Home Visit

You get out of the taxi and walk down the long driveway towards my house on the outskirts of Gothenburg. Out of the blue, I'd sent you a message: "My husband's away for a few days. Book a flight and a hotel :)." It hadn't taken much convincing and the whole plan had come together within a few hours.

You'd checked into your hotel and had gotten straight into a taxi to take you here. I lived at the end of a secluded private driveway, and you realised that either all the houses in Sweden were bigger than you thought, or I, or my husband, must have more money than you had assumed.

You feel wary walking down the driveway; wary that my husband has cancelled his trip and I haven't been able to tell you. You check your phone again: there are still no new messages. There's a single small car in the driveway; another reassuring sign.

You weren't really sure what to expect of Sweden in August but it's really quite warm today, especially at early afternoon. You couldn't help but wear your jeans as usual and, feeling clever about how thoughtful you were, the shirt I'd bought you in London. You know how much I love the outdoors so you have a sturdy pair of boots and a large Russian army surplus jacket that's definitely too big for the mild weather.

You step onto the wooden decking that leads to the front door and ring the bell. You're not sure if you hear a sound from inside or not, but you can't hear any footsteps. Feeling warm you take your coat off and drape it over your arm before ringing again. Still there's no sound, and no sign of me.

In this age of technology there's always a way to get in touch with someone so you take out your phone. You look up my details and start to call. It rings five times and then you hear the noise of a door opening above and to your right. You look up and see me standing on a balcony wrapped in a towel.

"Ooh, sorry. I'm just getting ready," I explain. I had told you that I'd be out for an hour or two this afternoon, meeting some friends for afternoon tea, but I forgot to mention that the doorbell doesn't work. You'd decided to come over anyway rather than wait until this evening.

You smile. It's that smile again. "No problem," you say, "I only just got here."

I lean on the balcony handrail and look down at you. I can't believe you're here, that I'm seeing you in the flesh again. It's been nearly a month since our encounter in London and we've barely spoken since that day. The fun we had in the park, it seemed a hard act to follow.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" you ask. I see you looking at my legs beneath the towel. I'm sure you can't see a great deal from down there, even if you are looking up. I keep it tightly wrapped around me.

"Let you in while I'm wearing just a towel? Not likely," I laugh.

You laugh too. "I've missed your laugh," you say with a wistful expression and my heart melts again.

"You could unfurl the towel and I'll climb up it?" you suggest. That brings a giggle from me.

"Oh, not likely, mister. I'll be down in a minute. Take your boots off anyway; I don't want you clomping around on my nice clean floors."

You put your coat across the low fence at the edge of the decking and untie and remove your boots. I stay leaning on the railing, watching with a smile.

"Erm, I don't see you coming down yet?" you say.

I laugh. "Well, you can wait down there until I'm ready if you like. I might be a while. But I'm not letting you in if I'm wearing less than you. You know our rules." I say the last with a wink.

"Our rules? I'd like to see you following rules," you joke.

"Not rules for me, silly. For you." You roll your eyes. "You agreed to be naked all the time, remember?"

"I agreed no such thing!"

"Well... you almost did. You would have done, but you were away with it at the time." That might actually be true. "And anyway, there's no way I'm going to be the one wearing the least in this relationship, and as I'm wrapped in only a towel you know what that means."

You sigh but, admit it, you knew what was going to happen, it was just a question of when.

"So come on then!" I prompt, as if I really am expecting you to follow my instructions rather than just hoping you will.

You pull off first one and then the other sock and tuck them into your boots.

"Shirt next," I helpfully suggest. I'm really quite happy that you've worn the short-sleeved one I bought you, and even happier that you start unbuttoning it unquestioningly. You slide it off your arms and go to toss it onto your coat.

"No. Chuck it up here," I instruct. You give it a throw and it drifts up towards me. I catch it and hold it to my chest. It's nice to see that bare torso again too.

"Trousers too," I say.

Wordlessly you unfasten your belt buckle and the top button of your jeans. I watch as you slide the zip down and then, leaning on the fence for balance, you pull the jeans off your right leg and then your left. You look up at me and toss the jeans towards me without being asked. I catch them and drop them on the balcony next to me.

