Fully Exposed

By Welshman and LostCoyote

____ W ____

Well, it was definitely worthwhile coming all this way; more orders than I anticipated. The States was indeed going to be my company's biggest market. CES rocks!

My flight back wasn't for a couple of days, so I had plenty of time to explore. But first, I was famished. I'd noticed a typical American diner earlier with actual waitress service! So I headed there intending to ask about where she would suggest I visit in her fine city.

As I sat, I noticed a group of young women sitting at a nearby table. One of them was looking intently into her phone. Even though she was mostly turned away from me, I sensed an undeniable aura of sensuality from her.

The waitress arrived, called me 'hun,' and enquired as to my accent. I ordered pancakes with maple syrup but decided not to ask her about things to do. Instead, I was staring at this woman, half my age, and wondered why she made me think of her like that. What was it about her that suggested eroticism rather than maybe, 'She looks nice'?

Her head looked up from her phone and then turned and looked straight at me. I had a mouthful of pancake but managed a weak smile. She stared back at me, expressionless, for a few seconds, but then, such a smile—more than a smile, an invitation. I felt it stir.

This unspoken connection—was I being fanciful? Well, nothing ventured...

I took out my notebook, scribbled on it, bent it in half, and beckoned the waitress. Please, could she hand this to that woman there, the one nearest me (I couldn't describe her to the waitress as the sexy one!) And please point to me as the one who sent it.

She did as I asked.

She opened it.

The page was headed 'CLARITY MEDIA SERVICES,' and on it I wrote:

Hi, are you local? I have some time on my hands; would you care to show me the sights?

I also gave my mobile number.

She looked around at me, smiling, rose from her chair, and came towards me.

___ 🐺 ___

I was barely listening to the girls.

They’d moved on to mimosas and gossip about the guy one of them left behind in Vegas—something about a missed connection and an unread DM. I was scrolling through photos from CES, half-work, half-flirtation, pretending I wasn’t waiting for someone to message back.

The diner was kitschy in a way I liked. Vinyl booths, chrome details, thick mugs that smelled faintly of bleach and coffee. I always felt a little like a tourist in places like this, even at home.

Then I felt it. That slow, pulling prickle at the back of the neck… like a hand resting there that wasn’t.

I didn’t look right away. It’s better when you let the tension build.

But I could feel him watching. Someone older. Intent. The kind of gaze you don’t get from guys your own age, not without a dare or a drink in hand. This one felt deliberate. Heavy. I let myself lean into it a little. Let my body stay soft and unaware, at least on the outside.

Finally, I turned my head.

He looked startled. Mid-chew. His eyes met mine like he hadn’t expected me to catch him. I didn’t smile right away. Just watched. Let him squirm a little.

Then I gave him one. Just enough.

A slow smile that said: I see you. And maybe, I don’t mind.

It didn’t take long. I caught the whisper to the waitress, the folded paper. Of course, I opened it.

I saw the letterhead before the words: Clarity Media Services. It sounded official. Almost too slick.

But the note was simple. A question. An offer. A number.

I let it sit in my lap for a second. My fingers played with the edge. I didn’t have anywhere to be for hours. And I liked the look of him. Polished, but not plastic. Curious. Hungry, in more ways than one.

So I stood.

Let him see my decision before I made it all the way over.

____ W ____

“Hi, please sit with me. I'm David, or Dave if you prefer.” I offered her my hand, which she accepted. Her hand was warm and so soft; I expected she would be so wherever I would place a hand.

“Can I get you a coffee? What's your name?”

"Elise? It suits you. A very nice name for a very nice young lady." She appreciated my compliment; her smile spread, seeming to involve her entire posture.

I hadn't realised, but I still had her hand in mine. Her touch was so sensuous; even a mere handshake conveyed so much perception about her. I did the European thing; even though it isn't the convention in my country, I raised her hand and, with as much feeling as I could, kissed it.

I beckoned to the waitress for two more coffees.

"Clarity Media? My company supplies equipment to all sorts of companies, groups, and even individuals who want to do their own, let's say, corporate video presentation. Or to show off their products. Our stuff is of the highest quality and very easy to set up and use, cheaper, and if they keep everything in-house, there is less chance of a new product being leaked early."

I could see Elise wasn't too interested, so I added...

"Then there is the adult entertainment industry. Particularly individuals working from home. In fact, I got an order at CES from a well-known company in that field...."

She interrupted me: "Individuals?" Her mouth had opened slightly as a question with a hoped-for answer would suggest.

"Yes, you know, amateurs filming themselves. Either for making some money or just for the thrill of posting on Pornhub or the like. Quality is important for them and their fans, and my stuff gives them that."

Her demeanour changed. She was looking intently at me, her face expressing sudden thoughts that were occupying her.

"That's my dream," she professed. "I fantasize about being watched."

I was taken aback by her brazenness. I was expecting her to show me around, I'd buy her dinner, invite her... The usual procedure, but no, she had given me, on a plate...

"I have equipment at my hotel, not doing anything. It wouldn't take long to set it up. Would you like your dream to come true?"

She only assessed what I'd said for mere seconds.

