tagExhibitionist & VoyeurLetting Go Ch. 01

Letting Go Ch. 01


She was raised in a conservative home in a rural part of Virginia, and the lessons of restraint, modesty and social propriety were still very much a solid part of her psyche after more than 20 years of marriage, and in spite of my desires for her to let her hair down once in a while.

Leslie and I had a good sex life before this night, don't get me wrong. And in her 40's, she still turns heads with her devastatingly friendly and innocent smile, her size 6 figure and wonderful feminine charm. It's just that sex for her was always something reserved for behind closed doors, to be enjoyed totally out of sight and mind of anyone else. Rarely would she show or appreciate any affection in public beyond holding hands or a quick, adoring peck, on the lips if I was lucky. The idea of letting on to anyone else that she enjoyed sex - which she did, immensely - was simply gross to her.

On our little jaunts each year for a few days away from children and home, a time or two I had managed to coax her into discreetly flashing me her perfect 36B's in some dark corner of a restaurant or to take her top off on a secluded stretch of beach - but only when she was sure that there was an impossibility of anyone seeing her. Once, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, I even managed to get her to go nude on one of those vast stripes of wilderness beach, with not a soul in sight north or south as far as the eye could see, or behind us in the layer of dunes between us and the empty parking area 1/4 away.

But within me there has always been this inexplicable desire to show her off. I would try to satisfy myself in noting the shape of her breasts when she wore the few articles of clothing that would allow more graphic appreciation, and the snug jeans she was prone to wear as she went about her daily chores. And of course, though I had my favorite swimwear, regardless of what she wore when she went swimming, it was impossible for her to hide her beauty in the tight fabric; those days were too few and far between, but nevertheless quite memorable and pleasing to me.

It never quite did satisfy, even though it was at least a chance to quietly lust after her, and hope that other men were, too. Gradually, through the years, I noticed that she would pack her sexier things - relative to what she would normally wear, but pretty tame for many women - for our summer getaways without my having to remind her. Slowly, she had come to at least expect to make this sort of effort to catch my eye, if not also enjoy it; in recent years, she had said several times, quietly and with some embarrassment, that she even felt sexy doing it.

In the meantime, our lovemaking had become more enjoyable as she learned to relax and anticipate its pleasures. I could tell that she looked forward to it, and as that became apparent, I became less frantic in the sometimes weeks that would pass between our passionate encounters after our teens had finally gone to bed; I learned that giving her the freedom from pressure aroused true sexual feeling in her for me. There were times when we both marveled at the intensity of her orgasms.

So we both had smiles on our faces last summer when we made reservations for August at an inn on the Eastern Shore. The inn was one of those old Victorian homes that a retired couple fixed up, a beautiful place with a broad porch and lots of tucked away rooms overlooking a marina. Our practice on our retreats together had become to spend at least the first third of our time - this time it was for four nights - flirting with one another, albeit according to the same strict rules as always when in public. We would try to wait until the last night to consummate the romance we had built up.

But this August, I noticed something a little different. The first night we had a nice seafood dinner at the marina restaurant, followed by a slow, romantic walk around the little town, window shopping at the now-closed stores in the old buildings along the main drag. As we walked, we chatted pleasantly, holding hands. She wore a summer dress, conservative, of course, but one that had an air of flirtatiousness, falling about mid-thigh, one that she knew was one of my favorites, and she one that she felt feminine and good in. Its turquoise color brought out the blonde highlights in her hair, cut neck length with the front falling playfully over her right eye, showing off the nape of her neck and her alluring eyes and cheek bones. With my arm around her as we peered into windows, I could feel her string bikini panties - racy for her - and I enjoyed the shape of her hip, letting my hand slide low occasionally since there wasn't the usual boundary drawn by a belt around her waist.

I could tell she was enjoying my closeness and attention. There was the way she pressed gently back into me as we looked at antiques and knick-knacks in the dim light; normally, she would have not have reciprocated. There was the way she would slide her arm around me, returning my embrace, and how she wouldn't let go as one of the few cars would pass; she even held it as we happened upon a shop owner sweeping his entry way after, he said, finishing up some after-hours paperwork.

And then she surprised me, leading me into a dark, recessed doorway, pulling me close, her arms around me neck, kissing me wetly and passionately. I let out a surprised, quiet moan, and she purred in return, our tongues sliding and wrestling in desire. I lost track of time, but it was a long embrace that she did not let go of even as we heard a couple talking as they got into a car in a lot across the street. Soon we were both breathing heavily, and I, for one, was dizzy, and thrilled by a sudden and delicious erection, obvious because I was wearing boxers and pleated dress pants. As we turned to continue our walk, she brushed the protruding material with her hand and smiled as I whispered a breathy, "Thank you!"

I was surprised that she was okay with my continuing on in that condition, since it was so obvious, and frankly, I wasn't so sure about it myself. But since the street was so empty, it being past 10:30 p.m. by now, I figured it was safe. Our slow walk continued, and we found more dark corners to steal away to for moments of pure passion. Even in the dim light, I noticed that her nipples were perking through the thin fabric of her dress; she was apparently wearing one of her lacy bras. I was marveling at her confidence and forward advances; I was in heaven!

As we arrived at the inn, there was another couple about our age sitting on the front porch. I let Leslie walk ahead of me to hide my arousal; being the friendly soul she is, she stopped to chat with them, much to my momentary horror considering my condition, but I quickly realized I could stand a little behind her as we chatted, one hand on her hip, feeling the string of her panties through the fabric of her dress. The other couple seemed friendly enough, although my mind was elsewhere and I remember nothing from the conversation, which lasted several minutes.

