1 comments/  44488 views/  24 favorites

Naked

By: Ashson



A little while ago my daughter, Nancy, invited a friend to stay at our place for a few days. It seems that Chantelle's parents had gone away for the week and Chantelle was just a little nervous about staying home alone.

Chantelle was quite a pretty young woman. Around nineteen, I think. I knew she was several months older than Nancy, who was nearly nineteen. As far as I could tell she was just your average young woman. Nicely stacked. (Very nicely stacked in my opinion.) Average intelligence. She had a job and she didn't smoke, dope, or drink to excess. As far as I was concerned that was all you could really ask for.

Now when I say she was of average intelligence, she was, but she was also a trifle scatter-brained. You know the type of person. They could do something extremely well, if it occurred to them that they should be doing it. She'd get in the car and then wonder where her keys were. Generally in the house, because she forgot to get them.

Where my work is concerned I can, and sometimes do, work from home. On Friday I didn't have anything of importance scheduled so decided to stay home and do the bits and pieces I needed to get done via the 'net. I waved Nancy off to work smiling as I sat back to enjoy another cup of coffee. Chantelle, I was given to understand, was on an evening shift and hadn't yet arisen.

I retired to my home office and got to work, cleaning up most of what I had to do in short order. About ten I decided that a break was in order and wandered into the kitchen to make some more coffee. As I wandered down the hallway I could hear the shower running and assumed that Chantelle had finally woken up and was getting ready for the day.

I made the coffee, making extra in case Chantelle wanted some, and sat at the table drinking it. While I was drinking it Chantelle wandered in, busy tying her hair up in a towel. It promptly occurred to me that I'd left out a couple of items in my description.

Chantelle was a natural blonde who preferred a small landing strip, if you know what I mean. Also, she didn't need a bra to support her lovely breasts. 

Apart from the towel that she was winding around her hair Chantelle was stark naked. Wonderfully naked, I thought. Also very unselfconsciously naked. It didn't even seem to occur to her that she was naked. She saw me, smiled and said hi and asked if there was extra coffee. When I assured her that there was she grabbed a mug and poured herself some.

At first I wondered if she was deliberately coming on to me, but her attitude didn't reflect it. She was as natural as though she was fully dressed. Then the idiocy of the situation hit me. She'd forgotten that she was naked. She'd wandered out of the bathroom to the kitchen to grab some coffee. Seeing me she'd naturally said hullo, completely forgetting her lack of attire.

I sat back, enjoying the view and my coffee, wondering when it would dawn on her that she hadn't got dressed. Chantelle put her mug down on the table and pulled out a chair and sat. The feel of her bare bottom on the cold chair got through to her. She glanced down at herself and then at me, a horrified look on her face. Her bright red face.

"Ah, you've noticed, have you," I said casually. "You might as well relax and enjoy your coffee. I've already seen everything."

Chantelle was just looking totally mortified. She opened her mouth but it was plain that she didn't know what to say. She had an arm across her breasts in self-defence, but if she got up to run away she'd be flashing me all over again.

"Relax, woman," I said soothingly. "You have nothing that other women don't have, and what you do have is very nicely arranged. Just drink your coffee."

"Ah, I didn't, um, I mean I, ah," she mumbled.

"I assume that what you're trying to say is that you completely forgot your lack of clothing. Don't worry. I didn't think for a moment that you were blatantly coming on to me. Well, to be honest, I did, but I quickly decided that no, you wouldn't do that. It just slipped your mind because you didn't think that I'd be here."

Just like it slipped her mind that she had a towel wrapped around her hair that could easily be wrapped around her body. I chose not to mention that little detail.

"Just drink your coffee. You look like you need it. I'll be out of here soon."

Chantelle did just that taking a hearty mouthful, and then wishing she hadn't because it was too hot. I had another lovely view of a nice pair of breasts bouncing up and down as she tried to fan her mouth. Then her arm snapped back down to cover her breasts, her face regaining its bright red colour.

She glared at me when she saw I was laughing at her.

"A gentleman would leave the room and give me a chance to go and get dressed," she said.

"Really? Now that would be silly of them," I observed. "I'd much rather sit here and watch the show."

She had some more coffee, drinking it a bit more carefully. 

"Why didn't you let me know when I first walked in?" she demanded. "I could have turned and got out of here fast."

"A couple of reasons, actually. At first I thought you might be coming on to me, and I didn't mind that at all. Then I decided that although you probably weren't coming on to me, you were still a very attractive bundle and I was enjoying looking at you. I also decided that whether you were coming on to me or not didn't matter. I was going to bend you over the table before you left the kitchen anyway."

"What?" she exclaimed, looking scandalized. "You can't say things like that."

"Why on earth not? If I'm going to be doing it, why can't I say it?"

"For a start because you're not going to be doing it. I don't do things like that."

"You're a virgin?" I asked, sounding surprised. If she was, I was an eunuch.

"I didn't say that," she muttered, "and it's none of your business anyway."

"It most definitely is if I'm going to bend you over the table, but I'm assuming from your reply that you're not. In which case that means that you do do things like that."

"Maybe, but not with you."

"Yes, with me. Don't worry, I'll enjoy it."

She looked slightly taken aback at that.

"Aren't you supposed to be assuring me that I'll enjoy it?" she asked.

"But I can't guarantee that," I pointed out, "and you wouldn't want me to lie and then disappoint you. No, I'll just give it my best shot and we'll see how things go."

"We won't, you know?" she muttered. "What are you going to do? Force me?"

"Don't be silly," I chided her. "I'm going to reply on your memory."

She was looking confused again.

"What had my memory to do with it?" she demanded.

"Well you know you have a terrible one. You're always forgetting things. I figure that once you're safely bent over the table you'll forget that it's me behind you and think it's your boyfriend, or if you remember it's me, you'll forget to tell me to stop."

"You're mad. My memory isn't that bad."

"Not bad, so much as you tend to overlook the obvious. I'll show you what I mean."

I got up and moved around the table to stand next to her. Taking her elbow I tugged and she rose reluctantly to her feet, turning away from me to hide her figure. That was fine by me, it meant she was facing the table. A little pressure on the small of her back had her leaning against the table with her hands on it to brace herself.

"You see," I murmured, sliding my hand down her back and over her bottom. "You forgot you weren't going to bend over the table, but here you are."

My hand slid further down, following the natural curve of her bottom and continuing on to some of her other interesting curves. Now my hand was rubbing rhythmically against her mound.

"I had to face the table," she muttered. "It was that or show everything I've got."

"But I've already seen what you've got and now I'm going to feel it," I murmured. "You could have used the towel in your hair to wrap around yourself."

Chantelle started and said a rude word as she finally remembered she had that towel. I ignored it, continuing my gentle massage. She was squirming slightly, but not resisting. There's something about being naked that weakens a woman's resistance.

I brought my hand back up over her bottom, both hands reaching around to capture her breasts. I stroked these gently, rubbing her nipples, feeling them pucker and stand firm. My hands dropped again, running down her sides, over her bottom and meeting at her mound, pressing it lightly from either side.

I sank down onto a knee behind her. A little outwards pressure eased her lips apart and my tongue darted inside her, running along her inner lips. She gave a little shriek and seemed to just freeze in place.

"Y-you can't do that," she said in a half groan. 

It was unfortunate that she said that because I'd just eased her legs further apart. No sooner had she said that than my tongue speared towards the junction where her inner lips came together. I brushed against her clitoris and she screamed.

"Oh, my god, don't do that," she wailed.

"What, this?" I asked, repeating the action with a lighter touch.

"Yes, that," she gasped.

"Is that yes, do it again, or yes, don't do it," I asked.

"Don't do it. You know what I mean."

Now my hands were back in action, massaging her mound. Fingers dipped into her cleft, teasing internally, especially in the area around her clitoris while she writhed, wanting me to touch and praying I wouldn't.

She appeared to have forgotten that she wasn't going to permit this sort of activity. Time to take advantage before she remembered. I unzipped and let out my erection. It was eager to come, hot to trot, as they say. I slipped myself between her legs, my erection rearing up to press firmly along her slit. She knew precisely what was there.

"Oh my god," she muttered. "You're really going to do it, aren't you? Oh my god." 

I eased her lips further apart, letting the head of my erection nestle between them. Leaving it there I reached around her to capture her breasts again. I started lightly massaging her breasts and teasing the nipples. At the same time I gradually increased the pressure of my cock against her.

I wasn't in the right place to actually enter her and I knew it. I pressed against her anyway. After a moment she gave a little hiss of frustration and adjusted the way she was standing. The next time I pressed I slid smoothly in. 

I didn't stop. Now that I was moving into her I pressed forward firmly, driving fully home with that first firm thrust. Then I stopped, holding myself deep inside her.

What do you do the first time you're taking a woman? You don't know what she likes or doesn't like. Your best bet is to just take your own fun and hope it rubs off on her. That's what I did.

I started off slowly, sliding back and forth, waiting until Chantelle was ready to start moving with me. It didn't take long. I'd barely started when I felt her responding, pushing willingly back to accept me. That was good enough to me. I started to slowly increase the tempo of my movement.

My hands were on her breasts, soothing them, agitating them, stroking them, gently massaging. I rubbed and teased her nipples. 

At the same time I was driving into her hard, taking my pleasure from her. She was breathing heavily, almost gasping, pressing hard against me as I drove in. I wasn't hurrying. My thrusts might have been nice and hard but I was taking my time delivering them. I was quite happy to keep going for as long as possible.

I pushed on. After a while Chantelle was starting to babble a little, asking me to speed things up. I chose not to. I was enjoying what I was doing and saw no reason to hurry it up. I kept on at the steady rate I was applying, enjoying the rasp of flesh against flesh.

Chantelle was starting to writhe, twisting under me, even though she was still responding, pushing hard against me as I thrust firmly into her. She was moaning and pleading, and finally I started driving in harder.

I was breathing hard myself, working hard as I was to take my pleasure. I pushed faster and faster, the sensations building higher and higher. Chantelle was making incoherent little noises now, squeaking and pleading. I was driving harder than ever, ready, past ready, to explode.

Then I was ejaculating hard, shuddering as I spent myself inside her. I was gratified to see that Chantelle was shuddering and crying out, shaking under the force of her own climax.

I disengaged and sat down, pulling her down onto my lap, holding her there and gently stoking her breasts while she recovered. She finally stirred and sat up straighter.

"I said I don't do things like that," she groaned.

"Yes, I heard you. I also pointed out that you do and you did. You won't need to worry about doing it like that again. You can just come to my bed each night."

"I am not coming to your bed tonight," she snapped.

I leaned forward and kissed her breast, rolling her nipple around with my tongue. 

"We'll see," I said.

Naked



How do these things happen? You have to wonder.

Day One: Afternoon, early summer, black thunderclouds looming, rolling in slowly, low overhead from the east out in the Atlantic. Sunlight gone, sparkling turquoise waves turning black. The breeze suddenly a blustery wind, ruffling the canvas of the beach umbrella, spitting sand grains in our faces as she and I huddle in beach chairs. The weather is closing in. We put our books down.

Hundreds up and down the beach have fled already, coolers and umbrellas hefted up to hotels and cottages a few hundred feet back. Our own beach rental cottage is a good 45 minutes away. We had driven down to Avon to catch this better beach.

"Let's get up to the car and head back," I tell her. We've got maybe 20 minutes before it hits. At the car, she decides we should wash off the sand at the outdoor public shower just off the parking lot. We've got time, she says. It's a single, closet-sized stall with wooden planks for walls. There is but one shower and a young couple are already waiting their turn. We push our luck and join them.

They go in right before us, taking their clothes and bars of soap. Talk about prepared. Within minutes the line behind us grows, with maybe a half dozen people now waiting. The couple come out.Now it's our turn. "Go ahead," I say to her. She goes in. About to close the door.

"Can't you and your boyfriend shower together?" someone behind us in line says to her in a loud voice. "It would help out." We all look back at the black clouds.

Still standing in the door, she looks at me. I look at her. "Well, come on boyfriend," she says. "We'd better hurry." She takes my hand, pulls me in and latches the door. I realize there is no roof. The shower is open above. 

"You okay with this?" she asks. 

"Am I okay? Really?," I say with quiet sarcasm. "I guess I am. Aside from the fact that I somehow can't remember the last time I took a shower with my mother."

Our voices are low. Even in here, the line of people outside is no more than 10 feet away. She turns on the shower. "It will expedite matters, Michael. Everyone's in a hurry. It just makes sense."

Before I can collect any thoughts, she turns her back to me, steps under the shower head, lets the cool water spray over her. Some of it hits me. The coolness of it feels remarkably good. It has been hot on the beach all day. She shakes her hair, looks up, lets her face get the full force of the water, and slowly, deliberately slips one strap of the black one-piece off her shoulder, then the next strap, letting the suit fall to her waist. 

I am two feet behind her, standing still, unable to move. Shower mist wetting my face and eyes. It's a nervous moment. Jitteriness overtaking my stomach, anxiety creeping in. I don't know how I feel about this.

Now she's sliding her fingers underneath the edge of the spandex at her waist. She pushes her swimsuit down. From behind, I see the beginnings of the dark cleft between her buttocks. She slips the suit farther, over her hips, slowly past her thighs, bends down to push it past her knees until her swimsuit falls freely to the floor. 

With her back still to me, she glances over her shoulder. "Are you going to take a shower, Michael? Or are you just going to ogle me?" she says. "I'm 52. It should come as no surprise that I have wrinkles and age spots - if that's what you're thinking." She may be a little annoyed at my inaction. But I know she has no embarrassment. She is never embarrassed.

At this point, I have no choice, I suppose. I have to man up. So I strip off my swim shorts. Let them drop to the floor too.

A wrinkle or two, here and there, just slight ones, but her body otherwise is toned, healthy. And then there is the long slenderness of her. The long neck. Long slim fingers. Smooth shoulders. Unblemished back. A distinctive curve to her buttocks. Not a young girl's, but a woman's tail, longish and curving. And the recess between, which alone is bewitching. Things gone unnoticed by me until now. Of course, I've also never before seen her without any clothes on. Never wanted to, as best I can remember.

This woman, my mother, who I profess to know so well, has in an instant become a mystery to me. This can't be the same mother who helped with my science projects, who chauffeured me and my date to the movies before I learned to drive. The one whose dark and disappointing eyes saw the "C" on my report card for physics. That look alone prompted a course correction for me. My grades got better. Rapidly. No, I'm not looking at that woman. Someone else is standing exquisitely naked, her back to me, in this outdoor shower.

She turns, faces me. She's almost as tall as I am. Her narrow face. Narrow nose. Large tawny wide-set eyes, but calm, almost sleepy in their gaze. Skin virginally white. Her fingers splayed gently across and around her breasts, slowly brushing away the sand and water. Her breasts are not large, but neither is she. They are heavier than I would have thought. Sagging a little from their weight. For an instant, I think I see her massage each large brown nipple with her thumbs. Maybe not. A shadow is at the base of her abdomen. Pubic hair, vaguely visible in the mist. She is watching me watch her, so I can't stare down at it.

Whether it is the single thought of being naked with my mother, or just being naked with another person in a public shower - with people all around us - I do not know. Nonetheless, my penis starts growing, enlarging. I feel the blood rushing in as never before. Unwanted but uncontrollable. Engorging. Getting harder. Harder by the second. I pretend not to notice. Of all times, why does this have to happen to me now?

As she rinses more sand from her thick, chocolaty hair, her eyes lower, fastening on it. My hard penis. She makes no pretense. She is watching it as she washes her arms. Her eyes moving slowly on it, studying its length, its girth, skin texture. Watching it bob up and down in the shower spray. She says nothing. Yet I know she is measuring me with her eyes. An uneasy silence settles in, only the chatter of people outside and the sound of the shower spray raining down, bouncing off our bodies, plopping on the floor into puddles. She pulls me closer to her to let me wash myself under the showerhead. She backs up to give me room. 

Leaning in toward me a little, she dips her head under the falling water as I brush off my chest and stomach. It does not escape my attention that, with her now close enough that we are almost touching, once again she is taking note of my erection. Her eyes lowered, looking toward the concrete floor, to see better. And watching me stroke myself once, twice to get sand off. Watching me massage the sand out of my balls.I squeeze my insides, trying to keep from ejaculating in front of her. I'm 25. I should be able to do this. And luck is with me this time. 

We rinse our suits off quickly, get the sand out of the crotches, put them on awkwardly in front of each other. One by one, she lifts her legs to step into the swimsuit. My first real look at her pubic hair. Brown, not much of it. Sleek and tidy. She is aware that I am looking. We are dressed and she starts to open the door. Then stops. Looks me in the eyes straight on.

"I won't tell if you won't tell," she says. She unlocks the door.

* * * 

You can ascertain much about my mother, just from having watched her on the beach this day, before the storm made its presence. A certain poise, even when she was sitting, reading in the beach chair. More apparent as she walked, one slow deliberate step at a time, down the beach looking for sea shells to pass the time. She carries herself well, tall and willowy. She makes a good impression.

To some, she must seem of an indeterminate age, certainly to those coaxing us to shower together, thinking we're a couple. Self-assured and sociable enough to rise through the ranks in her corporate job, though it is said by some that she brings an arrogance to the table. One can forgive her for that, a trait born of self-confidence. She's smart and knows it, offers no apology. That's her work. At home, more quiet, introspective, a private person. But no less demanding. I had to get good grades. Had to work during summers. Had to be presentable at all times. Show good manners.

There are plenty of acquaintances and colleagues. A long list of contacts in her cell phone. With most of them, she leaves no sense of who she really is. Few are close to her - other than me and my father. And I'm not totally sure about him.

Since I was perhaps 14 or so, she has considered me her best friend. As teenagers, other boys shunned their mothers as uncool. Not me. I liked being seen with her. She cuts an imposing figure, not beautiful but certainly striking, eye-catching. Who doesn't like to be with those kind of people? We shared secrets, racked up adventures large and small, and I listened as she shared her wisdom. I grew to love being in the company of a woman like that. She treated me as an equal.

* * * 

"Well, that was a first for me," she says as we drive back in pelting rain toward our rental house upbeach.

"I guess," I say. "I mean how many mothers and grown sons can say they've taken a shower together." 

"I wasn't talking about that. No one's ever mistaken me for a young guy's girlfriend before. Now that was a first."

"I can tell you're flattered." 

She looks at me, smiles. "Think of this as just another one of our many adventures together. We'll remember it always." 

"That's my fear," I tell her.

From there we lapse into trading jokes about it. Then the inevitable silence that comes with long drives. I'm behind the wheel. She is lost in thought. Often, I have found myself trying to figure out what she's thinking. As for me, I know I can never erase this day. I can't help but wonder if, in those five minutes, all has changed for us - because of this one simple act of getting together and washing the sand off. Standing next to each other naked. I feel guilty that I enjoyed watching her nude. I shouldn't have allowed myself to get an erection right under her eyes. Uncertainty surrounds me. I feel unmoored. A sense that nothing will ever be quite the same. 

* * * 

This rustic, sea green clapboard cottage. Up on piles twelve feet high to catch the enduring, gentle sea breeze. Heavy closeable shutters constantly rattling on their hinges. Built in the early 1950s. Ceiling fans, an oceany decor of assorted lamps, chairs and a sofa, weatherworn and in a slapdash arrangement. Modest. Economical. Our home away from home each summer for a week. For as far back as I can remember. It bears a likeness to the hundreds of other homes lining this beach, each a few feet from the other.

In those early years we could afford no luxury. Which is why our family rented this same cottage. Living room, one bedroom and kitchen, all dark polished wood paneling on the inside, even the ceilings, giving the interior a distinctive feel of being perpetually in the shadows. My parents slept in the tiny bedroom on what was just barely a double bed. I claimed the living room sofa, or sometimes slept on the covered, screened-in front deck looking out over the night beach, better to hear the waves.

It was all absolutely close-quartered. Before bed we would migrate to the front deck to sit in wooden Adirondack chairs in the dark, feeling the salty breeze against our skin, following the far-off lights of ships at sea.

With time, their mutual incomes increased and we could afford better. Much better. But its very homeliness infatuated my mother. She adored the memories we'd already built here. Thus, each summer we have returned. My dad couldn't make the trip this summer. Just my mother and I for an abbreviated stay. That also meant we would sleep together on the double bed. Which was not an oddity. Over the years, we have slept side by side on occasion, at family gatherings and such.

On this first night back, I bring glasses of chardonnay, our wine of choice, out to the deck. For me this means khaki shorts and a bare chest since I'm feeling the twinges of a light sunburn. My mother comes out in panties and a short-waisted tee shirt. This, a woman always covered up. Always. Ever stylish, she is not one to need provocative dress. Yet, here she is in her panties. 

"I'm assuming you don't mind, since we've already crossed that bridge," she says as she sits down.

What can I tell her? I don't know how I feel about this.

"If you want me to put more on, I will," she says. I shake my head no.

We sit in silence a few minutes. A discomfort between us. An uneasiness.

"It's bothering you, isn't it."

"No. It's just different. Just different. That's all."

"You know, Michael. Now that you're no longer at home, some days I have off, I'll spend the whole day at home like this. You want in on another secret? Sometimes I even spend the day naked."

"My mother - the nudist." 

"Not hardly. I have no desire for people to watch me. And I have no inclination to play volleyball naked. This is for me. I relish the sense of being in my own skin. I feel more in touch with myself. There's a certain intimacy about it," she says.

"By the way, that's something I'd like to keep between you and me."

"Does Dad do it too?"

"Don't be silly. He would think it ridiculous. I don't do it when he's around. No. I'm by myself. Usually I sit naked and write poetry. Sometimes for hours." 

She sips wine, leans her head onto the back of the chair, resting, staring out at the dark waves breaking loudly across the shore.

"So I just thought, after this afternoon, you wouldn't mind. You've seen it all anyway."

"But you said it's something you do just by yourself?"

"It is private. Very private. And you're the only person in the world I would let into that part of my life," she tells me. "We're on the same page, you and I. I think I know that better than you do."

Sleep. We need it. The sun exhausts one's bones, dries out the skin, dehydrates. Did I mention there is but one bedroom? The breeze, though steady, still leaves the room warm. We push down the top sheet. She still in panties and tee shirt, me in boxers. Only a foot apart, yet there is no cuddling, no spooning, no touching. Just sleep.

Day Two: Dawn. My favorite time, if I can make myself rise early enough. We used to walk the beach before first light, a time when all is still silvery gray. Then the gulls glide about overhead as the sun peeks over the ocean out on the horizon. "Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted," As Oscar Wilde wrote, "and by degrees the forms and colors of things are restored to them." My mother would read those lines to me on cold winter evenings, nights we spent planning our next beach trip for the summer ahead.

On this morning, I open my eyes to see my still-sleeping mother, lying on her side, her back to me. Beyond her by just a few feet, the bedroom window and the ocean, little by little coming out of that darkness.

Nora. I'm lying here thinking a lot about Nora. That's her name. My mother's name, should you be interested. Such an enigma to me, all of the sudden. Walking around in panties. Telling me she likes to be nude. I thought I knew her. Maybe I don't. Maybe she's unknowable. I wonder what she was like at my age. During conversation, she reveals little of her own early years, preferring more challenging topics. "What are you passionate about, Michael?" she will ask. "What book are you reading now, Michael? Tell me about it." More than a few lunches have been spent discussing Austrian painter Gustav Klimt. She's endlessly fascinated by his technique and magnificent use of the color gold.

