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Justines Evening (After the Restaurant) exhibitionism

It was nearly eleven when Justine opened the door to her hotel room. A flick of the light switch revealed a room that had become all too typical for her since she had taken a position as a corporate consultant. Tonight, the boredom was broken by her own outrageous behavior. She blushed to think of her daring display at the restaurant, a deed more impulsive that conscious. Still, she could not deny that she was still feeling a soft glow from her little adventure in the isolated booth. That spark was kept alive by a lingering fantasy of a young man clutching a limp bra and masturbating to the memory of her naked torso.

Abruptly and without forethought, Justine slipped out of her heels, and stepped toward the window to draw open the dr*pes. The lights of the city spread out before her. Across the avenue, a high-rise tower of a neighboring hotel sparkled against the night sky. As if she were offering an encore presentation to a grateful audience, she began to undress. The glass reflected her own ghost-like image against the skyline as Justine unbuttoned her jacket and let it slide down her back to fall in a crumpled heap behind her. She was totally nude from the waist up. Tonight, somewhere in the city, a stranger had her bra as a prize, but the real prize was her full, firm breasts with their taut cherry nipples. It was almost as if she were watching another person through the window. The incredibly beautiful and seductive woman unfastened the narrow waistband of her skirt. She hooked her thumbs over the layers of her clothing, and pushed down against her wriggling hips. In one motion the skirt, hose, and panties were stripped away revealing flawless skin that descended to the fleecy tresses which concealed the liquid folds of her womanhood.

Justine could not keep her eyes on her illusive twin while pulling her pantyhose entirely free, but she could widen her stance to give a clearer view of her shapely legs and the secret riches of her glistening mound. The woman in the image reached down to touch herself. Justine shuddered when searching fingers slid against her wet clit, and the reflected image reunited with her consciousness.

"What's come over me?? she thought as she ducked below the edge of the sill and stretched out her arms to grasp the dr*peries and pull them closed. She lifted herself to the edge of the bed, and sat still until her pounding heart and spinning head slowed to normal. "It has been a strange day," she concluded as she pulled her nylon hose off her feet. She was totally nude now, and all her discarded clothes were on the floor in front of her. "Maybe a long, hot bath will restore my sanity?? she reflected as she rose to her feet and softly padded her way to the bureau where she had unpacked her clothes. She meant to retrieve a sleep shirt, but her eyes were drawn to the card that advertised the hotel's movie channels. One of the listings jumped out at her:

11:30 p.m. AFTERHOURS NUDE VIEWS #5

Porn Star, Aimee Mohr, hosts a series of sexsational interviews with women who like to be watched during intimate moments. The talk is hot, and accented with graphic re-enactments of their very wildest fantasies. It's truly the story of dreams come true!

"This has got to be some kind of plot!" Justine picked up the glossy card and read the description again. "If I watch that, there's no telling what I might do." She chuckled, tossed the placard aside, and went to draw water for her bath.

It wasn't until the rush of the water and the rising steam invaded her senses that Justine realized that she had forgotten her change of clothes. She twisted the water control valve to the OFF position, the roar stopped, she wrapped a bath towel around herself, and went back into the bedroom. She clicked on the television on her way past, hoping to catch the late news, but the station was preset on the preview channel of the in-house movies.

A woman's voice confided:

"I like to find a place where there are a lot of people around, but only one guy can see me. Suppose he's in a room of people, and I'm just around the corner. I'll flash my titties at him, or face away and bend over until my skirt comes up to my cheeks."

"Oh yes!" answered a chorus of voices as the camera panned to show four beautiful women seated in a row.

"Of course, I forgot to put on panties that day," said the first voice. This last confession was followed by a symphony of surprise from an unseen audience and the voice of an announcer saying, "Aimee Mohr and her friends will show you a whole new way of life on Nude Views #5, now playing on Channel 3...

Justine didn't hear what came next. She was too busy finding the #3 on the keypad. The next sounds were a fast series of frenetic whimpers. The scene was four men in tuxedos looking into the rear window of a limousine. A credit flashed on the bottom of the screen:

Aimee Mohr in "WATCH ME NOW!"

The frame shifted to the interior of the car to capture the excitement being viewed by the four onlookers. It was a raven haired beauty in a low-cut sophisticated evening gown. Her apparel was not the focus of their attention but her state of arousal. With one hand she had withdrawn a creamy breast from beneath the sheath of her dress. She pinched and kneaded a well-formed nipple while her hips rocked beneath the probing fingers of her other hand. Her gown was gathered around her waist, her naked legs were splayed wide open, and very wet fingers alternated between stroking a clearly swollen clit and slipping into her exposed pussy. The camera flashed back and forth between the woman and the four faces in the window. There was a sudden surge of inhalation, followed by silence. The woman's face flushed, and her voice slid into a sigh of ecstasy as the deep breath rushed out of her open mouth.