Our room was on the second floor, where there was also another porch above the one where the couple was sitting. It was accessed via the second floor hallway. After I splashed some water on my face in our room's bathroom, Leslie suggested I go sit out on the second floor porch in one of the adirondack chairs while she freshened up from our walk, and she would meet me on the porch. I readily agreed, since it was a beautiful night that I certainly did not want to end any time soon.

I was shocked in the most agreeable way when she opened the door to join me on the porch. The light from the hallway shown through the thin white cotton of the delicate floral print Crabtree & Evelyn nightgown she'd changed into, outlining the shape of her hips and her breasts, free of the earlier encumbrance of the bra as she turned to close the door. I had bought the nightgown for her the previous summer, on one of our jaunts, and it instantly recalled her heartfelt gratitude for it and her comments about how sexy she felt in it. She certainly was sexy in it! The spaghetti straps showed off her shoulders front and back - a woman's bare shoulders are so irresistible! Her nipples stood out as her breasts strained against the cloth, a gorgeous sight in the subdued glow from the light in the front yard, and the moon, which had just peeked out from behind a cloud.

My erection, which had quieted only slightly while waiting for her, burgeoned once again. "Hi! Is this seat taken?" she said flirtatiously as she lowered herself onto my lap. I could not speak, I was so pleasantly stunned. She sat sideways, drawing her knees up toward me, giving me a glorious place to rest my hand and plenty of leg and thigh to gawk at. She put her right arm around the back of my neck, so that her breasts were at eye level in front of me.

After gazing out at the sleepy town before us, she looked down at me and gently, ever so slowly, bent down her face to mine. I could feel the warmth of her breath as she paused, and with her left hand, began to caress my left cheek. The kiss was beyond words, so sultry, passionate and full of sex. We kissed for a beautiful eternity, and as we did so my eyes would flicker open to take in her beauty and the incredible situation. She turned her torso toward me now, holding my face in both of her hands as our tongues wrapped around each other; the straps on her gown had fallen off her shoulders, revealing a full view down her nightgown at her breasts. Beyond her, through the railing, I could see the couple we'd talked to earlier, at the corner of the yard on the sidewalk by the street - going out for a walk of their own, I presumed - turned toward the house, apparently watching us.

I could feel the desire pouring forth from Leslie, and I met hers with my own. I began to kiss down her neck, and she straightened her back to raise her breasts to me as I slid her straps below her elbows. A glance toward the street proved my earlier suspicion, that we were being watched. I knew that because of the dim light and the railing, they could only guess what exactly was happening besides the obvious fact that we were rounding third base. The light from inside the window behind me was stunning on Leslie's breasts, and as I began to flirt with her right nipple with my tongue, I looked up into her face, seeing her eyes were closed in rapturous delight, a smile on her face.

Now she straddled me in the chair, breasts hanging seductively as she leaned over me to kiss me again. I pulled at her nightgown and raised it up so I could reach her butt with no restrictions, except for the same string panties she was wearing earlier. They were our mutual favorites, white with an embroidered flower off center on the front panel; she also had a matching purple pair, which I hoped I would see later in the week. They fit snugly, with only inches of coverage in front, and a classic fit in back.

Another glance out front, and I did not see the couple. No matter, I was almost undone with desire now anyway, audience or not. I love to feel Leslie's ass. It is one of her own features she likes, and one of the keys to unlocking her sexual desire. When I give it proper attention, it becomes difficult for her to turn back. So I began kneading its luscious curves, and she responded with a deep sigh.

Suddenly, she startled, almost violently, and with a gasp. With strained alarm, she hoarsely spat, "There's someone in the hall!" With that she spun and leapt off of me, ducking and lunging for another chair, pulling her nightgown back up to cover herself. Then she sat with her arms folded across her, a hand over her mouth, eyes as large as the the moon that lit her beautiful, terrified, embarrassed face.

I sat in stunned silence, my head spinning, my erection throbbing, out of breath and feeling almost nauseous at the sudden change of events. She remained still except to glance periodically over the window sill to see if our audience had gone on their way or were about to burst through the door.

"Ohhh!" was all I could think as I sat there, my mind reeling with disappointment and how to get the ball rolling again. But I could tell the mood was gone. So I reached over and lovingly held her hand, reassuring her that certainly they didn't see a thing, except two people in love, if anything at all. This calmed her slightly. I stood, opened the door and went into the hallway to get my bearings on what they may have seen. Because of the angle of view through the glass porch door from the top of the stairs, they surely did get a pretty view, if they were looking for us. I wondered if it was the couple we'd seen earlier - had they come for a closer look? I went back out on the porch, and, urging Leslie to come inside to our room, reassured her that it was too dark for them to have seen anything, privately rejoicing that they had, indeed. I felt bad for the white lie, but I knew I needed to calm her. As we hurried to our room, she glanced over her shoulder to look for herself. "Oh my gosh ..." she said, drifting off.

While the mood was good to finish what we'd started, I could tell that It wasn't complete horror that she was feeling at the possibility of having been watched in the throes of passion. There was a different light in her eyes that night as we snuggled in bed before turning off the light to go to sleep. Surely, our interruption had doused her desire with cold water for the moment, and I showed her my usual respect in not pressing even a private interlude safe in our room with her. But the coals were still burning within her, I could tell. I kissed her on the cheek, whispering my adoration of her, and turned off the light, and we drifted off to sleep blissfully.

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