It seemed innocent enough.
He was a fan of my stories posted on Literotica and had begun to post a series of his own. I checked them out and liked the idea that they not only were true but involved one of my favorite subjects, or should I say fantasies i.e. a dominant and charismatic boss takes a newly appointed personal secretary on an adventure of her submissive fantasies by giving her exhibitionistic tasks to perform.
It was the male version of my "A Woman's Journal" series.
We exchanged emails a few times talking about writing in general and story ideas. Each time he would add a little flirtatious hint that he would like to give me tasks to perform. For the most part I would ignore them, however the suggestion activated my latent exhibitionistic tendencies. Simply said, I was intrigued.
I have been writing stories, many of which are biographical, on Literotica for well over a year now. Most of my stories revolve around an older woman i.e. mid thirties to early forties that has a latent desire to be an exhibitionist. Often she is portrayed as submissive giving in to the wishes and desires of a dominant male figure. It is me to a tee.
From my late teens to my late thirties, I engaged in many exhibitionistic activities instigated by my husband who also photographically recorded many of them. I particularly enjoy being outdoors in just a teeny bra and a sexy pair of panties, as the thought of being seen is absolutely intoxicating for me. I am not a nudist and have never had any desire to be seen nude, however the thought of being seen in just my bra and panties sends tingles down my spine. Recently I have started writing a new series titled, "The Panty Perils of Me" with the intention of developing a story behind all of the photos taken of me over the past 8 years showing off my undies.
I have never actually experienced being told what to do by anyone other than my husband with a few exceptions and never entertained the idea other than in my written fantasies.
The suggestion to perform for a complete stranger was very thought provoking and very fantasy filled, but was it really something that I would ever actually do?
I can tell you that I spent quite a bit of time trying to answer that very question.
I don't know whether my kind of exhibitionism is unusual, as it requires an implied permission. I need to be told or coaxed into showing off. I have never intentionally performed any acts of exhibitionism, as all of my little performances were either requested or commanded. I revel in knowing that someone finds me sexy and would like to see more of me.
Admittedly it is much more complicated than that as I would never strip just upon request of anyone, but I wanted to explain a little something about me before proceeding with this narrative.
One day on an impulse I replied back that I was curious as to what he might ask me to do. My heart was racing as I hit send on my laptop. It was one of those emails that within seconds I regretted sending, mostly as it revealed more about me than I ever had intended. Oh, the games that we play to create a certain perception of ourselves to others.
His response was to ask why I wasn't showing off for my husband as the majority of my stories indicated a very active fantasy life. I admitted that most of my stories are more factual than fiction particularly since I have been adding photos of myself to provide a reality for my readers. But things change in our lives, and my life had drastically changed about 2 years ago with a move back to our hometown bringing me close to my large family along with my husband having received a huge promotion requiring 60 hour work weeks and many nights with clients. Not only had our opportunities to play been severely curtailed, but I now was back in the work force as well. Time was no longer easy to acquire, as our lives were so busy.
And besides, I was now in my 40's with two growing children. It just didn't seem appropriate anymore to indulge in my tendencies towards exhibitionism anywhere else than the bedroom.
I tried to explain my circumstances to this man.
I also made it clear that providing evidence of my performances would be near impossible as I expected any tasks to be solo, so who would take the photos? Also, sending photos of myself that are specifically taken for another man would feel too much like cheating. The more that I thought about the whole thing, it didn't make any sense and I asked him to forget that I had ever sent the email. I simply was missing the freedom that I had had when I lived away from my family, when my children were younger, and when my husband and I had time to play.
I had turned to writing along with sharing some of my photos to compensate for what I was missing.
I was sure that my momentary dalliance into online fantasy play was over.
His response acknowledged his understanding of my situation as well as my loyalty to my husband and children. It was what the remainder of his email contained that send shivers down my spine.
He assigned me a task to perform.
I was visibly shaking as I read his email from my cubicle at work. Now granted this man lives across an ocean from me, but the effect was the same as if I had been called into his office and told what to do as his eyes bore into my soul; my exhibitionist soul. I could feel a warm flush of electricity start at my forehead and work its way down to my toes. The feeling was virtually identical to the times that my husband and I would drive to a secluded spot and he would direct me to remove my clothes until I had nothing else on but my lingerie. Then I was told to get out of the car. The incredible vibration that would take over as my hand would touch the door handle of the car. I would pull on it letting the door slowly open while simultaneously the overhead light would go on. The sense that I couldn't disobey despite the possibilities of being seen, the feeling of the cool night air caressing my almost naked body as I stepped from the car, the raw sexual energy that would envelope me as I closed the door behind me hearing the locks engage, knowing that I had no place to hide, would all combine into the most delicious feelings of helpless abandon.
Reading the task sent those same shivers through me creating a moment of extreme anxiety as I thought, "What have I gotten myself into?"
Sure, I could easily ignore the email and continue on with my guarded life, but that isn't who I am; at least not deep inside.
The task was simple enough involving something that I love to do i.e. shop for shoes, however it had a little twist. I was to make sure that a male salesperson assisted me and also to make sure that I gave this male salesperson a good peek of my panties...red panties.
