The Correct Admirer

I never really knew I was an exhibitionist. I didn't really think of myself in any terms like that at all, not until a while after I'd met my husband. Sex wasn't something I thought much about before him, but he made me climb out of my shell at some point.

At first, I denied it. At first, I denied thinking about anything like it. I even denied thinking of myself as a sexual person.

My sex life had two completely separate parts before that: validating myself by giving men pleasure, and masturbation. My husband was the first person to ever suggest that the two may intersect. It was a novel concept until one day my mind was blown when I realized I may enjoy giving a man pleasure by masturbating in front of him.

I also didn't like showing myself off much. He'd broken me of that slowly and it had taken a long time. One-piece bathing suits became bikinis. Over time, I started to realize that I got turned on by the thought of showing off my body.

Once that started, I found out that showing off any part of myself or any even remotely sexual action turned me on. It was always a little better when they were unsuspecting. The more they were excited by seeing my body or what I did, the wetter I got.

All I'd have to do was catch them staring. Sometimes it was a bare nipple that I'd slipped out of my bikini top. Other times it was up my skirt when my husband made me go commando.

Whatever it was, seeing a tent in their pants set off an insatiable horny side of me. It fogged my judgment and caused forgetfulness, among other things.

We started small. Aside from being easy, it excited me to take directions. He'd tell me to touch myself in a public place.

I liked the intricate detail he used and I usually was given directions, down to whether I should finger my clit to completion or just edge. Soon, stopping was harder because starting alone got me so worked up.

Then lines started blurring. Occasionally, if I took my tits out, I'd get rewarded by a guy reciprocating and freeing his rock-hard cock. Letting them watch was one thing, but it can't have been a surprise to anyone that at least some of them were going to jerk themselves off while getting a show.

In fact, it was exactly what I wanted. To me, putting myself on display was only worth the reaction I got from it.

The first time I watched a man I didn't know, groaning while his sticky cum pulsed out of his cock, my fingers on my clit brought me to one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever had. The moment the ropey jets started to fly, my mind and body fell off a cliff together and I was moaning and spasming before the last drop oozed out of his dick.

My husband always watched, although I don't know if he wanted to. Maybe he was doing it for me. While I felt a little bit like he was my chaperone, we hadn't discussed any ground rules the first time it got more involved.

That time hadn't been planned, the guy watching was just a little older and I was mesmerized watching him jerk off. My shirt and bra were hiked up and the front of my jeans was still unbuttoned after I'd given myself a strong climax.

He asked me if I'd help him out a little as he stepped to just a few inches from me. I didn't think before I didn't answer. I just reached out instead. Moments after I felt the warm, smooth skin of his cock in my hand, he erupted all over me.

I'd been taught to close my eyes and open my mouth but this was bigger than any facial I'd ever received. This man painted my face, my hair and all of my clothing. Instinctively, I swallowed whatever had landed in my mouth.

Just like that, I'd given a stranger a hand job in front of my husband. If he hadn't cum so quickly, my mouth would've likely been wrapped around his head when he did. Neither of us pretended to think otherwise.

I wasn't new to doing things with guys I didn't know. Before I'd met my husband, I'd gone through a slut phase. Plenty of men I didn't know had cum on me, and in me. I'd gotten really lucky in not catching any STDs.

I hadn't been proud of catting around when I'd done it. It wasn't a happy place in my life nor did I consider it fantastic decision-making. I would let yet another guy I didn't know, sometimes not even his name, blow his load in my pussy.

I wasn't on birth control either, and I didn't ask them to pull out. It's how we'd met, my husband, with me on my back taking his bare cock. After knowing him for only a few hours, he unloaded everything in his balls into my unprotected pussy.

He was the one who stayed. He soothed and coaxed and waited. The others just left.

We never discussed any ground rules after that first time either. On some random occasions, he'd mentioned that I should give some guy or other a blowjob, always for some reason that seemed to make at least a little sense. I could never tell if he was serious or not.

