0 comments/ 30960 views/ 0 favorites Revealed By: LiquidLisa My boss told me to wear something "nice". That's all he said. There were some important new clients coming in and he wanted to make a good impression. I decided to look HOT! But not like a slut. Just something spicy. I came to work late because I knew that they were not going to come in until after 6PM. I was wearing a sexy outfit that I bought from the store BeBe. I had on a slinky beige skirt and a slinky beige shirt. It had a v-neck that revealed my 34B's whenever I bent over or if you were lucky enough to be standing over me. I didn't wear a bra and the outlines of my perky nipples were clearly visible. The shirt was cropped just above my belly button. The skirt clung to me as I moved. It was tight enough to show off my body and just light enough for you to see that I wasn't wearing any panties. The skirt also hung right on my hips, revealing my smooth tummy and belly button. It was cut right over the knee. Over the outfit, I wore a long, brown knit sweater. I was feeling too good that day and looking too good for that office, if I can be so stuck up by saying so. I was saving this outfit for a special day and I guess this day was going to be that day. I was feeling very horny too. It had been a week since I had sex and I needed some now! Oh well, I had to leave. As I drove down the highway, I opened all of the windows, letting the cool LA air blow throughout the car. Even though it was messing up my hair, the air felt good on my bare pussy. My skirt was hiked way up my thighs. I usually like to park my own car, but today I was feeling naughty. I decided to let the Valets Park my car and I gave the Mexican guy a nice flash of my hairless pussy as I climbed out of my car. As I walked into the office, several people commented on my outfit, telling me it was HOT! I normally do get lots of attention from the men there and I don't mind it at all. I am the youngest woman working for the company and I do tend to wear revealing outfits being that the company has no dress code and an extremely relaxed atmosphere. Plus, it's good for the company's image. It brings the mostly male clients back. Most of the men here are married and fat, including my boss. He is the president of this video editing facility. He has never officially hit on me, but I know I was hired because of my looks and my open mindedness. I caught him staring at me several times, but that's the attention I wanted. I like to be looked at as a sex object, just as long as you don't touch me. I am just being honest. During my several trips to and from the kitchen and conference room, setting up the room with snacks and wine, I noticed Rich; a handsome, stocky editor was staring at me as I walked by. I caught his eyes and he said "Hi" and shyly went back to work. We've flirted a few times before in the past, but nothing serious ever came out of it. He was definitely on my most fuckable in the office list. On my last trip back to the kitchen, I had removed my long sweater that covered my body. I loved the way that the skirt hung way down to my waist. I am glad to have a smooth, firm stomach to show off and a perfect "innie" bellybutton. I walked into the edit suite with attitude and said Hi. He told me he was working on a project and would be here late and I should stop by when my meeting was done. Said ok and turned and walked away. I could feel his eyes on my ass as I sashayed out of the room with the silky material swishing across the bare skin of my ass. During the meeting, all I did was sit around and take notes. No flashing. No nothing. I drank a lot of wine. Everyone was nice and it was a calm atmosphere. The clients were into the proposal and signed on the dotted line. Everyone left and I stayed behind to clean up. I finished off the rest of the wine. Once finished, I walked back into Rich's edit suite and sat down onto the leather couch. I pretended to be sleepy. I was pretty tipsy by then. He told me to lay down and relax a bit. I agreed and swiveled my body in order to watch him edit. He was watching me the entire time and I knew he could see up my skirt. He eventually turned away to continue working. Every so often he would turn around to ask me a question or talk. I acted like I was oblivious to the fact that he was definitely looking. I actually continued to reposition myself until my skirt was hiked up even more. As the moments went by, I parted my legs more and more, so he could get a clearer look at my now dripping pussy. He didn't turn around for a while and I began to finger myself. I was shocked that this guy was not taking the hint. I continuously dipped my fingers in my pussy, then ass and into my mouth. I love the taste of my juices and just doing that turned me on so much. I decided that if I were going to get some, I would have to be the aggressor. I sat up and simply whistled over to him. When he turned around, his eyes opened wide and he began to laugh nervously. Then he finally spoke. "You know:. I am married right?" He said nervously. I put my finger up to my mouth and said "Shhhhhhh!" Within seconds he walked over and locked the door and his Levi's were at his ankles. I was totally teasing him, rubbing my clit as he stumbled across the room towards me. He kicked off his jeans and shoes and dropped to his knees. He didn't say a word as he immediately began to suck and lick my hot pussy. I felt a rush up my spine and he worked me over with his mouth. I felt my juices begin to flow even more as pulled his head in closer, almost smothering him. He definitely knew what he was doing. Within a few minutes I had an exploding orgasm! He slowly began to kiss around my thighs and tummy. He pulled my lower body to the edge of the couch. Within moments he had his boxers off, revealing his rock hard, pink and thick dick. He was slowly rubbing the head of his cock against my clit and lips. His dick with dripping with his clear and sticky pre-cum. That turned me on so much! It was almost like he was thinking about fucking me first, because he did this for a while. Rubbing himself against my pussy with his pretty-as-hell dick head, spilling out and coating me with at least a tablespoon of his warm pre-cum. Then he lowered his dick right at the entrance of my pussy and slid it in. My pussy was so wet; his thick cock went in with ease. It was so warm and thick, all I could do was moan with pleasure. Rich slowly began to pump in and put of me. I could feel the heat from his throbbing cock as he stretched my pussy walls with his fat cock. We didn't kiss on the mouth, nor did we speak. We just moaned and breathed heavily. We fucked for about 10 minutes then I felt his dick start to get harder and harder and breathing got really heavy as well. He tried to pace himself better, but I could tell it felt too good to him. He leaned back up off of me and knelt up straight. He stopped stroking my pussy with his dick and stood still for a moment. It was too late. I felt his dick begin to pulsate and the familiar feeling of hot sperm inside of my pussy came over me like a wave. He began to spurt his hot semen inside of my pussy. He grunted loudly as felt his ejaculation shooting and stopping over and over again. He seemed to be having the biggest orgasm of his life, the way he moaned and grunted. He started fucking me again, slowly. I could smell the delicious scent of his cum as his dick nosily fucked my sperm-filled pussy. I could feel his cum dripping out of my pussy and down to my asshole. By this time, my dress was bunched up around my waist and was totally a mess. I began to ease up back onto the couch in order to sit up a bit and take off my skirt. This caused his STILL hard dick to slide out of my pussy. He smirked at me as we both looked down at his cum-covered cock as if to say "Sorry for cumming so fast." I got up and pulled him down into the couch so that he was sitting up with his flagpole in the air. His cum was dripping down my leg as a stood up. I still wanted to cum again and since he was still hard, I decided to take control. I took off my skirt and blouse. And I got into my favorite position. "Cowgirl" style. I was sitting on him, facing him and the wall. My knees were in the couch as I slowly lowered myself onto his hard and sticky dick. This time I slid it slowly into my puckered asshole. I used my spit and his cum as lube as it popped inside of me. A sharp pain shot up my spine at first, but soon a wave of pleasure replaced the pain. I don't think he knew at the time that his cock was actually up my butt, he just kept on fucking me. Slowly his big fat dick made it's way deep inside my ass, flooding my senses with pleasure. I was so relaxed from the wine that there was no pain any more and his dick was buried to the balls. Now I was in control as I was just grinding my hips faster and faster, actually rubbing my clit on his crotch. This went on for a good 10 minutes. I felt my orgasm building and I moved faster until I exploded with a huge "assgasm" which lasted about 30 seconds. My head was twirling around like I was possessed. I am sure this boosted his ego up quite a few notches. As I began to slow it down, I began to rise up off of his dick that had been buried to the hilt inside of me. He grabbed me by my ass cheeks and began lifting me up and down on his shaft. My feet were now in the couch, giving him all of my weight in his hands as he slammed me down onto his flagpole. He finally noticed that he was fucking my ass and not my pussy. He smiled as if to say "You dirty girl!" There was a small stream cum that oozed from my pussy as I bounced up and down on him. Five minutes went by and I felt another orgasm coming on. He was really letting my ass have it! He was lifting me up just high enough for the head of his cock to slide out of my ass then he would drop me down onto the length of his dick. This sent chills up my spine. Within a minute or so I began to cum again. At that very moment, I felt his cock stiffen to it's hardest and he too was cumming. I felt him spurt his hot semen deep inside of my ass. Even after his orgasm was over, he continued to keep fucking me. I actually had to calm him down and say "OK: That's enough!" He snickered and smiled like he was embarrassed. I thought to myself: "Doesn't he get any sex at home or is he just a fucking stud?" We sat still for a moment. His cock was still buried inside of my ass and I could feel his pulse from his still throbbing cock. We just breathed heavily for a few minutes, trying to calm ourselves down. "That was great!" He moaned out loud. "Yes it was stallion!" I responded. We both laughed for a moment. I could feel his cock getting soft inside of me until began to slowly slide out. "Ooh this feels too good!" I whispered. Eventually his cock slipped out and I got up to clean myself off. His dick was covered with his creamy cum. I tossed him a paper towel and he began to clean himself up. It was 9 PM already and I had the munchies!!! I looked at my dress and it was all wrinkled in a ball on the floor, along with my blouse. I gathered my clothes and got out of there, stopping in the front office to get my car keys since the valet guys were gone by then. I looked like what I just had - wild sex fiend! Revealed Scotland: 1557. Margarete looked across at Lise, and attempted to widen her eyes into an expression of