As I'm thinking this, an epiphany moment for me. Many of his paintings, those most known to us, are of beautiful turn-of-the-century women, titillating and suggestive portrayals. Many are nude. Some are women nude together. My mother, the lesbian? Or maybe bisexual? These are all new thoughts for me.

I look over at her. It takes a moment to register that her back is bare. Sometime in the night she had taken off that tee shirt. I can't blame her. It was a sweaty evening. My attention turns from the early sunlight to the smoothness, the creaminess of her back. Her shoulders toned, her waist still narrow after all these years. I study the curve of her hip as it flares out. Can see again the crease in her panties that separates her hips. And the faint scent of her skin fills my nostrils, a mixture of sea salt, coconut tanning lotion and perspiration. Her hair tousled from sleep, speckled with coming grayness, yet still lustrous. No longer young, she nonetheless exudes an eroticism I have never before imagined in her. In the space of one day, she has to my mind evolved from a mother to a flawless woman. It stirs me to arousal. She should have been on one of Klimt's canvases. I have never before sensed any of this.

These thoughts have little time to linger. She turns onto her back, eyes now open, meeting mine as I face her, now lying on my side. Her breasts, so perfect for her thin body, have flattened out. The nipples a dark brown, much larger than I would have imagined, knobby and hard, protruding from fairly wide areola. She catches my male gaze.

"Too much?" she asks as she covers each breast with the palms of her hands. "I guess I'm giving you a real show. Sorry."

I wish I had a witty rejoinder. It's just that I don't know how to answer some of these questions from her. She's quicker than me.

"You're staring at them," she says.

What can one expect when your mother is topless and lying one foot from you. And so I say what any guy my age would be thinking.

"Your nipples are so thick."

She looks down at them pensively. 

"Is that it? So I give you a private, free show and this is the best I'm going to get from you - my nipples are thick?" She laughs a little, probably at the situation. Mostly at the bumbling mouth of her socially inept son.

"Oh, they get bigger than this," she says, turning half-serious. She presses down on the areola of one breast with her index and middle finger. Holds it down and with the other hand uses her thumb and index finger to pull the nipple out. Then does it again with the other nipple. And I am close enough to make out the few bumps and cracks on her nipples. 

"See," she says. "I've always thought they were too big."

I summon some courage.

"They're not. Sit up for a moment. Will you?" 

I'm surprised that she acquiesces. She sits cross-legged, facing me. Her breasts fill out, sagging slightly from their weight. Her nipples even more pronounced. I can hardly see her face through her hair, tendrils everywhere falling in her eyes. She cups each breast with her hands. Leans down toward me just slightly. Holds them out to me for a better look.

"Is this what you wanted to see?" she asks, looking down at them again, caressing the underside of her breasts.

"That's all there is." she says, moving her hands to brush her hair back behind her ears. "Not a whole lot there." 

Yet I know from the way she is fondling her breasts that she likes them.

I just look.

"What are you thinking?" she asks.

"About how lucky Dad is to be with you. I never knew."

She lies down on her back, head on her pillow, folds her arms behind her head. Her breasts flattening out once again. This time she makes no move to cover them up. She's inviting me to look. Her nipples still rigid and tight. "Your father doesn't pay much attention any more. And I'm probably half as interested in him as he is with me."

It's best for me to remain silent on this, I hear myself thinking.

"Oh, he's a good guy, a really good guy and I like him a Hell of a lot," she says. "But, you know, some marriages eventually run their course. Over the years they become more of a partnership. It just happens."




Naked



Is she unhappy?

"No. He's a good companion, and I have my work and a nice home. And I have you, even if you are all grown up. Maybe I feel even closer to you now that you've become a man."

She smoothes her stomach with her hands as she talks to me, alternately rubbing, then lightly caressing, right around her navel. Then lower. All of this done inattentively. Her fingers trailing down to the top of her white panties, lazily letting two fingers slip just under the waistband. She presses her skin down a little, rubbing lightly, stroking herself a little, all the while she is talking. Suddenly, she realizes what she is doing. She stops. Pulls her fingers back out. We both are aware what she was about to do. I picture her doing this absent-mindedly on mornings alone in her bed at home. I'm curious. Does she masturbate as much as I do? She must.

And then she startles me.

"You're hard, Michael. Correct me if I'm wrong, but is that your basic morning wood?" 

My erection is running down my left leg, pushing the cotton material outward, trying to get free. And a wet spot on my boxers where I have been leaking. An erection to end all erections, and she has been watching it getting harder by degrees the entire time.

"I'm not sure whether it's morning wood, or just looking at you."

"You're being sarcastic. I can tell," she says.

"No. I'm not."

"My breasts are starting to sag, my hair's going gray, my skin losing that glow one has when they're young. I'm not bad for 52. But I can't compare to those girls you bring home."

"You're just in denial," I tell her. "You know you've still got it. Look what you've done to me?" 

She swings her feet to the floor and heads to the shower, pretending not to have heard what I just said.

* * *

I'm in the kitchen when she comes out of the shower. She stops in the doorway. Still in panties and has a fresh tee shirt that she has slipped on her arms. Before she begins lowering it down over her head, she hesitates.

"On or off? What do you think, Michael?"

"Off. Definitely off," I tell her. With absolutely no emotion, she tosses the tee shirt onto the bed behind her. 

I fry sausage and eggs for breakfast, then we sit across from each other at the ridiculously small kitchen table. Her naked breasts tip and sway a little as she butters some toast. Though she is fair skinned, her breasts are even whiter, almost alabaster. Nipples still hard, pointed and staring at me. I can't keep my eyes off them. Can't help but think they are calling out to me. But that's just the teenager still lurking somewhere in me. Under the table I have a hardon in my shorts that thankfully is out of site.

She sees me staring. Seems not to mind. Looks down at herself. "They're stiff again, I see. What can I say? I'm not great, but I like my body." 

She has a jar of chocolaty hazelnut cream on the table, a passion of hers. Instead of using a knife to spread some on her toast, she dips a finger into the jar, pulls out a dab of chocolate. She holds her finger up for me to see. Then spreads it around her nipples, ever so slowly, knowing that I'm frozen in amazement. Brown chocolate covering up her brown nipples and areola. First the left breast. Then another dab for the right. She arches her back to me, holds out each breast with her hands. Strikes a sultry runway model's look of boredom.

"You think Bon Appetit magazine would want me on its cover?"

That's the kind of humor I've grown up with. Her pose is also poking fun at me for my stash of girlie magazines she found years ago when I still lived at home.

With her long, slender index finger, she gathers chocolate from her nipple, holds it up to her mouth, sucks it slowly off her finger. While I watch.

She does the same with her other breast, but holds her chocolate-covered finger out to me, right in front of my mouth.

"Try some. You might like it." Her smile is slight, but noticeable. She is teasing me. Daring me.

I lick it off, then suck her finger until all is gone. This is my mother doing this. My own mother. What am I supposed to read into this?

* * * 

We stay at our own beach this morning, lounging in the sun, riding waves on inflatable rafts, reading trashy novels, taking a long walk along the shoreline to a fishing pier where we buy lunch. Sitting inside in low lights, windows open, a nice breeze coming in. Cold beer in our hands.

What fun this is, she says.

"You probably don't know, Michael, but this trip for me is mostly just to remain connected to you. I know the day is coming when you're going to marry one of those girlfriends you bring home. I feel so close now, especially on this trip. I don't want that to end. And I know it may have to."

How could it possibly end, I tell her. "Don't you remember our pact?" I hold up my closed fist, extend my little finger out, and she breaks into a smile. She does the same, and we lock fingers. "Let's say it together," she tells me. 

Let's swear 

each with our pinky

We'll be the best of friends

Until we are old and wrinkly!

"That seems so long ago," she says. "I just loved those times." A momentary seriousness in her eyes, now a little watery. For the first time I can remember, she seems a little rattled.

For the long trek back, she cheers up, laughing, clasping my hand and holding it, both of us weaving in and out among families, children and lovers running back and forth on the dark wet sand at the edge of the surf. Warm water washes over our toes as we go. Sandpipers cross our paths, back and forth, making tiny footprints in the sand.

Finally back at our umbrella and beach chairs, my mother leans in and kisses me briefly on the lips. She grows solemn. Her eyes watery once again."No matter what happens," she says, "You will always be my true love. My one true love." She bends over to lay a beach towel atop the back of her chair. As she raises up, I come up behind. Reach my arm around her waist and hold her to me for a second, her back against my stomach and chest. Then kiss the side of her neck. 

"What did I do to deserve this?" she asks, looking a little surprised at my sudden display of affection.

"It's just that I like being with you," I tell her. "And I especially like it when you tell me things about yourself that I didn't know."

And it's true. Though I'm afraid of where we might be headed, I long to peel back the layers and learn more of my mother's inner life.

I scoot my chair closer to hers so the arm rests are touching. We go back to reading our books. She looks up to give me a contented smile.

"You've always known more about me than anyone else does," she says.

* * * 

Just in from the beach. Late afternoon. Sand in our swimsuits and hair, skin baked and reddish. Both of us done in by the sun. Walking into the bedroom, I see my mother has already stripped her suit down to her waist. And there, once again, are those breasts. I will never get used to seeing them. She rubs them, massages her nipples, flicks them with her thumbs after freeing them from the constraints of her swimsuit. They must itch. I love watching her touch herself. And she's allowing me to look. But I make an observation: as toned and fit as she is, her breasts look tender, delicate, vulnerable. I find myself wanting to protect her and her sexuality from the rest of the world. A part of me wants her for myself. And part of me is sickened at these thoughts of mine.

"I'm sorry I've been so emotional on you this afternoon, Michael," she says, taking a step toward me. "I'm not usually this way. It's just that I like being close to you. I can fake being comfortable with anyone. I'm good at that. I have to be at work and at the country club. But with you I really am contented. At rest with myself. When we're together, I have this sense of being restored. I feel some kind of cathartic energy."

She steps close now and puts her arms loosely around my neck, gives me a quick peck on the lips. For the first time, I feel those soft breasts and stiff nipples brushing lightly against me, her nipples teasing the hair on my chest. Before I can reach my arms around her, she backs away. 

"But I don't want to get pathetically sentimental about this," she says."We're here to have fun."

Her gaze drops from me down to her breasts.

"So what do you think, Michael? Is it time to just go starkers?"

"You mean everything? stark naked?"

"Is that too much for you?"

She heads for the shower. I walk around the house, not sure what to do.

So, I'm thinking to myself, did we agree to this? We're going to be naked. But when is this supposed to start? We didn't set a time. Is it tonight, maybe at 6 pm? Or maybe tomorrow morning? I think back to this image of her smallish, naked breasts swinging back and forth as she stepped in to kiss me. I know that's another moment to be with me from now on.

Those thoughts end as she comes out. It is to start now. She is naked. I can't stop staring. She stands looking at me, or maybe just letting me look at her. And for the first time, I take advantage of it. Her stomach nearly flat, mostly from healthy eating. And the hair between her legs, chocolate brown like that on her head. Not much of it, very short, soft little curls, but close cropped, as if it had been trimmed. But I know better. At least I think I do. I'm not sure of anything about her now. But that pubic hair is so natural looking, it can't have been trimmed. And it hides nothing. The narrow slit, the opening to her vagina, is clearly visible. The outer lips soft and slightly puffy. All of it a quiet, dignified beauty.

I catch her look, eyebrows raised. 

"Your turn Michael. Put your suit in the sink with mine. We can wash the sand out later."

And so, with a flushed face and obvious embarrassment, I pull mine down and toss it next to hers.

She stands - each of us in front of the other - observing me, staring openly. I see her eyes move down my chest to my abs. Then lower. She is looking at the precise moment that I feel blood beginning to rush into my penis. My dick begins getting hard. She watches it swell in thickness, begin rising, grow longer, start bouncing up and down.

After regarding me for a moment, she says, "You have no shortage of erections, do you?"

"I can't will it to go away," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughs. "It looks good that way." She begins straightening up the place. I take my cue and proceed to clean the kitchen from the breakfast dishes. As if we do this all the time.

I must admit, after a short while I find I like being naked with my mother. Walking around the house, parading for each other, stealing secret glances. That's what we are doing. My erection goes down. She looks at it some more. Moments later, she bends over to pick up something off the floor in the kitchen. So nimble that she can bend over with her knees still locked, her legs straight. I am in the living room, looking at her from behind. At the top of her legs, I see her beautiful ass cheeks that jiggle a little as she walks. And before me is her dark little asshole. And those soft little labia, just barely protruding from below. She waits a few seconds before straightening back up. That's on purpose. It has to be. The vision of her begins making me hard again.

We carry on. My erection, weaving all about in the air, thrusting forward, right at her. I like that. My balls swaying slightly. Her watchful eye taking it all in. After all, I'm 25, my body at its peak of physical conditioning. I don't look half bad.

We're flirting with danger, here. And I know now that I might not be able to stop. But I don't want to think about that.

* * *

Evening, another storm. Dark clouds, steady rain. We're out on the deck, both naked still. We don't believe anyone can see us, but we're not sure. My mother drags one of the chairs around so we will be facing each other. We sit, talk, listen to the rain, watch the deserted beach. A kind of peacefulness settling over us.

She watches me. I watch her. Each taking in the other's body. I just can't stop looking. At both her beauty and the full nakedness of her.

"Isn't it odd, Michael, that two people like you and I can be so close, mother and son, best friends, for all these years. Yet until now we've never seen each other naked - at least not since you were a toddler. Isn't it peculiar. It's so nice to have this together, don't you think?"

"Especially when one has a mother like you," I say.

She casually lowers her eyes, back to my growing erection.

"You like sex, don't you, Michael," she says. "I mean all guys like sex. But you have the look of a man who really adores it. All aspects of it."

"You've found me out," I tell her.

"I like sex a lot too," she says. "The addictiveness of it. How it's passive and unhurried sometimes. Fast and feverish at other moments. So beautiful. But also naughty. I love the whole naughtiness about it."

"I take sex seriously," she says. "I think you do too."

"If that's the case," I tell her, "then can I ask you a personal question?" 

"I think that's another one of those bridges we've crossed already," she says.

"If you like sex so much, then do you still do it with Dad? What you said earlier makes me think you don't. Or have you turned to other lovers?"

"No, I don't do it with him," she says. "As for other lovers - nope. Haven't tried any."

She sees my puzzled look.

"You want to know what I do? I read racy novels. I daydream. Everyone should daydream. And as for orgasms, no one knows how to give them to me better than I do myself."

"I wouldn't think that would be enough for you," I tell her.

She doesn't answer. Lets the awkwardness of the moment pass. Then surprises me yet again. 

My mother raises her right leg to put her foot on the edge of her chair seat, parting her legs, looking down at herself. And affording me the perfect view of the opening to her vagina. I can even see a little pink. She is, once again, inviting me to look. 

My desire escalates. If I were to just lightly touch the head of my cock, I think I would explode all over her. I can't calm down. 

"Aren't penises and pussies just strange and wonderful," she says in a deep, hushed voice, looking at her own slit, then back at my dick. "So astonishing."

"I'm just astonished to hear you say the word pussy." 

She laughs, but not long. I grow harder, and feel like I may lose control. 

"Yet we don't like to talk about penises and pussies, do we?" she says. "Not in polite company.We think of it as smutty. Ours is such a curious, hypocritical culture."

"To think that the whole world throughout history has revolved around dicks and pussies," she says. "Without it there would be no civilization. No people. Just a planet overrun by cockroaches. Yet we don't talk about it."

I am so interested in what she is saying that only gradually do I notice what she is actually doing: slowly and gently sifting her fingers through her pubic hair. Then, as she's still talking to me, runs her middle finger around her pussy's opening, caressing her outer lips, pulling them back a little to open herself up. She slides a finger up and down her slit, then repeatedly touching her clit, rubbing her finger back and forth. Feeling herself, really without even thinking about it. Her opening is moist. Her fingers wet and slippery. I realize she not only masturbates, she's an expert.

The air around us is steeped in the smell of rain. And of sex.

In my chair, my cock is leaking like a sieve, waving back and forth, fast and jumpy. I have to as discreetly as possible just hold it with one hand to keep from ejaculating. I'm thinking how erotic and nasty she looks, my mother showing herself to me like this. Those slender legs open wide for both of us to see. Those puffy lips and all that liquid right at the very opening to her. And how silly I must look holding myself.

To her, I suppose this is a moment of warm intimacy between us. To me, she has become a magnet of raw sexual desire. 

With little warning, I sense that deep warm feeling building in my loins, moving fast to my erection. I realize I'm going to come. 

"Sorry Mom. I may be on the verge of losing it."

And then the battle is over. Sperm starts shooting out of my cock at rocket speed, hitting her in the stomach and chest. She freezes. I'm convulsing as more spews out, hitting her arm, then her thigh, and the arm of the chair. 

"I'm sorry, Mother. I'm so sorry."

With the final drips falling off, she says, "Did I do that to you or have you just needed to do that all along?" 

"Do I have to answer?" 

"Up to you," she says.

I don't answer.

"You want me to put my clothes back on?" she asks.

"No. Do you want me to put mine on?" I ask. 

Though my dick is now limp and moist, her gaze is still fixed on it.

"No," she says.

She walks inside, to the kitchen sink, cleans herself off with a towel.

"I've seen my share of men come before," she says, looking at me as I sit down on the living room sofa, somewhat defeated.

"That amazes me," I tell her. "I never knew."

"And maybe," she says, "that has something to do with why I like being naked. Especially naked with you. We're more honest with our clothes off."

"What do you mean - you've seen your share of men?"

On dates in college, she tells me, she would calm down hyper-sexed guys by giving them handjobs while sitting in cars. "Most of them I didn't want to sleep with, so I jacked them off just to keep them from mauling me all night - and to get rid of them. Back then, a lot of girls gave a lot of boys handjobs. Mostly to keep from getting pregnant."

"It's quite possible," I tell her, "that this may happen to me again in front of you." 

She looks out the window ahead of her at the rain and growing darkness. She rinses a glass, puts it in the dish drainer. She doesn't look at me. But says ...

"I wouldn't be opposed to seeing that again."

* * * 

Day Three. How to sleep after all that? I will tell you. A tall bottle of chilled champagne. We split it. No sipping. Practically chugging it. In truth, there is little memory of any of it. But it's morning, I wake up, sun shining in my eyes. I missed the dawn.

She remains asleep. I hear her soft, steady breathing. Time to replay the night. Why did that happen? It's one thing to share casual nudity. Others do that. But for my mother to spread her legs and let me see her so intimately. To finger herself in front of me. Was she just opening herself up to me, figuratively, letting me learn more of her true, private self? That part of her life no one else may see? Or was she tempting me? Surely not.

Neither of us has ever had thoughts like that. At least I don't think we have. I don't remember it ever crossing my mind. But I'm not sure of anything any more. Maybe neither of us really knows why last night happened.

I fall back asleep. Then wake again. I see she is awake now, on her side, quietly looking at me. She, wrapped in the top sheet, me still naked. She is looking intently in my eyes. I'm squinting through the sun's rays.

"Was I snoring?" I ask, finishing a yawn.

"No. But you were kind of stroking yourself. You have another erection. And it's quite large." 

I look down. Sure enough. "I wasn't really doing that, was I?"

"Yes, and you looked like you were enjoying it too." She laughs a little, her voice deeper, hoarse, breathy from long sleep.

"After last night, I suppose I shouldn't bother with being embarrassed any more," I say.

She smiles. "Good." She moves her face closer to mine. Props her chin on my shoulder. Looks me in the eye.

"You want to know one of my newest secrets?" she asks.

"What?" 

"I like watching you get hard."

She kisses my shoulder. Then sticks out her tongue and licks the same spot.

"So tell me, Michael. Do you wake up hard every morning?"




Naked



"Practically. But not all the time."

"So, what about those young women you bring home for me to meet. Don't they take care of these things for you? What about Jess?"

"Jess and I are over," I tell her. "We both knew it wasn't going anywhere. I haven't seen her in a month or so."

"Good. You deserve better than her. Sorry, but that's the way I feel. So, are you boning any other girls these days, or handling your needs yourself?" 

My cock is engorged. Twitching and bobbing on my stomach. She's looking at it.

"If you want, I'll leave and let you take care of business."

I stare at her in disbelief. "I'm not 18, Mother. I can live with an erection for awhile."

"Or, you know, Michael, I can make this happen for you," she says. "If you won't tell, I won't tell."

I'm flustered. Can't think of a response.

"Allow me, Michael. I know what I'm doing," she says smiling. "I've had experience."

"So I've heard," I manage to say, mumbling through the words. "And I'm not sure I want to know any more about it."

"You don't have to take care of me," I say. She doesn't listen.

She sits up, cross-legged with her knees resting, one on my thigh, the other against the side of my chest. The sheet has fallen off and her willowy nakedness is on full display. Her breasts drooping a little. Her thighs silky and sleek in the morning light. Her pubic hair close enough to inspect, to see the few little droplets of moisture in it. I can smell her sex.

She doesn't grab me, not at first. She runs her fingernails up and down my cock slowly, softly. Then again. Doing it on one side, then the other. She traces a line up to the head of my penis, which already is dripping, getting me wet. 

"Your body is pleasing to the eye, young man."

She examines my dick closely, bending down to look. She touches it.

"And this. This is so hard," she says matter-of-factly.

"What is this? Biology lab?" I ask.

She pays me no mind. Takes it all in for a moment. And now, she squeezes my cock a little, strokes it. Just feeling all around, as if it's the first one she's ever viewed.

"I love the way the skin stretches as your cock grows, the way the head gets bigger and bigger. And there's those first little drops of excitement coming out," she says. "And the way your balls change and tighten up." She cups them with one hand. "Then they loosen again, hanging down and swinging, then tightening up." She uses a finger to move them back and forth, fondling them, just slightly swinging them as if they were bells. All in slow motion. No hurry. A studied look on her face.

She halts. Then she grasps my dick with her whole hand and holds it there, feeling its thickness and hardness. Squeezing it slightly every few seconds. Driving me closer to the edge. But I can tell she's just getting a sense of the physicality of my erection. For me, the feeling is indescribable.

With her thumb and index finger she encircles my dick, grabbing it right below the head, judging its circumference.

"Marvelous. Truly marvelous," she says. "A work of art."

"You're making fun of me."

"No. No," she says, getting serious quickly. "It's so beautiful, with a life all its own. Jerking and swaying. It takes my breath away to watch how fabulous your body is."

Moving her hand off, she touches the tip of my dick with her index finger, feeling more drops seeping out. She rolls her finger in the liquid, begins lightly spreading the wet over the head of my dick. Coating it. She leans over for a closer look. I love watching her small breasts dip down, rise, then dip again with her every move. Then swing and sway, her nipples hard and pointed. They, too, seem to have a life of their own.

Holding my erection straight up, at a ninety-degree angle to my stomach, she wraps her fingers around it, begins stroking, then slowly pumping up and down. I am slippery from my own fluids and am in such a state. She bends over closer, her face hovering above the head of my cock. She spits on it. Then uses her finger to smooth her saliva around the head. Not that I needed extra lubrication. I believe she is just having fun. 