"Absolutely, let's go!”

___ 🐺 ___

He stood as I reached the table, polite but not stiff. Older, confident. Something British, maybe… His voice felt like a brushed velvet jacket.

“Hi, please sit with me. I’m David, or Dave if you prefer.”

His hand was out, waiting. I gave him mine. It felt like a test. His palm was warm, and he held me like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Soft hands—I’ve been told that before. Like it meant something more than lotion and care.

He offered coffee, and I said yes with a nod… more curious than thirsty.

“Elise,” I said when he asked. I liked the way he said it back to me, like the name had surprised him. “It suits you,” he added. “A very nice name for a very nice young lady.”

Something about the way he said it—older men always toe that line between flattering and presumptuous. But he stayed just on the right side of it, and I let the smile bloom. Not just on my face. I felt it in the way I shifted my shoulders, my breath.

He was still holding my hand. A little old-fashioned. A little bold. Then, without warning, he lifted it and kissed the back like we were on a terrace in Cannes instead of a greasy booth in Vegas.

The heat of his mouth stayed on my skin longer than it should have.

Another coffee landed at the table. I watched his eyes as he talked, letting his words fill the air. Tech stuff. Cameras. Corporate. I nodded, but I was distracted by the way he watched me as he spoke. Like he was measuring how much of myself I might offer in return.

Then… he pivoted.

“The adult entertainment industry…” he said.

My ears caught on that. My attention, all of it, came back to him.

“Individuals,” he said, “…you know, amateurs filming themselves.”

He said it so casually, like he wasn’t dropping that idea between us like a lit match.

I felt it in my body. A flicker behind my ribs. A pull low in my belly.

“That’s my dream,” I said. I hadn’t planned to. It just came out, like something already forming before I was fully aware of it.

He looked surprised. I think I liked surprising him.

“I fantasize about being watched.”

I didn’t say it to shock. I said it because it was true, and because I wanted to see what he would do with the truth.

He recovered quickly. Men like him usually do. Polished. Confident. But there was something sparking behind his eyes now. Something new.

“I have equipment at my hotel…” he said.

I leaned in slightly. Not a seduction, but a signal. Go on.

“… It wouldn’t take long to set up. Would you like your dream to come true?”

The directness should have unsettled me. But it didn’t.

I could’ve toyed with him. Drawn it out. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to see what would happen when I said yes.

So I did.

“Absolutely,” I said, standing before the thought could settle.

I liked the rush of it. Of deciding. Of being the girl he never expected to follow through.

____ W ____

"I was expecting some doubt, a little consideration from you, but no, you went straight for it. I can see you're a woman who knows what she wants."

"Yea, I want this," she interjected. Her face told me all I needed to know. I'd seen that expression before, on women I'd picked up for casual sex. Pleased that their horniness was about to be relieved.

I paid my bill as she waved goodbye to her friends, who all had an enquiring look for her. Elise seemed to toy with them, shrugging her shoulders and raising her arms while smiling as she left with me.

As we walked the short distance to the hotel, we kept looking at each other, barely saying anything, but knowing what we were to do, something of an adventure for us both. An erotic fulfilment for her, and for me too, something really exciting, enabling her fantasy to become real. That was thrilling.

"What's the matter?" she asked as we walked. My walk was somewhat stuttering.

"I've got an erection," I had to admit, as I tried to adjust it without the busy street noticing.

Elise's inquiry was forming in her mouth...

"I was thinking about what we are going to be doing. Imagining the setup, just thinking about it..."

Elise grinned and embraced me with her right arm as her left gripped it through my chinos.

"ELISE! Not here!" I shouted so that many heads turned towards us.

"Daddy's got a hard-on for me!" she uttered, not too quietly. "Impressive. How big will it be when you're actually watching me?"

She was teasing but also telling me that I would be her live 'audience,' a proxy for all those that she would be imagining watching her doing what she wanted them to see.

I gave her a stern look. I didn't want a stain as well as the obvious bulge.

"Don't call me that," to which she made a little girl pout.

I grabbed her hand and hurried toward the hotel. Her hand in mine again, a unit rushing to a fortuitous erotic experience for both.

In the room, I suggested she might like to shower as I set things up. Which she did.

"I need to pee," I shouted above the sound of the rushing water.

"You really don't need to ask to come into your bathroom. It's not as if I'm shy and don't want you to see me naked! You'll see plenty more soon!"

I entered. The water stopped cascading as soon as I pulled my zipper down. Elise opened the glass door, dripped across to me, and held my cock.

"Go on then, pee. I've always wanted to hold a man's cock as he peed." Again, that smile.

Despite erecting, I managed to pee as she looked on, seeming fascinated. She made patterns with the flow, moving me to her will.

"Thank you," she said, sincerely, it seemed.

"Another one you can strike from your bucket list?"

She giggled as she donned a bathrobe to dry.

"Are we set?"

"Yes, just waiting for the star performer."

Elise entered the bedroom, where the large bed was now surrounded by paraphernalia ready to document Elsie's masturbation.

