tagExhibitionist & VoyeurThe Game Ch. 03

The Game Ch. 03

bySara and Ron©

The Game—Chapter 3 Sara’s First Fantasy

First some background:

Ron and I have been dating for several months now. We are both attractive young professionals working in the Chicago area. I am blond, 5’6”, and have 34b breasts. Ron is about 6’, trim and athletic, and has an 8 inch cock. He can cum like a freight train and produce more spunk than I ever thought possible.

Recently Ron and I have begun exploring sexual fantasies together (See Chapter’s 1 and 2 for details). We have invented a game where each month one of us will fulfill a fantasy of the other’s. Last month was Ron’s month and this month is mine.

Ron’s fantasy was to fuck a stripper. With the aid of my friend Michelle, I found a stripper named Crystal and we spent an amazing night together. Now it’s my turn to send him a note with my fantasy in it. The rule of the game is that the fantasy must be in the other person’s hands by the first of the month, and the other person has 30 days to fulfill it. Chapter 3 begins shortly after the night with Crystal, where I, for the first time, must come up with a fantasy for Ron to fulfill. And now on with Chapter 3:

Chapter Three: Sara’s First Fantasy

Two weeks had passed since Ron and I had our tryst with Crystal. I found myself sitting at my desk at home drinking a glass of wine with a pad of paper in front of me. I was wearing my silk robe with nothing underneath. My trash can was half full of little yellow balls of legal paper that I had written on and then discarded.

It was my turn to come up with my fantasy for Ron to fulfill and I had only two more days before my fantasy was “due”. This was harder than I had imagined it would be, and I wanted the fantasy to be deeply fulfilling for me and also for Ron. I had toyed with a lot of ideas, but always seemed to come back to images of Ron and me, with Crystal, or Michelle and me with Rick.

I could not get these ideas out of my head and I didn’t want to repeat or recycle a fantasy. I was learning something about myself in this game of ours: I really didn’t know my own sexuality as well as I thought.

“Damn. This shouldn’t be so hard,” I thought as I tore another sheet off the top of the tablet and wadded it into another ball and threw it at the trash can.

I downed the last of my glass of wine and went to the bathroom to pee. I stood looking at myself in the mirror not really recognizing the person staring back. “Why is this hard? It’s just sex? Everyone does it. Why can’t I come up with a fantasy? Jesus what gets me off?” I thought.

I sat on the toilet, peed, and thought about previous sexual encounters before Ron. I had dated some, but was not a slut. All of the images of me with previous boyfriends started with them making a move, me letting them, and then them taking the lead. Even when I was with Michelle last month, I was little more than a puppet to her. I realized that I had never initiated sex in my life.

“Jesus, what is wrong with me?” I thought. “How is that possible?”

I returned to the kitchen wanting another glass of wine as my epiphany progressed. I was a prude. Well maybe not a prude, but I had never been in a position to get whatever I wanted sexually. What did I want? What turned me on? What made my heart race and my pussy tingle?

Even my masturbation fantasies were not my own. I thought about the last time I used my fingers on myself and replayed the images in my mind. I was lying on my bed, naked. The lights off, but shafts of streetlights filtered through my bedroom curtains giving my body a sensuous moonlit glow. My fingers were on my clit, but my mind was conjuring images of Rick: his cock hard and throbbing, as he entered me; the feeling of fullness and lust coursing through me; the feeling of him cumming inside me.

I came within ten minutes on my own fingers, but I had not once in my fantasy been the active participant. I had not, even in my own masturbatory fantasies, been the aggressor. It was always him doing something to me, not me doing something to him. Damn.

I stood in my kitchen holding a fresh glass of wine staring through my own translucent reflection in the kitchen window over the sink. I was lost in my thoughts of sexual confusion.

Across the alley that my kitchen faced, a light burned in a second story window of the apartment building where lots of young people lived. The rents in the building were cheap by Chicago standards, and the trains provided enough mobility that few needed automobiles.