She pumps more. Up and down. Up and down. Then with her hand at the bottom of my shaft, she holds it there, with my cock sticking straight up, like some spire. My dick weaves a little and leaks even more, the drops rolling down my shaft. This will not take long. More pumping. My body jerks. I groan. She freezes. Stares at it. I spurt straight up, a good two feet, then a second spurt, even higher, falling down and landing on her knee. One or two more follow, falling back on her hand.

"My God," she says under he breath. "I had forgotten how powerful a young man can be. I haven't seen anything like that in years. Amazing. Simply amazing."

"I'm sorry I came so fast," I tell her.

"I'm not. It's a testament to my skills," she says with a slight laugh. 

"And the fact that the hand doing me belongs to my own mother," I tell her. I'm not smiling when I say it.

"Does that bother you?" she asks.

"Yes," I tell her. 

"You think this is sick?"

"What do you think?" I ask.

"Some people may think so," she says. "I don't because it's you. And I can't think of anyone else I would even consider doing this with."

She wipes a finger through the sperm on her knee, then spreads it on the head of my penis, all around the head, smoothing it in.

"You didn't answer me," she asks. "Do you think it's sick?"

"Probably," I tell her. "Who wouldn't? But I liked it. I can't tell you how much I liked it."

"Me too," she says. "And no one else needs to know. This is just about us."

Some moments pass. Again she is lightly touching my dick.

"And now it retreats, losing all its power, getting soft and quiet," she says. She traces a line down, around my balls, then takes my soft penis in her hand, as if it is a valuable jewel. She seems to be emotional now. Her eyes water.

"But even now, it's still so beautiful," she says. "Such a marvelous mystery."

* * * .

Sitting on the sofa, late evening now, windows and doors open for the breeze, listening to Nat King Cole in the dark. She plays his velvety voice when she is at her most mellow.

We had been in the surf late morning, shopping for trinkets in the afternoon, crab legs and beer for dinner outdoors at a small seaside cafe. Our conversation inconsequential. A little nervousness and long silences between us, being our last night before heading home - and that she had masturbated her son just this morning. Jacked me off in bed as if we were an old married couple. Once away from the bedroom, we became a little embarrassed. That is still hovering over both of us. But unspoken. We have crossed a line, entering a strange new world.

Back here in the cottage, we sit side by side listening to the music in silence for a long time. The awkwardness between us is tense. Quietly, she draws her legs up, turns sideways on the sofa and stretches them across my lap, puts her head on my shoulder. 

"We're going to break all the rules, tonight, aren't we?" she says in a low voice.

"We're going to do this, and it will be just another of our secrets."

I don't answer, but put my hand on her bare legs, push her knee-length sun dress up to mid-thigh and begin caressing the soft skin there. With just the tips of my fingers, I brush ever so slightly down to her knees, then back up her thighs, higher, halting just short of her panties.

"This is dangerous," I tell her as I hold my hand on her thigh. "We could be in so much trouble."

"You think I'm not aware of that?" she says almost under her breath.

Even so, she slowly opens her legs wider on my lap. I stroke her thighs again, wanting this time to feel all the way to the silkiness of her panties. Only I reach and there are no panties. My fingers touching soft hair, softer lips and the liquid opening to her sex. She is wet.

She lies down on the sofa, resting her head on a throw pillow, legs still across my lap. I push the dress up to her waist. She opens her legs even wider. Over the course of the last few days we have been naked together, but tonight, here on the sofa, there is a raw nakedness to her, sending a weak feeling to my very core. Our eyes, adjusted to the night, find each other. Those sleepy, half-closed eyes telling me it's okay. 

But it is not okay. We are facing the unthinkable. An unrelenting shaming if we are found out. There might be no redemption. We should stop. But neither of us can. We are hearing the siren call, being drawn toward ruination, our possible undoing. We are drowning in desire, sucked in by an undertow of lust, love and friendship that we can't swim out of.

"Just this once, Michael." 

"Just tonight," I say.

"That's all it can be," she says. "Tomorrow we go home and back to following the rules." I nod. 

I pause a moment. Then slide a finger inside her, gliding in easily, engulfed in warm liquid. Another finger. Bring my fingers out slowly. With just my fingertips, trace a light path around the edges of her opening. Everywhere I touch is glistening in warm moisture, my fingers gliding all around. I love the slightly sticky wetness of her. Again I dip fingers in her, just as slow. Through the dark and shadows, I see her watching my face. Studying it.

I want to go fast. To climb on her and take her with abandon. Like a teenaged boy having his first time. But I resist. This should last. Go slow. Take our time. The night too precious to waste by hurrying.

Tracing the soft opening and those small nearly hidden lips with my fingers. I quickly grow to love that. And now, smelling her sex as more liquid coats my fingers and dribbles down into the crevice of her buttocks. With my thumb, I find her clitoris, softly play with it, caressing it different ways until I find what brings a reaction. Moving my thumb across her clit, then back down. That works. Brings sighs, causes a shudder. She moves one of her hands down to the slight bulge of her mons and her pubic hair. Begins caressing herself there, just above my thumb. We are in tandem. More heavy breathing. More shudders.

My two fingers are still inside her, moving in and out slowly, and my thumb up and down on her clit. I let my little finger slip down, below to the crevice. Find the opening to her anus. Small, moist, oily. Rub my finger around it. Push on it a little. Her breathing heavier now. My thumb, fingers all moving in steady, slow rhythm, in and out, back and forth, pushing into both her openings. All in one back-and-forth motion. Slow. Over and over again. 

And then: a sequence of shudders and low groans. Growing stronger, convulsing, her pelvis undulating. A rollingness in her loins. Pushing her bottom into my leg. I slide my little finger all the way in her ass, slowly, gently. Now she's at the precipice. Then over the top. Her thighs clamp on my arm and hand that is inside her. With strength I didn't know she had. Her whole body, all of her, seems to be sweating, squeezing. The sweet smell of her everywhere, pervasive throughout the room.

Then a calmness. I remain still, quiet. She too. But her eyes always on me. After a few minutes, I lift my fingers to feel her face. Tears in her eyes. Moistness on her cheeks. I ask what is wrong. She catches her breath. And in what is barely above a whisper . . .

"It's just been a long time since I've felt it that strong," she says. "I had forgotten."

* * * 

Fetching yet another cold bottle of chardonnay from the fridge, she takes off my clothes. I take off her dress. We sit back on the sofa, still in the dark. More Nat King Cole. She curls up in my lap, her hair ruffled, skin warm, face flush. She grows quiet, especially tender and soft now.

I stray my hands over her, slowly. From her shoulders. Down the back. To her haunches. Toward those dark, secret places of her. They are still warm and wet. With her on my lap, my erection is poking up between her legs. She touches it. Strokes it. Holds my balls, gathers the liquid from the head of my cock with her fingers, brings them to her lips. Then holds my erection in her hand.

"So powerful. So strong," she says. "You could break me, take the very life out of me if you wanted to."

"I would never."

"That is what's so amazing. You could hurt me. Really hurt me. But I know you won't."

She runs her fingers around the head of my cock. Plays with the droplets. I fight for control. 

"A little terrifying," she says.

"Actually, I'm just average, nothing to write home about."

"No, no. Don't tease. It's really frightening but beautiful. With you inside of me, I could really lose myself."

She pulls my face to hers. We kiss, her lips tasting a little salty, slightly cinnamony. It's just lips lightly against lips. She sticks her tongue out. Traces it around my lips. Slips it into my mouth. Tongues exploring tongues. A warmth spreading. Somehow it doesn't seem strange. I think of her not as my mother, but as Nora, this lovely, lovely woman I have known all my life. But in an instant I do think of her as my mother. I can't help it. So unreal. Like a dream. So lovely. But wanton. Lewd. Depraved. All of this so perverted.

Let's go to the bedroom, she tells me. I sense where we are headed is straight to Hell. 

On our bed. Legs entwine. Lips in motion everywhere, sweat droplets on our face. "Suck my nipples, Michael. Bite them. Make it hurt," she tells me as she lies on her back, arms stretched out beyond her head on the mattress. An act of surrender on her part. Take me, she is saying without need for words. Her nipples are thick once again, and pointing. Her areola soft and puffy. I suck them, bite down, burrow my face into them. I hear a faint gurgling in her throat.

I can wait no longer. I reach down, pull her knees up to her chest and move my face down to her slit, kissing it, licking, smelling it, the smell of her cunt that I know will be with me from this day on. My tongue caressing, darting inside her and back out. Finding her clit again, back and forth over it, this time with the tip of my tongue, as softly as possible. She comes on my face, a little orgasm, but even after, there's liquid pouring out onto my nose and cheeks. 

Her passion escalates. My head is clamped between her thighs. She begins squeezing as a second orgasm nears. This one harder, stronger. Can't be stopped. She squeezes my head like I've never been squeezed before. I think she might break my facial bones. Squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Until finally she groans softly. Relaxes. Wipes the hair out of her eyes.

"Come in me, Michael. Come in me now."

Her pussy open, tender, vulnerable. I put the head of my dick at its entrance. Move in a fraction. Back out. Mostly to lubricate myself. For having had one child, her slit seems small. I start again. Slowly. Slowly. Sliding half way in, then back out. Then a little farther. Now a final push, all the way in. I pull her knees back down around my waist. She wraps her long legs around me.

I begin moving in and out. Kind of at an angle. So our pelvic bones can rub together. A slow rhythm. Taking it slow. The side of my face against the side of hers. Our bodies sweating, hair wet.The smell of our skin all around us.As I move back and forth, she begins whispering in my ear.

"We'll never tell, Michael. Our little secret. Always. We'll keep our secrets," she says, so quietly, as if others might be in the room trying to listen.

Out the open bedroom window there are flashes of light, the sky turning to day for a split second, then dark again. Bright, then dark. Heat lightening. Then the smell of coming rain. It mixes with the smell of our skin in the room.

I keep the rhythm, back and forth inside her. I lift up on my arms for a few seconds. Sweat already dripping down from my chest, dropping onto her breasts, mixing with her own sweat. Her nipples covered in sweat. Our eyes meet in the dark. The look from her is piercing. Vicious. Knowing. As if we've been waiting years for this shameless night.

I fall back down atop her. Still moving in her, back and forth. She talks right into my ear. Louder now, over the rain. Her thoughts, words tumbling out. 

"I know you, Michael. You want to do more than fuck me, don't you. You want to lick my ass and put your tongue in it, don't you. I know you. You want me to come on your face. You want me to suck your dick and swallow all of it, don't you, Michael."

Talking louder still in my ear and constantly. Every filthy word I've ever heard. Her wanting every filthy act one can think of. Getting the words out between grunting and groaning as I move back and forth. My mother, this paragon of corporate nicety, a woman of good standing in the community, the very embodiment of grace and culture is channeling some inner slut. But I can not think of that now.

I begin moving faster, picking up my pace. Her breathing tries to keep up. We're getting close. Both of us may be coming off together. Mist from the slightly open window covering us both. But sweat overcoming it, spilling out of every pore.

"You want my soul, don't you, Michael. I know you. You see, we're two of a kind. We know what we want. We can't get this with anyone else. No one else will do."

"It's just us. You're just like me."

Both of us groaning. Her legs still around my waist, squeezing. I feel some muscles deep in her pussy clamping around my dick. Squeezing it. Never felt that before with a woman. But I'm not about to let my dick give in to it. My cock too hard, too strong to surrender. Not just yet. I push. Feel that I have reached the end of her insides. She groans loudly for the first time, in what must be a little pain. Back and fourth, lost in time, just back and fourth, back and fourth. Until she yells my name. We both come. I'm spewing inside of her. She's screaming into the night air. Screams again. Then again.

* * *

Not enough time for sleep. We know that. She is right about me wanting her soul. Or something like that. It's not just a quick fuck I'm after. Desire. An unquenchable desire that drives me. A need to absorb her. To taste her, smell her, watch her, listen to more groans. It's that intimacy I am craving. A naked communion between us. Of knowing this woman more than any other man can. I go after her again, in these wee hours. My erection is back, throbbing, pulsing, ready to erupt. I am consumed by her. Have to have her. She goads me on. 

"Let's do it like this," she says, getting up on her knees in the bed, head down, ass high in the air. On display for me. This most private, most personal part of her. Open obscenely. For my viewing. So I can touch her ass, see her better there.

"Do you like me like this? My ass open for you, Michael?" I lick the little hole. She groans, sighs with each lick.

"We're depraved, degenerate. No decency at all," she says from her face buried in the mattress. "But, Oh God, I love it." She gasps for breath.

I push two fingers in her anus. She groans more. At the same time, I reach around and rub her clit. Still on her knees, her body shakes. She starts coming when I wiggle my fingers a little. She comes and comes, loses all control. Pees accidentally, a rapid gush, bursting from her, splashing down on the bedsheets below her. I take her again, plunging my cock into her from behind. Thumbing her asshole with one hand, using the other to pull her to me tightly as I'm ramming her pussy harder and faster. I come.

"I felt it, Michael" she cries out a few seconds later. "I could feel your sperm shooting deep inside me. I felt all of it hitting me, absorbing into me."

She collapses on the bed. I'm lying on top of her, still inside her, not yet losing me erection. At this moment, I feel I'm at the center of the universe, with love and liquid flowing over me. Nothing else matters.

I sense she is crying. I roll off, hold her against me, her legs draped around one of mine. Her pussy, against my leg, is wet and warm. So, too, the soft pubic hair. 




Naked



"No other feeling this good," she says as she rests her head on my shoulder, her hair now in my face. Her voice faded and hoarse. "So sublime," she whispers.

Then no sound but the gentle in and out of her breath. I have my arm around her, my hand at the small of her back, caressing it slowly. Right at the little indention that begins the cleft between her hips. I love the feel of this for some reason. We have fought sleep as long as we can. We succumb.

Day Four: Fingers on my face, the tips touching my lips, then feeling the stubble of my morning beard. Fingers lightly touching my eyelids. I open my eyes to find my mother's face so close to mine. Her breath smells of last night's chardonnay. She moves closer, kisses me on the lips. My tongue finds hers. She lays her head beside mine, our eyes just inches apart. The sun has been up several hours. I absolutely love this closeness.

As she talks, her hand is on my flacid penis, just lightly touching it. Her eyes watch her hand.

"Do you have any idea how much I love your dick, Michael?" she says, lifting herself up a little, then scooting her face down my chest, to my stomach. There she continues caressing my penis, with perhaps the lightest touch I've ever felt. She kisses all over. Kisses my balls. Then she takes the head of my penis in her mouth and gently sucks it. It doesn't get any better than this.

"We have to head home," she says, breaking my dreamy moment. I tell her I don't want to leave. She walks naked into the kitchen. I watch the beautiful dark crevice of her ass as her hips move back and forth with her steps. She returns with two slices of leftover cold sausage pizza from earlier in the week.

"Breakfast," she says and sits on the bed, handing one to me. We eat.

"Let's run away," I tell her as we begin packing, both of us still naked. Neither of us wants to put on our clothes.

"Let's drive to Costa Rica and get a place on the beach. Live a simple life," I say.

"Your father would find us," she says as she folds her swimsuit into her suitcase.

"We'll go farther then," I say. "Argentina. I'll become a gaucho."

"You don't even know what a gaucho is," she says laughing quietly.

"I can Google it."

"We have to go home, Michael." 

I walk into the bathroom, my foot flipping up the toilet lid, and begin to pee. From the corner of my eye, I can see she has followed me and is standing in the doorway. I am holding my penis in my hand as it grows hard again. I've never understood the physiology of it, but I seem to be one of those guys who can take a leak when I'm semi-hard. We keep talking. Her eyes not on mine, but on my stream arcing into the toilet. I don't know why I did this in front of her. But I mimic her words.

"Is this too much?" I ask. "More than you wanted to see?"

"I'm standing here, aren't I?" she says. "It's fine. Very fine."

"Most of the girls I've been with would have nothing to do with me peeing in front of them," I say. "They think it's disgusting. They didn't want me watching them either."

"Do I need to say it again," my mother comments, still peering at my dick. "You need new girlfriends."

I begin shaking the final drops off and I get completely stiff.

"So you like to watch your women pee?" she asks. 

"Then, here. Watch as much as you want."

She steps to the toilet, sits down, spreads her legs wide apart and shoots out a hard, rocket-fast splash onto the porcelain bowl, followed by a seemingly never-ending stream of clear-white water.

At the same time, she enfolds my erection with her left hand and begins stroking gently. Not trying to make me come, just keep me hard.

Maybe it's the combination of seeing my mother peeing - and I admit I find watching a woman pee to be arousing - or maybe it's the stroking she's doing. Or maybe both. I feel a quick rush of electricity through me, my whole body heats up. I can feel me getting ready to come. I'm totally unprepared. This has never happened this fast. Before I can say anything, the first sperm shoots out from my dick, lands in her hair by her ear.

"Oh, my God," she says in surprise. And just as quickly, in one swift motion, she swallows the head of my dick with her mouth as I start shooting more and more, all of it she's swallowing.

Until there is no more. And my knees grow weak. I'm done in. I watch and feel her lick my cock clean. Her tongue slithering all around the skin, spiraling around the head of my dick. It is a heavenly moment.

I'm so sorry, I tell her, embarrassed from such lack of control.

She stands, puts her arms around my neck. Her face close to mine.

"I'll bet there aren't many boys who can say their mother has swallowed all their come."

She kisses me on the cheek and walks away.

"Let's decamp. Get dressed and go home, Michael. We have no choice." 

* * * 

I know my mother. So this probably will not happen again. That this happened at all is barely believable. We let our emotions run away, full throttle and with abandon. 

"We have no real choice in the matter," she says with at least some hurt on her face as we drive home. It's registered in her eyes.

"But these will become our memories, our secrets," she says. "We'll always have them. And whenever we're with other people, glance at me every now and then. I'll wink, and you'll know I'm thinking of these secrets. They belong only to you and me."

You may think my fondest memory of these days will be a moment of hot, hot sex between us. Or maybe the accidental blowjob in the bathroom. Actually, it will be something different. As we were about to leave the cottage, my mother paused at the front door for one last kiss. One last time for her mouth to find mine. One last time for the hot, sweet taste of her tongue touching mine. The smell of her skin and hair. Her pelvis, one last time, pressed hard against mine. Arms around each other one final time of love and lust, rather than of familial fondness.

And so I will grieve, then learn to live with the memories. There is within me, though, faint hope that maybe someday down the road, my mother and I and can get together again. I know she wants it as much as I do. Surely there will be a time and a place.  

For now, the question I will mull over is whether this was our destiny, hers and mine, from the beginning.

Was this bound to have happened? 

And under the right circumstances, could this happen to anyone? Would you let it happen to you?

end



Naked About Town



I would like to thank sweetfantasy559 for being my editor for this story.

Warning(s): This story contains lesbian sex, exhibitionism, and public sex. If that bothers you, I ask that you please pass this story over instead of commenting negatively about it.

Disclaimer: First of all, this story is complete fiction. Any resemblance of this story's characters and/or plot to real-life people and/or real-life scenarios is completely coincidental. In writing this story, the author guarantees that all the characters in his story are of legal age (i.e. at least 18 years of age) in his state/country and that this is the original version of this story and has been previously unpublished. Finally, this story is the sole property of the author, with permission granted to Literotica to use and distribute at its discretion. No other copying, printing, translating, publishing, editing, adapting, or distributing is permitted without the approval of Literotica and/or the author. Thank you. Now, without further ado, on to the story....

*

Holly Fitzgerald ran excitedly to her car. It was the fourteenth of July, the last day of the first session of the summer semester of her freshman year in college. It had been difficult, but the small curvy blond had managed to get all A's and B's. Now, after all her hard work, she couldn't wait to get away from school and spend some time loafing at the local beach. 

She got into her SUV and began the short drive to the beach. On the way there, however, she saw a sign pointing the way to Prescott Lake. Hmm....the lake would be so much quieter than the beach...and so much more relaxing she thought. She changed her mind about her destination and turned her car around and headed towards the exit for Prescott Lake. 

Little did she realize the adventure she was about to embark upon. 

She reached the lake in relatively short order and set upon organizing her various items around her and getting her suit on to take a dip in the lake. She looked into her handbag and gasped. Her bikini wasn't there! Where did it go! She could swear she had put it there before she left her dorm room. What was she going to do now? Her whole trip was ruined! 

Or was it? She got a naughty thought and smiled to herself. What if I went skinny-dipping? That would be fun, wouldn't it? she thought with glee. Holly had moved across the country to get away from her small-town conservative roots and had decided to experience as many different things as she could. Why not this one? She giddily began shedding her clothing, not hesitating for a second. She aimlessly threw her clothes on the bank and dove in to the water. The water was perfect! She came up uttering a shriek of exhilaration. She was skinny-dipping! She swam back and forth, diving under the water and coming up laughing. She could definitely get used to this. She would definitely be doing this again!

"Well what do we have here?" a voice called out from the bank. Holly quickly twisted around to see Michelle Ferguson, a girl she considered her arch-rival. The two girls had been at each other's throats ever since their junior year in high school when they were both up for varsity captain of the cheerleading squad. The race had started a conflict between the two that had been exacerbated by Holly's eventual win of the position. Ever since then, the conflict had moved to a type of open war where each girl was trying to humiliate the other one. The war had continued after high school when both girls had coincidentally happened to go to the same college. It appears that the next strike in their war was about to be taken.

"Michelle" Holly said in surprise. "What are you doing here?" "I followed you here you dumb bitch. After that stunt you pulled on me in the cafeteria, I couldn't let an opportunity for revenge slip away." Michelle said with an evil smirk.

"Michelle, I-I'm sorry-" Holly began in worry, but Michelle cut her off. "Save it bitch, you're getting what's coming to you whether you're sorry or not." With that, Michelle began picking up Holly's things, including her clothes. Michelle rummaged in Holly's jeans, pulling out a set of car keys. "Looks like I got a new ride!" Michelle said triumphantly. "Michelle, please don't do this." Holly pleaded, but Michelle was already walking away with all of Holly's things, only glancing over her shoulder to say "Have fun getting home". With that, she ran up the path and Holly heard a car start and drive off. Her car! 

Holly gingerly made her way out of the lake, holding her hands over her breasts and vagina. She was naked at a public lake, where anyone could come by, and she had no clothes or anything else to cover up with. Worse, she had no car, no money, no phone, and no identification. What if she was picked up by the police? What could she tell them? How was she going to get out of here? She walked up the path that Michelle had taken. The path led up to a parking lot, which turned off of the highway. From where she was in the parking lot, any cars that happened to go by on the highway would probably see her, but fortunately, the highway was bereft of cars. 

Holly weighed her options, deciding that she should walk her way back to the college and try to get back into her dorm room and get some clothes. With any luck, she could catch a ride with an understanding person who wouldn't try to take advantage of her situation. 

With that resolved in her mind, she started walking up the path to the highway and then along the highway in the direction of the college. 