"Oh wow!" she exclaimed. "Just seeing this setup, knowing what it's for, it's so exciting!"

"As you can see, there are three cameras. They are all 4K. This one will record your face, Beautiful Agony style. If you wanted to post it there, for instance. This one will be focused on your pussy but aimed up at your body to include your breasts. Your face would be in view if you raised it. And this one is set horizontally on your whole body, head to toe. All the cameras have built-in high-quality microphones too. Over there are monitors for me to make sure everything's happening as it should. Any questions?"

"What you just said, so matter-of-fact but so very arousing. You seem to know exactly how to do this. Have you done it before?"

"No, I haven't, but I do go to those websites, and I know what I like to see, so that's how I'm doing it."

"Take off your robe and lie on the bed. I'll make sure you're framed properly and in focus. But the cameras should auto-focus just as well to make sure, though."

Elise let her robe drop. Her naked body glowed a warm pink, whether that was from her shower or anticipation, probably a bit of both.

"This is your show, but if you don't mind a bit of direction or advice, look into the camera, make eye contact with your viewers, your voyeurs. Maybe hundreds or even thousands of eyes watching you."

With that, I pressed record on the app and gave the thumbs up to Elise.

___ 🐺 ___

I thought he might hesitate. Most men do. A nervous laugh, a little disbelief. But he didn't question it. Just followed. Eyes full of something sharp and pleased.

“I was expecting some doubt,” he said, “a little consideration from you… But no. You went straight for it. I can see you're a woman who knows what she wants.”

“I want this,” I said, plain and simple. No need to play coy. My voice came out steadier than I felt.

Because I did, I wanted it. Not just him, or the sex… though that was building too, but the idea of it. The cameras. The risk. The way I could feel the eyes already, even though there were none. Yet.

I slid out of the booth with a flick of my hair and waved goodbye to the girls. They were watching like something strange had just happened. Like I’d stepped off the script. I gave them a shrug and a grin, arms lifted in mock surrender. Oops... It made me feel wicked in the best way.

We didn’t talk much on the walk. We didn’t have to.

His glances kept landing on me, then darting away. There was something thick in the air between us; not tension, exactly. Anticipation. I felt like a wire humming with current.

Then I noticed his step falter.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, already guessing.

He shifted awkwardly, like a teenager again. “I’ve got an erection,” he admitted, and there was something boyish in the way he said it. Almost sweet.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing: not at him, but at the perfect ridiculousness of how easily I could do this to him.

I looped my arm through his, leaned in just enough, and let my other hand slide down. Bold, yes. But I wanted to see the line he’d draw.

“Elise!” he hissed, loud enough to turn a few heads.

I gave a delighted gasp. “Daddy’s got a hard-on for me,” I said, not loudly… but not quietly either.

He gave me that look again. Sharp. Warning. I answered with my best pout, playful and practiced.

“Impressive,” I said, pressing closer. “How big will it be when you’re actually watching me?”

And I meant it. I could already feel it, being on display. Turning him on just by being seen. That was the power. That was the thrill.

He grabbed my hand, grip firm, and tugged me forward. Not angry. Just urgent. He didn’t want a scene.

But it was a scene. One that had already begun long before the cameras were ever turned on.

___ 🐺 ___

The hotel room had that polished, corporate feel: anonymous, clean, vaguely expensive, but now it was humming with something else. Something warmer. More intimate. The curtains were drawn just enough to cast everything in filtered daylight, softening the edges.

“You might want to shower while I set things up,” he said.

I did.

The water was hot and perfect. I let it scald a little longer than I needed, dragging my hands down my body like a prelude. This wasn’t just about being clean. It was about being ready. I imagined the cameras clicking on outside the bathroom. Warming up. Framing me.

Then his voice broke through the sound of rushing water. “I need to pee,” he called.

I grinned to myself.

“You really don’t need to ask,” I shouted back. “It’s your bathroom. And I’m not exactly shy… You’ll see plenty more soon.”

I heard the door open, the rasp of a zipper.

I opened the glass door and stepped out… still wet, water streaking down my legs like silk ribbons, and walked to him. I reached out, wrapped my fingers around him. Warm. Heavy. Half-hard already.

“Go on,” I said, half-playfully. “I’ve always wanted to hold a man’s cock while he pees.”

His breath caught, but he let me. I guided him with both curiosity and control, watching the stream arc and shift, shaping it like a watercolor brush. There was something strangely intimate about it. Ordinary, even silly, and yet not.

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it.

“Another one for the bucket list?” he asked.

I giggled and reached for the robe, sliding it over damp skin. My pulse had settled into something low and constant now, like background music.

“Are we set?”

“All ready. Just waiting for the star performer.”

I stepped out into the main room and stopped short.

“Oh wow.”

The bed looked like a stage: tripods and lenses angled like eyes, lights subtle but firm in their focus. Three cameras. Wires coiled like serpents around the corners. A kind of cathedral to being seen.

He talked me through it: face cam, body cam, full-body wide. Monitors and auto-focus, and microphones are built in. His tone was professional, but I could feel the edge under it. This wasn’t just logistics. This was desire, sharpened into clarity.

