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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Mardi Gras
by OneIdleHand (oneidlehand@hotmail.com)
***
A young woman tentatively joins in the fun and games of
Mardi Gras only to fall willing victim to all the
rapacious sensations of public exhibitionism and loose
sexual promiscuity. (M+/F, exh, public)
***
Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Hayley looked
herself over in the mirror, from the hem of her black
dress at mid-thigh, past the flaring of her hips to her
narrow waist, to the fuller curves of her... well, then
to her face. There she met her own eyes, staring hard.
"Look at you," said she to herself, "going out like
this."
"And look at you, standing there. I don't think you
have it in you."
She broke eye contact, doubtful, and looked again to
her dress. She was certain that one of her was right.
How could she go out like this? She reached forward and
tilted her floor mirror forward, revealing the
reflection of her spaghetti string black heeled shoes.
She had always considered her feet cute. At least she
could agree with herself about that. Looking up again,
the angle of the mirror now cropped her image at the
neck, so she could no longer see her face in the
mirror. Good.
She returned to her conversation. "Look at you, going
out like this."
This time there was no reply, but she casually
acknowledged that she couldn't look herself in the eye.
A little more than four years in the Big Easy had
gradually loosened her from her conservative
upbringing, but this... this was hard. How had she come
to this?
It was "the" season. Christmas had come and gone. Gifts
had been given; gifts had been received. There hadn't
even been any returns this year. Provide Steven a list,
show Steven the things on the list at the stores in
which they are for sale, remind Steven where the list
is, and receive the items on the list. Quite simply
done. But she wasn't as mercenary as that seemed. It
had been a wonderful holiday.
New Year's, too, had been great fun. They hadn't
painted the town red but spent a quiet evening at home
with some friends, playing Hearts until an ageless Dick
Clark acknowledged that another year had passed.
But four years of living in Louisiana had taught Hayley
that the real holiday season was the two weeks prior to
Fat Tuesday. She had heard of Mardi Gras growing up in
North Carolina, but she had never really paid attention
to it. There had a childhood friend that had gone to
Mobile, AL for Mardi Gras, returning with cheap beads
and moon pies. She was jealous at the time of the
trinkets, but it was quickly forgotten.
That was then; this was now. After moving to Mandeville
with Steven, she, like many of her neighbors, had
pulled out the storage cases of gold, purple, and green
knick knacks, flags, and beads, decorating her home on
the inside, with a few flourishes outside. The addition
of colored translucent plastic sheets in her patio
lights put them one ahead of the neighbors. But that
wasn't really what it was all about. Decorating was a
relatively quiet acknowledgement of the traditions of
the area, including the wild things that went on in the
city across the bridge and a bit east.
She loved Mandeville. She did. Clean city, nice
shopping centers, good schools, excellent waterfront
park... But it was at this time of year that, to some
measure, she felt disconnected from everybody. All the
native Cajuns always seemed to have a tradition about
the way they celebrated Mardi Gras. This included the
parades, surely, but they disappeared to family
member's homes for Cajun boils or were invited to other
parties.
Therefore, it was the parades which were her
participation in the festivities.
She remembered her first trip downtown to the big
parades the first year they had lived here, accompanied
by their neighbors, the Michells, John and Louise. The
Michells had grown up in the area, mostly in Jefferson
Parish. But they had wanted to try life on the other
side of the lake, primarily for their kids' education.
They had surprised her with the invitation to go to a
parade in New Orleans. She had expected to go to one of
the small ones in Mandeville or perhaps Slidell.
Most people had suggested they stay away from New
Orleans when they had learned she was new to the area,
including their realtor. "It's so much safer out here.
You just never know what might happen downtown; it's a
dangerous place." But the Michells insisted that they
try it, perplexed that she and Steven would even
consider not going.
Well, her first experience was so wonderful that she
couldn't stay away. She had attended parades as a
child... Memorial Day, Labor Day... she couldn't
remember which. It was mostly some floats, a few high
school marching bands, uniformed veterans out for a
march, and a lot of aging Rotarians dressed in silly
costumes. It hadn't been worth the time. But Louise had
explained how extravagant the parades here would seem
in comparison, and Steven and she had a natural
curiosity. And too, she had a natural inclination to
say "yes" when others told her "no." Perhaps she would
grow up some day...
Debauchery. She had never really understood the stupid
things people do when they're inebriated. And with each
parade she attended over the last several years, she
came to understand that people do stupid things even
when they're not drunk. They were just debauched. Was
that a word?
And it had shocked her that first year to find that
Louise and John were included. She would never forget
when Louise flashed her breasts to a guy on a balcony,
getting several strands of beads in the process. A
process which had been repeated numerous times that
night. And her husband, John, had just smiled and
smiled. And so had Steven! And she had laughed too, the
initial shock mellowing to amazement.
This was, after all, their neighbor! People they would
see again and again. It hadn't remotely touched her
life to that point that people would expose themselves
to others that they knew. As she had watched other
girls and women expose their breasts, there was an
excitement, yes, but, after all, she didn't know them
and would never see them again. As she watched, she
realized that most of them were in small groups,
obviously comfortable with their friends seeing them.
She hadn't bared her breasts, that first year, or even
been tempted. Nor had she the second year, despite some
encouragement from Steven late in the evening. She
wanted to, kind of, but just when she thought she had
the nerves to do it, she would back out.
It wasn't until the third year that she went without
her bra, which, she remembered, was only because Steven
had insisted. She knew what he wanted, at that point,
because he had started asking her if she would flash
people, starting some weeks before the season arrived.
And she planned to, she had thought, but she never
quite worked up the gumption to do it. As it turned
out, thankfully, she didn't have to. Louise was showing
her breasts to a crowd of guys on the street, and
suddenly, Steven grabbed her shirt and held it up.
It couldn't have been more than 2 seconds, but it
seemed like forever. She still treasured the beads that
had rained down upon them from a balcony, but she
couldn't even look up there to see who had thrown them.
What if she knew someone? She knew that was unlikely,
but it was just difficult to make eye contact with
people that had just seen you half naked.
Then there was last year. A whole year of remembering
her one indecent exposure had driven her to masturbate
countless times. She hadn't told Steven how excited it
had made her. She had told Louise though, and it was
for that reason that they had gone to all the parades
on Fat Tuesday, rather than the smaller parades on a
preceding weeknight.
Louise had understood Hayley's emerging daring,
although she was surprised that it had taken so long.
As Louise had set the stage for the parades throughout
the day and evening, she had frequently reminded her,
"More time on the street, more opportunity!"
She didn't know exactly how comfortable Steven was,
although, obviously, the first flash had been his
doing. But still, she was married, and to go through
with what she was planning, she thought it right to
seek his "permission."
The kids had been sent off to another neighbor's house,
who seemed to be babysitting for a number of kids in
the neighborhood. Steven had come into the bedroom
while she was dressing that morning, and had performed
a "bra check," gradually caressing her back to see if
there was evidence of a bra. He hadn't found one and
had left encouraged, she had thought. But she had been
wearing a conservative collared blouse that buttoned
and tucked into her jeans. It was somewhat tight and
gave evidence of her curves, but it was ridiculous to
expect that she would be able to flash without seeming
to undress.
About 10 minutes before John and Louise picked them up,
she hastily had changed into a clingy, satin purple
halter-top. Louise would be wearing an identical one,
but gold, as they had shopped together. Hayley had
walked into the living room, watching Steven's jaw
actually drop, admiring her as she approached. She had
stopped several feet short of his reach, curled the hem
of her top around pinky fingers, lifted, and said, "How
do I look?"
