All women are exhibitionists. OK, maybe not all, but certainly the vast majority of us. We exhibit to attract. Deny it if you like, but just look at what we wear. Take our shoes. Now come on, high heels are hardly functional. But, they draw other people to look at our legs. Short skirts……come on, they say look at my thighs. Dresses that cling to us are hardly designed for mobility. No, they say, come on look at my shape. Tight Tshirts, hey, look at my breasts.
And all this is on show for all to see.
Of course there are times when we are more selective about our audience. Take our underwear. Well, where do I start ? How about wispy, see-through knickers. We don’t buy them for warmth, do we? No way. Women wear them so, when we undress in front of that selected audience, husband, boyfriend etc., they get hard. No point beating about the bush, we want them stiff. Or, if, like me, you occasionally enjoy female company, we want them wet.
To a point, you could argue that all I’ve written so far is about women in general and, perhaps, could be considered quite “low level” exhibitionism.
I agree. But the reason I made those points was to demonstrate that, in my opinion, those were the starting blocks. Some women, me included, having recognized that their exhibiting did attract, took the whole idea to a new level.
Let me tell you about a Saturday morning about 10 years ago.
We were laying in bed, hubby and I. He was on his back, still half asl**p and naked. I was naked too but wide awake and, to be honest, feeling randy. I sat up and pushed the duvet back with my feet. With my fingers, I traced a line from his chest down to his cock which was limp and resting on his leg. He actually has a nice cock. Even limp it looks long and quite thick. Lots of hair. Nice big balls. I couldn’t resist leaning over him and letting my tits swing slowly back and forth, touching his cock as they moved.
“Oh not now I’m tired”, he mumbled. Fuck you, I thought and got out of bed.
I grabbed a chemise, put it on and went into the kitchen. At this point, I’d better describe my chemise. White satin. Mid thigh length but split both sides from the bottom hem to above the waist. Very strappy. Low back and front. Sleeveless, of course, so much of the sides of my breasts is clearly visible. Oh 36DD for the avid reader.
So, there’s the picture. When I walk or sit, this thing splits at the sides to my waist. My tits are covered, Just.
KNOCK KNOCK. I almost turned to go to the bedroom to get a robe but, suddenly, felt this overwhelming urge to open the door, dressed as I was. My hand, with a mind of its own, reached for the door.
“Hello, John, come in”.
“Hi Anne, I’ve called for Jim’s papers”.
“He’s in bed, I’ll see where they are”.
I went into the bedroom. He’d heard the conversation. “Tell him I’m in the shower. I’ll be down in 10 minutes. Make him a coffee or something.”
I’d slipped on a robe. He grabbed my waist as I went for the door, reached round my front, undid the belt and gently slipped the robe from my shoulders. “Hadn’t you better see to our guest’s coffee ?“ “I suppose so”, I replied.
I made the drinks and took John into the lounge. He sat on an armchair and I stood next him, leaning forward to put the tray on the coffee table. His face was about a foot from my bare thigh. I sat opposite and leant forward to pick up my cup. He must have seen right down the loose, strappy top. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. At one point, my pussy hairs were in full view. I innocently just reached down and adjusted the hem. For 10 minutes he got views of everything.
Hubby joined us, handed over the papers and John left.
In seconds we were on the bed. No foreplay. Just a stiff cock straight into a saturated pussy. We were just sex-crazed a****ls fucking each others brains out.
“Did he see your pussy?”
“A few times”.
His cock rammed again and again.
“Did you love showing him?”
“Mmmmm. Made my cunt ache”
More pounding my pussy.
“Did you like your wife showing another man her body ?”
“Yes, yes” he stammered.
“Do you want me to fuck him ?”
“Christ YES, YES.”
Then there was no breath left for talking. Just grunts and squeals and that unmistakable sound of cock in squirting pussy.
So, I got my Saturday morning shag, after all.
Did I fuck John………………………..do you want to know ?