I let the robe fall.

The air touched every part of me at once: cool, soft, charged. My skin glowed, slightly damp still, but more than that: alive. Maybe it was the heat from the shower. Maybe it was the attention. My nipples had already drawn tight.

I stepped onto the bed, letting David watch. Letting the cameras frame me.

“This is your show,” he said, “but if you don’t mind… look into the camera. Make eye contact with your viewers. Your voyeurs. Maybe hundreds… even thousands… watching.”

That line settled into me like breath into lungs.

Watching you.

I stretched out, feeling the fabric beneath my skin. The sheets weren’t cold. They were smooth and just warm enough. I turned toward the first lens and met it with my eyes. I wanted them to know I saw them.

He gave a little thumbs up.

And then we began.

___ 🐺 ___

At first, I moved slowly.

Not for the camera. Not yet. More because I needed to feel everything in order. To find the edges of where I ended and this moment began.

My legs shifted apart just enough to let the air kiss the dampness at my inner thighs. I let my hand drift there, lightly, not touching anything too directly. Just tracing. I circled the curve of my thigh, let my fingers coast up my stomach. My skin was warm and flushed. Still tingling from the shower, or maybe it was something deeper.

I didn’t rush. I let my palm settle between my ribs, then rise up to cup one breast. The weight of it in my hand felt grounding. Real. My thumb brushed across my nipple, slow, curious, then again. It tightened under the touch.

I pinched, lightly first, then just enough to make my breath catch.

I’d almost forgotten the lens. Not completely, not yet. I glanced at them… just a flick of the eyes. A tease.

But that’s not where the heat was coming from.

My other hand wandered back down, brushing the bone of my hip, the soft place below. I was wet. Already. I held still a moment, just feeling it. That warmth. That proof.

My breath deepened. Not dramatic. Just fuller. My mouth opened.

I let myself arch a little. Tilt my hips toward my own hand. Not for the show… because that angle, that shift, felt good. I touched myself softly, exploring. Circling. Gathering.

Then I stopped.

Not because it was too much. But because I liked the idea of teasing myself, of not giving in yet.

I brought my fingers to my lips. Tasted.

My thighs shifted. I squeezed them together, then let them fall open wider, baring myself fully to the ceiling, the air, the eye that might be watching, but I wasn’t thinking of that now.

There was no audience anymore. No David. No camera.

Just me.

My fingers slid lower again. Slower this time, but more confident. Like I knew what I wanted now.

I pressed into that rhythm, soft, slick circles. Then firmer. The pressure sweetened, became sharper, just at the edge.

I gasped. Tensed.

But I didn’t let it tip.

Not yet.

I backed off, panting slightly. Let the wave pull back without crashing. My fingers stayed resting over my clit, pulsing with the afterglow of restraint.

My heart was thudding now. Skin flushed. Nipples tight and aching again.

I didn’t stop.

The pulse between my legs had become insistent. My fingers slid back down, slick and sure, tracing that same rhythm, deeper now. More pressure. Each stroke like a matchhead flaring.

I let it build again.

My hips moved with it now, rolling, slow and steady. My other hand was still at my breast, pinching again, firmer this time. The sharp contrast of pain and pleasure made everything brighter. Closer.

I moaned softly. Almost surprised by the sound.

Then I paused. Just for a moment. Teasing myself again, hovering on the edge like a dare.

When I started again, it was faster. Not rushed… but undeniable.

My thighs trembled.

My breath caught in my throat and spilled out in little, helpless whimpers. Every nerve in me was reaching toward the center of that rhythm. Fingers circling. Body arching. My toes curled. My eyes squeezed shut…

Then opened.

I looked at the lens.

Wide-eyed. Open-mouthed. Completely undone.

I wanted them to see me. Not as something they could claim, but as something unfolding.

I needed to cum.

It hit me like a wave that dragged from the bottom up: hips lifting, thighs locking, muscles clenching hard around the rhythm. My breath stuttered into soft cries. Not loud. Not porn-star perfect. Just real. Raw. My lips parted, gasping through it.

My whole body shook. Trembled. Then melted.

I didn’t move right away.

The aftershocks came in small, rolling echoes. The kind that makes you twitch when you’re too spent to care who sees it.

The sheets were wet beneath me: thighs glistening, flushed, soaked with heat and everything I’d given. I was open and ruined and utterly satisfied.

I brought my fingers to my mouth again. Tasted myself.

Licked slowly, savoring.

A breathy laugh escaped me. Something wild and quiet, still riding the afterglow.

I looked at the lens one more time.

And this time, I smiled.

____ W ____

Standing at the edge of the bed, I looked back and forth between Elise and the monitors. Everything was perfect. I could now concentrate on her, watching this wonderfully luscious woman masturbating for the cameras, her audience spread over nations and time.

Her lucid actions had the inevitable effect on me. I was as hard as I could be, pre-cum dribbling onto my trousers. I desperately wanted to wank, but no. This was Elise's moment; I'd have to wait.

