Imagine a taxi. Make it a seductive little conveyance on four wheels. Deck it out with leather seats, furry little balls lining the roof, neon plates…. Now imagine me in the backseat. I’m wearing a dark linen suit and a white shirt with a few buttons undone. Is that the hint of a hard-on you see outlined against the fabric at my crotch? Imagine that, and a hard-on it will be. Imagine me riding without a destination, taking my time, checking out the women in their summer dresses as they glide past my windows. Imagine the high heels and the short slit skirts. Remember that hard-on you were imagining? You don’t have to imagine it anymore. Consider the hard-on a fact.

“Circle around the block,” I tell the driver, because there’s one woman in particular who has caught my eye, and I imagine she looks a bit like you. I like the sway of her hips as she walks along, half lost in a daydream. I imagine inserting myself into her imagination, and I imagine her breasts swaying so slightly on top of her stride, and the moment she stops to study herself in a shop window to apply a lash of red lipstick. And then she’s coming round again, unsuspecting, her ass tucked so neatly into a red skirt that matches the lipstick. She’s coming round again as we circle the block, feeling the presence of my magical taxi and tipping her sunglasses down to her nose to wonder why we’re idling to take in her every inch. I roll down the window, wanting this woman more than I’ve wanted any woman before. I am no longer thinking of you and your play for erotic control. I am thinking only of her.

“We’ve got the best rates in the city,” I call out the window. “Service with a smile.”

“Oh yeah?” she drawls, repressing a grin, shifting her weight over to one hip. “Just a smile?”

“We also do in-flight entertainment,” I say. “Get in.” And she does, stabbing the pavement with heels to scissor her way into the backseat with some feminine magic of her own. Do you know that trick too? Prove it….

And so I look her in the eyes, smile, and toss my head towards the driver. She gives him an address far across town, and we roll. She does not take off her sunglasses.

Have you ever had a moment when no words will be enough, when words can only be a failure? It’s happened to me only once or twice in my life, and this was one. Instantly the tension was so thick in that back seat that that my mind dissolved and all I knew to do was put my hand on top of hers. She did not flinch. She wriggled a finger free to hook it around one of mine, and in my imagination her body swayed into my side. I could feel the line of her sharp curves as if she were naked, and I was instantly drunk on the scent of her perfume. She leaned closer. I felt her dark hair brush against my neck, and we both knew what came next.

There could only be this: she turned up her face and kissed me hard, her tongue darting into my mouth like an explosion, not a woman in a swoon, but a woman as possessed as I was. My body met hers in a dozen different places. Our mouths locked, one hand circled her neck before sliding down over her neck to cup a breast. She had a hand at my chest too, frantically undoing a button. As I lowered my face to kiss the top of her breast, she groaned, and as I glanced up at the rearview mirror I saw the taxi driver watching the backseat as placidly as if we were just more traffic. Imagine him with a mustache and an inscrutable face. I would teach him, I would make him blink. One hand at the woman’s breast, the other was sliding up the hot, soft sweep of the inside of her tanned thigh. She was mine. I could have split her open and fucked her right there. She could have broken me up into parts and made me into a Picasso painting. Our mouths still locked, my hand found a wet patch of underwear as she raked my chest with red fingernails while manipulating my cock through the thin pants. My zipper was undone, and she fumbled around for a moment before discovering a hard thrust, and the tip of my cock stretched past the elastic of my underwear. She had raced ahead, but I could race faster, and with one flick of my wrist I shifted her bra aside until a breast eagerly popped out. I wanted the driver to see this. And I wanted her to see him watching as I lowered my mouth to lick at her firm dark nipple. Her lips parted, and her eyes locked on the mirror with a sigh. So much depends upon. A dark nipple. Slicked by a tongue. In the backseat of a taxi.

It all began to break up, like some distant radio station. We were two lovers in pieces, mad jazz and Rachmaninoff, and I had never known such lust. I remember imagining the sight of her full and perfect thigh clenched over mine, her knee pushing insistently at my crotch. I remember imagining her hand on my bare cock and her tongue in my mouth again. And then her skirt hitched up over some black silk underwear, and me with a thousand fingers, penetrating her from octopus angles. Both of those beautiful breasts, I remember. I remember imagining them both in the rearview mirror, and seeing the driver’s darting eyes in the mirror too. Where were we going again? Nobody knew. My fingers were dripping with our excitement, which I repeatedly found in the depths between her legs. We were completely off the map. The streets had no names.

Are you keeping up? Imagination is not enough, my little protégé. There are a thousand taxis careening through the night, longing for your flesh. There are a thousand rearview mirrors waiting for your image to appear from the backseat. I want you to understand how this works. I want you to understand how the stranger named me lusts for you. I want you to understand the direction in which this game flows. And I want you to find a taxi – not the one in our imagination – and rape the man you find beside you. The taxi is your task – today, next week, next month. The taxi is my task, too. I will not step into one without growing hard at the thought of you stepping into one. I will always be looking in the rearview mirror, imagining I see flesh, and next time I fervently hope that the flesh will be yours.

Imagine a taxi. Now step into it.

X

I’m horny all the time. It’s hot outside and I walk around the house wearing just a scarf tied around me. I think of my sexy photographer, but I think of other people too, men and women, I start fingering myself and I want to have them all. But you’ve been a bit of a stranger recently, haven’t you? Have I overtaxed your poor little libido? After all of my adventures, are you still trying to catch your breath?