entreaty. "Oh please?" she begged, "Just once!" Lise was sewing tiny stitches into a small cloth pouch containing fragrant herbs she herself had collected early that morning. "No," she replied. "I am still weary from long riding, and it's the sort of thing one must be in the mood for, or else being paid to do." They had been passing the time by reminiscing about their meeting 4 years previous. Lise had been a tumbler and player in an itinerant group of entertainers. Margarete had been remembering the impressive sight of Lise, up-side-down, walking across the courtyard of an inn on her hands. "Please do it?" Margarete pleaded. It's a remarkable feat which would entertain me mightily! Although, perhaps, well, that was 4 years ago... It is too youthful of an accomplishment for me to ask of you, pray put it out of your mind. Indeed, you must be still fatigued, you had a long ride, I understand." Her expression of kindly condescension was too much for Lise. She was only 10 years older than the young Margarete, and she knew her mistress was trying to goad her. "Very well," she laughed, indicating her handy-work. When I have seen you stand on one foot for the time it takes me to complete one side of this sashay, and the other foot while I sew the other side, then will I amuse you with my tumbler's tricks." Lise had long ago introduced Margarete to this game as a way to teach the younger woman poise and balance. As a noble-woman, Margarete had possessed a prideful baring and a graceful demeanor, but Lise had sought to add strength and physical confidence to her carriage. Margarete made a face. "Oh very well," she replied irritably. She stood up. "Of course you must raise your skirts that I may ensure you keep your end of the bargain," Lise smiled. She glanced at the window, curtains drawn against the wind and the infernal rain that fell outside. They had been in Scotland only a short time, but already Lise felt that she had seen enough rain to last her a life time. As Margarete's favored attendant and sworn companion, Lise would have followed her into worse lands, but she wished that her mistress's marriage might have been to a man of their native Southern France, or of Spain, somewhere warm and dry. This was their last day of rest before Margarete's bridal party would reach the lands of the Lord Colin MacLean. They were being accommodated in another in a long succession of religious houses which lay just outside the lands which, on the morrow, would become their new home. Lise sat back with her sewing in her hands, prepared to enjoy their last day alone together, what felt like their last day of freedom. Margarete had gathered her skirts in her hands, and raised them above her knees, displaying slender ankles and graceful calves. She stared intently at Lise. "You're not sewing!" she snapped. "Of course," Lise replied smiling, and resumed her work, "Although it would be much more entertaining for me to see all of your legs, not merely the lower part." The subtle but unmistakable glint of mischief in Lise's eye caused Margarete to remove the obstructing layers with a good grace. As Margarete lifted one foot and placed it carefully across the knee if her straight leg and found her balance, Lise tried to pay attention to keeping her stitching straight, but her eyes were drawn compulsively to Margarete. Her legs, though lacking the developed musculature of Lise's own, were smooth, elegant, and, as Lise knew well, soft and yielding to the touch. Now, however, they showed the occasional quiver, and heightened definition of effort. Margarete's young face wore an expression of intense concentration that captured Lise's gaze. How beautiful her mistress was, the confident tilt of her graceful head, the soft sweep of her fare hair, left loose on this day of rest, the symmetrical curves of her young woman's body. They had prepared well for Margarete's coming marriage, but for the first time, Lise felt a twinge of resistance. She had a brief but sharp sense of distaste at the idea of handing this lovely, playful, inexperienced girl to a rough Scots barbarian who would feel it his husbandly right to use her as he wished. Lise felt a stab of possessive longing to seize Margarete in her arms, to share the pleasure they had so often known together, to keep her for her own. With the practiced discipline learned in her years before Margarete, Lise looked away, and back to her stitching. "I think you are lagging in your work!" Margarete said through gritted teeth. Her straight leg trembled with fatigue. "Indeed," Lise replied cheerfully, and applied several quick stitches until one side of the sashay was complete. She held it up. "There," she said, "You may rest while I rethread my needle." While Margarete rested, then balanced on the other leg, Lise tried to keep her eyes on her work. While she stole frequent glances at Margarete's balanced form, Lise remembered the night she had spent in the bed of Margarete's soon-to-be husband. Nervous as any bride, Margarete had been agitated to distraction by an added worry about her coming marriage. Her father and brothers had arranged it with this Scottish stranger based solely on his nobility, and his wealth. Reckless and irresponsible, they had amassed prodigious debts, and looked for Margarete's groom to rescue them. Margarete knew that, soon after her wedding, her new husband was going to be prevailed upon by her kin, to open his purse wide to assist them. She had begged Lise for help in learning how best to please him, to bind him to her, to enslave him so that the entreaties of her kinsmen would fall on receptive ears. Seeing the true distress of her beloved mistress, Lise had set out alone on a daring mission. In the guise of a masked player, she had gained entrance into the Lord Colin's bed chamber, and partaken in his last revelry before his wedding. She had come back with a purse of silver, intimate knowledge of Lord Colin's tastes, and some unexpected and highly pleasurable memories of raucous pleasure. She had shared all with Margarete, and tried to prepare her for what to expect, tried to advise her on how to combine enticement with naivety in just the right way to captivate him. Lise finished the stitching quickly. "There," she said, "you may rest. You did well." Margarete flopped down on the bed with a gusty sigh. "Now it's your turn, and I think you must remove more than skirts for this feat!" "Do you?" Lise replied, a note of amused challenge in her voice. "Then perhaps My Lady should decide on my attire." She stood still in the centre of the room, daring Margarete with her eyes. Fatigue forgotten, Margarete leapt up and began removing Lise's garments. "Must I be naked then?" Lise asked as Margarete hastily tugged the last of Lise's clothes off and stepped back. "It is safer," Margarete answered, you must be unencumbered." Lise stepped back, noting with pleasure, the combination of childish anticipation and sensuous enjoyment on the younger woman's face. Calling to mind her years as a tumbler and acrobat, she brought her concentration into her own body, studied a spot on the floor some distance ahead of her, knelt, positioning herself carefully, then lifted first one, then the other leg into the air, supporting herself first on her head and hands, then, slowly raising herself higher. Margarete's face came alive with wonder and excitement, a sigh of delight escaped her. "OH, now walk!" she demanded, with the eagerness of a child. As Lise made a slow and deliberate progress around the chamber, Margarete studied her body from this unaccustomed angle, the long, straight, defined legs, the lithe torso, the shoulders and arms, so unexpectedly strong. Lise lowered herself slowly and gradually to the floor with a long heartfelt sigh. Margarete clapped her hands in delight, and cried, "Oh, you are truly a marvel!" She went to where Lise lay full length on the floor, studied her with pleasure, then held out a hand to help her up. Lise drank in the vivid, excited expression on Margarete's face. She loved Margarete's animation, her capacity for exuberance. Margarete hugged her close and gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek. "You are wonderful!" she exclaimed. Lise's hands claimed Margarete, one at her hip and one at her shoulder. "And you are beautiful!" she replied, taking Margarete's earlobe quickly between her teeth. They pressed close, each clinging to the other. Margarete nestled against Lise, pressing her lips into the hollow of Lise's throat. "After I am wed," she said softly, "Shall we still, still... Shall we be as we are now?" She put her arms tightly around the other woman, seeking both sensual enjoyment, and reassurance. Lise cupped her hand around Margarete's round bottom. "As long as we are together," she replied, "This feeling which is between us will not fade. I have sworn myself to your side, and never will I tire of your sweetness." Her other hand slid down over Margarete's breast, down to the warm mound between her legs, resting their gently. "Though, perhaps, once you have known your husband's attentions, you will no longer crave mine." She tried to make her tone mildly teasing, but she experienced a stab of genuine anxiety. She felt an unaccustomed tension in the younger woman, and pulled a little away to study her face. Margarete's eyes were wide, slightly glazed, and shone with unshed tears. "What is wrong?" Lise demanded in surprise. Margarete's face contorted slightly, but words failed her. Finally, she whispered "I am afraid. Oh Lise, never leave me, swear it again!" Lise pulled her close again. "I swear it as many times as you wish," she replied, and felt the swelling of love for her mistress and friend. "Come now," she said, while Margarete shook with silent sobs, "you must not do this. Tomorrow is your wedding day, and your eyes must be clear, bright and unblemished. Lise led her to the bed, pushed her gently down and began rubbing her back slowly and tenderly. Margarete gulped, trying to contain her fear. "I will never leave you," Lise said again. "This country is alien, and your husband is a stranger, but you will learn to live in this place, and perhaps soon there will be a child." Margarete clung to her compulsively. Lise felt her body quivering, but the tears had stopped. Lise was relieved. A woman's armor was scant enough, and Lise knew that Margarete must rely on her pride, dignity and beauty in order to secure her place in this new life. Watching the younger woman's silent struggle to regain composure, Lise was moved to compassion, admiration, and a fierce possessiveness. She held Margarete tightly, moving her hands eagerly over her body, filled with a hunger to claim, to feel, taste, possess, to bind Margarete to her anew. A fleeting awareness told her that Margarete was not the only one who feared. Lise pulled a warm quilt over top of them, and rolled to straddle Margarete, covering the delicate skin of her face with hungry kisses. When their lips met, the tension of Margarete's fear began to shift into the tension of longing. She pressed herself upwards against Lise, winding her limbs tightly around her and making soft sounds of yearning enjoyment. Lise's mouth moved down to Margarete's throat, then to the delicious contrast of soft breasts and hard, pointed nipples. She opened her lips widely, as though to consume the tender