At some point, long before that, he'd shown me how to put a condom on a guy. We both knew I didn't pay enough attention, even though he said I should learn just in case. It was as if he knew.

There was just an understanding though, that if I was ever in a situation like that, I wouldn't ask him to put on a condom. I wouldn't tell him to pull out. I'd tell him he could cum wherever he wanted.

In no way did I think that would be fine with him. We never discussed it though. It was just an expectation I guess.

Armed with no clear understanding of what may be acceptable, we ventured forth together into the world of me exposing myself to random people. I think he had grasped from the beginning that when I'd gotten to that point, in the moment, I wasn't thinking very rationally anyway.

This whole ordeal unfolded over the course of years. Life got in the way and sometimes one or both of us wouldn't be in an adventuresome mood. Most of the men just wanted to watch. On occasion, they'd proposition me for more but there was always something in the situation that superseded even my unhooked mental state.

Until one day.

Maybe it was something in the air. Maybe I was just feeling a little frisky that day.

It was a Saturday and we were doing some work around the house. The weather was unbearably hot and by the time we needed to go to Home Depot for supplies in the evening, I felt like I was about to melt away into a puddle of sweat.

Lots of manual labor every weekend had gotten me fitter than I'd ever been. My husband loves me however I look, but I feel much more turned on when I feel better about my body. So I gave in when he picked out what I was going to wear.

The skirt went mid-thigh. But the shirt was a girl's medium. I'm 5'6" and I've got 38Ds, so that size was more of a crop-top slip than a shirt.

Panty-less wasn't a surprise but I had reservations about not wearing a bra. I don't know why I accepted his explanation, he said that the shirt was so tight that it acted like a bra.

I should've known something was in the works when he fed me a couple shots before we left. Or maybe I should've figured it out when he made me wear the clothes that were a couple steps beyond revealing. We'd been working hard and the alcohol went straight to my head.

The ride in the car was a welcome change. There was good, powerful air conditioning to contrast with the Texas heat outdoors. I was relaxed and comfortable within minutes.

But there were more minutes to this car ride, which we passed easily in conversation. He's a flirt and a good conversationalist, not to mention funny most of the time. I was very loose by the time we got there.

The shirt was still very tight and I hadn't realized when I put it on that it left so much of my midriff exposed. I must've been distracted by that when I got out of the car.

I definitely did not realize that my nipples were rock hard until I took a few steps towards the store door in the parking lot. I almost asked to go back to the car. He distracted me and kept me talking.

The walk over hot asphalt didn't need to be too long to get me all warmed up. Then the store air conditioning was a stark change. However hard my nipples were from being turned on, there was only a thin t-shirt separating them from the climate control.

No amount of his distraction changed my focus from all the people who looked at me. Even though I wanted to show off, I was still shy and didn't want to be the center of everyone's attention. Right there and then though, I had no choice.

Your average big-box hardware store isn't a magnet for female shoppers, so other than most of the cashiers, all the attention was of the drooling type. I tried to shift my mindset from being gawked at. My husband was showing me off, my body, including as much of the more its private parts as I could easily get away with.

The mind shift worked. I felt myself starting to get a little wet in anticipation. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that before we left, some lucky guy was going to see my nipples, and not just pert high-beams through my shirt.

He just told me straight, somewhere among the lumber, that we weren't leaving until someone there touched my bare nipple. He was going to take me afterwards and he wanted to feel my slick wetness as he entered me.

My mind raced, he was basically demanding that I get turned on and wet for him to use. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't think of a way out of this. I'd been set up and I loved almost everything about it.

I wasn't going to tell him this after just hearing him say it: he could've had exactly what he wanted. Now. Even here if he wanted. I didn't need someone to see me with my top hiked up, much less be touched. Nevertheless, I'd been given an order and I wanted to comply.

That's about where my mind normally shut off. Normal logic just lost its way. When I got to that point, I couldn't even trust myself to make good decisions. Once past, I was not much more than a senseless hornball, chasing dick. I needed to give up my pussy and it didn't matter much to whom.

