Bare All

Getting to Know Tracy

I've always liked mirrors.

Not for vanity—at least not only that—but because they tell the truth. And the truth is, at forty-three, I look good. Damn good.

Blonde hair, cut just past the shoulders, usually swept up in a loose knot or cascading over one shoulder. Blue eyes that hold a little too much control for some men to handle. Five foot six, toned from years of yoga and barre, with a figure that turns heads at every dinner party. I had my breasts done just after my fortieth—my gift to myself. 34EE. Sculpted, lifted, mine.

And the money doesn't hurt, either.

I'm successful. Comfortable. The kind of woman who hosts weekends in Tuscany, not attends them. The house I live in sits on a hill with sea views and a garden that gets full sun all afternoon. No husband, no kids—just freedom.

And Jay.

Jay is twenty-two. Six-foot-three. Built like a Greek statue—broad chest, thick thighs, a stomach you could bounce coins off. Black skin, smooth and taut, with a jawline that makes older women drop their keys at supermarket checkouts. He doesn't talk much, not in big crowds, but when we're alone... he's electric. Eyes that hold mine until I look away. Hands that make my knees weaken when he runs them over my bare back.

I met him through a friend's nephew—an innocent enough encounter over drinks. He made me laugh. I made him stare. I liked how he didn't flinch when I flirted. A few weeks later, we were in bed. Or on my sofa. Or in the back of my car at the beach.

Jay knows how to use that body of his. He's also cheeky. Quiet, but never passive.

We're not "official." I don't do that anymore. But I've stopped seeing other people. Because when he touches me, I feel twenty again. No. Better than twenty. I feel dangerous.

Today, I'm alone. It's warm. I've thrown on a little black vest—no bra—and a pair of loose linen shorts. I know what I look like. The top hugs me in all the right ways, and I can't help but admire the curve of my breasts in the mirror as I check my phone.

Nothing from Jay. Yet.

I bite my lip.

Then I lift my top just enough to show the underside of one breast. Just a glimpse. I take the photo at a slight angle—artful, sexy, a tease.

Tracy:

"Bet you miss these."

[picture attached]

It's risky. Fun. The kind of message I'd never have sent ten years ago. Now? I almost hope someone else sees over his shoulder.

The dots appear.

Jay:

"Don't tease me like that unless you're prepared to show more. Right now."

I stared at his reply, feeling that familiar flutter in my chest. Jay wasn't the type to bombard me with emojis or compliments. He didn't need to. His words were sharp, direct. And he always knew exactly how to push me—just far enough that I felt a little wicked responding.

"Don't tease me like that unless you're prepared to show more. Right now."

Well then.

I leaned back against the bedroom wall, one hip cocked. I lifted my top a little higher this time, letting the fabric just graze over the top of one nipple. Just one. Not quite exposed—but enough that my breasts were clearly bare beneath the thin black cotton. A whisper away from indecent.

I tilted my head, gave the camera a sultry, knowing look, and snapped the picture.

Then typed:

Tracy:

"This better?"

[picture attached]

I hit send before I could overthink it. My stomach tightened with that delicious buzz of nerves. A thrill I hadn't felt in years.

The reply came faster than I expected.

Jay:

"Better? That's fucking perfect."

"But I bet you wouldn't go out in public like that."

"No bra. Tight top. No jacket. Just walk around and let the world wonder if you're wearing anything underneath."

"You'd look so fucking hot doing it. But you're probably too proper for that..."

I exhaled slowly, heart racing. Not from outrage. From excitement. Was I too proper? Once, maybe. But now?

I walked to the full-length mirror. The top was definitely tight. My nipples were just beginning to harden beneath the fabric, clearly visible if anyone bothered to look. The shorts were safe. Modest. But this top? This was playing with fire.

I snapped a quick selfie in the mirror, not sending it yet. I just wanted to see what I looked like. And fuck... I looked stunning. I stared at myself, fingers tingling, and thought: Would I actually do it?

I paced across the bedroom slowly, the mirror still catching me in fragments—my bare thighs, the cling of that black vest top, the unmistakable shadow of my nipples against the fabric.

Jay's words echoed in my head. I bet you wouldn't go out like that. It was a challenge. A provocation. But more than that... it was tempting.

I'd always been careful. Controlled. A woman of boundaries and poise. Even when things got heated behind closed doors, I still liked to feel in charge.

But lately, something had shifted.

Maybe it was Jay—so young and bold and completely unbothered by what anyone thought. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like I was his dirty little secret and his prize all at once.

Or maybe I was just tired of being good. I glanced at my phone again. No new message. But the last one lingered. I bet you wouldn't.

My fingers hovered over the hem of my vest. I tugged it down slightly. Nothing obscene. Nothing technically wrong with what I was wearing. But the suggestion of it—the hint of what was underneath—was doing something to me. Lighting me up.

I told myself it would be nothing. Just a walk down to the café. Five minutes along the quiet cliff path, barely anyone around this time of day. A coffee, a smile to the barista, and I'd be back before I lost my nerve.

I slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses. Grabbed my crossbody bag. And paused.

Then I took a mirror selfie—one hand on my hip, the other holding the phone. My nipples were unmistakably visible now, sharp against the thin black cotton. My lips curled into a smile that was far too smug for a woman doing something so simple as going for coffee.

Tracy:

"Guess what I'm wearing out..."

[picture attached]

And just like that, I stepped out.

The garden path was warm underfoot. The breeze was light, but every movement made my top shift just a little, brushing across my chest, teasing me. My skin buzzed.

Halfway down the cliff path, I paused and leaned against the wooden rail that overlooked the sea. Pulled out my phone. Took another photo—this one from below, angled up, a glimpse of sky behind me. I arched slightly, the outline of my chest clear and proud.

Tracy:

"Still think I won't?"

[picture attached]

Another ten paces and I passed a jogger. Middle-aged man, earbuds in. He glanced at me once, did a double take, then looked away so fast it made me grin.

The café was in sight now, little terrace bathed in sunlight. A few people at tables. Nothing crowded. My heart thumped.

I stopped one more time. A slightly lower angle. Chin down, hair tucked behind one ear. One nipple visibly poking against the vest now, no denying it.

Tracy:

"Almost there. What should I order, sir?"

[picture attached]

My thumb hovered over the camera app again. But I paused. Jay hadn't replied yet. And now... I wanted him to see me in real time.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as I stepped inside, the sound oddly loud against the quiet hum of conversation and coffee machines. It was late morning—past the breakfast rush, not quite lunchtime. Just a few people dotted around: a pair of dog walkers nursing cappuccinos, a woman tapping at a laptop in the corner, and an older man at the bar reading the paper.