flesh. For all Margarete could appear so cool and aloof, Lise reveled in the familiar heat that emanated from her skin. Always, Margarete's flesh exuded a vital, vibrant warmth that made her comforting on a chilly night, and eminently provoking in passion. Lise covered Margarete's warm belly with kisses, then pressed her cheek against the soft skin, while her hands reached under to grasp the rounded, feminine hips. Her fingers dug into flesh, and she drank in Margarete's scent. Margarete's tension would not allow for passivity, and she pulled Lise up till they were again face to face. She pressed her lips wordlessly to Lise's, and with a long, deep kiss, she turned so that they lay on their side, facing one another. Margarete ran her hand eagerly up from Lise's muscular thigh, along the sweeping curve of a shapely hip and waist, then across her ribs to cup Lise's full breast. She bent her head and took the nipple between her lips, pulling with unaccustomed firmness. Lise threw her leg over Margarete's and began rocking her pelvis rhythmically. She felt an unfamiliar selfishness. She grabbed Margarete's hand and put it between her legs, and thrust her other nipple toward Margarete's lips. She pushed her hips strongly against Margarete's probing fingers, and, intuitively understanding Lise's desire, Margarete thrust 2 fingers inside, while making circular motions with her palm against the swollen clitoris. "Harder!" Lise gasped, a rare note of command in her voice. Not knowing which movements Lise meant, Margarete sucked harder, and thrust more deeply. Lise's body arched, her breath was horse and uneven. She felt a sense of passivity and abandon that she did not associate with Margarete. It was very welcome, and she did not hasten the peak of her pleasure. She urged Margarete back and forth between her breasts, first one distended nipple, then the other disappearing between Margarete's eager lips. Lise looked down, utterly consumed by the sight of her sensitive flesh disappearing into Margarete's mouth, the feeling of stimulation between her legs. She spread her thighs as wide as possible, and completely relaxed her inner muscles. She felt a keen receptivity, a complete openness, no barrier of apprehension, nor guard against unexpected roughness. Margarete's movements were strong and firm, but Lise felt no impulse to guard herself as she usually felt with men; even the most skilled and graceful of them. Finally, without thought or anticipation, the peak of excitement overcame her. She lay utterly passive, completely open to its flooding presence. It washed outward from her centre as a swift tide, running through her entire body to fill her belly, flow down her legs, out her fingertips, outward from every part of her until she felt as though she was surrounded by a glowing aura of warm light. Sensing the profundity of Lise's experience, Margarete rested quietly beside her, neither moving nor speaking. For several moments, Lise felt transported, as though she and Margarete were somewhere completely removed from this spare, monkish chamber. They were nowhere and everywhere at once. She was accustomed to taking the role of protector, teacher, guide to Margarete. Now, shaken deeply, she was aware of a subtle and disorienting shift. Very slowly, she turned to face the still silent Margarete. With great tenderness, she kissed Margarete's cheek. "You have given me an un-looked for gift," she said very softly, "one I shall not forget." "Your devotion is an incomparable gift which you give anew each day. You will have no need of memory, for it is a joy that we will share as long as we live. I swear myself to your side, as you have sworn yourself to mine. You will always have refuge with me, and my devotion to you, and to what we share will not waver." To her own amazement, Lise felt tears fill her own eyes, she who had forsworn tears many years ago. She reached out a fingertip and traced the well-known contours of Margarete's face with great gentleness. "Why do you weep?" Margarete asked, curiously unsurprised by this unusual sign of emotion. For a moment, Lise did not reply, only continued to caress Margarete's face. "I hardly know myself," she said finally. "They are tears of gladness, not of sorrow. More I cannot tell you. Someday perhaps I will be able to." Margarete pulled the quilt completely over their heads, and they lay for a long time thus, not speaking, each drawing immeasurable comfort from the nearness of the other. After a long, quiet time, Margarete stirred. When she spoke, a note of gentle mischief had crept into her tone. She writhed a little against Lise and said, "Perhaps you weep because you long to taste me one last time as an unmarried woman." Lise gave a throaty chuckle and slapped Margarete's behind playfully. "Indeed your taste would entice me were you a dozen times a bride. However, I shall not enjoy your taste today, nor you enjoy the tasting. I see you have been roused, but today you shall remain unsatisfied. You shall enter your husband's bed hungry, it will be better so." Her tone was light, her words easy. Both women had lost the edge of fear. What they had shared had strengthened them, renewed their courage, and they could speak lightly of what was to come on the morrow. "There is something you must understand," Lise went on, pulling the quilt closer about them. "Your husband must not know what we share. It is not a common thing, and not a thing to be understood by a man, especially not when it involves his virgin bride." "It is true that I know little of men, but as for being uncommon, you yourself told me that the Sisters at the convent outside Paris were all engaged in such activity! And the practices you ascribed to the sisters at the priory at Calais..." Lise let out a hearty laugh. "You should not repeat such things to anyone else! At least you must not identify me as your source for such scandalous speculation. In truth, I know not how many women share as we do, but I do know that a man will associate such things with the lewd display of whores. It will not be understood." "It is I who do not understand," Margarete said, her face showing her confusion. What has this to do with whores?" "Lise sighed. "I do not know if I can explain, or even if I understand myself." She was silent a long moment. "Men and women are different in ways other than the obvious ones. We are separate. Sometimes, rarely, if you are lucky, the separation can be breached and the two may know true sympathy. In passion this can be true, but also, I have sometimes seen an intimacy of glance and gesture between two who have been married many years. I do not say that we are fated to always be divided by our sex, but it does not serve a woman well to be careless in her dealings with men. Your husband will expect a bride who is virgin not only in body," (she laid a complacent palm over Margarete's pelvis,) but also in mind and experience. You are awakened in ways he will not expect or understand. You must be careful to display eagerness and ignorance together. He will be most captivated by you if he believes that he alone has guided you into pleasure and passion." Margarete considered this. "I am guided by your wisdom and experience," she said finally, "But it sits ill with me to treat such joy as you and I share, as a guilty secret." "Ah my little flower," Lise said happily, kissing the tip of Margarete's pert nose, "Every moment I love you more! Think of it not as a guilty secret, but as something private, a well of rest and delight that is only ours." Margarete lay tranquilly, feeling no impulse to leave this cocoon of safety, warmth and love. "I will," she answered peacefully. There was a restful silence. "I wonder how the Lord Colin passes his time today," she said then. Lise stretched, then settled again against Margarete. "If he is any sort of gentleman," she replied with a comfortable yawn, "he'll be setting himself to recover from his drunken revels. Judging from what I witnessed, some extreme measures will be required to ensure he presents a respectable face at his marriage, and not the green and hollow-eyed aspect of a whisky sodden drunkard." Revealed Scribbler's Notes: In the fashion of Shorn, I bring you Revealed, the second short story in my sex-free fetish series. Once again I steered clear of Non-Erotic, although this time for much more obvious reasons. Enjoy. * I brushed my sweat soaked strands of hair out of my face, fanning myself with a folded daily as the skytrain swayed gently along the track over the Fraser River. It seemed this weather just wasn't going to quit. Summer had arrived and it was hanging on tight. It didn't help that the train was crowded beyond belief that day. Why anyone was on the train on a Tuesday at ten am was beyond me. Usually everyone was at work when I headed out. Shouldn't that group of college boys down at the end be at the beach, along with the old couple across from me. I was far too hot to appreciate the quaintness of them holding hands after what I assumed was many happy years of marriage. As we progressed along, more and more people got off. I must admit I was relieved at the crowd that dispersed when they reached Metrotown, and settled in for the rest of the ride to Waterfront with a few less complaints. The car was nearly empty except for the frat boys still chattering at the end and a man who looked only a few years older, who was eyeing me quietly. I grinned softly. This type of situation is why I never mind the long trips to work three times a week. Stretching, I arched my back forwards in the guise of easing some strain, although the move, coincidently, also pressed my breasts, growing fuller with a recent weight gain (though I'm still far from being a BBW just yet), out further, and parted my legs enough that my skirt rose up to show off the very bottoms of my garters. My suit jacket had been discarded at the beginning of the trip in Surrey, so only the silky short sleeved fawn colored blouse stood between my breasts and my target. The man straightened. I had his attention. Down the train, several of the boys in the group glanced over as well. I smiled slyly, more to myself than any of my audience, as I leaned down at the pretense of getting a stick of gum from my purse. It gave him a slight peek down my blouse and sent a thrill straight between my legs. Of course, my next move was to shift subtly. A garter snapped loose and I gasped in feigned surprise, rolling my skirt up slightly to fix the 'runaway'. "How embarrassing," I giggled, letting him believe I was flustered. All eyes were on me now, even the two girls who were with my young friends. I have always loved how subtle everyone will try to be, while still blatantly staring in fear of missing any of the show. I traced the line of my stocking, worry clear in my features, before snapping the piece back on and checking the other three attachments, fingers absently caressing my thighs as I smoothed each one down. I wiggled my skirt back down politely, glancing up to catch the man's eye and offer a wink unseen to the other passengers. The train announced we only had a few more stops before reaching the final destination and I heard swearing. The boys had missed their stop. I would have to have a private little laugh at their expense when I was safe in my office. My only viewer now was the man who