As she performed, performed? No, she wasn't performing; she was enjoying herself. Physically and mentally living her carnal dream. I could feel that from her; my cock twitched as she aroused herself. Watching her, I was almost feeling what she was feeling. Her moans describing her state, from nipple to clit, the intensity told in her utterances.

Then there was the flow from her pussy, which she tasted and devoured; every little step brought her closer. She paused to make the tease last a little longer before the inevitable.

And she was there. Trembling, uttering, expressing. A woman in orgasm, captured.

Elise smiled at one of the cameras, acknowledging her viewers, no doubt. Those that would be sharing her pleasure and making their own, thanks to her.

I could not wait for mine; she had inflamed me beyond endurance. I reached for my belt buckle. Elise saw this and insisted:

“No, let me.”

She crawled off her stage and, on all fours, like a wanton animal, made her way to me, looking at me so lasciviously.

Kneeling at my feet, she reached up to the buckle and slowly undid it, looking at me all the while, enjoying my torment, it seemed.

Belt undone, then the top button. Still looking, that look. She pulled the zip as slowly as she could.

Before it fell, she held my trouser against my erection, my aching erection. Rubbed my cock with the cloth before letting it go. My erection free; it sprang forward, angry and urgent. Elise gasped.

The glistening head, half covered by foreskin, was demanding that she did something about its condition.

Her mouth was parted. I could feel her hot breath on me, so close to my purple knob she was exposing as her hand, excruciatingly slowly, extracted it.

Her eyes were intent on my cock now, assessing, considering, it seemed, how to prolong my agony before she would make me cum. She wouldn't, would she? Did she want to watch me masturbate? I hope...

The very tip of her tongue picked at the gathered pre-cum, tasting, enjoying. She moved her thumb up the shaft to eject more, smelling, then a small suck, taking it all. My rampant phallus jerked and twitched at her touch. Now she fingertipped my balls, ever so gently; her fingers were magic, electrifying, but her touch was so light it couldn't elicit an ejaculation even though I was this aroused.

Butterfly kisses landed all over, barely touching, but I felt them. A sudden, insistent lip-bite on the frenum, but not too long. Her tongue tip wandered around the edge of the glans.

Then she looked up at me, those eyes! Almost enough to make me crash over the edge. But she was telling me that I'd suffered enough.

She looked down, and my cock disappeared into her mouth, down her throat. She made a guttural sound that made her throat pulsate, and I was undone. The sight of my cock in her mouth, the pulsation... I groaned so loudly. Oh, the release. I pumped all I had into Elise. She was moaning too, her nipples so hard, her hand was between her thighs, and we were cumming together.

She moved her head back; my cock flopped out at half mast, covered in cum and saliva. She opened her mouth to show me what she received: a mouthful of my cum. She smiled, savoured it, and swallowed.

She began to giggle from joy, I thought, at a dream realised.

“Happy now?” I teased.

Elise sprawled on the floor, looking at me upside down. We both just gazed at each other. Then I decided I should ask.

“Elise? You've just done something you've always wanted to do....

“Yes, I have indeed,” she answered.

“There's something I've wanted to do as well...”

“What's that?”

“Do you trust me?”

___ 🐺 ___

I was still trembling.

Not visibly, but inside, the waves were still rolling through me. That heavy, low hum of release that left my limbs soft and my thoughts slightly unfocused.

I lay back on the sheets for a moment longer. Breathing. Watching the ceiling blur and sharpen with each slow blink.

Then I noticed him.

Standing by the monitor, trying to stay composed. He was doing a poor job of it.

His belt.

The sound of it, the way his hand hovered there, wanting, it sparked something in me. A shift. A pull.

I slid off the bed, slow and deliberate. I felt unmade and powerful all at once. A woman who had just shown herself fully. And was still hungry.

“No,” I said softly, “let me.”

I dropped to all fours: not to perform, not to play coy, but because I wanted to feel that shift in power. To approach him like something untethered. Devoted. Curious.

I crawled across the rug, knees catching slightly on the pile, the scent of my own orgasm still clinging to my skin. My fingers found the buckle, and I looked up at him, eyes locked on his, steady, silent. Drawing it out.

I undid it slowly. Not teasing for effect. Teasing for control. For my own pleasure.

The button. The zipper. Each sound louder than it should’ve been in the hush of the room.

When I got to the fabric straining against his cock, I pressed the flat of my palm to it. I felt him through it, rigid and burning hot. I rubbed him with the cloth, the pressure light but certain, watching his jaw tighten. Then I let the pants fall.

He sprang forward, his cock flushed and glistening, like it had been waiting too long.

I gasped.

Not theatrically. Instinctively. It was beautiful. Angry, almost. Needy.

I cupped him, felt the heat of him in my palm, and let my thumb pull back the skin just enough to expose the tip. A bead of pre-cum glistened there. My mouth watered.

I leaned forward and tasted him, just the salt of it on my tongue. My thighs clenched involuntarily.

My hand stroked once, slowly, and I felt him pulse. My fingers moved to his balls, featherlight, watching how every nerve in him lit up at the touch. I could feel the way his body fought not to give in yet. That tension made me bolder.

