#Exhibitionism

New Orleans has always embraced me like an old friend. It's the city where I've felt most alive, and the second place in the world where I've been made to feel like a queen (I'll spill the tea on my top spot another time, promise). This story comes from my fourth or maybe fifth trip to the Big Easy. There's something intoxicating about the power of beauty. In New Orleans, where the men carry a sultry, effortless charm, they never let me forget it. On the streets, their gazes are bold, like they're mapping every curve of my body with their eyes. It's a look that strips you bare, leaving you feeling desired, electric, and undeniably aroused. This time, I checked into a boutique hotel in the French Quarter, a charming spot with wrought-iron balconies and history in every brick. My room was on the eighth floor, with tall windows that, on a clear evening, framed the city's glowing skyline and the distant shimmer of the Mississippi River. It was late, and the long journey had left me drained, so I opted to stay in and order something simple from the hotel's kitchen. I called down for a po'boy sandwich and a local Abita beer. While waiting, I slipped out of my travel clothes and into the soft, white robe provided by the hotel. I was craving a long, steamy shower - and maybe a moment to indulge myself, since it had been over a day since I'd had any release. To avoid interruptions, I decided to wait for the food first. Sure enough, a knock came at the door within fifteen minutes. I opened it to find a waiter standing there with a polished silver tray. It held a hefty shrimp po'boy, a small bowl of complimentary fried okra, and a chilled bottle of beer, condensation dripping down the glass. "Good evening, miss, " he said, his voice smooth with that Louisiana drawl. "Good evening - please set the tray on the desk over there. Thank you." He lingered, his eyes locked on me. The robe hugged my body, hinting at the fact that I wore nothing beneath it. "You from Chicago? " he asked, a spark of curiosity in his gaze. "Yeah, born and raised." "Chicago girls have this vibe - always so stunning." His comment was forward, but it sent a warm thrill through me. "Thanks. Do I pay you now, or is it charged to my room? " "Pay me - it's $30." I grabbed my purse to settle the bill. "Haven't seen you here before. I'm Marcus, " he said, flashing a grin. "Just arrived today, Marcus. Nice to meet you." He stepped closer, offering a hug that was a touch too familiar, his hands grazing my back a little longer than necessary. I shot him a look, half-raised eyebrow, but honestly, his boldness didn't bother me. And I couldn't ignore the hard press of him against me during that hug - it sent a pulse of heat straight through me. I paid, he handed me the change, and I tucked my purse away. But Marcus didn't move. He just stood there, eyes still on me. "Staying long? " he asked, leaning against the doorframe. "About ten days. Now, if you don't mind, it was a brutal flight, and I'm dying for a shower." "Can't leave just yet, " he said, glancing down at the obvious strain in his uniform pants. "I'm in a bit of a situation here, if you catch my drift." "Well, that's a you problem, isn't it? You've got a job to get back to. So, how do we solve your... issue? " "I've got an idea or two." "Give me one." He didn't speak. Instead, he pulled a cushioned chair from the corner and set it in front of the room's full-length mirror, its antique frame adding a touch of decadence. "If you sit there, part that robe, and look at yourself in the mirror, I'll handle my problem just watching. That's all I'm asking - give me that view, gorgeous." His brazenness hit me like a wave, igniting a fire that started low and spread fast, warming my skin and quickening my pulse. I should've told him to get lost, but the truth was, I wanted to play along. I gestured for him to take a seat where he'd get the best angle. I settled into the chair, slowly untied my robe, and let it fall open just enough to reveal one breast, the nipple taut and flushed under his gaze. I spread my thighs and glanced at the mirror. My smooth, bare skin glistened faintly, a sight that sent a shiver of excitement through me. "God, I love