The Cubicle Ch 08

I don't remember a whole lot about what happened next, since my mind was racing and my stomach tightened more and more the closer the runner came.

I do remember that he almost stopped to stare, a look of delighted bewilderment across his face as our eyes met, and then his gaze swooped across my bared breasts and down to my neatly trimmed pubic hair peeking out between my thighs. And I remember my embarrassment finally getting the best of me when I looked down at the sand and pulled my knees to my chest in a vain effort to cover myself.

Mercifully, he did not stop or say anything to me, but I felt his eyes remain on me as he trotted reluctantly away. I hugged my knees and felt my whole body blush. I could scarcely breathe. My emotions were thoroughly conflicted, part of me desperately wanting to be clothed once again, but another, more powerful part of me reveling in the feeling of naughty vulnerability and sensuality, and the strange sensation of both shame and pleasure.

I don't know how long I stared at the sand, listening to my heart pound in my chest. Slowly, voices from the direction of the umbrella couple to my right penetrated my ears. I looked toward them, and saw that they were standing now. His palms were up and outstretched plaintively to either side. She was facing away from me, gesturing sharply, punctuating her loudest, most shrill words by turning to point at me.

Frozen, I strained to process the words that made it intact to my ears over the sound of the waves.

"Why would ... naked! ... disgusting ... family beach! ... police!"

As she turned toward me and began marching furiously my way, she raised a phone to her ear. It suddenly registered with me what she was doing – calling the beach patrol!

In a panic, I reached for my top and fumbled with the strings, but realized quickly that there was no way I could put it on quickly enough, especially considering my trembling hands that would not allow it. So I threw my things into my bag and stood up, hastily wrapping my beach towel around me, and fled in the direction of the wooden walkway and the parking area.

Her angry voice followed me for a hundred paces or so, before she gave up the chase, yelling into her phone, "Well hurry up, because she's running away!"

The towel barely covered my nakedness. In my haste I wasn't able to secure it properly, so it hung loosely, and it was all I could do to manage carrying my bag on one hand and keep the towel around me while struggling to maintain sufficient speed over the hot sand. As I passed behind a couple resting on their towels, they eyed me curiously. A group of five or six was congregated near the exit to the walkway, and I seemed to catch their interest as well.

I ignored them and trudged on through the loose sand, glad that my workouts were paying off, with my firm legs succeeding in carrying me quickly to the walkway. Now I was able to pick up speed, having firm footing beneath me. The towel was very loose now, sliding down far enough to expose most of my breasts. To my relief, there was no one in the parking area. My car was tucked between an SUV and a minivan.

The doors were locked, of course, and I realized in horror that my car keys were in the bottom of my bag, in a zippered pouch to ensure I wouldn't lose them on the beach. I sensed at any moment that the police might arrive, and I would easy to spot as the perverse woman they'd been called about.

I repositioned my towel over my breasts again, and set the bag on the trunk to dig for my keys, trying to hold the towel with my elbows. After some effort, my search for the keys was successful, but my struggle with the towel was not. By the time the keys were in my hand, the towel had fallen completely open, and my right elbow had lost its grip entirely, so the towel was dangling precariously from my left elbow, having fallen away from my breasts and back. Friction was the only thing holding it across my ass.

As my shaking hands attempted to insert the key into the lock, I was astonished at the complete state of emotional and physical arousal I found myself in. For a few fleeting moments, it seemed perfectly rational to let go of the towel and stand there, nude, until the police arrived. Every inch of my body craved to be seen and touched in a perverse, carnal way.

But I also feared the unknown – I had no idea what I would be charged with, or whether it meant jail and court dates and other things I had never, ever considered in my whole life. So I finally shoved the key into the lock, hopped in with the towel draped over my front, and pulled out of the parking area onto the road. As I rounded the first bend for my trip back to the hotel, a park ranger vehicle sped past in the other direction; just as I went out of sight, in my rear view mirror I saw him pull into the parking area. I had barely made it.