No one looked up at first. Which made it worse, somehow. The anticipation. The possibility that someone might look. Might notice.

The barista smiled as I approached the counter. Young. Maybe late twenties. His eyes flicked to my chest for a fraction too long. Then up to my face.

"Flat white, please," I said casually, sliding my sunglasses up into my hair.

He nodded, clearing his throat, suddenly very polite. "Of course."

I moved to the side while he prepared it, slipping into one of the stools by the window. The café overlooked the beach path, quiet for now but scenic. I could see a few couples strolling in the distance, children with ice creams. Harmless. Calm.

I felt electric.

My heart was thudding in my chest—not with fear, but exhilaration. I could feel the outline of my nipples still firm beneath the fabric. No one was staring, not really. But one glance... and it would be obvious.

I angled my body slightly, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. Then I tugged the neckline of my vest just a little lower—just enough to make my cleavage pop dramatically into view. Framed by golden skin and black cotton, soft and heavy and deliberate.

The moment the coffee hit the table beside me, I smiled up at the barista.

"Thank you," I purred.

He nodded quickly, definitely not looking down now.

When he turned away, I lifted my phone and snapped another selfie. This time, framed by the window light, the coffee cup in view, and my breasts deliciously framed in the shot—one inch lower and I'd be in trouble. But I wasn't. Not yet.

Tracy:

"Made it. Being such a good girl, aren't I?"

[picture attached]

I looked down at the photo before sending it. There was something wicked in my smile. The kind of smile that knew exactly what it was doing.

Jay still hadn't replied. But I knew he would. And when he did... I'd already be one step ahead.

I sipped my flat white slowly, letting the heat spread through my fingers, grounding me. Outside, the breeze stirred the tall grasses along the path, sunlight dancing across the water below. Everything felt sharper—brighter—like my skin was tuned to a different frequency.

The neckline of my vest still sat daringly low. I didn't adjust it. Instead, I crossed my legs and leaned back against the sunlit windowpane, giving the world outside a casual, contented version of me. Inside, I was still humming with adrenaline.

And then—

"Tracy?"

I froze for a split second before smoothly turning my head. Of course. Angela Mercer. School mum. Pilates group. Mid-forties, always overdressed for daytime errands. Divorced now, if I remembered right, but still liked to play the part of put-together, slightly-too-loud queen bee.

She was already smiling as she approached, takeaway cup in hand.

"Didn't expect to see you down here," she said, slipping into the seat opposite me without waiting for an invitation. "I thought you usually went into town for your coffee."

I gave her a warm smile, hiding the spike of tension in my chest.

"Oh, I fancied the walk. Needed the sea air."

She scanned me quickly—top to bottom. I could almost feel her eyes lingering just a second too long on the swell of my breasts. Her expression didn't change, but something in her posture tightened.

"Gosh, you look amazing," she said, in that faux-casual tone women like her had mastered. "What's your secret?"

I smiled sweetly. "Freedom. And someone young enough to remind me how to enjoy myself."

Angela blinked, startled for half a breath. Then she laughed, loud and fake and just a bit too high-pitched.

"I'll drink to that," she said, holding up her cardboard cup. "Still seeing that personal trainer?"

I tilted my head, teasing. "Something like that."

My phone buzzed on the table. A message from Jay. I didn't dare check it yet. Not while Angela was watching me like a hawk.

She chatted a bit longer—something about her daughter's uni application and a charity brunch I wasn't invited to—and I played the game, smiling, nodding, legs crossed just right.

Eventually, she stood. "Well, I'll let you enjoy your coffee. Tell your... friend I said hi." Her eyes flicked downward one last time before she left.

I exhaled slowly. God, that was close. But the thrill? Stronger than ever. I picked up my phone.

Jay:

"You really wore that out?"

"Fuck. I'm hard just imagining it."

"Next time... pull that top a little lower and send me one from the table."

"Don't let anyone see. Just me."

I bit my lip and smiled. Too late.

Home sweet home

The house was still and sun-warmed when I returned, the light pouring in through the kitchen windows and streaking across the floor. I didn't change. Didn't even kick off my sandals. I just moved slowly, lazily, like a cat stretching after a long, luxurious nap.

My vest still clung to me, the fabric slightly damp at the small of my back from the walk. My nipples—still hard—brushed lightly against the inside with every movement. I could still feel the ghost of Angela's eyes on me, that split-second flicker of disapproval, of curiosity.

I stood by the fridge, sipping water straight from the bottle, heart still fluttering from the thrill of it all. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this alive. Not just sexy—but dangerous.

The ping of a message lit up the room again.

Jay:

"On my way. Don't change."

A smile curled at the corner of my mouth. I didn't need to be told twice.

I moved to the mirror in the hallway and checked myself again. My hair was tousled from the breeze, the black vest still tight, the shorts riding slightly higher on my thighs. I adjusted the top just a little lower—cleavage pushed higher now. A breath from slipping into something scandalous.

I padded barefoot to the front door just as I heard his car outside. My heart thudded again—familiar now, expected. But that rush... it hadn't faded. If anything, it was stronger than before.

The door swung open and there he was.

Jay.

Tall, towering, muscles coiled beneath a fitted black t-shirt. Sweat glistening slightly along his collarbone. Those dark eyes raked over me in an instant, slow and deliberate.

He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him without a word. Then I dropped to my knees. Right there in the hallway. No hesitation. No explanation. He froze for a moment, eyebrows raised, lips twitching with a grin.

"Like that, huh?"

I looked up at him with mock innocence, running my hands slowly up his thighs, fingers tracing the hard line of muscle beneath his jeans.

"I've been thinking about your cock all day," I said softly, tilting my head. "And how I want to taste it while I'm still dressed like your filthy little dare-slut."

Jay's breath caught.

I reached up, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, then unzipped him, fingers grazing against the thick weight of him through his boxers. He was already hard. So ready for me.

I pulled him free. Thick. Gorgeous. Veins pulsing as I wrapped my hand around the base and stroked him slowly, deliberately, my tongue flicking out to taste the bead of precum at the tip.

He groaned.

"Fuck, Tracy..."

I smiled up at him, lips brushing against the head. Then I took him into my mouth. Deep. Slow. Purposeful.

The hallway echoed with the soft sound of sucking, the occasional gasp from Jay as my hands braced against his thighs and I worked him deeper. His fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me, owning me—but I stayed in control... for now. I wanted to show him what all that teasing had done to me.

