Skin-Deep - Shorn and Shown Pt. 02

Both look pretty switched on though, short skirts, one black and with rubberlike gloss, the other matt black and pleated. Both wear skin-tight long-sleeved shirts, one in purple lycra, the other blue with white polka dots. Both have nude tights on. Bundles of silver necklaces adorn both necks, and similarly hippie-like bracelets their wrists. Both heads are crowned by Louise Brooks bob haircuts, the first in Louise Brooks black, the other in Sarah Bernhardt red. Both are fragrantly perfumed. They don't dare touch me initially. They follow each other and circle me, sometimes fully upright, sometimes stooped, sometimes down, bent at the knees, a bit like ducks - it is like a ritual dance, a parody.

Our trio centred around me is itself at the centre of attention of the rest of the audience now. The Louise Brooks pair grows in its role and becomes daring, patting the slick hair on my head, flicking my nose, tracing my lips, stroking my breasts, softly pinching a nipple and lifting the breast in question, tracing the lips of my sex, stroking my legs all the way up from the heels to and including the butt cheeks. I admit it: it is a turn-on. I allow myself to turn inwards, but not all the way - darn, why not? Shouldn't get turned on too much... Stay in control... Mother's good girl, but I what can I do... I am excited though. Not quite as much as before when that dark woman inspected me. She had the upper hand then, the control, so I could let go... In this case, the commanding party is me. I just about register what the audience calls or yells throughout. As you can expect, the comments are playful, ironic, sarcastic, condescending... urging me, urging the Brooks sisters to step up the game, telling them to be more intense, telling me I am old and ugly, sexy, cool, telling me what they'd do if they were allowed to. I don't respond. The ladies mutter responses, but are on the backfoot, if anything. They are done soon, too soon. No embrace, no formal bow this time. But two sets of friend-to-friend kisses on both my cheeks, whispering they enjoyed themselves, how difficult it was too, but moving, how great I was etc. Have we become friends? Hardly, unless Martha is already friends with them, but I don't mind either way. But, hey, they are OK.

During the later stages of the evening, after the short-haired lady and the Brookses, a few more do inspections of sorts. As if the floodgates have cracked open... Nothing as thorough as what the intense lady in black did, of course, or the Brookses, no great fuzz. But some request me to stand legs apart, hands behind my head - the classical slave display position. Most are not really shy about looking at my vagina at close range, my anus. Some request me to lift both breasts, or jump up and down to make them jiggle. Some indeed take the trouble to smell my sex and are pleased to report they think I am aroused. Surprise, surprise! I am happy to confirm this. The poses bring me back to earth. You name it, they ask it. Of course, in addition to the display position, which I was simply happy to assume, there is also someone that wanted another classic: back to the audience, bent over, spreading the ass-cheeks. That gets a lot of attention. Fortunately, I am well-groomed and I know it. I love and hate to give them this pose, the most demeaning of all.

Towards the end of the evening the close-cropped lady in black comes up to me and strikes up a conversation. We exchange some playful banter. I like her. At some point she asks,

'Can invite you to I come home with us, my two gentlemen and myself?' She includes her two men in her gesture. 'Let me introduce myself and my friends. My name is Xandra, and they are John and Peter,' pointing out the hipster-bearded and the clean-shaven man in turn.

I have been perfectly aware of her entourage throughout. All three are in their forties. I consider them anew. The two men act like boys. Her boys, it seems to me. Boys in suits and checked shirts. For all I know, they are in a power-exchange affair, with her as the dominant. Don't think the men are out-and-out slaves. I think they play, hard or not so hard, but play all the same.

'Thank you for the invitation. Before I consider it, however, I have to say that I am here with my friend Martha' I say, 'as her guest.'

'Oh, Martha is alright. I know her. She can come too. We have a big car. Actually, we can walk. Five minutes, tops.'

'Ok, thanks. You know my name is Vita.'

She smiles, 'I know you're Vita. And I know what you look like. And smell like. A rare pleasure to get to meet someone that way, so intimately. So, what do you say? Are you game?'

She is still self-assured, haughty, aloof, but through this armour I feel she is pleading, not taking a 'yes' for granted. She wants something, me as her guest, and she can't assume to get it.

