Erotic Fiction: On Full Display
“Sorry, what?” I leaned closer to the Handsome Stranger, who came up to me at the bar, completely naked aside from skin-tight black briefs. The music was loud, and I already had trouble hearing on an average day under normal circumstances.
“You’re so hot,” they said, moving their mouth closer to my ear. “Do you want to go upstairs?” I thought about it a moment before nodding once, a smile slowly creeping across my face. After a final swig of my drink, I placed it back on the counter and followed behind, upstairs. We wound through throngs of people, all sorts of folks wearing everything from clubwear to complete nudity. I wore a pale blue corset hemmed in a thin, cream-coloured lace.
As we climbed the steps towards the upper-level rentable rooms, the Handsome Stranger leaned forward again, face close to mine. “Would you be okay with people watching us?”
Exhibitionism. It was something I could always get behind; while I also loved to play the voyeur (and was able to watch people have sex out in the open in this club), I loved being watched. I unwound at the idea of others seeing me be penetrated, knowing that they were watching a complete stranger’s tongue graze over my bare skin. To know that someone else was getting aroused by my body being ravaged.
“Yes.” Now it was my turn to guide us upstairs. I jumped the steps two at a time until we reached the top, eyeing an empty room at the end of the hallway. At various rooms, onlookers took turns peering through small windows at the interior occupants. Some touched themselves, groaning with pleasure as they watched the show inside, while others bit their lips in quiet ecstasy.
We both walked into the vacant space, closing the door behind us, but sliding open the large framed peepholes for others to look in if they wanted to. It wasn’t more than a few seconds before I saw a pair of eyes hovering nearby, watching.
The Handsome Stranger laid me back on the red leather bed, pulling each of my high-heeled shoes off slowly before dropping them to the ground. I wriggled slightly, trying to move over just enough to catch a glimpse of our onlookers whenever the desire struck. I could see that they were still there — two people now, sharing a single window.
My hips lifted instinctively as the Handsome Stranger removed my lingerie piece by piece. Unclipping my garters before rolling off the thigh-high nude stockings from my pointed feet, unhooking each loop of my corset as if there was all the time in the world. I began to grow excited at the thrill of it all. Being undressed by someone I met only moments ago, watched by eager, faceless people through a window painted with nose and forehead prints.
I reached forward to slide down the Handsome Stranger’s briefs over chiselled thighs, but was pushed back carefully, made to watch as they pulled them down their legs, over their knees, leaving me to see… to crave… what was between their thighs. My tongue flitted out, silently beckoning them to rest on my face. When I was met with their skin, I began exploring. I moved around their curves, the creases of their thighs, the delicate skin right before the ass.
Seconds later, I was flipped over onto my stomach, and for a split second, all I could hear was the thrumming of my heartbeat in my ears, the rush of blood coursing through my veins as I excitedly anticipated the next move. Where would I be touched? What parts of my body were about to be explored by this new voyager?
I felt a lubed finger enter my asshole slowly, rotating carefully before a second digit was slid in. I gasped, my butt bucking in response to the new sensations. I peeked up from the side, revelling in the sight of our audience. Fragments of different faces — wide eyes, flared noses, parted and hungry lips — were visible through the windows like a moving, framed piece of artwork. From the other side, we were the moving art.
The harsh brushstrokes of a finger moving inside of me, the painted splatter of the leather bed catching our dripping fluids, the gradient blending of my elbows buckling under the weight of my pleasured body. I was both the subject and the painter, and so were they, in a symbiotic choreography between the exhibitionist and the voyeur.
Watch me as I am uncovered. Watch me as I am unearthed.
