No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 04

She was trembling at the thought of what she was going to see. Her anger flared up one last time - more at the thought he had deceived her than that he had caught her on camera. In the midst of her growing arousal and flaring anger a very small voice of reason tried to suggest he couldn't be blamed for her exhibitionism - he had no idea. The rest of her pounced: this wasn't time to be reasonable.

"Let me have it," she said hotly. "Show me how to work it. I want to go to last week. You know when."

He looked at her, hiding his own concern behind a placid mask of detachment.

He showed her how to set the time and date and how to move the stick to navigate. He pressed the "go" button and she watched the screen get hazy and then clear up.

He was opening the door, gesturing her in.

She couldn't help herself, her arousal caused her to vibrate slightly.

He was certain she was irate, her movements barely concealing the enormity of her anger. He held back hoping she would work through it, they would work through it. He watched her face as the scene played out in front of them. It would be days before he learned the truth, several long days. In the meantime he had nothing to do but let this future take its course.

They had both been so horny that night. They hadn't slept together yet. In spite of several dates, and a lot of sex, they both wanted their first fuck to be something special. He offered her a drink and invited her into the living room. It didn't take long before he practically attacked her, smothering her neck and face in kisses, the camera caught his tongue sliding into her mouth. She sucked it hungrily, battling it with her own.

She remembered the feeling of virtually being swept off her feet. His hands on her before she'd had a chance to sit down. He peeled her shirt off and unsnapped her bra. She watched her face as she watched him stripping her, peeling her like a ripe fruit. He kissed her breasts, sucking lightly on her nipples. She moved the camera next to his face, seeing his lips brush across the raised bumps. Her now-self could feel him again on her breasts, her fingers of her free hand moved to touch her nipples.

She was stripped naked, laid out on the couch, the soles of her feet pressed together, her knees splayed out. Her now-self could feel her pussy, hot and moist, yearning for his tongue, just as he had that night on the screen.

"Eat me," she said softly, pulling his head down and spreading her legs. It was the least he could do for her. She felt his tongue glide into her wet folds. Too bad he isn't sucking his own juices out with mine. It would be a satisfying punishment. He owes me. He'll come for me.

She watched him lap at her open slit and turned back to the screen where he had dived down to do the same. She moved her viewpoint next to his lips, pressed up close to her open labia, the shadow of her pubic hair's bluish undertone to the bright pink skin. She followed his tongue into her, watching the rough surface slide on her juice covered walls. She held her position watching, feeling and remembering him penetrate her, slipping in and out, tickling her clit.

"Oh god, Monty." Her screen image began to pant and moan and she couldn't resist it. "Yesss, yess, yess." She hissed out the words, urging him on, feeling his entire mouth swallowing her outer lips.

"Fuck me with your mouth, Monty." She could barely say the words and not loud enough to be heard over her moans on screen. She had put her hands on his head, pushing it harder on her, her moans loud enough to disturb the neighbors, if he'd had any close enough.

She stared at her face in orgasm. She'd only watched herself one time before, when her ex had left his tapes out. She'd been humiliated at how much it turned her on. Her attempts at therapy hadn't been working. Here she was again humping his face watching him eat her and feeling an enormous orgasm billowing up from her core.

Her screen image threw her hands above her head and she thought she was the most vulnerable, beautiful sexy woman she'd ever seen - completely lost in her pleasure - and the orgasm overtook her, forcing her to close her eyes. His lips never stopped doing the right thing, now gently sucking her juices from her, lightly flicking across her clit. Her hands rested on his head, each move of his lips caused her to spasm slightly.

* - * - *

"You've hurt me, Monty." She was in tears. She'd left him on the couch, retrieved her clothes and washed her face. "You have no idea how much you've hurt me."

She was leaving. She wasn't sure if she was ever going to come back. Her body was on fire at the thought he had so many hours of her. She was going to come back. She had to come back. He had the perfect camera.