Well I won’t stand for it, Mr. X. I love my husband, and I love more than anything to do dirty things with him in bed, but I need you too, to take me to the scary places, to make me tremble with anticipation, to make my pussy just swim. Wouldn’t you just love to see my pussy, Mr. X? Wouldn’t you love to lick it? Oh, I know I’m off the subject and being cruel, and that’s not like me, so I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Here’s how: since you’re too busy (or too bored?) to come up with an dare for me, I’ve got one for you. And it had better get done, mister. I’ve been a good little slave, and now I’ve got negotiating power. If you fail me, I might just start feeling prudish (believe that?). Besides, I want to see if you can take it as well as you give it. Ready?

I imagine you’ve got a wife or girlfriend(s), considering how sexed up you are. Of course you might just be an imaginative, sex-starved creep, in which case you’d better get a wife or a girlfriend fast. If you are, in fact, the elegant, seductive gentleman I’d (foolishly?) like to imagine you to be, then you should feel quite free to choose the wife or a girlfriend for this one. The important thing here, X, is that there needs to be a woman involved. I hope that’s clear and that you won’t require illustrations. Also, and I hope this goes without saying, she should ideally be a total sex nut. My kind of woman, if you know what I mean.

Then: I want you and this woman to move from one place to another. You know that old saying? That it’s the journey, not the destination, that counts? Well that’s what this “experiment” is about. I want you to hail a taxi with this object of your affection. I want you to both get in the back seat, and I want your destination to be at least a fifteen minute ride away. I hope you’re with me so far, and I hope the other Mr. X is beginning to perk up. I’m perking up all over just writing to you like this, to tell you the truth. I think I like being in control.

So you’re in backseat of the taxi with this sexy woman, and now here’s the dare: go as far as you’re willing to go. It’s a challenging one, I’ll admit. First, you’ll have to seduce your fellow rider in an unconventional situation, and second, yep, there will be a rearview mirror and a taxi driver just a few feet away. But I’ve been brave, Mr. X! I’ve given you multiple hardons and hopefully much more. So I want you to take some risks. Kiss her deeply, kiss her passionately. Don’t manhandle her, but seduce her, get her so hot and bothered that she’ll let you do almost anything, even with the taxi driver there. But it’s not enough just to play puppet-master this time, mister. I want you to be overcome, too. I want to imagine the possibility of you being exposed, too, of her unbuttoning your shirt or rubbing your crotch until your hardon can’t be hid. Get me? I want you to lose your head.

And then I want you to write me with every little detail. I want to feel your lust. I want to imagine I have a cock, and I want you to make me want to explode. I want to know all about what turns you on, and more than anything I want to know how far you’ll go with taxi sex.

Got it? Good.

Feisty me

Sex talk is inevitable, and she was entertaining our little circle with a girlishly enthusiastic ode to anal sex (“Sometimes I love it!”). Our friends have learned never to be surprised by her, and even her sex talk is so full of sunshine that somehow she makes the kinkiest statements sound natural. Also, because she’s so quick to laugh at it all, the threat or promise of actual sex seems even more distant than when she brought the subject up. My wife’s like a nude beach. Even if you’re surrounded by beautiful bodies, your shared nudity somehow makes desire more easily manageable (maybe). You may go home that evening and have the most erotic fantasies you’ve even had in your life about those bodies, you might kill to have one you saw on the beach transported magically into your bed, but in the first moment you saw them, naked yourself, they were just another of the elements, like the sand or the sun (maybe). That’s my wife, if you know what I mean. She’s healthy in a way that sexual obsession probably isn’t. She’s sunlight. She’s talk of anal sex with a genuinely innocent smile.

Of course ever since she had her photos taken in the last experiment, the body I’ve been obsessing over (if she’s sunlight, I’m shadows and obsessions) is hers. She had wanted to fuck the photographer. I’m dying to see the photos he took of her, and I like to think of her dancing happily through his studio. And I want her to go back, too. I’m dizzy with the thought of her spreading the lips of her pussy for his lens. I spent a day (an hour?) wondering whether I was jealous, pretending to think the thoughts I was supposed to think, but then I’ve never been one for the required thoughts. Her sexual excitement excites me. It’s that simple. Her sexual confidence excites me. Confidence is always enticing. And a lascivious woman excites me. A challenge excites me. I imagine her masturbating in front of him and am instantly hard myself. Let her be enthralled by a cock or a fabulous pair of tits, and then let her pant for my touch even more. Let her be free. Anything else would be a failure.

Enough. Ideas are boring next to bodies, so to the fucking…. We’re at this party, I’ve been anonymously giving her experiments for months, I expect she knows her correspondent is me, she’s most recently written about a desire for another man (knowing her correspondent is me?), she’s talking about anal sex to friends, she’s got on a short green sundress buttoned diagonally across the front, she’s kicked off her shoes to wiggle her bare feet through the grass, and I happen to know she’s not wearing a bra or underwear. Got it? You’d want to fuck her, and I don’t care who you are. I’m dying to fuck her, but then I’ve got days of excitement on the brain.

We go for more drinks, and as I follow behind her I whisper that I want my cock between her legs. She lets her arm swing back until her hand openly touches my crotch. Again, she’s had a few drinks, which are enough not to blur, but to completely erase her limits. More gin and tonics for both of us, and then she wants to show me this wonderful painting in the guestroom. Why she’s been to the guestroom to see this painting I have no idea, but then she has a talent for ingratiating herself into a household immediately, and also the thought of my wife in a relative stranger’s guestroom, for whatever reason, makes me instantly hard(er).

Turns out there’s no painting in the guestroom. There’s a nice big bed, however (which we won’t use).

