The Exhibitionist

She explained that she was going to her boyfriend's, and smiled self-consciously, as I commented: "Hopefully we'll get to see a lot more of each other in the future."

She had blushed again, before saying: "Oh yes. I'll look forward to it."

She wandered off, and I smiled to myself, wondering how this personal contact would impact on our peculiar relationship.

After that, the party became boring, and my wife and I left, late at night, as people wandered home.

'Sam', as I now knew her, returned home the following morning, presumably having spent the night fucking her boyfriend. I saw her going into her house, and hoped she would disappear upstairs to change - but no such luck. Maybe I missed it, as I spent most of my time with my wife.

I got up on Monday morning, hoping to see Sam, but was again disappointed. It was a Bank Holiday, of course, so she would not be at work, and I gazed at the closed curtains. I was irritated - unreasonably - and gave up when my wife appeared and suggested we go out for the day, to see her sister.

It was while we were there that I received a message. It was a private communication via a social media group for residents on our street.

'Hi. It's John. Hope you don't mind the message. Easier than coming over the road 😊. You said you trained teachers for years. Sam is in her first year of her teaching degree and is finding some of the work hard. Would you offer her a few pointers? Will pay in coffee and biscuits 😉. Cheers, mate.'

I didn't remember telling him about my work, but maybe I did. Whatever, I would be delighted to help Sam, and I replied, trying to hide my enthusiasm, and saying that coffee and biscuits would be more than enough payment - although I hoped for a little more.

I told my wife, who was always happy for me to have chance to exercise my academic mind, and sent another message to Sam's dad, suggesting she contact me to arrange a time. The reply was immediate, and I arranged to visit on Wednesday afternoon, as her lecture finished at lunchtime.

On Tuesday and Wednesday mornings, I was up early, and watched Sam strip for me and dress. I considered undressing myself to show her something in return, but with our meeting on Wednesday afternoon, I decided to wait. I desperately wanted to know what she was getting out of my voyeurism, and how she wanted to progress.

When I arrived, she opened the door shyly. I was unsure what to expect. Would she drag me to her room and fuck me? Would she pretend that she had no idea what was going on? I decided to play it by ear.

She was well dressed, compared to many of the students I had taught. She wore a loose, 'gypsy' style skirt and green blouse, which set off her eyes and pale skin beautifully. She looked rather prim and proper, with hair pulled back and glasses. Had she been in my lecture group, I would have put her down as a fairly typical student-teacher. There was an expectation of reasonable standards of dress, and she reflected that.

"Thanks for coming," she began, in a very business-like manner. "I hope you don't mind. I have real problems with these reflections and targets for professional development. Do you mind if we go to my room? It's just that I have a computer there with my work on."

I nodded. It would be good to see the room I looked at each morning.

I don't know if she had tidied up for me, but her room was very neat. The bed was, I knew, under the window. There was a desk with a computer, displaying a page of work, divided into various sections. It was, in fact, the document which students used to reflect on performance - I had designed it.

While she sat on the computer chair, I settled on the bed.

"Could you talk me through this, do you think?" She asked, with a gentle smile. "Then, perhaps, help me to fill it in?"

She passed me a printed copy of the document on the screen, and I began to talk. She sat, watching me, nodding and making notes. Occasionally, she would ask a question.

It was only on the third box that I noticed a slight difference in her - something that was not in line with the tutor/tutee relationship which had taken place so far.

Her skirt had extended to about mid-calf level, but as I glanced up, she had lifted it to her knees. One hand was stroking the inner part of her leg, while the other had slipped on to her breast, and was casually teasing a nipple.

It was very clear that her nipples were erect, their shape evident through her blouse.

I began to stumble over my words as I watched, and eventually stopped, watching her as she gently stimulated herself.

"Go on," she prompted, "don't let me distract you."

I cleared my throat and continued, very aware that I was waffling and deliberately giving absurdly over-simplified explanations.

She undid first one, then two buttons of her top. Underneath, she wore a green bra. I could see the lace clearly over the top of her breast, and watched in fascination as the flesh wobbled gently.

Her hand progressed up her thigh, and while her crumpled skirt meant I could not see her knickers, I was in no doubt that she was touching her pussy.