The setting switched to that of a typical talk show, and a mellow voice said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Aimee Mohr," and during a moment of uproarious applause a very alluring woman stepped into view.

"Thank you, thank you," said Aimee. "The producers of tonight's show had seen my performance in Watch Me Now!, and came to ask me about hosting this special on female exhibitionism. They said they were impressed with my acting, and wanted to use the clip in the opening segment.

Of course I gave my permission, not because I am so good at acting, but because I am a hopeless show-off. If you liked what you just saw, you're in luck, because my guests and I are going to show a lot more." Applause interrupted her speech.

Justine was hooked. She had liked what she saw. The video had captured an Aimee Mohr so obviously aroused that it was difficult not to identify with her passion. But what Justine liked the most were the handsome, intent faces that flashed on the screen. It was as if those four men were looking out at her. She propped two pillows against the headboard and sat down on the bed with her legs stretched out before her. She wanted to see more men with hungry eyes, and she wanted to believe that they would be seeing her. Justine pulled away the towel which covered her. They would see all of her. She drew up her knees, and spread them wide exposing her wet pussy to the electric eye of her imagination.

"Help me welcome my first guest, Brittany", said Aimee.

A full-breasted brunette crossed the set to join Aimee. The two greeted each other with a polite hug, and then took seats next to each other. Brittany was dressed in a scooped neck shirt-dress pulled tight at the waist. The narrowness of her waist was accentuated by the dimension of her generous breasts.

As she took her seat, Brittany's eyes lit up like a child's at a birthday party. "This is so exciting," she said to Aimee. As she spoke, she heaved her shoulders up in an animated gesture of eagerness. Her stiffening arms compressed her ripe mounds which rose like half moons above the horizon of her low neckline.

The gesture was not wasted on the audience that voiced its approval with whistles and whoops of surprise. Brittany seemed to back off, as if embarrassed by an unintended display. In a quick, nervous response, she rose to her feet, swept her hands behind her back as if straightening her skirt to sit and leaned forward as if to regain her chair. She stopped half way through the motion. The close- up camera did not miss anything as her pendent breasts fell forward, dangled, and bounced. The collision was so unhampered that one luscious globe popped free of the fabric revealing a deep brown and tightening nipple.

Brittany did not seem in any hurry to cover herself.

She was well-settled in her seat before she lifted a hand to gather in her wayward treasure. She gave it an obvious squeeze before restoring the succulent fruit to its concealment.

There was a jittery silence in the room when Aimee finally spoke, "You did that very well!"

"Thank you," said Brittany, "I've really come to believe that baring yourself is a subtle art. If you're too obvious, it's either lewd or comedic, and I don't think most true exhibitionists want to be the objects of crude jokes or laughter."

"What then do you think is the real turn-on?? interrupted Aimee.

"After seeing you in action, I?d say you know that as well as I do, Aimee," responded Brittany. "Exposing yourself is the most powerful aphrodisiac I've ever discovered. I mean, when you touch someone physically the arousal is pretty mechanical. When I can touch someone visually, I've reached into the core of their sexuality. I become more than a woman, I become every fantasy they ever had."

"How do you know when you've reached someone?? Aimee asked.

"That's what's so exciting," continued Brittany. "Some people think it causes a riot, but just the opposite happens. Everything slows down like achingly slow love-making. It's real dream-like, and nobody wants to wake up too soon. When you elicit silent stares, you know you've touched a nerve. When the person your working on loses their peripheral vision- that's the real turn on."

"What do you mean, 'Loses peripheral vision????

"I mean the person forgets where they are," continued Brittany, "You draw them into a private world of sensuality and your actions become the only reality. For example, I've done some nude dancing in clubs, and a lot of fellows just forget themselves and reach for the bulge in their pants. One time I actually had a guy open his fly and begin stroking his cock. It was great! I mean, he was up and out there, throbbing away- completely oblivious to anything and anyone except me. Now that's a turn-on, for him and for me."

"Some people might say that exhibitionism may be a turn-on for you, but it is just teasing the other person," challenged Aimee.

