This story was inspired by LineMstr's "Window Scene." (I sent a copy to
LineMstr, who liked it and urged me to post it.)
SHOW TIME
by
C. Lakewood
Last year, when my wife and I spent a few days in Santa Monica,
our 7th floor hotel room was more than a little inconvenient. Its
"breakfast nook" was superfluous, and the queen-sized bed took up most
of the room's floor space. There was a heater in the toilet seat that
turned on when you sat on it. (I found that difficult to get used
to.) With a certain amount of contortion, you could actually glimpse
a sliver of ocean from the large, floor-to-ceiling main window. (It
slid open like a patio door, but there was nothing on the other side
except a 3 inch deep "balcony.") But all that was okay. During the
daytime, we had fun strolling along the bluffs, the beach, and out
onto the famous pier. At night, we had other things to occupy us.
Betty and I had dabbled in B&D for years, but it was always just
the two of us. And, while it hadn't gotten stale exactly, we had been
looking for ways to freshen it up a bit. We'd danced around the idea
of some public display, and we both found the idea exciting, but every
time we'd begin to plan something, she'd always get cold feet. Betty
is a high school teacher and nervous about her reputation -- afraid of
getting caught, of falling victim to unforeseeable circumstances. I
have to admit that all of her arguments were perfectly valid. Still,
I dreamed of showing her off in public, displaying her all horny and
helpless...and somehow doing it safely.
This was the last night we'd be in town. We'd been running around
all day, even out to Long Beach to visit "Queen Mary," and now Betty
was taking a protracted shower. I dimmed the lights and opened the
drapes. I couldn't see the ocean now, and traffic didn't interest me.
But we were cheek-by-jowl with the next hotel in the string (well,
within a couple of hundred feet, anyway), and my gaze swept across the
neighboring, fake-Moorish facade. I drew a deep breath; there, in a
window right across from our room, was a man apparently looking in our
direction...with binoculars! Perfect.
At that moment, the hairdryer stopped. I blinked the light to get
the peeper's attention, and then wiggled five fingers at him. Hoping
he'd gotten the message, I closed the drapes and considered the
lighting and sight lines for a moment. And then Betty came out of the
bathroom, barefoot and wrapped in a damp towel, as if on cue.
She is in her late 30s, but looks younger, despite her
prematurely greying light brown hair. She's 5'4", maybe 130 pounds,
with a high forehead, thin expressive lips, youthful features, nice
figure, and perfect skin.
"You look very tempting tonight, wench," I said. "And I think you
owe me some slave time."
"Well, you are the master, Master," she murmured. We hadn't yet
had a session during this trip (despite my bringing some equipment, as
usual), and she clearly thought one was overdue.
I laid out my gear, all of it pretty innocuous: a couple of bath
robe sashes, a pair of black domino masks (for playing dress-up?), a
little canister that looked like pepper spray, a remote-controlled
vibrating egg (baggage screeners are pretty blase about such things,
nowadays), a tube of ointment (mainly wintergreen and menthol), and a
couple of latex gloves.
The chairs in the breakfast nook were wobbly plastic resin, and
the vanity/desk had only a bench, but fortunately there was a sturdy
wooden arm-chair beside the bed, and I casually positioned it facing
the big window. It was a familiar start. Betty sat down and put her
hands under the arm-rests, and I used one sash to secure them behind
the back of the chair. Working with a deftness born of much practice,
I bent her legs and draped them over the arm-rests, then tied one end
of a long sash to her right ankle, passed the sash under the chair,
and tied the other end to her left ankle. She was now fastened fairly
loosely, but quite securely, with her legs spread and her crotch
canted and thrust in the direction of the window. She could wriggle,
but she certainly couldn't hide. I caressed her a bit to begin with,
just preliminary stuff, and then paused.
"Now, get ready," I said.
"For what?" she asked, puzzled.
"Well, you know how we've talked about showing you off, but, well,
I've got an idea of how we can do that in complete safety."
"I-I don't.... How?" She was already turned on, from being tied
up and teased, and now the prospect of being seen was both frightening
and exciting her.
"There's a hotel just next door. Now, if anybody should look this
way, maybe with a telescope or binoculars, say."
"Ohmigod, ohmigod," she panted. "But...."
I held up the domino masks. "We'll be masked and unrecognizable.
