The Exhibitionist
THE EXHIBITIONIST'S ACCOUNT
ROBERT is a good husband, and I like to feel I look after him and respond to his needs. But, like all too many busy men, he doesn't always have time to consider too closely the needs of his wife – and although I don't think I'd ever be unfaithful, a girl can dream can't she?
My dream is that a man I do not know is watching me undress. He doesn't touch me, but his growing excitement is answered by mine as I slowly push down my panties to exhibit my gingery pubes and naked behind, then peel off my bra and feel that extraordinary rush of pleasure as my breasts shiver into view – knowing all the while that his eyes are fixed on my exposed flesh. Well, recently my dream came true.
It was a few weeks ago that I first became aware of him. Undressing in the bedroom early one night during one of Robert's absences on business, I hadn't intentionally left the curtains open, but suddenly realised with a shock that someone was down there in the street looking up at me. He was a pathetic little man with owlish spectacles, wearing the original dirty raincoat, a hat pulled down ridiculously low on his head and trainers on his feet. The watcher of my fantasy! When he saw that I was staring back at him, he fled. All next day my imagination ran riot. I wanted him to come back when it got dark, and I sought out my most erotic underthings, exasperated by my own absurd behaviour yet breathless with a weird excitement.
Next night he was there again! It was too early to go to bed but as I undressed I smiled encouragingly down at his furtive, lurking face – and although he scampered off again like a startled rabbit, he returned the following night. This time he stayed, peering up from the shadows as I, trembling with deliciously wicked sensations, stripped enticingly to near-nakedness for my audience of one. And so our secret silent rapport continued, week after week.
THE VOYEUR'S ACCOUNT
SINCE I lost my job at the packing factory life has been fairly dull. Most days I walk round to the corner cafe for lunch and down my Mum's for tea. I'll admit of course that not having to go to work, I've had lots of time to get the gardening up to date, whilst still going to the church social club in the evenings for bingo and ping-pong. My route to the club takes me through a housing estate, and yesterday that was the scene of a most amazing experience.
Some weeks back, whilst on my way through the estate, I saw a partly-dressed lady at a window. I didn't want to stare in case she saw me and pulled away, so as I walked past I continued to glance from the corner of my eye. I reckoned she was in her early twenties, smashing-looking with ginger hair and wearing sexy undies. It was dark outside, the light was on in the upstairs room and I wondered if she knew she could be seen from the street. The lady had an incredible effect on me, and I arrived at the club quite unable to focus my attention on the job for that evening, namely sorting through piles of clothing for the forthcoming bazaar and jumble sale. Later at home, I couldn't get her out of my mind and fantasised in my dreams all night.
I resolved to walk past at the same time the following day. Lo and behold, she was there again. The pace of my steps slowed dramatically, so taken was I by the sight before my eyes. I was shaken out of my dreamlike state when I suddenly realised I had been standing still, looking up at the window for quite some time and that she was looking straight at me and smiling. I broke free from her captivating smile and ran till I was quite out of breath.
I'd never been so embarrassed in my life. A combination of the sight I'd just witnessed and the exertion of running had perspiration pouring down my face. I was dry-mouthed and shaking. I had been hypnotised by what I'd seen and yet was petrified in case she called the police to complain about the 'peeping Tom' that I had become. I thought at once of changing my route to the club.
By the following day my resolve had been weakened by the thought of the sights I'd seen. I stood outside her house, looked up, and there she was again. In the days and weeks that followed, I spent my hours watching her perform, mesmerised. She knew I was there, yet appeared oblivious to my presence, going through sexy routines of stripping and dancing. She gave me the hottest shows I've ever seen, and suddenly my life seemed to have meaning.
THE EXHIBITIONIST'S ACCOUNT
Until last Wednesday evening, when Robert came home unexpectedly early from a cancelled board-meeting! I blush as I write this, but I was exposing myself fully to this gaper of the night when, before I knew what was happening, Robert rushed into the bedroom and dragged me from the window. Having just seductively removed my bra, I was wearing nothing except my sexiest white lace stockings, suspenders and high heels. His fury terrified me. I have never known him in such a rage as he shook me till my teeth rattled. Then he dragged me painfully downstairs, flung me into the living-room and roared, 'Stand there, slut, I haven't finished with you yet!' He ripped the curtains shut then stormed from the room.