It had been a good thing the Michells had shown up
shortly thereafter, or they wouldn't have made the trip
at all. As her hand had frequently, and, at times,
rather openly confirmed, Steven had stayed hard
throughout the day. And afterwards... it had been a
night to remember. She also understood why Bourbon
Street had a certain sour, earthy smell to it during
the day.
Her initial musings about the previous year had changed
though. She had searched web sites looking at pictures
posted from Mardi Gras. It was an absolutely fantastic
finger fuck when she first found her own picture on the
web. And Steven had satisfied her more "fully" when she
had shown it to him.
She had known, of course, about the picture taking, as
John had taken pictures of Louise the previous years,
which was really just an asterisk compared with the
seeming thousands of other revelers that had taken
pictures as well. So, she had taken and worn a little
feathered mask.
That had lasted about half the day. It was too
uncomfortable. Sure, someone might recognize her in the
photos, but Louise had convinced her that even if
someone did, it was very unlikely that they would
confront her with it. After all, who admits to looking
at pictures of nude women on the internet? Louise had a
point.
An unanticipated result of that day had been that
anytime Steven needed inspiration for a little romance,
she simply pulled out pictures that either he or John
had taken of her flashing her tits. What a strange day
that had been! And with such mixed emotions! It was
wrong to show her breasts - that was the way she was
raised, and she knew deep within that was what the
majority of people believed, because their behavior
confirmed it. You just didn't see women flash their
tits.
But then there was an excitement, too. Doing what was
wrong somehow felt so right, especially down... there.
Feeling a slight cool breeze on her bare nipples had
opened a new world of sensation to her... men walked
around without their shirts, so it was only fair. But
even as she rationalized, she knew that the wrongness
outvoted her desires by a solid 1%. But it was, after
all, her desires, that had won the moment and, for that
matter, the day.
Still, considering all of that, it had been somewhat of
a surprise to
find that in every picture, there was an enraptured
smile. The photos
also showed the gradual increase in the number of beads
she had been
given, to the point where she couldn't properly expose
herself. Steven
had taken the overflow, gladly
But then there was the wrongness again. Every picture
showed her raising her shirt, even holding a breast for
a man to ogle, as she looked squarely at her admirers.
But not once had she looked at Steven in the pictures.
It didn't change his excitement, certainly, but how
strange it was to be putting on a show for others,
almost to the point of neglecting her own husband.
But the beads... She had earned them. Only cents to a
few dollars each, she guessed, but she took great pride
in them. Her mom had admired them during her annual
visit, not knowing that her little angel had fallen a
step or three to obtain them.
They weren't trinkets to her though. They had been
earned. There was a contract of sorts. I'll lift my
blouse and show you my tits, and you'll throw me some
beads. It was transactional. It was like she was a
celebrity for a day, and the masses were paying for her
autograph. Well, that was stretching it a bit far. But
certainly she had earned them. So many of the pictures
showed plenty of guys staring, fighting for position to
see, and even reaching. One had even shown a faceless
stranger's hand on her tit. She had assumed it was
Steven at the time...
It was a catching atmosphere... the cool night air...
shoulder to shoulder people... the costumes... the
beads... the masks... the smell of the food... the junk
vendors... the stuff thrown from the floats...
The floats. While there was a growing satisfaction in
having dared to do what she had done, it was ultimately
the floats that had caused her mood to gradually
change. In October or so, articles started appearing in
the newspaper about the secret societies that paid for,
built, and manned the floats, with occasional snippets
regarding past Kings and Queens, ballrooms committed
for the societies, and fundraisers to be held.
She had turned to the internet for information about
these groups. She had quickly found that her blood
would never be blue enough for the local in-crowd to be
asked to join one of these societies, and that had
caused a strange depression in her. Her memories were
treasured, but they began souring as she dwelled on the
fact that she had participated in "their" event. Mardi
Gras wasn't "hers," not that anyone would claim to own
it, but it certainly would never belong to a woman from
North Carolina. It made her seem a stranger in... not a
strange land - strange as it was, but a known land. And
that just made her mad.
Steven had noticed her turn in mood, and it was him,
ironically, she thought now, that had suggested she
talk to Louise about it. And she had, shortly after
Thanksgiving, when she had invited Louise to lunch.
"So, you're jealous of the local high society?" asked
Louise. "Listen, people pay a lot of money to join
those societies. And it's basically just a party. They
spend tons of money on the floats, their costumes, the
ball, the parties leading up to the ball... It's very
expensive. Why can't you just enjoy it as you have?
After the way you finally joined in last year, we're
really looking forward to another Mardi Gras with you.
You're officially an exhibitionist, you know."
"I am, am I?"
"Doing it once is a dare. Doing it, well, how many
times? Honey, that's the real you finding it's way out.
You're official alright. John and I had decided that
you didn't have it in you, but then you, well,
exhibited your true nature." Louise laughed.
"Look, I've been showing off down there since I was 16,
but don't tell my parents if you ever meet them! But I
guess I had forgotten how people might be shy about it,
if I ever knew that to begin with. And now, here I am,
38 years old, with a buddy to keep me young! And with
John sharing in it, it's just wonderful!"
"Well, in a way, it's the sharing that's been the
problem. And I don't mean the awkwardness of my friend
and neighbor's husband having seen my boobs, as awkward
as that sometimes seems to be."
Louise looked baffled.
"Oh, I'm over that! But Louise, haven't you ever
wondered what it would be like to ride on a float, to
take a peek at Mardi Gras from the inside? You've lived
here a while. Have you ever been invited to join a
society?"
Louise didn't answer, then broke eye contact.
"I can see it! Don't hold out on me!" said Hayley.
Louise shook her head. "No, Hayley. I've never been a
member. I've... Well, John was once a part of... I
guess you would call it a feeder group. A few of the
societies have... well, they're not members, but
they're relationships with others that do certain work
to help the society get ready, like volunteers. There's
a lot of charities that benefit from the Krewes, you
know. So, John helped once."
Hayley sniffed a story and wasn't about to let it drop.
"And? That's it? I don't think so. Continue, please..."
Louise looked uncertain.
"Louise... Come on. And? You were invited to a ball?
Or, you were invited to ride a float? What?"
Louise exhaled loudly, obviously making a decision to
give in. "Yes, I got to ride a float. There's this one
all-male Krewe that sometimes hides a woman on the
float, sort of. It's kind of like a guest of honor, and
it was John's... I won't call it work. But basically he
got me the ride.
"Was it fun? Did you get to go to a ball? Did you get
to throw beads and cups and stuff? When did you do
that?"
Louise looked guilty. "Actually, two years ago."
"Two... You never told me!"
"Well, you never asked! No really, it's supposed to be
a secret."
"How about John? Did he get to ride, too?"
"No. I guess you could say I reaped the benefit of his
contributions."
"That's so great! Were you invited back last year?"
"No, it was a one time opportunity."
"Is there anyway John could work me in?"
Louise looked slightly distressed, and Hayley was
surprised by it, but not enough to let her off the
hook. This was something she really wanted, and she let
the silence linger. Louise shifted, her face the
picture of a petition to escape a hangman's noose, or
in this case, answering the question. Hayley stared at
her, ready for a long term contest of wills.
Louise resigned the stand off, as Hayley knew she
would. "Hayley, you really don't know what you're
asking, you're..."
"I'm what?"
"I don't know. Naïve? Not from around here? Too good a
friend? I just don't know how to explain it to you
without... Well, there's a certain... Hayley, I just
don't want to lose you as a friend."
