My Exhibitionism

Every once in a while, the fact that I’m an exhibitionist becomes a bit of a problem for me. See, it used to be easier to scratch that itch.

I wouldn’t say it was any safer, but I guess I just felt safer for a while. Then I had my very unsavory experience with a stalker and now I have to rein it in to protect my life and livelihood.

She’s itchy again. That exhibitionist inside me. She wants to come out and be seen.

I don’t know what I want this post to be, really. Partly it’s a way of venting my frustration at a system that doesn’t allow me to sexually express myself the way I want to without the inherent risks and consequences that I’m no longer willing to accept.

Partly it’s just ’cause I am feeling hidden when I want to be on display and the feeling of being hidden (even when it’s by circumstance and unintentional) doesn’t sit well with me.

Or maybe this is my weekly Sunday drop and what I need is some food and fresh air more than I want the validation of a thousand eyeballs on my flesh.

Probably all I want is attention, but the thing is – the type of attention I want is very specific, and the Fetizenry here doesn’t always interpret my requests for attention appropriately. I don’t want to be harrassed or cat-called or told in all the explicit ways that people fantasize about me. I want to feel safe and welcome in the expression of my sensuality.

I want to be respectfully and pleasantly admired and/or appreciated. Genuinely and honestly, but with enough restraint from those who see me so that I feel confident in allowing myself to continue that type of exposure. That’s what my exhibitionism is really about, when it’s all said and done. I relish the opportunity to be vulnerable because what I really get off on is trust.

I trust my audience to prioritize consent, decorum, and respect over their own personal desires.

After all, my inner exhibitionist…she’s doesn’t put herself on display for her audience’s enjoyment. That’s my intended reaction from a consenting audience, but it’s not really about pleasing them.

It’s about being me.


The Exhibit

Is there a better museum for rare and priceless experiences than words on a page?

I could try to preserve all the details – how we began, how many strikes from which implements, how he moved me about the room, how taut the rope felt on my skin, and the way my thighs ached as I squirmed in the stress position in which he’d restrained me.

Those details may convey my surrender, but won’t capture my emotion.

I could record the hearing of footfalls and whispers, soft murmurs of interest or (possibly) admiration lingering in the hallway, and my vague awareness of some shadows in the door frame as the intensity of a final powerful orgasm ripped through my soul.

Those details may convey my vulnerability, but won’t capture our connection.

It’s just three words I’ll keep in this museum of intangible artifacts. The three words I whispered when, toward the end of our scene, he leaned down for a kiss, and warm tears escaped the outside corners of my eyes:

I missed this.

I got to play last night

Visits to the dungeon are rare these days.

I like them. The public aspect of playing in a dungeon pushes me to endure just a little bit more than I tend to at home. People are watching, after all…

And that’s how my exhibitionism works.

I got to play last night.

Thank goodness I didn’t find out until this morning that someone entered our room during our scene. My partner ushered him out without me being the wiser.

I got to play last night.

But at one point, while trying desperately to hold on to the edge of an orgasm, I growled “Please tell the people in the hallway to shut the fuck up.”

I got to play last night.

But I couldn’t wait to get home. Being in public certainly pushes me.

…But public play when the others in attendance aren’t well-versed in dungeon etiquette is pushing all the wrong buttons.

The Surrogate

Her actions were methodical – almost robotic in nature. Closing the door behind her, she slid her arms from her raincoat, pulled the sweater over her head and unbuttoned her pants. Within minutes she was stripped down to her socks, panties, and a thin black tank top.

It’s too bright.

She drew closed the heavy curtains to block out the remaining sunlight from the room. She turned off the lights – first the adjacent bathroom, then the lamp by the television, and finally the bedside table – all left on since her too-early departure into the shadows of a near-winter morning.

Crawling over the items she’d laid out on the king-sized bed, she burrowed her lower half below the white quilted comforter and longed for her own bed, her own pillows, and all the comforts of home, including him.

Tonight he’d have been there with her; but instead she’s nearly three hours south of that fantasy, alone in a darkened hotel room with three hours to kill before her business dinner.