Moments later I was alarmed to hear shouts and grunts from outside, the front door flying open – and Robert reappeared dragging my little man by the scruff of the neck, who whimpered in terror, obviously afraid that my husband was about to attack him. But Robert, although he yelled abuse at him, merely shoved him against the wall where he stumped, shivering. Then my husband turned on me. 'If you enjoy showing yourself off to this pathetic Peeping Tom, Sylvia,' he bawled, 'he can have the best view in the house while you, my lady, get the hiding of your life!'
While my raincoated voyeur did his best to crawl into the wall, Robert now dragged me to the sofa and sat heavily down. I couldn't believe he was serious – I am, after all, a grown woman and not some naughty child. 'Get across my knee!' he snapped. 'As you've saved me the trouble of baring your pretty posterior, I'll have all the more energy to give it the walloping it deserves!' Then, to my horror, I was floundering forward over his lap in an unspeakably humiliating position, my naked bum jutting upwards and feeling dreadfully vulnerable. Yet even then little thrills surged through me as I glimpsed my Peeping Tom huddled nearby in fright, peering at the scene with drooling fascination.
THE VOYEUR'S ACCOUNT
Yesterday I was there as usual. She was dressed in scanty undies, suspenders and stockings and was going through her usual routine, when she abruptly disappeared from view. This had never happened before and when she didn't come back I started to feel very frustrated. Quite beside myself, I ran forward to the downstairs window and peered in, trying to see where she had gone. I was still in this position some moments later when a hand grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and spun me round. I was confronted by a man whose face was so contorted with anger and rage that I thought my end had come. He obviously wasn't a policeman and he half-beckoned, half-dragged me into the house. Inside was the lady, and the man was screaming and shouting alternately at her and me.
He dragged and pushed me into a corner of the room and I fully expected him to rain blows around my head and neck at any second. I was petrified. Instead he left me in the corner and vented his anger fully on the girl. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to run but he was between me and the door. At the same time, I had never been this close to a lady without clothes on and I wanted to stare, although I didn't for fear of retribution from this brute of a man, who was almost insane with rage. But soon he seemed to be gaining control, his voice changed from furious ranting and took on a more steely, authoritarian tone. He sat down on the settee and ordered the girl to get over his knees. THEN HE BEGAN SLAPPING HER BARE BOTTOM!
THE EXHIBITIONIST'S ACCOUNT
'Hold still!' yelled Robert, clamping a powerful hand on my struggling back. There was a breathless, awful pause – and his right hand fell. 'Ouww! Ahhh!' It felt like fireworks night in my tender rear as eruptions of spitting sparks seared through my rearward cheeks. Then it came down again with even greater force, sending shockwaves of boiling ice into the marrow of my seat-bones. From then on details of the punishment became blurred as I bucked and writhed under the terrific smacks, screeching as my backside burned. Yet through it all I could smell the dank smell of streets and loneliness, and knew the wretched creature lurked close by. It gave me strange comfort.
Robert was dragging me and my buttocks prickled with a million red-hot needles. 'All right, Sylvia...' Robert's voice was calmer now, but his breathing was fast and heavy like it gets when we make love. 'Kneel up on the sofa!' Too scared to resist, I did so. 'Push your bum well out,' he sneered, 'so your lecherous friend here can take a really good look. It's nice and pink now...' Then he added ominously, 'Soon it'll be red as sunset.'
Kneeling up on the cushions, I confess I now arched my back to jut out my bare bottom in a deliberately provocative way towards the cringing watcher as Robert strode across the room and grabbed something from the cupboard. Then, with a disturbing quietness, he removed his jacket. And as I waited in dread for my punishment to resume I sensed the furtive, bespectacled gaze boring holes in my out-thrust bum-cheeks in a way that sent naughty thrills rippling through me.
