she followed me, keeping our bodies close. I glanced around, watching the door, looking for her coworkers. Looking for other patrons. I was losing focus on her. This was not a great place to be having an encounter. Her eyes flow open as she apparently came to the same realization. "Don't worry," she laughed. "There's nobody else here today. My boss called in sick and you're the only visitor." She took my hand and led me up the stairs into a short hallway. "Nobody can surprise us here!" Turning, she leaned back against me. She placed my hand back inside her dress. Her breast was just as warm and inviting as before. "I think you were working right there." I had been. I continued. She responded, her body tensing, flexing in time with my fingers. I began to kiss her neck, my other hand across her belly, supporting her. She was shuddering, grinding back against me. I had to lean against the wall to keep my balance. Suddenly, she lifted her skirt. All the way up to my left hand. "Hold it there," she whispered. I did as I was told. She opened her legs a little wider, and began to stroke her thighs. I was kissing, biting her neck. "You can't leave marks!" She seemed seriously concerned about that, so I lightened up the biting, used my tongue to probe the sensitive points of her neck and shoulders instead. Still caressing, pinching, and squeezing her nipple and breast. I glanced across the hallway, understanding her intention in bringing me here. Yes, this hallway was quiet. Yes, it was secluded. Yes, it provided privacy. There was also a full length mirror on the opposite wall. I tried to focus on what her fingers were doing. No "historically accurate panties". In fact, no panties at all. And she was shaved. So much for historical accuracy. With a little manipulation of the skirt in my left hand, I was able to watch as she pleasured herself. Her ass was pressing against my stiff cock as she moved to the tempo of her fingers. I pinched her nipple hard and got a little squeak in response. She threw her head back and moaned, "More! More!" That seemed to be the full extent of her vocabulary as I used her sensitive breasts to heighten the pleasure she was giving to herself. She was alternating between stroking her clit with her middle finger and sliding her first two fingers inside herself. I squeezed, pinched, stroked along with her, every pinch a little harder than the last. I was looking for her limits, but I never found them. With each pinch she just moaned again. "More! More!" Her body was bucking, almost spasming, as she approached orgasm. Her eyes were tightly shut and she panted, gasping with every breath. I unbuttoned her dress and fully exposed her breasts. This was for my pleasure. She didn't even notice. They were lovely. The whole scenario was lovely. I kept her dress up and out of her way, out of my way too. She was spreading her legs wider and wider, showing more of her lovely pussy, driving her fingers deeper and deeper into herself. No longer stroking her clit, she was fucking herself. Fucking herself for me. Her eyes flew open. Her body clenched as she threw herself back against me. Her fingers were fully embedded inside her and she was pressing them hard, trying to get them deeper inside herself. She held this pose for a long moment, then shuddered as the orgasm took her. I had to hold her up as her body spasmed again and again. Her legs seemed incapable of supporting her weight any more. After a few seconds, she straightened and sought my eyes in the mirror. I let her skirt drop, then led her to a small bench in the hallway. As she sat, I knelt before her, lifting her dress and spreading her legs. Her eyes were barely focused on me, but she reached down and opened her pussy for me to see. After a moment, she noticed that her breasts were exposed. She giggled. "When did that happen?" As an answer,I leaned in and gave her sweet clit a kiss. I used a little tongue, but only a little. I got a gasp, then a moan for my trouble. A tiny thrust of her hips to sweeten the deal. I stopped. Stood. Took her hands in mine. "What's your name, sweetheart?" She looked at me blankly for a moment. "I'm Kat." "Well, Kat, I have a meeting that I can't miss. I'll see you next Tuesday." With that, I turned and walked away, leaving her wet and gasping for breath. I did go back the next Tuesday, but that's another story.