As soon as my wife had locked the door behind us, there was also her dress on the floor. I leapt for her, but she growled in a completely unfamiliar, commanding voice: “Stay right there, and I’m going to suck your cock on my knees.” And then she was down on her knees, crawling at me across the thick pile carpet like a panther fixed on its prey as I glanced towards the open window and realized that anyone walking around the back of the house would be able to see us. But if you let it breathe, panic transforms into desire, and desire, if you do it right, doesn’t care about consequences.

My pants were down, my underwear was at my knees, my cock was at the back of her throat. She’s practiced it over the years and takes pleasure in taking me deep. I let myself go, I feel as if I’m in the depths of her, feeling my way into her pussy, her ass, from distant angles. I am at the heart of her, the throbbing head of my cock. She moaned as she sucked, and then she would pull it out to see. It was dark and swollen, a creature of its own. If we had stopped for a moment, we could have watched it beat, but her lips were sliding back out and over it again, and then she was purring like a cat, one paw stroking furiously between her legs. She was so concentrated on the sucking that she wasn’t even bothering to properly finger herself. Her whole body was a sexual mind, and it was as if her hand had drifted to her pussy on its own initiative. She raked the edge of her hand up and down between her dripping lips as if she was sawing through sweet butter.

The groaning got louder, and in some subtle way she must have felt me disconnect for a moment to reconsider that open window, that sex window. “I don’t care if anyone sees or hears,” she purred. “They can all fuck me if they like.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” I hissed, forgetting about the window, stabbing my cock towards her again for her mouth to greedily gobble. “Yes!” she sobbed around it with the intensity of the truth.

“A man taking you from behind while you suck my cock. Many men to do your bidding.”

“Yes!” she sobbed again. “I’d like to watch you groaning then,” I said, oblivious to the window now. For all I knew there were legions watching us through a sex window, but we were drunk on each other and drunk on our words and I didn’t care. Her hand was frantic at her cunt, and her ass was bucking back towards the window as if she was being fucked from there.

She pulled back and said to my clenched thighs: “There’s a man I’d like to fuck.” She made it sound as if it was meant to wound, which of course was actually meant to excite me. “What’s his name?” I murmured, as she licked and licked. She moved to my balls, and then her tongue quickly darted up into the tight crevice between my legs. “Mister. Fucking. X,” I heard her say. Mister. Fucking. X. Mysterious stranger. Alter ego. Our tour guide to the dark side of the sexual moon. She knew, of course, but somehow the mystery was still intact.

I smiled briefly and was about to say something clever, but her mouth immediately leapt over and around my flesh and had me spinning again. “What would you do this man?” I moaned, thinking of me, thinking of me as X, thinking of her photographer. “How would you fuck him?”

“Well first I would take his cock in my mouth just like this,” she said, back to the licking, moaning louder, loving the feel of that cock – mine or his. “And I would suck it until he was about to burst. I’d want you watching, I think.” Lick, lick, and a quick pull to the soft flesh at the back of her throat. “And then I’d just be dying for that strong body on top of me, that dick spreading the dripping lips of my pussy!” She was almost shrieking now, gasping around my cock as it slid deeper into her. I was just about to explode into her mouth, which was exciting me as much with its words as with its soft, slick suck, when she pushed me away at the hips and fell back onto the carpet with her back arched to manipulate her vagina with both hands, one spreading the flesh, the other with two fingers hooked up into her hot madness. She writhed around on the floor beneath me, naked and drunk on her own body, and thoughts of other bodies. She wanted me to watch, and I did, looking down on her in marvel as the lust rose up uncontrollably through my coiled legs. She was exploding, writhing under me as if she’d been hooked to electricity. My hand was clamped fast to my cock. I was as rigid as a statue. The stroking came from within me, crashing up into my groin like a wave, and she saw it coming and cried through her own crashing: “On me! On me! Yes!” Animal sounds out an open window. Cum exploding across her body. The hitch, hitch, hitch of her pelvis as she shook off the last clutches of ecstasy. “Have them all,” I said with a smile. “Have every single fucking one of them you like. God I want you to fuck them all.”

And exhausted, I dizzily fell to the carpet beside her and ran a hand up and down her arm and her leg. We kissed, and then we laughed at ourselves. Did the guest room have a shower? We’d figure it out. And then I glanced up, and at that moment, at least, there was nobody looking in at the window.

I hope you’ve put that sexy bodysuit to good use since we last wrote. Somehow I imagine that in putting it to good use, you also put that body of yours to use, and that now the suit has become like a second skin you wear as you prowl the night like some new erotic superheroine who leaps from bedroom to bedroom like a cat. I loved the thought of you cavorting naked around that dressing room – loved it so much that I’ve probably spent too much time thinking about it. So now I’m going to be greedy – perhaps too greedy. I want you naked again, completely. At this point I believe I would do almost anything for a glimpse of your bare flesh, but I’ve made these damned promises of anonymity. Fine. So be it. I will keep to my promises, but I am not jealous (how could I ever presume to be jealous?), and so if my eyes are not to feast upon you, then I want others – others  besides that shopgirl you modeled for – to feast, and feast, and feast.