She walked further and further, thinking that the college was about a mile from where she was. At first, she walked with her hands covering her body, but then realizing that this only slowed her down, began walking normally with her hands at her sides. As she walked further, she noticed a change coming over her body. Now that she was naked and worried about being found, her every sense seemed keener, especially her hearing since she was listening hard for oncoming cars. Every sound now made her jump or look around in fear, but she soon began to distinguish the sounds of nature from anything else. Her mind was also very active. What if she was caught by someone? What if she was caught by the police and she had to explain everything and they took her to jail as she was. She imagined herself naked in a jail cell and shivered. What if she was caught by a group of boys and they took her in their car and made her their naked sex toy, touching and caressing and even....well, going all the way with her? For some reason, that thought turned her on incredibly. What if she was caught by Michelle again, or Michelle's clique and they made her do more humiliating things, like streaking in town or make her go naked at school or maybe even make her masturbate in public? These thoughts only served to turn her on more and she unconsciously began touching herself, one hand caressing her breasts and pinching her nipples while the other hand thrust two fingers inside her shaved sex, caressing her G-spot, and the pad of her thumb touching her clitoris. She groaned in exquisite pleasure and began touching herself more vigorously, her thoughts propelling her masturbation. Oh God! I'm masturbating in public! What if someone sees me? What if they took pictures? What if they asked to help me along? She groaned loudly at this thought. She was almost there, almost-

"Hey good-looking, what happened to you?" a voice called from behind her. She quickly shoved her hands away from her body amidst her lust-clouded mind and whirled around to see who would be so mean as to interrupt her when she was so close to climax. 

"Amy!" she shrieked with a mix of surprise, happiness, and a little embarrassment. Amy Westfield was a basketball player at the college and her best college friend. Amy could help her get back to her dorm! Yes! She was saved! Holly must have been so lost in her lust that she didn't hear Amy pull up behind her in her convertible with its top down. 

"Well, what happened to you?" Amy asked again. "I mean, I'm sure there has to be a perfectly good explanation why you're walking naked on the highway, right?" Holly then regaled her entire story to her friend and told her what her plan to get out of her dilemma was. "So, can you take me back to get some clothes?" Holly asked hopefully. "Sure, hop in" Amy said cheerfully. 

They had gone a little ways down the road when Amy piped up "Okay, I just have to ask. What's it like being naked in public?" "It's...ok" Holly said haltingly. "Really....it's just ok?" Amy questioned in a deadpanning manner. "Yeah...I mean I didn't ask to be in this position. You saw me covering up as I was walking." In reality, the entire experience for Holly had been a huge turn-on and she had noticed her friend glancing at her several times during their ride. It seemed the more her friend looked at her, the hornier she got. Now, with her friend looking at her and the conversation focused on her ordeal, she was as horny as she had ever been and she was aching to get off after she had been denied her orgasm earlier. 

All of a sudden, they heard sirens blaring behind them. "It's the cops!" Holly shrieked anxiously. "What are we going to do?" "Relax, I've got it all under control." Amy said with a wink.

They pulled over as the cops followed suite and got out of their cruiser to walk over to them. "Excuse me ma'am, I know we're a college town and we pride ourselves on being a little bit more liberal than others, but public nudity is still illegal. Do you mind telling me what you're doing being naked?" The officer, named Simmons according to his badge, spoke gruffly.

"Well, I-" Holly began, but was cut off by Amy "She practicing her legal right officer. Today is National Nude Day and she's celebrating." "Now look here miss" Simmons began angrily, turning his attention to Amy. "There's no such holiday and-"

"Sir" the other officer, named Dunlap according to his badge, piped in. "In a second sergeant. Now as I was saying, there's-" Simmons continued, but was cut off again.

"Captain" Dunlap persisted, this time with more urgency in his voice. "Ok, what is it sergeant." Simmons said irritably. "It looks like she's telling the truth. See." Dunlap said while handing over a Blackberry to Simmons. Simmons looked hard at the screen of the Blackberry, his face tightening with consternation. He shut the Blackberry and handed it back to Dunlap, then spoke to the girls. "It looks like you're right miss. Our illustrious mayor Johnson has decided that, for the first time ever, those citizens of Carterville wishing to participate in National Nude Day are welcome to do so as long as no obscene behavior occurs from it. It looks like you girls are in the clear. We're sorry to have bothered you. You may go about your business. Have a good day." With that, both officers returned to their police cruiser and drove away. 

"I can't believe that worked. How did you know about this?" Holly asked Amy in amazement. "I didn't" Amy said with equal amazement. "I just know that there is such a holiday as National Nude Day and it's today. I didn't know this town actually allowed its observation." 

The girls drove off, still in wonder of the events that had transpired. They hadn't gone far when Amy began questioning Holly again "So, how did that make you feel, being exposed to those officers?" "Well..." Holly began "it wasn't really pleasant at all. I was scared I would be arrested the whole time." "Really....you didn't enjoy that one little bit?" Amy pressed. "No, why would I enjoy that?" Holly asked in shock at her friend's suggestion. "Well....I guess the fact that your nipples are hard as diamonds, your clit is poking out, and your leaking like a broken faucet is pretty suggestive of that fact." Amy said with a laugh. Holly looked down at her body to find her friend's words to be true. Her nipples were so hard and erect they hurt and her pussy was leaking juice almost all the way down to her knees, as he large clit protruded out. Amy continued "You know, I think you really get off on this. I bet you like exhibiting yourself and you loved it when the cops saw you and you're horny as hell right now. In fact, I bet you weren't even trying to cover yourself when I found you. I bet you were trying to get off and I'd even bet that you were almost there when I showed up. Am I right?" 

"Well I-" Holly began, but she knew what she was going to say was a lie. The truth was she was horny beyond anything she could have possibly imagined and she had been trying to find release when Amy found her. She was so desperate to come now that she was ready to do just about anything to get there. "Ok...yeah, you're right. I've never felt like this before, but I've never really made a habit of being naked in public either." Holly said with a wry smile.

"I knew it." Amy said, pumping her fist into the air. "Don't worry. Now that you're free to be naked, I have some plans for us." A mischievous smile crossed her face as she said this. "What kind of plans?" Holly asked warily, although the thought of more public exhibition made her stomach flip-flop and her pussy twitch. "Oh don't worry, you'll love it and you won't get hurt or in trouble or anything. I promise." Amy replied with a sincere smile. For some reason, that smile made Holly really trust Amy and she knew her friend would never do anything to hurt her as they entered this new part of their relationship. 

They made their way into town without another word to one another. On the way in, they ran into quite a bit of traffic, which meant there were quite a few honked horns and ribald comments at the naked girl in the passenger seat. They drove until they reached the parking lot for the local general store in town. "Here we are." Amy said. Holly took a look around. The parking lot was packed with cars, probably from students buying last minute groceries before they left for break. "You want me to get out and walk around naked in there?" asked Holly, her fear and sense of modesty gripping her again. "Don't worry, it'll be easy. We can't get into trouble and I know you really enjoy this. Besides, if you do this, I promise you it'll be worth it for you in the end." She said this last part with an impish grin. 

Holly, acquiescing to Amy (and a little curious to see her reward), opened her door and walked out, holding Amy's hand as she did so. "Oh, and don't cover up, no matter what. If someone tries to take your picture, smile and pose. This is National Nude Day, so if you act like everything is ok with you being naked, it'll be a lot easier for you." Amy said, winking and giving Holly a peck on the cheek. 

They walked into the store and the reaction was immediate. There seemed to be a collective gasp throughout the store as the beautiful naked blonde entered. Holly and Amy made their way through the aisles, but were constantly confronted by stares, clapping, wolf whistles, off-color comments, scowling and smiling faces, rebuking comments, and the occasional picture. Holly didn't see anyone that she knew, but she did see plenty of college-age kids there, and many wanted to take her picture. She let a few do so, but not everyone. What Holly really hadn't counted on was her body's reaction to its exposure. If she thought she had been aroused before, she was totally unprepared for how horny the general store trip made her. By the time she had her picture taken the fifth time, her juices was running to the floor and she was unconsciously masturbating in the aisles, at first when she thought no one was looking, but eventually began doing it without realizing her eyes had closed and her hand was in her soaked cunt. Many times, it took some clearing of the throat from Amy before she realized where she was. 

"Okay, I've gotten everything I need. Now let's get out of here before you lose it totally in public. With that, she grabbed Holly by the hand and pulled her to the cash register and paid for their stuff. They hurriedly made it past the cashier, who had no secret as to his pleasure at seeing a naked girl by the grin on his face (and the bulge in his pants). 

"What did you get?" Holly asked, after her horniness subsided enough for her to be able to talk. "Just watch" Amy responded. She took out a black Sharpie and a giant piece of white poster board and wrote something in large letters that Holly couldn't see because Amy was blocking her view. Amy then taped the poster to two pieces of wood and tied the other ends with string to the pulled-down top of the convertible. When she was finished, there was a sign over her car that said "We're celebrating National Nude Day!" Holly laughed out loud, but her jaw dropped when she saw what Amy did next. Amy proceeded to take of her clothes right in the parking lot! She stripped until she was naked and then...she opened her trunk and threw her clothes inside, then closed the trunk and locked it! When she saw Holly's look of shock, she said "What, I'm not going to let you have all the fun." Both laughed good-naturedly as they got in. Obviously, word had gotten around town that there was a naked girl going around town, traveling in a red convertible, but people were now surprised to see two naked women in a red convertible. The sign certainly was attention-grabbing as well and the two girls found themselves the center of attention wherever they went. By the time they had escaped everyone following them, they'd had to double-back through an alleyway three times and then hide out in the same alleyway for an hour! Eventually, the crowds stopped looking for them and they were able to finish their business in peace. 

They drove to the park and parked the car. "Amy, what are we doing here?" Holly asked curiously. "Just follow me" Amy said reassuringly. She took Holly's hand and they walked together to a bench in the center of the park. They sat down and Amy looked at Holly with a look that was mixed between longing and worry. "Holly, I have to tell you something. Ever since I met you, I've liked you a lot. I mean, I like you in a way that makes me want to be more than just friends with you. I really enjoyed today and I know you did too. I think we both learned today that exhibitionism turns us both on (for Amy had gotten very horny in the time she had been naked in public) and I think we should continue to explore this together, as well as other parts of our relationship. What do you think? I'll understand if-"

Amy never completed her words because Holly has mashed their lips together in a smoldering kiss. They both groaned and wrapped their arms around each other's heads. They released each other, both gasping for air. "Yes, my answer is yes" Holly said, her voice thick with lust. She immediately moved down Amy's tall lithe frame to her modest-sized breasts. She began kissing her breasts and sucking on her nipples, lightly biting them as she did. 

Amy groaned in pleasure "We're in public! We can't do this here! We'll get caught!" "Baby, we're naked and horny as hell. I can't wait anymore. Besides, this will be the perfect ending. We're naked in public and now we're going to get it on in public." Holly rasped huskily. 

Holly then proceeded down between Amy's legs, kissing her way down as she went. She spread Amy's legs and kissed Amy's dripping sex, which was shaved like hers was. Amy gasped with pleasure as Holly continued her ministrations. Holly then began to suck Amy's wet pussy, penetrating it with her tongue and caressing its folds, then darting it in and out, caressing her G-spot in the process. She then stuck two fingers inside Amy and began thrusting them in and out, massaging her G-spot, while redirecting her mouth and tongue to Amy's clit and sucking on it while caressing it with her tongue. Amy's groans turned into loud moans, and then yelps as Holly continued to pleasure her. 




Naked About Town



Holly lifted her head briefly. "Shush.....lay down" she said softly, then put her face back on Amy. Amy complied and Holly, her mouth and hands never leaving their work, leapt on the bench over Amy and put her hot soaking cunt over Amy's face. Amy took the hint and shoved her mouth and tongue into Holly's pussy. Holly shrieked into Amy's slit at the contact. Then, as if by mutual decision, they both used a finger lubed in her juices and penetrated the asshole of the other, both yelping in pleasure as they did so. Their moans and groans became yelps and eventually graduated into shrieks and screams of pleasure, although they were all muffled by each other's pussies and fingers. Finally they both screamed as they came together in a huge climax. Through it, they were still pleasuring each other, and they began climaxing multiple times, as their pussies began squirting over and into each other's mouths. Finally, after about two minutes of continuously climaxing, the girls finally came down. They sat up and began kissing each other passionately on the lips. Their afterglow was interrupted by a throat clearing in front of the bench. They both looked to see a middle-aged couple standing not ten feet from them. The man had a massive bulge in the front of his shorts that he didn't seem shy to show off and the woman had a large wet spot in the crotch of her shorts. They were looking at the girls with a mixture of shock, wonder, and lust. The girls giggled and Amy said "I hope you enjoyed the show as much as we did." With that, the girls got up and walked hand-in-hand to the convertible. As they got in, Holly put her hand to her mouth to wipe of Amy's pussy juice. "No" Amy admonished "Leave it there. I want people to see that we just fucked in public!" Holly excitedly shook her head yes in agreement. "Ok, I think I've had enough public excitement for one day. Let's go to my place and head to bed, although I don't think we'll get much sleep tonight. What do you say, lover?" Holly asked, batting her eyes at Amy. 

"That's just what I had in mind." Amy responded with a giddy smile. Together the new lovers rode off, naked and holding hands, into the sunset.



Naked Again



I was sitting in my flat, listening to the moans and grunts coming from Julie's bedroom; yes they were at it again. 

It was Sunday afternoon and it had been going on all weekend, apart from meal and loo breaks that is. Four weekends in a row ever since they met, they just hit it off right from the start. Lucky cow. 

I was of course happy for her, and Paul seemed a great bloke, but I was just so horny. I split up from Nick three weeks ago now and felt so lonely and unloved, not to mention randy as hell, and they didn't even bother putting anything on when they did come out of her room. 

I don't mind nudity, don't get me wrong, I'm no prude, indeed I myself don't bother wearing anything in front of them now. Why should I, if they don't? It's just that to see his lovely body and amazing cock, I can't help myself getting horny, not that they have noticed, I am sure, even if I have left a wet patch on the kitchen chair as we all sit down to lunch together!

I keep thinking, "Does he like my body as much as I like his?" I know my tits are small, but they have a nice shape and not all men go for big tits, Julie hasn't got huge tits, either. Yesterday, I shaved all my pubic hair off. I never had the nerve to do it before, and it took ages, but it was worth it to see the look on their faces when they saw me. Paul couldn't take his eyes off me, I felt so proud and the centre of attention, then Julie pulled him away and whispered something in his ear. With that, they grabbed me and bent me over the kitchen table, not saying a word. Julie got the wooden mixing spoon from the drawer under the sink and started spanking my bottom with it, while Paul held me down. 

Well I just let them get on with it and after ten slaps she stopped. My bum stung by then and was quite red, but I took it, I was not going to let them know how much it hurt, was I!

They were amazed that I kept so quiet. I thought I had shown them how I could take it. The strange thing is I was even hornier than before. It was when I got up from the table that my embarrassment came. The table was covered in my own juices, I was so wet, and I had leaked all over the place! Well, now my face was the same colour as my poor bottom was. 

"You mucky cow, we've got to eat off that table, we don't want your slime all over it, I will get you for that later." Paul was beaming from ear to ear, and then he winked at me. My heart missed a few beats, I can tell you. They then went back into her bedroom and left me to think of my fate.

Everything went quiet, we all went to work as usual, and nothing was said about the matter. Then on the Friday I got home from work as usual, showered and shaved myself. I was now getting used to having no pubic hair and I even liked it! So I got a tea and went to lie on the sofa naked as usual. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew was Julie and Old Tom the landlord, standing over my naked body, Old Tom must have thought it was Christmas and his birthday all at once, his eyes were bursting out of his head, I tried to cover myself with my hands then with the stare Julie gave me I knew she was up to something, but I still couldn't believe it.

She just came right out with it and she told Tom how I had shaved all my pussy hairs off and how I liked to show people, then she told me to take my hands away and open my legs wide so that Tom could get a good look at me.

I was about to complain when she said I was happy to show Paul at the weekend and as he was her boyfriend I must like to show myself off to men. Now was my chance. I had no choice; if I refused she would know I fancied Paul. So I did as she said. I opened my legs wide and put my hands behind my back and let him look at me.

After ten minutes he left without the rent he had come for no doubt to have a quick wank over what he had seen; namely my naked body!

When he returned, Julie told Old Tom that I had spent a lot of time making sure I shaved all my pussy hairs off and made myself look good when I got back from work, just so that he could see when he came round. She told him to touch me and feel how smooth I was, which of course he did, even sticking a finger up me and saying how wet I was. 

After he had gone, I screamed at her, saying she was evil and how she had gone too far this time. I asked her how could she show me up in front of Old Tom, of all people. She just said if I hated it so much, how could I get so wet. I told her that was not the point, but left it at that. Even though there was no way that I fancied Old Tom, I was horny as hell showing myself to him. She told me later that he had let us off a month's rent, so not to feel too bad about it. But it didn't end there.

The next Tuesday, Julie's 18-year-old brother Scott came round, which he did at least once a week.

Now Scott being 18, liked to show off and wind me up if he could. He always goes on about how many girlfriends he has had, and what a stud he is! A lot of it is made up of course for my benefit, Julie says he has a crush on me, which always gets me going, he is so childish.

Anyway, this particular Tuesday when he was going on about his girlfriends, Julie suddenly asked if any of his girlfriends shaved their pussy hairs off. To our surprise he said no. "Would you like to see a shaved pussy?" she asked him. Well I didn't know what to do. Surely she wasn't going to tell him about me was she? But that's exactly what she did. He looked right at me with puppy dog eyes and said, "Please show me."

"Go on," said Julie "you know you want to, don't you?" 



Naked Ambition



Part of a series of short stories with the common connection of 'Naked' and placed in various sections on this site. Some of them are funny, some are sad, some are quirky but all reveal the many facets of human emotion in all its naked rawness.

If you like this one, please read:

Naked Revenge under the Exhibitionist and Voyeur

Naked Grief under Non Erotic

Naked Fear under Non Consent and Reluctance

Naked Lust under Exhibitionist and Voyeur

Naked Greed under Fetish

and watch out for Naked Hate coming soon.

*

He stood wobbling on the narrow ledge high up on the outside of the building, the window behind him closed, the cold night cloaking his nakedness. Looking down three floors, his heart beating in his chest he saw his clothes laying on the entrance canopy where his lover had thrown them out the window just before she had closed it as her husband had entered the bedroom.

Frantically assessing his situation he could see the windows of the building opposite, the lights out. Glancing left and right he saw the ledges of the windows of the apartment building he was balancing on the outside of, a few feet between him and them, and the fire escape four windows along to his right.

He could make it.

If only he could keep his balance.

If only he could move from window ledge to window ledge.

If only no one saw him.

Looking down the street below he could see no people, and therefore his modesty and position might be hidden from curious eyes. His hands held on for dear life to the edge of the bricks each side of him, the rough red brick slightly damp with the night air.

The hairs on his body were standing on end, both with the cold and with fright, and his cock that had only minutes before been hard and ready was now limp and hanging, pointing down towards the pavement below, as if the eye at the tip was assessing the drop that waited for him if he didn't make it to the fire escape and freedom.

Edging his foot along the narrow ledge, the slick feel of the window glass against his naked buttocks he moved sideways a small pace, the feel of his blood pounding in his ears. Behind him he could hear raised voices. A man and a woman, his lover and her husband screaming at each other, whilst he timidly edged his way towards the next window ledge and the black iron structure that would be his way down.

Small sideways step by small sideways step he moved, his fingers grabbing at the coarse wall, his toes gripping the white concrete sill, his body leaning as far back as the glass behind would allow. 

Reaching the edge of the ledge he was on he took a deep breath and closing his eyes and mentally crossing his fingers he moved his right foot out tentatively towards the next ledge and window, the space between his ledge and that one less than a few feet, but seeming to him a wide gaping hole waiting to let him fall. Feeling the hard surface below his bare soles he moved his body weight to the right, shifting along, hands desperately gripping, until he straddled both ledges, the feel of rough brick scratching at the naked skin of his back and bum.

It was then he heard the voices below.

Laughter drifted up to him, women's laughter.

Looking down he saw the three women walking the four stories down, oblivious to the naked man balanced above them, his prick and balls exposed to the cooling night air, his mortified face showing his horror at finding himself in such a vulnerable position.

Standing still straddling the two ledges he held his breath as the women walked up towards the end of the quiet side road and disappeared around the corner, away from him. Away from discovering the show high above their heads of the naked man, and so shuffling along and manoeuvring his weight to the right he managed to progress his left foot across the space to join his right on the next ledge.

One window nearer freedom.

One ledge nearer escape.

Behind him he could hear music. The last track on the CD he and his lover had put onto the music system only a short time before, slow and romantic it mocked him as he stood there alone and afraid on the ledge. She had laughed as she had chosen the disc, telling him that before it finished she would have made him cum, and she had started to remove his white shirt before the first track was halfway through. The shirt that now lay like a dead swan on the dark blue canopy of the entrance to the smart and fashionable apartments where his lover and her husband lived, a white stain far below him, out of reach.

Small steps, shuffling along he moved to his right, the night air tightening his nipples so they stood out in a parody of how they had been as she had raked her nails across them as he had bent his head to kiss her in the room behind him. Closer and closer towards the next window he sidled along, holding his breath, praying that with each small step he would be safe and that the ledge would hold.

Glancing across he noticed that the light had gone on in the window opposite, and he could see the hazy silhouette in the room beyond of someone moving about. Standing still, his eyes riveted on the large expanse of glass he watched as the shape of the person came nearer towards the window, taking shape into a woman of about sixty. He watched transfixed as she reached up about to close the drapes, until suddenly she looked out across the street at him.

Shocked eyes met shocked eyes.

Time seemed to stand still.

His breath caught in his throat.

And then she pulled the drapes and was gone. But what was she doing behind those heavy curtains now pulled across the window opposite blocking out all light. Was she phoning the cops? 

Quickly shuffling along he made his way towards the next window ledge, right foot reaching across, toes testing the ledge, hands holding on to the red brick wall, weight shifting to his right, breath holding in his chest as he crossed the space to alight on the next small strip of jutting out cement that was his path to freedom.

Taking a moment to catch his breath and try to relax he stood, his naked body with a slight sheen of sweat covering his skin despite the cold night air swirling around him. To his right about six feet away stood a street lamp, it's dull yellow light flickering with a halo of glare topped by a large bird that sat atop it. The black creature seemed to be watching him with curiosity, its small body perched with confidence as it looked across at him. And then as if bored with the antics of the stupid human it took wing and flew away, leaving the man alone, facing the void in front of him.

Resuming his slow escape to freedom he moved along, his muscles trembling finely under his taut skin, locks of hair damp with sweat curling against his neck and forehead. 

Only two more windows to go.

Funny how such a small distance could seem so far from this point of view.

Reaching out with his foot he found the next ledge, and resting his weight down preparing to bring his left foot across he felt a wobble below his foot. Daring to glance down to where his foot rested he noticed a bit of cement was loose on the next ledge. Biting his lip he thought what he should do. Take the chance and stand on the loose bit, or kick it off. Standing straddled between the two ledges, the alternatives and consequences running through his mind he heard the sound of the police sirens in the distance and quickly, holding on tight to the brick behind, moved his foot until the loose small piece was tumbling down to hit the hard pavement far below. Carrying on at a faster pace he moved across and shuffled to his right aiming for the last window and the fire escape.

