tagExhibitionist & VoyeurThe Invisible Girl

The Invisible Girl


I stared at the spot where the boots weren't. Quite clearly there were no boots on the circular stand. I had a fairly clear idea of what they looked like - calf-high, with chunky heels and a slight platform - but since there was nothing on the stand they had to be the result of an overactive imagination. Had I been anywhere other than where I was, I would have left it at that and walked away, scratching my head in confusion.

A few years ago, when I was a student doing research into goblins and other mystical subterranea, I stumbled across a magic shop. Not one of those tricks-for-kids places, but a real magic shop of the sort you hear about sometimes in stories but can only ever find by accident. This one was in Cockburn Street in Edinburgh's Old Town, ironically - and perhaps not entirely coincidentally - next to a modern touristy witchcraft shop selling crystals and dream catchers and the like.

Cockburn Street winds down from the Royal Mile to the station, and Edinburgh was at its sunniest and most festive. The were crowds of people milling about, enjoying the entertainments of the Fringe, relaxing in and around the pubs, and fighting for space in the shops, and yet there was this one particular shop that no one paid any attention to. In truth, I almost walked past it myself, unseeing, but a brush of something, a sense of the ancient, startled me and brought me to a halt.

It was fairly nondescript from the outside, the shop window being narrow and dark, and the shop door wooden and strangely forbidding, despite the sign in the window that read, "Open." I dared to open it, and stepped into the cool, shadowy interior.

Cool, but not cold, and not too dark either once my eyes adjusted. It reminded me a lot of a second-hand bookshop, a place undisturbed by time and with its walls hidden by shelves of aging hardback books - although these were mostly large, thick tomes full of arcana and often written in languages I did not recognise. Like in the shop next door, there were crystals for sale, but these were magnificent crystals, sapphires and fire opals, and diamonds that quite inexplicably reflected starlight. I held in my hands gemstones that would put the Crown Jewels to shame, and shuddered to think what they would cost. My soul, perhaps.

And then there were the boots. The boots that I couldn't see. But when I reached out to touch them, feeling more than a little foolish, my fingers touched soft leather, and wooden heels.

Invisible boots...

"Why don't you try them on?"

I gave a cry of surprise and spun round to find myself facing the old man. He had been sleeping in an armchair in the corner the whole time I had been in the shop, and I hadn't even been sure he was alive. He looked a hundred years old - he could easily have been two or three hundred years old, from the look of him - but his eyes, open now, were bright with intelligence.

"Hi," I said, with more confidence than I felt. "How much is this?" I showed him the book I had found with the curious title, "Cowe."

He glanced at it, and shrugged. "Fifty."

I winced. It was all the cash I had on me, and somehow I doubted the shop accepted credit cards. "Then I certainly can't afford the boots," I said with a wistful sigh.

He took my money and packed the book in a paper bag, handing it to me. "Try them on," he said. "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."

What exactly he had in mind, I had no idea, but those invisible boots were fascinating. It's one thing to research magic, quite another to be confronted with something that was clearly impossible. And it wouldn't hurt to try them, would it? "Okay," I said, and slipped out of my sandals.

The boots eased onto my feet easily, feeling both firm and comfortable. It made me wonder what the point was of invisible clothing, and I remembered the tale of the Emperor's new clothes, but then I winked out of existence, suddenly no more visible than the boots. All that was left of me was my dress and handbag floating in midair. "Oh," I said.

There was a tall mirror nearby - a magic mirror, for all I knew - and I walked over and stood in front of it, searching for myself. I was there, and yet not-there. I dropped my handbag and pulled my dress off, so that nothing could be seen of me. I was an invisible girl.

An invisible naked girl. A very aroused invisible naked girl. Butterflies of excitement swirled within me as I stared at the apparently empty space where I stood. "Wow," I said.

I looked through myself at the shopkeeper who had walked up behind me and who was in the process of discarding his clothing, revealing a withered body that was little more than skin and bone. Skin, bone, and a sizeable erection that pressed suddenly against my cheeks. I moaned with a sudden, inexplicable lust and pressed back against that hard flesh.

"I haven't had a woman in years," he said. "Give yourself to me now, and you may take the boots."