Hayley considered this and made a decision. "Louise,
whatever it is, I promise not to hold it against you.
I'm a grown woman. I'm 36 years old, just a couple
years younger than you. I can handle it. Please!"
"You're 36? Maybe there's something to numerology after
all."
"What?"
"Oh, never mind. You're not going to like this, but I
really, truly can't tell you what the evening is about,
other than riding on the float, obviously. I'll have to
talk to John, and then... well, maybe you'll receive an
invitation in the mail." Louise looked at the hope on
Hayley's face. "Hayley, you really are naïve. I
shouldn't even say this, but I'll tell you this. It's
not a free ride, but I am absolutely convinced it's an
evening you would enjoy. Oh, and I'll tell you that the
night makes sense afterwards."
"That's it? You can't tell me anything more?"
"No. It's one of those `I'd have to kill you if I did'
things. Like I said, let me talk to John."
Hayley remembered the strangeness of Louise's parting
comment. "You're really 36?"
"Yes, why?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe there's something to those
Tarot quacks in Jackson Square, after all."
For the next two weeks, Hayley's thoughts had bounced
between Christmas and Louise. Louise had said that she
had talked to John the same day, and that John had
agreed to start the process. She said to watch for a
piece of registered mail. It would be addressed to
Steven and not to open it.
Steven's letter did finally come, but it had to be
signed for by him, and it was another day before he was
able to go to the post office to pick it up. She hoped
it had answers. Still, Louise had told her to play dumb
about it. It was part of the process, and she wasn't to
even let Steven know about their whole discussion. But
she hadn't said to ignore a registered letter, after
all!
"Well, what's the important letter?" she had asked oh-
so casually as Steven arrived home. It was
disappointing to have considered all sorts of
strategies to find out about the letter only to have
her excitement cut to the simplest of forms.
Steven had also answered casually, damn him. "Oh, that.
It's just an invitation to an informational meeting
from a guy I know. I think it's one of those multi-
level marketing or business things."
Yeah, right. "Oh. Like Amway? Is that all? What a waste
of time. I can't imagine someone sending that by
registered mail." I'm not letting you off that easy,
hubby.
"Well, he had told me about it, and he's a good friend.
So I'll at least sit through the one session. I've
always been a bit curious about these things."
Not as much as me! "When is it?"
It was two nights later, and Steven returned late,
offering nothing to her in the way of information. She
had searched for the original letter in the house to no
gain, not to mention the trash, his car, his briefcase,
his suit pockets... She also searched for any of this
"multi- level" marketing crap that, in theory, he would
have returned with, and she wasn't surprised not to
find that either. Damn.
Then the quiet period had come. It hadn't been until
mid-January when her head started spinning.
He had arrived at the door, knocking several times,
with even, firm taps. Through her peep hole she was a
liveried courier, and a glance through the window
indicated a limousine. In all likelihood, this either
had to be her invitation, or else Ed McMahon was
waiting outside also with a $1 million check. And she
hadn't entered that sweepstakes, but it felt the same.
She opened the door.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I presume you are Hayley Anders
Fleming?"
The use of her middle name was unexpected. "Yes, I am."
"Very good." He placed an envelope in her hand, then
held her wrist firmly as he said, "For your sincerest
consideration, I offer you this invitation."
What do you say to that? "Thank you," she said, with
more eagerness than had intended.
"And for our sincerest appreciation of your beauty, I
offer you this rose." It was a beautiful red rose in a
black vase marked with a golden "36" on it's side.
"Good day, ma'am." He bowed slightly, turned and left.
She remained at the door, somewhat stunned as he began
to pull away. How did he know her middle name? Who was
"us?" And had they seen her before to know that she
was... well, attractive, she thought. And then there
was that 36... Then she ran inside, setting the vase
down quickly and roughly tearing the envelope open. She
didn't know much about stationary, but she knew the
paper was expensive.
Dearest Mrs. Fleming,
You have been nominated and accepted by the OBO as a
candidate for our society's charitable evening, to be
held Thursday, February 19th, 2004. Mardi Gras in our
City has become known for its licentious behavior, a
behavior in which we, the men of OBO, freely
participate.
Of you, Mrs. Fleming, much will be required, and much
will be offered. The evening will begin by your
honoring the Krewe of Chaos as a guest aboard one of
their floats. This is, however, only the beginning of
the evening, and the only aspect of which you may know
in advance.
This opportunity will only be offered once. This
invitation may incite certain questions. We ask that
you trust the judgment of your nominator, who will not
be revealed to you, that you will find this to be not
only a rewarding and exciting evening, but one that
fulfills some, or perhaps all, of your deepest desires.
To accept our invitation, you must present this
invitation to Mr. Chin, at 400 Toulouse Street,
promptly at 3:00 p.m., Wednesday, January 21, 2004.
Cordially,
The 36
She had spent days reading over the invitation, and had
shown it to Louise in the hope of her letting out some
details or at least some hints. Aside from an initial
admission of feeling a great sense of guilt, Louise had
finally brightened, although she offered no help at all
in coming up with acronyms for OBO or explaining the
meaning of "36." Order of Better Orgasms? Oreos Bring
Orgasms? It was pointless speculating, but the orgasms
came naturally enough as she considered what this was
about.
And, therefore, she had dutifully presented herself to
Mr. Chin. This Mr. Chin had her strip to just her
panties and had carefully measured her in every way she
thought possible. Although quite the professional, he
had seemingly touched her in every possible place
before dismissing her abruptly with the words "You get
package delivered. Here." Thank you, Mr. Chin.
"Here" had referred to another note, which simply
thanked her for accepting, and indicated that she was
to set aside 4:30 p.m. through the night on Feb. 21st.
She had imagined a Ball that started at midnight.
Maybe.
In the coming weeks, she had fretted over what excuses
she might offer Steven for her evening...would it be
the whole night?... away, but several days ahead he
indicated he would be working out of town. That was a
relief, sort of. Although she didn't anticipate
betraying their vows, holding a secret wasn't healthy
to a marriage. As the first note had said, she had to
trust her sponsor, whom, of course, she knew was John.
She tried to imagine receiving the invitation without
knowing who the sponsor was or any other clues. Had
Louise known when she had done this? The thought was
both erotic and terrifying. She was happy to be able
deal with just the erotic..., although, there were
plenty of questions that, if answered certain ways,
could be terrifying. Trust your sponsor. Trust your
sponsor...
The 21st finally finished creeping up on her. She was
beginning to have serious doubts. Was someone going to
call her? Pick her up? If she was supposed to be
downtown for a parade, it was going to take time to
cross Lake Ponchartrain and fight rush hour, especially
with the mobs in town, to get to the French Quarter.
The promised package never showed until 1:00 p.m., and
what was that?
Two hours ago? It was delivered by a commercial courier
this time. Her "package" included one hanging garment
in a box and a smaller cube shaped box. Both boxes were
black and were adorned with "36" on them. The smaller
box had contained the shoes now on her feet, hosiery,
and garters.
As she held each aloft, she was thankful that she had
thought to tell the kids to go to a neighbor's house
after school. Claire seemed to manage a co-op of sorts
to baby-sit for the majority of the neighborhood
whenever the parades were scheduled.
For as little as she received, though, there were
plenty of surprises. She was surprised that the shoes
fit so well for being so new. She would have liked to
have known a brand for future purchases, but there was
none, other than a small indentation indicating the
crafter's mark, she believed. Which meant that this was
custom.
The hose and garters also fit perfectly, with no
adjustment needed. She would have guessed some strap
adjustments would be necessary, but not in this case.