And then freedom.

The sound of the sirens became louder and louder until he could hear them at the end of the road he was in. The flashing blue lights glowed out in the dark and came to a rest below where he stood. Staring down at the two police cars that screeched to a halt he gave a deep sigh resigned to becoming the centre of the authorities attention and a the need for an embarrassing explanation to how he came to be perched up on a window ledge three stories up, buck naked and exposed for anyone to see.

Hearing the shouts from the men below, their voices reaching him as they climbed out the car, entreating him not to jump, he laughed.

Jump?

He didn't want to jump!

He wanted to get down. In one piece, safe and with his dignity intact.

But that was not to be as he watched the windows opposite light up and open, curious heads poke out, looking to see what would necessitate the police, then looking across at him, their faces breaking out with either wide smiles or looks of shock.

The sigh in his chest expanded and his shoulders slumped as he stood there shivering waiting for the inevitable. 

No where to hide, no way to cover his dignity. 

To his left he heard a window open and he saw the husband of his lovers head lean out and look down, then towards him. Their eyes met, one angry and other resigned, and then the head disappeared back into the apartment, and the sound of a window being slammed rocketed out into the night to mix with the sounds of laughter and the shouts from the police below.

Moving towards his right he made for the last window ledge and the fire escape, his right hand reaching out for the black metal and a safer grip than the red brick his now sore fingers had been trying to grip. Wobbling a little as he reached out he nearly fell forward, hearing the collective gasp of the crowd now starting to form, his heart nearly leapt out his throat as he struggled to keep his footing and right his body so that he could make the small leap across to the safety of the black structure.

He could feel the vibrations on the metal as the police ran up towards him, and as he placed both feet on the edifice one appeared, a blanket in his hand, a frown on his face, and reaching out he grabbed the mans arm and helped him to the flat safe platform before wrapping the scratchy wool blanket around his shoulders, covering up his body and saving his modesty.

Slowly he made his way down the steps, towards the crowd now formed below as 

they swirled around the two cars, and as he reached the end of the steps and his bare foot touched the cold dank pavement light bulb flashed and he looked up to see cameras catching the scene for posterity.

It was then that the devil took him, and dropping the blanket from around his shoulders he gave them something to photograph.

After all, he had nothing to hide now, and if he was going to be charged for lewd behaviour and exposure he might as well go the whole hog.

And to think his only ambition an hour ago was to make it down with no one noticing or seeing him. Funny how your perspective on life can change in just a flash. 



Naked Ambition



There is no question we live in a tough economy. It's difficult enough for most of us to find any job, let alone one in which we've had training and skills. Desperate times called for desperate measures in several of those cases, and during a recent job interview, you could say I was one of the desperate.

I was living on my savings since my unemployment compensation benefits expired after the last extension, but it wouldn't be much longer before they too depleted. I already cashed in on some of my investments to pay off my condo. During the entire time, I've hunted for the same kind of career position I'd held for almost twenty years before the newspaper was sold to a major company was a tough feat.

Journalism students straight from college rarely had success putting their newly acquired degrees to use; at forty-two, it was much more difficult for me. I still sold some freelance articles and stories from home, but I needed a steady income to stay afloat financially.

When I received a response to my online resume to interview for a position at one of the local TV stations, I was thrilled, yet somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that my chances of getting a field reporter spot were slim to none. After all, why should they settle for someone my age when there were so many young, attractive, and equally ambitious women?

I arrived at the studios and gave the receptionist my name. She consulted a list on her desk. "Oh, yes, Jeff will be conducting your interview. Second door on your right down the hallway."

I found Jeff's office and knocked on the door. A man's voice yelled for me to come in. When I opened the door, I faced a well-dressed man who didn't look much older than twenty-one.

My God, he's still a kid. This should be fun, I thought.

I cleared my throat and introduced myself. I immediately apologized for being late.

Jeff eyed my body from head to toe and I felt the color rising in my neck. I've always tended to blush when people stare at me. "Yes, you must be Susan. Harmon," he finally said and took my resume. 

"One thing we emphasize is punctuality," he continued not looking up from reading the resume. "Not being on time today is one strike against you, and from what I see on your resume, I don't think you'd be cut out for one of our open positions."

I was right; this was a waste of time, I thought. I'm just too old. 

I explained that I had other qualifications and assets and he should reconsider my application. I was willing to do anything.

Jeff looked at me and a devilish grin crossed his face. "Really? Anything?"

"I'd like to offer my skills to your station," I replied.

His eyes roamed my body again. "Well, there's one thing you can do."

"What?"

I was practically in shock when Jeff instructed me to take off my top, adding if I wanted a job I had to show him HOW much I desired it.

I'd always prided myself on getting work the old-fashioned way, but since my present circumstances were bleak, if getting even the most menial job at the station meant doing anyone as well as anything, then I should give in to the desires of the man sitting before me. For still being quite young, Jeff was attractive and sexy, so maybe showing him my breasts wouldn't be such a bad thing.

I pulled off my top so Jeff could see my naked chest and saw him rubbing the rising tent in his khaki pants. He motioned me to drop my skirt and grinned with appreciation after I did. "You got great tits and one fine ass. I love women with a few curves on her, and yours are perfect."

He asked me to sit on a black leather couch. After I did, he drew closer and removed his clothes. Jeff had an amazing body with a perfect ass, flat stomach, and of course, a very well-endowed cock. I knew what Jeff wanted me to do. He smiled down at me while he stroked his throbbing shaft in front of my face. 

I began licking his balls while I stroked his shaft. Jeff leaned back his head back and sighed with content. Taking the cue, I moved my mouth over his shaft, taking down as much of his dick as I could before I felt its head at the back of my throat. 

If sucking his cock was going to be the rest of the interview, then I was going to make sure that hot young stud got the blow job of his life!

He pulled his wet cock out of my mouth and then straddled my body. He held my breasts together and then pushed his penis between them. Jeff's hands pushed my tits firmly together to form a tighter hole while he thrust his cock in and out of my cleavage.

After several minutes, he slid down my body and pulled apart my pussy lips. He pushed his face between my thighs as he licked and sucked my pussy. I rocked my hips bone in motions I never knew I could around his lips as his tongue darted inside me. I didn't know how many times I actually came, but my body was still shivering when Jeff finished pleasing me with his mouth and then mounted himself on top of me.

My hands pushed against his body as I felt his steel hard cock moving inside me. I moaned with pleasure as his pushed deeper and his thrusts increased. Grabbing my body, he started hammering into my tight sweet spot and my tits bounced with every motion of his hips. Jeff's body began to break out in beads of sweat as he slipped his arms under my legs and contained to fuck me hard until I exploded in orgasm.

Jeff pulled out after several minutes. "Get on all fours," he ordered.

I turned over and it didn't take long for him to plunge back in my pussy and start fucking me in hardcore doggie style. I pushed my thighs back on his hips and our moans began to fill the room. His hand reached below my chest and grabbed my tits while we fucked like animals in heat.

He pulled out and turned me on my back again. It was almost all I could do to keep from laughing when his cell phone rang and he took the call. Jeff casually spoke on the phone with someone who was clearly a friend while he continued to fuck me - I am not kidding!

Jeff finished his phone call just as I noticed the familiar feeling inside me of a man about to come. Within minutes, he pushed his cock deeper and increased his thrusts, grunting each time he slammed his hips against mine.

He let out an animalistic groan as I felt his release in me. After a few more thrusts, he collapsed on top of me, clearly satisfied. We lay like that for several minutes before lifting his body from mine and we sat together, still naked.

"My buddy was right about one thing...cougar sex ROCKS!" he said with a wide smile. "Now, I have some good and bad news."

I stared incredulously at him. I'd just spent the last half and hour fucking a guy who was practically a stranger and I wasn't going to be offered a job after all?

"Give me the bad news first," I said.

"Well, we filled all of the field positions, but the good news is I have something else in mind for you. I need a personal assistant in the worst way, and judging from what I've seen, you are far more than qualified. I'll even throw in medical and other benefits." He winked. "Be warned, some of those benefits could be..let's say the 'physical' kind."

"But..." I began.

"Don't worry, I've been cut," Jeff said, as if he'd read my mind. "Love kids, but no desire to have my own."

It wasn't something I'd consider under normal circumstances, but how could I refuse a such another great opportunity, particularly if I can "assist" him in other ways?

I start work on Monday.



Naked America, a New Day Nude Day



This is a Nude Day contest story. Please vote.

Nude Day earmarks a new day for the middleclass American. 

*

Robert took one last look at himself in the mirror and fussed with his necktie, before leaving his hotel suite to get in the limousine. His assistants, Vivian, a beautiful redhead, Priscilla, a sultry brunette, and Susan, a buxom blonde were already in the car awaiting his direction. Boston was their 39th city in 39 days.

It took a year to get the engine started and their machine moving, but now that it was going at full speed, their traveling show steamrolled across the country. Supported by raves reviews, their movement had caught the attention of the national press and both Diane Sawyer and Katie Couric had interviewed Robert, and Oprah, Leno, and Letterman invited him and his three striking assistants on their shows. What had started a year ago, on Nude Day, had finally taken the country by storm.

At first locally, then nationally, every day a newspaper somewhere recorded another sighting of naked people. Every day there was another video on the Internet of naked people not only celebrating Nude Day but also subscribing to Robert's New Day Nude Day. Finally going global and now receiving the attention he needed to go over the top, there were daily reports of outbreaks of naked people in Japan, Australia, Canada, and England.

One would think, especially those men and those women who first saw Robert and his three stunningly attractive assistants, and who weren't as outwardly attractive as Robert, Vivian, Priscilla, and Susan, that he was a flimflam man. No doubt, they'd think that his message was just another scam to fleece those people, who could ill afford it, out of what little money they had left from a double dip recession. Only their charges that he was a flimflam man and that his message was just another scam fell short, when he didn't charge anyone any money to attend his seminars. Giving out no special favors, his seminars were free, so long as they made an advance appointment and waited their turn on the list with everyone else.

The list, as well as the wait, of those waiting to get in was long. Of course, those who were interested could buy his book, listen to his CD's, watch his DVD's, and/or wait for the movie, Naked America, a New Day Nude Day, that was already in production and soon to be release in select theatres. Looking at Robert and his three beautiful assistants, those who fell short in appearance and social skills were as jealous as they were suspicious and quick to write him off as talking rubbish.

Yet, the limousines that followed Robert's limousine were filled with those attendees randomly selected from his waiting list to act as special guest hosts and ushers. Now, with new guest hosts and ushers filling those roles in every city he visited, people were willingly stripping naked to get in to hear him speak. With so many people out of work or underemployed, out of money, out of hope, and desperately looking to grasp onto the last straw of salvation, he had plenty of volunteers to choose from to fill those roles.

Emily, a young professional, just out of college and just beginning her career, was engaged to be married in October. She rode in the second limousine. Also riding in the second limousine was Walter, a retired school teacher, who wore a different bowtie each day.

Anthony, as full of confidence as he was blessed with good looks, was a new devotee, after he read Robert's book three times, listened to his CD's, and watched his DVD's daily. Then, there was Ruby and Tyrone, a mother and son team, who were as devoted to Robert and his mission, as they were to one another and to their church. Their mission was to report back to their congregation all that they heard and all that they saw.

George, the last passenger in the second limousine, who lost his job four years ago and was unable to find another one, would have committed suicide had he not read Robert's Naked America, a New Day Nude Day book first. Rounding out the passengers in the third limousine was Cynthia, a retired municipal worker who struggled to live in Boston on her meager retirement and Social Security check and five other devotees of Robert's Naked America, a New Day Nude Day quasi religion. A slice of the current economically challenged America, they were all eager to help make a change.

The three limousines pulled up to the convention center and all sixteen passengers alighted with faces full of enthusiasm for what they were all about to do. The job of each limousine passenger was to enlist another dozen or so people, who were already instructed by the seminar, book, CD, and/or DVD. They roamed the aisles, passed out literature, and answered questions, while soliciting new devotees.

Normally saved for computer, home, boat, and auto shows, the convention hall easily held 50,000 people, a crowd bigger than those that regularly attended Fenway Park to watch the Boston Red Sox play and there were, at least, that many waiting to hear Robert speak every day in 30 different cities for the next month. Run much in the same way as a political campaign, Robert, if he wanted to, could use his message as his mission to run for Congress, but he didn't want to be a mere Congressman. True to his calling, he believed that his message was far greater and more important than that.

Robert readied himself backstage, while his three assistants catered to his needs. Every time he spoke, more people wanted to hear him speak. To date, Boston was his biggest crowd and he expected an even bigger crowd in Hartford tomorrow with New York eclipsing that the next day.

Coined as being the wizard of the average man and woman, oftentimes called Doctor, he was quick to correct anyone who mistakenly called him the wizard or doctor. He was just a man, just like them, an average, unemployed man who lost his job, his home, his car, and his family. Taking it upon himself, his role was to wake up the sleeping giant, the powerful middleclass that, when banded together and united as one, they could make the changes that they wanted to make and not what a select few of the very rich forced upon us. Moreover, for the longer term, Robert knew he was amassing a trump card in popularity that he planned to use in his bid to run for the presidency of the United states in 2016.

With no podium, no chair, and not even glass of water waiting to wet his dry throat, Robert didn't even clutter his hand with a microphone. He wore a simple headset attached to the sound system, before standing naked in front of the crowd. Even when not standing there naked, with just the power of his message, he always stood naked in front of the crowd.

"Thank you all for attending my Naked America, a New Day Nude Day seminar," he said looking out at the crowd, while trying to make eye contact with everyone in the audience. "These are my assistants," he said slowly turning and waving his hand to his right, "Vivian, Priscilla, and Susan. For those of you who think that this is just a striptease show and/or titillating nude demonstration, please leave now. The rest of us don't need your negative energy."

For such a large assembled group of people, the crowd was eerily quiet, as everyone looked to one another, before looking around, and waiting to see who'd leave, but no one did.

"There are no cameras, camcorders, or recording devices allowed, and all cell phone communication is expressly forbidden. For those who cannot obey those rules, you will be asked to leave. As there are many who want to be here and to hear me speak, we are one unified mass and those who try to disrupt this seminar will be driven out, as if a cancerous tumor invading a body," said Robert pausing in his speech to survey the crowd. "Shall we begin?"

Robert removed his necktie and unbuttoned his collar and then removed his suit coat and began unbuttoning his shirt. He neatly hung everything on a coat rack that was expressly rolled out to collect his clothes and the clothes of his assistants.

"For those of you who don't know, my intention is to get naked," he said unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and removing his shirt. "My assistants, Vivian, Priscilla, and Susan are removing their clothes, as well, as are my ushers, Emily, Walter, Anthony, Ruby, Tyrone, George, and Cynthia, along with whoever else they invited to participate in this naked demonstration. For those of you who are offended by nudity, please leave now."

Robert paused, while looking out over the crowd, as those in the audience looked from one to another, but no one moved.

"I invite anyone else who'd like to remove their clothes and join us in this naked experience to do so now."

A few brave souls within the crowd began stripping off their clothes.

"Nudity is my personal symbolism and public salvation for what I'm all about and who I am," said Robert removing his shirt and tee shirt, before removing his shoes and socks. Then, unbuckling, unbuttoning, unzipping, he removed his pants and underwear.

As if a magician showing the crowd that he had nothing to hide, he held his arms out to his side, while slowly turning three hundred sixty degrees. Vivian, Priscilla, and Susan removed their dresses, bras and panties and stood before the crowd just in their high heeled shoes. Doing the same, they held their arms out to their sides and slowly turned three hundred sixty degrees.

"Here I am just a man, naked in front of you with nothing to hide. Maybe now, you'll see me for who I am. Maybe now, you'll believe the truths that I'm about to tell you. Maybe now, you'll trust me. It's hard to lie or to be deceptive, when I'm so exposed. I dare say, if all of our interactions with one another were so open and honest, we wouldn't have misunderstandings. I dare say that if all of our politicians were as open and honest, when giving us the naked truth, we wouldn't have a financial crisis, a budget deficient, and wars."

One by one, more of the audience began removing their clothes. What had started as a way to enlighten, empower, and impassion people had now become a movement.

*

Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading and voting for my story.



Naked And A Supergirl



This story is a fanfic of the TV show Supergirl, in which the title character is in her twenties.

*

If Kara had known just how adorable Alex could be about it—and Alex was always adorable, but this was another level of adorable, she was practically skipping—she would've insisted that Alex take her on a tour of her secret government spy workplace a long time ago. That sounded unfeasible, but still, Alex was clearly bursting to show her everything.

"And this is our Kryptonite Storage/Research Chamber," Alex said proudly, actually waggling her eyebrows at Kara as she led her inside.

It was the usual DEO set-up: a dense, dark room that reminded Kara a little of a walk-in closet. The narrow walls were lined with chunks of variously hued minerals. Most were green, some red, then blue, yellow, orange... all were encased in clear Lucite cubes that had to be laced with lead, since all Kara felt was a sense of trepidation at having so much anti-Kryptonian radiation around her.

Alex said as much, taking Kara's arm all friendly like as she explained the safety protocols that kept the Kryptonite locked away so thoroughly. "You know Superman's had a lot of problems with bad guys who get their hands on this stuff, so part of the DEO's job is to collect it, figure out ways to neutralize it, otherwise study it. We've found some very interesting clean energy applications to this stuff." She tapped on a sample of Green-K. "It's literally green energy."

"Uh-huh," Kara said, smiling nervously. "You know I never actually... went over what they all do. Superman just told me to stay away from the stuff. I mean, I know green Kryptonite weakens me, but what's red do? Just turn you into a lion?"

Alex laughed, picking up a red cube. It seemed to glow brighter between her two hands. "Red Kryptonite actually doesn't have a consistent effect. Every time it interacts with Kryptonian physiology seems different based on changing circumstances, and obviously we can't test it. It's possible it could even have some positive benefits, if we could find out how to apply it."

"Well, bigger boobs would be nice, but I think I'll just stick to the regular kinds of radiation for now!"

Alex smiled back at her. "A traditionalist. I can respect that." She set the Kryptonite back down. "Hey, do you have your own Bizarro yet? There's actually a whole array of Kryptonite that only seems to work on Bizarros..."

Kara wasn't looking at her. She was looking at the cube of Lucite, which Alex had set down just a little on edge. It was settling, shifting with a bit of a wobble, as if about to fall over. Kara reached to catch it, and in her panic, she actually slapped it away instead of being able to grip it.

The cube flew through the air. While the sturdy construction of the containment vessel would've been able to handle a fall to the floor, it couldn't take (effectively) a blow from Supergirl knocking it into a bulkhead. The cube hit the wall, smashed open, and the red Kryptonite spilled out. Without the lead-lined Lucite to blot out its radiation, its glowing light colored the entire room crimson.

"Kara, go!" Alex shouted, but it was too late. Kara felt herself changing—a profound itching sensation all over her body. She looked down. Her stockings were glowing ember red, like a battery pressed into steel wool, the fabric charring off her body into dissipating ash.

"Oh!" she cried, and then felt her top suffering the same fate. It was burning—flames racing over her sleeves and along her shoulders. It wasn't hurting her, but even Winn's durable fabric couldn't take it. It was flaring right off her, even her bra going up, the tingling feel of the heat leaving her nipples erect. That, more than anything, embarrassed Kara, and she covered her breasts with her hands before realizing that they, too, were bare.

Now her skirt and boots, thick and sturdy as they were, went up. Kara could already feel the lick of flames, sickeningly exciting, as her panties collapsed into sparks. Her heavy skirt was melting away into a sticky molten mess. She reached down between her legs to cover her pussy with one hand, reaching her other arm across both breasts to cover those.

Then she felt the air conditioning against her buttocks, almost teasingly, like someone was lightly touching her. Uttering a moan of dismay, she wiggled around, hiding her ass by pressing it against the wall. That, at least, did not burst into flame.

"Oh my God, Kara," Alex cried, taking off her jacket and offering it to Kara before anyone came to investigate. Almost tearfully grateful, Kara took it and shrugged it on, then wailed as the itching sensation began again. The zipper of her jacket sparked electrically, while the wool almost exploded with a series of small flames. Kara hurried to cover herself again as her new covering burnt away. And now she could hear footsteps approaching—the DEO responding to the contamination of one of their hazardous materials.

For lack of anything better to do, Alex stood between Kara and the door, her arms spread wide as a phalanx of DEO Security crammed through the doorway—Kara sure that Alex's petite body and her own strategically positioned arms weren't doing much to hide her long, bare legs. Feeling eyes on her slender shoulders, something she'd never been ashamed of, suddenly made her feel actively self-conscious.

"We have a situation here," Alex said. "Inform Director Henshaw and clear the area."

***

Alex was, to her credit, amazingly proficient at improvisation. After trying to dress Kara once more in a lab coat and one of the security guards' jackets—to similar fiery ends—she brought some rolling screens down from med-bay, the kind used to separate beds and give patients at least the illusion of privacy. With four of those boxing Kara in, rolled by the admittedly professional guards, they transported Kara to the lab.

She still felt overwhelmingly exposed, walking around naked, her bare silhouette obvious through the light and flimsy-seeming screens. She kept her arms over her crotch and cleavage, but that somehow made her feel even more shamefully nude, like people weren't just whispering about her situation, but it was being broadcast across the globe, cameras covering every inch of her body, people in Bombay able to zoom in on her butt with their tablets.

Finally, her bare feet paraded her into Alex's lab. They left the guards at the door and Alex closed the door, bolted it.

"Don't worry," Alex said. "I've already shut down the security cameras."

Kara blushed fiercely, suddenly aware of the possibility that her bareness really could've been recorded, broadcast everywhere, scrutinized like she was some kind of... porn star. Even if Alex would never ever let that happen, the very possibility made her wilt.

"We're just going to run a few tests," Alex said. "And if there's any way to reverse this, we will."

"It doesn't make any sense!" Kara wailed, picking up one of Alex's beakers. "I don't burn up anything I'm holding! I don't leave scorch marks on the ground! I don't understand!"

"It could have something to do with how your mind processes stimuli. Wearing clothes is a fairly recent development, evolutionally speaking. It seems natural to us because we're raised that way, but you know how dogs and cats hate being dressed up. With the Red-K radiation playing havoc with your bodily functions, it could be that this has triggered an immune response to what your body now registers as an attack. This could be some latent superpower—a vestigial Kryptonian defense mechanism for use against predators that's now reemerged."

"So I can't put anything on if I think of it as clothing?" Kara asked, agape.

"If you think of it as hiding your nudity, yes. Your skin will—have that reaction. It really is amazing how this mutation seems to have short-circuited your conscious response to the tactile stimuli of clothing, skipping straight to some genetic instinct. I don't think it'd be possible with a human."

Kara pried her hands away from her privates to run them through her hair. "How will I go to work? How will I fight crime? I can't do anything like this!"

"Well, with Superman, we've noticed the Red Kryptonite effects tend to last twenty-four hours. Something to do with the circadian rhythm. Just call in sick to work. You wouldn't even by lying..."

"Call in sick? Have you ever met Cat Grant?"