I let kisses fall, soft and brief, around the head of his cock. Barely-there touches. And then one bite, just enough to make him flinch and groan.

He looked down at me.

I looked up.

There it was again: that connection, the one I had with the camera earlier. Only now, it was him. This man. Right here. And I wanted to show him.

I opened my mouth and took him in.

He filled me. I relaxed my throat, let him slide deep, and he groaned, loud and helpless.

His cock jerked once. Then again. Just two strong pulses.

Already?

I moaned around him, the vibration setting him off fully, but a flicker of disappointment passed through me. I would’ve liked him to last longer. To linger in that space with me. But it was okay. It was still beautiful, just… over faster than I wanted.

He came hard.

I felt every pulse against my tongue, thick and warm. I stayed there, holding him with lips and mouth and breath, letting him pour into me. His hand was in my hair now, gripping tight, and I didn’t mind. I was moaning too, his pleasure feeding mine.

My hand was between my thighs again, without even thinking. Pressing, stroking. My body was already rising, almost too soon. I rubbed harder, chasing that edge again. I clenched around nothing. Then I came again: quietly this time, a smaller wave, but no less real. My thighs soaked, the rug beneath me damp. I gasped around his cock, still inside me.

Then, slowly, I pulled back.

He slipped out of my mouth, half-hard now, glistening with spit and cum. I opened wide, tongue out, to show him what he’d given me.

Then I swallowed.

And laughed: light, airy, giddy. Not because it was funny, but because I felt free. Like I’d done something wild and intimate and completely mine.

He said something then, but I wasn’t listening. My body was still floating. I was sprawled on the floor, chest rising, thighs wet, skin flushed and glowing. He teased me, maybe. Asked something. I think I smiled at him upside down, just watching the way he looked at me like I was a revelation.

But then… he asked it.

“Do you trust me?”

That caught my attention. My breath stilled. My eyes flicked up and locked on his.

Do I what?

And just like that, I was back.

Fully present. Still open. But listening now.

____ W ____

You were kneeling before me, both of us naked.

"First of all, you are just too sexy. My cock in your mouth, your eyes looking up at mine. After I watched you masturbating, I just had the best orgasm. Get up.

"You know, I haven't touched you here yet."

My fingers spread the sticky mess over your labia, your clitoris as my lips kissed yours with the passion that lovers do.

"I love the way you moan."

Two of my fingers delved deeply and thrust, just where I expected your G-spot was. Oh, your moans!

"So, you trust me?"

Elise nodded; she couldn't speak.

I stopped the massage.

"I want to set something up. I'm not going to tell you what I want to do. For all I know, you've experienced it before, but I've only imagined doing it. You can watch me prepare; I don't mind."

Then I added, "At any time, if you say 'stop,' I will."

"Ok." She looked just a bit concerned.

"You'll be lying across the edge of the bed; I'm going to set up two monitors in front of you. I want you to see everything."

I moved two monitors to where Elise could see them as she lay on the bed.

"Why two monitors?" She was curious.

I didn't answer but set up a camera for each monitor. One in front, one behind.

"Lie here so you can see the monitors."

She did so.

As Elise set herself, she could see her face looking back at her in one of the monitors; the other one focused on her buttocks and upper thighs.

"That's my ass..." she declared rather unnecessarily.

"Are you going to..."

I interrupted her sentence with my hand sharply descending on her American ass.

Then another, another, and several more, alternating on each buttock.

I was watching for her reaction. Would she say the word? Would she go with it, with me?

I could see her looking at the monitors, her reddening ass, and her own face's reaction to each smack.

I stopped spanking and, so gently, caressed each tender buttock, wiping its skin, pain and pleasure intermingling; could she tell the difference? She was moaning, a slightly different kind of moan.

I changed hands, a fresh one, and spanked her again, quicker now, so she didn't have time to feel the previous one as the next one landed.

"Sss..." she started.

I paused, but no other letters followed.

“My ass...” She was looking at that monitor so intently. It showed all shades of red where my hand had landed. I got the impression she liked something, what she was seeing. Something new was born in her.

“Have I been bad? Have I been a naughty girl?” Her voice sounded different.

“You have been a naughty girl, but you've been good, very good.”

“Mmm. Spank me some more…”

Instead, I put my fingers between her labia. Wet, so wet.

I smeared it on her clit. Two fingers, rough on it. I wanted to hear her make that sound. My other hand slapped her on alternate cheeks. The two fingers were fucking her and rubbing hard against that bulbous pink pearl. Until she came, writhing face down, arms flailing, legs too. Guttural groans, deeper than when she was masturbating, primal.

She spurted over my hand. Then some more. I gathered some and smeared it over Elise's face. Let her taste and smell herself, her base self.

My turn.

Once more, she made me hard.

I didn't have any equipment for this. I grabbed each of her wrists behind her back. Holding her down in place, I plunged into her all the way, my balls pressed on her clit.

I let her feel me in her. Hot, full, primed, then I fucked.

I wasn't so delicate this time after she took me in her mouth. Nor was I delicate with her. I fucked her, properly.