Of course, I was nervous and tense for most of the 17 mile trek back to the hotel, concerned that the angry woman somehow knew what kind of car I was driving, or that someone had reported me, and that I'd be pulled over. Having only a towel draped over me would only confirm that I was the nudist they were looking for.

But even though I saw two other police cars, I made it to the hotel safely. I found a parking space in a corner between two large vans, large bushes in front, and parked cars behind. I felt an urgent paranoid need to get inside, still unconvinced that I was out of danger of being recognized. I began to dig in my bag for my coverup and bathing suit.

"Just wear the towel, Lisa," the Voice said.

I froze. I knew immediately that I would obey, feeling a stirring throughout my mind and body.

"Fuck, yes, god yes!" was my reply.

I looked back through the rear window. The coast was clear, with only the next row of parked cars behind me. I opened the door and stepped out, quickly wrapping the towel around me, doing a better job this time. Even so, to hide my ass and pussy, I had slide the towel down a bit, showing some cleavage. I tucked the top of the towel in under my left armpit, grabbed my bag, slipped into my sandals and started toward the door.

I felt an incredible rush of euphoria. I felt very naked and exposed, with my bare shoulders and cleavage, and my long, firm thighs visible to within an inch or two of my most private parts. Though the towel was snug around me, I could feel how precarious it was – any wrong move, and it could fall away. I resisted holding it together, depending entirely on the tuck staying in place on its own.

Seeing a woman with a towel wrapped around her is no unusual sight at the beach, of course. I was used to men looking me over. But I imagine it was the more-than-average cleavage and the absence of straps or ties around my bare neck and shoulders that attracted more attention than normal. Walking through the lobby, I could see in my peripheral vision several male heads turn for extended looks.

It seemed a long walk to the elevators. By the time I pushed the button, I felt the towel loosen a little. Still, I did not attempt to tighten or adjust it. A couple and a man joined me in waiting for the elevator to come. Finally, the doors opened, and a family emerged, dressed for dinner and a night on the boardwalk, I assumed. The teenage boy's eyes were glued immediately to the roundness of my breasts disappearing under the towel. His dad noticed, too.

I felt my face turning hot, and I knew it was flushed red now. I stepped into the elevator, my heart once again pounding in my chest, so hard I feared it would shake loose my precarious covering. I pressed the button for the sixth floor, and took my place in the front right corner next to the door. The others filed in. Since I was close to the buttons, crowding them, really, they asked me to press them for their floors. Their tone was hushed and polite. I hadn't realized there wasn't another panel of buttons.

The couple retreated to the back of the car, and the single man stood to my left, turned slightly toward me. I felt all eyes on me, as I stared down at the lighted buttons, blushing.

The couple got off at the third floor. The doors closed. He stared. I had an itch on my nose. I scratched it, feeling the towel loosen slightly again. I held my breath.

The elevator stopped at the fifth floor, where two middle-aged women boarded and asked politely for the tenth floor, the top floor of the building.

Finally, the sixth floor arrived; I stepped out before the doors had opened fully, knowing the man would continue on to the eighth floor. My room was at the end of the long hall, near the inside corner of the L-shaped building. My sandals noisily slapped my heels as I walked, echoing in the otherwise silent hallway. I reached my door, and by now the towel was very loose.

It was then I remembered that my room key was in the same zippered pouch that my car keys had been in. In my rummaging for the bathing suit and coverup I had originally planned to wear into the building, the pouch was at the bottom of the bag again, buried also among the People magazine, sun screen, water bottle and uneaten fruit I'd brought along.

At first I tried holding the bag in one hand while digging with the other for the room key, but the bag was too floppy and deep. Besides, I was shaking too much; I knew what I was about to do.

The Voice had been speaking to me all the way down the hall – commanding me, really, in no uncertain terms, "Drop the towel, Lisa. Be naked. Now."

I'd been trying to ignore it, but the command grew more stern.

"Now!"

Suddenly, I obeyed, hooking the thumb of my free hand into the tuck and pulling outward. The towel fell to the floor with a muffled flop. I closed my eyes and drank in the sensation.

