Nude at the Museum

They whispered and giggled a bit. The dark blonde lady with the long high-heeled legs was the spokesperson: "We'd like the brunette face down on the glass."

Her husband added: "With her legs spread as wide-open as possible."

The wife playfully punched his arm.

I watched them as they approached. Then they were two or three feet below me; faces up, necks stretched.

"So fucking beautiful," the husband proclaimed.

"Oh god," the wife exclaimed, "I can even see her gooey pink insides!"

Then they left, clutching each other.

I started to move.

"You are to hold the pose for five minutes, or you will be punished."

I opened and closed my mouth and licked my lips. Davood's voice apparently came from a speaker just above and behind me.

"You're watching me!" I murmured, face still smushed up against the glass.

"Every lovely move," he said.

I breathed in and out, holding my position.

"How will you punish me?"

A pause. "She knows her models; She knows what they like and what they hate. I do not like to cause the pain... but I will. With you... I think it is maybe the humiliation. I will try not to enjoy it too much."

I held my pose until he told me I was done.

During that first hour, I was asked to hold my butt cheeks open and then lower myself on the glass that way. I got several requests to hold my labia open and spread my legs out so that my vagina was clearly visible.

There was a night class at the museum in line drawing with nude female models. Just before my last visitor, my last naked pose, I lay back, luxuriating in a fantasy:

The professor directed his small class of men and women directly under me. The lounged back in loungers, gazing up at my open holes.

"Here we will tackle the mounds and folds of flesh, as well as the bold yet delicate openings of the female nude. Try to capture her moistness, the lines of her milky secretions..."

"What are you doing?" The Voice was soft and gentle for once.

"Masturbating," I responded, dipping my fingers in my vagina and bringing the juices up to my clit. "Would you like to join me?"

Silence for thirty seconds.

"You are not just goddess of sex. You are goddess of sweet fucks and hard cocks shoving inside you all over."

The speaker clicked off.

The last guy wanted me to squat like I was going to pee, facing him as he approached me and then walked under me, gaping up at my gaping anus, my perineum, my wide-open cunt.

I was ready to get down then the Davood voice asked me if I really wanted to pee. I said that I certainly could, but that I preferred to do it in the ladies loo.

The door panel slid open. Davood looked up at me.

"Pee for me now, over the side."

"No! I--"

"You want to do because it is so dirty; anything you do we will clean. Your pussy juice and sweat already all over glass."

I was breathing hard as I got as close to the edge as I could, squatting.

"I can't!" I wailed.

"You want to do," he observed.

He rolled the ladder closer as if it was a reward for me to start tinkling. Perhaps it was.

"You close eyes; you breathe deep; you think of flowing water. Do not be afraid: I will catch you if you fall."

His voice was so soothing. It felt as if, after all of the indecent exposure I had just gone through, urinating eight feet onto the museum floor was an act of defiance and also a real release.

I could feel it coming. "Oh my god!" At first I only wet the edge of the glass between my open thighs, then my golden stream burst out-- and down onto the floor. "Oh god!" I opened my eyes and Davood was closer to me than before. "I... I don't want to wet you!"

"You won't," he murmured. "Such a dirty girl."

That was it.

"Oh god I'm cumming: I can't stop!"

"Sit back!" he commanded. "You are too close to the edge. Back on that sweet ass now!!"

"I'm wetting myself!" I was shaking. I looked down at my pussy mound: my outer lips were wide open, I couldn't stop my lower body quivering. My clit was twitching and dripping. My pussy hole just got a splash of hot pee on it and in it and I totally lost it.

I screamed and yelled some pretty bad things for a while. I hoped this area was soundproof. It went on for maybe two minutes so it was one of more shorter big Os.

Davood's head popped over the edge of the glass.

"Jesus! You scared me!"

"Sorry!" He was grinning. He didn't look sorry.

"Did the peeing make you cum?"

"I made a mess!" I moaned.

"I don't care cleaning lady messes. I guess that was your baptism by urine!"

