Deliberate Display - five erotic voyeur and exhibitionist stories by Sommer Marsden, Lucy Felthouse, John McKeown, Marlene Yong, Abigail Thornton Page A
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silky hair cascading over her broad shoulders, came across as being totally up herself. Yes, she was beautiful, but it’s hard to like someone who sees themselves as being “superior”. I wasn’t surprised to discover that she still didn’t know who I was despite having made daily demands of me for nearly two weeks.
Ruth was wearing her husband’s creased shirt, no doubt having picked it up from where it had been thrown at the start of this latest round of lovemaking – even the maids had been complaining. Her hair was lighter than when she’d arrived, and most of the silkiness had gone. I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction that she was failing to prevent the sun and salt water from turning it into something approximating straw – like they had done to mine. Annoyingly, the lack of hair control had increased Ruth’s beauty – she seemed softer now, more real … more attractive, more alluring; a vulnerability exposed. Her sun-kissed skin was vibrant and energised, perfectly highlighted by the stark whiteness of her husband’s shirt. Ruth had done up only two buttons, the lower one being mismatched – the result of which was half the shirt was being tugged up and I could clearly see the “V” of her pubic area, although it wasn’t hosting a single pube.
Officially, all I had to do was say something subtle, perhaps ask if they wouldn’t mind closing their curtains before they went back to bed. But I wanted to know why they were doing it. Before I managed to find the right words, Ruth gave me a dazzling smile and swept her arm around my shoulder – dragging the shirt up towards her navel – before offering me a swig of champagne from the bottle dangling from her fingers.
‘Ahh, Julie! Come on in. Come and help us celebrate our marriage.’ I was too numb to resist the faux friendship as Ruth happily wrestled me into the room, with her husband closing the door behind us. She was holding on to me, steering me into the lounge. Another trail of clothes, as described by the maids, told the tale of what had been happening in the time leading up to my arrival. Shoes scattered by the door; trousers scrunched by the bin; a red dress tossed over the television; a pile of underwear by the couch and a purple tube of lubricant standing erect on the table. My mind skipped back to the sordid pictures. Not content with “normal” sex, Callum and Ruth had been indulging in more “unconventional” sexual practices – and looked set to repeat them tonight.
‘I want to be able to sit on my balcony without seeing that anal slut,’ had been one of the more specific complaints which had been carefully filed “for urgent attention” on my desk. I wondered whether the people who’d made it were watching now as I engaged with a man hiding his erection under a towel and a woman unconcerned that her pussy was on show. I looked down – I couldn’t help it – and they looked down in unison so that all three of us were staring at Ruth’s exposed crotch.
‘You like my wife’s pussy?’ Callum asked, tugging at his shirt to fully expose his wife’s groin. Ruth’s legs parted slightly and I caught a glimpse of glistening labia before I dragged my eyes away. My head was swimming.
‘Perhaps you’d like to see my husband’s cock?’ Ruth asked, adding a sultry look to the husky tone in her voice. My body was frozen in place by overridden thought processes. I did want to see Callum’s cock in the flesh. My level of arousal leaped as Ruth tugged at the knotted towel and did a slow reveal to leave Callum naked with his erection pointing in my general direction. He stood there shamelessly and I felt the heat rising as my body responded. Who did that? Particularly newlyweds in a goldfish-bowl of an apartment with the curtains open and the lights on.
Moments later, their nudity was complete as Ruth twanged the remaining buttons and dropped the shirt on the floor. She wore no jewellery – she had the kind of
Ruth was wearing her husband’s creased shirt, no doubt having picked it up from where it had been thrown at the start of this latest round of lovemaking – even the maids had been complaining. Her hair was lighter than when she’d arrived, and most of the silkiness had gone. I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction that she was failing to prevent the sun and salt water from turning it into something approximating straw – like they had done to mine. Annoyingly, the lack of hair control had increased Ruth’s beauty – she seemed softer now, more real … more attractive, more alluring; a vulnerability exposed. Her sun-kissed skin was vibrant and energised, perfectly highlighted by the stark whiteness of her husband’s shirt. Ruth had done up only two buttons, the lower one being mismatched – the result of which was half the shirt was being tugged up and I could clearly see the “V” of her pubic area, although it wasn’t hosting a single pube.
Officially, all I had to do was say something subtle, perhaps ask if they wouldn’t mind closing their curtains before they went back to bed. But I wanted to know why they were doing it. Before I managed to find the right words, Ruth gave me a dazzling smile and swept her arm around my shoulder – dragging the shirt up towards her navel – before offering me a swig of champagne from the bottle dangling from her fingers.
‘Ahh, Julie! Come on in. Come and help us celebrate our marriage.’ I was too numb to resist the faux friendship as Ruth happily wrestled me into the room, with her husband closing the door behind us. She was holding on to me, steering me into the lounge. Another trail of clothes, as described by the maids, told the tale of what had been happening in the time leading up to my arrival. Shoes scattered by the door; trousers scrunched by the bin; a red dress tossed over the television; a pile of underwear by the couch and a purple tube of lubricant standing erect on the table. My mind skipped back to the sordid pictures. Not content with “normal” sex, Callum and Ruth had been indulging in more “unconventional” sexual practices – and looked set to repeat them tonight.
‘I want to be able to sit on my balcony without seeing that anal slut,’ had been one of the more specific complaints which had been carefully filed “for urgent attention” on my desk. I wondered whether the people who’d made it were watching now as I engaged with a man hiding his erection under a towel and a woman unconcerned that her pussy was on show. I looked down – I couldn’t help it – and they looked down in unison so that all three of us were staring at Ruth’s exposed crotch.
‘You like my wife’s pussy?’ Callum asked, tugging at his shirt to fully expose his wife’s groin. Ruth’s legs parted slightly and I caught a glimpse of glistening labia before I dragged my eyes away. My head was swimming.
‘Perhaps you’d like to see my husband’s cock?’ Ruth asked, adding a sultry look to the husky tone in her voice. My body was frozen in place by overridden thought processes. I did want to see Callum’s cock in the flesh. My level of arousal leaped as Ruth tugged at the knotted towel and did a slow reveal to leave Callum naked with his erection pointing in my general direction. He stood there shamelessly and I felt the heat rising as my body responded. Who did that? Particularly newlyweds in a goldfish-bowl of an apartment with the curtains open and the lights on.
Moments later, their nudity was complete as Ruth twanged the remaining buttons and dropped the shirt on the floor. She wore no jewellery – she had the kind of
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