I have a friend who is an artist. I think you know this friend as well – [name]. As you may (or may not) know, he is mostly a sculptor, but at the moment he is working to prepare a short film and a photo exhibition for a festival in Canada this summer. The film is finished, apparently, but he’s still putting together the photo exhibition, whose theme is the human body. “Inside Out”, I think it’s called, though I really have no idea what it’s all about – he’ll be able to tell you more when you see him in person. That’s right, Miss Nude – he needs people to model for him (anonymously – bodies not faces), and I want you to offer your services. He’ll be a perfect gentleman, I’m sure, but of course you’ll have to strip. How will you present yourself as a candidate? Well I know that he’s been asking all of his friends to pass along the word to any prospective models – nothing naughty or secretive here, just art – so call him up and tell him you heard about his project from a friend of your own and would be interested in helping out if he still needs people. I promise he’ll need you. Here’s his number: [number]. And so that’s the first part of the experiment done (it’s amazing how far we’ve come, isn’t it!).

The rest will rely much more on you, but as always, I want you to be constantly observant of your own body and his as the photo session develops. He will of course be entirely professional (poor man – I may be luckier in not seeing you at all than he, who will feel required to exercise such impossible restraint), and so it is you who must search for the subtle erotic shadings. I want to know how you take off your clothes for him, how it feels to have his eyes so boldly assessing you. I want to know the moment you get comfortable, and how quickly comfort becomes something potentially sexual. I want to know how you move your body, and what he seems to appreciate the most. I want to know how your eyes assess him, and if your nudity eventually empowers you to fear nothing. Study him. Is he struggling to restrain himself? Would you take his cock in your mouth? Would you spread your legs for him? Can a photo session become like a sex act? Can you tell from his eyes the way he would want to fuck you? Is he drunk on you, and are you drunk on him? Or are you imagining others seeing these photos of your flushed body? Imagine what would happen if you were to stroke your pussy. How much explosive desire can be compressed into a click? Are you wet right now?

Click,

X

This week, as Mr. X, I had read my wife’s sexy e-mail about her striptease adventure in the lingerie shop before I, as her husband, was introduced to the lingerie. It was the first time that I knew her response to an experiment before I experienced the “results” of the experiment. I had a vivid image in my mind of her wearing her new black silk bodysuit…and then one evening as I lay reading on the couch, she appeared in the same bodysuit, stepping into my mind’s image as neatly as she had described slipping into the suit itself. She stalked into the room like a cat, a sleek feline vision in lace. I put my book aside and studied her even more closely than the shopgirl had.

“Turn around and let me see it from behind,” I said. She obeyed, not the pirouetting girl from her e-mail, but a woman with a finely tuned body who knew how to move and needed to get fucked. I stood from the couch and moved up close to her until my hands could lightly cup the firm, smooth, naked globes of her rear. “It’s not fair that I should be the only one to see you this way,” I whispered into her ear, my lips, my teeth, poised at her neck. “Then show me to whoever you like,” she said simply, and I impulsively pressed the length of a finger down the thin strip of lace between her buttocks, edging it further out of view as she sighed. My finger stopped at the dimple of her anus, and she groaned. I pressed her there, insistently, ravenously, and the world became my mind, and my mind the world, as she hissed: “Fuck me everywhere.”

I was violent that night. She was prey in her second skin. I wanted her in the skin of lace, and I wanted to fuck her that way. I pressed her down hard into the swirling pattern of the carpet, and with her lips parted slightly to take absolutely anything in, she looked like an expressionist painting – beautiful swirling whores on gusty Berlin streets. I grabbed the lace across her pussy and pulled it aside, dipping my face down into her roiling swamp like a thirsty beast. I didn’t care about the damned lace. I would have destroyed the world for a taste of her dusky ooze, and for the promise of dipping my cock deep into her slick everything. She was a force of nature, and I could not see how I could ever be a jealous man. Everyone alive should have the pleasure of tasting there.

Teasing, teasing, my fingers plucking at her nipples through the lace. All the while I had an image of a shopgirl with enormous breasts and wild curves before me. My pants were off, and my cock was heaving towards her. My wife’s erotic adventure had become my sexual fantasy, and my fantasy coursed through me like blood to the tip of my cock, which I plunged into my wife, into the shopgirl, into the world. All was one. We were one. My wife was on her knees now as I pressed deeper and deeper, through reality, into fantasy and back again. She shrieked like a banshee, looking off wildly into the night, and I wondered if she was seeing a mirror in which she was being watched in her stretched lace, casting back sexual desire on the woman who had first studied her new lingerie in a mirror.

Then I completely lost myself. We raped each other in every position, but I can only speculate about what actually happened. We were gone, gone, until everything rushed together in one last collision, and I reared up like a startled stallion to trace a mad milky pattern across the black lace, a web of my own to get lost in again. I’m lost, I’m happy, the world is mine.

Well, I thought this little striptease was going to be your hardest challenge yet. Exposing myself to a delivery man was difficult, but that was just for an instant, and I could always shut the door if I wanted. But trying on lingerie (yes, lingerie– did you doubt I would ever choose anything else?) in a semi-public place seemed much harder, because I would have to keep myself out there for a while and stay seductive. I was extremely nervous. But then have I ever disappointed my horny monster X?

So lingerie it was, the nicest store in the center of town (sorry, that’s all the information you’ll get, although I will say that it’s the sort of place that sells very expensive little silk delicacies that are inevitably stripped off in seconds. In terms of price per minute enjoyed, they’re probably more expensive than caviar, but they do make an impression, and you know I like to make an impression). It was an unusually hot day, and by the middle of the afternoon, the activity out on the streets had slowed to a heat-induced crawl. I was feeling lazy and languid (and siesta-time horny), and so I decided to go for a stroll and see about fulfilling my obligations to you.