it all clean like that, " Marcus said, his voice low. "Makes me want to run my tongue over every inch." He shifted, freeing himself from his pants - a thick, pulsing length that he gripped firmly, stroking with purpose. I started with one finger, tracing slow circles over my clit, teasing myself until my breath hitched. Then I added a second, gliding along my slick folds, exploring every sensitive inch from top to bottom. I parted myself wider, watching in the mirror as my body responded, wet and eager, the heat building into a delicious ache. My fingers moved faster, pressing harder, and Marcus matched my pace, his hand working himself with raw intensity. "You like this, Marcus? This what you wanted? Or is there something else? " I teased, my voice husky. "That's perfect - keep touching yourself like that. Now slide a couple fingers inside, nice and slow." "Like this? " I asked, easing two fingers in, feeling my body grip them tightly as I moved. "Hell yeah - that's it. You're killing me. Stand up, kneel on the chair, ass toward the mirror. Just like that. Spread yourself - I want to see it all. Damn, that's a work of art. Slip a finger back there - yeah, deeper, all the way. You can take it. Add another - come on, show me. That's it, two fingers, as deep as you can. God, I'm losing my mind - that's the hottest thing I've ever seen." He stood, shedding his pants entirely, his arousal on full display. "Now spread yourself wide, because I'm going to take you there while you keep those fingers working up front. Do it! " His hand landed on my cheek with a sharp smack, the sting blooming into a warm, red mark on my skin. "Beg me for it - tell me you want it." "Yes, please - give it to me, all of it, deep as you can go." "Anything you say, darlin'." I bit back a gasp as he entered me, my body only slightly prepped by my own fingers. His size stretched me, a tight, burning fullness that was almost too much but felt impossibly right. He fit like he was made for me, every inch pressing against my sensitive walls, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through my core. Marcus gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he began to move, slow at first, then harder, each thrust deliberate and deep. Every few strokes, he delivered another sharp smack, the sound echoing in the room as my skin flushed under his touch, the mix of sting and heat driving me wild. "Keep touching yourself, " he growled. "Slide those fingers in - deep. You love this, don't you? I can see it - you're on fire." My fingers worked frantically, plunging into my wetness, curling to hit that perfect spot as my clit throbbed under the pressure of my thumb. Each thrust from Marcus sent a jolt through me, my body rocking with his rhythm, the mirror reflecting every detail - my flushed skin, my parted lips, the way my body opened for him. The pleasure was overwhelming, a sweet, aching pressure building inside me, begging for release. "Harder, " I gasped. "Break me, Marcus - fill me up, don't stop." "I'm close, " he groaned. "Get ready - I'm gonna flood you." His release hit like a storm, a hot, pulsing rush that filled me, spilling over as my own climax crashed through me. My fingers slowed, my body trembling as waves of pleasure rippled from my core, leaving me breathless and spent. He pulled out and told me to stay as I was - kneeling, open, dripping with him. He grabbed his phone from his discarded pants and snapped a close-up of the aftermath, the image raw and unfiltered. He showed it to me, and I couldn't look away - it was primal, obscene, and insanely arousing. I stared, stunned. "For the crew, " he said, zipping up his pants with a smirk. "They're gonna want to know why I was gone so long." The idea of his coworkers seeing that sent another thrill through me, my body still buzzing. "Ten days, huh? When I'm craving more, I know where to find you. I'm yours for whatever you need." "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you? Think I'll be calling you back? " "Oh, I know you will. Nobody walks away from this. And if you don't call, I'll come knocking. Tomorrow, get that pretty body ready - it's got more to take." He slipped out, closing the door with a soft click.