I stared at him.

He laughed so hard he almost fell off the ladder.

"I make word joke in English: this means I am getting so good!" He looked straight at my sticky, soaked pubes, streaming with girly-goo and pee, inches from his face. "I do better English always when I hang with dirty American girls."

I sighed. "Then this is one dirty girl who would pay you to be your tutor."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And that was just my first morning

When you think about it, how many different ways can you have a naked woman pose on a slab of glass eight feet off the floor? I wasn't allowed to stand up-- too dangerous. Eventually, the voice of Davood allowed for some dangling-- my legs or my breasts-- over the sides of my slab.

As the week wore on I noticed trends in nude poses. By Friday it was "can the brunette stick her finger in?"

The Voice of Reason determined that fingers in anuses required manmade lubricants; fingers in vaginas were allowed, provided I was naturally lubricated. So some lucky patrons got to watch as I diddled myself-- legs open-- until my vagina was deemed safe for digital insertion.

I would end up with legs spread, visibly dripping onto and smearing the glass, posing for the full five with one two three fingers up in my cunt.

I was nothing but naked tits ass and pussy now. I walked around naked in our suite, I strolled out onto the balcony and hoped someone would see me. I had entered a state in which I existed as nothing but a body to be exposed and gawked it. This was my raison d'etre and I told myself that I wasn't angry about it or anything about it. I accepted it.

Friday afternoon and it was my last nude pose. Again. My body was tingling as I walked to the museum. I so wanted to just strip off right on the street. As it was, as soon as I showed my ID and entered the "Museum Staff Only" section I stripped off my sundress which was all I was wearing and dropped it in the first corridor. I kicked off my flip flops and almost hit a startled woman exiting her office. Men stood up and peered over their cubicle walls at my nakedness.

I didn't give one sweet fuck what happened to my clothes. If I had to steal some office lady's jacket or run home naked I didn't care.

When I got to the Control Room I was ready to pull out Davood's cock and suck it off or bite it off... I no longer cared. I was nothing but a completely sexual, totally sexualized excuse for a human being.

I opened the door like I was the Hulk and I was gonna rip it off the hinges...

...and a completely nude, very thin, strikingly sexy woman with long, platinum blonde hair was standing there.

I took a long look.

"Glynda?!"

She smiled. "This wig! It's a good disguise if I had even you fooled for all of 1.5 seconds." She gestured downward. "I am also newly de-furred, so I don't need to worry about the carpeting not matching the--"

She was unable to speak any longer with my lips pushed roughly against hers, my tongue seeking the back of her throat.

Glynda pushed me away lightly and came up for air. "In your words... 'wow!'"

"I just need you," I breathed out. "I'm just so... I totally need you!"

She hugged me and held my head against her shoulder.

"Would you have me on a glass platform, suspended eight feet in the air, in front of random members of the museum?"

I stared at her.

"The two of us up there? All naked and touching each other?? Oh my god yes: yes!"

I worried about the lucite ladder being left there. Glynda looked down.

"If someone wants to climb up and join us, the more the merrier!"

I was touching her continuously: her face, her arm, her hip, her ass, her leg, her foot. I needed the reassurance of her nearby nudity; her body radiating love, warmth and acceptance.

Glynda held me lightly and kissed me.

"Our first visitor..."

I waited and tried to calm my breathing. It was a single, very much older man, perhaps in his seventies. He only glanced at the pool of discarded clothing; his gaze was only on us.

He stopped in front of the placard and paused as he considered his request.

"Can the blonde lean back with her legs open? Can the brunette get in-between those legs and press her open mouth on the blonde's slit?"

I gasped involuntarily and I'm sure I was heard. The man was smiling even more, knowing that at least one of us was monumentally embarrassed at such a public display of a lesbian tasting event.

"Come on," Glynda was already in position. "You were begging for me to take you just ten minutes ago... take me now."

I licked my lips and scrunched down. I put my hands on her slender thighs. I looked deep into her pink, open, glistening folds; I had never seen anything so beautiful.