It’s at this point that she peels back the physical and emotional shields she’d engaged to make it through an entire day of meetings and schmoozing without giving into the devastatingly distracting desire that would remain unsatisfied for another week.

With a slow exhale she becomes aware of the chill in the air. Sliding a hand over her breasts, she’s quizzically surprised by the hardness and sensitivity of her nipples. At once she realizes the stark contrast between them and the soft, warm, and increasingly damp environment below the covers.

She allows her other hand to drift below, beneath the thin fabric of her cotton panties. In the darkness, his face becomes more visible in her mind’s eye, and with enough imagination – he appears beside her. She can almost feel the weight of his body on the bed beside her, the warmth of his breath on her neck.

I want you, she whispers into the empty room.

As her chilled fingers warm against the peaks and valleys of her body, her mind wanders to a recent conversation. She remembers where she is and a thought creeps into her head.

An imaginary knock at the door. No, wait…somehow, he just appears. A key left at the front desk, perhaps after having received instructions to prepare for his arrival. He stands at the foot of the bed.

“He sent me to watch you. Said you’d told him your inner-exhibitionist was hungry, and I was close enough to feed her.”

A small moan echoes off the walls as the fantasy hits home and her cunt floods with validation.

Show him… she tells herself, as she pulls her breast out by the nipple and lowers the blanket below her knees.

Spreading her legs, she counts out the slaps…





Just as he’d instructed, now with his surrogate to bear witness.

Another Last Kiss

She walks him to her front door wearing a heavy fleece robe. He’s dressed again, coat in hand, and he leans down for one last kiss.

Their eyes lock together and a silent exchange takes place.

I don’t want you to go.

I don’t want to leave.

But responsibilities prevail, and with a smile and a look back over his shoulder, he walks out the door to his car.

She briefly considers letting him leave without running out to his car for more. He must be tired. He’d stayed longer than he ever had before and their activities that evening had been….aggressive.

But as soon as he walks past the front porch she knows she isn’t going to be able to just close the front door and let him drive away.

She runs out as he is placing his bag in the car. They embrace again in the driveway of the quiet moonlit neighborhood. There is a chill in the air, but wrapped in her warm robe and his arms, she feels none of it.

She hears the sound of a car door and some low voices. The neighbors across the street had had a late night as well. Aware of them, he kisses her in the shadows. She feels his hand slowly pulling the front of her robe open.

The cool air caressed her nipple first, followed by his fingers.

She can still hear the voices across the street. He pinches harder. She buries her face into his shoulder to muffle her sounds.


She feels the wave of passion consume her again. So many times that night permission had been requested and granted, only once denied.

“Please,” she asks again, softly.

“Yes,” his own body is shaking. Her passion and his had interlocked. The harder she came the harder he got.

The neighbors disappear into their home.

His hand roams down her thigh. His ankle steps between hers and presses outward. “Spread your legs,” he murmurs, voice like gravel.

She stands, exposed to the cool night air while his fingers probe her cunt one last time.

He demands it this time. Voice deep and low with his eyes set to penetrate into the depths of her soul, “Come for me, whore. Come for me right here.”

The sensation overwhelms her and she digs her fingers into the sides of his arms to steady herself as she releases the orgasm at his command.

When she finally looks up into his eyes again, they’re soft once more.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you,” she responds.

“And you’re mine.”

She feels the swell of emotion rise in her chest. Speechless, all she can do is nod.

“And I love you,” he whispers, as he leans in for another last kiss.


It never really got off the ground with us. We agreed to end things soon after we’d given it a go. She’d moved on.  I settled back into my routine.  Life went on for both of us in generally positive directions.

Over time, we’d run into each other.  Nothing weird. We’d hang out. Crack jokes. Have conversations.  She was cool.  She was worth knowing.

She was also fun to watch. Maybe not as fun as being the reason those noises came out of her, but still an enjoyable experience as a spectator. I’d watched her before and many times since, and it always made me smile to see her have a good time.

I was walking past one of the private rooms that one time, though.  She was normally a public player. Nothing too intense. Nothing too intimate. She could have a great time with her panties on, that one.