"Teasing is an altogether different subject. A tease or a flirt acts like you've been given a green light, and then tells you that you're colorblind as they write up the citation. An exhibitionist never slams the door on the fantasy. When I get a guy hot, we both get hot, and I want him to go with those feelings because I'm sure going to cum with mine, if you catch my drift."

Aimee asked, "Are you saying that when you expose yourself, you actually want to make love to the person you're focusing on at the time?"

"Sometimes," answered Brittany, "If I know the person. I might show-off to him all evening, until we can't stand it anymore and really have to fuck our brains out. It's really wild when you get so intense that you can't make it to the nearest bed. Talk about fireworks! On the other hand, when it comes to a stranger, I know it?s not going to lead to any direct contact. What happens is that we become a controlling image in each others' minds. For me, that usually means that my fingers will find their way home, and my aching little clit will be most appreciative. For him, what I imagine is a guy with his eyes closed and a well-lubricated cock in his hand or ready to slide into somebody else's pussy, but the picture that's burning the insides of his eyelids and that keeps him hard is remembering sight of my titties falling out of an open blouse. I hope he has flashbacks of that moment for years to come."

"Speaking of flashbacks," interrupted Aimee, "Would you like to introduce your video?"

"Sure," said Brittany turning toward the camera. "This is about a real situation, but the fantasy hasn't taken place, yet! Last spring I went for a weekend with a former college roommate and her husband. They live in the Northeast in an old neighborhood of beautiful homes that are being restored. The houses are close together, in fact, they share a driveway with their neighbors, an older couple who both work. Otherwise, the properties are cloistered behind privacy fences.

"I drove there in my spunky little red Miata convertible, and stayed Friday and Saturday night. We had a great time, and my friends asked me to stay over for two more nights. They had to work, however, and apologized that they would have to be away during the day on Monday. I didn't mind a bit, after all, the temperature had been hitting record highs, the Mazda needed washing, and it turned out that the neighbors had a son who was a real hunk. He was home from college on Spring break, and the thought occurred to me that if he was going to be home alone too, I might be able to show him some sights that his classmates on Florida beaches could only dream about." She winked and gave an impish smile as the screen faded to a different scene.

In her hotel room, Justine settled back on the bed anticipating a parade of erotic images on the television. Already she was imagining the ravenous looks that Brittany's shapely proportions could summon up. Unconsciously, Justine's hands stroked her thighs before coming to rest on the crest of her mound of Venus. She could feel a slight bristling texture against her palms. She needed to remember to take her razor when she got back to her bath, but that thought was quickly dissolved in the growing dampness that soaked her budding clit. The screen brightened as the video settled on an outdoor area.

The sun shone brightly on the neatly painted door that was swinging open. Brittany stepped into the sunlight clad only in satiny black jogging shorts and a severely cropped, tee shirt emblazoned with the word "FIT" in red block letters. She raised her arms in a stretching gesture that could have been mistaken for either a vigorous yawn or an athletic warm-up. Actually, she was looking at her reflection in the storm window of the neighbor's house. Her stance had the desired effect. The lower hem of her shirt rode up exposing the bottom portion of her heavy breasts, and the lower crescents of their darker aureoles. The game had begun.

She stepped off the small stoop and headed back between the house and the red convertible to a small garage. She was in no hurry as she pulled on the antique door that swung open on its ancient creaking hinges.

The sounds of boxes being shifted and minor crashes of precariously balanced lawn chairs preceded Brittany's emergence from the dimly lit interior. She was carrying a garden hose and a bucket of rags. She smiled with satisfaction when she noticed the figure in the window, a handsome young man distracted by unusual sounds from the back of the property. Brittany did not offer any hint of discernment, nor did she give herself away by focusing her vision toward the house. Instead she turned away and bent over to set her load on the ground. Her jogging shorts did little to hide the perfect roundness of her ass, and she fumbled with the hose in order to hold the pose a little longer, giving him every opportunity to see where her athletic thighs blossomed into the firm flesh of her derriere.

After closing the garage door, she retrieved her paraphernalia and returned to her car. Next she connected the hose and filled the bucket with soapy suds. She began to wash the car. Brittany noted that though her onlooker had retreated from his earlier position directly in front of the window, he was only a step back in the shadows. This would make her act more plausible and her actions more seemingly innocent. If he thought himself hidden in shadow and under the glare of sunlight on glass, all the better.

Brittany was facing the window on the opposite side of her car's crimson hood. She slopped a froth filled rag onto the car's finish. With long reaching circular strokes she extended her body over the horizontal surface.