Sounds tumbled out of Elise’s mouth: vowels in no particular order, scattered moans, a mess of m’s, and soft, breathless ughs. She was so wet, there was barely any friction now, just the slick, obscene chorus of slurps and squelches. Two animals, rutting, lost in it.

I slowed, moving in and out, back into her, deeply. All the way out, back in, all the way, then some.

Vigour renewed, I thrust apace. Elise was one long whimper.

Some minutes later, I too was groaning. Ejaculating all I had left, mixing my spew with hers.

Elise's mind was somewhere else. She was still writhing, uttering as I withdrew, spilling our mess onto the bedclothes. Most of it was hers.

She was almost delirious, still leaking from the raw wound between her thighs. I'd never seen a woman like this after sex.

Gradually, she became more coherent, saying my name.

“David... Oh, David.”

___ 🐺 ___

I was still on my knees. Breathing unevenly. Skin flushed and damp between my thighs. He was looking at me like I was something unreal. Like I’d undone him, and now he didn’t quite know what to do with the truth about it.

“Get up,” he said gently.

I rose, a little shaky still, but not from uncertainty. It was the way my body hadn’t fully landed yet.

“You know,” he murmured, “I haven’t even touched you here.”

His hand slipped between my legs. His fingers were immediately slick with the mess I’d made. He spread it over my labia, slow and reverent. Then his thumb found my clit and circled with practiced ease, sending heat curling low in my belly again.

I moaned into his mouth as he kissed me. Not a kiss for show—this one had teeth and breath and something honest behind it. I kissed him back just as deeply.

Then his fingers pushed inside.

My body opened, eager, aching. The stretch, the pressure… oh, God. He curled his fingers just right, and my moans weren’t soft anymore. They were messy and involuntary. I clung to his shoulders. My knees wanted to buckle.

“So,” he whispered against my cheek, “you trust me?”

I nodded. Couldn’t speak. My throat had closed around the sound.

Then… he stopped.

My body pitched forward at the absence of it.

“I want to set something up,” he said, moving back. “I’m not going to tell you what I’m doing. You can watch, if you like.”

Something flickered in my chest. Not fear… just uncertainty. The kind that comes with surrendering a little more than you planned.

He added, “You can say stop. Any time.”

I nodded again, slower this time. “Okay.”

He guided me to the bed, positioning me so I was lying across the edge, my thighs just over the mattress, feet on the floor. I felt open. Exposed. But not in a bad way.

He moved two monitors in front of me.

I watched him work: his focus, his hands, the quiet confidence in his movements.

“Why two monitors?” I asked, curious, a little breathless still.

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept moving around the room, quiet and focused, setting up something deliberate. A camera to each monitor: one in front of me, one behind. I stayed on the edge of the bed, thighs parted slightly, spine alert. That delicious tension of waiting.

“Lie here,” he said. “So you can see.”

I shifted forward, positioning myself as instructed. My cheek pressed to the mattress, arms bent beneath me. From this angle, both screens were visible: one showing my face, the other my ass and the soft curve of my upper thighs.

I blinked. “That’s my ass…” I said aloud before I even thought about it.

Not judgmental. Just surprised. A little amused. The rear angle somehow felt more revealing than anything I’d done earlier.

“Are you going to…”

Crack!

His hand landed sharply on my right cheek. I gasped.

Then another. And another.

The rhythm began to build, alternating sides, each smack painting heat across my skin. I didn’t cry out, not at first. My breath came faster, shallow in my chest. My thighs tensed.

I looked at the monitor.

Watched the way my body jumped with each impact. The red blooming across my ass. The way my mouth parted on the other screen, the flicker of pain, and something else, passing across my face.

He stopped.

The quiet made me realize I was moaning. A different kind of moan. Not the soft, slippery sounds of pleasure. This one came from lower. From deeper. Like it was being pushed out of me.

Then his hands, softer now. Caressing. Wiping away the heat like it was sacred. Tracing where he’d struck, the sting was still alive under his fingertips.

I shivered.

And then… another strike. This time, with a fresh hand. Faster now. Less time to brace. Each one blending into the next before the last could fully register.

My fingers clutched the sheets. My thighs trembled again.

“Sss…” I started, but the word wouldn’t come. Not yet.

I didn’t say the word. Not stop. Not anything.

Just lay there, gasping, watching the rawness bloom across my own skin on the monitor. Reds and pinks and mottled warmth. His handprints marked me like petals in motion. My mouth was open, parted on the screen. I looked... wild. Not undone. Becoming.

“My ass…” I said again, but softer this time. I could hardly look away.

Then something playful stirred in me. Something sly.

“Have I been bad?” I asked, my voice a little breathier. “Have I been a naughty girl?”

He didn’t hesitate.

A smile curled across my lips. Not coy. Knowing.

“Mmm.” I purred. “Spank me some more…”

But instead of the sharp slap I expected, I felt his fingers, wet and certain, slip between my lips. He groaned when he felt it. How soaked I was.

He smeared it on my clit, slow at first, then rough. Intentional.

I gasped, but it wasn’t the shocked sound from before. No, this was lower. A hum of something darker. I pushed back into his hand. Let him feel how greedy I was.