As I walked into the shop, I noticed a shopgirl at the front desk, probably surfing the Internet, and another drifting from rack to rack straightening camisoles and lace slips, etc. I said hello and asked if I could look around. They both had nice smiles and seemed happy to have a customer to relieve their boredom. There was nobody else in the store.

I like lingerie that makes me wish I smoked cigarettes, out of a jade or ivory holder – lingerie made to be worn on a divan in heels. Silk, and colored black or white or pearl – not the flashy, trashy stuff that makes you feel as if you should be wearing bunny ears. So I browsed through the store in search of something appropriate, all while observing the shopgirl out on the floor, who was half observing me too. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but she had a sweet, persistent smile and a lot of curves packed onto a small frame. She was wearing a pair of tight white jeans that spread dramatically over her hips and ass, a sleeveless green turtle neck that made her thrusting tits look almost cartoonish, and her face was animated by a cute pair of dimples. Otherwise, as I’ve said, she wasn’t stunning, but she was…refreshing, I guess.

So I shopped for while (is shopping a fetish of yours, Mr. X?). Eventually I picked out two items: a black lace body suit cut very high on the hips, an effect that looks good on me (I’ve been told), and a sheer silk camisole with thin straps of ribbon and lots of flowing material that would dance down to just below my ass and the blonde wisp of my pussy. Its color was a pale, pale green, in honor of the shopgirl’s ballooning green shirt. She had begun to circle closer to me as I looked around, and had taken my selections from my hand as I decided upon them.

“Shall we try them on,” I eventually asked with a  smile. She winked, as if simultaneously confirming that my taste was impeccable and that we shared feminine secrets. This part, at least, wasn’t at all as difficult as I had expected. She was there to make me feel sexy, after all, and when women are alone together in a completely feminine context, we’re often more liberated to feel sexy. It’s men who make us more aware of our effects and can consequently make us doubt ourselves.

The changing room was just a tiny little curtained-off space on the far side of the store. There was a large mirror on the wall, and then another curtain blocking off just one changing stall. The girl led me through the first curtain with the flick of her hand, and in the mirror I couldn’t help but look at her body again, which was like a swooping little Italian racecar. Then she turned, handed me the two pieces of lingerie and casually indicated the second curtain with her other hand. “You can go in there if you like,” she said, clearly (obviously) having led hundreds of women back there to perform a striptease and try on skimpy nothings. She obviously wasn’t going to make it all that complicated.

I took the lingerie from her and bit my lower lip. “Would you mind staying close for a second opinion? It’s been a long time since I bought lingerie, and I have no idea about sizes anymore.”

“Of course,” she said, with an open smile and another wink—winks were obviously her thing. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.” So I went off through the second curtain, which she held aside for me, and began a little striptease of my own. I had dressed for the heat, so this didn’t take long. I pulled my sundress over my head and hung it on the hook over my purse. There was another smaller mirror in there, and as I unhooked my bra I studied my breasts in it. They really are miraculously perky, Mr. X! Recently I’ve had this idea that I wish my nipples were a bit bigger around (and you know I wish the breasts were a bit boobier), but honestly everything looked great, particularly my perky little nipples, which had already popped out to say hello to the world. I look good naked, Mr. X!

So don’t think I left on my underwear. I wriggled out of my shoes and peeled the panties off ass first, relishing my own striptease (and with the ass, at least, I was as curvy as the shop girl – and it suits me). Now, was I already wet? I had to find out for sure, as per your instructions, so I quickly dropped a middle finger down to slide it up the line of my lips, just teasing myself, and the finger came away with a thin trail of sweet ooze up it, which I immediately dried across a perfect nipple. I was in love with my own body, and loved the bodies of women – big and small, young and old. I was ready to go.

The bodysuit I tried first, hooking my legs through it and sliding it up until it caught firmly against my crotch. Then I stretched it out and over my shoulders until it snapped into place like a second skin. The legs were cut open up to about my ribcage, which showed off the sweep of my hips. I turned and looked over my shoulder at my back. The lace scooped down beneath my shoulder blades, and though there was some lace covering the line of my ass, it was also half-mooned in from the hips so that the white skin of each cheek swelled out like pale fruit in need of plucking. Facing the mirror again, studying myself even more closely, I could see my nipples faintly through the pattern of the lace – two tender buttons of flesh criss-crossed by the open material. In that moment I found the sight of them incredibly exciting, and I didn’t have to feel for my wetness. I knew I was going moist clear through.

I’m not always so ravishingly confident about myself, but that day I really was (luxury is a big turn on for me, as is being waited on), and so as I slid the curtain aside to reveal myself to the shopgirl, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I must have had a big smile on my face, because she immediately lit up in response. “I think it’s sexy!” I giggled. “I do too,” she said, her eyes studiously investigating my every nook and cranny. I turned around so she could see the rest. I felt her fingers at my spine and the scratch of the tag being folded back into the suit. I looked back over my shoulder and smiled. “It doesn’t cover too much of my butt,” I said uncertainly.

“No, no,” she said, pinching the edge of the material across my ass and pulling it out a bit. “That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. It’s like it was made for you. You really do look great.” I felt like a supermodel being readied for a catwalk, and I thanked her. Then I turned to look at us in the big mirror, where we smiled at each other. “All I need now are your tits,” I said, and we both burst out laughing. She cupped them, rolled her eyes, and said: “I’d be happy to give you some. They’re too much for me. Maybe you could take some of my belly too!” I laughed and said “Anytime,” completely at ease. Then I took the pale green camisole from her and said that now we’d see how we both looked in green.