Spring had just begun to bloom, but the warm breeze and bright sun were already coaxing thoughts of sandy beaches and crashing waves. That afternoon, I convinced my husband, Nathan, to join me on a mission to find the perfect bikini to kick off the season. I'm Lauren, 34, with a lean frame - perhaps too lean, if you ask Nathan, my friends, or the folks at the office where I work. We roamed the downtown shops, but nothing sparked joy. The bikinis were either too flashy or too dull, and the colors felt all wrong. My frustration was mounting, and I could sense Nathan's patience wearing thin. I was ready to abandon the hunt when we passed a quaint boutique with a sign boasting custom - made swimsuits and bikinis. Clasping Nathan's hand, I tugged him inside, weaving through racks to the back of the store. The shopkeeper, who introduced himself as the owner, was a wiry, tall man with a warm smile and an air of quiet confidence. He greeted us with genuine courtesy. - I noticed your sign about custom bikinis, - I said. - I've never seen a place offer that before. - You're absolutely right, ma'am, - he replied. - We're the only shop in the city crafting swimsuits to fit your exact measurements. Most bikinis are churned out in standard sizes, built on assumptions: curvy women have large chests, slim ones don't, or wide hips mean a fuller bust. Those clichés leave so many women with ill - fitting suits. I wondered if he was subtly referencing my modest chest, but he seemed to catch my thought and swiftly clarified: - For someone with your frame, a touch of padding in the top can enhance your silhouette beautifully. - He gestured to a mannequin showcasing a bikini top with subtle padding. - The bottoms offer more flexibility, but here's what we can do: try on some sample pieces to see what flatters you most. Then we'll choose the fabric. The idea thrilled me. I hadn't asked about cost, but the prospect of a bikini tailored to me was irresistible. - I'd love something with a bold print, - I told him. The owner, who introduced himself as Marcus, brought out the pieces separately. The top had built - in padding, which he explained would lift and shape my bust for a fuller, firmer look. The bottoms were high - waisted, with delicate ties that draped over the hips. Marcus led me to the fitting room, then stepped back, leaving Nathan nearby. Feeling a bit self - conscious, I kept my underwear on beneath the bikini bottoms. It seemed silly - I'd be wearing less on the beach - but I wasn't ready to bare it all in front of a stranger. Once I had the bikini on, Nathan called Marcus over, chuckling at the visible panty lines where my underwear peeked out from under the bikini bottoms. Marcus approached, his demeanor professional yet attentive. He started with the top, gently adjusting it from below to assess the fit. His fingers brushed the undersides of my breasts, and I felt a jolt-his touch was clinical but bold, especially with Nathan standing right there. Surprisingly, Nathan didn't seem fazed. Then Marcus moved to the bottoms, tugging at the side ties, lifting them higher, then easing them down. I wondered if he was being overly hands - on. As he adjusted the fabric, the bottoms shifted, exposing a sliver of my pubic hair. I quickly smoothed it back into place when he stepped away. He even slipped a finger under the back elastic, stretching it slightly and giving my butt a light pat to smooth out any wrinkles. - This fit isn't quite right, - Marcus said. - Let me grab a different style. - Did you see how he touched me? - I hissed to Nathan when Marcus walked away. Nathan just smirked. - Sweetheart, lose the underwear for the next one. You're making a scene, - he teased, his eyes glinting with amusement. Marcus returned with a sleeker, more classic bottom and took the previous one. Following Nathan's nudge, I stripped off my underwear completely before slipping on the new piece. I pulled the bottoms up snugly and called Marcus back. He had me face the mirror in the fitting room, standing close behind me. I was still wearing the original bikini top. - See here, - he said, pointing to my reflection's crotch. - It's too tight in the front. He was right-my outline was far too pronounced for public wear. As he spoke, his finger traced the edge of the fabric, grazing the sensitive skin where my thigh met my groin. Then he tugged the elastic outward, his fingertips brushing my pubic hair and skimming the edges of my labia, sending an unexpected shiver through me. - This is why custom fits matter, - he said. - You don't want to put on a show at the beach. Have you ever considered a thong - style bikini? - I don't know, - I replied, hesitant. - That might be too much for me. - Let me bring you one to try, along with a top that's a bit more daring but still padded for support. I closed the curtain and changed into the new set. The thong was tiny - definitely a size or two too small. The top was trickier to adjust, so I stepped out, thinking Nathan was alone. My breasts were barely contained, the fabric teasing the edges of my nipples. To my surprise, Marcus was there, not Nathan. He stepped forward, deftly securing the clasp. He tugged the top down slightly, just shy of exposing me, creating a tantalizing balance. His hands pressed firmly against my breasts, filling out the cups, the pressure making my chest feel fuller, almost spilling over. The sensation was electric, stirring something deep within