"You know, I'm disappointed that you felt the need for those," I say, indicating your briefs. The sense of entitlement I have to your body makes your head spin; how did it get to this point so quickly? Neither of us knows the answer to that.

You look around, realising that you're standing at the end of a driveway in a suburb of Gothenburg in just your briefs, and you've just thrown most of your clothes up to a woman who hasn't been reticent about exposing your body in the past.

"What if someone comes," you ask, looking around and genuinely nervous.

"No-one will come," I explain, and I mean it. The nearest neighbours are behind a row of trees and we're a long way from the road. "And besides, you can always put your coat back on." You look at your army coat; it does cover you from neck to ankles when you're wearing it. "So no excuses," I continue and hold my hand out.

"And you'll let me in?" you ask.

"Of course I will! Just as soon as you're wearing less than I am, I'll let you in."

You barely put up any kind of a fight as you hook your fingers into your waistband and push your briefs down. That monster cock of yours is only just starting to grow, and it's nice to see an erection in its nascent state. It's the first time I've seen that for quite a while.

You throw your briefs up and I catch them eagerly, clutching them to me with your shirt. I look down at your lithe naked body. You put your hands over your groin to partly cover yourself, which I find highly amusing given our history.

"Okay," I say, "I'll leave you with your hands for now. I'll be down in a minute."

I turn around to go back into my room, loosening the towel and letting it drop as I do. I know that you can only see my back as I disappear out of sight, but I'm hoping the thought of me naked up here might arouse you some more. Although perhaps I've gotten you too used to being naked around me that it won't mean an automatic erection any more. I'll have to watch that.

You stand on the decking with your hands over your crotch, and then realise how pointless that is when no-one's around. Every sound from the direction of the road makes you start and you're ready to jump for your coat. Perhaps I should have taken that from you too. No-one comes, of course, but it feels like you're waiting an age for me to open the door.

Just when you're thinking you should get your phone out of your coat and see what I'm up to you hear the sound of locks and the front door swings open. You stare at me with your eyes open wide. Surely you knew it wouldn't be quite as easy as me answering the door in my towel?

You look me up and down. I'm wearing sheer stockings and a short, black cocktail dress. I had time to add a touch of makeup, a pair of delicate silver earrings, and tie a silk scarf around my neck. I didn't want to leave you so long that you got suspicious and this was the best I could manage in a short time. I see from the involuntarily bob of your penis that you approve of my outfit, and I approve of your reaction.

"Come on in," I smile, as if it's perfectly natural to invite a naked man into my home. Well, if Swedish stereotypes were to be believed it would be, although I haven't seen much sign of that behaviour since I've been living here.

You step inside and I shut the door behind you. Only then do I put my arms around you and lean up for a kiss. I wish I was wearing heels, not only to complete the picture but also so I wouldn't have to tiptoe, but unfortunately the hardwood floor is too important to me.

I feel your hands around my waist and then the rod pressing against my stomach. It's a bulge that seems to be growing as we kiss, so I give it some help by running my hands down your chest.

"You look amazing again," you say. I grin from ear to ear. This is my best outfit and the black, figure-hugging material follows all of my curves.

"So do you," I whisper, as I slide my hands around your back and give your buttocks a squeeze. That might be the first time I've really felt them and I love the lean firmness, and the way you arch into me as I touch them. I kiss you again.

You look towards the doorway into the rest of the house.

"Aren't you going to give me the tour?" you ask. I like that you haven't even asked for your clothes.

I had planned to take you upstairs, but I have an idea. "Just a minute," I say, "I've thought of something."

I untie the scarf around my neck and place it over your eyes and then tie it in a loose knot behind your head.

"What's this?" you ask, "The blindfolded tour? I'm not sure I'll remember much."

I laugh. "This'll be more fun. Honest." It really will.

I pause to take another look at you standing blindfolded, naked and very erect in my hallway. I take your right hand in my left and give you a gentle pull deeper into the house.

"Trust me," I whisper as I pull you forwards. To be honest, you probably shouldn't trust me, but you do nonetheless.