I took my time.

Jay's cock throbbed in my hand, thick and weighty, the skin warm and smooth against my tongue. I began with slow, shallow strokes, teasing just the tip between my lips—pressing kisses along the head, letting my tongue swirl around the ridge, tasting the salt of his arousal.

He was watching me. I could feel his eyes locked on the sight of me kneeling in the hallway, still dressed in that scandalously tight vest and loose shorts, my cleavage framed perfectly as I leaned forward, lips wrapped delicately around his cock.

I let him slip deeper.

My lips sealed around him as I moved lower, inch by inch, the thick stretch of him filling my mouth, brushing the back of my throat. I pulled back slowly, a trail of spit catching at the corner of my mouth, then descended again—faster this time, more confident.

His hands moved to the back of my head, fingers threading through my blonde hair, gripping just tight enough to anchor me.

"Jesus, Tracy..." he groaned, hips twitching forward.

I moaned around him, the vibration making him shudder. My hand stroked the base while my mouth did the rest, working him in rhythm—sucking, twisting, letting saliva coat him until it dripped down over my fist.

I loved the weight of him on my tongue. Loved the way his thighs tensed when I took him deeper. I looked up at him, lips stretched around his shaft, and watched his jaw clench.

"Fuck, look at you," he said, voice rough. "You really are a filthy little thing, aren't you?"

I pulled off with a wet pop and grinned, still stroking him.

"All that teasing today," I purred, licking a slow trail up the underside of his cock, "I've been wet for hours. Couldn't wait to get you in my mouth."

He hissed through his teeth as I swallowed him again—faster now, my head bobbing, throat relaxing to take him deeper. I gagged slightly, eyes watering, but didn't stop. I wanted it messy. Desperate. Worshipful.

My hands gripped his hips, guiding the rhythm, my nails digging in as I sucked him harder, faster. His breath grew ragged. I could feel the tension building in his legs, the tremor in his abdomen.

I pulled back just enough to speak, breathless and flushed.

"Come for me."

Jay's jaw locked. His hands tightened in my hair. "Open your mouth."

I knelt back slightly, stroking him quickly, chest rising and falling as I looked up at him, lips parted, tongue out.

"Do it."

With a grunt, he jerked in my hand—and then he came.

Hot, thick streams spilled across my tongue and cheek, splashing onto my chin and the swell of my breasts. His cock pulsed in my grip as I stroked him through it, milking every last drop. I kept my eyes on him, relishing the raw, primal look in his face as he watched his cum paint me.

A final spurt landed across my lips. I held still, letting him see me like that—flushed, used, gorgeous. Then I slowly dragged my tongue across my bottom lip, licking up what I could reach.

"Happy now?" I murmured.

Jay laughed softly, still breathless. "No. I'm starving for you now."

I rose to my feet, cum cooling on my skin.

"Then feed yourself properly, baby."

Jay didn't give me a chance to clean up. The moment I stood, his hands were on me—gripping my waist, spinning me around. I gasped as he pushed me toward the bedroom, his fingers digging into the bare flesh of my hips through the thin fabric of my shorts.

My skin was still slick with his cum. A smear of it across my cheek. A drizzle catching on the curve of one breast. I didn't wipe it away. Neither did he. He wanted me marked.

I stumbled into the bedroom, heart pounding, body thrumming with need. He caught me at the edge of the bed. Bent me forward.

I braced myself on the mattress, the cool cotton of the duvet brushing my forearms. My back arched instinctively, my arse lifting toward him, offering myself completely.

Jay yanked my shorts down in one quick, rough motion—no teasing now, no finesse. Just the sound of fabric scraping over skin, then the sudden exposure of my bare arse and soaked pussy. I hadn't worn knickers. I rarely did around him anymore.

"Fuck, Tracy," he growled behind me. "You're dripping."

"I've been wet all day," I gasped, glancing back at him over my shoulder. "Do something about it."

He didn't hesitate.

One hand gripped my hip, the other guiding his cock to my entrance. I felt the thick head press against me—hot, hard, wet with my spit and his cum still smeared across it. Then he shoved into me.

I cried out—loud, shameless—as he filled me in one long, punishing thrust. My fingers clenched the duvet. My pussy stretched, slick and ready, clenching tight around him as he buried himself to the hilt. He didn't wait.

Jay fucked me like an animal. Fast, rough, deep. His hands held me in place as he slammed into me from behind, his thighs slapping against the backs of mine, his balls swinging heavy with every thrust.

I was panting, moaning, my breasts bouncing with every movement. I could still feel the cooling trails of cum on my skin, mixing now with sweat. It made me wilder. Dirtier. I pushed back against him, matching his rhythm, desperate for more.

"Harder," I begged, head down, voice ragged. "Use me."

He did. One hand reached up and tangled in my hair, pulling my head back so he could see my face—see the smears of cum across my cheek, the way my mouth hung open in lust.

"You like being used like this, don't you?" he growled.

"Yes," I gasped. "God, yes."

My climax built fast, unstoppable. The pressure mounting with each brutal thrust, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. I was loud now—past the point of control, whimpering, begging, unable to stop.

"Cum in me," I pleaded, delirious. "Fill me, Jay. I want to feel you."

He snarled, grabbing both hips now, driving into me with savage force. And then—with a deep, guttural groan—he came again.

Hot spurts filled me, his cock jerking inside as he emptied himself into my pulsing pussy. My orgasm crashed over me at the same time—explosive, shaking, wrenching a cry from my throat as I collapsed against the bed.

Jay leaned over me, panting, his body draped across my back, cock still twitching inside me. I was wrecked. Marked. Drenched in him. Exactly how I wanted to be.

The aftermath

The water hit my skin in warm, soothing streams, washing away the sweat and sex but not the feeling. Not the glow.

Jay stood behind me in the shower, his arms wrapped loosely around my waist, his lips brushing the top of my damp shoulder. His chest against my back was a solid wall of heat, his cock soft now but still heavy, resting against the curve of my arse as we swayed gently under the water.

Neither of us spoke for a while. Just breathing. Letting the silence stretch.

I reached for the shampoo, but he took it from my hand and began massaging it into my scalp instead, his fingers strong and slow and deeply caring. It made my eyes close. Made me melt.

"You were wild today," he murmured, voice low near my ear. "The café. Angela. That mouth..."

I smiled, eyes still closed. "You're a bad influence."

"You love it."

I didn't argue.