"Okay, okay—" Alex put her arms on Kara's biceps to calm her down, momentarily thinking better of it in Kara's current condition, before Kara gave her a piteous look—like if Alex took her hands away, it really would be too much; she'd just throw herself on the floor and wait there until the Red K wore off. "There is a disaster scenario where a hostile actor uses Red Kryptonite to disable Superman, and while he's affected, stages a terrorist attack or major crime. With that in mind, STAR Labs was working on a contingency plan to counteract the effects of Red K radiation. We confiscated it. They never got it to work right, but I could take a look at it—"

"Oh please!" Kara begged, putting her hands on Alex's arms in turn. "Oh please, please, please—" She felt better just knowing there was hope, a possibility for her big sister to swoop in to save her, and giddily she bounced up and down like they were having a sleepover again and she was trying to draw Alex into jumping on the bed.

"Uh, Kara?" Alex said. "That's a little different since you got breasts. And nudity."

"Sorry," Kara said, drawing Alex into a hug. Then pulling away from her. "Sorry!"

***

Alex found some towels for her before looking for the machine. Kara couldn't wrap them around herself without setting off her skin-burning power, but she could sorta drape one over her ass and hold the other in front of her full frontal nudity. That way she at least felt better about being a nudist camp of one. More like she was posing for Vogue or something. She imagined a tasteful but intimate photo shoot that maybe showed a little of her butt or something. That wasn't so bad.

"Alright," Alex said, wheeling the machine in: it looked like an overhead projector that could also play Xbox One games. "Now, they never got a chance to test this, but I looked over all their notes and it should work just fine. Uh, as long as you haven't eaten radishes in the last four hours. Have you?"

"I would've remembered," Kara said certainly.

"Alright then." Alex dropped her hands from the cart's push-bar, instead kneading them together in worry. It was a gesture Kara well-remembered from their mother. "Are you sure you want to do this? It'll wear off in a day anyway; Cat Grant will understand. We can fake a car accident or something, say you were in a medically induced coma—"

"And what if some alien goes on a rampage?" Kara asked. "Or Livewire escapes or there's a tornado?"

"Then we can use the machine then."

"And waste time that I could spend flying there and saving people? No, we get this handled now, keep me at a hundred percent peak performance."

"Okay," Alex said. "Let's get started then."

***

In the testing chamber, she insisted on spot-checking all the components, practically taking the machine apart and putting it back together before she would turn it down. Then, after one last try to talk Kara out of it where Kara just had to put her foot down, she retreated to the bunker, leaving Kara alone in the dubious blast pit.

Kara knew they'd tested weaponry and rocket engines in there—it still didn't make her feel too good about all the scorch marks on the sandy ground or concrete walls. Nor did having to set aside her towels so they wouldn't interfere in the procedure. She took a little comfort in knowing that Alex would absolutely positively not let anyone anywhere near her while she was afflicted.

"Ready?" Alex asked over the loudspeaker.

Kara gave a thumbs up to the reinforced Plexiglas of the bunker, knowing Alex was behind it with safety goggles over her eyes—and feeling a momentary flicker of doubt that maybe there were other people with her, seeing her naked. Kara resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands. She didn't want to give Alex the impression she doubted her.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Kara asked a few moments later. The door to the bunker opened and Alex emerged, safety goggles down around her neck.

"We used it. You didn't feel anything? Well, we got you with plenty of zeta particles, so—" She held out a fresh lab coat. It was the whitest white Kara had ever seen.

"I want to wear that more than I wanted that Mano Belkin dress for prom!"

"Try it on!" Alex cheered, goofily going along with the farce that it was some high fashion outfit.

Posing playfully, Kara played her arms through the sleeves, then struck a gallantly chic stance—only to feel an itching all over her body.

The lab coat burnt right off her.

"That can't be right," Alex said, a lump in her throat forming as she saw how Kara desperately tried to pat out the fires raging on her clothes. She took out her PDA and extended the antenna to scan Kara.

"Why didn't it work, Alex?" Kara asked plaintively, looking at her sister as she blinked back tears.

"It, uh—seems to have set off a chain reaction. I'm reading an increase in Red K radiation."

"More? What's that mean?"

"Assuming my math is right," Alex said, stumbling over her words as if the longer she held them back, the longer she could keep them from being true. "Then the effect won't last for twenty-four hours. It could last up to two weeks."

***

Kara let herself cry a little bit—just a little bit—in the bathroom before she flew home as fast as she could. She'd have to quit her job. There was no other way. She sent a resignation letter, effective immediately, to Cat Grant. And whatever her faults, Cat was extremely lenient about the two weeks' notice stuff. She tended to run through personnel too fast to stick to the letter of the law in that case.

Winn called her shortly afterward, insistently on an explanation in that almost demanding way of his. It all spilled out of her—how could it not, he was her best friend?—she told him how the clothes had practically peeled off her body, how she'd inadvertently destroyed the beautiful suit he'd made her, all the shame and embarrassment she'd felt being paraded around DEO headquarters totally nude. In a choked voice he said he understood and to tell him if there was anything he could do to help.

(Kara was blissfully unaware of Winn's sudden, desperate need to masturbate.)

She couldn't bear to tell Jimmy, though. Shamelessly, she texted Alex to cook up an explanation for her. She knew Alex blamed herself for all this and so would do whatever it took to make nudist life easier for Kara. Kara mollified herself by thinking that giving Alex something to do to help would make her feel better about the whole situation.

Then—with her curtains very soundly drawn—Kara set about waiting out the Kryptonite poisoning. At least it didn't seem to be triggered by her wrapping herself up in an spare blanket, for whatever reason—maybe because it was so thin that it just glazed over her body, making her appear more naked than naked when she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. It was the lingerie of blankets, seemingly to cling extra tightly to Kara's perky breasts or pert buttocks, at least to her eye. It made her wish she had a Snuggie.

For two interminable days, she watched TV, surfed the web, got into way too many social media discussions of the new Star Wars movies, worked out a complicated system of paying for delivery food without answering the door that compelled her to tip twice as well, and hoped really really hard that no aliens would attack the city.

Was this what it was like when Earth women got periods? How awful.

Cat called her, half to demand an explanation for her absence (and passive-aggressively tell her to get her ass back to work) and half to vent about her new assistant, a college graduate who was adamant that Cat talk to him in his native Spanish when he was at his desk, since it was his safe space and he found being spoken to in English a colonialist 'mislanguaging'.

Even getting whisper-threatened over the phone like she'd butt-dialed Batman was better than lying in bed all day, so Kara listened attentively and agreed with all Cat's points and went over Alex's hermit cover story—Alex had practically written a dissertation for her on it—and it finally got to the point that Cat promised Kara her job back so long as she promised never to work for someone named Jack Ryder.

Kara couldn't really backtrack the turns in the conversation to where they'd reached that point, but she agreed. Upon which Cat acidly 'apologized' for the building's custodial staff disposing of all her personal belongings when she'd quit. Kara nodded to herself. Working for Cat, she'd long ago left all sentimental items at home, where they were out of range of frustration-induced crushing.

Then, four days in, it happened. She got a call from Henshaw.

"One of our Fort Roz escapees gave up the goods. We still don't know the General's plan, but he fingered a Carggite refugee who would know more. Apparently Astra did some business with him, and he's somewhere in Bludhaven. If you could find him—"

Alex's voice took over the line. "We can find him, Kara, we just want to talk to him, there's no need for superpowers—"

"We can't know that," Henshaw retorted. "If the Carggite talks to us peacefully, that's one thing, but he's a triplicate hive-mind, able to shift energy between all three of his forms. That's power we'd be hard-pressed to deal with."

"So we'll just find him once Kara has—recovered."

"And give the enemy additional time to enact her plan? Whatever she has planned, it could already be an active threat!"

"Guys!" Kara interrupted, feeling a migraine headache beginning. "I'll do it. Henshaw's right, we don't have time to sit around and... anyway, it's nighttime, I'll just fly high, move fast, no one'll see me."

Alex's voice went as strident as their mother's. "It's an unnecessary compromising of one of our top agents—"

"You're telling me she can't do her job if someone sees her naked? Never seemed to stop Jennifer Lawrence."

"It will impact her morale!"

"And whatever Astra's planning won't?"

"Alex, I said it was fine," Kara interrupted again. "Superman wouldn't let himself be too embarrassed to do the right thing, and neither will I."

She could hear Alex sigh heavily, right over the line. "You know Mom'll kill me if so much as your bare back turns up on TMZ?"

"I'll be faster than a speeding camera phone. Promise."

***

Kara flew high above Bludhaven, telescoping her vision down to the city streets. The Carggite wouldn't be easy to spot—three identical men moving in lockstep, maybe. She almost hoped she wouldn't find them, have to confront them, but she did her best regardless. The DEO couldn't afford to let General Astra get the drop on them.

After a few hours of prowling the skyways, Kara was almost comfortable with her public nudity. The darkness hid her body well, while the waning moon gave her nice enough light to see by. Really, it was silly that they'd even debated this—Alex being overprotective. So what if people saw her naked, so what if it ended up on the internet even? Why should she be ashamed of embarrassment in pursuit of a worthy cause? Would Superman care about getting photographed from a bad angle while he dug out a collapsed mine? No! Why should she?

She spotted them just before morning, midway through a dark alley. The triplicates had a street walker boxed in like that Night At The Roxbury sketch, teasing her, feinting at her scant clothes. She wasn't unreceptive, but she was holding back, making some kind of argument that frustrated them. Supergirl flew down, taking refuge behind a big cypress bush growing alongside the mouth of the alley—some kind of ill-fated beautification effort. It, and the darkness, would shield her from prying eyes. She sent a line of heatvision cutting between the sex worker and the Carggite(s), getting their attention.




Naked And A Supergirl



"You want to tell me why you're hassling the lady?" Kara demanded, in an overcompensatingly bold voice.

"Supergirl!" one of them (him?) cried.

"Is it? I can't see..."

"Who else has heatvision?" the third demanded, taking the words right out of Kara's mouth.

"Superman?"

"Did that sound like Superman?"

The lady was as impatient with this as Supergirl. She broke from the pack to get a little closer to Supergirl. "These bums want me to party with them, but they're only willing to pay for a party of one. Not three!"

"Why should we pay for three?" the Carggite demanded, all in unison. "We're all one person!"

"Yeah, and they're in some kind of cult too," the woman added.

"You'd better leave," Kara told her. "I'll handle this."

"Yeah, plenty of normal weirdos who want to party," she sniffed as she walked off on five-inch heels. "A two-for-one special I've heard of, but three—"

Supergirl faced the Carggite as she left, staring them down, trying to impose her will too heavily for them to question or doubt her.

"Say," one said, "what's with the bush? Don't you Supers usually like to advertise?"

"Yeah! You don't see Superman just poking his head out from behind a tree—"

"Do you want more heatvision?" Kara demanded. "Because I've got more heatvision!"

They demurred. She pressed on.

"General Astra of the Fort Roz aliens contacted you. I want to know why. If you cooperate, I'd be willing to keep you off the DEO's radar."

"DEO?" they sneered. "You think we're afraid of the DEO?"

They dissipated into one individual—the same bald, brawny man there had just been three of. "You have to catch all three of us to get me. Otherwise—"

And then there were three of them again. "You're shit out of luck!"

Kara gritted her teeth. Imagined them moving in three different directions, stealing cars, boarding subways or buses—every time she caught up to one, he'd disappear into the other two. It'd be like trying to catch running water. "Alright. But I still need to know everything you know about General Astra."

"What's it worth to you?" they insisted. "Enough money to pay that nice lady for all three of us?"

Supergirl hadn't carried money around even when she'd had pockets. Good way to lose rent money, getting into an alien fight with fragile, flammable bills on your person. "I don't have any money—"

"No, seriously, what's with the bush?"

"Is it a Batman thing?"

"She always stands out in the open on the news..."

Kara sighed. She was angry with herself, being stuck inside for almost a week, letting her powers lie fallow just because she was embarrassed to show a little skin. Who cared if she was naked? Hell, who cared if she had sex? No one seemed to care who Superman was flying with. In that moment, she suddenly, absolutely wanted to make up for her own cowardice—to own her sexuality instead of being embarrassed or ashamed of it.

She stepped out from behind the bush. "Happy now?"

They were actually averting their eyes before they gave in to gawking, seeing how unconcerned she was at her own nakedness. Kara liked the feeling of being gaped at a little. It wasn't like she had anything to be ashamed of. She loved her body! It was great! She put her hands on her hips and did a little pose, turning her head a little to show off her heroic chin, giving them a smile and winking a tidge.

"So—what do I call you fellas?"

Two of them pointed at each other. "One." "Two."

"Dr. One," the first corrected.

"Just Two," the second added.

"And Mr. Three," the third put in. "They call me Mister Three."

"Nice to meet all of you," Kara said, walking into the alley. "Now, you wanted to pay her with money. How about you pay me with information?"

"For the same thing?"

"For the same thing," Kara agreed. "As long as it's worth my while. The information... and whatever."

"Oh, it'll be worth it," Dr. One said, stepping forward, his face a mask of lust and the front of his pants pushed out of shape by a huge, hulking... something.

Kara smiled at him. This was turning her on more than she would've expected... being naughty, being naked, letting herself be looked at and touched. She liked it.

She held her arm over her breasts, interrupting his leering. "So we're agreed? And if your information isn't good, I'm taking all three of you to the DEO, no matter how long it takes!"

Dr. One pulled Kara's hand aside, staring almost obsessively at her modest breasts. For Kara, who'd always thought they were on the smallish side, it was pretty gratifying. "You'll love everything we have to give you," he said, and pulled her roughly into his arms, her bare breasts mashing into his hard chest, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

Kara was taken by surprise, but after a moment, she was pleased to have elicited such a response. He was so passionate, kissing her hungrily, lashing his tongue over hers—along the insides of her cheeks, the roof of her mouth, fucking in and out of her lips. She'd never been kissed like that before!

And the other two, they were stripping out of their clothes. Two's thick cock flipped up out of his underwear, slapping hard against the soft meat of his belly as Mr. Three drew his equally hard shaft through his fly, pumping it furiously in his hand.

Kara felt them closing in on her. She had the instincts of an animal encroached upon, not sure if she should run from the new arrival or investigate it. After the agoraphobic feeling of being in her own unclothed body, she took comfort in being surrounded, smothered. Rough hands slipped over her body, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the hardness of her nipples, the softness of her hair.

"Would you look at that ass?" Mr. Three exclaimed, masturbating himself harder and faster.

Two slipped his hands in under her armpits, no longer content with just the sides of her breasts, but getting his fingers between her chest and Dr. One's. He cupped her tits, squeezing them hard, traveling her tender nipples from between one set of fingers to another. It was making Kara dizzy, feeling so many things at once, all of them so intense, things she should only be feeling one at a time, only with one man. That long tongue owning her mouth, those hard fingers savagely kneading her soft breasts, still more cupping her bare buttocks, prying them apart... she could barely stand. She barely had to.

Dr. One dug his fingers deep into her ass, pulling her tighter to him as he spread her entire crotch to the view of the others. She could feel eyes on the pink ring of her anus, the smooth petals of her sex, the silky golden hairs topping the whole affair. Then Mr. Three was behind her, the head of his cock right between her parted labia, guided with her fingers to rub into the warmth and wetness of her sex.

"Nice and wet!" Two said, leering at the meeting from only inches away. "Nice and wet!"

Mr. Three kept lubricating his cockhead on Kara's pussy until she felt like she would die if he didn't finally put it in. A split-second before it happened, she felt eyes—his and Two's—warm her anus. Then Mr. Three pulled the gleaming head of his cock from her pussy, jamming it instead into her tiny anus.

"Rao!" Kara screamed, her arms wrapping ever more tightly around Dr. One's shoulders—she tried desperately not to crush him as Mr. Three's cockhead plowed up her ass, wet and rock hard and unstoppable. Her sphincter stretched with a strange, molten pain, slipping down over his crown, leaving nothing to stop him from lunging inside her. She jerked and twisted; all she accomplished was to force him deeper inside her.

"Tight ass!" Two croaked.

Though Kara stood on her tiptoes, she could not get the room her body irrationally insisted she needed to accommodate the massive shaft. It filled her until she was sure she couldn't take anymore. Then she took more, sobbing little affirmations into Dr. One's chest, chanting "Yes!" so lightly as to be ashamed of it, as she felt the thing throbbing inside her most intimate space. It wasn't feeling painful anymore. It still felt strange, but—nice.

It only aroused Dr. One further. "Grab her legs! Lift her up!"

Two was quick to obey, Kara squealing in surprise as her feet were jerked out from under her, legs raised up until her knees were at her breasts, her meager weight feeling like a ton as it dropped down onto her ravaged anus and the shaft that was skewering it. She automatically wrapped her long legs around Dr. One's waist, trying to relieve the pressure, and in doing so, quite literally opened herself up to him ramming his manhood into her cunt.

She cried out—bleated, really—as the second cock entered her with almost callous ease. She'd had no idea she was so wet. And now she was full, taking more cock than she'd ever been meant to hold, the overstuffed usage of her inner space making things tight, pressurized, agonizingly sweet.

"I can feel my own cock," Dr. One moaned. "Feel it with my cock... right through your pussy."

Grunting, gasping, he fucked into her with spastic, artless thrusts—the jagged nature of them somehow increasing her pleasure, making it random, shocking lashes of the sensation in her ass meeting the one in her sex. Behind her, Mr. Three fucked in and out of her ass, trying to form a syncopated rhythm with Dr. One. That made it even worse, even better—when she could feel one cock being dragged out as the other would thrust in, her heart racing as she expected the pleasure to repeat again and again, only for the pattern to inevitably be broken. She simply could not grow used to be fucking by two cocks at once.

"Great Rao! Great, great, great Rao!" Kara grunted, thrashing and kicking as she was sandwiched between the two men. They were pistoning in her, pleasure forced inside her, then pulling at her most sensitive places. She bounced helplessly back and forth like a toy being fought over by a pair of dogs.

The seesawing of sensation, the dual possession of her body, it was too much for Kara to take. The shockwaves of pleasure racking over her were no longer disrupted by the misalignment of her fucking, but pitched higher, never allowing her to crash. Screaming, gripping Dr. One's shoulders tight, Kara worked her hips back and forth, trying with all her might to fill both her wet cunt and her quivering anus at once.

Her movements were so violent that even their straining muscles couldn't contain her. Their combined weight shifted onto Mr. Three and he toppled backwards, taking Kara right off Dr. One's cock and down with him.

When they landed, she wasn't fazed. All Kara knew was the raw animal lust of needing an orgasm that hadn't happened yet. She lifted her legs and spread them wide, offering her gaping entrance to Dr. One. He threw himself between her legs, feeding himself into her, and as if they'd never stopped, the three of them were back it, writhing and grunting and screaming.

Seeing her mouth wide open in a constant cry, Two saw his opening. He moved to Kara's flushed face, gripping the length of his cock, and pried her jaws apart with his free hand. Kara's unfocused eyes saw his cock all at once, a long strand of precum anointing the purple head before he pushed it into her mouth. She gagged on the startling taste, but was quickly sucking, madly pulling on the steady tang of semen as a sort of appetizer for the orgasms that would soon take place in her ass and pussy. She loved how all of Dr. One's thrusts jabbed her down onto Mr. Three's cock in her ass.

"Yeah, you like sucking cock, don't ya, slut?" Two asked, hands clamping down on her head. "Take it, bitch, I know you love it, I know you're a fucking whore—"

With her superstrength, Kara easily broke his grip and pulled away from him, looking up disappointedly into his eyes, her lips gummy with precum. "That was a really rude thing to say! How do you think your mother would feel, if she knew that's how you talk to women?"

Two's erection wilted, the other two pausing as well, sharing his shame as Two sheepishly ducked his head.

Kara almost felt a little bad for him. She knew she'd been enjoying their sex, and hadn't liked stopping at all. The Carggite hadn't liked it either, but it was his fault after all. He had to deal with the guilt. "Is there anything you'd like to say?"

Two scuffed his feet on the pavement. "Sorry," he muttered abashedly.

Kara smiled benevolent at him. "We were having such a good time. You were showing me new positions and I was having a lot of fun. Wouldn't you rather be nice than say mean things or act rude, thinking you'll impress people?"

They all nodded.

"Then let's start over."

"Can I..." Two bit his lip nervously. "Can I call you a good little cocksucker?"

"If you feel I'm doing a nice job, of course! Everyone likes a compliment! For instance, you have a very nice dick. I'd love to blow it some more, if you can behave yourself."

"I will!" Two promised.

"Then let's see how good a little cocksucker I am!" Kara said, grinning enthusiastically.

He offered her his cock and Kara took it deep in her mouth, feeling it harden instantly in response to her sucking. She was filled with a sense of power, and the satisfying throbbing of his warm cock against her lips and tongue. She licked down the underside to his hairy balls, careful not to lick too hard when she knew how sensitive they were. His cock rested on her face as she licked his balls, and she giggled to herself at how she must've looked, a dick all across her face. Well, Alex had said she should cover her face as Supergirl...

Kara pulled back a little, lapping hard at the underside of his cock again, tongue slapping against a surging vein running through its length. She saw with some pride that he was fully engorged, his manhood straining its way to a purple head. She decided she'd better suck it before it came all over her face. She ran her lips back up his shaft, feeling it throb against her mouth—kissed his cockhead, tasted the precum seeping from it, sucked the whole thing into her mouth. It felt so good, having a hot, throbbing cock in her mouth to match the ones in her ass and pussy.

Two's face was deeply flushed, the veins in his temples standing out as thick as soda straws. He was so excited that he was already on the brink of orgasm. "You're a—good little—" He saw Kara nod in encouragement and almost fainted. "Cocksucker!"

Hot, thick cum slammed into Kara's mouth and down her throat. It tasted wonderful! But even as she reached up to grip his shaft, to milk more of his ejaculation onto her tongue, Two was pulling back, freeing his cock from her sucking lips. He held it out like a weapon, snorting as he came again and again, all over Kara's face.

The feel of his slime raining down on her, marking her face and breasts and even her hair, was too much for Kara. The straw that broke the camel's back. She slumped between Dr. One and Mr. Three's rutting bodies, her pussy clenching, her anus contracting, the bottom dropping out of the world in some kind of orgasm that was nothing whatsoever like her shower.

Dr. One had held out for as long as he could, but the hard tug of Kara's cunt on his manhood finally swept him along with Two. He came, but not before pulling out of Kara and holding his cock aloft to add to Two's spray. Without a cock in her mouth, Kara moaned deliciously to feel his jets of seed land across her belly, all the way to the undersides of her breasts before he collapsed on top of her, twitching, his huge cock drooling cum.

Mr. Three couldn't help but join in, join the gasping and moaning, the semen gushing all around and all over. He buried his cock in Kara's ass, shooting deep into her bowels, smacking his testicles up against those of Dr. One's.

It took a long time for the shivering and shuddering to stop, the circle of climax and afterglow to be broken. When it finally did, they fell apart like an overextended Jenga tower. Two fell back onto his ass, Dr. One rolled onto his back, and Kara squirmed her way upward until Mr. Three's penis slipped out of her. Then she released back against his broad chest, pulling his arms around her in a hug. It felt nice, being held while she panted and whimpered softly and felt the coals of hot cum burning away all over her creamy skin.

"See how much fun you can have," Kara asked, "when you're all nice... and want everyone to have a good time?"