The box had also contained a note, indicating that the
delivered clothes were to be her only attire for the
evening. Her first cursory look had revealed that she
had a little trimming to do with her "winter growth."
Having reassembled, the black garter straps
provocatively framed her freshly trimmed mound, now
sporting the clean lines of a narrow triangle. She
shuddered to think that she might be flashing someone
"that," but on the other hand, the provisions made it
seem likely that she would be asked. And she would, she
knew, because the moment would be too strong for the
51% now saying "This is wrong." But if she were asked,
and said yes, she would have been mortified if she
hadn't trimmed.
That she wasn't to wear a bra wasn't a surprise. She
did like surprises, though, and it was for that reason
that she hadn't opened the garment box until that
moment. But when she had opened the garment bag, her
dress hadn't surprised her. It shocked her. It shocked
her still. And it was at her dress that she continued
to gaze upon now.
It, like the rest of her wardrobe, was black. Black was
good for slimming the appearance, but she didn't
particularly need slimming and that wasn't the point.
The dress clung tightly to her skin, but that wasn't a
surprise either. It seemed to cling to the very places
in which Mr. Chin had placed his hand, which was all
over. Such a tight fitting dress wasn't what she would
have chosen, perhaps, but...
It had been confusing to put on, with the left arm
opening impossibly wide. It was so wide that she had
thought that surely she had somehow missed both a head
and an arm opening. But there it was. The dress clung
to her thighs mere inches below her crotch, roundly
fastening to her hips before diving in to her waist. It
clung for a short distance to her abdomen, before
turning with a direct line for her right shoulder,
slightly flattening her breast yet managing to capture
her natural curves, with not a single wrinkle.
The problem was her bare left tit.
As she looked now, her right nipple was fully erect,
obvious under the tight fabric. And she imaged that, if
viewed doubtfully by a casual observer, then one had
only to glance at the other more directly observable
nipple for conformation that, yes, the protrusions are
at the same elevation and are, indeed, a matched pair.
She was getting silly now.
There had been one other item on the hangar, and she
put that on now, a short black shawl to cover her
shoulders and her breast. It seemed a barely practical
accessory to what was almost a Spandex toga. A single
button and loop connected the halves. The left nipple
remained more prominent than the right, as it had only
half the fabric thickness covering it. Yet, this wasn't
as obvious, due to an embroidered "OBO" in gold
threads, set on the shawl upon her left breast. What?
No "36?"
She raised the shawl. Boob. She lowered it. No boob. A
dress with one boob exposed. Something clicked. Aha...
One Breast Out. OBO. There, that was it. She was
tempted to call Louise and tell her the gag was over.
But really, it wasn't. She had no idea what to expect.
She returned to the bathroom, checking her hair,
checking her light makeup, checking her teeth, checking
anything but her eyes. She didn't want to go there. Her
mind was made up; she was going. She had shown her
breast before; she would do it again. No big deal.
Really. No big deal.
She argued with herself about not being brave enough to
argue with herself regarding the wisdom of the whole
enterprise. This wasn't terrifying, she knew. It was
more of a nervous excitement. And looking at herself in
the mirror, again, she felt dressed beautifully, and if
she could only look herself in the eye, she knew that
she would see beauty there as well. Thank you, Mr.
Courier and the 36. How curious it was that with a
simple flip of her shawl, she felt beautifully...
pagan? Her thoughts were finally interrupted by a knock
at the front door. It was 4:30. And there was a limo
waiting.
The ride was wonderful, but lonely. The driver wouldn't
talk, although she caught him steal glances in his rear
view mirror several times. She had been mindful to
cross her legs when she sat, but she couldn't remember
if she had maintained her poise as she had entered the
limo. Maybe she had unintentionally invited his glances
now. She had never worn so short a dress or a skirt.
Her immodest attire had certainly changed her ability
to concentrate. She tried to think of what the parade
would be like, she couldn't think about it for more
than five seconds before she started dwelling on her
dress, and how it might play a part in the evening. She
decided on a more deliberate and controllable course by
helping herself to a glass of white wine. It soothed
her nerves. A bit, anyway.
As they began their drive across the bridge, she saw
the bright flame of a refinery west of Kenner venting
gas, a veritable beacon. It was rare to see that, due
to environmental requirements. With her shawl off, she,
too, would draw attention, and she already felt a tinge
of heat between her legs. If there was a similarity to
her and the refinery, she only hoped her fine wouldn't
be as severe.
As they continued, she speculated where she might be
delivered. Her guesses of law offices, a hotel, an
accountant firm, a street corner with the other women
participating, and surely there would be other women,
were all completely wrong. She was dropped off at a
fading, beat up metal building with gunshot holes in
the wall just east of the Quarter. Faded paint
indicated it had once been a cotton warehouse. Royal
Street. How ironic. She was receiving the royal
treatment, certainly. But in whose kingdom?
She exited the limo rather gracefully, she thought, for
being so focused on keeping thighs pressed together.
She was ushered indoors, where she found other women
waiting in a moderately sized room, surprisingly well
appointed. There were only 10 of them, gathered in an
unnatural silence. She would have guessed that there
would have been 36...
Then it dawned on her. All the women appeared to be
about the same age. And two years ago, Louise would
have been...
"A question. Does everyone here happen to be 36 years
old?"
This was quickly confirmed. How... unusual! No one had
an explanation for it. But at least it started
conversation. No one seemed to know anything other than
what she knew, and all had the same fears and
excitement that she did, it seemed. They shared several
trays of hor's doerves, talking lightly, about...
nothing really. And they waited.
The building did turn out to be a warehouse, after all,
one used by the Krewe to apparently build and stage
their floats. She was escorted to a float colorfully
decorated like a jester. And although she didn't dwell
on it, she had half expected for them to ask for her
shawl before climbing aboard. That didn't happen, but
as she surveyed the steps to the float and the
assortment of goods that she would have to climb over,
it would be impossible for her to maintain her modesty.
Strangely, her spirits lifted.
She knew maintaining her modesty was not what this
evening was to be about. And as the several men grew to
a small group as she approached the steps, there was
more than a twinge of excitement as she climbed, making
neither an obvious show of her sex nor awkwardly trying
to keep her thighs closed. She finally settled in a
centrally located seat, with some vocal admiration from
the assembled gallery.
It was a different kind of exhibition, the "accidental"
type. Intentionally accidental, perhaps. But she knew
that she would try something similar again, with Steven
around. Steven! At that thought, she mentally sobered,
feeling more than a twinge of guilt for carrying on
without him there, and without him knowing, even, what
she was up to.
The men filled in around her, and the floats began to
move. There was ample beer, but more importantly to
her, there were boxes of beads, plastic cups,
doubloons, and candy placed about her, and she was
encouraged to throw the items as she wished. She was
also provided with a feathered mask that she was to
wear which matched those to be worn by the Krewe.
Fortunately, it proved to be comfortable.
There was much to remember about the parade. She had
great fun tossing items and waving. She tried to target
children and those kindred spirits that bared their
breasts for the men around her on the float. She had
been tempted several times to lift her shawl, but that
seemed like cheating her evening in some sense. Her
time would come... and there was always Fat Tuesday
around the corner when she could flash more
conventionally to her heart's desire. And her desires
were strong.
After the parade and enough time for traffic to clear
the backstreets of the Quarter, they were guided to the
limousines and driven a short distance where they
turned into an very narrow gated alley. This led to a
courtyard that otherwise wouldn't be visible in the
street. The area was well lighted, with a central
fountain and ample plants hanging from the upstairs
walkways that surrounded the courtyard. The building
appeared to be an old hotel, possibly converted into
several apartments or condominiums.
