Chapter 117: Lily 002

I remember the affect I used to have on men, as does my husband. I used to love the control I had over them. Despite trying to turn back the clock with vigorous training, it's just not quite the same. My husband often has to go to Los Angeles for work, and more and more I've been staying home, in San Francisco. I just can't compete with Southern California girls in Santa Monica, Hollywood or Beverly Hills. Even the ones my age there somehow still look just as they did in college. Lately my husband has been encouraging me to dress more provocatively in my daily activities, likely because he too used to enjoy the attention I used to get and longed for the old days. It used to come naturally, and now if I want the looks and attention, the best way to get it is to dress a bit more like a slut. I hated that I had to resort to such measures, but as soon as I feel strangers' eyes on my body, I don't care about what I had to do to get it.

What my husband does not know is that this exhibitionism has lead to my posting nude photos of myself (face blurry, of course) on the internet. I like to masturbate while reading the comments.

That's a very nice dress, and sexy body!

Wud luv those sexy legs wrapped around me!!

that really is a beautiful ass...just want to hug it and nuzzle my face into it!

So inviting! Would eat that pussy and tongue that ass all day!

god I need to fuck that pussy

so hot.. wish my cock was inside you

Great pic........would luv 2 fill ur ass with my cum!

Sure, you have to get passed the bad grammar and first grade spelling mistakes, but when I've got a few fingers up my pussy, it's easier to overlook certain trivial elements. And, I'll admit, as a middle aged woman who used to turn heads a little easier, hearing nasty, filthy comments about my current body make me feel young again. It's shallow and vain, but it's just the way it is. I love their anonymous appreciation, and I love hearing about the affects my current womanly body has on men. Lately I'd been posting more and more. Like with any addiction, it escalates.

All of this, of course, began with the club, "Lily."

I looked up, into the eyes of the rugged valet as my long leg reached out from the car, and my heel hit the asphalt beneath a small puddle of dirty rainwater. My little cocktail dress pulled away from my thigh, revealing quite a bit to the valet. With him standing over me, holding the car door open, he also had an excellent view of my breasts, hanging freely inside my dress. I don't dress every night like this, mind you, but tonight, knowing where I was headed, I allowed myself to push it. Strangers were going to see my naked body soon enough, so why not give the valet a peek?

Seeing the hunger in the valet's eyes, his inability to hide his lust even if he wanted to, my power to throw his sexuality into over drive simply by revealing patches of my bare body was exhilarating.

I waited in that pose for a few seconds, letting him look, my heart instantly pounding blood throughout my veins. My increased blood pressure gave me a warm and cold chill. I felt night air on my hard nipples inside my dress.

When my eyes met his, after he had taken a good, hard glance, I felt my pussy tingle. To be totally honest, I would've let him grab me, throw me over the hood of my own car, yank my dress up over my ass and forcibly fuck me. Thank God he didn't.

With that powerful, split-second fantasy playing in my head, he extended his hand, helping me out of the car. As he opened the unmarked heavy metal door to the club, I felt his eyes on my ass and thighs as I walked away, down the narrow, dark hallway. I shot him a quick, sharp glance over my left shoulder. Yep. He may as well have been stroking himself. Before we were married, I was sincerely shocked when my husband casually told me that likely men masturbated to thoughts of me. I turned red, and thought he was just trying to embarrass me. He said it's not a big deal, but certainly men who saw me at the gym, or even work associates used me to fantasize to. Of course, that was ten years ago now, and I'm sure it is no longer the case

Still, looking into his eyes, my mischievous glance told him to "have fun with me" if he uses me to fantasize to later. Perhaps you think this makes me arrogant, but tonight I wanted to let myself go and feel sexy like I used to.

The club itself was behind another large, metal door at the other end of a little hallway, but the staircase leading up to Mason's office was here. I heard the muffled sounds of loud, dance music from behind the door. Louder was the sound of my hard heeled shoes hitting the tile floor beneath me.

Despite my nerves, a guilty, anxious smile came over my face as I ascended the wooden steps of the staircase leading up to Mason's office.

I raised a delicate fist to the door and knocked, lightly, twice. My hand was trembling. Perhaps there was some hesitation or anxiety left in my bones that night, or perhaps it was excitement masquerading as fear. My psychiatrist would likely tell me it was both.

Mason opened the door. His blue eyes, only slightly visible thru his messy grey hair, gave me a quick up and down. His office smelled of cigars and rum.

Without saying a word, he stood at the doorway and watched as I approached the old, oak wardrobe inside his dark office. I loved the smell of this antique, worn furniture piece. In less than an instant, I always seemed to muse on which European countries it had lived, and what it had held, in the centuries since it's birth. Now it lived here, in modern day San Francisco, and housed costumes of secrecy for those of us who wished to taunt and indulge our sexual tendencies. I opened the doors and began looking through the masks. I selected a dark blue Venetian masquerade mask, the type that covers only around the eyes and nose, and features a large decorative feather. I next chose a long, black wig to hide my blond hair.

Mason was excellent with using more than enough snap clips and pins to fix the wig solidly to my own hair. Mostly this was because he very much enjoyed looking me in the eyes as he gave it a few hard tugs. He knew secrecy was extremely important to me, and that absolutely no one in "real life" could find out what I was doing here. This was the excuse we both used to allow Mason to really tug on the black wig, yanking the roots of my blond hair beneath. He liked watching my mouth and eyes wince from the little, sharp pains.

I loved this part: The coach smacking me on the ass before sending me into the game. I knew he wanted to fuck me. I could feel the burning lust in his eyes. His fucking would please me enough so that he could hurt me, just a little, and I wouldn't mind. Mason didn't fuss with romance or love. Another performer who fucked Mason told me that he both savors and enjoys women sexually. As she put it, it's like the more he indulges his desires with her body, the more she enjoys it. And from the blushing face on this particularly trashy stripper, I'd have to guess she agreed.

My husband, although rather conservative, is very attentive sexually. He comes from an extremely wealthy, Christian family, and was raised to be very aware of appearances. We did not live together before marriage, and we did not have sex before our wedding night. Having only had three sexual partners in my life, I'm certainly not as open as some of my friends were, but I was worried that our sex life would go lacking. At first, I was so grateful that he was so preoccupied with my orgasm and my pleasure over his own. I appreciate the concern, but over the last few years, I've been frustrated with the realization that deep down, I may be a girl who just likes to be fucked.