I open the large doorway and lead you out of the hallway, into the main reception room, and then towards the smaller reception room at the back of the house. Without your sight you feel as if your other senses are heightened and you can feel the air move across your skin as we walk slowly from room to room. Your toes feel the floor change from hardwood floor to a thick rug, which is where we stop. You hear a muffled giggle.

I stand in front of you and you feel me lean against you as I start to untie the blindfold. The soft fabric of my dress rubs against the tip of your penis as I reach around your head to fumble with the knot. With a flourish I pull away the scarf and step to one side, holding your left hand in my right as I do.

Your eyes adjust to the light and you suddenly find yourself facing a sofa with three beautiful young women looking back at you. Your free hand instinctively tries to cover your groin, but we both know that one hand is nowhere near sufficient for that job and I'm not letting you have your other hand back. You realise the fumbling attempt is only making things worse and give up the attempt.

The women have wide irrepressible smiles on their faces and one has reflexively covered her mouth to in an attempt mask the mixture of surprise and pleasure at seeing you in front of them.

"This is Tiffany," I point towards a very petite brunette girl on the right. Like me, she's wearing a short dress ready for a night out, although she has more confidence in her skin and her legs are bare. Tiffany waves at you and smiles. Your mouth moves in a "hello" but no sound comes out.

"This is Helga," I gesture towards the blonde girl in the centre of the sofa. She's a pure-blooded Swede and has strikingly angular features, clear blue eyes and gorgeous glowing white skin. Her white blouse has more than a few buttons open and it's obvious she's not wearing a bra beneath it. I watch your eyes scan down her body, her dark shorts and the sheer tights. I'm wonder if possibly I've gone too far, though, as you still haven't been able to make a sound.

"And I feel like you've already met Kelly, almost." I indicate the third girl on the couch. Her bright green eyes sparkle with mischief. She wears her hair in a short crop and she's dressed much more modestly than the other two girls with a tight-fitting long-sleeved black top and tiny pleated black skirt. However, the long knee socks leave a few inches of bare thigh visible and a whole lot to the imagination. Your penis waves in appreciation, but we already knew that you liked a girl to be well-dressed, didn't we?

"Erm, I..." you start to say. At least your voice is returning, and the moment for me to worry has passed: it looks like the positive sides of this encounter are far outweighing the embarrassment. You still can't form a sentence, of course.

Kelly unfolds her legs from beneath her and skips over to meet you. She puts out a hand which you start to take, and then she leans forwards to give you a kiss on each cheek. I laugh as you try to do so without pressing your penis into her stomach; I'm not sure there's an established protocol for a naked man greeting a clothed woman for the first time.

You watch Kelly bounce back to the sofa, her skirt revealing more with each skip, and sit down again, her smile still wide. I realise that, now the big moment is over, I don't have a plan for how to follow it up. We both stand there, you more awkwardly than I do, for what seems much longer than the few seconds it must have been.

Helga's mind is working the fastest and she speaks first. "So, you've arrived today?" she asks in her wonderful melodic Swedish accent. The question seems both very ordinary and yet entirely unusual given the circumstances.

"Yes... yes, this morning," you reply, "Just enough time to drop my things at the hotel room." You're holding up well, I think, and in more ways than one.

"You know you don't have to drop everything at the hotel room?" Helga jokes, looking your body up and down. Your face turns bright red as she does so. Helga turns to me. "Are there more like him in England?" she asks.

"I don't know." I turn to face you. "He seems to be quite a rare breed." You feel warm at the compliment and your colour is returning to normal. I remember what I was about to do twenty minutes ago now. "Would anyone like a glass of champagne?" I ask. There's a general chorus of approval. "It's Tiffany's birthday," I explain to you.

You turn to Tiffany. "Oh, happy birthday!" you say matter-of-factly.

"Why, thank you, cutey," she says with a coy smile, "although it's not really until tomorrow. But I've never had a naked man wish me happy birthday before." You blush again. "So I'll need a repeat on the day, okay?" You turn redder than even I've seen before.

"Come on," I say to you before you can be too distracted by Tiffany's attentions, "You can give me a hand."