My reverie was broken as a silhouette of a person crossed in front of the window opposite my own. There were no curtains there, and I suspected a group of college kids lived there. Suddenly a man appeared framed in the window staring out at the night. Being Chicago we were no more than twenty feet apart from his apartment to mine. The man was no more than 20 or 21 years old and he seemed not to have noticed me as of yet. He was wearing only a pair of blue boxer brief underwear. I watched him as he stretched and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke through a torn screen.

He was muscular, young, and very attractive. I watched him for several minutes before the thought occurred to me that I probably should not be staring in his window. However, it was not like I was doing anything really wrong as I was in my own house and they did not bother with curtains.

Perhaps it was the wine, the sexual frustration I felt, or a combination of both, but I could not tear myself away from the image of his perfect body framed in the window as if it were a living painting. I took another sip of wine and stood silently staring, watching him smoke.

He noticed me a minute later. Our eyes met and I could see him startle at the realization that he was being watched by me. He stepped quickly away from the window, and feelings of guilt immediately hit me. I slugged another sip from my wine and pretended to be washing out the glass in the kitchen, knowing that I had been caught but pretending that I had been there innocently. My face burned red, and I felt bad about what I had just done.

And then he was back, staring at me. I tried not to look, but found my eyes continuously drawn to his window. I set my now extra clean wine glass in the glass rack and tentatively looked up again. He was grinning at me and waved. He was still in his underwear and made no attempt to cover himself.

I tentatively waved to him, finally acknowledging his presence. I licked my lips as I drank in the sight of him. Knowing that he knew I was watching him made the situation far more exciting and my mind was drawn back to my nude adventure in Ron’s house where I found his box of pornography and had watched the construction workers across the street.

The man across the street was watching me intriguingly. Now that we were aware of each other, I felt as though we shared an intimate connection. Not sexual, but definitely intimate. The thought made me tingle with excitement.

He blew me a kiss from across the street and I found myself smiling wildly. I returned the gesture and he grinned like a child. Although we could not speak to each other, I found we were flirting with non-verbal cues. He flexed his muscular body for me jokingly and then stood with his hands out at his sides, palms up, as if to ask, “Well what do you think?”

I laughed out loud at the image and clapped my hands together as if giving him my definite approval. He then pointed to me as if to say, “Your turn.”

I was confused at first and then realization dawned on me and my face blushed crimson. I shook my head as if saying, “No way.”

My partner in voyeurism simply cocked his head to one side and waited as if saying, “Yes, it’s your turn. You started this.”

I drew in a deep breath, knowing that he was right. My fingers found the knot of the belt holding my robe together and without thinking I tugged letting the belt come free and shrugging my robe off my shoulders. The robe silently fluttered to the floor around my feet. I was exposed completely to him and was feeling both aroused and very, very naked, both literally and emotionally.

I was immediately rewarded with silent applause from the other side of the street. I giggled at myself, no longer feeling self conscious. I held my own breasts and shook them gently from side to side as if displaying them at a meat counter. I could see the stranger across the street laughing.

He smiled at me again and hooked his thumbs on both sides of his underwear and looked at me with raised eyebrows as if to say, “Should I?”

I nodded enthusiastically, and was rewarded with the image of him dropping his underwear in on quick fluid motion. He stood up naked with his hands extended to his sides as if to say, “Here it is.”

I giggled again and clapped for him. He turned around in a complete circle letting me drink in the images of his nude body in a 360 degree rotation. His cock was not hard, but it was also not soft. It was about 6 inches long sticking out from a patch of blond pubic hair.

We stood looking at each other for another thirty seconds or so, but the moment was fading. I raised a hand to him as if to say, “Good night and thanks for the fun.”

He waved back and we both moved away from our windows. I found myself in my bedroom a minute later laying on my back massaging my clitoris and fantasizing about what had just happened. I let my mind wander and found myself imagining him watching me rub myself. My pussy flooded at the thought and my nipples tingled. I was rubbing myself on the bed and imagining what I must look like to an observer. In a sense I was masturbating to myself, and I loved it.