She shut the door, tears blinding her. He just stood there, face impassive, smug. Not smug. Disengaged. He looked like he didn't give a shit one way or the other. As far as she could tell, he had predicted it, just as he was predicting she'd be back.

He stared at the closed door and thought about what had just happened. It had been a stupid approach. He saw that now, but something about the way she was with him, he had felt she would have responded differently.

He hadn't tried to stop her. What could he say? He had apologized for hurting her, but he knew that wasn't enough. He stood in the hall, listening to her car drive away, her musk still on his lips. She is so sexy. I've never felt this way about anyone before. There was something going on here, a piece of the puzzle he hadn't put in place.

He shook his head and walked to his study. Lying down on the couch he meditated beneath the starry ceiling. What future was in store for him?

* - * - *

She didn't sleep well that night, what was left of it, nor the night after. She never left her condo the entire weekend, subsisting on herbal tea and daytime television. By Sunday night she was a complete wreck, having worked through all of the angles a dozen times an hour. She didn't have any sedatives other than wine, but she knew in spite of needing to get some sleep, alcohol wouldn't really help. She could always call in sick, but she couldn't let this to affect her work too. Monday morning she arrived at Samuelson's, practically ran to her office and called her therapist.

"Patti?" She was nearing tears. "I'm having a problem and I need to see you....today if possible...right now if possible. Really? Yes. Definitely. I'll be there at 10 sharp."

She knocked on the door and waited to be invited in. She had seen her face in the mirror in the hall. Puffy, her eyes swollen. She looked like shit.

"Marcie? Come in." Patti got up from her desk and moved to an overstuffed chair near the couch. "What's going on?"

"It's Monty." She had been so excited to tell her about her new relationship. For six weeks she'd talked about practically nothing else. Patti had offered some words of support, but mostly it was one of those times when she could just listen and enjoy her client's good fortune.

They had been working on Marcie's exhibitionism for almost the entire year. Patti had made it clear from the start, exhibitionism per se was not a crime, nor was it immoral, perverted or any other label with one caveat: it had to be between consenting adults.

Although Marcie's father never felt the need to impose any particular sexual mores on her, Marcie's step-mother was practically Baptist in her rules about sex. Marcie hadn't been on a date until Senior Prom and only because her sister was home from college and had been corralled into chaperoning her. When she finally left for college she was so shy around men she'd blush if one happened to smile at her.

And then, in college, freed at last from the boundaries set for her, she began to frighten herself. Although she hadn't considered herself good looking, most men would turn to watch her walk by: beautiful large brown eyes set in a small round face with a neatly pointing chin resting on that neck. It was her neck that caught everyone's eyes.

She frightened herself by her behavior at parties. She got invited to a lot of parties and in spite of her heavy academic load, she rarely declined the opportunity to party. At first she thought she was so popular because of her roommate, but eventually she realized boys were asking her to go. The first time she got scared was at a dorm party a few weeks after the start of term.

In spite of her step-mom's strict rules, Marcie had figured out how to drink. She would stay overnight at her friends' house, an older sibling buying them rum, or gin, or tequila, and they'd get drunk. On one shot it seemed. By the time she got to college, she was very practiced at drinking, and it still only took a shot or two before she got loose.

The noise from the dorm rooms was deafening; she put her hands over her ears and slowed down. Her friends ran ahead of her. When she finally caught up they had already poured themselves some shots and offered her one. It was a little quieter in the back of the room, the music blaring out into the hall. She took a shot, and then a second.

A few guys came by to check them out and invited them to dance. The tune wasn't so bad and before long she was dancing to most of the songs, along with downing a few more shots.

One of the guys, dancing next to her, leaned in to her ear and shouted over the music. "Why don't you take off your shirt and dance naked for us?"

She wasn't sure she'd heard him and turned her face, her eyes screwed up questioning him.

He smiled and motioned for her to join him with her shirt off. He peeled his away revealing a set of abs and pecs she hadn't seen...ever. She caught herself staring, practically licking her lips, and realized he was expecting her to join him. In the crowd. Without her shirt (and he made it clear, her bra). She looked around to see if she knew anyone. Her friends were nowhere in sight.