was gazing steadily at the hem of my skirt as if willing it to rise again, to offer him a glimpse of smooth flesh with the run of black teasing down them in garter form. I parted my legs to stretch again, this time enough to let him see my secret, twisting side to side to work out the kinks as he stared in fascination. The bell dinged again and I closed my legs, smoothing the skirt over them and pulling on my jacket. I picked up my purse just as he got up the courage to speak. "I'm Greg." I was silent for a moment, then smiled. "I don't care." Then I was off the train, heels clicking on the pavement as I made my way through the station, leaving him looking confused and a bit indignant. And my secret, the one I so cheerfully revealed? Three days a week, I take public transportation to work. Three days a week I don't wear panties. -End- Revealed "What have you been measuring?" She asked me innocently. I felt my heart sink down into my stomach, my skin already prickling with embarrassment. Of course, I already knew what she was talking about. I could already clearly picture what I would see if I were to turn around. Tess lying sprawled on the bed where she had thrown herself, tired from a days work, with her bag dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Her long, pale fingers would be tracing along the edge of the cheap plastic ruler which I had hidden half-heartedly beneath my pillow. As I turned around, I found that I was exactly on the mark, her lips turned into an almost invisible small, knowing smile. The ruler was a cheap, six-inch ruler, plastic and transparent, the find you could find in any stationary kit. I think it had even been Tess herself who had bought it for me, part of a small series of joke presents to see me off to university a year before she would join me. I'd been rummaging through some old boxes hidden underneath my bed when I had stumbled across it and, as every man does at some point, decided to measure my cock. I'd always known I had nothing to be especially proud of, however, once I had coaxed an excited erection and finally seen my actual number, my reaction had been one I couldn't have predicted. It had turned me on. It had turned me on so much that I had only been masturbating for less than a minute before I experienced an orgasm so powerful that I was almost paralysed with the rush of it. Over the last few weeks, I had quickly discovered a widely known fetish of small penis humiliation and cuckolding on the internet and lost myself in fantasies which left me shaking. I would regularly measure myself as I watched porn, comparing myself to the hung men and examining the women's reactions as they were taken by a stallion, knowing I couldn't provide the same experience. In truth, I had always been a bit defensive about my cock size. I avoided going swimming or doing sports where I might have to shower there. Even at the gym I would always return home to shower alone, which I knew gave the game away but at least I wasn't there to experience the embarrassment. Tess knew to avoid the subject, although I did occasionally catch a veiled joke and wonder whether she was referencing my size. Such comments would play on me and we would row about it once it had taken hold in my head. All of which made my recent reactions all the more puzzling. I didn't want Tess to find out I had been looking at these fetish websites though, I wasn't ready to share with her and didn't want her to think I was some kind of sexual delinquent. Tess was my long-term girlfriend. In many ways we were the perfect romance, nervously holding hands in the schoolyard and eventually becoming partners so long ago neither of us could really remember when. She was tall and slim, with small pert breasts and a perfectly round ass which never failed to turn me on. Tess always died her hair a very dark shade of red which matched perfectly with her light blue eyes and definitely got her some attention from men. Something I usually detested, but recently had even found a turn on. I realised that I was taking too long to answer her. I tried to force my mind to come up with a reason I would have a ruler hidden in my bed which didn't lead to the eventual question: "Why were you measuring yourself." "Oh, I was looking through some old boxes and it must have fallen out." I eventually stammered, already knowing the lie was too weak and too late to even be partway convincing. Tess, to her credit, managed to avoid rolling her eyes. In fact, she didn't say anything. However, I didn't miss the way that her eyes lingered on the ruler for several more seconds and with a rush I realised what she was doing. She was measuring me up! My arousal was immediate and inescapable, filling my skin with electricity. I felt my arousal taking over my body, forcing me towards something which I had been fantasising about for weeks and yet filled me with dread every time I even considered bringing it up with her. Still making my mind up, I went over and plonked myself on the bed next to her and poked her playfully. "Hey, I know what you're doing!" I said with mock-anger. Tess' eyes were wide as they looked around, probably expecting me to fly off the handle but I smiled and she grinned back at me. "Nothing!" She answered, then very obviously returning her eyes to the ruler. I felt another surge of arousal, my cock hardening and I knew I was about to do it. I wouldn't be able to help myself, I realised and in that moment I wanted nothing more than the female-led relationships which I had become obsessed with. "You were measuring me up!" I said, poking her again playfully, making her jerk away with a laugh. "I was not." She said, a little breathless as she sat back up against the headboard. Her flush gave her away though, as though she had thought she had over stepped the mark. I noticed however, that she was still holding the ruler. "What do you rate me? Be honest." Tess shrugged and looked back at the ruler. She was still a little flushed and I noticed that she was no longer trying to hide the fact that she was mentally comparing my cock to the ruler. "I don't know", she said slowly. "Do you know what the average is?" I asked, part of my mind still fighting against the impulse to say the words. Tess smiled. "Umm...isn't it like...between six or seven inches?" I felt a twinge of horror go through me at that. Not only was she a little over what the actual average was, I felt like I was about to make a very definite step towards a lifestyle which I still didn't know a lot about. The ruler itself was only six inches long and I hadn't gone the entire length of even that! I knew the magnitude of what I was pushing her towards and I knew that I wouldn't be able to take it back once I had confessed. Eventually, I made my mind up and committed to it, I wasn't really able to stop myself. "Something like that, yeah." Tess laughed out loud suddenly. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation." I joined in and we both chuckled nervously. I listened out for any sounds downstairs, any movement from the other students I shared the house with. I knew they had all gone out to watch the match, I wasn't a fan of football so I hadn't gone despite their half-hearted invitation. Even though there was excitement rushing through me, I felt another stab of horror at the idea that they would be out in the hallway, listening to this conversation. "So, go on. What do you think I am?" I pushed again. "Be honest, I won't get mad I promise." She examined the ruler once again, thinking before she answered. "I don't know...six inches?" My heart skipped a beat hearing it and I was truly lost on my arousal now. My cock was rock hard and tenting my trousers, if she happened to look down then she would see how turned I was. Her response confirmed two things: first, that she thought I was the lower end of average; and, second, that I definitely wanted to take this all the way. "Why don't you find out?" I said, my words sounding very breathless. Tess' mouth dropped open in shock, at the same moment she spotted my hard on and grabbed it with a disbelieving laugh. "Are you turned on by this?" She exclaimed. "You really want me to measure your dick?" "You don't have to", I said, suddenly very self-conscious about having suggested it so quickly. "I just thought it might be fun." Tess laughed again. "You really are a dark horse! You're really turned on by me measuring you? Why?" I shrugged. "I don't really know, but I am." Tess smiled widely. "OK then, but I kind of feel like I'm being set up for a practical joke. Is anything going to jump out at me?" It was my turn to laugh loudly. "Well, something might but nothing you haven't seen before." She smiled down at me as she straddled across my legs. Putting down the ruler next to her, Tess tugged down my trousers until my cock sprang free. It was rock hard and I was painfully aware about how thin it looked underneath her direct gaze. I never felt so small, or so turned on, as she regarded it freely. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen your dick out in the open like that. You usually keep it hidden away under the covers. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" I nodded again, barely able to catch the breath to answer her. Tess tilted her head playfully, catching my off guard with her beauty. "Well, I want to get an accurate measurement so I'd better make sure it's really hard." With that, she bent forward and I was enveloped in exquisite heat and moisture as she took me into her mouth. Tess never had any trouble taking the full length of my into her mouth, something which I found even more arousing now, and I fought hard to keep my orgasm at bay. Her head bobbed up and down, pleasuring me in a way I hadn't let her before. Her tongue flicked over the end of my cock, teasing me and I wondered briefly where she had learnt her technique. Finally, she reared back and stroked my wet cock absently as she smiled up at me, reaching out for the ruler. It really was the final point of no return but I was so horny I didn't care, I couldn't have stopped her even if I had really tried. "Wow that was amazing." I gasped. "You seem really up for this?" "Well, I had a little time to prepare myself. I've got to admit, it's a little exciting doing something different." I was confused. "What do you mean?" She pulled up my cock so it was pointing upwards. Tantalisingly slowly, she placed a corner of the ruler against the base of my cock and I felt like I nearly exploded being so close to achieving my fantasy. The pressure between my legs felt like it couldn't possibly be pulsing through something so tiny. Tess smiled widely. "You should be more careful with your search history, baby. I saw about a week ago what you've been watching and I've been getting up to date on it all." It was hard to imagine that I would flush so hot with embarrassment, especially with the fact I was completely naked from the waist down and about to have my penis revealed for what it was. I had no idea that she knew and I cursed myself for slipping up on something so basic. "You knew?" I asked, shocked. "I didn't know", Tess laughed. "But I saw it on the autocomplete then had a look. I wouldn't have normally but it was pretty weird. In fact, I didn't know for certain until I found the ruler in your bed. You've been very naughty not telling me