'I like the word "game". I can see you like to play. But not light games. My guess is that you are into heavy gaming. Am I right?'

'You are not wrong. What is light and heavy is a matter of taste, but, yes, what I like is not light playing.'

'I will talk to Martha, I promise.'

'I appreciate it. I will watch you and won't go away, or let you go away, before I have an answer.'

After some further 45 mins all but her group and my group have left. My group, ha, I mean the artist, the manager and Martha. I am absolutely free at this point, totally at ease and, yes, natural and naked amongst the hip and beautiful. We are just chatting and drinking and being relaxed. I have talked to Mina, who has thanked me profusely. When I ask her whether I have not stolen the show, she laughs. 'You have a bit, but I am fine with that. It is not like gallery openings are that significant. And are often boring, a mere excuse for free drinks. People stayed longer because of you, will talk about this opening to their friends and relations and that can't be bad for me. I have sold a few works already and that is pretty good.'

When I have the chance, I broach to Martha the subject of decamping to Xandra's for an after-party.

She offers, 'She has got a reputation to put people on the spot and amuse herself. But you have already been put on the spot, with her cooperation, and being put on the spot is your kind of thing anyway. So, if you are not already exhausted and ready for more of that kind of thing, let's go. I am not sure if I would be put on the spot too, but, hell, lord knows I am ready too. I will talk to Mina and Alfred. Who knows they'd like to come as well.'

Not that she asks me, but she is right. I like to be put on the spot. I should be tired, but the adrenaline is still raging.

It turns out Mina and Alfred are ready to come along. Which means everyone is, so there is no reason to wait. Xandra lives a 5-minute walk away, she said, which means that all cars stay where they are and we walk. When I prepare to get dressed in the PA's office, Martha stops me. 'No point for such a short walk. Just put everything in your bag, don your coat like a cape and let's go.' It is past eleven p.m. and we find ourselves in the fairly quiet commercial section of town, just off the buzzing centre where the restaurants and bars are located, so our sizeable group - me and my personal troop of guards - meets few innocent passers-by, who could respond to my near-nakedness. The few we meet, did they notice? A shame in a way that there are so few, but I am well satisfied and am about to enjoy some more exhibitionist fun in a minute.

Play at Xandra's

Xandra's space is a loft apartment, a big open space with the various areas partitioned off by curtains, glass walls, cupboards, wardrobes or bookcases. She is clearly well off. The furniture is design, a mix of black and chrome. There is brick, concrete, steel and leather, there are touches of colour, red and blue mainly. She has sculptures around, and black & white photographs (Erwin Olaf, Separation), some paintings, all with the human shape as the focus, with hints of BDSM.

The apartment is three stories up. Some 100 ft away a similar building is located. We can see inside some apartments there, in some of which the inhabitants are still up and about. I quickly count three or four individuals or couples, no kids!, that are sitting reading or watching TV. Likewise, they can see inside the one we are in. No attempt is made to hinder the view in. The curtains are open. We sit down.

Peter and John are introduced as the resident submissives, as I suspected, and start serving the rest of us drinks, the choice being water, champagne or whisky. They put hard driving music on, but at low volume for now. I am naked, still the only one so, until Xandra stands in front of me where I sit, right in front of me, in fact feet touching.

'Vita, I'm sure you don't mind, I want to ask you something. I have to confess I had the urge to get naked with you when I inspected you, and had wanted you to inspect me too. There and then, I did not feel I could do that, you know, as it was your show. I am vain, but I do know my place. Now, it's different. We are in private, in my house no less, so I can do what I want, we can do what we want, can't we?'

She is intense, overbearing. I don't mind. I am in awe of her. She surely is bi-sexual, and I don't mind.

'The thing is, I want to ask you to undress me, and inspect me. If you do, as I sincerely hope, expect even, I have an additional request to you afterwards. That request I will only reveal when we get there. Don't want to scare you just yet. Although I suspect you will be game. That's a tease!'

Wow! I had not seen this coming. What I had expected, or hoped for, was for some of us to get naked, socialise, dance... But such privilege, to inspect another woman, and such an attractive woman at that. I could not possibly say no to such a request.

'Well, very well, Xandra. I cannot refuse and don't want to. We will do it. I'll be honoured in my turn.'