I rubbed my clit faster imagining the show I would be putting on had my friend been watching. The images of my naked body close to orgasm flashed through my mind as if I were the voyeur. When I came I was picturing what I must look like to another set of eyes. My body would be shivering with pleasure as waves of orgasmic sensation rolled through my body. I knew at that moment the fantasy I wanted.

After I came down from my orgasm, I raced, still naked, to my desk. I grabbed a pen and scrawled three sentences on a piece of paper. I reread what I had written once, and made no changes. I pulled an envelope from my drawer and scrawled Ron’s address on it. I shoved the paper inside and stamped it.

I held the envelope briefly thinking, “Am I really going to mail this?”

I went to the kitchen and got my robe. I went to my closet and found a pair of slippers and slipped out my front door. I ran the half block to the public mailbox and hesitated only a second before dropping the letter inside making it irretrievable. It was done. I breathed deeply and ran back to my apartment, not believing that I had just mailed my first fantasy. I silently prayed to myself that I would not regret later.

I didn’t.


Nothing happened for a week after I mailed the letter. Ron didn’t even acknowledge that he had received it, and it was driving me crazy. I knew he had, or he would have said something. Honesty was a fundamental part of the game we were playing. I was determined not to ask him anything just as he had not asked me anything the previous month.

Inside, however, I was squirming with anticipation. I was rereading in my mind what I had written him and second guessing every word. Questions blazed through my every waking moment about my fantasy.

Was it too vague? Was it too specific? Could he pull it off? Would he want to? Where would it happen? When would it happen? Jesus, why didn’t I take more time to be more thorough, rather than scrawling my desire on a piece of paper and mailing them. I had three more weeks of agony, or it could happen tonight. Fuck.

Another week crawled by and I was considering talking to Ron. God I was weak. Then the Thursday of week 2 I got an email from Ron.

“Meet me at my house Saturday at 3:00 sharp.”, was all it said.

I read and re-read his short mail at least fifty times. Saturday at three was all I got? Was he fucking kidding? Well I guess I deserved this after the suspense I must have put him through last month. Thank God Michelle didn’t let me procrastinate too much. I never had considered that he must have been dying inside every minute that he didn’t know what was going to happen.


Saturday morning I woke up and showered thoroughly including shaving my legs and my pubic hair. I trimmed my pussy nicely but left a sexy “landing strip” of hair just for Ron. When I was clean I agonized over what to wear and settled for a skirt and blouse outfit that was not slutty but not conservative either.

I had the familiar anticipatory butterflies in my stomach and I could not stop fidgeting all morning. The hours alternatively flew by and drug on forever depending on my sine curve like emotions. Finally at 2pm I took a deep breath and headed for Ron’s. It was only 20 minutes away, but I was going crazy with nervousness and sexual desire while waiting around my house.

Ron lived in the suburbs and had a very nice home. It was 4 bedrooms with a large living area and kitchen. He had a large 20 x 20 foot deck on the back that overlooked an in ground pool. His basement was finished to be the ultimate bachelor’s party room, complete with a guest bedroom. French doors opened up out to a concrete veranda below the deck. The pool took up most of the backyard and the 10 foot privacy fence ensured it was not visible from any of the neighbor’s houses.

I got to the front door at 2:45 after killing 15 minutes driving around his subdivision so as not to be too early. As I approached the door, I noticed an envelope with my name on it taped to the door knocker.

“Shit, now or never I guess,” was all I could think.

I opened the envelope with trembling hands. Inside was a single 3x5 card which read. “Your fantasy is about to come true. Please go to the basement bathroom and await further instructions. Do not turn on any lights and do not go anywhere else.”

I took a deep breath and opened the door slowly not knowing what to expect. I stepped into the foyer and said, “Hello? Ron?” I was greeted with silence, and the house appeared to be empty at first glance.

I set my purse on the kitchen table and proceeded downstairs to the basement playroom. The lights were completely off except for the bathroom which was very near the bottom of the stairs. I could not see around the corner and into the main room without violating my instructions. I strained to see anything that might give me a clue as to the future, but was only frustrated with the black silence. I could only see the silhouette of the pool table that was near the bathroom door. Damn again.