This was different.

We’d been …can we call it dating?  For a few months. I liked him enough. Sex was fun. The kink was good.  But he wasn’t meet-the-parents cool.  Just “chill to hang with” cool. Friends with benefits is what people call it.

He’d never played in public before, but had heard (and read) about my experiences with growing interest.  He wasn’t like everyone else I played with – my scenes with him involved sex. It came as a surprise when he said he wanted to try it, and asked if I did. Of course I wanted to, it was on my bucket list.

I didn’t tell anybody else.  None of my other friends or play partners. We chose a traditionally slow night.  I figured that would make it easier for him, it being his first time in a dungeon and all.

He looked so relieved when I showed him the smaller private rooms that were available for use. I think he’d thought (understandably) that the main room was all there was, since I always described my scenes taking place there.

“No, we can use one of these,” I said.

I’d known she’d been seeing someone for several weeks, but I hadn’t met him.  We had talked about him, though.  He was a friend.  A fuck-buddy.  There was nothing serious between them outside of their activities in the bedroom and an occasional movie night.

I was acquainted with her other partners – all regular players at the dungeon. They all treated her with respect. I could see they all held her happiness in high esteem. She’d surrounded herself with good people. I assumed this new guy was probably like the rest of us in that regard.

I hadn’t known she was coming out that night. I was there just to get out of the house for a little while.  When she walked in with him, I raised an eyebrow.  She smiled and walked over.

Oh.  He was there that night.  It’d been close to a year since we’d attempted a thing and agreed it wasn’t in our best interest to continue. Too much….too much everything.  The intensity happened too quickly and we could both feel the cracks that would eventually lead to a painful break, so we backed away.

I still respected him. The good part was good. I valued our friendship and had often turned to him for advice along the way.

The introduction wasn’t at all strained.  Why would it be?  And yet, I felt …something.

A splinter. A tiny fragment of something long ago buried just under my skin.

Because I knew what I was going to do that night was different.  I knew he was going to see it.

And something about that quietly excited me.

They’d been in their scene a good twenty minutes when I walked by to take a peek.  I’d heard her moans earlier.  Sounded like she was having a good time, and as always – it made me smile.

But the sounds of smacking and moaning and laughing had subsided and curiosity got the better of me.  The room they were using was in between the main room and the kitchen. I could just go get a cup of water….

I’m not a big fan of receiving oral. I’d gotten used to it with this guy, though.  He was a huge fan of giving.  I couldn’t deny him that enjoyment.  It was always more of a precursor than a main event, though.  The climax took too long that way and I’d just stare at the ceiling or his hair bobbing between my thighs and wish he’d jam his cock inside me instead.

I wasn’t surprised that after spending a little time on the spanking bench he had me sit up on the edge of it and spread my legs. I was facing the hallway – his back was toward the door, with his face buried.  I lightly ran my fingers through his hair and sighed contentedly.

People were walking by.  Some would stop for a little while and watch, and I’d just avert my eyes. I liked being watched but it was still a little odd to look directly at them while my pussy was being eaten.

But then, when I looked up again, it was him.  Standing just outside the doorway.

Our eyes locked.

Now, I know it’s frowned upon to insert myself into someone else’s scene uninvited.  But…honestly, the look in her eyes when they met mine.  The invitation was loud and clear.

She wanted me to watch.

I wanted to watch.

I needed to watch.

He’d felt the change in me, I guess.   His muffled moans getting more excited as my pussy flooded with arousal.  I dug my fingers against his scalp and pulled his face in toward me aggressively.

Grinding my clit onto his tongue I started to feel the orgasm build.  It was going to happen.

I maintained eye contact with the man outside the room the entire time.

I was going to come.  From oral. In the dungeon.  While people…while *he* watched.

It was surreal.  I don’t know why, I just got the sense that it was for me.  That orgasm was mine.

I don’t know why, I just knew it was true.

“My turn,” my partner’s voice snapped me out of orbit.  Oh.  Yes.  Here.  With him.

He stood up and kissed me with a face full of my scent.  He groped my breast hard, pinching my nipple.  He reached around with the other hand and squeezed my ass, pressing on a bruise that was already forming from our earlier activities.