until now." "You sure you want to do this?" I asked, suddenly very self-conscious. It felt like a dream which I was losing control over. "Sure, it sounds fun!" Tess said, stroking me slowly and making me groan out with pleasure. "Anyway, I'd do anything to make you happy. Plus I get lots of benefits too!" "Are you still sure?" She asked again, teasing my with small strokes and ever so slowly bringing the ruler up towards my cock. "No going back? No hiding your size from me any more? I'll know exactly what you're packing." My cock felt like it was getting even harder, for a brief moment I allowed myself to wonder if I was so turned on it would be bigger than ever before. Somehow, I would look down and it would be pushing past the length of the ruler and Tess' admiring expression would be shining up at me. I did look down, and I will never forget the excitement at seeing Tess smile to herself as she finally lined the ruler up against the length of me. She adjusted it for a few seconds and then leant forward, trying to make out the small black numbers along the edge of the ruler. She frowned and readjusted the ruler, obviously thinking there had been some mistake. The excitement was so strong that it seemed about to strangle me. "Oh", she said finally, her eyes raising to meet mine. "Four inches? It's only four inches?" My cock twitched with excitement as she let out another disbelieving laugh. I could barely believe this was actually happening. The terror of being revealed along with my arousal that Tess had been playing along with me, preparing for when I asked her to humiliate me was making my orgasm difficult to control. "Well, it's a little over four", I panted. Tess stifled a laugh, a titter which had a trace of cruelty and one I had heard many times before on the many porn films I had watched. "Yeah, sorry. Four-and-almost-a-quarter inches." She grabbed my cock which twitched again at her touch, her fingers easily wrapping around the girth of my cock and then some. "It's smaller than I thought it was." I felt myself losing control over my orgasm now, I was breathing in heavily and groaning out loud with every slow stroke. I could feel my cum desperate to burst out of me. I was riding ion waves of tantalising humiliation. I leant my head back and closed my eyes. "Do you like it when I tell you how small you are?" Her voice washed down on me from far away. She was quiet now and I could tell she was gauging my reaction, seeing whether she had got the formula right for me. "Does it make you really horny?" I nodded. "I knew it wasn't big", she said, stroking me a little faster now. "I knew you were really defensive about it and must be really ashamed but it's even worse that I thought it was." She stopped stroking me suddenly, forcing me to look up at her. Tess never looked more gorgeous than when she was humiliating me, taking control of me and teasing me. She smiled. "Do you like me teasing you about your little tiny dick?" "Yes", I replied, knowing I was sealing my fate forever. Tess frowned. "Yes, what?" "Yes, I like being teased." "About what?" Tess said, wide-eyed in fake innnocence. "I like being teased about my little dick." "I knew it", Tess said, rewarding my honestly with another slow stroke. "As soon as I saw what you'd been watching I knew it explained everything. I watched loads of the porn that you had been watching, I knew I could do that to you if it was what you really wanted. I even kind of like doing it." She examined my cock from every angle. Every time I felt like I was getting close to coming, she would let go and simply stare at it as it twitched pathetically. "No wonder I never cum during sex. I really have to concentrate to feel your little thingy inside me." "I'm going to cum", I gasped as she squeezed my cock hard and pumped it hard. "Oh, I know you are sweetie." She said soothingly to me as she tightened her grip on me and wanked my cock faster. "I hope you enjoy it too because it is going to be the last time your little four inch cock is going to cum for a long, long time. Only men get to cum when they want and I bought you a little something which is going to make sure that you only cum when I want you to." "Aren't you ashamed of having a tiny cock? I bet you got teased about it all the time didn't you? That's why you were always getting angry when I mentioned anything to do with it." She was getting faster and faster and I felt myself sail past the point of no return, my cock already starting to pump as her words stabbed erotically at me. "You know, there is a good thing about you having a little cock and finally letting me control it. My pussy is super tight, like a virgin because I've never been fucked by a real man, with a real long and thick cock. I'm going to give a real man so much pleasure with my tight little pussy and you are never going to feel it again with your tiny little willy." I thrust upwards, cum exploding out of my cock in thick streams. Tess made comforting noises, cooing my softly and slowly stroking out more and more of my sperm, coaxing it out of my with a smile. Cum splattered up my stomach and Tess reached up and rubbed it into my skin. "Enjoy it sweetie," she whispered as I panted loudly. "You're not going to have another one again for a very long time." Revealed (audio) * * * * * Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (21.5 min/mp3) * * * * * Scotland: 1557. Margarete looked across at Lise, and attempted to widen her eyes into an expression of entreaty. "Oh please?" she begged, "Just once!" Lise was sewing tiny stitches into a small cloth pouch containing fragrant herbs she herself had collected early that morning. "No," she replied. "I am still weary from long riding, and it's the sort of thing one must be in the mood for, or else being paid to do." They had been passing the time by reminiscing about their meeting 4 years previous. Lise had been a tumbler and player in an itinerant group of entertainers. Margarete had been remembering the impressive sight of Lise, up-side-down, walking across the courtyard of an inn on her hands. "Please do it?" Margarete pleaded. It's a remarkable feat which would entertain me mightily! Although, perhaps, well, that was 4 years ago... It is too youthful of an accomplishment for me to ask of you, pray put it out of your mind. Indeed, you must be still fatigued, you had a long ride, I understand." Her expression of kindly condescension was too much for Lise. She was only 10 years older than the young Margarete, and she knew her mistress was trying to goad her. "Very well," she laughed, indicating her handy-work. When I have seen you stand on one foot for the time it takes me to complete one side of this sashay, and the other foot while I sew the other side, then will I amuse you with my tumbler's tricks." Lise had long ago introduced Margarete to this game as a way to teach the younger woman poise and balance. As a noble-woman, Margarete had possessed a prideful baring and a graceful demeanor, but Lise had sought to add strength and physical confidence to her carriage. Margarete made a face. "Oh very well," she replied irritably. She stood up. "Of course you must raise your skirts that I may ensure you keep your end of the bargain," Lise smiled. She glanced at the window, curtains drawn against the wind and the infernal rain that fell outside. They had been in Scotland only a short time, but already Lise felt that she had seen enough rain to last her a life time. As Margarete's favored attendant and sworn companion, Lise would have followed her into worse lands, but she wished that her mistress's marriage might have been to a man of their native Southern France, or of Spain, somewhere warm and dry. This was their last day of rest before Margarete's bridal party would reach the lands of the Lord Colin MacLean. They were being accommodated in another in a long succession of religious houses which lay just outside the lands which, on the morrow, would become their new home. Lise sat back with her sewing in her hands, prepared to enjoy their last day alone together, what felt like their last day of freedom. Margarete had gathered her skirts in her hands, and raised them above her knees, displaying slender ankles and graceful calves. She stared intently at Lise. "You're not sewing!" she snapped. "Of course," Lise replied smiling, and resumed her work, "Although it would be much more entertaining for me to see all of your legs, not merely the lower part." The subtle but unmistakable glint of mischief in Lise's eye caused Margarete to remove the obstructing layers with a good grace. As Margarete lifted one foot and placed it carefully across the knee if her straight leg and found her balance, Lise tried to pay attention to keeping her stitching straight, but her eyes were drawn compulsively to Margarete. Her legs, though lacking the developed musculature of Lise's own, were smooth, elegant, and, as Lise knew well, soft and yielding to the touch. Now, however, they showed the occasional quiver, and heightened definition of effort. Margarete's young face wore an expression of intense concentration that captured Lise's gaze. How beautiful her mistress was, the confident tilt of her graceful head, the soft sweep of her fare hair, left loose on this day of rest, the symmetrical curves of her young woman's body. They had prepared well for Margarete's coming marriage, but for the first time, Lise felt a twinge of resistance. She had a brief but sharp sense of distaste at the idea of handing this lovely, playful, inexperienced girl to a rough Scots barbarian who would feel it his husbandly right to use her as he wished. Lise felt a stab of possessive longing to seize Margarete in her arms, to share the pleasure they had so often known together, to keep her for her own. With the practiced discipline learned in her years before Margarete, Lise looked away, and back to her stitching. "I think you are lagging in your work!" Margarete said through gritted teeth. Her straight leg trembled with fatigue. "Indeed," Lise replied cheerfully, and applied several quick stitches until one side of the sashay was complete. She held it up. "There," she said, "You may rest while I rethread my needle." While Margarete rested, then balanced on the other leg, Lise tried to keep her eyes on her work. While she stole frequent glances at Margarete's balanced form, Lise remembered the night she had spent in the bed of Margarete's soon-to-be husband. Nervous as any bride, Margarete had been agitated to distraction by an added worry about her coming marriage. Her father and brothers had arranged it with this Scottish stranger based solely on his nobility, and his wealth. Reckless and irresponsible, they had amassed prodigious debts, and looked for Margarete's groom to rescue them. Margarete knew that, soon after her wedding, her new husband was going to be prevailed upon by her kin, to open his purse wide to assist them. She had begged Lise for help in learning how best to please him, to bind him to her, to enslave him so that the entreaties of her kinsmen would fall on receptive ears. Seeing the true distress of her beloved mistress, Lise had set out alone on a daring mission. In the guise of a masked player, she had gained entrance into the Lord Colin's bed chamber, and partaken in his last revelry before his wedding. She had come back