He rinsed the shampoo from my hair, then turned me to face him. His hands slid down to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing across my nipples, now soft and sensitive from earlier. He kissed my cheek—right where his cum had been not long ago.

"You know," he said quietly, "I've been thinking..."

"Mmm?"

"You looked amazing in that vest. Like... stupidly sexy."

I arched an eyebrow. "You've seen me in less."

"Yeah, but that's what made it so hot. You weren't trying to show off. You were just there—knowing exactly what you were doing."

I bit my lip. He went on.

"What if we pushed it a little? Next time you go out... a loose top. No bra. Just... casual. But maybe you don't realise one of your boobs pops out. Maybe it takes someone else to tell you."

A beat of silence.

My pussy pulsed gently at the thought.

"Where?" I asked.

Jay smirked. "A wine bar. Somewhere classy. Midweek. You're alone. Order a glass, sip it slow. Let your top slip, just one boob peeking out. Not obviously. Not bouncing around. Just... exposed. Bare. Like it happened naturally."

"And I stay like that... until someone tells me?"

He nodded. "Exactly. Could be ten minutes. Could be an hour. But you don't fix it. Not until someone notices."

A thrill curled low in my belly.

"And what if no one tells me?" I whispered.

His hands slid lower, gripping my hips under the spray.

"Then maybe," he said, eyes darkening, "you send me a photo to prove it... and I tell you to keep it that way all night."

I swallowed hard. Still warm from the water. Still full from his cock. And now aching for more.

A Slip of Decency

The next day moved slowly.

Jay had left early, a soft kiss on my bare shoulder and the whisper of his fingers trailing down my back before the door clicked shut. I lay there for a while in the silence, the sheets still carrying his scent, my thighs still faintly sticky from everything we'd done.

Eventually, I showered again. Took my time. Let the hot water run down over my breasts, between my legs, remembering the way he filled me, the way I looked kneeling before him. And then I dried off, tied my hair up in a soft towel, and wandered the house in a robe—bare, glowing, and restless.

By lunchtime, I still hadn't dressed. But my mind had already drifted ahead.

The dare. The idea of it. One breast exposed. Out in public. Staying like that until someone told me. It was insane. And it had my nipples tightening before I'd even left the bathroom.

Jay hadn't messaged again since this morning. But I didn't need more instruction. I knew what he wanted. And more than that—I knew what I wanted.

I wanted to feel the risk. The heat in my chest when a stranger looked too long. The moment I realised a waiter had clocked me and chose to say nothing. The delicious horror of pretending I didn't know.

So I turned on some music, poured myself a glass of white wine, and began preparing.

First: makeup.

I kept it soft and expensive-looking. Barely-there foundation. A touch of blush to bring warmth to my cheeks. Subtle smoky eyes. Mascara to frame them. A sheer nude gloss for my lips—kissable, elegant, not trying too hard. The kind of look that whispered confidence, not desperation.

Then: hair.

Loose waves. Effortless. One side tucked behind my ear to show off the elegant curve of my neck. The other falling forward, grazing the swell of my chest.

And finally: the outfit.

I opened my wardrobe, slowly running my fingers along the hangers.

I paused on a slinky, off-white halter-style top. Thin silk. Loose across the chest. Low-cut but not indecent... unless it shifted. No support. No padding. Just soft fabric and gravity.

Perfect.

I paired it with high-waisted tailored trousers—dark navy, slim-fitting, to keep the outfit classy. A delicate gold necklace. A small clutch. No bra, obviously. No knickers either. I didn't want anything between me and the experience.

I stood in the mirror, heart fluttering as I adjusted the top.

It didn't take much.

A deep breath, a small shift, a slight lean—and one soft, heavy breast slipped just far enough from the fabric that my nipple peeked out beneath the silk. If I lifted my arm or leaned forward to reach for a glass? It would be there. Visible. Vulnerable.

I could feel my pulse in my neck. And between my legs. I took a picture from the mirror. From the waist up. Just enough suggestion. I didn't send it. Not yet.

Instead, I took a final breath, smoothed down the fabric again, and whispered to myself in the mirror:

"You're going to walk in like you don't know."

I grabbed my clutch, slipped on nude heels, and headed for the door.

One Glass, One Glimpse

The bar was tucked just off the high street—modern but intimate, with moody lighting, warm brass accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the late afternoon sun. It wasn't loud. Just the soft murmur of quiet conversations, the occasional clink of glassware, and a mellow playlist humming low beneath it all.

I stepped inside like I owned the place.

The hostess barely glanced up from her screen before smiling. "Table for one?"

"Yes," I said smoothly. "Something by the window, if you have it."

She nodded, grabbing a menu. I followed her, feeling every soft sway of my breasts beneath the silk top, the air teasing the exposed skin of my chest. The fabric was already starting to shift again. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to remind me I was naked underneath.

The table was perfect. A small, circular one in the corner, tucked into a window nook. The late sunlight brushed over the glass, catching in the gold rim of the wine list.

"I'll just have a glass of the Sancerre to start," I said, handing it back after a glance. "Chilled."

She nodded and disappeared.

I sat slowly. Crossed my legs. Took a breath.

The nerves began to rise the moment I was alone.

I could feel my pulse in my throat, feel the way my top fluttered with every slight movement. The deep V of the neckline dipped low between my breasts, draping lightly but offering no structure—no barrier to gravity or happenstance.

I adjusted my posture, pretending to reach for my phone from my bag, and felt the fabric whisper to the side. Not far. Just enough that I knew it was about to happen. Any second.

I was sitting in a wine bar, nipples bare beneath my top, and one of them was about to slip free.

My stomach tightened.

The waiter arrived with my glass. A young man, tall and lean, with soft stubble and a crisp shirt that strained a little at the forearms. His eyes flicked once—briefly—to my chest, then up to my face.

"Here you go," he said, placing the wine in front of me. "Would you like to see the menu?"

"Not yet," I said with a polite smile, glancing at the glass. "Let's see how this one goes."

He smiled, then left. I lifted the glass, tilted it to sip—just a little deeper than I needed to. The silk slid. I didn't adjust it.

I set the glass down carefully and forced myself to look normal. I pulled out my phone. Took a slow selfie angled from above—the kind that seemed casual. But I could already see it in the corner of the preview: the soft, creamy swell of one breast fully visible now, the nipple resting bare beneath the fold of silk. I didn't send it. Not yet.

Instead, I tucked the phone away and leaned back, arms resting casually on either side of the curved velvet seat. I forced myself to breathe evenly. To sip my wine. To smile faintly at nothing.