I dried up. Talking about developing targets and the content of effective targets was absurd as I watched this nineteen year old turning herself on.

I felt my penis stiffening. I was semi-hard, and acutely aware that this must be very obvious. It also meant I needed to adjust myself. I decided, however, that I might as well follow her lead, and my hand drifted to my zip.

"No!" Sam blurted out. "Just watch."

I released my zip and adjusted myself, so I could be erect in comfort (physically, if not emotionally).

She undid the rest of the buttons on her top. Her bra was tight, forcing a decent cleavage, but it was her nipples which got my attention, sticking up proudly, lifting the silky fabric into sharp points.

She rolled her hand around the breast - comfortably a 'C' cup - before grabbing her nipple, squeezing hard and pulling, then rolling it between her fingers.

She stared at me, almost challenging me to look away. I felt she would be offended if I did - and I had no desire to cause offence. She released the distended nipple reluctantly, and slid the blouse off her shoulders. She had a good upper body, and I surmised that she probably played sport or worked out - although her boobs would certainly require some restraining for anything vigorous.

Her fingers slipped into the elasticated waistband of her skirt, and she stood, slipping it down her legs and stepping out as it reached the floor. Her legs, too, looked toned, and she posed, showing them off to good effect. Her face may have looked rather 'mousy', but her body was impressive - even down to the small layer of 'puppy-fat' around her waist.

She turned, showing me her backside, set off attractively by the high-cut knickers. She swayed her hips to the side, then put a hand on each buttock. Slowly, she bent forward, allowing the fabric of her underwear to pull tight and letting me see a darker patch, where she had become moist. I could even see a gentle undulation between her legs, puffy lips either side of the cleft, moulded by her secretions.

She stood again, slowly, elegantly, adopting yet another graceful pose, and her hands rose to the fastening of her bra.

I wondered if, perhaps, her grace was a result of dancing. I also wondered if she had ever modelled. Certainly, she adopted positions which maximised her appeal, but whether this was natural or trained, I was unsure. Hopefully, at some point, we would talk, and I could get answers to my questions.

She unclipped her bra, and allowed it to slide off down her arms, joining her skirt on the floor. Then she turned. I had expected her to hide her nipples, coyly, but instead, she cupped the underside of her breasts, holding them out towards me, before allowing her thumbs to flick her nipples, making them spring from side to side.

If she was nervous about this, there was little evidence. All I could discern was her slightly accelerated breathing, and a flush which extended from her cheeks, down her neck and on to her upper chest. It might have been sexual excitement, of course, but I fancied that there was still some apprehension behind her eyes. It was one of the reasons I avoided eye contact and focused on her body - and with a body like hers to look at, why not?

She allowed her breasts to drop. Being young and fit, they did not fall too far, and her nipples seemed to point at me accusingly. Her areolae were quite large, and deep-pink, almost red against her pale skin. Her nipples seemed longer than average, or maybe that was just because she had pulled them so hard. I appraised the goose-flesh of her areolae against the smooth swelling of breast, and realised that they were truly impressive.

She turned again, this time hooking her fingers into the waistband of her panties. Again, she pushed them down her thighs before letting them drop. She moved around the pile of clothes on the floor, closer to me, and bent forward, offering a perfect view of her bum. It was firm, rounded, and as she bent, the cheeks split apart, allowing me to see between them. I also saw her labia, slick and shining with her moisture.

When I had seen her before, I was certain that she had pubic hair. In fact, I had definitely seen a darkish 'V'. Now, however, no hair was in evidence. I wondered if she shaved around her labia, but preserved the hair above.

Having moved her clothes, she opened her legs a little, sliding her hands up her inner thighs. As she reached the join, one hand twisted, allowing her middle finger to slip between the lubricated lips. She stroked herself, giving a gentle sigh - almost a 'mew' - as she found her clitoris.

I guessed this was for my benefit, as it was hardly a great position for her to masturbate, She rubbed for a few seconds before turning to face me.

She was hairless, and perhaps the look of surprise on my face made her feel she should explain. "I decided to shave. Well. My boyfriend asked me to. Do you like it?"

"You look amazing," I replied, "I don't mind if you shave or not. You look magnificent."