Right at that very moment, the only thing I wanted was his cock. Inside me. I didn't care about the boots, I didn't care about the old man, I only cared about having that cock inside me. I reached down and guided him to my pussy and between my lips, even bending over to allow him to penetrate me properly.

Such a hazy, lustful need I have seldom experienced. He thrust into me with enthusiasm and was soon pounding me with a force and sheer energy that was astonishing in one so old. On some level I was aware that he didn't have a condom - and I never have vaginal sex without a condom - but I didn't care enough to stop. I needed to come. I needed him to come.

And all the way through I watched him in the mirror, his cock bending as it thrust again and again into my invisible flesh. I was not there. Only he was there, fucking the air with wild abandon. When he did come at last, I expected to see his cum jetting into the air and splashing onto the mirror, but instead it swirled about his cock like a messy cum-sleeve as I felt him pulsing victoriously inside me.

He withdrew at last, panting wearily, and the cum in my vagina faded slowly until there was nothing to be seen (though certainly not nothing to be felt).

The fire of my lust dissipated, leaving mostly confusion. "Why did I let you do that?" I asked.

Shaking with weariness, and seeming even older than before, he turned away from me and collected his clothes. "The boots are aphrodisiac," he said, so quietly I could barely hear his words. "They will arouse you and any who can smell you." He retreated to his chair in the corner. "Especially the first time..."

He had tricked me, of course. He had known he could have his way with me if I put the boots on. Not that I hadn't thoroughly enjoyed it, but it had left me feeling dirty - morally and physically.

As I tugged the boots off and returned to visibility, I argued with myself over whether to take the boots or not. Wouldn't giving him my body in exchange for the boots make me a prostitute? Then again, I would have fucked him with or without the offer of boots, so there was no need for him to have offered them to me.

Mind you, if I left them, he might use them to seduce some other poor innocent girl, so it would be wrong for me to leave them...

I popped the boots in the bag with the book, dressed quickly, and exited the sleepy shop for the vivid colours and everyday magic of the Festival City.


My lingering sense of shame, as much as anything else, kept me from wearing the boots again - except in secret in my bedroom on a few occasions. During these minor explorations, I discovered pockets in the boots, just big enough to keep keys and a bit of cash in, maybe even a few condoms, should I ever dare to wear the boots outside.

Although, really, it was less that I didn't dare, more that I wasn't sure what being invisible (and constantly horny) was really good for. Fantasy was one thing, but in reality most people would be terrified if confronted with an invisible girl. I could spy on people, and play tricks on them, but interacting with them would be difficult if not impossible. I couldn't wear or carry anything without it being visible - even a butt plug, I discovered, stayed clearly visible - and any solid foods I ate would take several minutes to fade away.

So for a long time the boots stayed in the bedroom, and life brought other adventures to distract me. Until the weekend before last. Fiona phoned me on the Friday. "Hi Ali," she said. "My fiancé's leaving me all alone next week."

"How foolish," I said.

She laughed. "Do you fancy coming down?"

"Sure. I've got a few days off due me."

"Great! I'd offer you the spare bedroom..."

"... but we both know I won't be using it."

She laughed again. "Yeah, I need someone to keep me warm at night."

We chatted for a while, as we usually do, and the subject turned at some point to her boss. "Barbara's got an incredible body, and she's brilliant with numbers and getting the directors to see sense, but she's so very English, and so posh."

"Let me guess, her husband's a financier and they live in a barn conversion out in the country."

"Something like that. She's a good boss, for the most part." She trailed off suddenly.


"A bit homophobic."

"In this day and age?"

"Quite. Anyway, it hasn't affected me directly, but it's hurting some of the others."

"If only you could show her what she's been missing."

"Well, I have caught her looking at me strangely a few times, but only from a distance."

And so on. I didn't think any more about it until I was packing and my eyes glanced upon the box with the invisible boots inside. Could this, I wondered, be a first mission for Invisible Girl? ("Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it - empty space?") Though really it was their aphrodisiac nature that I needed for this mission.

Seducing the boss!

Awesome. By the time I reached Fiona's apartment in the City, a moderate-sized top-floor flat that cost more per week than my monthly wage, I was horny enough even without wearing the boots to jump her as soon as she opened the door. "I want you now," I growled, pushing her against the wall and kissing her.

