tagExhibitionist & VoyeurMILF Lives Her Fantasy

MILF Lives Her Fantasy

byMilfMaid©

As a teenage exhibitionist I had a diary where I could write all the dirty little things I did that I could not even tell my best friend. That was never very satisfying because I wasn't really sharing anything with anybody. But it was all I had. Since my teen years, however, I haven't needed a diary because I haven't had any dirty secrets to worry about. In my 44 years as a boring, country club MILF with the pearls, the Lexus, the cute designer dresses, the perfectly kept hair and nails, I have had lots of time on my hands but nothing exciting to write about.

All that changed last month, and now, after living out my lifelong fantasy, I am bursting to tell someone and writing in a diary just isn't going to cut it. I came within one breath of actually telling my best friend-- but I couldn't. So when I found this site I thought why not write to thousands of strangers instead?

Unlike my best friend though if anyone does read this they won't know what I am talking about so let me explain. When I was in my early teens, I used to sneak my father's copies of Hustler out from under my parent's bed and wish I could be one of those girls having millions of guys drooling over me. I promised myself just about every day of my young life that one day I'd be in one of these magazines and have all these guys drooling over me seeing me in completely humiliating poses. I guess I was a biologically hard-wired exhibitionist and submissive from birth.

After I entered college and began to aspire to living the "good life," I realized that this plan would have bad "consequences" and so my plan evolved. I settled on the idea that if I could just work as a stripper in some out of the way nude bar for a few nights I could at least be the center of attention for a roomful of guys that would be hooting, whistling and letting me know exactly what they thought of my body and what they'd like to do with it as I pranced around nude and teased the heck out of them.

There was only one such bar in the small corner of the world where I went to college. I can't tell you how many times I sat in the driveway of that place with my hand on the door handle of my car debating in my mind whether to go for it. Inevitably a friend would drive by and I'd panic and pretend I was just turning around or worse yet I'd just chicken out for no reason. Then in my senior year the place was busted and closed. I went to the local library to find out what happened and when I did find a newspaper article about the club, there were pictures of the poor humiliated girls being dragged out into a police van unable to cover their faces because they needed their hands to cover their bare breasts. Even those pictures could not end my fantasizing; but these images did end any thoughts I had of trying to live out my fantasy for another 20 years or so.

Since my husband got his big promotion late last year, he has been traveling a lot and his salary has more than tripled. It seemed pointless for me to continue to work all day to earn only 20% or so of what he was now earning. So I quit my job and became a full time, country club MILF with a lot of free time. But lots of free time mixed with an exhibitionist, submissive MILF in her mid-forties is a volatile combination! Almost immediately I set out to live my lifelong fantasy of somehow being the center of attention for a large group of guys. My problem was I was now in my mid-forties and that kind of work is hard to find at my age even for a gal who is as submissive and exhibitionist as I am. Nonetheless, I decided about three months ago to make it my full time job to answer online ads in order to get the "work" I craved.

With the pictures of that bust at the strip club burned into my head, however, I knew I did not want to perform at any public bar or club (even if they would hire someone my age). I also knew I did not want to try this anywhere near where I lived because I did not want to be "discovered." So I began searching the online classifieds (but only in nearby states) for ads for bachelor parties, poker party hostesses, topless waitresses and other private parties needing female "entertainment."

I did not get many responses. To save my ego I told myself that most of the people posting these ads aren't real and were just running the ads to get pictures. But I began to wonder, however, if the real reason for the lack of responses was that no one wanted a 40-something MILF performing for them. If you look at my profile you can get an idea of what I look like (except for my face but take my word it is a cute soccer mom next door look) so I really didn't think I was that undesirable.

Then after weeks of responding to all kinds of ads with no results, last month I got a nibble for a bachelor party. I had forgotten about the ad because I had applied about three weeks earlier. As usual I had offered to perform nude –in fact I pretty much said I'd do anything they wanted if they would just consider me for the job. Anyway, the organizer said the hall and food for the party had cost way more than they had budgeted and now they had no money left for the "entertainment." So they were wondering if I would be willing to do all of those things I had talked about in my response to the ad –but work just for tips. The organizer tried to sell me on the idea by saying that all I had to do was dance a little, strip down to nude, then walk around nude and maybe do a few lap dances to give the guys a chance to grope me a little —basically just give the guys a show --and I'd probably make a fortune in tips because there was probably going to be 30 to 40 guys attending. I guessed they thought they would have the best chance with the older slut who seemed really desperate. They were right!

