From smokey@mosphere Sat Jun 21 06:25:08 1997
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From: "Smokey" <smokey@mosphere>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Exposing Kathryn (NEW) M/F, exhib, voy, wife
Date: 21 Jun 1997 10:25:08 GMT
Organization: Allied Access, Inc
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WARNING -- the is a piece of erotic fiction, intended for adults only.  Do
not read further unless you are 18 or older.











EXPOSING KATHRYN


	My wife has always had an exhibitionist tendency, probably left over from
high school days when we had sex in risky places out of necessity.  She is
a gorgeous redhead, a true redhead with pale skin, freckled where the sun
has licked its infrequent rays, and a lush growth of shocking red-orange
hair at the base of her belly.  Her exhibitionism was mild, though, and
what happened one afternoon far exceeded her limits.  Or would have, had
she known.
	One late afternoon we had had a couple of glasses of wine while sitting in
the shade in the backyard.  She had on a thin cotton print dress that left
a lot of breast-top and shoulder bare, and reached down well below her
knees.  She called it her "lucky dress" because it showed her body to such
advantage that she invariably got lucky when she wore it.  She eschewed
underwear of any sort, so was bare beneath.  When she would stand with the
slanting rays of the sun behind her, I could see a perfect outline of her
nude form beneath the light dress, and her hair glowed in beautiful red
highlights.  
	She was in quite a mood -- the wine had apparently gone right to her head.
 She walked up right in front of me and reached down to grab the hem of her
dress.  Slowly, she twitched it up her legs, to her knees, then higher,
revealing smooth pale thighs.  She quickly flashed a glimpse of red fur
that grew still higher, then turned.  She sawed the hem of her lucky dress
back and forth across her rear, swaying her hips to an unheard rythmn. 
Inch by inch, her bare bottom came into view, like a full moon peeking from
behind slow-moving clouds.
	It was then that I noticed a movement in the bushes behind her.  There was
someone there, watching!  I was so surprised that I didn't say anything for
the moment it took to recognize him as a young man who jogged by our house
every morning.  I was even more surprised when I saw what he was doing. 
His jogging shorts were down, but he was up -- way up -- his exposed penis
standing at attention in a most needy fashion.
	There are a lot of reasons I should have done something, of course, but at
that moment, the tableux hit me with such an erotic charge that I was
paralyzed.  It was my sweet little redheaded wife that had brought this
young man's cock to such an impressive erection.  If I had seen the shadowy
outline of her bare body, so had he.  If the jiggle of her breasts beneath
the thin fabric of her dress had caused my member to twich, it had had the
same effect on his.  For a moment, the thought crossed my mind that she
would enjoy seeing this young man's long, thick penis hard just for her,
but I quickly rejected the idea.  Her first impulse would be rational and
proper -- she would run from a peeping tom in the bushes.  The quilty
decision had already been made for her, though.  Such a wildly perverted
opportunity might never come again.  I would have my wife give a show that
this young man would never forget, nor would I.
	I turned my attention back to my wife's performance -- the internal
debate, if you can call such a one-sided argument a debate, had lasted only
a second.  She had bent forward to give me a fairly complete view of her
breasts hanging down below her neckline.  She was also unknowingly giving
the stranger a good view of her rear end; probably even a tantalizing
glimpse of slick pink flesh between fringes of red hair.
	I stood up and gently spun her around so that the front of her body now
faced away from me -- toward the unseen eyes I knew were drinking in the
sight of her.  She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder, her
expression playful.  My hands moved over her body toward her breasts.  Her
naked throat was a long, pale curve as she tilted her head back to receive
a kiss.  I massaged her breasts under her dress, pushing them into swells
of lightly-freckled flesh above the low-cut collar.  Nipples stiffened
under my attentions, neither revealed nor hidden by the thin material. 
Then one hand moved down, across the curve of her belly, leaving one breast
pushed up into prominance.  She pushed her hips backwards against me,
wriggling against the stiffness she found.  Our kiss broke with a slight
gasp from her lips.  Eyes closed, tongue moistening lips, a smile playing
on the corners of her mouth.  
	The hem of her dress was gathered by fingers playing along the front of
her thighs.  Cloth gave way to a touch of smooth skin, then eye followed
hand as I pulled her hem higher, exposing her thighs.  Fingers felt the
tickle of her pubic hair before its orange-red glory was unveiled.  Now
both hands pulled upward at her hem, and the richly-colored triangle
between her thighs was seen set against the pale planes and curves of belly
and hips.  She put her feet a little further apart, opening her thighs to
attentions that were not nearly so private as she thought.
	More than my finger dipped into the fleshy cleft half-hidden by her pubic
hair.  My wife's secret places were also being touched by a stranger's
eyes.  He witnessed and shared her rising excitement as I stroked the stiff
little bud that sought my fingertip.  He heard her soft moan of pleasure. 
Little by little, he was plundering her sexual secrets, filling his