The man has no way to know whether I will perform this task, requiring no evidence. And what kind of evidence could I provide, as I will be on my own? Ask the salesman to take a photo up my skirt?
I spent the remainder of the week trying to ignore his email, but time and again found myself rereading it.
I was sure that it was simply the fantasy of the situation that drew me back time and again to read his words. I had no time in my life to perform "tasks" and besides this just isn't what mature, responsible woman do.
It directed me to wear one of my button-up shirt dresses, which was nothing out of the ordinary as I have three. It told me to wear stockings and a garter belt or in his case, "suspenders", which also was normal for me as I absolutely detest the feel of panty hose. It feels like being bound in tight plastic wrap causing my entire body to sweat from the waist down. And as I have already mentioned, "red panties", of which I have several pair. I was directed to wear "tiny" red panties. Basically all of my panties are tiny, so again, no big deal.
The part of the task that continued to play on my mind were the instructions to show myself off as well as to make sure that my red attire had been seen.
I had never preplanned an exhibition other than the time that I forgot my swimsuit while on a business trip to Arizona with my husband and was encouraged to wear a matching silk triangle bra and matching silk string bikini panties to lounge at the pool. My bra and panties were red. To this day I still wonder if anyone noticed that I was wearing my underwear poolside for the three days that we were there.
As for shoe shopping, my husband and I had just received an invitation to attend a charity event and I needed a pair of heels to go with my dress for the evening. I was planning a little shoe shopping during my lunch hour anyway.
The next day I woke up getting everyone off to school and work as I normally do. My job doesn't start until later so I often have a little time to myself. After my shower and time to apply my makeup I looked into my closet to pick my wardrobe for the day. Oh, did I happen to mention that I had already put on a red soft cup silk bra and matching string bikini panties (the same ensemble that I wore poolside in Arizona) as well as my coordinating red garter belt with a pair of nude stockings?
I honestly didn't think anything of it as I often wear this combination under my dresses and skirts.
I reached into my closet and absently pulled out my khaki dress shirt that buttons from the top to the hem. I love how it fits as it hugs my body but not too tightly, and I purposely leave a button or two undone at the bottom so it is easier to sit down in. It was when I looked into the mirror to make sure that everything was in place and that my garter straps didn't leave obvious lines under my dress that I first realized, " I was wearing exactly what the task required me to wear i.e. a button up dress and tiny red panties." I stared in the mirror at myself asking silently, "What just happened?"
It was too late to change, so I tried to dismiss it as a coincidence.
Thankfully my morning was very busy giving me no time to think ahead to my shoe shopping plans over lunch.
Lunchtime came and I headed to my car to take the short drive to a local department store.
On the way I found myself toying with my lower buttons wondering how much would be seen if I unbuttoned one more button, how about two more, or three more which would have me unbuttoned to my crotch?
I was vibrating in nervous anticipation as I walked across the parking lot to the store continually reminding myself that I was just looking for a pair of shoes and nothing more.
I meandered through the lingerie section on my way to the shoe department. Was it a coincidence that the prominent color of each display was red?
I walked into the shoe department and started looking at the various styles and colors. I wanted a pair of 3-inch high heel strappy sandals in beige. I picked out a pair taking them to the counter where a young man asked whether he could find my size. He was very effeminate and possibly gay; not exactly the type to complete the task. I laughed to myself feeling the anxiety of possibilities wash away. He asked me what I was going to wear them with and offered to bring me a few other pair to try on as well. He was the perfect salesperson for helping me find a pair of shoes, and we hit it off almost immediately. He directed me to take a seat while he found my size. . As I sat there waiting for him to return from the back room, I decided to have a little harmless fun and casually unbuttoned my third button just barely revealing the tops of my stockings.
When the salesman returned he pulled up one of those funny little seats with the ramp in front placing it in front of me. He then lifted my foot removing my tan leather high heels in order to put on one of the pairs that he had brought out from the backroom. I simply allowed him to move my leg any way that he wished in order to slip the sandals on.
I could tell that he enjoyed his job and enjoyed me.
He asked whether I was married; what my husband did for a living; if I had children; how old; if I worked; etc. etc. He was like a new friend.
As my leg was extended vertically towards him, the folds of my dress parted to the top of my thigh clearly showing my nude sheer stocking tops, a single red garter strap and gold clasp.
My new friend exclaimed, "Ooh, Very nice!" making no attempt to pretend that he hadn't seen.
I laughed and said "Oops!" not trying to cover myself up.
Playfully I moved my extended leg just slightly to the right providing an unobstructed view to my red silk covered crotch.
His eyes never wavered as he took in the additional sight of my red panties adding, "How delicious when everything matches." I responded by saying, "I prefer to dress that way." We then began an entire discussion on coordinating lingerie with outer attire.
He told me that due to the nature of his job, he often sees up woman's dresses and skirts and is horrified at how the best-dressed women can wear such blah lingerie.
It felt good to be complimented on my choice of lingerie without feeling hit on.