I responded right away that I was interested. Maybe I seemed too eager and too excited because I got another email back asking if my services would include "special consideration" for the groom. That "special consideration" turned out to be a blow job and the organizer guy made it clear they would have to find someone else if that were not acceptable. For about an hour I sat staring at the computer screen. It was decision time because although I didn't want to be having sex (even oral) behind my hubby's back, the fantasy of my being the center of attention for a group of guys had been something I had wanted to do since I was 12, and I did not know if I would ever get another shot. I debated whether to try to negotiate on this point, but because the last email had said it was a non-negotiable, I decided I could not risk losing the opportunity. So I emailed back simply saying "Sure. No problem."

After accepting the job, I realized that the party was only four days away. So I had no time to order any suitably slutty stripper outfits online and I could not risk being seen shopping for any such "unusual" clothes anywhere that someone might know me. So I dug into my drawers for something that resembled a stripper's outfit and settled on an elegant and lacey LaPerla thong and bra set that my hubby had gotten me for Christmas. I had seen the bra alone "on sale" after Christmas for almost $400 so I really did not want to risk losing this expensive lingerie but nothing else I owned seemed even close to passing for a stripper outfit. I did break down and snuck into a TJ Max to buy a pair of really high heeled shoes. In trying on all of the high heel shoes there, I found I could not keep my balance on the six inch spike heels so I settled on a pair of six inch tall Plexiglas heels with a much wider "base" than the stiletto spike heels had. There were even some dice in the clear plastic heels of the shoe. The shoes were so slutty and in such poor taste that I found myself explaining to the cashier (and everyone I passed on my way to the cashier) that they were for a costume party.

I mapped out the route to the party online and it turned out to be in the middle of nowhere about six hours drive from me. I figured I could make it in about five hours but I still would need a hotel room. Since hubby was away all week I didn't need a "cover story" for him. When I searched on four-star and even three-star hotels in the area of the party, I found nothing. In fact there was only one two-star hotel nearby so I booked a room at the local Sleazy-7.

I had no idea what kind of music they would play at the party so I practiced in front of my mirror dancing in my lacey bra and thong and extremely high heels to the music on several different radio stations that played rap and pop and anything to which 20-something guys might listen. I trimmed my "bush" so that no hairs could be seen in the transparent areas of the thong or worse yet hanging out around the edges or over the top of the thong.

The day of the party I left far earlier than was necessary and arrived at the hotel room about four hours before the party. I was glad to see that in true cheap hotel fashion, the rooms opened directly to the outside, so I would not have to pass under the judgmental eyes of a lobby desk clerk when I was coming or going. After a nap, I got into the car and drove to the hall where the party was going to be held so I would have no problem finding it later and perhaps even more importantly I wanted to get an idea of what it looked like. The hall turned out to be right around the block about five minutes away. It looked as though it had been built in the 1940's or 1950's. It was pretty basic but not falling apart or anything like that.

Traffic in this backwater town was not an issue, but finding a liquor store on my way back to the hotel was. All I wanted was some Grey Goose and cranberry to take the edge off and give me a boost of "liquid courage." I had to drive around for about 30 minutes to find a liquor store and at this local yokel shop a bottle of Goose was not in the cards. In fact I had to ask in order to get any Vodka that might even rate the second shelf at the country club bar.

As soon as I returned to my hotel I showered, did my hair and makeup and then changed into my "stripper outfit." I put down a few vodka drinks and began practicing some "moves" in front of the mirror in my six inch heels, bra and thong. Something wasn't right though. I looked out of place as a stripper. After a couple more drinks I realized that I needed to change my make-up and overdo everything to give myself a much cheaper, sluttier look. I had to unlearn everything I knew about applying make-up and just went overboard on everything. I used too much lipstick and purposely combined brighter colors with darker shadows in combinations that I had always avoided because to use them would make me look like a dime store hooker. I returned to the mirror and with the help of another drink I practiced getting into my new cheap slut look. I chewed some gum, played with my hair and strutted around on my six inch heels to get into character. Still something was wrong.