me. The thong was another story. As Marcus adjusted it, the thin strip nestled tightly between my labia, leaving the lower part of my crotch exposed. He slid two fingers under the front triangle to reposition it, brushing my pubic hair, my clit, and the sensitive entrance of my vagina. My breath caught as he worked, his touch lingering just long enough to blur the line between professional and provocative. - This is way too small, - he said, his voice steady but his eyes locked on mine. My initial indignation melted into a pulsing excitement. What had felt intrusive now felt intoxicating. - Let's try a new top too; this one's too loose, - he added. Without retreating to the fitting room, I unhooked the bra right there, baring my chest in front of both Nathan and Marcus. I laughed, half - joking, - Maybe I should just go topless and skip all this fuss. My breasts aren't showstoppers, but standing exposed in that small boutique felt thrillingly taboo. The air was charged, my skin tingling under their gazes. Marcus handed me a new top, helping me slip it on with no pretense of modesty. His hands boldly lifted my breasts, fingers grazing my nipples, which hardened instantly under his touch. He assured me the fabric would hold up even in cold water, keeping my modesty intact. His fingers lingered, circling my nipples briefly, sending a jolt of heat through me. My arousal was undeniable now, a warm ache spreading through my core. When Marcus handed me a new thong, I didn't hesitate. I stripped off the too - small bottoms right there, standing naked before both men. Nathan had seen me countless times, and Marcus's hands had already explored enough that privacy felt pointless. As I slid off the thong, Marcus stopped me. - One moment, - he said, his voice low. - Your labia are quite prominent, which is causing the fit issues. - His hand moved to my crotch, fingers gliding over my labia, parting them slightly. The touch was deliberate, his fingertips slick with my growing wetness, teasing the sensitive folds as my body responded eagerly. I glanced at Nathan, whose pants now sported a noticeable bulge. We'd played teasing games before - me tugging my bikini down at the beach to flash a hint of pubic hair, knowing it drove him wild - but this was uncharted territory, a stranger pulling us into a new realm of desire. Marcus's hands traced my hips, his touch slow and deliberate, as if memorizing my curves for the design. My body was humming, every nerve alight. Unable to hold back, I acted on impulse. As Marcus knelt to take measurements, I grabbed his head, guiding his mouth to my aching core, pressing him against me with a needy moan. My legs parted, inviting him closer. His tongue found my clit instantly, lapping with slow, deliberate strokes, exploring every fold of my vagina. He slid a finger inside me, my wetness making it effortless, while his tongue swirled higher, teasing my clit with maddening precision. My hips bucked against his face, chasing the pleasure. Nathan closed the distance, his lips crashing into mine with a hunger we hadn't shared in years. His hands found my breasts, kneading them, then yanked the bikini top up, freeing my nipples to the air. He took one in his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak as I gasped. My nipples, rock - hard, throbbed under his attention, each pull of his mouth sending sparks to my core. Marcus and Nathan exchanged a knowing glance, no words needed. They maneuvered a small table into the fitting area, and I was gently laid across it, my body open and trembling with anticipation. My legs fell apart naturally, my arousal leaving me shamelessly exposed. Marcus intensified his efforts, now sliding two fingers deep inside me, curling them to hit that perfect spot as his mouth worked my clit. His lips and chin grazed my pubic hair, slick with my juices, his tongue relentless as it flicked and sucked. My hips rocked against him, my moans filling the small space. Nathan, meanwhile, had freed his erection, thick and pulsing, and brought it to my lips. I took him in eagerly, my tongue swirling around the tip, tasting the salt of his arousal. I sucked hard, my lips tight around him, fighting the urge to bite down in my fervor. His groans fueled me, my mouth working him with desperate hunger. As Nathan neared climax, he pulled back, his release splashing across my face, warm and thick. I licked my lips, savoring the taste, chasing every drop with my tongue. Marcus stood, his own arousal evident as he positioned himself between my thighs. My legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer, urging him inside. He entered me in one swift thrust, filling me completely. My wetness made every movement slick, his cock slipping in and out as he pumped into me with a steady, relentless rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through me, my walls clenching around him. I moaned, my voice raw, louder than I'd ever been, my body shuddering under the intensity. Marcus's pace quickened, his breaths ragged, until he finally came, his warmth flooding me, leaving me trembling and sated. The next day, we returned to collect the finished bikini. Marcus wasn't there, but the clerk informed us the order was already paid for. All summer, every time I slipped into that bikini, the memory of that day sent a rush of heat through me. I found myself counting the days until next spring, hoping Marcus would be there to take my measurements again.