I stand up, two ft. away from her, and look her directly into the eyes, dark confident eyes to boot, the eyes of a woman I did not even suspect the existence of four or five hours ago. Yet I shared a very intimate, somewhat humiliating experience with her some three hours back. I will now reciprocate the honour. With a mysterious request at the end. Momentous! I am excited. The difference between her job and mine is that she is still dressed, so I will have the added pleasure of unpeeling her. Also, she starts from the upper hand, in a way, having dominated me.

'Off we go, my dear,' I whisper, still looking her in the eyes, 'I will be meticulous too. Brace yourself...'

We have an audience. If you picture us on a stage, then Alfred and Mina sit facing the stage some 2 yards towards the left, side by side, leaning forward, attentive, Martha similarly to the right by herself. Peter and John remain standing, a bit away, between the lot of the others and facing us.

I stroke her flanks, I stroke her along her arms and hips, down her legs from the top to the ground, her thighs, inside and outside, her calves and ankles. Her black dress is made of natural silk. It reaches down to her ankles, with a split on the right side. It closes high at the neck at the front, but the back is open to just above the swell of her buttocks. She has a faint but dramatic tattoo on her back, like one of those corsets done with piercings. The dress is sleeveless and the front has two lines of silver stitching coming down from the shoulders, coming in towards the centre as they go down, passing right over the nipples and vertically down towards her feet. A similar flowing pattern of stitching at the back. The back is also where the dress closes, with a handful of silver buttons down from the bottom of the open back. (How on earth does one put such dress on without help? It takes nimble arms and hands... Well, if all fails, she has her boys for help.)

I undo the few buttons at the back. The edge of her panties appears. So, she is wearing a pair. I slide the dress off one shoulder, then off the next and let it drop to the floor. She kicks her heels and the dress gently off and stands there, almost entirely revealed. One of the boys immediately shoots forward, picks up the dress and shoes, and shoots away.

I take my distance again and start circling around her, taking her in slowly. She is a commanding presence, I have said it, approaching 6 ft. She is slender, bordering on thin. Her black hair may be an inch long, no more. Well cut all the same with some volume, I guess dressed by an expensive hairdresser. She clearly works out, as her arms and shoulders, and her legs are well-toned. Thin, maybe, but very feminine, good hips and certainly good breasts. Her breasts are encased in stick-on bra pieces, shaping them and dulling their appearance, flattening the nipples especially. Besides this stick-on bra she wears a delightful pair of panties, sheer and silver, full panties, twenties style, front and back, no frills, but as if painted on her body.

I count the faint tattoo on her back under the things she wears. The piercing corset has two sets of seven rings tied together by maroon ribbons - all tattooed very subtly. I love it and ask her about it. 'Ten, twelve years ago I had this for real, during the period I was heavily immersed in the BDSM scene. I often paraded around quite like I am now, dressed in panties, heels and, off and on, the piercing corset. I got tired of the scene after a few years, as I perceived it to be full of selfish, spiritless people; in any case the particular scene I was in contact with and myself did not gel any longer. I went vanilla for a good period of time and let the piercings grow closed. When I gravitated back towards BDSM and started playing a bit again, piercing had become all too common and this thing known as the piercing scene had developed. I couldn't care for renewing the piercings, because people label you so easily as a member of the piercing or body modification or BDSM scene, you know, and I didn't want to be part of a restrictive sub-culture, any sub-culture. No offence to anyone, I am just awkward that way - I am my own scene. So, I had myself tattooed like this. I like it. Too bad I can't see it myself!' She smiles and I smile back. She laughs and adds, 'Am I now part of the tattoo-scene? I've got just the one. Anyway, who cares. I am what I am.'

Returning to her front, I tear the stick-on bra shells off. Her liberated breasts drop out of them and assume their natural shapes. She has got prominent nipples when liberated that stand well proud. The shape of the breasts I would describe as pouting, the ageing she has seen has worked to their advantage, I imagine. One of her boys sprints forward to take the bra pieces out of my hands. They are still warm...

Her panties, that jewel of a garment, I pull down with both hands. I am surprised to find that the panties managed to hide a rather full bush, nicely maintained to fit within the panties, but unkept away from the loins. My, the pubic hair may be as long as that on her head, or longer, if you pull the hairs straight!