I dived in, eyes closed, and tasted her.

Glynda actually smelled and tasted like... vanilla? strawberry?

"I massaged in some edible lotions this morning. Open your eyes and look up to me! I shaved my puss, I massaged it and palpated it deep inside to the point of almost cumming... I did it all so that I could see those eyes of yours, looking up at me between my thighs."

We looked at each other.

"I am in love with you," I whispered, daring to lift my mouth off her genitals for a moment.

"I've loved you since the first time I saw you naked and blushing for me, up on that silly stage," she replied.

I had tears in my eyes.

"My sweet girl," she whispered. "Sweet sweet girl."

I suddenly noticed movement. The elderly gentleman was directly below us, looking up at his self-directed nude tableau through the glass.

"You are both so beautiful," he stated softly. "I can hardly stand it."

And he left.

There were requests following for us to put tit A in mouth B; or finger B up anus A. We did the best we could with anuses; slipping our digits between the other's tight sweaty ass-cheeks was more than sufficient.

Then the last couple, and I swore to myself I had seen them before:

The husband: "Can the blonde put her fist in the brunette's vagina?"

Glynda looked at me expectantly. "You're no doubt wet enough; I think it's only a matter of how tight. I so not want to cause you any pain."

"Start with three fingers, go to four. Squeeze your thumb in the middle and then just slide it all in," I begged. "Up here naked and you all over me, I need as much of you inside me as I can get! Fucking now!!"

Glynda grinned as I got into position this time: leaning back on my elbows, breasts heaving, legs spread. Glynda knelt down between my legs, presenting her skinny but shapely rump nicely up and out for our appreciative audience.

"I love how you've figured out your preferred method of entry already," she teased. "Have you been dreaming of me inside?"

Now she was teasing my sopping, bulging-out folds with her fingers. I scooted my ass right up and I pulled myself open.

"I want you in my cunt!" I was much too loud. I looked down at the husband. He was licking his lips and he mouthed "nice" right at me.

Then he glanced at his watch and I knew.

"They were at that party-- the last museum-- I came out as the naked secretary and he kept checking his watch. He couldn't wait for me to stand up and go to the copier... he couldn't wait to see my pussy and my ass."

Glynda had three fingers in just past her knuckles and was in the process of squeezing her hand together as small as possible.

"Maybe they get around. And maybe I set this all up just to fuck you in public." She looked over the glass. "They're coming... our audience wants my fist inside you. Take it."

And she stared deep into my eyes as she pushed in, up to her wrist.

I finally looked down. My eyes were wide and my mouth was open at the sight. I held my breath...

"That's it," Glynda hissed. "Hold your breath until they leave."

Then she started wiggling her fingers inside me, so near to my G-spot.

I wanted to lift my naked ass off the girl-cum soaked glass and begin to gyrate on her fist.

"I can't I can't I can't" I hissed back.

"You two are the hottest fucking sweet naked cunts I have ever seen."

It was the voice of the husband, raw with horniness right below.

"I want you naked like that tonight, out on our balcony, spreading your sweet ass open until I hear someone on the street scream 'Holy shit!'" Horny hubby was apparently addressing his sweet wife.

His wife was gasping as he led her out. I saw him reaching down between her legs in her tight designer slacks and starting to press his hand into her.

The second they left I used my entire lower body, my ass, my pussy, my clit, my fur, my thighs, to fuck that fist. Glynda hardly moved. She was open-mouthed in some kind of daze. I saw sweat pooling on her flat round tits. I saw gobs of milky-white drooling down her thighs.

She put her other hand inside herself as we both came hard, both of us screaming each other's names and both of us crying hysterically for some reason.

Glynda had me stand up for her. I was scared and my knees were wobbly but she held onto me. She was kneeling in front of me on the glass, trying to make herself as small as possible.

The glass surface was stained with a mixture of our sweat and with our girl cum. Glynda wanted it left that way "until a man finds it. He wets his finger and he tastes it. He wonders what sweet, soft, wonderful creatures could have left such a glorious mess."

