His Eyes Wide Open

The room was drenched in the westering sun of late afternoon. A gentle breeze had picked up offshore and, blowing through the harbour and past the banister of the two-chair balcony, was flapping away at the blue serge curtain of their hotel room. White sheets lay tangled, long blonde tendrils lay wavily on a disordered pillows. A shapely shoulder and an athletic, yet quite feminine, arm emerged from the crisp white cotton pile and was set in an "L' before him. The faint, tiny blonde hairs on her forearm caught the sun's rays. She propped herself up on the pillow and two breasts emerged: round, swelling breasts with med-sized pink nipples darkening to brown after tanning on the beach. B cups that, had they advanced just that much further, would have ripened into shapely, round, swelling Cs.

A shifting of cotton and a long leg peeked out. Toned, athletic, shapely and ending in a high-arched foot with blue-green nails. He admired her leg, tracing its contour with his eyes. The swell of her hip, half hiding behind the crisp sheet, her arm and her shoulder ended in the lean length of her aristocratic neck. Blonde hair, masses of it, fell in luxuriant waves. Her body was that of a 25 year old, her face mid 30s. She had passed forty and yet she was as desirable and as lovely as ever. Her deep green eyes – nails so well matched to them - sparkled.

"Read on" she said. Actually she purred those words.

"Quoi, Monsieur, sérieusement vous voulez que j'écrive mon histoire? " [Really, Sir, are you serious? You would have me write my story?]

"Where did you find it again?" Curiosity piqued, clearly.

"A Times article on the NYPL's collection of erotica. This book 'Therese' was a best seller in Enlightenment France. Materialism and "les Philosophes" meets pornography." He paused. "A young woman goes on a sexual adventure and learns about herself and philosophy." Another pause. "Really – philosophy and fucking."

She held his gaze. "I wonder if we can learn anything?"

He scrolled down the page, marvelling at the things one can find on the Internet. "Vous désirez un tableau où les scènes dont je vous ai entretenu, ou celles dont nous avons été acteurs, ne perdent rien de leur lasciveté ; que les raisonnements métaphysiques conservent toute leur énergie? " [You would like me to paint a portrait of all I have seen, have participated in, without losing any of their lascivious edge? That all the philosophy underpinning this retains its power?]

She smiled. "I told you. I would like to learn something." The sheets shivered as she squirmed – purely for his benefit.

He read on. "Imbéciles mortels! Vous croyez être maîtres d'éteindre les passions que la nature a mises dans vous. Elles sont l'ouvrage de Dieu. Vous voulez les détruire, ces passions, les restreindre à de certaines bornes. " [Idiotic mortals! You believe you can extinguish the passions nature endowed you with? They are the work of God. You think you can destroy them? Restrict them?]

She stretched, feline yet strong. Lean. "Strong stuff. That could get you in rather hot water in those days. Tell me more." She was intent now.

"It would appear that the main character in a good bourgeoise. Young, Lovely. Named Therese. Oh and here's a bit... she is serving oysters and champage."

"Yes please." And she sat up, breasts swelling forward in a tempting manner.

"She is a student of a Jesuit who is also instructing her friend Mlle. Eradice. The priest has various "spiritual exercises for Eradice. One morning, after Eradice says her prayers, Therese is allowed to watch from a cabinet... It seems to involve Eradice first being spanked on her bottom ('white like snow, perfect ovals'... much like yours, my dear). He tells her this is for salvation and spiritual knowledge. Enraptured he then fucks her as she kneels on a prie dieu... her friend watching all the time."

Blonde hair was tucked behind and ear. "Is Eradice an exhibitionist?'

"Yes I think so. And here Therese can't dislodge the sight of the priest's "rubicund member" tunnelling into Eradice from her mind. She dreams of it, spreads her legs and masturbates."

"Later on, after learning much from a courtesan, a lascivious nobleman wants her to be his mistress. She refuses and they wager she cannot spend time in his library of erotica without masturbating."

"and...?"

"She lasts five days before, drapes open and door ajar, she lies naked on her bed fingering herself."