Her vulva is fully obscured from view. I tell her so. 'I believe you. For a while, my mood was against shaving. My mood alternates. I know, there is a pattern to my madness. I first shaved when I was twelve. When I discovered all my girlfriends did the same, I let it grow again, then got tired of that and shaved, for the look, for the hygiene and freshness, for the feeling, comments from my sexual partners, whatever. You catch me during a non-shaving mood.

'But let's focus. I asked you to inspect me. Of course, I allow you to touch me, even if I was not allowed to touch you during my turn. So, feel free. Direct me, touch me, do what you must to satisfy your whims... I will tell you to stop if you go too far.'

I get down on my knees and bring my face right in front of her pubic hair. I smell her now, someone that is beginning to be aroused, someone that has showered hours ago - I don't mind. Even better, I like it. The idea that human smell is not acceptable, that only the smells of perfumes and oils are acceptable is absurd in my view.

I still see nothing of her genitalia, this must be the densest pubic hair I have ever seen. With two hands, I part the forest and manage to find her vulva. With a lot of searching and pulling, I identify the component parts of her female anatomy. I have her turn around, bend over and part her ass cheeks, and assume the archetypical submissive position. I never get enough of this view. Raw and sexual. Her labia shine through the forest of black hair now, the wrinkly minora pouting out from between their bigger sisters. I grab each of these fleshy labia majora and part them, stick my nose close and inhale sharply. Oh, that salty, fishy smell, that rare joy, for me... I love it. She does too, she loves me to love it... I hear her breathing quicken. I take a whiff of her arse too, that dank, aromatic smell... I am so in awe of the fact that I am allowed here in these places. I am aroused, and mutter this aloud. From the wordless noises from the others, I gather they are also under the influence... Of what? Of two naked aroused women?

With her upright again, I smell and see her feet, with her toenails painted with black nail varnish, her calves and thighs, as smooth as a baby's, her ass and all of her back, her arms, her smooth armpits, her hands, the finger nails varnished black as well, her belly and all of her chest, those delightful breasts, her neck, her face, her eyes, her ears, her short, dense hair. I touch, see and smell all of her. I ruffle all of her hair, on her abdomen, on her head. Then I am done and stand in front of her like at the start.

Meanwhile, don't forget that I am naked too, I would almost forget myself! I'd swear our friends can smell my arousal and see my love juices drip down my thighs. I hope they have enjoyed my gyrations. I'd masturbate here and now, oh, lord, if I wasn't too prim and proper, if someone would give me the slightest nudge. That is me, conscious of the job in hand.

Naked Xandra breaks my reveries. She has not said a word for a while and appears to have been in the zone, away on some planet of her own.

'Thank you, Vita. That was intense. I could get hooked to this kind of deal. I am convinced you liked it too, so all is very good.'

She is alert and in control.

'I am sure you have not forgotten that I promised you I would have an additional request.'

I had in fact forgotten! So much did I live on a sensual cloud. I am back on earth suddenly, a tad flustered. Does anyone notice? But I regroup and become alert.

'Xandra, please ask... I am open to anything at this point.'

'OK then. I suspected that much. But are you sure you indeed like all the things I can do to you or with you?' She is mocking me?

'Don't you worry...'

Who says I don't like any of all of these things she can do to me or with me? At this point of the game...

She continues, 'I wouldn't worry, you wouldn't either. All is cool. I think that what I will ask is just up your street.'

I hold my breath for a second. She continues.

'I just want to ask you to shave me, that is: all of my body, from toe to face. Not my scalp, please. Would you do that?'

Oh, who would have thought? My fetish, as you, dear reader, already know. I decide to be honest, as opposed to playful. I am emotional.

'Xandra, I am stunned! Destiny is speaking? Shaving is an obsession of mine and doing my own body is an almost irresistible temptation to me. And I have given in, have shaved my entire body, from head to toe, eyebrows too. Only once, I am sad to say, once have I allowed myself to be so radical. But it is often on my mind. As for the rest of my body, I have done the usual areas. Like you, I have denuded the genital area off and on - as a proud pioneer, I sometimes rebelled after it became mainstream.