Then… smack!

His other hand lit across my ass again, a rhythm I melted into.

Fingers thrusting inside me, fucking me. His palm rubbed hard against that swollen, aching pearl that could barely take more, but wanted it anyway. Needed it.

My moans came louder now, not pretty, not polite. Guttural. Ragged. My hips bucked, legs kicked, and arms clawed the sheets.

Then it hit again. My body clamped down, twisting against his hand. Wetness pulsed out of me, a hard spurt I couldn’t have stopped if I tried.

And then another.

And another.

I was shaking, panting into the mattress, hair stuck to my cheek, thighs slick and trembling.

He didn’t pull away.

His fingers scooped some of it, thick and warm, and reached up.

I opened for him.

My mouth. My tongue. I let him smear it across my lips. I tasted myself like it was ambrosia. Like I was licking the proof of what I’d become.

My eyes met his.

And something wicked burned there. The girl who had been spread across a mattress, unsure and soft, was gone.

He didn’t give me time to come down.

Didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate.

I felt his grip on my wrists, sudden and certain. He pulled them behind my back and held them there: tight, commanding, and primal.

My body stilled. My breath caught.

Then he drove into me. All the way. Hard.

I cried out: a wordless sound, the kind that’s pulled from the lungs, not the throat. His hips pressed flush against me, his cock buried so deep it felt like I might split open.

But I didn’t want to run from it.

I wanted to feel it.

He was inside me: hot, full, insistent. No slow build. No careful tenderness. Just need. Met with need.

And then he started to fuck.

Really fuck.

No rhythm at first, just pure drive. No friction, just wetness. Slippery, soaked, a mess of us. The only sounds were my moans and the slick, obscene music of his cock moving in me.

I couldn’t form words. Couldn’t remember how. Just vowels and gasps and the occasional low mmm that sounded more like a plea than a letter.

It was an animal. Unpolished. A blur of breath and skin.

He slowed. Pulled out, almost all the way, then slid back in, slow, deliberate. I felt everything. The stretch. The pressure. The depth.

“God…” I moaned, forehead pressed to the bed.

He picked up pace again, renewed and unrelenting. My whimpers turned to sobs… not of pain, but of intensity.

Somewhere in the middle of it, I left my body. Not literally. Just… floated. My mind wandered out to the ceiling, drifted behind my eyes. I was a shape, a sound, a heatwave trembling across the sheets.

And then…

He groaned. Loud. Raw.

I felt the warmth of it pulse inside me. A different kind of fullness.

I was still trembling as he pulled out. Our mess spilled from me, thick and slick and already running down my thighs. Most of it was mine. I’d been soaked from the start, and now it was leaking out of me like the aftermath of something sacred.

I wasn’t thinking yet. I was just feeling.

My limbs moved, slow and loose, like I was drugged.

I heard my voice… it sounded far away. Slurred and breathy. “David…”

Another breath.

“Oh, David...”

____ W ____

I flopped onto her. I had no strength left; my body just fell onto hers my dead weight pinning her onto the bed where we both gasped in unison.

When my senses returned, I felt my cock bathing in the puddle we'd made. The heat of her clingy skin, damp with our sweat.

I dragged myself up, looking down on her, spent, exhausted, both of us.

I pulled her up, too. She clung to me like she was drunk, almost unable to stand.

“We need to shower,” I managed to utter.

Taking her by the wrist, I pulled her reluctant body with me, turned on the water, and followed her into the cubicle.

There were only a couple of complimentary tablets of soap to clean with. I made as much lather as I could and pawed it over our bodies. She made a noise as I spread the suds over her wounded bum.

The sound she made blurred the line between pain and pleasure; maybe she didn’t know the difference herself. I tried to be careful, gentle. I still had to work the lather into her, though; she needed to feel clean there, too. Everywhere.

Fortunately, there were two bathrobes available. We made our way back to the bedroom.

"I'll order room service. I bet you're famished. I certainly am."

Elise gathered her clothes and laid them out on the bed. Now dry, she slipped off her bathrobe and carried it back to hang in its spot near the shower.

"Take mine as well." I handed it to her as I ordered over the phone.

She looked at my crotch.

She smiled as she told me, "I don't think I've seen it soft before."

She was just about to return when a knock sounded at the door, followed by the faint, practiced murmur: “Room service.“

Elise, still naked, detoured there to open the door. The member of staff's mouth opened, just slightly.

"Shall I bring it in?" she enquired.

Elise just turned around. I could see the staff member from where I was. Then she noticed me, looked at my cock, then back at Elise's injured posterior.

"You two have fun? Yes?!” She was beaming.

She was striking, unmistakably of the Orient. Her lips: full, lush, almost indecent, were the kind that made a man ache to feel them wrapped around him, sucking, taking him in.

Elise caught the shift in her tone, spun back, and kissed her: quick at first, then slower, deeper, pressing her against the wall like she already owned her. When she finally pulled away, her lips were still curved in a grin. ”So,” she said, tilting her head, ”are you going to just watch, or are you coming to play?”

The End

(of part one?)