pounding blood with memories of how she looked, how she sounded.  Memories
that would bring both stiffness and relief in years to come.  
	I continued stroking my wife while I  pulled her dress up with my other
hand.  Now she was completely naked except for a temporary bundle of fabric
across her breasts.  Her trim waist, the lazy eye of her belly button, the
curves of her hips, and now, far below the fair skin of her exposed
abdomen, the shock of red-orange hair beneath my hand, were all of it
displayed for the pleasure of not one man, but two, not only her husband,
but a young stranger.  In the watcher's imagination, the swollen tip of his
penis was feeling the slippery gully between the fringes of red fur.  It
was his stiff member that rubbed pleasurably against the near-naked
redhead's clitoris, not my finger.  
	With a final upward tug, her breasts popped free.  She helped pull the
dress up over her head, impatient to get rid of it.  Her red-gold curls
were tousled in the wake, curling invitingly over bare shoulders and
teasing her throat in tickling wisps.
	I began rubbing her up in earnest now, while pinching first one nipple,
then the other with my other hand.  She threw her head back and moved her
body to encourage attentions both above and below her waist.  Her breasts
were thrust out, nipples pointing more upward than straight ahead, and her
hips twitched foward obscenely under my hand.  She was breathing hard now,
her hands absently touching my hands and herself: smoothing down her hips,
pulling her hair, as if they moved without conscious thought.  Every bit of
erectile tissue in her body was perked up and begging for attention --
which it received, and roughly.
	I knew that it would take little more for her to favor our unseen audience
with an orgasm.  Reaching down, I jammed a finger into the wetness inside
of her, while my other hand abandoned nipple for clitoris.  Her breasts
jiggled forcefully under the movements of my hands between her legs.  My
wife was a portrait of lust in cream and coral colors, all curves and
softness and desperate motion, straining toward the inevitable explosion of
pleasure deep within her hips.  	Suddenly, she came.  
	A gasp was cut off deep in her throat, and her muscles tensed.  For a long
five seconds, there was only a breathless tremor.  I'm sure our observer
thought her frozen since he was unable to feel the lust tremble beneath his
hands.  But then she pitched her head forward, and drew in a loud,
shuddering breath.  Her body jerked as it was wracked by spasms of pleasure
exploding outward from her lower belly.  She expelled her breath in a long
groan of physical satisfaction.  I mercilessly continued to work the
sensitive parts between her clenched thighs, as aftershocks -- each a
mini-climax in itself -- caused her to catch her breath and moan, catch and
moan, each catch accompanied by a foward jerk of her hips against my hands,
and each moan by a gyrating retreat into the luxurious sensation of sexual
pleasure.
	Looking over her shoulder, I was shocked to see the stranger had stepped
foward in his eagerness.  Not so openly that he would have been seen for
sure, and my wife was certainly not being observant.  Yet I could see him,
eyes fixed on my naked wife, his shorts down almost to his knees, stroking
his large cock.  
	To avoid any chance of my wife seeing him, I spun her around roughly.  She
hung her arms loosely around my neck and pressed against me, and my hands
found her buttocks.  I occupied her attention with a kiss, but my own
attention was on our not-so-unseen observer.  He had actually taken a step
out from cover, watching my hands massage my wife's rear.  I parted her
fleshy cheeks, and she cocked her hips back, unwittingly exposing herself
to him.  He took a step toward her, the purple head of his cock, though
distant, pointed directly at the sexual parts which glistened invitingly. 
I gripped her more tightly so she wouldn't turn around, and the thought
struck me that he was going to just step up and plunge that long slab of
meat right into her.  My eyes widened, and I shook my head.  He hesitated,
as if coming to his senses, but then, with one more glance at my wife's
spread ass and the the dual promises of pleasure it revealed, he
half-closed his eyes and shot a long spurt of semen.  Propelled with
youthful vigor, it shot several feet toward my wife, but, fortunately, fell
short of actually hitting her.  Again and again, his fist pumped long
squirts of white hot pleasure from the dark opening at the tip of his cock
-- he was that close that I could see it.  I was sorry that my wife was
missing the sight.  If I could take a certain guilty pleasure in watching
the young man ejaculate so forcefully, I was sure my wife would have been
even more delighted, especially if she could have appreciated the fact that
it was she and she alone who had inspired such lust.
	After an orgasm that appeared to be almost as intense as my wife's, the
young stranger, with a blend of worry, guilt, and satisfaction on his face,
mouthed a silent "thank you" and disappeared with rustle back into the
bushes.
	"What was that?" my wife whispered, giving a startled look over her
shoulder.  She snatched her dress from the ground and held it in front of
her as she peered into the bushes.  There was something pathetically funny
about that modest gesture, and I had to give a guilty laugh.  
	"Probably just a squirrel," I soothed, leaving her to wonder what I found
so funny about that.  The episode had left me more excited than I could
recall in many years, though, and I quickly led her inside to bed.  So
vigorous and satisfying was our lovemaking that it was hard to feel too
guilty afterwards.

(Story #3 in the Kathryn Series)