She flushed again, and smiled, leaving the controlling persona which she had adopted.

This prompted me to leave my persona of voyeur, submissive to her wishes. I contemplated how bizarre the situation was. I was a man in his mid-50s, being dictated to, sexually by a young woman of nineteen. I guessed her sexual experience was minimal, and as such, my vastly greater knowledge should have meant that I would lead - however, there was no question who was in charge. Also, I have never been naturally submissive. In truth, I maybe tend in the other direction. My wife likes being spanked and restrained, and I enjoy doing it.

So how had we arrived here? I realised that I didn't care. It was probably because I'm and old perv, happy to do anything to get sight of some young tits and pussy. Yet I had done nothing - it was my younger partner who had led the way. I had just done what she wanted me to.

As I watched, her eyes glazed over again, and I realised she was about to revert to her performance.

She reached and took my hand, pulling me up from my place on her bed and leading me across to the desk chair where she had previously been sitting. I was very aware of my erection, and as I stood, its shape was unmistakeable. She clearly noticed, and I saw a slight grin as she looked down.

She now took her place on the bed, lying back and spreading her legs. I stared at her labia. They were swollen, darker pink than the surrounding skin, and wet. Her hand moved down, and rather than just push inside, she opened herself wide, with two fingers. This was clearly for my benefit. She wanted me to see her inner lips, the hole between them, the darker pink of the skin within, and her clitoris, swollen and obvious.

Her middle finger stroked and teased her clit, the small nub evident as she rubbed. She brought her other hand down, allowing her to stroke herself more comfortably. Her breathing was becoming ragged, and I felt her orgasm was approaching. She began tapping furiously, as if sending a frenetic morse-code message. She began to tense, and I waited for her release. Then she stopped.

Briskly, she sucked her fingers, cleaning off her juices.

She twisted and reached to a cupboard in her bedside table. She took out a small, bullet vibrator, and a larger, curved dildo. The latter was transparent, looking like glass (though clearly acrylic - hopefully!). She tapped the button on the end of the vibrator and brought it down onto her clit. Her thighs tensed and her knees drew up, causing her legs to spread even wider.

She brought the dildo down and slipped it into her pussy, sliding in slowly, seeking her g-spot, before she started to draw it in and out as she found the sensitive surface.

She moaned and gasped, and her legs drew up further. I saw the red flush spread down her throat, onto her chest as she tensed. Then, the moan became strangled, stuck in her throat and the thrusting sex-toy stopped. She emitted a long, low moan: "Ooohhh...." I saw her juices gush, over the dildo, running down her sex-lips, over the cleft of her buttocks and forming a pool on her bed, which rapidly soaked in, forming a large, wet patch.

She went limp, and I watched as her inner lips alternately contracted and relaxed around the transparent toy. Her head rolled from side to side as she rode out her climax.

Gradually, she came down after the explosion, withdrawing the dildo and sitting up to look at me, eyes sparkling with excitement, body flushed with ecstasy. She smiled, although her eyes remained a little unfocused, still glazed as she retained the dominant persona.

She lifted the dildo to her mouth and licked its entire length, cleaning off her juices with relish.

"Your turn." She informed me. "Strip and finish yourself on me."

My jaw dropped. I had assumed that this might be a one-way interaction, and I would go home with a rampant cock, needing to either fuck my wife or jerk off into a tissue. I suddenly felt very inadequate, looking at her wonderful body, and knowing that mine, while still quite reasonable, was thirty-five years older, with all the saggy bits and wrinkles that might reasonably be expected.

"Where?" I gasped, absurdly.

"Where you want," she replied, "my face, my tits, my cunt, my arse. Wherever you like, so long as I can see and you clean up."

The last bit confused me a little, but seemed fair.

I stripped quickly. My penis had been rock hard since the start of her performance, and I was so turned-on that I knew I could finish quickly. I felt that was what she wanted - not the long, drawn out performance which I saved for my wife, but a fast appreciation of her body and her show.

She obviously wanted to have a good view, so I decided to finish on her face. I stripped rapidly, and stood by the bed as she lay back, gazing at my erection.