with a purse of silver, intimate knowledge of Lord Colin's tastes, and some unexpected and highly pleasurable memories of raucous pleasure. She had shared all with Margarete, and tried to prepare her for what to expect, tried to advise her on how to combine enticement with naivety in just the right way to captivate him. Lise finished the stitching quickly. "There," she said, "you may rest. You did well." Margarete flopped down on the bed with a gusty sigh. "Now it's your turn, and I think you must remove more than skirts for this feat!" "Do you?" Lise replied, a note of amused challenge in her voice. "Then perhaps My Lady should decide on my attire." She stood still in the centre of the room, daring Margarete with her eyes. Fatigue forgotten, Margarete leapt up and began removing Lise's garments. "Must I be naked then?" Lise asked as Margarete hastily tugged the last of Lise's clothes off and stepped back. "It is safer," Margarete answered, you must be unencumbered." Lise stepped back, noting with pleasure, the combination of childish anticipation and sensuous enjoyment on the younger woman's face. Calling to mind her years as a tumbler and acrobat, she brought her concentration into her own body, studied a spot on the floor some distance ahead of her, knelt, positioning herself carefully, then lifted first one, then the other leg into the air, supporting herself first on her head and hands, then, slowly raising herself higher. Margarete's face came alive with wonder and excitement, a sigh of delight escaped her. "OH, now walk!" she demanded, with the eagerness of a child. As Lise made a slow and deliberate progress around the chamber, Margarete studied her body from this unaccustomed angle, the long, straight, defined legs, the lithe torso, the shoulders and arms, so unexpectedly strong. Lise lowered herself slowly and gradually to the floor with a long heartfelt sigh. Margarete clapped her hands in delight, and cried, "Oh, you are truly a marvel!" She went to where Lise lay full length on the floor, studied her with pleasure, then held out a hand to help her up. Lise drank in the vivid, excited expression on Margarete's face. She loved Margarete's animation, her capacity for exuberance. Margarete hugged her close and gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek. "You are wonderful!" she exclaimed. Lise's hands claimed Margarete, one at her hip and one at her shoulder. "And you are beautiful!" she replied, taking Margarete's earlobe quickly between her teeth. They pressed close, each clinging to the other. Margarete nestled against Lise, pressing her lips into the hollow of Lise's throat. "After I am wed," she said softly, "Shall we still, still... Shall we be as we are now?" She put her arms tightly around the other woman, seeking both sensual enjoyment, and reassurance. Lise cupped her hand around Margarete's round bottom. "As long as we are together," she replied, "This feeling which is between us will not fade. I have sworn myself to your side, and never will I tire of your sweetness." Her other hand slid down over Margarete's breast, down to the warm mound between her legs, resting their gently. "Though, perhaps, once you have known your husband's attentions, you will no longer crave mine." She tried to make her tone mildly teasing, but she experienced a stab of genuine anxiety. She felt an unaccustomed tension in the younger woman, and pulled a little away to study her face. Margarete's eyes were wide, slightly glazed, and shone with unshed tears. "What is wrong?" Lise demanded in surprise. Margarete's face contorted slightly, but words failed her. Finally, she whispered "I am afraid. Oh Lise, never leave me, swear it again!" Lise pulled her close again. "I swear it as many times as you wish," she replied, and felt the swelling of love for her mistress and friend. "Come now," she said, while Margarete shook with silent sobs, "you must not do this. Tomorrow is your wedding day, and your eyes must be clear, bright and unblemished. Lise led her to the bed, pushed her gently down and began rubbing her back slowly and tenderly. Margarete gulped, trying to contain her fear. "I will never leave you," Lise said again. "This country is alien, and your husband is a stranger, but you will learn to live in this place, and perhaps soon there will be a child." Margarete clung to her compulsively. Lise felt her body quivering, but the tears had stopped. Lise was relieved. A woman's armor was scant enough, and Lise knew that Margarete must rely on her pride, dignity and beauty in order to secure her place in this new life. Watching the younger woman's silent struggle to regain composure, Lise was moved to compassion, admiration, and a fierce possessiveness. She held Margarete tightly, moving her hands eagerly over her body, filled with a hunger to claim, to feel, taste, possess, to bind Margarete to her anew. A fleeting awareness told her that Margarete was not the only one who feared. Lise pulled a warm quilt over top of them, and rolled to straddle Margarete, covering the delicate skin of her face with hungry kisses. When their lips met, the tension of Margarete's fear began to shift into the tension of longing. She pressed herself upwards against Lise, winding her limbs tightly around her and making soft sounds of yearning enjoyment. Lise's mouth moved down to Margarete's throat, then to the delicious contrast of soft breasts and hard, pointed nipples. She opened her lips widely, as though to consume the tender flesh. For all Margarete could appear so cool and aloof, Lise reveled in the familiar heat that emanated from her skin. Always, Margarete's flesh exuded a vital, vibrant warmth that made her comforting on a chilly night, and eminently provoking in passion. Lise covered Margarete's warm belly with kisses, then pressed her cheek against the soft skin, while her hands reached under to grasp the rounded, feminine hips. Her fingers dug into flesh, and she drank in Margarete's scent. Margarete's tension would not allow for passivity, and she pulled Lise up till they were again face to face. She pressed her lips wordlessly to Lise's, and with a long, deep kiss, she turned so that they lay on their side, facing one another. Margarete ran her hand eagerly up from Lise's muscular thigh, along the sweeping curve of a shapely hip and waist, then across her ribs to cup Lise's full breast. She bent her head and took the nipple between her lips, pulling with unaccustomed firmness. Lise threw her leg over Margarete's and began rocking her pelvis rhythmically. She felt an unfamiliar selfishness. She grabbed Margarete's hand and put it between her legs, and thrust her other nipple toward Margarete's lips. She pushed her hips strongly against Margarete's probing fingers, and, intuitively understanding Lise's desire, Margarete thrust 2 fingers inside, while making circular motions with her palm against the swollen clitoris. "Harder!" Lise gasped, a rare note of command in her voice. Not knowing which movements Lise meant, Margarete sucked harder, and thrust more deeply. Lise's body arched, her breath was horse and uneven. She felt a sense of passivity and abandon that she did not associate with Margarete. It was very welcome, and she did not hasten the peak of her pleasure. She urged Margarete back and forth between her breasts, first one distended nipple, then the other disappearing between Margarete's eager lips. Lise looked down, utterly consumed by the sight of her sensitive flesh disappearing into Margarete's mouth, the feeling of stimulation between her legs. She spread her thighs as wide as possible, and completely relaxed her inner muscles. She felt a keen receptivity, a complete openness, no barrier of apprehension, nor guard against unexpected roughness. Margarete's movements were strong and firm, but Lise felt no impulse to guard herself as she usually felt with men; even the most skilled and graceful of them. Finally, without thought or anticipation, the peak of excitement overcame her. She lay utterly passive, completely open to its flooding presence. It washed outward from her centre as a swift tide, running through her entire body to fill her belly, flow down her legs, out her fingertips, outward from every part of her until she felt as though she was surrounded by a glowing aura of warm light. Sensing the profundity of Lise's experience, Margarete rested quietly beside her, neither moving nor speaking. For several moments, Lise felt transported, as though she and Margarete were somewhere completely removed from this spare, monkish chamber. They were nowhere and everywhere at once. She was accustomed to taking the role of protector, teacher, guide to Margarete. Now, shaken deeply, she was aware of a subtle and disorienting shift. Very slowly, she turned to face the still silent Margarete. With great tenderness, she kissed Margarete's cheek. "You have given me an un-looked for gift," she said very softly, "one I shall not forget." "Your devotion is an incomparable gift which you give anew each day. You will have no need of memory, for it is a joy that we will share as long as we live. I swear myself to your side, as you have sworn yourself to mine. You will always have refuge with me, and my devotion to you, and to what we share will not waver." To her own amazement, Lise felt tears fill her own eyes, she who had forsworn tears many years ago. She reached out a fingertip and traced the well-known contours of Margarete's face with great gentleness. "Why do you weep?" Margarete asked, curiously unsurprised by this unusual sign of emotion. For a moment, Lise did not reply, only continued to caress Margarete's face. "I hardly know myself," she said finally. "They are tears of gladness, not of sorrow. More I cannot tell you. Someday perhaps I will be able to." Margarete pulled the quilt completely over their heads, and they lay for a long time thus, not speaking, each drawing immeasurable comfort from the nearness of the other. After a long, quiet time, Margarete stirred. When she spoke, a note of gentle mischief had crept into her tone. She writhed a little against Lise and said, "Perhaps you weep because you long to taste me one last time as an unmarried woman." Lise gave a throaty chuckle and slapped Margarete's behind playfully. "Indeed your taste would entice me were you a dozen times a bride. However, I shall not enjoy your taste today, nor you enjoy the tasting. I see you have been roused, but today you shall remain unsatisfied. You shall enter your husband's bed hungry, it will be better so." Her tone was light, her words easy. Both women had lost the edge of fear. What they had shared had strengthened them, renewed their courage, and they could speak lightly of what was to come on the morrow. "There is something you must understand," Lise went on, pulling the quilt closer about them. "Your husband must not know what we share. It is not a common thing, and not a thing to be understood by a man, especially not when it involves his virgin bride." "It is true that I know little of men, but as for being uncommon, you yourself told me that the Sisters at the convent outside Paris were all engaged in such activity! And the practices you ascribed to the sisters at the priory at Calais..." Lise let out a hearty laugh. "You should not repeat such things to anyone else! At least you must not identify