The three nodded wearily.

"Now, why don't you tell me all about General Astra's nasty old plan? And if any of you want to do more fun things once you're finished telling me about it..."

And they told her all about it while Kara cleaned herself off, running her hands over her tingling body, moving them trepidatiously to her mouth, then licking her fingers clean like such a messy eater. It all sounded very bad—but not too urgent. Certainly not too urgent. Not when she could see how hard Mr. Three was getting.

Dr. One gave her a squeeze. "You know, if you really are a good little cocksucker, you could take two cocks in your mouth at once."

"I bet I could," Kara agreed. "I bet I could."



Naked and Blue Before the World



Birthday suit. Nude. Naked. 

Vulnerable. 

I remember a time, back in my wild days. A gang bang to be honest. I was almost forty. I had born four children and my body showed it. Whether you call it, fat or big beautiful woman or thick as my boys there liked to, that was me. We had just screwed our brains out and as was often the case when I played with my boys there was a lull in activity before the next round. I wanted a soak in the sunken tub with the jets. I stood up...NAKED. At almost forty, with my muffin top of flab hanging from less than tight abs, with cellulite dimpled thighs, and who knows what other imperfections, I stood naked and proudly walked across the bedroom before half a dozen hot twenty-something guys to the bathroom. Like the Garden of Eden, I had no shame. 

Yet just a few years later, I was alone. Shattered and afraid. I was separated from my husband and for eighteen months I remained celibate. Why? Because I was petrified of being naked with anyone. Oh sure, during those years, I had born another child. I had surgery and a massive scar to show for it. But I was no fatter, thinner in fact. What was truly different was inside me. My confidence was gone. After five years of walking down stairs in sexy lingerie and heels so high that I was afraid I would break my neck, only to be greeted with chuckles from my husband, I was gutted. I had tried so hard to save my marriage and I was left with deep scars that no one could see.

Even when I did break my celibacy and take a lover, the rule was clear...I don't do naked. I had a drawer full of lingerie from my marriage and I put it to good use. I especially covered my middle, my tummy. That muffin top and the scars. My lovers could pull the top down. Even though my breasts sagged a bit, I was proud of them. They had served me well, feeding my children and remaining relatively nice, especially as soft pillows upon which my lovers could lay their heads. My legs were always bare. For a woman my age I had amazing legs and loved to show them off to the world in mini-skirts. My bottom too, especially if a spanking was on offer, never had an issue going bare. But I clung to my sexy gowns and teddies even when snuggled close to sleep with a naked lover. For another eighteen months I hid behind them.

Then I met him. He was younger, way younger. I tried to hold the line with him too. I remember the conversation as we negotiated limits. I was adamant that full nudity was a hard limit with me. He said, "Not with me. You will be naked." Our first time together he won that argument. I was fully naked and revealed to another human being for the first time in over two years. And it felt pretty damned good. As we continued to see one another and play in BDSM clubs he kept pushing those boundaries. It culminated the night that he had me walk in nothing but my knickers (panties for Americans like me) and heels through the main hall to the kitchen. It was late in the evening and only a couple dozen of our friends remained in the club, but it was a hugely liberating experience for me. Even though he and I ended acrimoniously I shall always be grateful to him for not allowing me to continue to hide.

A few months later I went to another club with friends. This one much larger, louder and definitely more flashy. It was full of the 'beautiful' people dressed to the nines and looking to impress. Every cross, spanking bench, cage and suspension frame was filled with 'perfect', size zero, twenty-somethings. A Saint Andrews Cross came free; I was with a friend who was a complete master at flogging, my favourite indulgence. She asked if I would care for one. How could I possibly turn down such a pleasure? And I stripped down once more to nothing but my knickers and heels. I hung on that cross for twenty minutes or half an hour practically naked. With a room of two-hundred young 'beautiful' people and I did not give a damn what they thought of my larger, scarred body. My attitude was simple, 'if you don't like it, then don't fucking look.' 

I am a member of the zoo and got the strangest invite the other week. Did you know that a group of tigers is called a streak? To raise money for conservation they are holding an afterhours event where you do just that...streak through the zoo. I am participating. I am exposing myself in a vanilla world too. 

July 14th is National Nude Day of course...and I shall likely spend at least part of it proudly in my birthday suit. But as we celebrate it, I want to peel back the onion and think a bit deeper about what it means to be naked, nude with someone else and with ourselves.

I am a huge fan of the X-Men movies. Recently I saw the new one, Days of Future Past. And I learned something. I am Raven. Not the little girl that Charles knew and loved. Not Mystique, the anger-led lover and cohort of Eric. I am that fork in her road that could have led her to accept and revel in her differences. I am a different path. I spend most of my life walking around before friends, family and sometimes even strangers...naked and blue. By this I mean, I speak frankly, I hide nothing of myself. I take those risks that most are afraid to dare. I reveal my heart and mind to those in my world. And if they don't like it, they don't have to look. 

Oh, I can still take on 'acceptable' human forms, be whatever I need to be in any given situation. I am and always have been a master at that...whether it be preacher's wife; or event organizer for celebrities, politicians and Dukes; or the stripper. I wore all those skins and more. But it requires huge quantities of energy to maintain those facades. To hide my true, blue inner beauty. I love Raven's quote in that film, "What's the matter, baby? Don't you think I look prettier like this?" So these days, I simply do not bother to hide most of the time. 

In fact, the problem is those rare occasions when I simply MUST put on one of those acceptable masks. And even when I need to hold it in place for only a couple of hours, it drains my emotional reserves so much that I collapse into the safety of His arms the moment I can. For you see, He loves me blue and naked. The strong, intelligent and independent woman, the nurturing Madonna and His whore. I can be all of those things with Him...and more.

My greatest wish...that more people would choose to join me in being blue and naked. Mutant Power! I hope you will join me in celebrating National Nude Day on July 14th not by just revealing your physical body in all its (im)perfections but by sharing your true blue inner beauty with those around you.



Naked and Delicious in the Blaze of Autumn



Her clothes dropped like autumn leaves, revealing flesh as ripe and sweet as a Delicious apple. A teasing west wind tossed the bright hair uplifted from her head, and Daniel wakened from his summer dream.

It had been a sultry dream. A dream like all dreams, filled with those events that altered and illuminated our time. And he, he was there. Yes, it was a summer dream, passionate as summer dreams tend to be. In the dream, he had been a lifeguard, bronzed save for his nose, a nose gleaming white from zinc oxide. And she was naked and wet in the pounding surf.

He recalled Ursulla Andress emerging from the ocean in an old Bond film. But this girl, the girl emerging from the ocean in his dream, was not wearing a bikini. For his dream was not a James Bond film. No, it was more like a foreign art film, for she was nude, tan, and lithe in the driving surf. Reclining in the guard stand, his surfing magazine in his lap, the transistor radio playing Wilson Pickett, time seemed to stand still as he saw her naked body. He saw her body tense as it was very gently whipped and teased by the breakers.

In his dream, like a play within a play, he descended from the guard stand with the savage grace of a jungle cat and raced to her assistance. Sweeping her nude form out of the raging surf, he swiftly transported her to safety and placed her on a large beach towel. Coughing slightly, her eyes found his. He fought to maintain eye contact in order not to stare at her swelling breasts. And yet he knew the necessity to examine her nipples because, if he found them to be turgid, it would mean she would survive.  

His eyes turned toward her chest, his head dipped lower, and lower, and lower still. The tension was agonizing. And then, almost rudely, he awoke from his summer dream. A promising dream, needless to say. But the summer was gone, lost like the dream season on "Dallas." 

As Daniel returned to reality, eyes blinking, he saw his camp site in the forest, the rock circle outside the hunter green nylon tent, its smoke curling into the autumnal air. And then he saw her in the distance, by the lake. He watched, mesmerized, as her clothing fell and her superb physique -- every bit as golden and delicious as a crisp, zesty apple, though hopefully less crunchy -- came into view. 

Daniel was torn. He logged on as The_Diligent_Puritan in Internet chat rooms. 

Chivalry demanded that he make some loud camp-related noise to alert her to his presence in the secluded camp. He should take his metal cup and bang it against the metal plate while pretending to be washing them. But he did not, could not. Instead, he watched, with rising interest, as she produced a bar of soap and began bathing. 

As she rubbed on the soap, his mind began to drift. The summer dream had ended, but it almost seemed as if it had merely yielded to an autumn dream. She had spent her summer at the beach, it seemed, for she had tan lines. He heaved a heavy sigh as he began to ponder kissing along those thong tan lines. Would it be callous to hope that she would venture into deep water and need his professional life-saving services? Just in case, he should remain alert to the possibility, he thought.

Did she resemble Gwyneth Paltrow nude playing Sylvia Plath? Did she resemble Meg Ryan nude in "The Cut"? Did she resemble Nicole Kidman nude in "The Human Stain"? He had not seen those movies and could not tell. And more significant questions cropped up. Would a movie star playing a poet like Plath get a Brazilian Wax before her nude scenes? Tough question? Why yes, it was a tough question. Being a diligent puritan, though, he made careful mental notes to catch those movies on video at some future point.

At present, he made the decision to get a better look at the girl bathing at the edge of the lake. As stealthy as a Arikara warrior stalking elk, he moved through the woods for a better vantage point, Then, realizing his behavior might be misinterpreted as deviant, he turned away, trying not to dwell on the succulence of her flesh. He was diligent, but a puritan too. Affected in part by the scant camp diet of freeze-dried soup and Slim Jims, his mind turned once more to the thought of juicy apples, and images of the lake goddess became inextricably mixed with images of warm, flaky pie.

Ummm, pie. Even the few tantalizing freckles that lay on her bronzed skin reminded him of a light dusting of cinnamon, and he thought how much more tasty a scoop of no-fat vanilla yogurt would be if eaten off her tanned tummy. Sweet yet tart, perfumed with the breath of Autumn's being, and as ephemeral as October sunlight. 

He felt buffeted by a tumult of mighty harmonies, so he returned to his campsite to 

master some self-control. Taking deep breaths, he concentrated on feeding sticks into his campfire till he had created a blaze so fierce that he could have transmitted a sentence from Light in August via smoke signals if he chose to. 

Suddenly, the snapping and crackling of the fire was punctuated by a cry, a cry that sounded through the forest likea clarion over the dreaming earth, and he leapt to his feet and raced back toward the lake. He flung himself into the water, completely disregarding the fact that he was wearing his brand-new LL Bean Northwoods flannel shirt in loden plaid. Now was not the time to be slavishly sartorial. Nay, it was a time to be as commandingly defiant of the elements as Sam Elliot in "Lifeguard."

Juliet Prouse-Lewis had been peacefully bathing in the pristine mountain lake, confident that she was alone and unobserved, and drifting slowing into the sensual rhythm of caressing her firm, supple body. But then she decided to go for a swim. At first, the water of the crystal lake was cool and soothing. Farther out, however, it seemed colder. Then came the dawning realization that she was too far out, that the water was too cold, and that she was in trouble. 

When she had screamed, it had merely been a reflex. In the wilderness, there was no person to hear. So her surprise was total when she saw the large, dark stranger swimming to her, pulling her back toward the shore like some latter day Johnny Weismuller. She was too weak from her struggle with the cold water to protest as he put her down on a large olive drab camping towel.

Soon, with her naked, shivering body wrapped in the large towel, and with the campfire throwing out heat, Juliet began to feel much better. She briefly wondered why thermal units were British, but dismissed the query. It was at that juncture that she began to realize that her lush body was nude beneath the towel. And she began to assess this tall, dark stranger who had rushed to her rescue. 

But Juliet was no mere damsel in distress. No, she was a professor of psychology internationally famous for her experiments with sex toys. Her pathbreaking research, which continued the work of Kinsey, had earned her a reputation as a modern version of Masters and Johnson. It didn't hurt that she was a lithe young woman. The media loved to run articles on this young lady with the sensual appearance -- the hair and the lips of Norah Jones -- who just happened to work in the field of sextoyology. 

Was her interest in sextoyology a genuine intellectual pursuit? Or was she merely rationalizing her own powerful sensuality? She had no idea, but she did use the handle Mistress_of_Rationalization in chat rooms. In any event, the pressures of her work were as ceaseless as the buzzing sounds emanating from her university lab. And so, faced with the opportunity to take a few weeks off in October, Juliet had headed for the wilderness, taking only the necessary supplies and a small bag of sex toys and batteries against the possibility (albeit remote) that a chance for field research would present itself. 

As Juliet explained her research to Daniel, his face remained inscrutable. Would he wax judgmental, she wondered? Or would he wax Brazilian? Her eyes crinkled at her own little interior joke . Juliet began to relax and explained her sextoyology work at considerable length. Daniel listened, then finally inquired: "So your work is coming along well?" She resisted the urge to laugh, assuming he was serious. Then just in time she saw the twinkle in his eye. Well, actually in both eyes. He had two.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the day warmed. Juliet had by now fully recovered from her mini-ordeal. And the lengthy discussion of her work with toy-induced female orgasms had caused a little rush of blood. Juliet had slept late that morning, feeling lazy on vacation in the forest, and so she had not had her customary morning orgasm. In addition, she felt a certain sexual tension between herself and the mysterious stranger who had materialized from the dark woods and so decisively intervened to save her.

As the cool autumn breeze penetrated her blanket, Julied wondered aloud what had become of her clothes. Perhaps an errant porcupine or grizzly had carred them off from where they lay discarded on the shore. Hastening to assure her that lack of clothing was not an issue for him, Daniel asserted that he was fully prepared to step outside the box of social mores if Juliet herself was in her comfort zone. Daniel knew that it was key to be inclusive of nude chicks going forward.

Seeking a diplomatic median between remaining provocatively nude and sending him forth to challenge bears on her behalf, Juliet opted for one of his flannel shirts. But as she took the proffered garment and began to button it over her ample curves, their eyes met across the campfire, and her fingers, in mid-button, suddenly reversed. A moment later, Daniel vaulted over the fire, took her hand, and led her, nude and alluring as a dryad, into his tent where his down-filled Mt. Washington sleeping bag waited with its superior warmth to weight ratio. Although Daniel had often appreciated its Polarguard Delta insulation and compressibility, as he pressed himself against Juliet's smooth golden skin, he felt that any high performance ratings would be his alone.


As Daniel's seeking fingers caressed her firm hips, Juliet glimpsed the trees in their autumn beauty through the flaps of the tent. Yeats' line "...unwearied still, lover by lover..." drifted through her mind. Yes, she knew it was a poem about swans. She knew it was not October twilight, but full day. She also knew that it was unlikely Yeats had ever experienced the joys of woodland tent sex with Maud Gonne. Still, she could not help but feel that passion or conquest attended upon her in all its glorious fall colors as she pulled Daniel to her in clamorous lust. She hoped that hunting grounds did not surround the lake and the echoes of their lovemaking would not reverberate to distant deer stands where hunters waited fortified with deer scent and whiskey.

An hour later, Juliet gathered the towel around her once again and went outside the tent to sit by the fire and normalize her respiration. She thought of her lab tests of her new "Slik WIlly" vibrator, with its flexible shaft and lifelike head. It was a squeezably soft jelly dildo. She had used the "Slik Willy" in combination with a little hint of her "Jurassic Jewel," a pink and flexible strand of tiny anal beads. With those oiled toys, Juliet had teased herself to many delightful orgasms. However, she could not help but contrast the deliberate, technical teasing of such toys with the sudden, surprising passion of tent sex.  

She knew his name was Daniel, and she began to think of him as a character out of Fenimore Cooper. As for Juliet, some observers had seen in her a Madeleine Stowe-like quality of vulnerability combined with a strong undercurrent of raw sensuality. But names and occupations seemed less significant in the wilderness. The day had grown hot and Juliet wanted to simply rest on the beach in the sun and recover her strength. 

Thus it was that the two strolled toward the beach. Upon locating an ideal spot to nap in the sun, Juliet realized that she was wearing the towel. However, considering the fact that Daniel had already seen her in a natural state, it seemed only reasonable to spread out the towel on the sand and sunbathe nude. Daniel noted her decision with approval and elected to do the same. 

But there was trouble in paradise, and both realized immediately that they had forgotten suntan oil. With an inventiveness which would have garnered praise from Crusoe, Daniel located a small bottle of baby oil in his backpack. But then came, er arrived, a hard, er difficult, decision. Which side of Juliet should be rub oil on first? Talk about a dilemma. Inasmuch as she was already on her tummy, he decided to go with that first. It did mean that he would not be able to gaze upon her erect nipples and shaven succulence, but it did mean more time to appreciate her back, her legs, and those perfect hips.

Juliet sighed. It was turning out to be a delicious day.



Naked and Fruity



Georgina Knight is a woman who knows what she wants, and what she wants is new erotic experiences. The net-advert was quite clear: Tell Us What You've Done and We Guarantee to Give You a New Experience. 

She thought, "There must be a catch. What do they want in return?"

Even so, the advert was such a draw on her imagination that she couldn't help herself but reply. By return of email, she got a questionnaire asking for her experiences to date, and she filled it in easily. 

Group sex: done that with two men, twenty men, even more men and women together. Golden and other showers: done that, too. Bondage: yes and extreme bondage as well. Latex: yes. Heavy rubber with masks and tubes: yes. Breast bondage: yes. Sensory deprivation: yes. Fetish dressing: yes, including corseting her waist to half its normal measurement. Insertions and inflations and vibrations and stretching: yes to all of those. Anonymous sex: yes. Sex for payment: yes. Lesbian and bi: yes. Suspension and inversion: yes and yes. Dominance and submission: yes to both.

She really thought she'd done everything and that there would be nothing left for her to try, for extra gratification and unusual excitement. The questionnaire had been a disappointment because it didn't mention anything new to her, but she sent it off anyway, with no expectation of any good suggestion being made to her.

Two days later, the reply came as a surprise but still mysterious and not promising. The advertiser asked just five further questions and promised that a new experience was being constructed now, for her and her alone.

"1. On a typical day, what sort of underwear do you like to wear; are you into control or firm foundations?

2. What is your favourite fruit for a fruit salad?

3. Would you agree to an experience with

Two men

Six men

Ten men

Our choice of the number of men? State which.

4. Would you accept

Vaginal penetration

Anal penetration

Oral sex. 

Combinations of these. State which.

5. When is your next period due?

6. Do you take contraceptive medication?"

Her answers seemed to her to make a difficult for anything these people could offer: She wrote:

1. I would like to wear bra, suspender belt, stockings, panties.

2. Oranges, kiwi, banana, grapes and nectarines.

3. Your choice.

4. Any combination of these.

5. 15th-20th this month [she knew it would start in two weeks' time].

6. Yes.

Off went her reply and, to her amazement, the reply came back in less than one hour. The advertiser said,

"We would like to meet you for an exceptional experience on 8th of this month, in one week's time. Please come in your normal daytime clothing, including the typical underwear you described. The address is Pollard Hotel, Cleveland Square Room 612 and we shall expect you at 12-noon for an afternoon experience. My name is Raymond and I will direct your experience. Ask for me at Reception."

There was no mention of a charge or a fee. She would be expected to give sex to a large number of men, of course, but that wasn't new to her and she was content to do it if the experience was as good as now seemed possible.

Pollard Hotel was a 5-star place. She'd never even seen inside the foyer, let alone been to a room. Now she was intrigued and began to hope for something new and exciting.

----------------------------------------------------

Room 612 was lit dimly and was comfortably warm, but not too hot. Raymond had met her at Reception and shaken hands. He was a man of about 30, or perhaps 45; it wasn't easy to tell. He had greying hair, was clean shaven and dressed in a very conservative dark grey suit. Georgina had been taken aback and felt torn between two opinions of him. First, he'd looked caring and fatherly, and that had helped her to feel confident in him, that he wouldn't let things get out of control. On the other hand, he seemed rather uncool and somehow unlikely to be able to give her anything new by way of new erotic sensations. She'd walked with him to the room, and he held her arm as an uncle might have done.

Now she was in the room and there were three other men, all about 30 years old. Her disappointment was deepening each minute. 

"Only four of them," she thought to herself, "what kind of swinging is this? And old men."

Malcolm spoke gently, "Let me take your coat, dear. Would you like a drink? We've everything you can think of, here."

Under her coat, she wore a full length black cotton dress with buttons all the way up the front from hem to neckline and long sleeves. She was in her highest heels black court shoes and Barely Black nylon fully fashioned stockings. Now she felt she'd wasted too much time getting dressed nicely for these old men.

"May as well get drunk," she thought to herself but spoke to Malcolm, "Yes please, a big drink. Whisky or gin or Bacardi, or something."

Malcolm prepared her a long and strong Bacardi with watermelon juice, and she took a deep slurp at it.

"When you're ready, just tell me," Malcolm said, "and I'll organize a few things for your pleasure."

"Ready now," Georgina said and maybe her disappointment was apparent to the four men.

"Right, just stand over here nearer the bed," replied Malcolm, "and let me put this blindfold on you. I'll take it off in a few minutes when the time's right." He moved to help her put on a very close-fitting mask which stopped her from seeing anything at all; not even a chink of light got through the sides or around the bridge of her nose.

She stood there in the middle of the room, on a soft rug, with her feet together and heard strange movements around her in the room, and a door swinging on a noisy hinge. Malcolm spoke softly again.

"You'll feel hands on you but don't be alarmed if they go under your clothing. We know what we're doing and you soon see where it's all leading. OK?"

She nodded and thought, "He's not the sort to say OK. Not his style at all." She nodded a second time. Someone took her right hand and another her left hand and held them both out, away from her body.

She felt a hand take hold of her dress behind her neck, at the collar. At the same moment another took hold at her throat, at the front. Then four more hands touched her around her waist and grasped her dress, and at her wrists, at her elbows, at two or three placed down the front of the dress and the same down the back. She did a quick calculation and realized that there were more than four men with her in the room. They must have been in the other room and come in once she was blindfolded.

A hand crept under the dress at her left side and went up to her waist, and took hold of her panties and the suspender belt together at their top edges. Another hand did the same on her right side, and a third up the back of her legs to grasp her panties and the belt at the centre at the back. She wasn't surprised to feel a fourth hand do the same at the front, right up to her waist. 

She realized that she was surrounded by silent men, holding onto almost every corner and flap of her clothing. The hands were warm and holding very firmly, and she liked the idea of having so many fingers close to her skin. Her mind wandered as she thought of so many hands and fingers close to her openings. What could so many hands do to her, she surmised, if they decided to invade her body and start rubbing and stimulating her?

Still the hands kept coming onto her skin. One followed under her dress and took hold of the bottom edge of her panties on her left thigh, and another on her right hip. Yet more hands crept under the dress and held her stocking tops on both legs. These hands were very close to her vagina and lips but made no attempt to get closer or even to touch her near there.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. No new hands. Only the existing twenty hands or maybe 24, she'd lost count. Then very slowly, starting at her feet, caressing her feet and her high heels, and then moving slowly up her calves, touching them both together came a hand that she imagined was Malcolm's. He continued past the back of her knees and up to the point where her thighs came together at her buttocks. Then it slowly began to circumnavigate her thighs until it was touching her pubic area, among all the other hands that were grasping at her clothing. This hand seemed different in its intention and soon that was clear. He forced the hand slowly between her legs and she found herself parting them to make room. She set her feet about a foot apart and the hand moved underneath to cup her labia and pubic region in its palm. She was beginning to get warm and could feel her juices starting to flow under the hand, and wondered what it would do next.