I wrapped my hand around myself and began to stroke. I began slowly and sped up. I was trying not to go too quickly. I wanted her to see, not just watch a blur as my hand raced up and down.

I was so turned on, that as I started to go more quickly, rolling over the sensitive head, the red-purple skin stretched tight, I knew that I would ejaculate.

My sensation built until I tensed. I felt my muscles contract, and my penis draw back as the semen raced up, ready to explode. I pointed it at her face, aiming at her mouth and chin, to avoid covering her eyes.

I erupted. A fountain of creamy cum shot forth, directly onto her lips, which she opened, allowing the second blast to go directly into her mouth. The third hit her chin and the fourth her cheek. I moved forward as spurts became dribbles from my throbbing member, looking to slip it into her mouth. Her lips slammed shut. She did not want me to finish inside her, and I was left with cum on my shaft as her fixed gaze moved from the hole which had ejected my seed to my eyes.

Her lips opened, allowing more of my semen to run onto her tongue. "Now clean me up," she demanded.

I looked around for tissues or a towel, and as I did so, she opened her mouth again. "No. Lick me clean."

I had licked my cum off my wife before, but not for a while. Still. It was not something I had a problem with. I knelt down and dipped my tongue, tentatively at first, into the salty, slimy gel as it cooled. After a couple of initial dabs, I became bold, licking long streaks across her face, collecting my semen and swallowing. I moved from her cheeks and nose to her lips and chin, finally on to her throat, until she was totally clean.

I stood again, my penis still dripping, and she beckoned me to come closer.

Her slim, manicured hand reached out and grabbed my erection, pulling me to her. Cat-like, she lapped up my cream, before taking me in her mouth and sucking out any remaining vestige of cum.

She wiped her face on her quilt, then looked at me. "Might as well. I've got to change the bedding anyway." She indicated the large wet patch between her legs.

She sat up and looked at me. Instantly, she became uncertain, more the rather demure student that she always seemed to be. She looked down at her naked body, then at me, her eyes flickering and flitting across us both, as if wondering how we had ended up like this.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I think I ought to explain this."

As I had suspected, she was a dancer, and loved modern dance. She had often performed in skin-tight outfits, which were a stark counterpoint to her usual preference for hiding her figure. It excited her that people admired her figure - especially when her dance teacher told her that she needed to hide her erect nipples, as they were a distraction.

I nodded, and listened as she told me about how, on her eighteenth birthday, she had dressed for a night out with friends in flimsy top and short skirt. They had dared her to 'look sexy', as she never did, and she had decided to shock them.

She had loved the attention, found it exciting to have people staring at her, especially her breasts and bum. Then, she had slipped off a bar stool, and her skirt had caught, lifting it up and showing her knickers to everyone in the bar. She had been embarrassed, but found herself getting wet. She had needed to visit the toilet to masturbate immediately. The idea of exposing herself even more had been planted.

She quickly recognised, however, that exposure was incompatible with her career choice, so retained her 'prim and proper' character. Occasionally, she had travelled outside the local area on her own, and deliberately worn clothing which would expose her - flashing nipples, bum, pussy - even touching herself to gain attention. She enjoyed this, but recognised the risks.

That was when she had noticed me across the road. Apparently, she liked older men - she found them more open-minded, more appreciative and less likely to be sexually aggressive. She had decided to test my response to her exhibitionism - and this had led us to where we were.

Had she considered stripping? I asked. She could dance, was elegant and graceful, would get protection and could act out as much as she wanted as part of her act - plus it paid better than teaching.

No. She had passive thoughts about it, but disliked the idea of men howling at her, objectifying her. She also loved her chosen career and it had been her ambition for years.

How about modelling? She'd love to. But it would have to be in private, because of her career, and she could not afford to buy the copyright to images from professional photographers. Would she like to model for me? Oh god, yes!

I considered my next question carefully. How would she feel if my wife knew? I explained that we had an open-minded sexual relationship, but that we had always played together, and this was what I liked to do. Sam thought, and agreed that I should do what was right for me. Then I asked if she would want my wife to join us. Her eyes sparkled, and she immediately agreed that she would love it. I even explained that, considering the copious amounts of fluid she produced, my wife might be able to teach her to squirt.