"Oh, fuck, oh yes," I said under my breath. I opened my eyes and looked around me at the doors, listening, knowing that at any moment, one of them could open, or that someone might use their peephole to see who was outside their room, only to see a naked woman with a bag in her hand.

I felt ridiculous, bad, dirty, sensual, erotic, wonderful and scared all at once. Still trembling, I squatted obscenely to set my bag on the floor and dig for my room key. I spread my knees wide. I could plainly see my glistening pussy while I searched the bag. Finding it, I left the bag on the floor and opened the door, and with my bare ass holding the door, I leaned down and picked up my bag and towel, and slipped into my room, letting the door close behind me.

I dropped my things on the floor and leaned back against the cold metal door. I stood there for quite a while in a sort of trance, vaguely aware of the fading light as the sun began to set. I thought of nothing in particular, but watched as a parade of images and random thoughts marched through my head:

My mom.

Hiding naked on the mountain from the hikers who took my clothes.

Being naked at the office.

The embarrassment I had as a young teenager dressing before and after gym class.

My first kiss.

My first time having sex.

Going to church as a girl.

My daddy.

My friends.

Stealing the clothes from the campground laundry.

My panties hanging on the elevator railing at work.

Changing clothes in the alley in the small town.

The look on the runner's face when he realized I was naked.

The woman's anger as she called the police.

The time I failed a math test.

The guy who had a major crush on me when I started my current job, and I had to sternly tell him to leave me alone.

My mom wishing I would get married and "settle down."

Finally, the darkness pervaded the room, and my feet ached from standing in one place so long. I was still aroused, my nipples hard and protruding, my pussy wet. I touched my right breast, which felt sandy. I was covered with sand. So I went into the bathroom, and in the darkness, took a long shower to rinse off, not using soap or shampoo; I just stood there, still entranced, letting the warm water run through my hair and over my body. With my hands I helped the running water rinse away the sand while it cascaded over my breasts, down my stomach, and over my ass. I leaned down to rub away the sand from my thighs, calves and feet.

It was dark when I turned off the water and dried off. On the hook on the back of the bathroom door, I found the navy blue, silk, mid-thigh robe with embroidered coral-colored flowers I'd bought in Chinatown in San Francisco during a business trip a year ago. The cool cloth felt luxurious when I slipped it onto my naked, clean body. I tied the belt around my waist and walked through my dark room and out onto the balcony.

Between the moonlight and the glow of the lights along the boardwalk and parking lots below, it was surprisingly bright outside. I sat in a chair and propped up my feet on the little glass-topped table. My thighs seemed almost to glow. I sat for a while, enjoying the rest, and thinking about situation.

A clarity came over me that I'd never had before, although I wasn't able to out it into words until weeks later: I truly wanted – no, needed – to be this dirty, risk-taking, sexual being that I'd become. To my friends and co-workers back home, I would remain the same prudish, straight-laced woman I'd always been. That could not change, for the sake of my relationship with my family, and my career. But in secret, and perhaps to a select few whom I might discover along the way, I needed to be this slutty Lisa. There would be no more turning back, no more resisting the Voice. I would obey, eagerly. It was a huge relief. I felt as though years of confinement had been lifted from me, as though I could finally exhale and enjoy the real me.

Contemplating these things, searching for the words to articulate what I was feeling, I stood and leaned on the railing to take in the scenery. Beyond the hotel across the street, and beyond the brightly lit boardwalk, was the dark void of the ocean. I could hear the constant rush of the waves even above the sound of cars and the gentle, warm breeze. To my left was the other wing of my L-shaped hotel. Most of the balconies were unoccupied, even though the hotel was virtually full, with the majority of its guests out for dinner and fun. Below me a few floors, in the warm glow of light from his room, a man lay on a reclining beach chair reading a book. A floor above me, about ten or so balconies away, a couple leaned on their railing sipping drinks and talking. It was so serene, a beautiful, peaceful moment enhanced by my continued state of arousal. The breeze gently played with the hem of my robe and tickled my pubic hair and wet pussy underneath.