THE VOYEUR'S ACCOUNT
I had my head turned away in fear and yet my eyes were swivelled around watching the bizarre goings-on. He now appeared to be totally unaware of my presence, and absorbed in punishing this woman, who I supposed was his wife. Time and again his hand fell on to her pure white behind, and the flesh wobbled and began to redden up. He was spanking her really hard, like some overgrown child, and his hand was landing loud and fast. He was unaware, or at least took no notice, of the screams and whimpers issuing from the woman's mouth, as her pretty face twisted in pain. I was just beginning to turn my head in order to get a better view, when he stopped slapping her and ordered her to stand. He stood up and walked towards me, outstretching his hand as he came. I thought that now it would be my turn for a beating. But he reached past me into a side cabinet and pulled out a pair of ping-pong bats.
THE EXHIBITIONIST'S ACCOUNT
Robert stepped up behind me, raised his arm, and my bum-cheeks were flattened by a blistering wallop with something cold, flat and hard that drove the breath from me in a shriek. Glancing round in shock I glimpsed the ping-pong bat in Robert's hand as it rose up over his shoulder again. I shut my eyes. The stinging concussion blasted in again, meaty and solid; then again and again, first on my left buttock then my right, till the blows were raining down and I was wrenching my poor tortured behind from side to side. Yet all of a sudden I was glowing all over my skin. I deserved this thrashing, was actually welcoming it! And for a while, as my backside jumped and flattened, flared and throbbed to my husband's violent attentions and almost sexual grunts, we forgot about the raincoated voyeur.
But several thunderous whacks later, as my buttocks began to push eagerly back to meet the blows and I experienced a lovely weepy feeling I am too embarrassed to describe here, I became aware of my little man again. He had grown bolder and was staring intently at every wallop as the bat slammed down on my lividly-blotched bottom. By the final scalding smack I noted through the whirling daze my senses were in that he had come right away from the wall and was actually smiling as he wiped his glasses on his raincoat, leaning forward to see even better.
THE VOYEUR'S ACCOUNT
I again turned away in case he thought I was watching, but not before he ordered this lovely young woman to kneel on the sofa. I didn't need to look to imagine what was happening next, the sounds told me all I needed to know. The swish, the splatt! and the stifled groan accompanied by grunts from him and sobs from her, told me he was spanking her with one of the ping-pong bats. Helpless to stop myself, I found my head turning to gaze on this fantastic sight.
I could no longer hide my excitement and gawped openly on the events happening in front of me. Now I had no thoughts of being harmed by this man, no feeling of being embarrassed at being caught watching. All I could do was stare as he spanked her bare bottom mercilessly. It was impossible to tear my eyes away, I'd never seen anything like it and I never will again. I watched, totally captivated. The full swing of his arm. The resounding thwack!! as rubber met soft flesh. The ripples that followed each impact of the bat – just like the one I use. The hundreds of pimple-mark impressions, momentarily white then turning red on her behind, obviously burning her to the core. Making her yelp and shout out. Making her beautiful hot bottom jerk about in pain...
THE EXHIBITIONIST'S ACCOUNT
My chastisement over, Robert pulled me to my feet. But I was smiling now, too, frying deliciously all over, my bottom aflame like a genial bonfire. Robert was smiling as well. In our own separate ways, all three of us were happy. In fact my husband displayed a tenderness I'd rarely known as he pampered my poor reddened bottom-cheeks with soothing fingers, murmuring little love-words. We were both so preoccupied by our mutual comfortings that we hardly heard or saw the little man go, tip-toeing over Robert's brief-case and melting back again into the night.
THE VOYEUR'S ACCOUNT
My fear had gone and other emotions were now charging within the room. The anger was leaving the man, as if draining through the bat. The girl's whimpers were replaced with deep and groaning sighs. I've never heard anything so exciting. As suddenly as it had started, everything came to an end. Without a word, the main straightened up, the woman stood up, my path to the door was clear, and I bolted. In a state of total bewilderment, I walked on down to the club. I played ping-pong as usual. What was weird though, was that I won.
And they all lived happily ever after...
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