And then he grabbed me by the hair, pulled me off the bench, dragged me over to a wooden chair in the corner and sat down.  It was my turn to kneel now.

It didn’t matter that I couldn’t see him anymore. I knew his eyes were locked on. I knew he was watching.

It drove me to perform better. I was on autopilot when he pulled me off his cock, bent me back over the spanking bench and started fucking me.

The entire time he did it, I wished I’d been facing the door.

“That was hot,” I told her after we’d cleaned up all the furniture and gotten dressed again.

“Yeah.  How you feeling?” She was so spaced out, I could hear it in her voice.

“Awesome.  You?”

“Good. Thirsty…”

“Yeah.  Let’s go get some water.  You lost a lot of fluid in there,”  I teased her. She’d explained she was an exhibitionist a bunch of times, but I had no idea the key to getting her off with oral was to do it in public.

She smiled, eyes still glassed over. “Yeah.  Water good.  Much thirst.”

“Aww, did somebody forget how to words?” I pressed my hand into the small of her back. She nodded.

“You’re probably not the only one,” I said.  “You probably didn’t notice ’cause you were so spaced out, but that one guy you introduced me to when we got here?  He watched almost the entire scene. I think that dude actually likes you.”

“Mmm…..”  she responded.

We never talked about it.

The cracks were still there, radiating between us – all the reasons why it couldn’t work.  Shouldn’t work.

We’d tried running our fingers along the length of it once.

And the splinters were still there.

Mr. and Mrs. Shameless go to the beach

“What are you doing, Daddy?” She’d just finished re-applying sunblock to her bikini-clad body on the large blanket they’d laid out on the sand. A few feet away, her husband was using a small plastic bucket he’d found to dig a hole.

“I’m digging a hole, pumpkin.” The afternoon sun was bearing down on his back. She leaned back and wiggled her bottom against the soft blanket.

“What for, though?”

“You’ll see,” he responded.

It was a weekday getaway, the kind that retired suburban men with their much younger wives could take without the bother of dealing weekend the crowds and families. There was another couple laying side by side, reading about twenty yards away. In the other direction, a small group of college-aged youngsters were kicking a soccer ball around far enough away that their laughter and cheers blended into the sounds of waves crashing and gulls squawking.

It was almost like having a private beach all to themselves.

A few minutes later, he mopped his brow and looked over at his wife, who was leaning back on her arms, squirming. He smiled through squinted eyes and called her over.

“Give Daddy a kiss,” he murmured as she stepped close to the edge of the hole to look inside. It was large enough for her to lay down in it. With an eyebrow raised, she leaned forward and onto her tip-toes for a kiss. He reached around and pressed his palms against her ass. “You enjoying your new beach toy?” he asked.

“Mmm. Yes, Daddy.” She pushed her butt back against his palm as it wiggled inside her.

“Top off,” he ordered.

She giggled, looking around. The boring couple with their noses in books wouldn’t notice, but as soon as she’d stood up, some of the soccer kids had gotten a little distracted by their public display and were definitely watching.

Turning to face them, she pulled the string behind her back and released her tits to the ocean breeze.

The soccer ball rolled down the slight incline into the water and bounced along the shallow waves, forgotten.

Meanwhile, Simon had produced a pair of alligator nipple clamps from the cooler. “These should be nice and cold now,” he said as he reached around from behind her to fasten them onto her already pert nipples.

He sank his teeth into her neck and she threw her head back with a groan. “Mmm…Daddy…” she mumbled.

“Get in the hole,” he ordered.

She hopped down into the hole and lay in it, all smiles, while Simon waved the small crowd of onlookers over.

“Help me cover her up,” he called out. Three of the guys rushed over, while the two women stayed back and whispered in low tones.

With four sets of arms, it only took a few minutes to bury her up to her neck.

Standing over her, Simon pulled a small remote control out of his pocket. “Let’s see if this works through three feet of sand,” he declared.

By the time each of the guys had had their turn with it, the quietly reading couple had picked up their stuff and moved further down the beach.