Nobody's likely to be able to figure out our room number from over
there, and there won't be much opportunity for anybody to do much
snooping, because this is our last night here. So...."
She chewed her lip and nodded. "I-I guess we really don't know
that anybody is watching."
I shrugged and put our half-masks on, turned lights up and the
thermostat down, and took hold of the drapes' cord.
"Okay?" I asked.
"I-I guess so."
"Then, iiiiit's ssshow-time!"
I opened the drapes with a flourish, imagining a drum roll and rim
shot...and cheers and wolf whistles.
Now she began to breathe heavily and, despite the AC, to sweat.
Fear, embarrassment, and excitement flickered across her face in
succession. She stared at the hotel opposite, but our lights were
bright, and Mr. Peeper's were now dim, and there was a curtain of
night in between, so she saw nothing. (I couldn't tell whether she
was more relieved or disappointed.)
I began the show slowly, brushing my fingers lightly over her
exposed flesh. She has always been very, very ticklish, and being
tickled in bondage always drives her mad -- giggles and tears,
squirming, pleading, gasping -- helpless, and increasingly aroused.
She wriggled and writhed, trying in vain to escape my fingers.
She pleaded with me to have mercy on her, and that didn't work either.
All the while, I noticed she was continually looking out the window,
searching for the audience she both feared and hoped was out there.
"Now it's time to begin the unveiling," I murmured.
"Oh, gee, wait -- just wait a minute. I don't know. Nobody's
ever seen me n-naked but you a-and my parents and...um...."
"But slavegirls don't get a vote," I reminded her.
I pulled the towel loose, and it slid down to her belly. Her tits
are handsome. They're not centerfold caliber, but nice and plump (and
all natural), with big, sensitive nipples. I chuckled to see her pull
her shoulders back a bit, as if to present her tits to an unseen and
hypothetical audience.
"Oooooh!"
I played with her tits briefly, and she responded with gasps and
moans. Then my fingers tip-toed down along her rib-cage and began to
tickle again. Immediately, she was giggling uncontrollably, and her
tits were necessarily jiggling and bouncing as she wriggled.
But that was all a brief preliminary.
"Now, it's time to unveil the rest."
"Oh, please, I'll be bare naked. If anybody should see...."
"I think the time has come to let you in on the BIG secret -- 'if'
is inaccurate. In the hotel next door, there's a man with binoculars,
who's seen everything. I noticed him earlier. He's turned the lights
in his room down, but if you look closely, you might still be able to
spot him. See?" I pointed at Peeper's window. I could just make out
a vague silhouette, dimly back-lit.
She blushed a dark red. "Are-are you actually going to show me
off naked and l-let some guy see me -- see everything?" Her voice was
trembling from a combination of panic and lust.
"That, and more. Those glasses of his looked powerful enough to
zoom right in on your gaping cunt, so he can watch your clit throb as
you cum for him, and cum, and cum. Voila!"
She gasped as I flicked the folds of the towel aside. And she
began to squirm harder, hips bouncing and thighs trembling, all of
which resulted in a wonderfully lewd display. She was really getting
off on this.
Her cunt wasn't actually "gaping" yet, but it was beginning to
open, and I spread it the rest of the way, to exhibit her completely.
With my right hand, I played with her cunt and, with my left, her
tits.
Without having to be told, she was digging her heels into the
sides of the chair for leverage, bucking her hips toward the window
and her audience.
"Put on a good show for him. He wants to see you in heat."
Without any warning, I bent down and slipped the vibrating egg
into her naturally well-lubricated cunt. It snuggled right up against
her G-spot.
"Oh, oh, god -- n-not the egg -- oh god oh god -- please d-don't!
Please! That thing is-is...insatiable.... And the man -- he'll
s-s-see me cum!"
"Sure. He deserves the best show you can put on."
I pressed the remote.
"He does deserve to watch you cum, don't you think?" I teased her
by flicking the egg on and off.
"Aaaaaaaaaa! Oh, please, yes, I-I w-w-want to cum f-for HIM.
Please...."
I began rapidly strumming her clit. She froze, rigid, and the
first of a series of orgasms rippled through her. I kept at it,
playing the remote with one hand and her clit with the other. And
then she had another orgasm...and another...and another.... When she
was near the end of her tether, I paused and gave her a moment's rest.
She heaved a massive sigh. "Ooooooh, I've never felt so...."
