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J. Sinclaire writes in “The Cornfield”:
One road I have traveled could barely be called that. Deep grooves in the earth sown daily by a pickup truck from decades past as it cut its path through the cornfield. The owner of this relic is the one who took me on this road, literally and figuratively.
Passions stirred before we reached the house nestled within the field. He parked the truck abruptly, getting out without bothering to turn off the engine before calmly walking over to open my door. Turning my body to face him, he pushed me down on the seat to dive beneath my dress and between my thighs with his lips. My back arched, my head driven into the hard springs of the seat as I squirmed from his touch. He lapped at me through my panties before finally pulling them aside. The sun beat down on my legs as they rested on his shoulders and I hazily noted the difference in temperature, my nipples hard in the cold, shady interior of the truck.
I opened my eyes to an upside-down world through the driver’s side window. Corn fluttered like clouds above a blue-sky sea. To the ebb and flow of corn in the breeze, he thrust inside me and I climaxed around him. The springs in the seat squeaked frantically from the sideways motion they were not designed to absorb as he fucked me. The world did nothing but watch.
In this edited excerpt from “Strong,” Xan West’s character describes watching a partner climax in front of a crowd:
“Come for me,” I said, pulling her hair.
She did, her body contracting, trying to push the baton out, even as I held it there, forcing her to take it. Her eyes were wide and dark.
“The whole room just saw you come, girl. They know your cunt is dripping, aching to be stuffed full. Their eyes are on you, watching. You can’t hide now, girl. We can see you. You are naked to us.”
She is so strong. I can’t imagine seeking this level of exposure, this level of vulnerability. She awes me.
There are so many ways to engage in exhibitionist behavior—from sex parties to open windows, to public transportation. About “Underground Encounter,” Tamsin Flowers writes, “It’s a short story about a girl who has a sexual encounter with a good-looking boy on the London underground.”
The train rattled over the tracks and our hips moved together in unison; but I was oblivious to our location now. Our combined musks filled my nostrils, and I could feel the pressure building up deep within me. His tight grasp round my waist kept me sliding up and down his shaft, each plunge deeper than the last one, each coursing through me with a sharper frisson.
Beneath my buttocks I felt his balls tightening with every thrust; his skin was burning mine and every touch felt like a branding. Deep within me the reaction reached a critical point and an explosion tore through me, shock waves billowing through every muscle and nerve fiber, a trail of searing pleasure ripping my body apart. At the same moment I felt his hot cum firing up into me as his hips spasmed against mine and he arched his back in the seat. A long, low groan was muffled between my breasts, even as my own whimper was drowned out by the noise of the train.
Chart your own journey into the mirrored world of voyeurism/exhibitionism at the pace that feels proper for you. If you’re not ready to peel off on a downtown train, sit next to your lover during your next commute and whisper all the filthy ways you’d like to fuck. When you get home, take the fantasy to the bedroom and pretend everyone’s watching.
They can see you. Can you feel their eyes?
TANTALIZING TIPS
•Take turns playing the exhibitionist and the voyeur. Who knows which role you’ll enjoy the most if you don’t give both a chance?
•Describe a fictitious situation to your partner. While making love, pretend that there are people watching. Paint a verbal fantasy using words alone.
•Go out on a date and engage in a steamy PDA.
FICTION: EXHIBITIONISM
BRING ME THE DARK
ANGELL BROOKS
Dear Diary,
Well, after fifteen years, Daniel finally got it right.
I don’t have to tell you how dreary our sex life has been, which is unusual considering the amount of porn he watches and the amount that I read. But he’s never really up for trying anything new. I mean, he talks a good game, mentioning threesomes and the like, but he’s never taken any steps to try to make it happen. (How do you go about setting that up anyway?) I thought for sure we were doomed to a life of quickies and rough sex. Yes, rough sex can be a turn-on, but sometimes I’d like to have him take his time, work his way up the ladder instead of just diving in and going for broke.
Foreplay has been nonexistent. A few brief fondles of my breasts before bedtime and a poke-poke in the ass to let me know he’s in the mood is pretty much all I get lately. TBH, these days an orgasm isn’t even a guarantee unless I’m doing it to myself. And that happens so often I’m thinking of running away with my vibrator collection.
So, imagine my surprise when I got home from work last night and found a gift waiting on the bed for me. It’s not my birthday, and Christmas is six months away. But really, there’s never a bad time for a gift. Inside a pretty pink box was an exquisite lingerie set. As I held up the delicate bra, a note fluttered to the ground. Picking it up, I read the flowery script: Wear these tonight under something short, sexy and elegant. Be ready by seven.
Talk about things that make you go hmm. But I was willing to play along. So I went upstairs and drew a nice hot bath. As I sank into the bubbles, I let my imagination wander. Where were we going? To the theater? Or our favorite fancy restaurant? Dancing? I let my hands slide down my wet body, a dull throbbing building up between my legs. I took the razor, lathered up my mound and carefully and thoroughly shaved my pussy. With a gift like that, I knew I was getting lucky. As I shaved my lips, my clit begged for a bit of attention and I allowed myself a few strokes, just to build up my anticipation further. I could have gotten myself off with the showerhead, but I felt that would be cheating Dan out of something he was obviously going through a lot of trouble for.
I did all the things women do to get ready for a hot date. I moisturized every bit of my body, painted my nails—both sets—and then padded in front of my closet, toes in the air, trying to decide what I had that was short, sexy and elegant.
I decided on my red “Audrey Hepburn” dress. It wasn’t scandalously short, and definitely not tight, but it was sexy and elegant. The lingerie fit me perfectly, which was a surprise, because Daniel is usually clueless at picking out clothing for me. The satin and lace combination of the bra was comfortable, not itchy, and the satin panties were a dream. I was thinking he must have gotten them at a discount store: they didn’t look cheap, but there was a little disc in the crotch of the panties, right about where my clit was. They must have forgotten to take out the antitheft device, and I giggled as I thought about having to go through one of the stores with that still there. It would at least make the search interesting.
After picking out jewelry, using makeup I hadn’t worn in ages and sliding into my kitten Mary Janes, I sat at the door, waiting. I nervously tapped my feet, checked my watch a dozen times, and laughed out loud at myself for acting like I was going on a first date.