The ice was broken, and I didn’t even bother to close the curtain for my second striptease of the afternoon. I peeled off the body suit in front of her, letting my breasts pop out, then peeling it over my pussy. My whole body was a ripe fruit. I’m probably the least shy person I know when it comes to showing my body, but even so, I was absolutely dominating this experiment, X. It was just one of those days. Or maybe you’re just slowly honing my libido.

We were sisters now, best friends. I really liked this girl. Hell, I wanted her to try things on (to get a glimpse at those bouncy boobs!). She didn’t take her eyes off my body as I stripped and reached for the camisole, and it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’d look good in anything,” she said, and although I knew she was trying to sell me lingerie, I could tell she meant it too. I was flattered. I wanted to change in front of the whole wide world.

The camisole slipped over my head easily and fell over my body. It showed quite a bit of cleavage, and I felt my breasts through the silk, looking at myself in the mirror. Then I felt at the back hem to see how far it fell, and my nails tickled across the tops of my thighs. I looked highly fuckable, Mr. X. I felt like some kind of 1950’s pinup girl. “Let’s have a better look,” the girl said, and I stepped out to her so that we could investigate myself in the big mirror. “You’d look better in this than me,” I said as she studied me, and when she dropped into a crouch to play with the hem a bit, I put a friendly hand on her shoulder. “Something like this needs to be filled out,” I said. Her hand brushed against my hip, and I felt like closing my eyes and letting her fiddle with me for hours.

Then she stood back up and we looked at each other in the mirror. “I think it looks cute on you,” she concluded, so I did a little ballerina pirouette with my hands in the air and let the silk fly out in a circle, completely exposing everything she had already seen. “You see!” she said with a smile.

“I’ll have to spin for him,” I said, and she said she was sure he’d like that. I asked if she got to wear all the wonderful things she sold for her boyfriend or husband. “Sometimes,” she said coyly, and did a little belly dance of her own in the mirror. We both laughed, and I did another striptease, this time not even bothering to remove myself to the changing stall. I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time, and it seemed a shame we weren’t both standing there naked, spending the afternoon trying on dozens of sexy things. In the stall I slipped my panties back on, hooked my bra, let my sundress fall over my shoulders, and wriggled back into my shoes. I decided to get the bodysuit, and my new friend checked me out. “I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes,” I said, she gave me another winky smile. I walked back out into the sunlight feeling light as air. I felt as if I was still naked and the world was all mine.

So good one, Mr. X, and thanks. We make a good team.

You want to know who that lone stranger in the basement of the sex shop was in your last experiment? It was me. And I’m still there, waiting, waiting, passing time by imagining all the adventures you and your new sex toy have managed to share since then. Please tell me you’re bringing your toys back to play with me.

Meanwhile, while I wait, I have a another project for you. Summer is coming, and I want you to go shopping: for lingerie, a body suit, a camisole, or a teeny bikini – something a woman puts on intending to take it off quickly.

Choose a fancy store where you will be sure to get exceptional service. This will probably mean an expensive store, but of course you’re not obliged to buy anything if you don’t want. You may also want to choose a time of day when there won’t be too many other customers and you’ll be sure to have the exclusive attention of the saleswoman you choose to be the second actor in this little play. Take your time to browse the racks, scoping the situation until you feel calm and sexy, even in public. Let your fingers drift occasionally to your breast if you dare. Look at whatever you like, but I insist you choose something extremely revealing to try on. Maybe it’s transparent, or maybe there’s just not a lot of it in the first place. Also – grab a few things. This is the sort of thing that shouldn’t be rushed.

Once you’re ready, ask the saleswoman you’ve chosen if you can try on the items in a changing room. She doesn’t have to be the most beautiful saleswoman in the store, but she needs to have an open smile, and she needs to seem eager to please. Be sure express a bit of uncertainty about how you’ll look in such skimpy things. Maybe you say you’re trying to surprise your “friend” (by that I mean “me”!), or maybe you lament the pound or two you’ve gained over the winter. Tell her you’re a bit embarrassed, and ask if she wouldn’t mind giving her opinion. If you’ve chosen well, I promise she’ll be eager to remove your doubts.

Go into the changing room, take off all your clothes, take a deep breath, put a finger to your pussy. If you’re not already wet, stroke yourself for a moment or two until you are. Imagine others kissing your naked body and your mouth. Imagine them licking your nipples. Then try on the first item. Depending on the layout and the traffic, either come out of the changing room stall to model for the saleswoman, or call her in to give her opinion. She will look your body over as you also study it in the mirror. She may see your nipples through thin/sheer material. She may begin to wish she was as naked as you. Above all at this point, you must not be embarrassed. I want you to really look at her too – into her eyes and at her body. I want you to do everything you can to breathe slowly and confidently. I want time to slow down in that changing room. I want you to imagine for a moment that you are not only charming, but predatory, and with all your feminine charms I want you to proudly show her your body.

And then, of course, you still have several pieces to try on. With each item I want you to relax even more, to meet her eyes even more, to dare even more. Maybe you put your hand to her arm in thanks. Maybe the store is deserted enough that’s it’s no longer necessary to close the changing room door. Maybe you ask her opinion of how various parts of your body look in various pieces. Somehow I can’t help but think that she’ll be getting wet through all of this too.

So that’s your experiment, fearless one. I can’t wait to read how it turns out.

Sartorially,

Mr. X

[Editor’s note: thanks to reader Chris, who suggested this experiment]

I must report to you.

As you know, I told you I would see my love on Thursday.  Wednesday, as I was leaving work and signing off of our chat, the last thing I said was, “I lust for you to ravish and explore me.”

