Yes, it's me again, and as promised here's the latest instalment of my adventures. For those of you who haven't been following my confessions already (shame on you!), I'll set the scene.
After discovering that I have a latent (ok, not so latent anymore) exhibitionist streak, my husband, Paul, and I have been exploring some new and wildly exciting territories. I won't spend ages going through the details here because I'm eager to tell you all about my latest escapade, but it's safe to say that I've discovered the joys of being caught completely naked and having the best sort of fun.
Paul and I have rules, though, for these games, and we've stuck to them throughout: I won't expose myself to anyone we know or are likely to meet again, the situation we're found in must always seem to be entirely accidental, there will be no touching me (other than for Paul of course!), and I have a special phrase I can use to end things straight away if I want to. Thanks to these, I can fully enjoy our little adventures – and boy do I mean fully!
Anyway, to cut a long story short, after the latest incident in a tiny hotel room, I started to wonder what it would have felt like if the lucky guy had reached out and laid his hands on my bare flesh. I confessed this to Paul and was delighted when he didn't think this was in any way weird. I was even more delighted when he told me that he had an idea for testing out the scenario.
I have to tell you at this point that I feel totally safe with Paul, that I trust him implicitly. If it were any other way, believe me, none of our adventures would have been anything more than a passing fantasy.
So, when he said that his idea would require a slight modification to more than the 'no touching' rule, I kept a perfectly open mind and even listened eagerly to his putative plan.
"How about," he said, "we play out the hotel scene again, but we actually invite a guy back to our room?"
"I don't think-"
"Hang on, let me finish." Paul swallowed hard before continuing, "We invite the guy back because there's nothing to do, nothing on TV, and we feel like a game of cards?"
"And we just happen to pick on a guy? And I guess-"
He laughed, "Trust me, right? Remember when we were playing cards at that hotel in Hastings?"
"Well, yeah, but that was just at the bar and we really were just killing time because there was nothing else to do."
"I know. But that guy in the suit was watching every game."
"And my legs."
"Yeah," Paul laughed, "That's my point. If we'd invited him to join us he would have done, even for an innocent hand or two of cards at the bar."
Something about the look in Paul's eyes was having a strange effect on me, "That's not nearly the same as going back to the room for a game. That would be a bit too obvious."
"Not if it started out innocently enough. And before you say it, if we go to a place where the bar shuts early and leave it until just before closing time, we really could pull it off."
My heart rate began to speed up, "Okay... so what exactly have you got in mind?"
By the time he'd finished outlining his plan I was in a state of extreme arousal – and absolutely petrified at the same time. When he finally asked me what I thought, it took me a minute before I could even trust myself to answer. "There's a lot of things that could go wrong..."
"Not with me there to protect you, angel. The only thing that could go wrong is that he won't play. And you will be able to stop at any time you wanted."
"True..." I said after about five minutes, my mind whirling. I looked deep into Paul's lustful eyes and melted, "I guess it could work... and I think it's a great plan even if I will have to take off things deliberately..."
"But he won't think that. He'll think you're being more or less forced."
I thought over the plan once more. We would lure the guy to the room on the pretext of an innocent game of cards to pass the TV-free time. I would win (using a marked deck, of course) and then start bragging about how good I was. Drink would flow. Paul would challenge me to put my skills where my mouth is and after I'd agreed and set a limit to the number of hands, we would start to play. For clothing.
I would then have the worst losing streak in the history of cards, be forced to strip down to bra and panties and then play one more game... When I lost that one I would refuse to pay up (my bra) and then reluctantly agree to make amends by giving the guys a quick kiss and cuddle. Paul would go first and feel me up as he did so, setting the example for the stranger who would no doubt follow suit. End of game and I would know what it felt like to be... well, felt. Also, with the right underwear (I had just the right skimpy set in mind already), I would feel next to naked.
If I needed any further encouragement, my body provided it, a shiver running the length of my belly and settling warmly in my groin. Even though there was plenty that could go wrong, it was a safe plan and it would follow the spirit of the rules... And I would be able to spend ages being looked at by a total stranger and whoever it was would no doubt be very excited and... I snapped back to the present and looked Paul in the eye. "I guess we could try it out."
There was something about the plan that, even though I would remain clothed (at least partially), left me feeling as if I was going to be more exposed than ever before. If I needed any further proof that the shy version of me was all but dead and buried, my reaction to this thought soon provided it. By the time we checked into the hotel I was almost as eager as Paul to try out his plan.