They were led to one of the upstairs rooms, where they
were again treated to a light snack. The room was
equipped with mirrors, brushes, combs and an assortment
of makeup. It was both an obvious and welcome
opportunity to clean up a bit, before... whatever.
Everyone was talking about their trip on the floats as
they groomed. After about half an hour, the
conversation was interrupted as the gentleman who had
originally handed her the invitation entered the room.
"Good evening, ladies. Our party has assembled. We will
be calling you individually. Mrs. Connor, would you
please accompany me at this time? A brunette who had
been pacing walked to the door, where she accepted the
gentlemen's arm. The door was closed, and she was gone.
And the room became quiet for a time.
Just as conversation would return, the gentlemen would
return. Mrs.
Daniels. Mrs. LeCroix. Mrs. Shaner. Ms. Williams. Mrs.
Lombardier. And so it went. Hayley wasn't sure if it
was her imagination, as there were no clocks in the
room, but it seemed like the intervals were getting
longer and longer. Mrs. Gottschall. Mrs. Landon.
There were three of them now. A lady she now knew as
Addison looked like she might pass out. She kept
repeating, "oh my God!" again and again. The gentleman
returned, and Mrs. Fauber, as she turned out to be, was
led away.
"Any final ideas before one of us is called away?"
Stephanie asked.
"Not really. A bunch of 36 year old women, all pretty.
All with great figures. All wearing a dress that leaves
one breast out."
"Oh! Is that what that means?"
"That's my guess..."
Then Lynn was called away, and she was alone. Figures.
Last.
She sang the ending of a children's song to herself.
"There were two in the bed and the little one said,
roll over, roll over. So they all rolled over and one
fell out, and the little one said, Good Night!"
Well, she hoped it would be, and she certainly had one
breast that fell out.
The door, finally, opened.
They walked a short distance down the 2nd floor balcony
to another room. This room appeared to be lived in, but
temporarily converted to a photography studio. The
gentleman waited outside. The photographer seated her
on a stool and angled the lights slightly. Curtains
were behind her, one embroidered with a large "36" and
the other with "OBO."
The photographer stepped behind her, straightening her
back and directing her jaw at a certain angle. He then,
professionally, she remarked, removed her shawl. She
colored slightly, a breast visible to this stranger in
a rather more intimate setting than the public streets.
There found a sense of irony in that, and he seemed to
appreciate her expression as again assessed her posture
and placed her mask on her face. He then darted behind
the camera.
His task was completed quickly, and he also proved to
be a man of few words. "Please step forward." She did,
and he placed the shawl about her shoulders, leaving it
to her to refasten. "This photograph will adorn the
walls in our member's hall. You, of course, will be
receiving a framed portrait of the same. Should you
wish to display it." It was clear he saw the humor in
the likelihood of her hanging this picture in her
house.
He opened the door for her, where her escort was
waiting.
They continued along the balcony into another portion
of the building. She was immediately taken with the
décor of the room she entered, completely packed with
art on the walls, blown glass collections, sculptures,
old books. A private library... There was wealth here.
They exited the room to a landing, where she descended
a wooden curved stair case, possibly imported and
antique. The room was lit by a suspended light, set
behind a large circular assembly of stained glass. She
dared not look at it long, however, as she may have
tripped. And besides, there were a gathering of men at
the bottom of the stairs, in what was a surprisingly
large room.
They all wore various masks, unrecognizable, each in a
black tuxedo. She didn't have to count, but if she
guessed, there were probably 36 of them, many seated,
some standing at the sides and rear. A small platform
had been placed at the foot of the stairway, which she
didn't notice until she found herself on stage. It was
well padded and carpeted, with a stained railing on
each side, carved in the same shape as the stairwell
railing.
Her escort continued to hold her arm in arm and then
cleared his voice as he faced the audience.
"Gentlemen, may I present... Mrs. Hayley!" The men
applauded, and she blushed horribly behind her mask.
She was glad, though, they didn't use her last name.
He let go of her arm, stepping behind her. "Mrs.
Hayley, your shawl please." He was the only man not
wearing a mask, and he had seemed so impossibly kind as
to so directly ask her for her shawl. But yet, he was
impossible to refuse, and really, she knew she wouldn't
anyway. She unclasped her button, and he withdrew her
shawl over her shoulders.
The sensations were... overwhelming. Her face remained
red, but the tingling in her breasts made her wonder if
her breasts were blushing as well. Her nipples, she
knew, were hard, but she didn't dare look at herself.
She might faint. It was somehow easier to look at the
anonymous men in the audience. She realized the
lighting, too, worked in their favor, as she was
illuminated by lamps set behind the men.
She was shivering... No, it was tremors. It was one
thing to flash someone with your own effort. This was
quite different, with a complete stranger exposing her
breast to a group of men. Despite the tremors and some
fairly heavy breaths, she felt steady, and realized the
trembling was inside. Butterflies. She was 36 years old
and a bunch of men were now talking about her, looking
at her and particularly at her breast.
At the same time, they were casually holding their
mixed beverages as if this was an ordinary occurrence.
She being the tenth lady of the evening, a particularly
poor choice of words to dwell on, maybe it was ordinary
for them by now. But they were admiring her, and she
liked it. She smiled inwardly. She smiled outwardly.
She really couldn't believe she was doing this!
"Order, gentlemen!" Her escort was definitely the man
in charge. "As usual, you will appreciate that I kept
the best for last." There was an "amen" from the
audience. "Thank you, sir. Mrs. Fleming comes to us
from Mandeville, only the second to ever grace us from
outside our two Parishes. I would expect that the rules
committee will extend the waiver on geographical
requirements we set two years ago; I would suggest
permanently, based on the evidence. But I digress."
"Mrs. Hayley, it is proper for you to know a bit about
us, as we are obviously admirers of you. OBO is, at our
core, a charitable organization. Your sponsor has met
the $3,000 entry requirement for your attendance this
year. As the gentlemen here have heard nine previous
times this evening, this only meets our expenses in
providing such a visual allure to our members this
evening." Hayley was stunned. She would pay John back
every dime; it was worth it.
"The gentlemen here give charitably to a variety of
causes, driven by professional appropriateness, or,
more often, spousal edicts." There was much laughter in
the room. "Pardon them. It's obvious I'm loosening up
at last." Applause followed.
"Well, our wives still direct the monies we give, but
we do receive in other ways. Several of us began this
organization 10 years ago, over a conversation about...
about what, gentlemen?"
"Mother's I'd Like to Fuck!" several yelled in unison.
There was much laughter.
"Pardon them. But MILF was a term that just seemed very
humorous to several men gathered at a bar. Then we
realized how many good looking women there are in this
City, and how obviously superior they were to men of
taste beyond the, well, capable younger women that
perform on Bourbon, professionally or otherwise."
"And so we have our bit of fun, searching out the best
MILF's our area has to offer." He reached for a
straight cane, with which he teased her nipple, then
raised her breast slightly with the tip. "Gentlemen,
you see here 36-C according to Mr. Chin. 36 is such a
wonderful number; it works on so many levels." There
was laughter in the room.
"Please tell me, gentlemen, that you are not spent for
the evening. What wonders lie beyond this dark fabric?"
He touched her thigh at crotch level with his cane,
then moved the tip in circles in the air. Hayley took
the hint, and turned around, giving them a rear view.
This was a strip-tease fundraiser. This could be fun!
And the mask certainly covered her cheeks and eyes;
this was safe. But she would play it as she was led.