"Like this?" And, a flurry of cotton sheets and he saw all of her. Shapely long legs (She was over 5'6" and perfectly balanced) converging on a flat belly, gently curving hips and a waxed pussy. She had tightly drawn slit, even and set between lips that cried to be caressed with a tongue. She propped up against the headboard and spread them wider. A finger traced each lip, now redder and engorged. Legs parted wider, pink appeared even as a finger reached for her clit and began to gently manipulate it. Her eyes blazed challengingly. She knew it turned him on. His cock poked up through the bathrobe, and he began to stroke it. Her eyes fixed on his length.

She began to manipulate her clit backwards and forwards, legs splayed. Faster she went, her eyes closed now. Mesmerised he watched her start to convulse. She sighed and smiled.

He had continued stroking his cock, head peeking through foreskin as it swelled. She rose, leaned forward and, even as she brushed long blonde hair behind and ear, began to flick at his cock head. She bent and traced the length of his shaft, not a porn cock but a respectable seven inches and decent girth. Tongue descended and traced his balls even as she stroked it with her left hand. She moved upwards and took the head and the first inch in her mouth. She descended an inch, then two. She tucked her hair behind her ear again to reward him with the sight of half his cock disappearing into her mouth. She swirled her tongue as she pulled back.

A minute of this and he began to spurt in her mouth. She swallowed half and let the rest trickle out onto his belly. They smiled at each other.

They were in Spain travelling the second wedding of a good friend. It was his old friend's third quite serious relationship and, late in his 40s, he had chosen an expansive golf and sailing and equestrian club, full of expats and second homes, for his wedding. His new girlfriend – wife to be – was a hedonist pure and simple. He had been invited in on the planning and knew his friend was having a boys only event at the yacht club.

"So tell me about the Thursday evening again." She was smiling and flushed.

His friend was having an "Eyes Wide Shut" themed party. Men in black tie; women in masks and head-dresses, little if anything else. It was off season and the building, set in dense gardens on a small hill above the harbour, would afford considerable privacy. The entertainment – the women – were models provided by local agencies but apparently sourced in Madrid. His friend had been quite insistent on recreating this cinematic fantasy. The availability of modelling agencies familiar with this theme was an indication that it was not an exclusive fantasy.

She listened with interest, but the barbed tongue was not far away. "Oh really. And when do you all turn 25?" She was mocking him, them really. Them and the male fantasy and lechery that could outrun advancing middle age,

"Allan is to play master of ceremonies. I am to greet the girls, arrange payment of course, and usher them in. I had to arrange for delivery of the masks and head-dresses – all packed carefully in tissue lined boxes at the club now."

"Such a burden my dear." More mocking.

"So will it be an orgy?" She of course knew it would not be an orgy. For some of the attendees this would be an off-the-charts burst of hedonism. For others it would be tame, but the group dynamics would ensure that it was a dinner of cigars and drinking and naked women parading before a safe exit pre-empted the orgiastic conclusion mapped out in the movie.

"No. The women will arrive, undress to g-strings and put on the head-dresses. The agencies quite liked the idea as it provided maximum titillation with no risk of faces being seen: much easier to hire models this way. They will parade out during cocktails just as dinner is to be called. Then there will be a sort of runway show through the bar area. I will be the behind the scenes impresario." He laughed, as much at his ridiculous role as at the absurdity of the idea.

She was studying him. "Head-dresses... like this?" She had grabbed his computer and had pulled up stills from the movie. Bare breasted beauties, faces and hair obscured behind feathers and impassive masks.

"Yes."

His mind whirred to where he though hers was. True, they fought to keep their relationship fresh: nude beaches, even the odd sexual bout in a risky place. They would watch the more reasonable type of pornography (no brutality and misogyny). And yet she was (was she?) now proposing taking the exhibitionism they both enjoyed to a new and vastly riskier level?

"Are you ..."

"Yes"

"With everyone at the wedding two days later?"

"Yes. Masks, remember..."

"What if the way you move is recognized? Or you speak?" He felt blood rushing.

"Then I'd best try to be different, or anonymous. Or not speak."

His cock was swelling again, and she was grinning at his evident discomfiture.

"Brain and cock at war with each other, darling?" Her smile was under-girded with a challenge.