No one had said anything. But the fabric hadn't moved. I was on display. The wine was crisp. Clean. Completely forgettable. Not that I was paying much attention to the taste.

I sat still, perched at the edge of composure, the warmth of the sun brushing across my shoulders, the cool air of the room skating over my exposed skin. My nipple had slipped fully free beneath the silk now, and the fabric hadn't moved back. It wasn't obscene. Just... unmistakable.

From the right angle—which was most of them—you could see one bare breast. I knew it. And I knew that someone else knew it too.

I glanced around the bar, slow and casual. No one staring outright. But there were signs.

A couple seated three tables across—the woman mid-40s, the man older, salt-and-pepper hair—were deep in conversation. Or they had been. Now the man was nodding absently while sneaking glances past his wine glass, his gaze flickering in my direction and then away again, fast. Guilty.

The woman turned her head just enough to follow his eyeline. Her expression didn't change, but the conversation stopped.

I felt my stomach flip.

I reached for my glass again, deliberately slow. As I leaned forward, I felt the fabric shift further, the edge dipping even lower, the weight of my exposed breast now completely unsupported, brazen beneath the delicate white silk.

Still, no one said anything.

I let my eyes drift to the large mirror behind the bar. From this angle, I could see myself—seated like a vision of casual elegance, sipping Sancerre, legs crossed, top delicately askew.

I looked... fucking glorious. A warm ache bloomed between my thighs. I sipped again. And waited.

A different couple entered the bar—two younger men in their late twenties, fit, well-dressed. They took a table nearby. As they passed me, one of them smiled politely. The other looked straight at my chest and froze for half a second before recovering.

They sat. He leaned toward his friend. Whispered something. Both laughed—but not loudly. Then, a moment later, the same one stole another look.

I shifted in my seat ever so slightly. Not a correction. Not a cover-up. If anything, it made things worse. I could feel the air on my skin. I was the only woman in the room with her breast out. And I was pretending not to know.

My phone buzzed gently in my bag. I didn't need to check to know it was Jay. But I let it sit. For now. I was busy becoming someone else. Someone I'd only ever imagined being.

Someone who sat in the golden light of a wine bar, sipping elegantly while strangers tried to work up the courage to tell her she was indecent. And God help me... I hoped they wouldn't.

I let my glass rest against my bottom lip, eyes flicking to the mirror again.

Still exposed. Still entirely composed.

The bar was fuller now. Maybe six or seven tables occupied. Murmurs of conversation floated around me, but I wasn't listening. I was watching. Feeling.

Eyes still found me—some discreet, others clumsy. The young man from earlier could barely contain his glances, each sip of his beer accompanied by a stolen look. His friend had begun to shift uncomfortably, aware of how obvious it was becoming.

I'd become the room's unspoken secret. And then she rose. From the table in the corner, the salt-and-pepper couple—elegant, moneyed, seasoned in social graces. The man stayed seated, studiously not looking at me now. But the woman—tall, commanding, with a long silk scarf draped around her shoulders—walked straight over, wine glass in hand.

I straightened, lips parted in surprise. She leaned in slightly, just enough to speak without being overheard. Her expression was cool, not unkind, but certainly not warm.

"Darling," she said quietly, her tone pitched with the weight of experience and precision, "your blouse is... rather open."

My heart kicked in my chest.

"Oh," I breathed, glancing down with feigned confusion. As if I hadn't known. As if I hadn't been relishing it for the last twenty minutes.

I adjusted the silk slowly, carefully, cupping the fabric over the exposed swell of my breast, my fingers brushing against the hardened nipple I'd let the entire bar glimpse.

The woman gave a tight, polite smile. "Quite the distraction for the younger crowd. And perhaps... a few of the older ones, too."

"I didn't realise," I said softly, just loud enough for her. "Thank you."

She nodded once. "No trouble. It happens."

And then she walked back to her table, graceful and dignified, as though she hadn't just interrupted the most thrilling moment I'd ever constructed for myself.

I sat still for a long moment, my heart hammering beneath the silk now properly in place. Heat rushed through me—not shame. Not really. More like a flush of raw, unfiltered arousal.

She knew. They all knew. And I'd let them. My phone buzzed again. This time, I reached for it.

Jay:

"Still no one said anything?"

I smiled faintly, licking my lips before typing back.

Tracy:

"One woman. Just now."

"She whispered it to me like it was a secret."

A pause. Then:

Jay:

"You are a fucking dream."

I finished the rest of my wine in silence, nipples still tingling, thighs pressed tightly together. It was time to go. But this wasn't over. Not even close.

Reward Her

The taxi dropped me outside his flat just after six.

I sat in the backseat with my thighs pressed together, heart pounding, one breast still tingling from the air and memory of exposure. My silk top was back in place now—but the heat beneath it hadn't faded. If anything, the quiet ride home, the space to feel everything I'd done, had only made it worse.

I was wet. Aching. On edge. I hadn't even messaged Jay that I was coming. I didn't need to. The moment the taxi pulled away, his front door swung open.

Jay stood there in joggers and nothing else—bare chest, arms heavy with muscle, his eyes locked onto mine with the kind of hunger that made my legs go weak before I even reached the steps.

I didn't say a word.

He was down the steps in two strides. Before I could think, he grabbed me—one hand on the back of my neck, the other scooping under my thighs—and lifted me into his arms.

"You came," he said against my mouth.

"You always make me come," I breathed, grinning.

He growled low in his throat and crushed his lips to mine.

The door slammed behind us. He didn't put me down. Just carried me straight to the sofa, kissing me hard, his tongue slick and deep in my mouth, one hand already sliding up my bare back beneath the silk.

He dropped me onto the cushions with a bounce, and I laughed breathlessly as he knelt above me.

"I wanted to tear this top off you all fucking day," he muttered, eyes burning as he tugged the neckline down in one swift motion.

My breasts spilled free—heavy, flushed, nipples already stiff with arousal. He groaned, diving in.

His mouth latched onto one, sucking deep, his tongue swirling as his other hand cupped and kneaded the other. I gasped, back arching, hands in his hair as he worshipped them—licking, sucking, switching sides until they glistened and I was moaning, hips shifting desperately under him.

"God, Jay..."

"I saw the picture," he growled. "Saw your tit out at that fucking wine bar. Made me hard instantly."

He bit down—just a little—then soothed it with his tongue, licking me like he was tasting me for the first time. Then he slid lower.

My trousers were unfastened in a blur. He tugged them down my hips, dragging them over my heels before tossing them aside. His mouth was back between my legs before I could think—one hand splaying me open, the other pinning my thigh down.