me as your source for such scandalous speculation. In truth, I know not how many women share as we do, but I do know that a man will associate such things with the lewd display of whores. It will not be understood." "It is I who do not understand," Margarete said, her face showing her confusion. What has this to do with whores?" "Lise sighed. "I do not know if I can explain, or even if I understand myself." She was silent a long moment. "Men and women are different in ways other than the obvious ones. We are separate. Sometimes, rarely, if you are lucky, the separation can be breached and the two may know true sympathy. In passion this can be true, but also, I have sometimes seen an intimacy of glance and gesture between two who have been married many years. I do not say that we are fated to always be divided by our sex, but it does not serve a woman well to be careless in her dealings with men. Your husband will expect a bride who is virgin not only in body," (she laid a complacent palm over Margarete's pelvis,) but also in mind and experience. You are awakened in ways he will not expect or understand. You must be careful to display eagerness and ignorance together. He will be most captivated by you if he believes that he alone has guided you into pleasure and passion." Margarete considered this. "I am guided by your wisdom and experience," she said finally, "But it sits ill with me to treat such joy as you and I share, as a guilty secret." "Ah my little flower," Lise said happily, kissing the tip of Margarete's pert nose, "Every moment I love you more! Think of it not as a guilty secret, but as something private, a well of rest and delight that is only ours." Margarete lay tranquilly, feeling no impulse to leave this cocoon of safety, warmth and love. "I will," she answered peacefully. There was a restful silence. "I wonder how the Lord Colin passes his time today," she said then. Lise stretched, then settled again against Margarete. "If he is any sort of gentleman," she replied with a comfortable yawn, "he'll be setting himself to recover from his drunken revels. Judging from what I witnessed, some extreme measures will be required to ensure he presents a respectable face at his marriage, and not the green and hollow-eyed aspect of a whisky sodden drunkard." Revealed in Dance Class I remember the spring of '87 as vividly as if it were yesterday. It sounds unreal, but this was the school that featured coed saunas and I recalled seeing a coed nude swim featured on the school weekly calendar. A sophomore at UMass-Amherst with an interest in dance inspired by my high school girlfriend Heather, in January I was looking over courses available at the nearby colleges when this caught my eye: Hampshire College Dance: Partnering: Technique and Philosophy Tuesday and Friday 3:30 – 5:30 Multidisciplinary investigation of dance forms and ideas. Participants will unite their bodily forms to create a dynamic interplay of mass, movement and personality. Success will be driven by familiarity with conventional technique drawn from ballet and modern styles, along with a mind [particularly male minds] open to new approaches to dance preparation and performance. Class performance at end of semester mandatory for credit. Curious, I signed up, hoping my limited experience – a year each in high school and college ballet classes - would see me through. I had always fantasized about both partnering with attractive females and performing in front of a crowd with limited body cover. I also hoped my 5'9", 145 lb. frame, honed to an athletic fat-free state by high school and club soccer and lacrosse, would justify the attentions of any crowd before which I might perform. The first class was an eye – opener. It met in a small studio of about 600 sq feet, with a mirror and barre along one wall. Seven men and six women showed up, and listened to a brief introduction by Marisa, a leggy hazel-eyed brunette with several years' experience in leading ballet companies who had opted for teaching upon hitting 30. She was accompanied by Marcus, a Dane her age who would assist. She was dressed in standard but quite revealing dancewear, but Marcus had opted for a white unitard and what apparently was nothing more than a pair of nude bikini briefs underneath, forgoing the customary dance belt. For the first time in my life I felt my eyes drawn to another man's crotch, as the outline of his cock was clearly visible through this unusual attire. After an initial stretching session that incorporated yoga, Marisa and Marcus demonstrated some of the specific techniques we'd be exploring that semester. They were amazing together, living up to the somewhat lurid course description. I couldn't help but notice that during a snippet of one pas de deux, Marcus' dick seemed to lengthen and push straight up toward his navel and then maintain that somewhat enlarged state. My own thoughts and heartbeat quickened at this flamboyant display of dance expertise and exhibitionism. My classmates appeared equally focused. After this the instructors provided a description of the underlying philosophy of the course. Marisa put it like this: "While technique is important, in order to partner successfully dancers must also merge with their partners in an emotional and psychic sense. You each must show total vulnerability in order for your displays of strength to be meaningful, otherwise we in the audience sense merely defensiveness. We will be employing various preparation techniques to inspire this openness and acceptance of your partners. As you have probably noticed, the studio is kept warm and we are wearing less than ordinary classes would consider customary. This is to stimulate the openness I am speaking of. In fact we will encourage you to develop on your own a style that gives your classmates the trust they require to display their own openness to new dance ideas and to you as partners. As you feel your own defenses melt away, so will you see your classmates becoming more vulnerable and open to you as a dancer and partner." Whatever that meant. After some more remarks on dance philosophy, Marcus told us of the general pattern for classes: 30 minutes of stretching, yoga and multidisciplinary studies, an hour of training in specific techniques and preparation for the final dance performance, followed by 30 minutes of warmdown and further discussion. While I was surprised at the amount of time spent doing things other than dance, the class was very intriguing and I decided to stick it out. This decision was easy to make, given how the class and its participants spoke directly to my joint obsessions with partnering and exhibitionistic performance. The women stood out immediately as interesting people I would definitely like to know better. There was Ami, a Hong Kong resident studying at Smith, a 5'1" Chinese-Thai with a perfect smile whose tight black leotard revealed a slender, flawless figure. Eliza, a tall, angular brunette from the suburbs of NYC wearing loose fitting clothes, seemed to have both an outgoing nature and a beautiful pair of breasts atop her slender dancer's body. Nicole, a 5'5" dirty blonde from Mount Holyoke with Scandinavian cheekbones and a fine figure, seemed especially attuned to the musings of the instructors. To wind down, Marisa had us pair off to give each other massages with the lights in the studio turned down to foster relaxation. I ended up with James, an outgoing Hampster dressed in loose-fitting dancewear and warmups similar to my own who possessed the body of a well trained dancer. I jealously observed those classmates of mine paired with the females as they gently kneaded their partners' backs, calves and thighs. Two of the women were massaging each other. James seemed to know some of the other guys and I warmed to my task, figuring that a massage or two with men was an acceptable price to pay for getting closer to these fantastic women. His own massage technique was quite refined and I relaxed deeply under his capable ministrations. That Friday I returned wearing a dancer's belt and loose fitting warmups. I was pleased to see that the number of men had shrunk to six including me, and that all three of the prettiest girls had returned. Even more pleasing was the fact that the latter had followed Marisa's recommendation to wear more revealing dancewear. I had not figured that the men would do the same, and was mildly shocked to see the five who remained [other than me] strip off their loose warmups in favor of tight, colorful leotards either with or without tights. Even more surprising it seemed that a couple of them including James had followed Marcus' lead in eschewing a dance belt in favor of extremely thin bikini briefs. The fact that I figured this out right away told me I was concentrating on an anatomy I had previously ignored. Once again I was treated and drawn to the sight of these tight torsos fronted by a pleasing, revealing bulge so unlike that of the padded belt. Later I noted that my own dance belt tightened measurably at the sight of all these capable, attractive dancers moving in unison to the metronome and Marisa's calls. After yoga and dance technique we once again paired off for warmdown. As there was an odd number of students, I and Ami were instructed to give a massage to Kyle, an experienced ballet dancer outfitted in a dark green leotard, and then to trade off between the three of us. As Ami was ministering to Kyle's upper back and neck, I was relegated to his lower back, thighs and calves. I suppose I gave a good account of myself, as Kyle nodded appreciatively upon his sitting up. Once again I noticed that his cock, easily discernible through the leotard and brief, had definitely lengthened during the massage, and I felt an odd inner pride in helping to produce that result. My own massage from the two of them involved an additional twist. Marcus recommended that I remove my shirt so that the fabric wouldn't bind and make useless the massage I would receive from Ami and Kyle. I couldn't decide whether I'd prefer Ami's delicate hands on my bare back or on my covered thighs. The decision wasn't mine anyway as Kyle skillfully kneaded my shoulder blades and neck, while Ami worked on the back, outside and briefly the inside of my thighs. Interestingly enough, at the end she turned down my warmups to a point just above my glutes, and my penis swelled in response to her fingers probing my lower back. The classes fell into this routine, yet each week seemed to yield a new twist. At the end of the second week Marcus removed his leotard and provided demonstrations partnered first with Marisa and then with Eliza, the most experienced of the trio of females. As I suspected he wasn't wearing a dance belt but merely some sort of thin bikini brief, which seemed to lack a lining. All the observers could clearly make out the shape of his large penis, pointing upward at about a 45 degree angle to the side, within a couple inches of his waistband. In addition, due to the thinness of the fabric we could discern the flesh color of his appendages, making an even more interesting display. When he next called for a male to volunteer, Kyle moved to partner with the tall Dane. We marveled at his strength and the delicacy of his technique, yet we couldn't help but notice the impressive ridge formed by his enlarged cock in those bright