He loved watching her be admired. From early in their relationship she had intuited this and had slowly grown into a more exhibitionistic person; their desires intertwining. Yet now his brain was busily computing all the ways this was risky. She was right though, his cock had recovered at the thought. A graceful arm leaned forward and a nail stroked his shaft. It pulsed.

"Oh I think you want me too." And she was right, of course.

––––––-

The evening was warm but not unpleasantly so: perhaps mid 60s. He had worn a white dinner jacket, more as a nod to the unaccustomed sunshine than to actual tropical temperatures. It transpired that two agencies were providing models and the women were arriving singly and in groups. Two blondes, two redheads and a trio each of brunettes and raven-haired.

He had arranged with one agency for two security personnel to be on site, not that it was warranted but drunken stupidities could not be completely ruled out. Better safe than sorry. The second agency had agreed that the first could provide the two men, who now sat impassively outside the pool changing room serving as the staging post for the show.

She slipped in when 7 of the 10 women had arrived. Many of the women did not know each other and were, for obvious reasons, not hugely inclined to more than polite chatter. Half the models were in their 30s and she frankly just blended into the scene, though she was perhaps more serious than the others. Alicia, the planner of the event, bustled in and, smiling at him, gave a brief overview of where to go, pointing at a schematic of the room she held aloft. She did it in English; the girls were a mix of nationalities and the lingua franca of the EU made as much sense as any.

"You will do a tour through in two lines. Two full circuits of the room. As champagne is served you will do the runway show and some of you will accompany him ... fully nude. The ones doing that know who you are."

He had paid the two "lead girls" from each agency. His blonde he hinted was part of the other agency. Not being their responsibility neither woman – one a statuesque blonde swede and the other a full-breasted dark Spaniard – probed any further.

He now regretted the Rick's Café look, but tried to look nonchalantly away, left hand in pocket, as the various women began to undress. He discreetly slipped his mobile out and snapped a few shots as the women – his gorgeously dutch blonde included – began to undress. Some had worn g-strings and others had not, choosing instead to change before him, though in a rather matter of fact way. He felt tension growing in his cock even as she, and he, studiously avoided looking at each other.

And then the women were selecting masks and headdresses, preening and adjusting in front of mirrors. Personalities now obscured they became instead an abstraction of erotic attraction... legs and breasts and s-curves. Black g-strings. The expressionless, neutral masks were gold and silver, cream and black. She had chosen a fan shaped black head-dress, black feathers rising and swaying above. It surmounted a cream mask – still darker than her pale skin – a black thong and black heels with pointed toes.

He recognised her, of course. A hint of blonde hair though the head-dresses. She was amongst the tallest, almost 5'10" in heels. Her body, he remarked critically, was still the best. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, still high and firm with an inviting melon-roundness. She stood next to a red-head, also in all black save for a cream mask with red lips almost designed to draw attention to the spray of freckles across her breasts and chest.

Allan came bounding in, all excitement and pre-party vodka on the rocks. Confronted with the first person she knew she startled visibly and turned to him, but the mask was devoid of any reaction and she was but one almost naked woman amongst eleven.

"Eleven?" Allan asked after a swift count.

"Yes, one extra. Aren't we lucky?"

Allan had already moved on and actually advanced closer to his blonde. Her breasts were three feet from him, but his eyes were fixated on the plump, round and somewhat saggy breasts of the raven haired Spaniard standing with one hip cocked.

Allan turned. "Five minutes"

She was suddenly standing two feet away. A voice emerged from unmoving lips of the mask. "I'm nervous."

He was too, though equally excited. So as not to attract attention she drifted off. Evidently this aside was more to provide courage than to suggest she would slip out.

Alicia organizer emerged again and, leaving the kickoff in her hands, he ascended the stairs rather dry-mouthed. Grabbing a glass of the champagne from a waiter he looked around for Allan and catching his eye, nodded. A signal was given to the DJ and music began even as lights dimmed somewhat.

The women were all lovely, but she looked particularly fine. Fifth in line she was fitter, tauter, lither than the others. Her breasts swayed gently, a natural critique of the fake breasts rigidly and exaggeratedly riding next to her.

The line of women snaked between forty men in dinner jackets, around and back. Eyes of the men – some he knew – some he did not darted this way and that, dwelling on her, on her breasts, on her gently swaying ovals behind. They drank in her pale skin.