He licked me slowly at first. Deep, deliberate strokes of his tongue. My head fell back with a moan.

"You're soaked," he murmured, voice thick. "You got off on showing yourself, didn't you?"

I couldn't answer. Not with my legs shaking and his mouth sucking gently at my clit.

I came quickly—shuddering, gasping, my fingers locked in his hair. He didn't stop. Kept licking me through it, easing the pressure until I whimpered.

Then he climbed back up over me.

His cock was already out. Thick, hot, veined—ready. He lined himself up, eyes locked on mine, and pushed inside. My pussy welcomed him with a soaked, desperate squeeze, and we both groaned at the same time.

He fucked me deep from the start—slow, controlled, powerful thrusts that filled me to the edge. His hands framed my face, fingers brushing my jaw as he kissed me again, his hips rolling steady between my legs.

"Mine," he whispered against my lips. "You hear me?"

"Yes," I breathed. "All yours."

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, moaning with each stroke as his pelvis ground against my clit. He picked up speed.

The sofa creaked under us. His body pressed me into the cushions, each thrust knocking the breath out of me in the best way. My breasts bounced beneath him, still wet from his mouth. I was close again. So was he.

"Cum in me," I gasped, nails raking down his back. "I want to feel it."

With a final growl, he drove deep, his cock twitching as hot spurts filled me. He stayed there, buried inside me, breathing hard, one hand cradling the back of my neck as we rode out the pulsing aftershocks together.

The room fell quiet again. I lay beneath him, full, used, and utterly satisfied. Jay kissed me softly.

"You did good, baby."

I smiled lazily. "Just wait until the next one."

Naked and Not Sorry

The next morning was bliss. No meetings. No plans. No need to dress.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling golden warmth across the wooden floors of my living room. I padded barefoot through the space with a coffee mug in one hand, completely and shamelessly naked.

My skin still hummed from the night before. I could still feel the lingering soreness between my thighs, the ache in my breasts where Jay had sucked me until I begged. It felt good. It felt earned.

I flopped down onto the sofa with my legs tucked under me, letting the morning sun bathe my skin. My phone buzzed on the side table.

Jay:

"What are you wearing today?"

I smirked.

I lifted the phone, angled it downward, and took a photo: just a hint of my collarbone and the top of my breasts, bare thighs in the background, the porcelain mug perched between them like a prop.

Tracy:

"Sunlight and a smile."

[picture attached]

The typing bubbles appeared instantly.

Jay:

"Show me the whole smile."

I set the coffee aside and stretched out along the cushions. Took another photo—this time from the chest down, one arm framing the side of my breast, my legs just parted enough to show that I wasn't teasing.

I was offering.

Tracy:

"Like this?"

[picture attached]

No reply this time. Just a FaceTime ring.

I answered with a lazy grin.

Jay's face filled the screen, lying back on his bed, shirtless, lips twitching.

"You're just walking around the house like that?"

I flipped the camera for a second, panning lazily across my naked body sprawled on the sofa. "Why waste clothes?"

"God, you're going to kill me."

"You're the one who made me like this," I purred.

We chatted for a while—him asking about the wine bar again, me reliving it in detail, feeding him every reaction I'd caught from the room, every lingering stare. His hand crept under the sheet as I spoke, abs flexing. I could tell he was getting hard.

Then the doorbell rang.

I froze for a beat.

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Expecting someone?"

"Just a parcel, probably," I said, standing without thinking.

I reached for the silk robe draped over the back of a chair.

"Wait."

His voice stopped me cold. Jay leaned in closer to the camera. His voice dropped to that calm, dangerous register he used when he wanted to push me.

"Answer it like you are."

I blinked. "Jay..."

"Naked. Just like that. Open the door. Smile. Sign whatever they give you. Then shut the door."

My heart leapt into my throat. I could already feel the flush spreading over my chest.

"What if they see everything?"

"They will," he said. "That's the point."

The doorbell rang again—longer this time. I looked down at myself. Nude. Hair tousled. Still glowing from sex and sun. My nipples had tightened from the tension. My pussy was already pulsing with anticipation.

"Just open it?" I whispered.

"Unless you want to tell me no," he said softly.

I didn't. I swallowed hard and padded to the door, phone still in hand, camera facing the floor. The door had glass panels. Frosted. But not completely. Someone was out there. I looked at Jay's face on the screen one last time.

He smirked. "Be a good girl."

Then I opened the door.

At the Door

The door swung open with a soft creak.

I stood there, completely naked, the breeze from outside licking across my skin like a thousand fingertips. Sunlight spilled in past my bare thighs, brushing over the curve of my breasts, catching in my hair. My nipples were already hard—tight and aching with the tension.

For the briefest moment, it felt like time held still. Then he looked up.

The delivery driver was maybe thirty, lean build, tanned skin, a dark polo shirt clinging to his torso. He had a tablet in one hand and a parcel tucked under his arm. His mouth opened—just slightly—as his eyes met mine.

And then dropped.

I felt it happen.

His gaze fell from my face to my collarbone... to my breasts. He hesitated there for just a second too long. Then lower, following the lines of my bare stomach, the soft patch of trimmed blonde hair above my pussy, my thighs. Everything.

His throat bobbed. I kept my expression soft. Polite. As if nothing was wrong.

"Delivery for Ms. King?" he asked, voice cracking ever so slightly.

"Yes, that's me," I said lightly, ignoring the wild thumping of my heart. "Would you like me to sign?"

He blinked. "Uh... yeah. Yes, please."

I reached for the tablet. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting him get the full view of me leaning forward—breasts swaying gently, thighs parting just enough for the light to catch the glisten between them. I didn't break eye contact.

I signed my name with one finger, handed it back, and said, "Thanks so much."

His mouth worked as though he wanted to say something—anything—but he simply handed me the box, eyes darting back to my chest as I took it.

"Have a good afternoon," I added sweetly, already backing into the house.

He gave a quick nod, still stunned, before turning and walking—too fast—back toward his van. The door clicked shut.

And I stood there in the silence of my hallway, heart pounding, pussy wet, holding the cardboard box and smiling like I'd just committed a crime and gotten away with it. The phone in my hand buzzed again.

Jay (watching on FaceTime):

"You. Are. Unbelievable."

"Did he see everything?"

I flipped the camera to face me—nude, flushed, glowing.

"Yes," I whispered. "Every inch."

And I'd never felt more alive.