Now she was looking up at me with a girlish innocence.

"I like to pretend that you're my work of art: you're not. You're my goddess. I worship at your feet."

And then she did just that, kissing my feet, nibbling softly on my toes, caressing my ankles with her silly platinum wig. She got so quiet, but it wasn't until I felt her hot wet tears that I realized that she was softly crying.

I looked up at the white and silver tiles on the circular domed ceiling. I really was a woman who was rising far above the world; far above any traditional, mundane concepts of what it meant to be truly and uncompromisingly loved.

As the tears started streaming down my own face, I lifted up my arms. Why couldn't I fly? I had never felt such peace and love before... I should've been able to fly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I'm trying to finish this up on my tablet, stretched out in my sand chair as Paul impatiently waits for the latest batch of nude young models to arrive.

I'm naked as usual; Paul has his security guard uniform on. He must be sweating, but he loves acting out these fantasies. The boat will drop anchor as closely as possible; the girls will jump out, already nude-- I just hope that Paul refrains from handcuffing any of them until they're safely on dry land.

Glynda made Paul her head of European security. But aside from watching over fifty amateur models who had just stripped naked and were told to put on panties that had been soaked in baby oil-- and then stand as still as statues as all of the gawking museum patrons inspected their bared breasts and their oily-wet camel toes-- he really hadn't done much security guarding.

This was his fantasy and I feared it was his obsession: handcuffing young, naked first-time nude models and pretending to search their every orifice for "contraband."

The more explicit, avant-garde photographers loved it. Paul set the B&D scene while they clicked away.

But I feared that it was my Paul now who was floating away from the Earth-- just not on an eight-foot high slab of glass. He was floating away on pink, olive and occasional chocolate-brown clouds of giggly, blushing sweet-mouthed faces, button-tipped scoops of girl-flesh, bouncy bottoms he could cup in one hand, delicate pink flaps like butterfly wings that fluttered open at the slightest touch, and long long legs that locked themselves around the nearest waist as if on autopilot.

Glynda and I were going to bring him back down to Earth. Well, especially Glynda. After much discussion, Paul was getting a hall pass-- or a bedroom pass-- he would be making sweet love to a sweet, slender, sexy and mature woman tonight... my Glynda.

I would be there, touching and kissing both of them as my Paul finally thrust his amazing penis deep inside her.

There was no jealousy at all. Paul was in awe that his girlfriend was making love to a famous female artist; Glynda was in awe that I "must be able to handle penises as well as you do vaginas!"

That moment, when he was all the way in, when Glynda would swear she could feel him bumping her cervix and trying to worm his way into her womb...

...that would signal the end.

I would say goodbye to this tiny Greek isle, to the abandoned resort that Glynda's billionaire investor turned into his own private orgy retreat.

The boat was here. The pilot was the photographer. When he was in about four feet of water, the naked Greek men swarmed the boat, reaching for ropes. The giggly naked beauties jumped out, the sea foam already making their bodies glisten.

"Paul!" I cried out, "Don't restrain these girls until they're out of the surf!"

Of course he didn't hear me-- or he pretended he didn't. He dragged his first handcuffed catch-- a tiny Asian girl who probably weighed ninety pounds now that she was wet-- and positioned her with her legs spread, ass on her heels on the beach.

Then he went back for the other four.

I had to get up and get back to Glynda; tell her of my plans. Now, hours later, I'm finishing this on our tiny porch in the moonlight, after those two lovebirds exhausted themselves, trying every trick and every position in each other's love book.

I thought I would be crying my eyes out but I'm not. I have two serious, and one iffy teaching positions to consider. And, with his Glynda-padded resume, Paul can open up his own security firm in whatever college town we end up in.

I'm going to slip my tablet into its case, then I'm walking naked in the moonlight. I may just walk, I may just sit on that big rock and slowly masturbate, splashing the warm foamy seawater all over my naked body until I cum. I just don't know yet. The night is still young for me.