She wiggled her hips, then returned to face the
audience.
"Finally, gentleman, we have a game participant!
Bidding begins at $1,000. But surely gentlemen, we can
have a better offer! Ahh, sorry to leave you without an
understanding, Mrs. Hayley. That night, Our MILF
discussion was oddly conjoined by a member who bought a
used car for his son. Please, we're not comparing you
to a used car; far from it! But MILF has a certain
vulgarity to it. But a term he mentioned we came to
adopt, OBO."
"Would you know, Miss Hayley, what OBO means?"
She did. She couldn't believe she hadn't remembered it
before. "Or best offer."
"And such a wonderful voice! So many of our attractions
remain so quiet."
Please, do not take offense. We've come to think of
such things as "certified, pre-owned, but the OBO
remains."
"And what is our best offer, gentlemen?"
"Who has $1,000 for the lady to flash us her other
breast!" Hayley put a hand on the edge of her fabric,
as is ready to pull the dress off her shoulder, teasing
them, causing a vocal stir.
"Number24!"
"Thank you sir, you now have an obligation. Miss
Hayley?"
She had never before imagined herself stripping in
front of men. Wait... she had. Who was she kidding? She
pulled the dress from her shoulder, slowly pulling it
away, revealing more of her right breast, finally
revealing her hard nipple. She squeezed both breasts
together for show, then turned her back and pulled her
dress back up.
"Oh my!"
"Best offers gentlemen? Do I hear a bid for her dress
to return to its better suited position, namely, off
her shoulder so that we may all marvel at length at her
marvels?"
"$2,000"
"3!"
"I'll go 4K"
"Once, twice, sold! Number 3, you now have an
obligation. Mrs.
Hayley?"
This would happen only once, Louise had said. "I can
manage, but I'd manage better with the gentlemen's
assistance." She had managed a polite, teasing tone.
"Whoa! She's the best!"
Number 3 quickly approached, and stood at one side so
all could see. He slowly lowered her dress, trailing
its edge with his fingers down the slope of her
breasts. His fingers trailed circles around her nipple,
then he cupped her breast. His face lowered closer to
it, and he asked "May I?"
"Four thousand dollars? Sure." As he gently probed her
nipple with his tongue and began sucking, she added,
"But only for a bit!"
"I like a woman with... spunk! Don't we all?" There was
much laughter; she didn't think he had been that funny.
"Thank you, Number 3. Now, perhaps we have someone who
would be willing to offer $2,000 for Mrs. Hayley to
give us a peek at what's under the hood?"
"Done!"
"Thank you Number 7! You now have an obligation. Mrs.
Hayley, will you accommodate us?"
Did she have a choice? She supposed, really, that she
did. No one had ever said anything about not going
through with it. It didn't matter... she was into the
game. She raised the hem of her dress, to just above
her garters. Let them look!
"Wonderful, simply wonderful! Gentlemen, I'm suspecting
that for another $2,000, Mrs. Hayley may just get a bit
closer to the edge of the stage, bend over, and give us
quite another view!"
Hayley couldn't resist. "I think you undervalue me,
sir! That would be $4,000."
The gentleman was genuinely surprised. "Indeed! Is
there a taker?"
"I'll do it!" said a man on the front row. "And I'll
double it if she loses the whole dress in the process."
"Thank you! Number 28, you have an obligation. As to
the amount, we'll let Mrs. Hayley decide."
This was beyond, what? Her expectations? Yes. Beyond
idle fantasies that she had ever masturbated to? Of
course not! And after all, it was for charity.
She moved to the forward edge of the stage, only
several feet from the nearest men, turned her back to
them, and spread her legs slightly. Balance. Balance is
good. She leaned over, her naked breasts dangling in
their freed state. She heard murmurs and whistles from
unbelieving admirers, knowing they were delighting in
the view of her sex. Had the other women not gone this
far? Surely some had.
She straightened and moved her legs closer together.
The shoes were comfortable, but she wasn't the most
confident woman in heels. She swayed her hips slowly as
she moved the dress over her hips, her back still to
the men, then let it fall and stepped away from it.
"Turn around!"
She looked over her shoulder at them. Should she
suggest more money? No, probably not. She turned, bent
a knee slightly, and stretched the other out slightly.
She put her hands on her hips and struck what she
believed to be an elegant pose. Silence. More silence.
Did she do something wrong?
She looked towards the gentleman, which interrupted his
daydream, or, well, whatever he was thinking.
"Now, gentlemen." He seemed to be actually catching his
breath. She smiled at him, causing him to take another
couple breaths. The power a woman can have over men...
"I believe that this is the finest show we've had in
quite some time. You can just imagine from the
wonderful spirit she has shown, to the rest of her
magnificent body, what more she has to give."
"There have been several others tonight, whose sponsors
were willing to go the distance, but this! Again, I
saved the best for last."
What did he mean about the sponsors? She was doing all
the "charitable work!"
"The sponsor of Mrs. Hayley is willing to permit the
Revelation, if we are willing to donate a suitable
amount." What did this mean? A Revelation? Reveal what?
They had seen her already. Was she to have sex? With
John? That was overstepping things.
Offers were being heard.
"I've got $4k"
"Thank you Number 38!"
"I'll add $5,000."
"Thank you Number 30!"
"We're not there yet. Others?"
"My wife sent me with instructions to donate $15,000.
We had a good year. I'll spend it right here, bless
her." "And bless you, Number 2!"
You each have an obligation.
Hayley felt a slight bend in the platform just as she
felt hands on her shoulders. She heard an almost
inaudible "Shhhhhhh" whispered in her ear. It was
enough to make her think it might be Steven, but she
couldn't be sure. Trust you sponsor... Was Steven her
sponsor? Or was it John?
It was only as she felt her juices began to flow down
her leg that found herself surprised she hadn't been
leaking since she arrived on the stage. She was so
turned on! Here she was, wearing only a few leather
straps on her feet, black hose, and garters, in a room
with 36 or so men watching. If she could just put her
finger... there... she would come in two seconds!
The gentleman stepped in front of her, blocking her
view of the men. He withdrew her mask, which left her
dizzy with embarrassment, but then placed a blindfold
over her eyes. Oh God! She might never know who it was
behind her. She might never know!
She could hear... Steven, it had to be him for her to
keep sane, undressing behind her. It just had to be
him. Oh God, she couldn't believe this!
She felt his hands find their way under her arms,
fondling her breasts. It seemed to be Steven's touch,
and he would always go for the breasts first. It had to
be him. Then she felt him exhale slightly on her neck,
which was followed by a lingering kiss. That wasn't
necessarily like Steven.
She felt his hands caress her sides, working their way
towards... He'd better be careful, or she would
orgasm...like he cared. He caressed her trimmed hair
briefly, then his fingers found their way to either
side of her clit, rubbing his tips in circular motions.
It was almost enough, but not quite... If he would just
put the slightest pressure on her clit, she'd be out of
control. But he didn't. She felt his fingers barely
enter her opening, pulling her lips apart. This was
nothing like a flash! This was a revelation of... of
her sex!
As soon as she had formed a mental picture of her
exposed cunt before a crowd of men, she felt hands -
others' hands, on her thighs, and still others on her
back and under her shoulders, and she was lifted.
Again, she felt fingers pulling her lips apart, and she
knew that the men could see her sex much more clearly,
Then she orgasmed, hard.
Steven, or John, or whoever, had just pressed on her
clit, and her mouth opened, gasping for breaths as the
sensations washed through her. Her hands searched for a
cock to hold, but she couldn't find anything but air.