House Rules

I stood in the hallway, the package still in one hand, the phone in the other—Jay's face filling the screen. His eyes were locked on mine, but I could see how hard he was breathing. The muscles in his chest rose and fell, his jaw clenched.

"You answered the door naked," he said quietly. "You actually fucking did it."

"I told you," I said, voice low, teasing. "I do what I'm told... if I want to."

He exhaled a shaky laugh, but there was a different edge in his voice now—something deeper. Possessive. Lustful. Proud.

"Put the parcel down," he murmured. "Show me what he saw."

I set the box aside and stepped back from the phone, propping it against a lamp so he could see all of me. Naked. Skin flushed. My nipples still hard from the rush, my pussy glistening between my legs.

I let my hands slide over my body—slowly. One up the inside of my thigh, brushing across the slickness between my lips. The other cupping a breast, squeezing gently, fingers rolling the nipple as I watched his reaction on the screen.

Jay didn't speak.

His hand was moving under the sheet now, clearly stroking himself as I began to touch myself—knees parting, two fingers sliding over my swollen clit, my breath catching in my throat.

"Tell me what to do," I whispered.

"Play with your tits," he said, voice thick. "Let me see how sensitive they still are."

I obeyed. Palming both breasts, lifting them, then pinching both nipples hard enough to make me gasp.

"Now your pussy."

I sank to the floor in front of the phone, spreading my legs wide, fingers sliding deep inside myself as I moaned softly for him—putting on a show, but not faking it. Every nerve was lit up. Every movement was real.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he growled. "That turned you on, didn't it?"

"Yes," I panted, fingers working faster now, the heel of my hand grinding against my clit. "I loved it. Knowing he saw me. Knowing you saw me."

"You're mine," he said. "Every inch of you. And this house... it's mine now too."

I whimpered, close again, hips rolling.

"No more clothes when you're home," he continued. "Understand?"

I froze, my fingers still buried inside me.

"No clothes?" I repeated, breathless.

"None. Not even when you're alone. From now on, when you're home... you're naked. Always. That's the rule."

The words hit me like a fresh wave of heat. I nodded, eyes half-lidded.

"Yes, Jay."

"Good girl," he said.

"Can I cum now?"

"Not yet. One more thing."

I whimpered, grinding helplessly against my hand.

"I want proof. Every morning. A picture. Nude. Fresh out of bed. Let me see what's mine before you do anything else."

I moaned.

"Say it," he demanded.

"I'll send you a naked picture every morning," I gasped. "First thing. No clothes in the house. I'm yours."

"Now cum for me."

I obeyed.

My back arched, fingers flying, legs shaking as the orgasm crashed through me—loud, raw, uncontrollable. My moan echoed through the room as I fell back onto the floor, flushed and gasping, thighs still twitching.

When I opened my eyes, Jay was smiling on the screen.

"Tomorrow," he said, "you send me that first photo."

I smiled back.

"You'll have it before I make coffee."

Like It's Nothing

The post-orgasm haze lingered like warm honey over my skin as I moved through the house.

Naked.

Not just temporarily. Not for the sake of seduction. But because this was how I was supposed to be now.

I wandered barefoot into the kitchen, the late afternoon sun slanting through the glass doors, washing golden light over my curves. The floor was cool against my soles, the breeze from the open window lifting strands of my hair as I pulled ingredients from the fridge.

Chicken. Tomatoes. Garlic. A glass of white wine for me, naturally. I poured a splash into the pan and then paused, glancing down.

The heat from the stove prickled across my bare skin, and the idea of hot oil spitting near my nipples made me shiver. Not from fear—from awareness.

I crossed the kitchen and pulled a half-length apron from the hook. Soft linen. Cream-coloured. I tied it behind my back, letting the front fall across my stomach.

It didn't cover much.

The sides gaped slightly, the curve of each breast visible from the side, the swell exposed if I turned the wrong way. My arse, of course, was completely bare. The apron did nothing there.

I picked up my phone.

Tracy:

"Is this approved kitchen attire?"

[picture attached: angled from the side, one hip jutting out, apron clinging across her belly, the soft curve of a bare breast peeking out from behind the gap]

Jay replied almost instantly.

Jay:

"Don't burn yourself. But holy fuck, yes."

"Imagine being your neighbour right now."

I smiled, stirred the pan, and imagined it too. I stayed like that all evening—cooking, eating, tidying up, a podcast in the background. Casual. Nude. Like it was nothing.

But I caught myself more than once grazing my fingertips across a breast or pausing a little too long at the window, one hand resting on my hip as the outside world went about its day, unaware—or maybe not.

When I went to bed, I didn't set an alarm. Just a reminder. Tomorrow: Jay's photo. First thing. Naked. No exceptions.

Morning Offering

The light woke me before anything else.

Pale and soft, washing across the bed in early streaks, warming the sheets tangled around my legs. I stretched slowly, nude beneath the covers, every inch of me relaxed and just a little sore. Deliciously so.

I reached for my phone. No messages from Jay yet—he'd be at work by now. But I remembered what he said. A photo. First thing. Before anything else. I rolled onto my back, letting the sheet fall away from my body.

Hair tousled, lips soft and swollen, nipples still puckered from the cool air of the room. I let one hand drift down across my belly, resting just above the warm ache between my legs.

I angled the phone. Not posing. Not seducing.

Just... offering.

A single, effortless shot.

Raw. Beautiful. Honest.

Tracy:

"Good morning, sir. Hope this gets you through your meetings."

[picture attached]

The thrill settled in my chest like a heartbeat. And just like that, my first official nude day began.

Not Who I Expected

The house was warm and still.

I moved slowly, nude and unhurried, my skin tingling every time a breeze slipped in through the open patio doors. It was nearly four o'clock and I hadn't worn a thing since I got out of bed. The "no clothes at home" rule had already stopped feeling like a dare—it felt natural now. Like shedding more than just fabric. Shedding the version of me who played it safe.

I was halfway through tidying the living room when my phone buzzed with a message from Jay.

Jay:

"Hope you're naked, princess."

I smirked, set the vase of flowers down, and snapped a quick photo. A side angle. The afternoon sun hitting my bare shoulder, the roundness of my breast just catching the light.

Me:

"Still haven't put a stitch on."

I was just about to stretch out on the sofa and give him something better when the doorbell rang. My heart jolted.

I froze, halfway to reclining, suddenly very aware of how completely exposed I was. Another ring. This one longer.

I reached for my phone, ready to tell Jay I might just answer it naked again—he'd love that—but something made me hesitate. No text. No heads-up. Not like last time.