I had to go to the bank after work.  All the drive up lanes were full except for the lane right next to the teller window.  I never have a deposit slip and always have to ask for one.  After doing this for several weeks in a row, I have realized that Alex (a male Alex) is always working, and I always ask for a deposit slip and a pen.

Well, Wednesday was a very nice day, and I drive a convertible, so I had the top down.  I was also wearing a dress.  Nothing too suggestive, but sitting down it came high on my thigh and my boobs looked particularly big in it.

After finishing my transaction with Alex and beginning to pull away, I wondered if Alex had been looking into my car.  At my legs, maybe trying to see down the gap in top of my dress.  I wondered what Alex thought and if he looked forward to my visits.  I’m very polite and “please, thank you, and have a nice night” are always said.  I wondered what Alex thought of that, and if he appreciated my visits more than others.

Thursday morning when I woke up, I sexted my next message: “I want to feel your cock get hard for me.”  He responded that it was already hard for me. I took a shower, which takes me longer than the average person.  I have all sorts of body scrubs, facial masks and hair serums.

I then sexted him that I was naked and my pussy was wet and waiting.  He replied that he loves that he makes me wet.

After getting ready, which also takes me quite some time with the lotions, makeup and hair, I had a an appointment to go to.

An hour later, after my appointment, I simply sexted, “Lick and taste me.”  He said, “As you wish…”  I began driving to where we planned to meet.  About halfway there he sexted me, asking me where I was because his cock was hard and he was ready to slide in and out of my wet pussy.  I continued on my way.

After a few lights, I sexted him that I wanted him to fuck me hard.  A moment he later he said to hurry.  Another minute later he asked where I was.

He was indeed waiting and was already at my car door as I opened it.  Before saying anything we embraced and kissed. I pushed up against him, and it was true, he was semi-hard.

I got into his car and we drove to a nearby hotel.

I gave him a small notebook filled with quotes about love that I had handwritten.  I told him he could look then, or wait until his flight (he was going on a business trip).  He decided to look, which was good, because I went into the bathroom and changed into a black lacy camisole, a black lace thong with peach trim, a black lace itty bitty “skirt” with peach trim and garters, black thigh high stockings and tall black heels.

I came out and he was looking at the notebook, so I quietly walked towards him and whispered, “Surprise,” as I crawled on top of him.  I held his head in my hands and kissed him over and over.

I took off his polo shirt and slid down his body to unbutton his shorts and slide them off.  He told me to look at how hard he was for me and to put my hand on his cock through his boxers.  I took off his boxers and began to lick and suck his cock, not forgetting about the balls.  He held my hair back because he wanted to see me.  He kept saying how good it felt and came quickly.  He pulled me on top of him and kissed me deeply.

He rolled me over, so that he was on top of me.  I sat up slightly to suck his cock as he took off my top.  He pushed me back down onto the bed and grabbed my breasts, licking and sucking my nipples, burying his face in my chest, squeezing them together and sucking on both nipples at once.  My nipples aren’t very sensitive and so being a little rough is good.

He kissed and licked my neck, breasts and stomach and smiled at my panties – I never wear panties unless I have on a dress or skirt.  He rubbed my pussy through my panties, occasionally sticking a finger through the side and caressing my lips.  He finally moved my panties to the side and began fingering me, saying he loved how wet my pussy was for him.

After a few minutes, he pulled me to the edge of the bed and took off the “skirt” and thong.  I had one leg over his shoulder and one foot resting on the side of the nightstand.  He licked and fingered me until I was so close to coming.  I pulled him to me and kissed him, as he told me that he loved the way I tasted and that he wanted me to come for him.

Due to past sexual, mental and emotional abuse by an ex-boyfriend from when I was 16-21, I’ve been left  very self conscious about myself and sex.  My lover is the only person that I have ever been able to be completely comfortable with.  I can talk dirty, I don’t have to worry about my body, I can tell him what I want.  But still, I have never been able to come other than through self stimulation, specifically with a vibrator.  It is all mental and I have to be very conscious to clear my mind and stay present.  Still, I have not been able to fully let go.  That is something that I have been working very hard for the past few years to overcome.  I suppose this is relevant to the story so that you aren’t wondering why I never said that I had an orgasm.

He went back to licking my clit, bringing me so close to orgasm.  He had one hand on my breast and my hand was over his.  It felt incredible, but I still could not come.  I pulled him up, kissing, and he began to tease my pussy with his cock.  I kept bringing my hips up, trying to capture his cock with my pussy, but he would pull away at just the last second.  I begged him to fill my pussy with his cock, but he refused.

He sat between my legs and rested my ankles on his shoulders.  He slowly rolled down each of my stockings and slid off my heels.

Finally, he slid his cock into my wet pussy and we both moaned in pleasure.  I told him he felt so good inside of me.  We fucked for hours, both sweating and fully utilizing the king sized bed and my flexibility.

After a wonderful time together, he had to go on the business trip and I had to go home.  We won’t see one another for over a week.

Thank you for the challenge.

Your Queen

I’ve enjoyed reading your experiments [she wrote] and the responses from your wife.  You both sound adventurous and I hope things are going well for the two of you.

Let me tell you about myself.  I’m always getting stares, compliments and comments.  I am thin, with long legs, large, firm breasts that are perfect for my size, a bright smile, very green eyes and shiny, light brown hair down to my shoulders.  I like dressing a little sexy – a short skirt or low-cut top.