We laughed quite a bit as he went about his business of putting on my shoes and letting me walk in front of the little mirror on the floor that shows how they look on. He then had me try on two more pairs that he had picked out. I was now completely unselfconscious as he again lifted each foot causing my dress to open up revealing my red under ensemble. He appreciated every little peek, but I knew that it wasn't the same.
Instead of being sexual, it was fun and certainly harmless.
I did purchase one of his recommended pairs and took his card for future purchases.
I was so exhilarated from my experience that my afternoon just flew by.
Now the question ever present in my mind was whether I could really do this in front of a man who would see it as more sexual?
You know those nights of mulling a question over and over while your mind argues all of the reasons to or not to. I was having one of those nights.
My morning was pretty much a repeat of every morning except my mind was preoccupied with whether I wanted to perform the task, or even could perform the task.
My experience from the day before was fabulous, but the task would be very different.
I put on another red matching set of bikini, bra, and garter belt along with a black linen shirtdress that basically matched the khaki one in both design and fit. This time I had on black stockings as they looked better with a black dress.
All morning as I sat in my cubicle trying to concentrate on very simple tasks, feeling extremely nervous continually asking myself whether I was really going ahead with "The Task". I couldn't concentrate on anything else. This would be the first time that I actually planned my little exhibition as in the past they were always spontaneous.
This was so much more frightening and anxiety filled.
Lunchtime was quickly approaching; much more quickly than I cared for.
This time I intended to drive downtown to an exclusive shoe store that I had been told about and always wanted to visit.
I set my mind that if a man assisted me with trying on shoes, that I would do the task and if not, I would forget about it altogether.
I honestly don't remember the drive, but I was there. I parked almost directly outside of the store taking the time to undo the third button of my dress. I parted my legs in a test of exposure and found that the very bottom of my stocking tops would easily show, however the task was to show the tops as well. This dress was a little longer than my khaki one. With my fingers shaking almost uncontrollably I undid another button and the sun streaming in my side window reflected off of my newly exposed garter clasp. "That should do it." I thought to myself.
My stomach was in knots as I exited my car. As I took a hold of the knob on the door of the shop I was finding it difficult to breath, but was resolved to do this.
When I am on the precipice like this, my vision almost becomes dark. All I can think about is what I am about to do as if my five senses become dulled so I can solely focus on one thing. And in this case, that one thing was the task.
As I entered the store a well-dressed saleswoman stepped forward from behind a counter asking whether she could help me. I audibly exhaled thinking, "Well that takes care of that." Then a man in a beautifully tailored glen plaid business suit stepped out of the back room saying, "Arlene, why don't you break for lunch and I will help this young lady." All of my anxiety came back in a rush.
Arlene grabbed her purse and exited out the front door saying, "Be back in about 30."
This is what I remember:
I am alone in the store with this very distinguished looking man of about 60. He is tall and thin with a very friendly smile and a calming demeanor.
I manage to compose myself telling him that I am looking for a red pair of either 3-inch heels or 4-inch heels. As my explanation comes out of my mouth, it sounds almost rehearsed, but I go on to tell him that my husband likes me to wear shorter skirts and dresses to show off my legs, and I want an expert opinion of which height looks more appropriate on me.
He introduces himself as Stanley and assures me that I have come to the right place. I learn that he has been selling shoes since he graduated high school and was always frustrated with the lack of styles and colors that most department stores carry. About 20 years ago he decided to start his own store and had recently moved out of a mall located on the other side of town to this downtown location.
He points to a chair facing away from the door sliding his shoe seat in front of me. I can't explain how nervous I feel as he takes my foot in his hands extending my leg out towards his and slipping off my shoe. The movement of my leg parts the folds of my dress at my upper thigh. An occurrence that would have gone completely unnoticed by myself except for Stanley's reaction. As I continue to look into his eyes, still engaging in that 'get to know you pitter-patter, I notice his pupils enlarge for just a brief moment before he recovers himself. It was at this point that I remember my unbuttoned buttons and a warm glow enters my body.
I can't possibly know what Stanley just saw, but it certainly involves stocking tops and clasps. But the task was to make sure that the man sees my panties. I don't know how to do this, but I have read the email so often that it is almost committed to memory. It stated, "I was to open my legs enough to insure a clear view of my red panties".
Stanley places my foot in a measuring device matter of factly saying, "A perfect size 7." He then puts my foot back down telling me that he will go and get some red colored pumps for me to try on.
The realization that he has seen my stocking tops makes my heart beat faster to the point that I can feel my pulse right between my legs. I like how he looked at me. I like how his eyes opened wide when he saw up my dress. I like how a sly little smile came to his lips as most of my leg was revealed to him. But can I really let him see all of the way up my dress to my panties?
I am starting to enjoy the task; and myself, maybe too much.
While I sit there alone I move my legs slightly apart observing how my opening slit reveals more and more of my upper leg. When there is no doubt that my legs are wide enough apart to show red I can feel a rush of sexual energy flow through me. If I wasn't wet before, I certainly am now. I know full well what it will take to show Stanley my panties, but can I really act so uninhibited and brazen?
Unless you have been in my position it is very difficult to explain the wide range of feelings that flood through a person as she sits knowing that within the next few seconds she will purposely be exposing her crotch to a man that she just met only minutes before.