She wriggled out of my arms and closed the door. "You stink of sweat and public transport," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Go have a shower."

"Are you sure you're not turning into a posh bird yourself?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely I'm turning posh, Ali, my bit o' rough," she said with a grin. "Now be a good girl and go clean yourself."

I pretended to curtsey. "Yes, Mistress Fiona."


We slept late on Saturday, and had breakfast at lunchtime, Netflix-and-chilling in the more literal sense. It was pissing it down outside and neither of us felt much like going out. It was mid-afternoon when I finally woke up enough to want something more. I brought the box through to the living room and placed it on the table in front of Fiona. "I thought you might like to try these on."

She lifted the lid off and saw only the tissue paper that lined the base. "Oops?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking at me.

"Put your hands in the box," I said patiently.

She did as instructed, and recoiled with a shriek of surprise. "What the fuck?"

This time I was the one smirking as I watched her discover the boots with her hands, her fear turning slowly to amazement and then to curiosity. "This is impossible," she said.

"Yes. Try them on."

"Is that... safe?"

"With just the two of us here alone? I think so. But you might want to do it the bedroom." Mainly because of the floor-length mirror, but having the bed there wouldn't hurt.

In the bedroom, she stripped out of her trousers, leaving only her blue silk pyjama top and her lacy black knickers, and while she sat on the edge of the bed, slipping her feet one at a time into the boots, I positioned my phone towards the bed and started recording. Fiona faded into nothing before my eyes, revealed only by the silk top and knickers, and suddenly all I could think about was tearing those off her and pushing her down onto the bed.

I couldn't get my own pyjamas off fast enough. Unlike Fiona, I wasn't wearing knickers - I rarely do - so I was quickly naked and kneeling in front of her, tugging her knickers down and off over her boots even as she discarded her top. I could touch her, I could smell her, I could taste her, but she was utterly invisible. In a way it was no different than holding her to me in a dark bedroom in the middle of the night, but with my eyes open, my hands holding her legs firmly, my lips kissing her inner thighs, my nose pressing between her labia to discover how very wet she was, it was weird as hell and deeply erotic to not be able to see her.

"This is insane," she said, but adjusted her legs to give me better access. "Stop teasing me!" she said, and an invisible hand guided my mouth to her invisible clit.

I was beyond horny. It was like in the magic shop. Nothing mattered beyond the need to come and the need to make Fiona come. If she had tried to deny me at all, I think I would have taken her by force - but thankfully that was unnecessary. Her hunger matched mine, her sharp fingernails digging into my scalp as my tongue swept lovingly across her clit with gentle but determined repetition.

"I need to sit," she gasped, pulling me with her as she did. I slipped a finger inside her, then a second, stimulating her G-spot, and she allowed herself to fall onto her back, her legs crossing around my head and locking me in position. "You're so fucking good at this, Ali. When did you get so good..."

I couldn't answer, of course, except by biting her clit gently and flicking it with my tongue. And I still couldn't see her at all. I was trapped between the thighs of an invisible woman, and I could only guess that her hands were mauling her breasts, and that her rock-hard nipples were being pinched and pulled. Her breathing was getting heavy, her hips thrusting her pussy against my mouth in a quest for greater stimulation. "I'm coming," she said. "I'm coming!"

My head felt like a nut being cracked as Fiona climaxed. Fluid that I couldn't see splashed against my chin and flooded my mouth. I could feel it dripping onto the floor, and could see a growing wet patch on the carpet there, but what squirted from the invisible girl was itself invisible for several seconds.

She relaxed her grip on my head, and I kissed my way up her invisible belly, sucked briefly on one invisible nipple while my fingers sought out the other, and then I was kissing her on the lips, my tongue in her invisible mouth, tangling with her invisible tongue. I hoped the camera was catching all of this. "I have never," I said, "needed to come," between kisses, "as badly as I do right now."

"I want to taste you," she murmured. "I want to drown in you... Lie down on your back."

I rolled over, letting her escape. I watched the impressions her knees made in the duvet as she crawled around me. Invisible hands parted my legs, and invisible lips kissed my thighs, taking their time to reach their destination. The only proof of her existence was the warmth of her breath and the sweet touch of her lips.