The lines of women snaked around and back. The black thong vanished between her ass cheeks leaving her effectively naked behind. The line swung around. Her nipples were rock hard. Temperature? Excitement?

This topless line of beauties was to formally announce the evening's entertainment. Allan, keen to occupy the foreground gave a speech, the girls clustered behind. She was second row, but her shapely back and ass were visible in the mirrored glass behind.

The speech was rather prosaic and swiftly over. It outlined the sequence of events. The women descended the stairs and, exchanging a new drink for his empty glass, he followed them down the stairs to discuss the entry of the groom. "Quite ready in five minutes" Alicia organizer said throatily.

And five minutes later music began. A low, broad stage was set beyond the row of tables, forming an L around the room. Onto it marched two rows of four women, splitting to form a perimeter at the back of each arm of the L. Then the music ascended a notch and the groom entered – wearing a hooded cape -, followed by three women. Three quite naked women. A redhead, a dark haired woman and a blonde. His blonde. Thrillingly nude yet anonymous. On view yet out of context for the room.

Her legs were longer and lovelier than the others. She was fully waxed; her neighbour has a red landing strip for effect and the dark haired girl was shaved but the skin of her pussy area was somehow a deeper hue. His blonde's hairless lips were near eye level for many of the men. Every stride revealed more. She was three feet from a strutting man that she knew, and not much father from 40 others, but the groom was reliving some youthful fantasy and oblivious to the women save as props or eye candy, adornments to his ego.

Her mask gazed in his direction and he soaked in her beauty, so flagrantly on display. Again he hazarded a quick photo, the thought of which immediately burned into his consciousness.

His cock was swelling. Her breasts were rising and falling more that the exertion of walking in heels required.

The groom shrugged off the hood and gave a slightly odd speech, mercifully short. He could not pay attention, for as the groom spoke a light shone on the stage illuminating all the women to a greater degree. She is stark naked on stage in front of 40 men...

––––-

The dinner ran on. He relaxed. She would have slipped out, he assumed. He decided to verify and casually wandered to the stairs. There he collided with ____, a rather louche hedge fund manager who leaned in to him and, wine and whisky on his breath, and said "I have a surprise planned for a few of us"

Curious he followed him down. At the base of the stairs the hedge fund manager pushed ahead and into the changing room. It was too late to stop him and the hedge fund manager almost collided with the security detail. Eleven women, some still in masks (including the blonde) turned to look.

He was a successful trader for a reason, for sensing that things could spiral he swiftly spoke. "Ladies, I have a proposition that may repel some of you but might find favour with others. I would like a show, supervised by these fine security men (who will be rewarded). Just a show for compensation of a thousand euros. If two of you participate then I shall pay for two. Three is fine too. And so forth. Have I takers?"

Two girls raised their hands. Cooly he surveyed the room. He pointed at the blonde. "What about you, my lovely?"

Seconds ticked by. His heart pounded. She glanced quickly at him and then her masked face nodded.

–––-

And so, a few minutes later he was in the changing area of the women's steam room. A security man stood impassively by. Eight men were waiting and she entered the room and its half-dimmed light. She was wearing a yacht club spa robe.

Hedge fund asked if she would remove the mask. She shook her head. "I will pay extra" Seconds ticked by... surely she wouldn't? She didn't and his heart settled back from his throat.

"Will you use this for an extra thousand?" Louche hedge fund had produced a shiny black vibrator with a slightly bulbous circumcised-effect head. Again seconds passed and she reached forward he had to take the black wand.

She shrugged the robe off slowly and stepped into the brighter light by a leather sofa. They had only a glimpse before she turned to show her ass to the room. The she spun and, settling on the sofa, sat upright with legs kept together, surveying the crowd from behind her mask.

There was absolute silence and then, slowly, she parted her legs and began to roll the vibrator over her chest, her nipples, her breasts. As she did her legs parted wider. Pussy lips came into view as the black rod rolled over the perfect belly. She raised it to caress her thighs. Leaning back she began to trace the humming shaft over her pussy lips, which were growing pinker by the moment.

He glanced at the other faces. Dry lips, focused eyes. She had their rapt attention. He knew three of the eight but they were united in admiration.