I entered the bathroom and closed the door slowly until I heard the mechanical click. The bathroom was very large. To my right was the combinations shower/tub and the toilet. Directly in front of me was the double vanity and mirror. Over the mirror 6 bright lights glowed. The bright light would blind me when I returned to the blackness of the living room, but what could I do? Taped to the mirror was half of a yellow legal piece of paper that I recognized immediately. I pulled it from the mirror and reread what I had written almost two weeks earlier in post orgasmic insanity:


I want to watch myself get fucked. I want people to watch me get fucked. I want to look into strange eyes and see my orgasm reflected in them while I get fucked.


I was trembling as I held the paper. I was also blushing. Was I really so brash as to write that. Jesus, I should never write after masturbating. Holy God what was going to happen to me today. Could I back out? Did I really want to? What did Ron think of this?

I turned the paper over to find more writing. This time it was in Ron’s hand.


I love this fantasy. I never imagined you would make me so hot. If you still want to go through with this I have arranged for your fantasy to come true in a very special way. I have decided to make a movie of your fantasy so that you can watch yourself get fucked anytime you wish. Only one copy will be made and only for your eyes.

The way today will progress is quite simple. Since you want to be watched, and we are making a movie, I have arranged for you to be a porn star for a day. When you come out of the bathroom, you will be naked. Walk to the middle of the basement bedroom. Turn on the television and a movie will start. You are to perform as if you are the blond woman on the screen. Everything she does, you do. At the end of the scene you will return to the bathroom and wait exactly 15 minutes and then return to the bed. There are three scenes you will be “performing” in. Remember, you are in character so you are not to talk to any members of the production staff and will only interact with the people on the bed.

See you soon babe.


I read and re-read his note. A porno movie? Me in a porno movie? I shivered with doubt, excitement, and anticipation. Holy shit this was crazy. And who exactly is his production staff? Was I really going to walk into a room naked, expected to fuck like a porn star, in front of God knows who?

I suddenly gasped and realized I had not been breathing for the last few minutes. My hands were trembling and images of me having sex in a room full of people that I didn’t know both aroused and terrified me. Jesus they were in there right now waiting on me.

My nipples tingled, and my stomach was in knots. I took a deep breath and stared at my reflection in the mirror as if looking to my own image for the resolve to either run my ass straight home or to begin taking off my clothes. I knew I would go through with it. Leaving just was not an option at this point, and a part of me that I was getting to know better didn’t want to leave. I smiled at myself in the mirror and my tension and fear slowly left me.

I unbuttoned the blouse I had chosen with such care and hung it on the hook behind the door. Next came off my skirt and bra. I stood watching myself in nothing but my sexiest underwear and massaged my nipples gently. There was not denying my feelings now. I was on fire with lust and anticipation. I was transforming as I looked at myself in my reflection. I was changing from “Sara the good-girl”, that worked as a mid level manager in a medium sized Chicago firm, to “Sara the slut” who danced naked in a bar last month and masturbated in a limo while a big black man jacked off on her tits and face while her best friend ate her cunt. Yes her cunt. Good girl Sara did not use such words, but Slut-Sara did.

“Cunt. Cunt. Cunt.” I repeated the mantra to myself as I stood naked in Ron’s bathroom and played with my own nipples. “Sara the slut” was never afraid of sexual conquest and was up for anything.

My panties slid down my smooth legs and I stepped out of them as sexily as I could. I watched myself strip and imagined the image I must have made last month on stage in a sleazy bar in St. Louis. God I was feeling hot. This was going to be incredible.

When I was naked and completely horny, I smiled at the woman in the mirror who I barely recognized and turned to the door. I opened the door slowly and flicked off the light. Darkness enveloped me as I stepped out of the bathroom and around the corner toward the main living area of the Ron’s basement.

I was tingling with anticipation and the cool basement air caressed my naked flesh. My bare feet padded toward the center of the room on soft carpet. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the gloom and I found that light did seep in around the edge of the blackout drapes that hung over the windows. I found the bedroom and quietly tiptoed through the open door.

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