The Voice whispered, "Lisa, this time it's up to you. If you want to be truly you, you will do it – you will remove your robe."

Without hesitation, I exhaled, saying, "Oh, yes. I do. I do."

Gone was the tension, the inner moral conflict. I felt a deep sense of satisfaction and eroticism as I slowly, but confidently, untied the belt on my robe. It fell open. I alternately watched the couple and the book lover. It occurred to me that they might not see me, since there were no lights on in my room. So I entered my room and turned on a lamp, and returned to the balcony, which was now embraced by a soft, warm glow. I leaned on my elbows on the railing again, my breasts resting comfortably on top of the cool metal. My robe fluttered in the breeze.

The couple and the book lover saw me, of course, since the light had suddenly appeared. The book lover didn't seem to take much notice, being farther away and engrossed in his book. The couple was more curious about the change to the scene, of course. Being lit from behind, I assumed that their view of the details of my front side was as ambiguous as mine was of theirs, but the shadow was not so deep that careful examination wouldn't suggest to them that my breasts might be bare. The rest of me, of course, was hidden by the vertical poles of the railing. He was shirtless, and she was wearing a loose tank top dress, which I assumed was a nightgown. I waved, and they returned the wave.

Discreetly, I placed my left hand over my right breast and began to play with the nipple, which felt absolutely incredible. My nipples had craved this kind of attention for a couple of hours now, but the Voice had forbade it. After a few minutes, the woman took his glass and disappeared, reappearing a minute later with two full glasses. He put his arm around her, continuing their vigil at the railing.

I continued mine as well.

The book lover came to a stopping place and retreated into his room, not looking toward me, and closed his curtains. I stepped back a foot or so from the railing and became less discreet about pleasuring myself, using the fingers of my right hand to pleasure my right nipple, and my left hand for my left nipple, so that my chest was more exposed. The couple seemed quite interested now.

I felt very alive.

Caressing myself, I slowly arched my back, pushing my tits outward, and gently slipped my shoulders free of the silk robe, which slid down past my elbows and landed silently at my feet. I was naked now, on display for the watching couple. I cupped my tits in each hand, teasing the nipples with my thumbs. I stepped back from the railing until my back was against the glass door, my naked form more visible in the light from the lamp in my room. I was sure they could see all of me now, without the railing blocking their view.

I began to caress my body now, sliding my hands over my tits, my stomach and hips, down to my thighs. Then I turned and traced the curve of my ass. Finally, my tits against the glass, my ass toward the couple, the Voice said it was okay to touch my pussy. An audible gasp escaped my throat as soon as my fingers came close. I teased myself a moment more, touching my inner thigh, which was hot and slippery from the intense arousal between my legs.

When I touched my pussy, my knees became weak, and I shook. My hand became soaked in an instant, and I smeared the slick vaginal excretions on my tummy, then my breasts, then my face, my tongue flicking my fingers for a taste.

This was the reverie I'd been waiting for.

I turned around, the fingers of my right hand deep in my pussy, while my left hand pinched a nipple. The couple was still watching. He was caressing her back.

Suddenly, the orgasm that had straining to happen for hours finally found satisfaction. I'm sure they heard my squeals and gasps. I was sweaty now – my wet back had lubricated my slow descent on the glass door during my orgasm to the floor of the balcony, where I sat with my legs splayed wide, panting. My pussy still pulsed a full minute later. I lay on my back, my pussy toward the couple, whom it looked at through the railing while I masturbated to three more orgasms.

After my last one, I lay there, shiny with sweat, and watched the couple, who were kissing now. I continued to smear myself with my pussy's wetness, tasting it, savoring the musky, sensual smell. Then they disappeared, and I watched him close their balcony door and draw the curtains. A few minutes later, I found the strength to stand up and retreat into my room. I did not close the curtains. I drank a tall glass of water, turned off the light, and fell in a heap on the bed.

To be continued ...