I had been repeatedly trimming my "bush" back over the last few days but I still could see it through the thong and some odd hairs kept popping out around the edges. As I got into "slut mode" I realized that the bush had to go. I had to get "bare down there" if I was going to be dancing nude and wanted to complete my slutty look. So I peeled off the thong and reached for my shaving cream and razor to complete my look. Finally, after the drinks, the radical change in make-up and some shaving, I looked-- and more importantly I felt-- like a nude stripper. My entire mindset changed. I was no longer country club MILF playing a stripper –I was now a real nude stripper.

As "showtime" arrived I slipped a red one-piece dress over my homegrown stripper outfit (this is the one in my profile picture), brushed and teased my hair, downed a couple more shots of liquid courage and headed down to the car. The dress was summery but I was going to just park and dash into the hall and I wanted something I could slip in and out of quickly--and of course the liquor helped keep me warm. I drove to the hall at the agreed upon 10 p.m. starting time but there were still a few stragglers pulling up and wandering in so I drove around the block a few times until it seemed that the coast was clear. I am not sure why I was so nervous about running into the "guests" outside of the hall, but it didn't seem right somehow.

I pulled around to the back of the hall and it was about 10:15. I was afraid I was late so I ran from my car to the service entrance. Unfortunately I had not practiced running in these very high heels in gravel and I fell in the gravel driveway. As I picked myself up I was kind of a mess, my ankle was sore and the strap on my shoe came off. I was so worried about being late I just brushed off the dust and stones, grabbed the strap and headed through the door into a dimly lit kitchen area.

My contact was there looking at his watch and pacing. When he saw me he exhaled as he spoke as if he had been holding his breath for the last 15 minutes, "Ah tank God youse made it. Man I was shittin a house (or maybe it was horse—I couldn't tell through the Italian Jersey speak) " . I mumbled something about falling and being a mess as I fiddled with my shoe to get the strap back on and massaged my sore ankle. He asked me if I minded putting on a chocker the groom had requested. I was so busy fixing my shoe I wasn't even paying attention as he slipped it on my neck. After getting my shoe fixed I pulled my dress over my head and asked where to put it. The contact guy said to just drop it on the counter, but finding a place on the counters that wasn't covered in grease wasn't easy.

"Come on, Come on" the contact guy urged as I hunted for a clean spot to drop my dress. Giving up I just hooked it on a pot holder and stumbled toward him. He pulled a chain of some kind out of his pocket and latched it on a ring in the front of that collar he had just added to my wardrobe. "Hope ya don't mind this lil addition to the show," my contact guy chorkled as he tugged me along through the kitchen like an animal on a leash and into another room that looked like a coat room. As we passed by a mirror I caught a glimpse of the collar he had put on my neck. It said WHORE in fake diamonds and had a metal ring in front to which he had latched the chain. From there he opened a door into the main hall which kind of looked like my grandmother's kitchen. It had notty pine panels half way up the wall and above that paneling were rows of faded paintings of old men wearing medals from whatever society owned this place. I couldn't make out any windows. It was a pretty small hall so the institutional style round tables at which the guys were sitting were crammed closely together. These were the kind of tables with the legs that fold up underneath them. Up in front were long rectangular folding tables. One had pans of food and bottles of liquor on it and the other had some gifts set out.