Due to a horrible past relationship, I have problems with sexuality and self confidence.  I want to feel sexy and enjoy it.

I am married, but soon to be separated.  I have fallen in love with another man.

Give me something to do.  Make me feel confident and sexy and beautiful.  I want to drive him crazy.  I want your readers to think about me.

Queen Green

I, of course, leapt to my keyboard, pounding at it as if it was another sexual organ. I presented her with the five word sex experiment we saw Alice…dominate a couple of weeks ago:

Wow, my Queen. Could you please just keep describing yourself over and over again until I drift sweetly (or not) off to sleep and dream of you? I realize I’m not unique in this, but “long legs, large, firm breasts” may be my favorite combination of words in the English language. In a short skirt? Mmm. And then I’m a particular sucker for a bright smile.

Sexual confidence is all in the mind, isn’t it? Even without a beautiful body (which you’ve obviously got), too often we don’t risk getting what we need. So risk something, even something small. I’m happy to give you an experiment, but because I don’t know you, maybe we should play a little game that I’m trying with a couple of other women who have written in. Send me five words that excite you, and I’ll construct an experiment around them. I want you to think carefully about the words. I want you to feel them in your crotch. I want you to take each word and look at it carefully, to press each one to a naked part of your flesh until you know they’re just right. Then send them to me, and I’ll fantasize about where they’ve been, and then I’ll let my fantasy transform them into a fantasy for you. Sound good? Good.

In the meantime I’ll be imagining your confident breasts, and your confident legs – most definitely thinking about confident you,

X

She wrote back instantly (our poor, sore, satiated keyboards!):

I live in a building downtown, with a pool on the roof.  I was there all day Sunday in a white bikini with pink sequins.  I got a nice tan, but a little burned on my ass.

I am 5’4″ but always wear heels, and people are always surprised how short I am if I’m ever in sandals or flats.  I was a ballerina and a cheerleader (even through college), so I am athletic in a lean, feminine way.  I have retained some of that grace and can move through a space lightly.

My legs are long and skinny, but defined.  I love my legs.  I love wrapping my legs around my lover.

My least favorite part of myself is my ass, but everyone seems to love it.  I’m told it is heart shaped.

My waist is small, 24 inches, my belly button is pierced (I have three other piercings not visible…), and I have slight ab definition.  My breasts are natural, but I have been asked if they’re not, I suppose since I’m so small otherwise.  I wear a 32D bra and take it off as soon as I get home.  Bras are so restrictive.  My breasts are perky and firm, but soft and warm.  I never wear panties unless I’m wearing a dress.  It is for comfort.

I have a long neck and my mother and grandmother used to say that I reminded them of Audrey Hepburn.

I’m quiet.  I’m a listener.  I’m quick and very smart though.

Cock

Fuck

Lick

Pussy

Lust

What will is be Mr. X?

QG

My lightning-quick response:

Well Queen, you definitely don’t seem to lack confidence to me. I’ve spent some time imagining your white bikini, and I’ve spent some time imagining those pink sequins, and I can assure you that if I’d been on that roof last weekend, your little heart-shaped ass would not have been burned. I would have had lotion, and I would have found a way.

And then just as I’m getting greedy for more images of your body, for more comments on the restrictiveness of underwear, you come out with five extremely greedy words. Sexy glutton! I get the feeling you’d like to be instantly transported into bed with your lover (and who could blame you), where he would LICK your PUSSY until you begged with LUST for him to FUCK you with his COCK. But then it would all be over in a sentence, wouldn’t it? And that wouldn’t be an experiment. So, my greedy Queen – what will it be, you ask? I want five sentences, not just one. And I’m turning the tables on you. I’ve fondled your words for a bit, but now I’m putting them back in your hands.

Here’s what I want you to do with them: on a day when you’re scheduled to meet your lover in the evening, I want you to text him five sentences, and each sentence must contain one of your five words. Easy, right? Maybe, maybe not. But that’s not all: as much as I love your confident swagger, I’m going to make you pay for it a little bit too. So here are the additional rules of the game:

1) At least an hour must pass between each of your texts.

2) These are the only five texts you are allowed to send to him that day. Make certain you work out any meeting arrangements in advance, because your texts must be wholly focused on your sexy words.

3) Your lover will no doubt respond excitedly. But you may not respond back. You must leave him hanging, and drive him wilder by the hour. If you fear that for whatever reason he will worry about your silence, I will permit you to send him an additional three-word text as often as you need to: “Await further instructions.” These are the only additional words you may send, and ideally you won’t have to.

4) Then, when you fuck your lover that night, I want you to talk as dirty as you dare. If you’re nervous about this, repeating your five sentences aloud in the heat of the moment could be a good start.

5) Finally, I want you to write back and describe the results of the experiment. Tell me about the evening and the sex. Tell me how you felt all day, and if you sense that the day has altered your lover’s perception of you in any way. No matter what he sees in you, I’m sure it’s going to drive him wild.

Agreed, my Queen? You asked for it…and if you pull this off, I promise that by the end he’ll be begging for it.

Your devoted subject,

X

And finally, brave woman that she is, a remarkable example of the unslaked thirst of her admirable sex, she leaves us panting with this, and I know we’ll hear more soon:

Mr. X,

My subject?  Well, I am mostly a benevolent ruler.

This task seems so simple, but for me, it won’t be.  You see, my lover and I talk non-stop throughout the day, whether it is texting, IM or calling one another.  So, only sending these five sexy sentences without more will be challenging, but I did ask for it.

Of course, I will make a full report afterwards.

QG