"Don't tease me," I begged, echoing her earlier demand.

She pulled away and smacked my inner left thigh. "Don't make me tie you up..."

"Sorry, Mistress," I whispered. I always love when Fiona's dominant side emerges. There's never been anything romantic between us, but the sex keeps on getting better. Her lips returned to my thighs, and I wanted to cry. I needed her tongue on my clit. I needed her fingers in me. I needed to feel my body tearing itself apart with orgasmic pleasure. "Please, Mistress!"

She smacked me again, this time across my right thigh, but then her mouth descended on my pussy, her tongue circling my clit, and I climaxed with an intensity that had me grabbing at the sheets for something to hold on to. The lower half of Fiona's face, wet from the fluids that flowed from my lips, became visible for a minute in a ghostly way.

"Fuck," I said, gently, when I could speak at all. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking amazing."

Fiona's grin was first part of her to became visible again. "You took the words from my mouth," my Cheshire Cat lover said, and collapsed onto the bed next to me.


My phone captured about twenty minutes of it before running out of storage. Mostly it was me on my hands and knees making silly faces and licking the air, sometimes finger-fucking the air as well. Only at the start, when Fiona faded, leaving her knickers and pyjama top to float in mid-air, was the recording even remotely interesting, and even that looked more like special effects than magic.

"You should make a gifset and stick it on your Tumblr," Fiona said.

I shook my head. "No."


Barbara Grey, a woman in her mid-forties, was in excellent shape for her age. Her body was athletic and her movements graceful. She reminded me a little of Audrey Hepburn, until she opened her mouth and announced to the whole office in an awfully posh accent that her housekeeper had abandoned her and gone back to Romania or Bulgaria or wherever without any warning. Barbara had been forced to take the kids to school herself, which is why she was running so horribly late.

In the privacy of her office, the façade slipped. She slumped into her executive swivelling leather chair, rested her elbows on a wide wooden table uncluttered with paperwork and let her head fall, burying her face in her hands. After a minute she took a deep breath and made a call using her smartphone. "You bastard," she said calmly. "You were fucking her. Did you get her pregnant? Is that why she left?"

She listened for a few seconds, then said, "Of course I don't want a bloody divorce. I want a new housekeeper. Unless you want to stay home and look after the kids and clean the house? No, I didn't think so." She ended the call abruptly and almost slammed the phone down onto the desk.

She looked across at me suddenly and frowned - I nearly jumped out of my skin - but after a few seconds she shrugged and looked away. She made another call, this time on the landline. "Fiona, hi, are you free? We need to go over those figures again."

I had arrived earlier (and perfectly visible) with Fiona, and had undressed in the Ladies' there. Boots on, I had wandered the office like a ghost, watching Fiona's colleagues arrive and work, listening to their chatter, trying to avoid touching any of them as I did so. If the boots were stirring a hunger in me for more, so that my nipples were hard and blissfully sensitive, and my pussy wet to the touch, they were also having an effect on others. I saw more than one man surreptitiously adjusting his pants to ease the discomfort of a swollen cock, and more than one woman adjusting her bra similarly.

Seeing these people trying to act normal while increasingly distracted by their arousal was entertaining, but also frustrating because I didn't want to just be an observer. I wanted to interact. I wanted to wrap my lips about a hard cock, and capture a nipple between my teeth while teasing it with my tongue. I wanted to spread legs and gorge on pussy, and spread my own for a good, long fuck. But the only person I dared to touch was Fiona, who I often returned to, surprising her with kisses, or slipping my hand up her skirt to caress her pussy through her soaked knickers.

"Stop it!" she whimpered once, causing several others to look round at her curiously. Her face was very red.

It didn't help that the boss was late arriving, if you can call half nine in the morning 'late'. She swept through the office like a princess, complaining about the unreliability of servants, and shut herself into her office - but her door was open long enough for me to slip in with her.

I stood by the large window, looking out over the City of London. I had actually been in this building once before, a few floors higher up. My then-boyfriend and I had used the Conference Room for our own personal conference, unaware that his boss had installed a secret camera there. It was so anticlimactic to be naked and invisible.

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byAlinaX© 16 comments/ 31084 views/ 19 favorites

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