"Humiliated?"
"Yessss!"
"AND turned on."
She nodded. "That, too. But, making me cum...in-in pub-lic...."
"I'll bet that HE is REALLY enjoying the show you're putting on
for him...and for who knows how many people are watching from other
windows. Now, ready for Act II?"
"I guess so. Yes. I-I want HIM -- or THEM -- t-to see more.
And just the f-fact that that's what I do want is-is scary...."
I didn't close the drapes, because I didn't want to make him think
the show was entirely over, instead of just being the end of Act I.
To set up the second act, I released Betty from the chair, and
switched the chair for the desk/vanity's bench. Draping her over the
bench, I tied her down on her knees, with her legs widely straddled
and her butt toward the window. She was nicely submissive during the
transition.
Once she was secure, however, the protests began again.
"But -- he can see m-my, my a-asshole.... Oh, god, this is s-so,
so...degrading!"
I decided to give her something else to whine about. I got the
little spray canister and moved around behind her, making sure she saw
what was in my hand.
"Oh no, not that damn itching spray, please.... I'll be good, I-I
promise I will."
I sprayed a generous amount in and around her cunt and asshole,
and the effect was immediate. She began to moan and buck, humping the
bench, twitching and quivering, madly shaking her butt.
Again, I flicked the egg's remote on and off, on and off, to add
to her torment.
I've got about 10 minutes until that spray is absorbed enough
that it's safe to touch you without protection. Of course, you'll
feel the itch for a couple of hours or more...unless I decide to be
merciful and let you take another shower. How does it feel? Tickle?"
"M-my a-a-a-asshole...aaaaa...oh, god...my p-poor aaa-asshole...."
"So, what do you think I should do for the next 10 minutes, dear?"
"P-please, mas-aster, play with it, with m-my ass-hole. Please
s-scra-atch the itch, pleeeez!"
"In front of HIM?"
"Oh, god, p-p-pleeeezz!"
I shrugged, snapped on the latex gloves, and squeezed out a blob
of ointment -- and anointed her clit.
"While I'm seeing to your asshole, we wouldn't want your cunt to
start feeling lonely and jealous, now."
"Aaah...aah...it's b-burn-ing," she hissed.
I served out another dollop of ointment and turned my attention to
her puckered butt-hole (though I did remember to work the remote from
time to time). My fingers, slick with burning grease, slithered into
her elastic asshole, first one, then two fingers, corkscrewing in and
out.
She proceeded to bounce and jiggle and moan and whimper her way
through another series of orgasms. (She had been multi-orgasmic
before, sometimes, when things were working perfectly, but this was
way above and beyond.) After a few minutes, though, she looked around
at me, fatigue and distress written across her face.
"Gotta peee...bad," she gasped.
Quickly fetching the plastic pitcher that had earlier held iced
tea, I got it into position just in time, as she let go with a gusher.
She pissed at least a pint. After the last trickles, I extracted the
egg and gave her another brief rest, while I leisurely stripped and
put my clothes away neatly.
"And now for the finale," I announced, though I'm not sure she
really heard me. But when I hauled her and the bench around 180
degrees, so that she was facing the window once again, she seemed to
come back for a moment from whatever Never-Never Land she had drifted
off to.
"You gonna f-fuck me now? Fuck me like a b-bitch...while HE
watches?" She stared into the night, helpless.
"Just exactly like a bitch...."
I took her from the rear, doggie-style, and, as tired as she was,
she began humping back. My orgasm wasn't long delayed -- no big
surprise -- but I was amazed that she had one last climax, as well.
(Apparently this scenario was a real winner.) I pulled out, dragged
the bench back around, and made a trip to the bathroom. Mr. Peeper
had plenty of time to watch my cum oozing out of her cunt, hanging on
the edge a bit, and then meandering down her thigh. And she knew it.
Finally, I closed the drapes, untied her, and held her close as
she collapsed weakly into my arms.
"So, what do you think of public displays now?"
She murmured softly, "When's our next trip going to be?"
I wondered. The next time would have to be different, even more
outre.... Maybe an amateur strip contest...or Mardi Gras...or a nude
beach during Spring Break....
But I had a lot of time to consider that. Right now, I was mainly
thinking about getting back home to see the video tape that my
protege, Jeff (aka Mr. Peeper), had just made from across the way.
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