In an instance, the motion of her hands was matched by her swirling breasts that swung through the foam leaving a curious trail in the bubbles. When she stood erect, a spuming trickle fell from her nipple-distended top. She pretended to be oblivious to her state of appearance, as she turned on the spigot and began to hose down the car.

A thick flow of water gushed from the half-inch hose. A ring of bright red appeared wherever the liquid washed away the sudsy film. Brittany waved the wand back and forth until the only bubbles visible were the creamy swirls that blotched her tee shirt. She glanced around, presumably to see if anyone was watching, before turning the hose on herself. The water washed over her transforming her tee shirt into a transparent glaze that featured two dark and puckered nipples. She shivered from the sudden chill, and jumped to turn off the water tap. She retrieved an old soft towel from the rag pile, and returned to the car. Using the hood like a dressing table she set down the towel and proceeded to peel off her shirt. The wet cotton adhered tightly to her skin and the motion of pulling off her garment over her head lifted her pliant mounds until the suction broke and her creamy white breasts bounced free into the light of day.

Brittany flipped the tee shirt over the raised antenna, took up the towel and began to dry herself. She brandished the coarse material against her chest with such vigor that it lifted and jostled her full tits until they took on a ruddy glow. The eyes across the way were fixed on her every move. She directed her attention to the car and turned her towel to the bright red hood.

The mirrored finish reflected Brittany's magnificent breasts as they undulated and collided to the rhythm of her swinging arm. Also reflected was the figure of a man in a window who had stepped forward for an unobstructed view.

This was Brittany's signal as she began to work her way around the front of the car to the opposite side which faced the window.

The window was behind her now. In the fender she could see her own reflected form, and behind her in the color-distorted image she could see a handsome young man reaching to unfasten his tight jeans. Brittany's thighs were washed in the sudden surge of her own excitement, as she watched the drama unfold. She almost lost it when a stiff red cock jumped free in the metallic picture that held her eyes. Though she was beyond caring whether or not she could maintain her charade, she did not turn around or give away a hint that she was aware of his gaze. Instead, she put her thumbs inside the elastic waistband of her shorts and began to pull them down over her wriggling hips. Her action had the desired effect. His hand was stroking the length of his erect shaft by the time that her tight ass popped free and into full view. Once over her hips, it took little effort to slide the garment down her shapely legs, and only a little more to flip them over her bare feet.

His stroking began with a ferocity that predicted a quick ending to the episode. "He'll not come alone", thought Brittany who crawled up on the hood of the car, splaying her legs as she did so. The cool surface brought goose bumps to her flesh, and her puckered nipples pressed tightly against the metal skin of the car. Brittany's two hands tunneled beneath her and emerged between her legs at the entrance to her vulva. With practiced dexterity the first finger of her left hand slid into the folds of her labia and penetrated the cherry red slit of her vagina exerting inward pressure against the fingers of her right hand that furiously vibrated over her throbbing clit. She knew that his eyes would be drawn to the juncture of her thighs and the activity of her probing touch, and so she turned her head to the side. Through half-opened eyes she could see his concentration and the swollen mushroomed head of his shaft poking out of the clenches of his pumping fist. He broke first as a splatter of white hit the window. Brittany was not far behind as her whole body was racked by the paroxysms of wave on wave of orgasms following close on each other.

When time began to move again, Brittany slid off her perch, retrieved her shorts, and walked around the car, her magnificent breasts swaying before her with each step. She flipped her shirt off the antenna and mounted the stoop at the back entrance of the house. She reached for the door latch, and then paused to turn back to the window. Her would-be lover was still there; Brittany flashed a big smile and blew him a quick kiss before she disappeared into the shadows of the doorway.

The light from the television screen flashed in Justine's hotel room as the naked image of Brittany stepping through a doorway was replaced by talk show hostess, Aimee Mohr, leading a studio audience in applause for Brittany's imaginative presentation. Justine did not hear the crowd or see the shift in the setting. She was lying nude on her bed, her probing fingers imitating Brittany's performance as they pressed and rolled the slippery pearl concealed within the glossy lips of her inner labia. Through half-open eyes she could see herself exposed in the mirror opposite the bed, but the figure that possessed her mind was that of a young man pumping a swollen cock until it spewed its heavy load. She wanted to taste that cock. She wanted to feel it between her legs, but most of all she wanted to be watched by the eyes of desire. She imagined those eyes and visualized the look of abandon on the face of a man lost in arousal at the sight of her fiery ecstasy. As her mind raced through these images, her bodily pleasure overtook all conscious thought and delivered spasm after spasm of wondrous release.