The hand moved gently to take the gusset of her panties in it grasp, with finger probing under to touch her skin and get a grip on the crotch of the garment. He pulled it gently a few time to see if it was firm, and then a finger disengaged itself from the rest of the fist. Slowly, ever so slowly, it moved into position opposite her opening and probed its way among her lips. She was so wet by this time; it slipped effortlessly inside her and stretched as far as it could. He moved it back and forth, and she started to feel the beginnings of her orgasm. Deep down in her groin, only an inch above the man's finger, she felt the familiar clutching and writhing of her uterus. She just hoped he would leave it there, and keep massaging inside her lips. He did, and she began to feel the cliff edge coming closer, when she'd drop over into an oblivion of pleasure for a few moments. She became even more aware of all the hands close to her skin, each pulling at her clothing just a little. Briefly, she wondered if they were holding her clothes so as to support her when the orgasm came fully.

The finger inside her was thrusting now and she could feel the knuckles bumping against her opening as if to follow the finger inside her. She wouldn't have minded if he'd forced his whole hand inside her although she'd never had that experience whilst standing. Her orgasm was coming and she became aware only of the hands and the vibrations between her legs. It was coming. It was coming. He also knew it was coming and she felt so glad that he didn't stop. Her breath was coming in short gulps as her climax approached. She had to make a noise.

"Yes, oh yes," was all she could manage before it began to happen and to overwhelm her.

The orgasm came and shook her from her thighs to her shoulders, and her head bent backwards so that she would have looked at the ceiling but for the blindfold. Her arms were still held out sideways and she felt herself quivering. Her legs felt weak and she knew she would fall but hoped all those men would catch her.

Then it all happened at once. She felt her mind go blank with pleasure, her body was suffused with delicious sensations, her clitoris and her vagina were both pulsating, her mouth was dry, inside the blindfold her eyes were crushed close shut as the orgasm possessed her. And she felt gravity pulling her forward, towards the floor.

Through her ecstasy, she could feel the men holding her up with her clothing until she became aware or another set of sensations. The finger inside her had pulled out and was gripping her panties again and pulling forward and downward. The hands at her panties waist were pulling sideways, with the suspender belt as well. And her dress was being torn from her body down the back and the front. She could hear the front buttons popping and flying off, and the steady ripping of the dress back. All the way down, and her sleeves were being torn off her arms as they were held outwards. The hands at her waist on the dress were pulling steadily and strongly outwards, and the dress was coming apart at its seams.

Her stocking tops were pulling away from her flesh, like great balloons of nylon. The mystery hands were going to tear the stockings clean off her legs and she was waiting for it to happen.

Then, all at once, as if by a silent signal, all her clothing disintegrated and flew off her body. In a second, she was naked apart from bra, shoes and the wreckage of her stockings around her ankles. The panties and the suspender belt had broken first, with the suspender buttons breaking through the welts of her stockings. Then the dress and everything under it came apart together and sent pieces of fabric flying off across the room in all directions. Elastic items twanged and flew furthest. Suddenly, she had no support from those hands holding her clothing and she flopped forward onto her hands and knees. The remnants of her orgasm still rang around her head and she wanted it to continue as long as possible.

Before she could recover or even take a breath, someone was kneeling behind her and entered her smoothly but quickly, plunging his penis into her to its full length and gripping her hips. She was so wet and excited still from the orgasm, that there was no resistance to his plunging and tugging at her. He moved smoothly and speedily for only a few seconds, until he gave a groan and poured his sperms into her. She stayed there in all fours, not knowing what would happen next, but she didn't need to wait long.

Four of the men came and lifted her onto the double bed, whilst Malcolm took the blindfold from her eyes and her shoes from off her feet, with the trailing remains of her stockings. She felt the bed underneath her and sensed that there was a waterproof covering under the sheet on which she lay.

She thought, "They're going to use water on me or something like that," and she imagined golden showers, bukkake and soda siphons, all of which she'd experienced before and felt disappointment coming back. "Oh please, something new for me," she thought but didn't speak.

Then, for the first time, she saw that there were at least 20 men in the room with her, and there was wreckage of her clothing scattered all around the room. The men ranged in age from under 20 to Malcolm's age, whatever that was. Two of the younger ones came to her as she lay on her back, and lifted her legs, parting them slightly. A third man bent over her vagina and kissed her lips.

"No," she thought, "I'm too sensitive for any more stimulation right now." She arched her back as if to pull away from him, but she was wrong about his intention.

He gently probed her lips with his tongue, and then moved his lips very close to her and pushed a small object into her. She felt it go in but it was too small to be felt on the inside. 

"Hmm?" she asked without speaking, as if to say, "What was that?"

In reply, another man came and did the same. She couldn't see what had been in his mouth before he gently pushed it into her. This happened eight times, and by then she could feel some fullness inside. She was still wondering what these objects were, when a very attractive younger man came and settled his body between her legs and entered her against the pressure of the objects. Whatever they were, they yielded before him and he shagged into her until he came, and flooded her with his juices. As he left her body, she felt a long trickle of juice, rather more than she would have expected. She was intrigued.

A similar sequence then seemed to be developing again. A man came and put his mouth to her lips and squeezed something into her. It was bigger than the first lot of objects, and another five men came and did the same with her. She felt full again, but a different man entered her and shagged until he was satisfied and flooded her again. This time a small torrent poured from her lips and she became more intrigued.

"Hmm?" she asked the same unspoken question.

In response, Malcolm came to her face and said softly, almost confidentially, "Watch what's happening."

One man came to her lips and smiled before going down on her, so that she could see he had a green grape in his mouth. He popped it into her. A second man came and grinned, so that she could see he had a slice of nectarine in his lips, which he slid into her. A third came and opened his mouth a little further to reveal a complete peeled kiwi fruit. He kneeled between her still raised legs and slowly, carefully pushed it into her. She certainly felt that entering her lips and into her dark vagina.

"What next?" she asked herself, but it was soon apparent.

Yet another man came to her and grinned so that she saw he had in his mouth the most part of a peeled banana, which he slid into her as if it were a cold penis. He started by blowing it in and ended by pushing with his tongue. It filled her up and she felt it pressing against her cervix.

The next man was the real surprise. When he smiled and opened his mouth a little, she could see a complete peeled Satsuma or Clementine or some other small orange. It filled his mouth and her keeled to present it to her lips, struggling to get it into her. It popped in and she was truly full. Full of fruit and sperms. She felt very erotic as well as full.

Then Malcolm came to her and rested himself between her legs and entered her very slowly against the resistance of her internal fruit salad. He smiled into her eyes, as he moved and plunged gently until his erection was at its hardest, and the fruit was disintegrating before his thrusting. He was turning her into a fruit puree machine and he came the biggest orgasm of all the men, lunging into the fruit and flooding her again. Her legs, her bottom, her tummy were soaked with fruit juices and man juices. 

He lifted himself off her and she got lifted off the bed, into a sort of sitting position, with her back straight, her arms outstretched, and her knees bent as if on a stool. Someone behind her held a big glass jug under her vagina, reached round and pressed gently on her abdomen. With a sense of loss but also relief, she felt a quantity of fruit puree drop from her and into the jug. The man felt up between her lips and popped two fingers into her vagina, opened them slightly, and an even greater volume of fruit juice and pulp came from her. She realised that the juice on her legs and stomach was only a small fraction of what was retained inside herself. The man held up the jug for all to see, and she noticed it had a scale on the side, but she couldn't read it. The jug seemed about one-quarter filled.

She was carried in the sitting position to the bidet in the bathroom, seated down upon it and someone washed her with beautiful warm and scented water. She was dried, and she dried herself a little more on a nice fluffy towel, before being lifted back to the bed. There, the sheets had been changed and all seemed fresh and clean.

"Ready for my next adventure," she thought, and she was right.

A firm triangular pillow was brought; like the ones that get propped behind patients in hospital beds. Her hips were lifted and the pillow placed so that she was lying at a steep angle to the mattress, with her shoulders firmly on the bed and two men holding her legs in the air. From her time at school so many years before, she knew what her body would do. Sure enough, her vagina and uterus slipped back into her body, her labia opened and little and she felt the cooler bedroom air being sucked inside with a little farting noise. She closed her eyes and puckered her nose at the sound, as if she should feel embarrassed. One of the men smiled into her eyes at the very same moment, so others heard the sound also.

"Plenty room inside there," said Malcolm in a soft voice, "bring in the fruit."

From the corner of her eye, and when she turned her face to look, she saw a trolley laden with fresh fruit. Not just a banana or two, or a handful of grapes, or a couple of kiwi. There were five or six kilos of each fruit she's mentioned. Maybe 10 or 12 kilos of fruit altogether and she knew then that the fruity experiment was not over.

Into her inverted vagina was dropped a naked banana and a peeled kiwi. They dropped in because she was open and her body was almost sucking in anything pressed against her lips. These first two disappeared inside with hardly any resistance. Then two men came with hands full of fruit and started to feed them into her. After the eighth or tenth piece, they resorted to pressing down to get the fruit into her. By the time of the fifteenth piece, one of them was leaning on her to force fruit into her. By the twentieth, she was full to the brim. Fruit was visible between her labia, which were forced open by the pressure inside, and there was juice running backwards down her abdomen and also down the crack of her bottom and down her thighs.




Naked and Fruity



"I'm full," she said and looked up at Malcolm, who'd been in charge throughout her filling.

"Yes, but wait and see how this feels," he replied.

Her legs had been elevated through the filling procedure but now two of the men each grabbed and ankle and pulled her legs backward towards her hear and her shoulders, until she was doubled up on her back. She was looking up between her knees and feeling the pressure inside, and the juices running out of her.

At that point, her vagina was pointing towards the ceiling. One of the younger men came to her on the bed, turned his back towards her, pointed his erection downwards with his hand and sat into her. She looked up through her legs, at his bottom and his back, as she felt him settling into the fruit and into her bloated insides. He leaned forward slightly as he moved up and down in her, and she could feel the fruit being pulped inside her. When he settled into her, she felt the bloating right up to her throat. When he lifted out, he brought great quantities of juice and puree with him, which trickled down her body and onto her throat. She held her arms out sideways to steady herself against the movements inside herself.

After some minutes the boy speeded up his movements and pumped his sperm into her with an "Aaaah." He lifted himself off her, and she could see his penis covered in juices and pieces of fruit.

"There's more room now," said Malcolm, and the fruit insertions began again.

That is how it went for the next two hours. Men would fill her up with fruit and other men would turn it to puree inside her. Every man had a turn at filling her with fruit, and at pulping her also. At the end, the trolley was empty, there was fruit puree and juice all over the bed and the carpets. And she was slick with it and with the sperms from dozens of ejaculations. She was exhausted by the movement and the tension of knowing what was happening inside herself. More than anything else, she was exhausted by the multiplicity of orgasms she'd enjoyed. She'd lost count and she felt more satisfied than at any time in her life. Twice she'd lost control of her bladder and just peed great fountains upwards at the men who were pulping the fruit inside her. Her pee just gathered in the pool in which she now lay, surrounded by fruit pulp and liquids.

Every two or three fillings, she'd been emptied of the juice and puree, and prepared for the next filling of fruit. The first jug was filled early in the two hours, and was in the fridge. By the end, a second big jug was also filled and placed in the cooler. Both jugs were then poured out into big wine goblets, mixed with Bacardi or gin, and everyone had a good drink of their own juices mixed with fruit puree. There was much good-natured joking and gentle caressing of Georgina.

When everyone was satisfied, men went by two and threes into the shower room and cleaned themselves up. She saw that they also were covered in fruit and juices of various sorts, from her filling and from each other. Someone brought the two jugs from the fridge, and made 24 small glasses of champagne mixed with fruit pulp. All the men drank a cocktail of their own sperms, the fruit juice and pulp, and her urine. They faced her, raised their glasses and swigged their drinks backing one quick movement. She felt that they'd saluted her.

She closed her eyes and rested, whilst Malcolm came to her and placed a blanket over her sodden exhausted body.

When she awoke, all the men except Malcolm had left. As she stirred, he came to her and spoke softly.

"How was that? Did it surprise you? Are you pleased with the day?"

"Hmm," she mumbled and then said, "you did more for me than I thought anyone could. It was a real surprise and lots of pleasure."

"Don't worry about my friends," he said, "they're all healthy and we get ourselves checked out regularly, because our pleasure is giving pleasure. We don't want the worry of sickness or disease, any more than you would. OK?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied, coming to full consciousness, and realizing she'd been filled many times by the sperm and other fluid from dozens of ejaculations. He mind was at rest now, and her body was tired.

After that, she bathed and Malcolm produced a complete set of new clothes for her. Everything was the right size except her bra, which was a little too loose, but she forgave him. She kissed him, and he took her to the front lobby of the hotel, where a taxi was waiting already. As she rode home, her mind was filled with the pleasures and the excitement of the day. But she was hungry now; none of the fruit had been eat en - only drunk. She looked forward to a pasta supper with Valpolicello, and a warm comfortable armchair in front of her own fireplace.



Naked & Horny



I've always felt sexy enough inside, but letting it out has been my big dilemma. I am a religious woman, and I do have my beliefs about what's good and bad to contend with. Nevertheless, I also get horny at times, and as I am getting older, I am learning that I might as well enjoy those feelings, and even encourage them when I can. In fact, I'm beginning to see that there is nothing at all wrong with this, and God made me in such a way that certain things make me hot and bothered, and that being in that state is a pretty damned good thing.

Anyway, onto my story. A few months ago Ron, (that's my husband of 22 years) and I decided to get away from the kids and everything we know and head to the Caribbean. We decided on an all inclusive resort there, that had a clothing optional component to it. In fact, if I were being honest, when I read the material carefully, I could tell that some swinging and overt displays of sexuality were likely to be part of the mix there. I didn't tell this to Ron, as thought it was just going to be a clothing optional thing and that's all. I thought Ron might back out, if he knew what really might be going on before our naked eyes and naked bodies. And, if I am being entirely honest, I was curious, and I wanted to see, not just nudity, but nude affection and even maybe some sex going on, too.

After flying across country and then down into the Caribbean, we were met by a van from our resort and taken to what would be our sexy vacation spot for the next six days.

We unpacked and discussed our nervousness about getting out among the naked vacationers. I told Ron that I needed some liquid courage, (something that I rarely do, but thought might help me get past my nerves). Ron showed me how they had hard liquor free, and for our consumption, strapped right to the wall in our room. I made myself what turned out to be a pretty stiff drink and got ready to get out to the pool.

Being a clothing optional place, I thought I would start out bikini on, and then try for bikini off after the liquor started to work its magic. I have to confess though, alcohol makes me horny all on its own, and as pulled on my bikini bottoms, I was already worried I might be a little moist. I even looked to make sure I wasn't soaking through at all. As I put on sunscreen and my top, I was sure I was gonna do it, and get naked sometime within the hour. I played it cool to Ron, like I may not, or may just go topless, but deep down, I wanted to put myself out there. I wanted men to walk by and look, and I wanted to look at there reactions to my body through my sunglasses. I wanted it, because I knew already that this would drive me wet and wild with passion for sex.

We got out by the pool, filled up another drink for Ron and me, and started checking out the place. Sure enough there was nudity all around. Couples frolicking naked in the pool, in the jacuzzi, at the swim up bar, and in cabanas that were scattered around. It was wonderful, and not at all as nasty or bad as I thought it might be. It seemed more natural and alright to me now.

I have to say, I was excited. My heart raced, and I was feeling silly about being just about the only couple wearing any clothes. I really wanted to peal it all off, but I didn't want my Ron to think I was a slut. I have always been shown him my good girl side, and I didn't want him to think less of me. But I had to get my bikini off. It was like it was a lead weight holding down my horniness.

I turned to Ron and said, "Honey, your not going to believe this, but I'm taking off my top. It's now or never, and we look silly here being the only ones with our suit on."

Surprisingly, Ron replied, "Babe, it doesn't bother me a bit. Enjoy yourself. As long as you come back to the room with me, I don't care who sees you or who or what you look at."

Then he whispered, "Baby, we will always be pretty straight-laced and proper at home. That's who we are. But, we are sexual people too. We've got bodies and minds ready for play. We might as well take this opportunity to build some memories to take back home. Just enjoy yourself and let me in on what you are enjoying."

At that, Ron stood up, leaned over and kissed me and took down his board shorts like he was shucking some corn. He was beautifully naked, and half way to rigidly stiff I might add. He picked up a towel and held it across his member and plopped back down in his pool lounger.

A was stunned, excited, a bit drunk, and ready as ever to show not just my tits but my sexy pussy as well.

"Okay then" I said to Ron, "Off with everything for me too!"

And, with that I untied my top and my bottoms and bared myself for all to see. Just at that moment, with me standing there undressed, a pool waiter came up.

"Hi there ma'am! Need to freshen your drink?"

"Oh, no" I said flustered, "I think I'm still doing fine."

But as he walked away, I saw him look down at my pussy and smile. It was so exhilarating. Instantly I felt a warming and a wetness increase. I was pulsing down there and flushing and swelling too I imagine. I sat down to kind of check and see, and sure enough, I was getting visibly aroused.

Should I sit there with legs uncomfortable closed, all sticking together in the heat? Or should I relax and spread 'em for any passer by? Well, you know by now where my head was, and my horny desire seemed to push my knees apart and hold them that way with ease.

I saw man after man pass by and look. They saw my pert tits and they scanned down to my wet lips. I feigned sleep, but had my eye on everyone and anyone who could see me. One guy lingered. He was good looking and tan all over. He stood there with his penis hanging down. He stared, and then he groped at his manhood stiffening it. He let go and it rose, sideways but upward. It grew. I knew this happened, but he was letting my pussy do it to him. I was awash with alcohol and hormones. I would never have done it, but I could have just taken him right there, in my mouth, in my pussy. His thighs were muscular, his butt was tight like an athlete. He had clearly shaved his testicles and penis, which was new for me to see. I wanted to feel the hardness of that thing, in my hand, against my tongue, and maybe even pressing within me. I reached down nonchalantly, pretending to rub something off my leg, and brushed my pussy. I had shaved bare with the exception of a landing strip for this trip. The man pulled his member, and I brushed mine. He pulled again, and I wanted to stick my fingers in my wetness. I did so briefly and drew my hand up to my mouth and tasted my juices. At that the man spewed forth, cum flying upward and outward and all over his chest and down his thighs. It was hypnotic.

Ron's words stunned me back to reality. "Hun, that man is getting off looking at you. How does that make my sexy wife feel?"

"I am so fucking horny Ron, and I want to go back and do it till I'm raw, but I don't wanna leave just yet."

"We're not going anywhere, just enjoy it, you haven't even gotten up yet, or gone in the pool or to the bar. We've got the whole day."

Ron was right, and if laying her nude was turning me on, what would it be like to expose myself to people as I walked about?

At that, I got up and strolled, rather nervously at first to the bar, and that's when it happened. I saw a couple doing it in the cabana not forty yards from where Ron and I had been laying. At our chairs they were out of view, but now up and about I could see them in full action.

Seeing people naked was not too shocking, at least not as much as I thought, but seeing this was a real eye-popper. Don't get me wrong. It wasn't bad, and didn't seem as wrong as I thought it might. There was some naughtiness to it, but it was just something you don't see every day.

I knew that in college dorms kids were doing it while others watched, and at parties things like this occurred among the younger set. But not among the people I spent time with growing up. I had always been curious about it, but never had the chance to see it for myself. I had forever felt left out I guess, but not now. My own bare naked eyes were watching a man and I assume his wife, thrusting and bumping and grinding. There was ecstasy on her face as she was done. He was magnificent as he drove himself into her.

Next thing you know, Ron was at my side and looking at what I was looking at. I wanted to say something prude and dishonest like, "I didn't know this was this kind of place, where this kind of thing went on." 

But before I did, Ron said, "Honey, I was hoping we'd get a chance to see something like this. I hope it doesn't bother you, and that its positive and not a terrible thing for you."

I don't know what came over me, but the words that came out next were for me the most honest words I had ever spoken about my sexuality. "Ronnie, I like it, and its so sexy to me, and I'm sorry, but I wanna go over there and watch from closer, and then I wanna let all this feeling which is building in me pour itself out on you."

"Baby" Ron said, "Its okay, and don't say your sorry for reacting properly to something that would turn anyone on. Just make sure you point that pussy toward my cock when the time comes."

And, at that, Ron flicked his penis against my thigh and some sticky pre-cum came flying off across my legs and onto the ground. My nipples were stiff, and my pussy engorged. I was dripping a little onto my legs. My breathing was coming faster, and I was in fully excited. More so than ever. And I mean by a long shot.

We moved closer and we watched. The couple even waved and welcomed us even nearer. They put on a show. I was super excited every time he pulled out of her altogether, as then I got to see a fully erect penis, all moist and throbbing. I have found that I like seeing erect penises. I liked seeing her body too. I am not gay or bisexual mind you, but I do appreciate, even in a weird sexual way how beautiful a woman's body is. I liked watching her tits and the curve of her butt. I even got close enough to watch her pussy lips being pulled inward and outward as his penis drove back and forth.

I noticed I had been touching myself, and that Ron was softly stroking. He reached out for my hand. We walked back to our chairs and then decided to get in the pool. He was fully erect, and he drew me close. I had no intention of having sex in public, but in the privacy that the water gave I wrapped my legs around him and let him enter for a thrust or two. It was unbelievably sexy for us both.

We went back tot he room to let the air out of our sexual balloon that was way beyond bursting point. I usually only have sex once during any day. But I did Ronnie twice in a row and was not yet relieved of my need to fuck. Its not that I didn't orgasm, its that I wanted it more. Ronnie was spent for the time, so I grabbed my vibrator (something else I'm embarrassed to have) but it has become very helpful at times. I fucked myself with that thing as hard and fast as I could, and when I opened up my eyes, there was Ron, with a smile. My husband was enthralled watching me masturbate. I couldn't stop there either.

I said, "Honey, I need to do this some more! But open the curtain so I can see some more naked people as I do it."

Ron got up and pulled our slider open to reveal not just naked people, but I could spy several couples in various stages of licking or sucking and you know what. It seems that as night began to fall, that people became pretty hungry to get it on. I too got off a couple more times.

After this we showered and went to dinner. The next six days were filled with more and more of this. We even had a couple approach us asking us if we wanted to swap partners, to which we were not inclined. Oddly, I had thought this could possible occur, and I was bracing for how resentful and offended I would be. However, when it happened, Ron politely said, "No thanks, we are not into that." and the couple simply walked away and said, "No problem." It was actually quite a compliment, and something Ron and I have gotten horny over several time since. Not thinking of actually having sex with them, but discussing what it would've been like.

At this point, I am happily married to what I know now is a really horny guy. I am hornier than ever. We are happier than ever. I live my normal life, and would never at out like this, but strangely I am glad that we can when we go away. I am glad that we have this together. It is our sexual life and we are hotter than ever as we live it together.

I can't tell anyone what we've done, or how we are planning to go back in the future either. I suppose this is why I wrote this account. I just had to tell someone how much fun we've been having. Thank you for reading!