And then she just did it. She peeled off her shirt before she could think about it and unsnapped her bra slipping it off her shoulders. She saw an opening and threw her clothes into the corner, her small breasts jiggling slightly. She was so horny she could feel herself leaking into her panties.

Her dance partner gave her two thumbs up and came up again. "You have fantastic breasts. What's your name?"

"Marcie!" She shouted back, dancing around him, oblivious to the rest of the room.

"Is your bush as beautiful as the pears hangin' there?"

She realized he had an accent...English...no, Australian...no, Scottish. Yes, Scottish. She looked up at him again and saw he was motioning for her to take all of her clothes off. She smiled wickedly and shook her head no.

He came up to her, shimmying his body against hers, his fingers gently brushing her back. The music was ending and then what would she do?

She looked around for her clothes but there were too many people where she had thrown them. She realized eyes were turned to her, guys and girls and she blushed. Before she could think the music started again and her companion was still with her.

"James!" He shouted, still looking expectantly at her crotch. She giggled and said no, trying a few steps she'd been thinking about. She twirled around and saw other women had taken their shirts off with their dance partners. The room was beginning to fill with sweat and musk. She had resisted going further. That time.

But she kept getting invited back and she wanted to go. She didn't dance topless every time, but more times than not she had exposed herself to a room full of (mostly at first) strangers.

The night she agreed to take all of her clothes off scared her the most. It was a hot spring evening - the party was at a lake just off-campus. It was after the families had all left, 8 or 9 at night. There were dozens of kids, some drinking, a lot of pot. She had realized several months into this behavior she didn't need to drink to dance topless. It turned her on so much, far more than the fear; she'd end up just doing it. Until she left, or woke up the next morning, humiliated and ashamed at her behavior. She became convinced she was a pervert.

She didn't believe guys when they said they wanted to go out with her. She figured it was just her getting naked that made her popular. When one of her math partners suggested a party by the lake, she naturally agreed, nervous as usual she would make a fool of herself, but hoping this time, this night, she could just enjoy being with people. His name was Rick and she liked him because he was super-smart. They studied together - he had a great sense of humor. He wasn't her type and he wasn't that attractive physically. But she was starting to think of him as her best friend.

It didn't take long for her to get into the party. She danced with a number of guys and was just about to get a drink when Rick stepped in.

"I've been meaning to tell you how incredibly beautiful you are." He stumbled over the words, obviously drinking a little too much.

She got nervous, ducked her head slightly and thanked him. She was happy it was too dark for him to see her blush.

"Would you consider taking your clothes off so we could all share in your beauty?" He had trouble getting through the sentence, but she was certain he had rehearsed it.

It didn't matter. The words were like a trigger for her vagina to let loose. She could feel her moisture building up, her lips swelling. She looked around; it was something she had learned to do. About an even mix of men and women, some she knew - that was a good thing. She didn't want to get raped. She had shaved yesterday. She had been experimenting with various "do's" down there and she smiled at the memory of what she'd done. That in itself was almost enough.

She looked at Rick and thought how sexy it would be to make him hard just by stripping. It was one of the things that turned her on most - the thought that men were aroused just by looking at her dancing tits. She smiled at him, reached down pulled up her shirt. She hadn't worn a bra in weeks; her breasts didn't need it and having them free meant she was closer to showing them off even as she went about her day. She was in a near-constant state of horniness from it.

Rick smiled at her, making a prayer sign to God. As they danced he just stared at her, from top of head to her gorgeous neck down to her navel. She immersed herself in the way he stared at her.

As smoothly as she could, while she danced, she unsnapped her jeans and dragged down the zipper. He could see her red panties now, cutting a line below her waist drawing in his eye. As she danced, she shimmied the jeans down past her hips, her knees and pulled her feet out, in rhythm. She looked at his eyes growing like saucers like the bulge growing in his pants.