The crowd was about 30 guys all 20 -something as far as I could tell. They ran the gamut from muscle men to geeks. As the contact guy pulled me through the crowd toward the front the guys were shouting things like "Hey Vinnie is that the old whore you promised us?" and "Hey Vinnie is that a whore or your mother, cause it shore looks like your mom?" My contact, who at least now had a name, dragged me to the front of the hall and then up two or three small stairs to a small stage area with these two big flags behind me. Facing the crowd he grabbed my breasts from behind and wiggled them while announcing "Youse can squeeze her boobs like dis –ya can whack her butt like dis (he then slapped my behind so hard I stumbled forward to laughter and cheers from the crowd) and rub her pussy like dis (as he reached his hand down the front of my thong) but dats all –at least until Tony gets done with her"

The Vinnie guy started to walk off the stage but then turned around on the stairs looking at me and lifting his hand in the air he bellowed, "OK whore, get strippin.'" Some music started to play that I had never heard before. It sounded like a computer going berserk but I did the best I could to bump and grind with my chain bouncing around in front of me, and then I removed my bra so I could flip and wiggle my breasts to make them bounce and jiggle around. I wrapped one of the bra straps around my wrist so as not to lose a $400 bra. I'd been on the stage for 15 minutes when some big guy grabbed my leash and pulled me off the stage. I stumbled for a few steps after I jumped down from the stage to the floor but I could not balance on my high heels and ended up falling forward onto my hands and knees as he tugged me along. My new controller didn't let up, however, and continued to drag me along as if he were walking a dog. I crawled along behind him doing the best I could to keep up.

When he stopped in front of a group of his friends I sat up on my knees and looked up at the semi-circle of guys who had assembled. "Ya know any tricks bitch? " one guy blurted out. "Can youse sit up and beg?" Obediently, I put my arms out in front of me with my elbows bent and my hands hanging like paws and stuck out my tongue and panted. "Hey! Now roll over" someone screeched though the laughter. I laid on my back and rolled back and forth like a trained animal.

My controller then took up my leash again and pulled me up on my feet and dragged me over to a table. Some guy pulled out a chair, swept aside the drinks and clutter on the table, and told me to step up onto the table. As I stepped up onto the chair he grabbed the back of my thong and yanked it down around my ankles and I stepped out of it to avoid falling. The prankster then rolled up my thong in his hand and put it to his nose and feigned a deep breath while everyone laughed and I stood up on the table now totally nude. "This thing is soaking wet!" he yelped out. He began passing my thong around the table and told everyone to feel how wet it was. The guy who was sitting in front of me reached up and grabbed my pussy area and then flopped back down into his chair and yelled out, "She's soaking wet! Look at her she is dripping all over the place!" I looked down and sure enough my natural lubricants had kicked into high gear and there were visible beads of "juice" had formed on my pussy area and were dripping into a small puddle on the table top. This was a humiliating consequence of being completely shaved. The guys could now plainly see the physical proof of how excited I was and there was no more acting cool.

"Yur just luvin this aint ya, you dirty old whore," the guy shouted out. When I didn't answer he demanded that I answer him. I was afraid not to answer so I looked down shamefully at the tiny puddle and blurted out , "Yes, sir, I guess I'm dripping all over your table. " He made me repeat my admission in a louder voice while everyone was choking with laughter. After I was dancing nude on the table top for a while when one of the guys grabbed my leash and tugged me down to my knees. "Spread your wet pussy for me you dumb slut," he ordered. I sat down on my butt and spread my legs out in front of me with my stupid-looking dice high heels hanging off the table top as I spread myself open in front of him like a Hustler model. "How is this?" I asked meekly, but he wasn't happy. "Wider, you dumb whore. You call that spreading?" I widened the distance between my legs and pinched my pussy lips with my finger and thumb and stretched myself as wide as I could without splitting. "Now, that's better," my tormentor said as he reached his fingers into the opening I had created. "You like this?" he asked while wiggling his fingers around inside me. "Yes sir" I responded surprising myself because I was clearly moaning as I answered.

After that exchange, everyone at the table demanded the same show so I ended up putting one leg up on the next guy's shoulders while leaving the other leg on the table and spreading myself for a private show. As I worked my way around the table the last guy probed my open pussy with the neck of his beer bottle, twisting it as he worked it in deeper. As the wider parts of the bottle reached my pussy lips my opening was stretching painfully wide and I tried to push the bottle away with my fingers but he slapped my breasts really hard and told me to put my hands on my head. I obeyed. While I was in this awkward position with an empty bottle half way inserted inside me, I felt a hard tug on my leash and I was dragged off the table from my right side into an empty chair.

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byMilfMaid© 12 comments/ 77091 views/ 14 favorites

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