Plan C is the first erotica story we've ever written. We're presenting it as a series as we write it. Phase 2 stands on its own, but if you like the slow burn, you owe it to yourself to find out how Sarah got herself to this point in the first place before reading even a bit further! See Plan C - Inception, and Plan C - Phase I.
Note that the story contains hints of potential infidelity, so if that sort of thing makes you paranoid, move on. We were surprised to find that there are a lot of mean-spirited folks over in Loving Wives -- kind of a drag. But this story is really all about exposure anyway so we think this section could be a much more pleasant home. In any case, if you like stories of wifely exposure that invoke the sexiest word in the English language -- "panties" -- we hope you'll like this one.
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Somehow, Sarah had found herself sitting in a hotel lounge with her legs spread open. Wide open. It wasn't completely obvious from other angles, but she knew that one person -- Mr. X -- could look between them and see directly up her skirt all the way up to where her legs met. More accurately, he could look at the expanse that lay between her two legs. And that was exactly what he was doing. He was looking at her entirely exposed panties under her thigh length skirt. And that was the whole point. He was the reason that she'd taken the pose in the first place.
He had a perfect view. If she hadn't been wearing her panties he would have been able to see her vagina, see her outer lips slightly parted and a bit puffy. Even from his distance of five metres, it would have been obvious that she was excited. Of course, she was wearing panties. Only whores -- "and celebrity C-list has-beens", she thought in a rare burst of bitchy humor -- encouraged people to look up their skirts when they weren't wearing panties. "So, what does that make me?", she asked herself playfully, "A quarter whore?" She winced for the second time that night at her own embarrassingly bad pun.
But even though she was wearing panties, what Mr. X could see was enough. The fact that she was showing them to him was enough. Enough to slightly bend -- but not yet break -- her sense of what was right and wrong, what was good and bad, what was up and down.
She had only exposed herself to one person, a stranger in a crowded bar. But she felt as though she had been stripped naked and had her legs held wide open in a public square, and that hundreds of on-lookers were staring at her vagina. Staring and pointing.
She had never felt so vulnerable. Her stomach felt weightless, as if she had pushed the down button on an elevator and the cable had snapped. Perhaps this was how bungee jumpers felt. She'd ridden one of those amusement park tower rides once, and it felt a bit like that. But this ride hadn't stopped yet. Maybe this was how sky divers felt, she thought, realizing that that was probably an analogy too far. In any case, while the initial rush had settled down a bit, her stomach still felt like it was tumbling end-over-end.
She needed to get some perspective, needed to do that fast, to get it together before she completely lost herself. She needed to look at her situation objectively.
OK. He was still looking at her. Not staring, not making obvious facile gestures, certainly not elbowing his friends in the ribs with a "hey, check that MILF out". He was clearly not a crude man; he had an aura of sophistication and reserve. But also genuine style, and that whole sexy, greying, full-of-life-experience thing. So rather than ogle her, he sat calmly looking at her holding an expression of subtle appreciation with perhaps a slightly feral curl to his lips.
What was happening around her? Sarah couldn't have been sitting this way for more than a minute. (Could she have?) Was it her imagination, or had more eyes shifted their general area of focus in her direction? Were her legs so open that it was obvious they were too open, even to those without a head-on view? Women police the bounds of propriety more vigilantly than men, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed that one of the few women in the bar had turned her head and was looking vaguely in her direction. Was there a slight knowing smirk on her face?
Sarah closed the gap between her legs and with a desperate nonchalance primly crossed one leg over the other, falling into that classic pose of womanly modesty.
Mr. X looked back up at her face then, an expression of amused disappointment playing across his own face. He lifted his glass up just a bit past his face and then put it to his lips, a private gesture that only she might interpret as a semi-ironic toast. Then he put the glass down, settled himself a bit, looked at her again, and signalled with his body that he was about to stand up. She slowly shook her head from left to right and back again, her own private gesture carrying the clear message to stay where he was.
She caught the server's eye and signalled for the check. While she waited, she reviewed the plan that she had earlier mapped out in exquisite detail. She'd never really meant to implement it, had she? Not this far, anyway. But she'd begun to act it out, and without doubt it was not just a thought experiment anymore.
Still, so far she was still in semi-charted territory. Her Phase 2 actions could reasonably be open to interpretation. But if she carried things further -- if she moved to Phase 3 -- that would be a different story. There would be no way that she could pretend to herself that it was nothing. So she wanted to be sure she understood all of the ramifications of each step of the plan. To be sure that in the cold light of day she would be able to justify each one -- to herself and, more importantly, to her husband.
Of course, any judgement-prone critic would at this point be asking how she could show her panties to a stranger, and then claim that that was "open to interpretation"! Well, she thought -- with a recognition that her argument carried a bit of post hoc justification -- her husband had asked for it. Hadn't he?
It was a game they played. Before they undressed for bed, he would tell her to lift her skirt and show him her panties.
He'd ask her, "what kind of woman lifts her skirt up like that just so someone can see her panties?"
"A naughty woman."