She made sure he saw her staring at his growing erection, her hands working the air around her hips, her breasts, her groin. She watched his eyes following her fingertips, raising his hopes she'd pluck her panties off, just for him.

She was dripping. She was certain if it there was more light, everyone could see how wet she was. She put her hands on her head and brushed her nipples lightly on Rick's shirt, the electricity sent shocks down to her groin. She moaned into his ear.

She peeked at his shorts and saw his penis pushing hard against his zipper. She had no intention of having sex with him. If he wanted relief he'd have to jack off, and hopefully without her seeing it. While dancing behind him, she peeled off her panties and put them on his head. She hoped the aroma would drive him wild.

Buck naked she continued to dance around him. She had coiffed her bush into the shape of a cat's head. The thickness and density of her pubic hair gave her an excellent palette to work from. Rather than fight it (if she just let it go she'd be covered from her waist down under to her ass), she put it to good use.

It achieved the effect she was hoping. His eyes grew even wider and his boner suddenly shifted, poking the purple head up to the edge of his waistband. He had moved his hand to rub it behind his shorts, either unaware or no longer caring that he was stroking himself in public.

What she was doing was wrong. So wrong in so many ways. She knew it. She knew if the police came right now she'd be in jail. She knew she was making a horrible reputation for herself, in spite of her apparent popularity. She couldn't help herself. A circle had formed around the two of them, the dancers all focused on her. Her breasts were sweaty and her pubic hair was beginning to get matted. She didn't care. She wanted everyone to see her. She wanted everyone to get naked, even Rick.

It took all she had to tell Patti about these early events, but over the past several months she had worked her way into her marriage and out of it.

After a few sessions, Patti began shifting the discussion from the "what's" to the "feels." She was interested in whatever Marcie wanted to talk about, but she wanted Marcie to talk about how she felt. It took weeks for her, collecting up courage, to say out loud that she actually loved being naked in front of people. It was a minor breakthrough. She had never said it to anyone for fear of the shame. Patti congratulated her. No judgment except pleasure at her reaching a milestone.

Since then, Marcie had focused on the trouble it caused her. The troubled feelings. She loved being naked but afterward she felt so ashamed she couldn't face her classmates or her husband. Her husband even!

She had been so certain he only married her because he thought she was "loose." She knew the honeymoon was going to be a challenge - he had purchased a fancy video camera to take to the islands and on their wedding night he almost had her agreeing to be videoed.

Within months of their vows, he had her stripping while his friends played poker. It was a drug for her, and the hangover lasted her whole life. When he invited a woman to the game it was too much. She had stripped for them, not worried about being naked in mixed company, but he had miscalculated. When he reached over to the woman and fondled her breasts, something snapped. She stopped dancing, picked up her clothes and walked out of his life.

Patti had spent months with her on that moment. She had been over it a million times. Now, 11 months into it, here she was again, walking out on a guy because he was giving her the exact thing she craved...and despised.

"So what's up with Monty?" Patti brought her back to the here and now.

"You know how great it's been, right? Well this past Friday night I left him." She immediately broke down, taking a tissue from the table in front of her. "He...fucked me over."

Patti let her cry for a moment and then prompted. "How specifically did he fuck you over?"

"You know I've been bragging about the sex, right?" She hiccupped a little. "And how he's always so cool and aloof. So night before last...no, Friday night, after a party at his place, he actually opens up a little. We made love. It was sweet. Tender." She drifted off a moment remembering that part of the evening. "He still hasn't come. It's still so weird. Anyway, he asks me if I trust him about a million times and then he brings me to his home theater.

"We'd been talking about his religion - well whatever - his life philosophy, Tantric chaos string theory or whatever," bitterness was creeping into her narrative. "And then he asked me to sign an NDA and then he told me about his work." It had all come out in a rush.

"Hold it. He had you sign an NDA? I want to make sure I heard that correctly. You made love...let's see, 'it was sweet' and then you signed papers? You are not legally bound to that agreement with respect to this session, by the way, so if it's germane to your reason for being here you are free to discuss it."