You're grateful for a chance to step away from the limelight for a minute and follow me into the kitchen. I glance back and see three sets of eyes transfixed on your bum as you walk away from them.

The kitchen is just around the corner and as soon as we're out of sight I turn and put my arms around your neck. "Thank you thank you thank you," I say. I'm happy you took that so well and, honestly, I hadn't planned to do it.

"It's... okay," you say. Is it okay? You're not sure. It feels good, but you're sure it's not okay on some level. Or at least it shouldn't be.

I pull myself close against you. I know how much you like the feeling of cloth on skin and I feel from the pulsing in your groin that it's doing the trick.

"Here," I say, breaking off the embrace and opening the fridge door, "You can open this." I hand you a bottle of champagne.

As I watch I wonder if I would ever have a better thing to remember than a naked man opening champagne for me. You look up and see me studying me and, where I expected embarrassment, you just smile at me and then go back to uncurling the foil from the top of the bottle. As you do so I put five glasses on a small tray.

You untie the metal twine, and then I watch you trying to get a grip to twist the cork out. I thought champagne was supposed to be easy, but I guess this has been in the fridge a bit too long. Standing next to you, I can't resist placing my hand at the bottom of your shaft and stroking your penis.

"Maybe we could see which pops first?" I say teasingly.

Your concentration holds remarkably well. "That's not really helping," you tell me, although neither of us is sure whether that means I should stop.

"Okay, get on with it then." I reluctantly stop stroking and indicate the bottle with my eyes. I think it might be a bit obvious what has happened if we go back to the girls and you're limp and bleary eyed.

You pop the champagne and pour five glasses. "You can carry it," I say with a wink. I'm enjoying this naked servant act, and I can see that, secretly, you're enjoying it too.

You pick up the tray and follow me back to the seating area and the three girls. Their conversation stops and they look you up and down again as you walk in with the tray of champagne glasses. You place the tray on a low table and pick up a glass.

"This is for you," you say as you reach over and hand the glass to Helga. She smiles and thanks you. You do the same for Tiffany and Kelly, your every movement scrutinised as you bend for each glass and reach out to offer it. Being the subject of such close attention is both intimidating and a huge boost to your ego. If there was a fantasy you could have written down at the beginning of the day this might have been it. The same could be said for me and the girls too.

"Served like a true expert," Helga says. "I have some friends in England who might give you a call someday when they have a party," she adds. Kelly smirks and we exchange a glance. You get the feeling that there's something you've missed.

You pick up the final two glasses and hand one to me. "Happy birthday Tiffany," I say raising my glass, and you and the girls do the same. The champagne is mellow and buttery and the alcohol adds to the euphoric feeling you have.

I indicate an armchair for you to sit in and I perch on the arm. Your penis presses into your stomach as you sit, but at least you feel as if you're not drawing so much attention now. I rest one of my hands gently on your shoulder as the five of us talk about nothing in particular, and it seems as if having a naked man in our group is just commonplace. I wonder if your erection is ever going to die down, but there's no sign of that happening yet.

I'm close to finishing my champagne and pick my phone up from the table. "Okay, girls," I say, "This afternoon tea booking won't wait for us. I'll call us a cab and then we can be on our way." With the taxi booked I have to finish getting ready. You watch as a tie my scarf back around my neck in the mirror, and then I pull a pair of long, black satin gloves out of a draw and put those on too. I notice your cock bobbing each time: I'm right about how turned on you get as I put even more clothes on. The gloves reach above my elbows and, between those, the stockings, the dress and my neck scarf, my upper arms and face are the only skin I'm showing.

While this is going on the girls decide it's time to throw some questions at you.

"You must be very good at your job," Tiffany says to you. You wonder why she would assume that to be the case, given how little she knows about you. Kelly winks at you, and now you're sure that there's something you're missing.

"I don't think many Swedish men would be so good at this," Helga says, with another glance at your body, "Here, we become more accustomed to nakedness, and it loses some of its sexuality. I don't think a Swedish man would be able to maintain an erection for so long, and a naked man without an erection... well, it loses something."