white briefs. Kyle too seemed receptive to the closeness of the partnering, and for the first time I felt I'd like to be in his position, physically encompassed by the imposing yet sensitive instructor. The brightness of Marcus' dancewear drew my eye to it, and I swore I noticed a tiny wet spot where the tip of penis lay, now pointing straight up and touching the waistband. After class I asked Marcus what style of dancewear he was using, as I didn't want forever to be pegged as the lone prude in the class and wanted to match my attire to that of the other participants. I was surprised to learn from him that these were simply women's panties – he directed my gaze to the waistband where I could make out the brand. He casually noted that he liked the fit and feel, and the greater definition afforded by this particular choice. Marcus added that he'd trade anytime the freedom provided by the panties over the discomfort of the belt with its thong-like back, despite the "panty line" that some considered unsightly. He advised me to ask the other dancers about their preferences as well. Upon my asking both James and Kyle revealed their fondness for the same choice, and with engaging smiles recommended I think about them as well. I thought about little else that weekend. I noted my own obsessions were gravitating away from just the women in the class toward my own unfulfilled penchant for exhibition, and the strange twist in that fetish formed by my interest in this new form of dancewear. Finally I could stand it no longer. On Monday evening I went to a department store nearby my dorm, and started looking. I could keep neither my heart rate nor my hardon under control after looking and running my hands over so many fine, soft panties and other lingerie. Finally I settled on four pairs of size 5 high waist sheer bikini-style panties in satin, two nude, one white and one pale pink. I also couldn't resist picking up a fine sheer mesh form-fitting camisole that would reach to just below my navel. I didn't know what the last was for, but for some reason I felt I needed it. I was practically shaking in my shoes as I checked the items out, but the pretty coed at the register just flashed me a sweet, knowing smile and rang up the sale. The next day I wore a standard black leotard over the nude briefs – I had also shaved my legs that morning. That I, an exchange student previously unfamiliar with Hampshire, wasn't wearing boring loose clothes anymore seemed to draw the favorable attention of both the male and female dancers, as they seemed just a tad warmer toward me than before. I truly felt one with the class as we ran through our steps and then a pleasant warmdown, featuring this time an exchange of back massages with Ami. It was particularly arousing when she ran her hands down the backs of my smooth thighs. I also noted that Eliza wore a very revealing form of dancewear, essentially consisting of a low rise bikini brief and a top that resembled a supportive but glamorous sports bra. Her nipples were clearly visible through this sheer light blue garment, which drew the appreciative stares of pretty much everyone in the class. That Thursday night my girlfriend visited from the small New York college where she was pursuing a dance major. I was very happy to see her and decided I had no choice but to tell her of my emerging obsessions. I put on the nude panties along with jeans and outerwear, then walked down to the bus station to retrieve her. On seeing me, she gave me a passionate hug while running her hands over my buns. This was followed by a quizzical look featuring raised eyebrows and a twinkling of her blue eyes. "What are you wearing, Dave?", she asked, "your jeans seem to be over some really smooth underwear." "Let's go back and find out," I replied as my dick swelled at her touch and inquisitiveness. When we returned I could tell we were going to discuss this before anything else, so I didn't waste time. I opened up to her about the class and its underlying philosophy, and more specifically the recommendations of the instructors regarding attire. It was a small but pleasant surprise to hear her approval in these matters, which therefore promised a rewarding weekend. While declaring thus she was also stripping me, and nodded appreciatively when she got down to my panty - encased hardon. "This is something not to waste," she purred as she tore off her own outerwear and hugged me in her red bra and matching bikini. As we ground together I marveled at the special feeling the panties imparted, particularly when my girlfriend ran her hands over and inside them and ground her pelvis against mine. We tumbled onto the bed, ready to make up for time lost since Christmas. I was wondering what to do about the wonderful panties wrapped around my pelvis when Heather simply reached inside a leghole, brought out my fully erect fat cock and brushed it up and down her own satin covered slit. This proved too much for me and I pulled her thong aside and thrust my cock into her. We stared at each other in awareness of the new strangeness this situation presented, and through our looks assured each other it was completely comfortable for both of us. Now I was beginning to understand what Marisa had been telling us of vulnerability and openness. As we breathlessly pounded away, she kept her hands on and under MY panties, running a hand down the line of my ass for good measure. I had truly never felt anything like it. Then as we began to crescendo, she reached down and grabbed the panties and gently pulled up. Then she rhythmically pulled on them in time with my thrusts, which forced the fabric between my cheeks for yet another new sensation. Soon I succumbed to a huge orgasm that had me practically crying out in pleasure. I noticed again the twinkle in her eye the next morning and asked what was up. She replied that she'd love to come to the class and participate, an idea I had not thought of. I said we'd have to check but I saw no reason not to try. As we started to dress for the day she brought from her bag a package. It contained a new translucent blue leotard she had brought to fit her own 5' 7", 120-lb frame. She gave me a devilish look as she pinned it my shoulders, saying, "It'll be tight, but I think it will do." She held up the white panties with an expectant look, and I slid my legs through and drew them over my swelling cock. Fitting the leotard was not a problem due to its elasticity, although the stretching made it all the more revealing. With that we separated for the day until class. When Heather presented herself to Marisa and discussed her dance background and intent, the instructor quickly assured her it was OK to join for the day. During that class Marisa herself partnered with Heather, demonstrating some of the professional chops that had sustained a long career. Marisa was wearing a lacy white half top and a pair of low rise pink bikini briefs, which made an eye-catching contrast to Heather's French cut green leotard. As I cast my gaze across the room, I noticed pretty much everyone spellbound by the sights, and the men, even those I thought gay, had uniformly large lumps in their dancewear. After Heather's departure the class settled back into its own unique rhythm. Marisa told us the next week that she'd like us to increase our involvement in the partnering aspect of our dance now that we had demonstrated initial command of technique. This involved even greater willingness to shed the defenses we wear physically and emotionally. To demonstrate Marcus once again stripped to a nude bikini brief with an ornate one-inch lace waistband and danced with Marisa, now attired in just light green low rise panties and a matching top best described as a bra. Once again the class was daunted and amazed by their mastery of technique and the emotional honesty of their pas de deux, which climaxed with Marcus bringing Marisa down on his supine figure while holding her by the torso. With exquisite delicacy they closed with a gentle kiss as their bodies slowly writhed against one another. The size of the tent in his panties was truly remarkable, and we noted how Marisa's body had moved it back and forth during the interpretation. As a result the men in the class began to adopt Marcus' standard of dress as their own, often spending most of the class in nothing more than a pair of unlined women's panties that revealed their hard cocks and swelling balls. I admired them for the simultaneous fearlessness and vulnerability manifested by these displays. I also couldn't help noticing the wet spots that formed on their dancewear where the tips of their penises strained visibly against the thin fabric. James in particular also began to vary the style of panties he wore, showing up one time in satin panties that had lace panels, and another time in a French cut red piece that highlighted the long legs that featured prominently in his dancer's physique. I found myself, oddly enough, as curious to massage, and be massaged by, these beautiful male figures as I was conventionally driven to get my hands on Ami, Eliza and Nicole. With that I knew it was time for me to step it up. For the next Tuesday I finally brought myself to wear, along with the pink panties, the tight camisole I had bought the previous month instead of a leotard. Now I would be in the same revealed state before attractive men and women that I had seen Marcus and the others in. I was almost panting in anticipation at the prospect of showing myself to the class in this state. Upon arrival I slowly removed my outerwear, and could feel the soft lace hem of the cami tickling my torso and the cooler air caressing the band of skin exposed between it and the waistband of my panties. As a result I started to get hard. My ears were hissing with internal tension as I slowly turned around to face the class. I noted the looks of approval from my classmates and indeed of hunger on a few, not all female. That class went very well and we practiced many specific partnering moves in the ballet and modern idioms. As men outnumbered women, for those pas de deux requiring one of each we would simply have a man take the woman's role. This required an ease between the male partners, if straight as I still considered myself to be, that was fostered in the knowledge that the partner was just as vulnerable. This in turn enabled us to dance with our bodies and our spirit, leaving our minds not to interfere but only to make inferences later. Kyle and I had a magnificent practice session in which he, garbed only in a white lacy panty that left nothing of his lithe physique and imposing package to the imagination, danced and held me closely to the strains of Stravinsky's Firebird. Toward the end I could feel his hard cock grazing and then pressing insistently against my back and then my chest as I grasped him around the ribcage in my role as the dying Firebird. Sliding down, my face drew level with his lace panties and his cock brushed across my face. I gently moved my face across his hardon as it drew by, giving a frisson of pleasure to my partner, and I ended up on the floor, my hand cradled between his legs while his own embraced my head. The class softly applauded the performance, as much for the integrity of the performance as for our technique [to be honest, I wasn't even close to James or Kyle].