However, I couldn't recall a single one of them who needed to even spit on their cock before they slid right in. Every single time, without any exception, it was the same. By the time I had them committed to fucking me, my panties were soaked.

No panties today. I could feel it, an occasional breeze, cooling my lower lips. It may not have been obvious to everyone else yet, but I was already thoroughly wet.

Even though I knew this was a setup and I was there to show off my body, it was very awkward to start. There were some hidden glances and diverted eyes. My husband was trying to act normal, like we were just there to buy some supplies.

I was red and flustered with nervous excitement. Even before I'd deliberately showed off anything, my body was on show.

I wasn't wearing much. Even though a bikini covered even less, this wasn't a beach.

Already I'd gotten every kind of look imaginable. There were gawks, stares, smiles, lewd gestures, and that look that tried to tell me I was a hussy slut. Some people were nervous and others despised me.

The worst were the wives and girlfriends of the middle-aged men. The spouses of the younger ones seemed oblivious, as if their youth made up for my forwardness. But the middle-aged men were confident and didn't act like they had anything to lose. A few of them seemed like they were almost ready to walk up to me and chat me up.

All of them were looking at me. So many of them, male or female, couldn't take their eyes off me. While I wasn't a fan of attention at all, there was something very different about this.

Normally, attention was vague and scary. I didn't know what people were thinking about me. At that very moment though, everything was clear. No one was judging any of the life choices that I'd made, or something else I could never guess. I was simply walking sexuality.

Everyone was either turned on or turned off. No one was thinking about my hair or whether my toenail polish was chipped. I was a tight body with big, mostly exposed tits, for better or worse.

As I realized this, I felt my engine start to rev. I was a model. I was a stripper. I represented sex. I was a sex goddess. Whether they liked it or not, no one could deny me that.

My husband was looking out for me as I meandered around in my own world. He was looking for the person I was going to show off to. I was very glad of this because I would have had no way to find this sort of situation. I didn't even know where to start.

I thought that maybe if I just stood still for a little while, someone would walk up to me. But we stood looking at something or other on some shelf. Several times, no bites.

As time passed, I was starting to feel a lot more relaxed. While I still had some reservations, there was a part of me that was very much into this. I was already putting on a show.

In a strip club, my current attire would be considered generally tame. Walking through aisles of tools, lumber and fasteners, I was the entertainment.

I was enjoying putting on that show and getting more turned on by the minute. I couldn't wait until I had my opportunity to give someone a way better look at what I was barely hiding.

The first one was in the paint aisle.

He was an older guy, scruffy and rough looking. He got a good view of my large tits from the side as we were perusing paint chips. My husband had to point him out, he was about thirty feet away down the row. By the time I looked over, I'd teased the hemline of my shirt up enough in the front that there was boob hanging out the bottom.

The paint chips were getting a great view, but they didn't seem to appreciate it. I didn't need more prompting to walk over to him.

As I got to him, he just reached up under my shirt. It happened without question, without permission. There was no need for permission. It was very presumptive but somehow exactly what I wanted. There wasn't much ice left to break, but that did the trick in an instant.

I could feel his rough hands on my soft skin. Even though he was direct, he clearly had some experience. I wouldn't say he was going slow, but he knew where to touch.

It felt almost like sandpaper on the bottom of my boobs as he touched them. His touch was just light enough that it didn't scrape or irritate. I was very aware of my breasts, cupped in his hands, among the paint cans in a big hardware store.

I gasped as he moved his hands a little higher, up to my nipples. By now they were hard as diamonds. I gasped as he pinched them very gently. This wasn't his first rodeo and he knew how to tease and pull without hurting. The gasp was replaced by a moan as his palms covered the hard points, his fingers cradling the large bulk of my tits.

As he kneaded my breasts, he looked down at his own crotch. I traced my finger over the placket of his fly. My shirt was pretty far up and I was getting fondled expertly. With a light buzz and my excitement turned up to 11, it took every ounce of self-control I had not to open his pants and swallow his cock whole.