Instead, she pinched her nipples between her thumb and
the side of her index finger, rolling them slightly
back and forth, extending... heightening even, her
orgasm.
"Remarkable, gentlemen. Remarkable. Please move her to
the side so that her sponsor can continue."
She was turned... sideways, she decided, and her hands
were placed on a rail as her legs were lowered to the
floor. Then she felt a shaft pressed against her,
teasing her opening, and a single pair of hands on her
hips. His brushes against her made him seem big, so
big. Steven was kind of big... was he this big?
"Gentlemen, as we have met the donation amount
qualified by Mrs. Hayley's sponsor for the Revelation,
I will add some details. She is 36 years old, as you
know. She has been married for 12 years and is the
mother of two, ages 8 and 10. As you can see, she has
no tattoos or unusual piercings. She jogs regularly and
works out frequently, the benefits of which we can
appreciate. She has had three previous lovers, all in
college. Two were boyfriends. One was a one-night
stand, were we all so lucky. She is in a committed
marriage at this time, and I must caution that any
further personal contact from our members is not
desired."
Hayley couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"Her husband indicated to us on his information card
that she sucks his cock when he initiates it, but she
cannot deep throat. She has let him cum on her face
once, which he greatly enjoyed and continues to enjoy
from videotape. She loves to watch him cum on her
breasts as often as he would like. We can only hope for
that! She has no favored sexual position, variety being
the spice of life. However, he particularly appreciates
it when she is on top, as her hair tickles his face and
her breasts dangle before him. And indeed, as we can
see, they dangle deliciously, do they not?
Interestingly, she has not been prone to exhibitionism
until last year's Mardi Gras. I think we can expect
more of that!"
Steven! How could he reveal so much about her!! The
irony of this thought struck her as she considered her
current situation. Then her heart skipped a beat.
"Gentlemen, may I introduce to you Mrs. Hayley Anders
Fleming of Mandeville!
What!!!?
She understood the blindfold now; she couldn't possibly
stand to see any of those men! They knew everything
about her! Just as she was thinking this, she felt
whoever's hand brush her skin as he directed his shaft
towards her cunt. "This is wrong!" resounded through
her head, but there was no stopping her from spreading
her legs to silence that nasty 51%.
And he was big, bigger maybe than she had thought. He
stretched her, and although she knew she was plenty
wet, he slowly penetrated her, working his way in,
until reaching her depth. Finally, she felt his balls
pressed tight against her, and she knew he was in all
the way. He was just soooo big... It had to be Steven,
just because it had to be. And if it was, he had kept a
very big secret for 12 years, because he had never
filled her so fully before.
It wasn't an orgasm that she felt. It was tremors, in
her knees, in her ribs, up her spine...and definitely
in her cunt. She felt his hands leave her hips to reach
beneath her, feeling the weight of her breasts, then
pinching her nipples. His cock changed orientation
slightly as he shifted his weight, and her tremors were
out of control. She could feel her breasts jiggling,
and he wasn't even stroking her. Enough. Enough!
"AAAIIIIIeeeee! Fuck me! Fuck me now!"
Suddenly, she felt so empty, and then he was huge as
she swallowed him up. He thrust inside, touching her
all the way to... and out again. She could breathe, but
only for a moment, and he was filling her again.
Her breasts were... "dancing" as Steven had liked to
say. But it was more of a sprint, swaying and slapping
against her body in rhythm with his thrusts. Oh! She
was so naked! And then, he was into her again,
impossibly far! How could she ever ask Louise how big
John was? And out again. Breathe! This had to be
Steven; it had to be. Her breasts weren't the only
thing slapping.
She could feel his balls with each stroke. Did Steven's
balls slap against her? She couldn't remember! Men were
watching her get fucked! He filled her again, and her
breath was gone, her heart racing. She was seeing
stars. Oh! Her lungs filled with air. These men knew
her name! Everything about...
She felt a surge of warmth inside her; she knew he had
cum. Yet, he still thrust faster... He didn't seem to
be getting any smaller. This wasn't like Stev... He had
to be super turned on; that had to be it.
She didn't think she had another orgasm in her, but it
came, suddenly, and hard, tingling up her spine. The
stars were out again. He was so big and felt so good.
She rested her head on the railing, her arm beneath
her. She needed to catch her breath. So many to
catch...
"Gentlemen, look how red she is. See the splotching on
her breasts." She felt his cane again against her
flesh. She moaned. Was it the cool surface of the cane
or the spectacle of her wonton exhibition? It was less
than a minute before she began trembling again. She
turned, reaching for... Steven. He held her close. His
height seemed right, but he and John were the same
height she knew. Her hand found his chest. It seemed
hairy. Was Steven that hairy? She couldn't remember.
She could rip off her blindfold and know. But maybe it
was best not to know.
"Gentlemen, this being the end of our evening's
entertainment, I will ask Mrs. Hayley for a final
benefit." She felt her arm being placed in the
gentleman's arm yet again. Steven, or John, was lost to
her.
"Mrs. Hayley, there is no polite way to ask this, but I
will try to refrain from being coarse. You have won our
admiration, and you have heightened our lusts. It has
been a tradition to... but that is unfair. In most of
our past years, our final guest has allowed this
membership to share their appreciation our guest's
beauty by...how do I say... releasing our built up
tension.
"Additionally, it offers each of us the chance to
admire your wonderful body from a much closer
perspective. We are not proposing sex; that is against
our rules. But we would like to..."
"Cum on me?"
"Thank you, yes. For which we would be willing to
contribute 10% of the entire night's proceeds to you."
If silence could be heard, she was hearing it. They
were waiting. She tried not to think about what a mess
they would make, but found herself irresistibly drawn
to the notion of seeing 36 cocks in action. It had been
12 years with Steven, after all, and she was...well,
curious.
"Then I have a proposition for you, sir. I will agree,
but, I have two conditions. First, you keep your funds
and donate them. Secondly." She removed her blindfold.
"Gentlemen, you have seem all of me, including, now, my
face. But for this, I get to see a part of you."
There was no argument and quick agreement.
A low table was brought out, and several blankets
placed across it, with a pillow at the end. She laid on
the blanket, finding it comfortable enough.
Two men approached, one on each side, their eyes
canvassing her face, her breasts and her cunt as they
dropped their trousers, then their boxers then... this
was a treat. She watched as they stroked their cocks,
their heads swollen from the start, and it was not long
before their cum arched their way to her breasts.
Another pair approached, and she found the idle nature
of her hands to be impossible to maintain. She reached
her cunt with both, pulling her lips apart and touching
herself...there... in her special way. Both men
positioned themselves so that they could see, and it
wasn't long before one and then the other coated her
thighs and the back of her hands with their cum.
The men remained anonymous behind their masks, but she
had no interest in their faces. Their cocks were all
she wanted to see. Longer, shorter, fatter, thinner,
average, far above average, darker, paler, rounder,
pointed...the variations were wonderful.
They seemed to almost worship her - their eyes told the
story in the moments when she tried to watch... they
were completely absorbed with her, and she tried not to
think of herself as lying upon an altar. Their jism
after each turn covered more and more of her, and she
could see and hear the delight of the assembly as she
worked it slowly about her, working it into her skin
like a lotion.
The smell of their cum, the sight of their dicks, the
utter stickiness of her hands resulted in a sudden urge
to cum yet again, which she accomplished with her
fingers as two more men came on her.