My pleasure was heightened – almost led – by Paul's delight in our games, and this one had him in a constant state of arousal. Which, of course, meant that I was as well. Just being in a hotel has a very profound effect on me these days, but with the knowledge of what we had planned, it was all I could do to stop myself jumping on Paul right there in the lobby.
We had already checked out the place (or rather, Paul had), and we knew that the bar closed at nine. That left us three hours to put our plan into operation and we spent the first half of that time up in our room torturing the bedsprings. Finally though, it was time to get dressed and head downstairs.
I put on a plain white set of underwear – although by 'plain' I mean un-patterned and translucent, the dark circles of my nipples and the neat line of hair at my groin showing through faintly – and topped these off with hold-ups, a smart skirt, blouse and jacket. I needed Paul's steady (well, steadier) hands to help with the buttons.
A couple of quick shots of vodka from the mini-bar helped steady my nerves before we eventually headed down to the bar with our pack of cards.
The place was almost deserted (this was last Thursday evening) save for an old guy over by the fireplace and a younger business type who was clattering away at his laptop (computer – don't make up your own stories!) at a table close to the door. Paul shrugged as if to say 'que sera, sera' and we ordered large vodkas from the surly-looking barman, trying hard to hide our disappointment.
Paul plucked the deck from his pocket and we settled down to a few hands which, if nothing else, gave me a chance of some more practice at reading the mocker deck. Even with Paul trying his hardest, I was soon winning every hand and we were totally engrossed in the game.
When a voice at our side said "Looks like she's got you beat, mate." I almost fell off my barstool.
From being thoroughly disappointed and resigned to a quiet evening, one look at the guy who had interrupted us was enough to re-fire all of the excitement that I'd been feeling earlier. It was the guy who had been engrossed with his computer when we had arrived in the bar and now that I could see him close up, it was clear that he was no older than either Paul or I, and was, I have to admit, quite cute. With the sudden rush of blood to my ears, I hadn't followed whatever he and Paul had said but quickly realised that Paul was already priming the guy.
"... nothing on the television so I thought I'd try to take her down a notch or two."
"Not very successfully from what I've seen." The guy nodded to our glasses, "Drinks?"
"Thanks," Paul nodded back, "And Stephs just on a lucky streak."
"I am not," I managed, finally playing my part, "I'm just way too good for you."
After some light-hearted bantering, we explained the convoluted rules of the game to the guy and played another couple of hands, with me winning easily, of course.
"I must have married a witch," Paul sighed, grinning from ear to ear. He turned to the guy, "Fancy your chances against her?"
The slight pause before he replied was enough to get my heart pumping even faster as I guessed he'd almost misheard the question. "What? Oh, er, right, I'll give it a go as long as you help."
With Paul guiding him, I let the guy win the third of the three games we played, and put on a brave face while the guys crowed.
The barman appeared in the middle of the celebrations and, with consummate timing, informed us that the bar would be closing in a few minutes. As my belly become home for a few thousand butterflies, Paul ordered a last round for the three of us and made the crucial suggestion.
"That's a pain. Maybe we should continue this upstairs?"
My knees started to shake when the guy responded with enthusiasm, "Sure, why not. Like you say there's bugger-all on the telly and I think I'm getting the hang of this. If you're sure I'm not being a pain...?"
"Not at all," Paul assured him, "Stephs?"
"Fine..." I cleared my throat, "Fine by me. I need my revenge anyway."
I could barely breathe such was my excitement on the way up to our room, and I had to concentrate harder than I've ever done before to keep up my winning streak when we restarted the game, three-handed now, up there. Despite the nerves, I still managed to keep up the bragging with Paul's help, and when he finally made the suggestion about playing for clothes I was so far into the character I was playing that I found answering him easy.
"You wish."
"Scared all of a sudden?"
"No way!" I protested, "I just don't want to embarrass a complete stranger."
"It won't," he assured us.
"See?" Paul pressed, "Tell you what..." He made a show of counting my items of clothing, "We'll just play five games so even when you lose the lot, you'll still be in your underwear." Given that I wasn't wearing my jacket any more, this was a deliberate, pre-planned miscalculation that I feigned missing.
"It's not me I'm thinking about," I managed, hiding my nervousness with a gulp of vodka.
Paul said "Sure" and handed our guest – who we now knew to be called Matt – a tie. "There you go. With that on no one will get too embarrassed whatever the results."
"I still don't think-"
Paul flapped his arms and clucked.