I imagined what that would look like, me on my knees on the hard concrete floor. My shirt was up and my tits would've bounced all over the place as my mouth bobbed on his cock. I wouldn't have cared if he tasted bad or hadn't showered. I would go until I swallowed, or maybe he'd want to pull out of my mouth and finish himself with a few jerks. I envisioned cum spurting at me, cum from a strange man, landing on my face, on my chest, in my hair, and all over.

He brushed my hands aside. They moved without resistance in my haze. This man was really aggressive. He was doing everything right.

But then he killed it.

He said I wasn't allowed to see unless I promised to suck it.

With a little patience and lots of touching in the right ways and places, I probably would've gotten down on my knees in the paint aisle and sucked hard until he finished in my mouth, right in front of my husband.

However lustful and turned on I may have been, that was a far cry from how I wanted this to go. I'm not saying that it couldn't have happened. I'd just played out the whole thing in my mind's eye. But I wanted to get turned on, not just hand out random blowjobs.

Somehow, being pressured into that just turned me off. Also there was no way I was promising anything.

Experienced as he was, he hadn't touched my pussy. In my state, I probably would've come very easily and quickly. Done right, it would have been a quick, passing orgasm, the kind that just gets me more horny.

After that, I would've done anything with him. But he didn't know that, or he didn't pay enough attention. He had completely missed his opportunity.

To let him down slowly, I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, covered in white stubble, and whispered in his ear, maybe another time, as I walked off. I tried to pull down my shirt before I'd turned around to go, but I'm sure there were a few people who got a great little peek before I did.

I rejoined my husband and we kept up our wandering. I tried to tell him the important details about what'd happened. I did it in a hushed tone, but there just didn't seem to be a way to do that with all the people around.

It dawned on me how strange that was. I was walking around in a public place practically showing off my goodies to everyone. At least a few people had seen me topless and one had already felt me up. Talking about it still just didn't feel right though.

But my husband didn't let it get strange. He listened to anything I told him, but otherwise went on as if nothing had happened. At least he was comfortable with me walking around here dressed like a hooker.

We wandered a little more. Most of our conversation was about real plans, real things we were going to do with our house.

To be genuine, it was mostly things that he was going to do. I had input and I always got to join in the important decisions. He's always more concerned about how things work, while I focus on how they look. We make a good pair.

However much he listens and we stay so connected, I was still distracted though. The looks hadn't stopped. It seemed like everywhere I turned, someone else was looking at me.

Even with a failed attempt just shortly before, I was still turned on. The persistent staring reminded me without end that I was sexy. They thought I was sexy. I was desired, and that kept me excited.

The second attempt was in the garden center, among flowers and shrubs.

This one was a little different, it was two boys, probably not far out of high school. Matt and Colton, from what was written on their name tags. Definitely over 18 but maybe not even old enough to drink legally.

They worked there and maybe they weren't quite as reserved because they seemed glued together. I wasn't sure if I was ready to take on two guys. Something about it made it seem like it could get out of hand.

But they didn't seem the type to get rowdy. Also, even though I couldn't see him, I knew that if things went in a bad direction, my husband would magically appear. He always does, to save me, when I need it.

Matt made a remark about the logo on my shirt. He clearly wasn't looking at the logo. He was staring. Colton seemed speechless, as if he'd never seen boobs in a t-shirt.

I tried very hard to engage them in conversation. I'm not the biggest people-person. Smalltalk just doesn't come all that naturally. They kept talking.

Very little of what they said made any sense. All of it was awkward, to say the least. Some of what they said was downright ridiculous. Ah, youth.

But I wasn't there for the conversation. I may have even tried to get them to look at my eyes, or even just my face, when they spoke. But I wanted them to ogle me. My body, so close to naked, was turning them on so much that they both turned into blathering idiots.

These two were also completely unashamed. I wouldn't have wanted them to be ashamed of staring, but most people are. Matt did most of the talking, but they both undressed me with their eyes, continually. It was like every time I blinked, my clothing was back on, for them to re-undress me.