It was after this orgasm, a quiet, private type of
stirring that she often had when she masturbated at
home, that she became aware that the men were done, all
except...her gentleman escort. Was he 36 or 37? He was
older than the rest, not elderly, and his cock was a...
a nice one, but on the average size of nice, and not
quite fully erect. It contrasted with his massive
balls. He stroked and stroked some more, but... she
felt for him. Performance anxiety perhaps.
"Sir, may I?" She reached a hand towards his shaft.
"As much as I would like that, I'm afraid it's against
our rules."
"Waived!" came an anonymous response from the men.
Hayley didn't wait for him to think through a proper
response, grasping him firmly, twisting slightly to get
better leverage. He moved closer to her, giving her
hand a greater range of motion. His skin was soft,
although she could feel him harden at her touch. She
wondered what his inspiration was... her breasts? Her
cum covered cunt? She looked to his eyes, and saw that
he was looking at hers.
That was possibly the kindest compliment he could give,
in a weird sort of way. The head of his cock was close
now, and she could see it swell. She whispered to him
softly, "I want you to cum on me. Yes." She felt him
harden fully in her hand as she stroked his shaft.
"That's it, cum on..."
And he came. She didn't realize how close he had drawn,
and she would never know how long it had been for him.
But his first release flew over her face in a stream,
trailing into her hair, and the second shot forcefully
onto her face, covering her cheek and eye Afterwards,
they fell shorter, to her jaw, her shoulders, her
breasts and her arm.
His cock quickly softened, and she released him, though
she could make out that he continued to stand over her,
admiring... whatever.
The smell of cum was overpowering, and she began to
smooth his load away from her eyes so that she could
see and off of her lips. She was a sticky mess all
over, but what sights she had seen!
"Mrs. Hayley, you were indeed, our best offer. Thank
you so much for accepting. You have been the most
splendid revelation to all of us." This was greeted by
many cheers, but her attention suffered. She was spent.
She slept much of Friday, waking basically to
masturbate herself back to sleep. Steven returned home
from his "business trip" late that afternoon. She found
that she couldn't bring up the subject of the most
exciting thing to happen to her in her life. And
Steven, for his part, said nothing of what his trip had
been like. Stalemate.
The weekend was full of sex, however. They laughed,
they talked. It was like they were newlyweds, groping
and fondling. Throughout, she expected Steven to get so
turned on that he would open up the subject of OBO, but
she couldn't do it herself. After all, what if it had
been John after all? That would be...disastrous.
And because he didn't bring the subject up, that made
her doubt the facts that otherwise led her to believe
it had been him. He had received an invitation. He had
provided the most private information, damn him, about
her. His cock had hardly softened since he returned
home. He had a glint in his eyes... It had to be him.
Louise also hadn't spilled any helpful information.
They shopped on Saturday for their ensembles for Mardi
Gras together, which was great fun. The forecast was
for a colder Fat Tuesday, so thoughts of miniskirts and
heels were put aside. It wasn't like wearing heels on
the brick streets of the Quarter was a wise endeavor
anyway. But they did manage to find tight leather pants
that fit them very snugly. Yet, they were equipped with
snaps instead of zippers, and they could be pulled down
very quickly.
The sales girl even said, "These will fit you so tight
people can read your lips, if you know what I mean."
That inspired the same delicious thought in both of
them. They made a pact to shave their mounds completely
the morning of Fat Tuesday and leave all undergarments
behind. They also found thin white sweaters with a
loose weave, which gave a hint of their darker nipples
underneath. If it was cold, a jacket was probable, but
they certainly would have their fun. And if the
sweaters should itch... well, the men could carry them.
It was huge fun in planning the day, but it wasn't as
much fun as it could have been, or should have been.
Louise hinted time and again about Hayley's special
evening, even saying "What a revelation it would be" to
the men when they lowered their pants in the crowds,
but Hayley didn't want to talk about it until the
Steven vs. John issue was put to bed. That thought made
her wince. So she told Louise that it would have to
wait until another time, obviously disappointing her
friend.
On Monday, a delivery service delivered a wrapped
frame, two boxes, and a large envelope. She knew what
the frame would hold in it. The photography turned out
to be excellent, and the frame was elegant. Neither was
a surprise. However, with kids around the house, she
knew it would soon find its way into storage, but for
the time being, she placed it under her bed. She had
hopeful thoughts that some night when she was horny,
she could place the portrait on the wall above their
bed, an obvious sign to Steven that she needed
attention. It was the only use for it that she could
imagine.
The boxes were no surprise. She had seen identical
boxes the week before. Her dress had been cleaned and
returned to her as well as her shoes and hosiery. She
didn't recall leaving the items behind, or for that
matter, exactly how she had returned home. She
remembered a shower at the...club, was it? But here
they were, and she was thankful to have them back,
particularly the shoes. If her mystery man was Steven,
she wouldn't need the portrait; she would just reprise
her role. But the envelope, that would be something
new...
The envelope contained a DVD. This was, all things
considered, an unsurprising surprise. She was fearful
about what might be on it, yet, at the same time...she
knew. Somewhere there had been a camera, and the rest
was digital history. How many copies were made? She
decided not to ponder that.
The film quantity was not up to the standards otherwise
set by OBO, as her entire performance had been recorded
from a single camera, with occasional zooms. The camera
did keep focus on her, but there were only glimpses of
the man who had participated in her "Revelation." He
was probably Steven's height. But John's height was the
same. He had Steven's hair color, somewhat more so than
John's. He was slender, again favoring Steven over
John. And his skin was perhaps paler than John's,
although the lighting bleached their skin, she saw. And
the mystery man had an annoying mask. But it looked
mostly like Steven.
Still, there wasn't enough to make her sure. Whatever
certainty she lacked caused her nagging 51% to return.
It had been a bad thing. She imagined a low voice,
accusing her of crimes... "Adulteress! Fornicator!
Exhibitionist! Everyone will know what you have done!"
And truly, at times, she had half expected some bad
thing to happen to her as confirmation of her guilt, or
maybe punishment.
But watching the video, she realized that she really
had enjoyed the whole of it, perhaps with the exception
of this group of men knowing exactly who she was. Her
flashes on the streets had been anonymous, but these
men possessed her in her nakedness and in their
knowledge of her. Still, the experience was a
different, unexpected thrill, and as much as the
evening was a revelation of herself to that group, it
was even more of a revelation to herself. And the only
thing lacking now was the sharing with Steven, the only
piece, she realized, that was missing to her
satisfaction.
That night, after the kids were in bed, she put the
disc in the DVD player in their bedroom, stripped
naked, and started the video. She lay on the bed, an
elbow supporting her head as she lay on her side. She
called for Steven, who entered wondering what was up.
She was pleased to see that he was "up" as he saw her
on the bed; she hoped he would stay that way. He sat at
the edge of the bed, a hand on her calf, his attention
drawn to the television. He was expressionless for
several eternal moments, then he grinned, and that was
all the confirmation that she needed.
"You." She pointed at his crotch, then her own. "Come
here. Make love to me."
He looked her over, slowly, up her thighs to her hips,
resting briefly on her mound, rising to her breasts
which cuddled together, then to her lips, and her eyes.
Steven's hand moved up her calf to her thigh as he
said, "That is the most beautiful thing you have on!
One question first. Is that what you're wearing
tomorrow when we go to the parades?"
"Pretty much." She grinned, drawing closer to him. She
lightly kissed him on the lips, then looked into his
eyes. "Pretty much."
Comments and suggestions desired. It would only take a
few moments to make an author very happy... If you
don't want me to respond due to privacy issues, just
let me know!
Website: www.asstr.org/~IdleHand (case sensitive)
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It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
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Kristen's collection - Directory 63