Still nude, I padded barefoot to the door, not rushing. The thrill had already begun to creep in under my skin. I didn't feel fear. I felt charged. I turned the handle. And blinked. Not a delivery driver.

Marcus.

Jay's friend. The gym one. Quiet, confident, built like a god. I'd only met him once, briefly, but I remembered the way he watched people. The way he seemed to weigh what you were saying without speaking much at all.

He was holding a small box in one hand, dressed in a black t-shirt and grey joggers, and his eyes—oh God, his eyes—swept over me before I could even speak.

I was completely nude.

No robe. No apron. Not even a pillow to cover myself with. Just me—breasts bare, nipples already tightening, my thighs glistening faintly with arousal from earlier. He saw all of it. My breath caught. My entire body flushed hot.

"Jay didn't tell you I was dropping by?" Marcus asked, his tone maddeningly casual. Like we were at a fucking coffee shop.

I stared at him, heart hammering. "No. He didn't."

He held out the box. "Left this at his place."

I hesitated, not moving. My legs felt like they'd rooted to the hardwood floor. The air on my nipples was suddenly electric.

Still, I took the parcel. My fingers brushed his as I did, and I swore he looked straight down at the way my breasts shifted with the movement. Slowly. Deliberately.

"Do you..." I started, but stopped. My voice came out a little hoarse. "Do you want me to tell him you dropped it off?"

Marcus gave a slow, unreadable smile.

"Tell him I saw everything."

My stomach flipped. I was still holding the box, still standing there totally nude, and he just stood there—cool, composed, eyes fixed on me like he was cataloguing every inch.

He didn't leer. He didn't crack a joke. He just... looked.

And then he nodded. "You look good, Tracy."

My name on his lips made my knees go soft. He turned and walked back down the path without another word, hands in his pockets, like he hadn't just seen me at my most exposed.

I stood in the doorway for a second longer, pulse pounding between my legs, the cool air doing nothing to calm the heat rushing through me. I shut the door. Locked it. Leaned my back against it and took a shaky breath. Then I grabbed my phone.

Me:

"Marcus just showed up. Said you forgot to mention he was coming."

Jay replied within seconds.

Jay:

"Oops."

"He see you?"

Me:

"He saw everything."

A pause.

Jay:

"Good girl."

I looked down at myself. My nipples were still hard. My pussy was slick. I was trembling—and not from fear. From need.

What If He'd Come In?

I heard Jay's key turn in the lock just after seven.

I was still nude—of course. Lying sideways on the sofa, legs tucked under me, a book open but mostly ignored. My skin still tingled from earlier, every nerve on edge after Marcus's visit. I hadn't stopped thinking about it. The look in his eyes. That deliberate pause before he said, "Tell him I saw everything."

Jay stepped into the room, looking maddeningly relaxed in a black T-shirt and grey joggers, his hair slightly damp from a shower. He smelled like spice and heat and ownership.

His eyes found me instantly—naked and flushed, the book forgotten in my lap.

"Good girl," he murmured, dropping his keys on the side and walking straight toward me. "Still naked."

I nodded, heart already picking up speed. "Of course."

He leaned down and kissed me. Slow. Lazy. But his hand cupped my breast and gave it a firm squeeze as he did, fingers grazing the nipple.

"Tell me about Marcus," he said casually as he settled into the armchair across from me, spreading his legs just a little too wide.

I raised an eyebrow. "I already did."

"Not properly," he said, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, jaw tilted. "I want to hear the details."

I swallowed.

"He rang the bell. I thought it was another delivery. I didn't check."

Jay smirked. "So you opened the door. Fully nude."

I nodded.

His eyes darkened. "And?"

"He looked at me," I whispered. "All of me. Didn't even flinch. Just... looked."

Jay's hand adjusted himself in his joggers.

"Did you try to cover up?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

My throat tightened. I shook my head. "No. I liked it."

"Yeah?" he said, voice lower. "What if he'd stepped inside?"

I blinked.

Jay leaned forward slightly. "What if he handed you the box, then said he needed to use the bathroom? Would you have let him in?"

"Jay..."

"No, I'm serious," he grinned, eyes flicking over my body. "Would you have kept acting like nothing was wrong? Let him walk through your house while you stayed just like this?"

I bit my lip.

"You'd sit there on the sofa, tits out, pussy bare, and pretend it was normal?"

My pussy clenched.

Jay watched my reaction with hungry satisfaction. "You'd probably offer him a drink. Maybe turn to reach a glass off the shelf and give him a perfect view of your arse. God, I bet he'd love that."

I couldn't breathe.

"Would you cross your legs?" he asked softly. "Or let him see exactly how wet you are?"

I didn't answer.

Jay stood and crossed to me in two steps, grabbing my ankle and dragging me gently but firmly to the edge of the sofa.

"Because you're soaking right now, aren't you?"

He knelt between my legs, eyes never leaving mine. "You got off on him seeing you. Didn't you?"

I nodded, barely able to form the word. "Yes."

"Next time," Jay whispered, lips brushing the inside of my thigh, "maybe I will invite him in. See what my girl does."

I gasped as his tongue slipped between my folds—slow, claiming, impossible to resist. And I moaned like I wanted to be watched all over again.

Just Imagine It

Jay's mouth was already on me.

I gasped as his tongue dragged a slow, deliberate line up my soaked pussy, one hand sliding beneath my thigh to tilt my hips toward him. He wasn't gentle. He was hungry. His tongue moved with intent—pressing, flicking, circling my clit like he owned it.

And he did.

"Fuck..." I whispered, hands clawing at the cushions behind me. My back arched as he locked one arm across my hip and sucked my clit between his lips, hard and deep.

My thighs trembled. Every inch of me was lit up. It wasn't just what he was doing—it was everything that had led to this. Marcus. The door. The thrill. The look in Jay's eyes when he teased me with what ifs.

He growled against me, and I felt the vibration shoot through my core.

"Say it," he murmured, breath hot against my cunt. "Say what you liked."

"I liked him seeing me," I moaned, hips rolling. "I liked standing there naked, knowing he could see everything."

Jay's tongue dove inside me, firm and deep. I cried out, grinding down on his face, chasing the edge.

He licked me through it all—my slick dripping onto his chin, his fingers spreading me open, letting the light catch how wet I was for him.

"I want to ride you," I gasped suddenly, panting.

He leaned back, mouth shining with me, jaw clenched.

"Then do it," he said. "Come take what's yours."

I straddled him right there on the sofa, lowering myself onto his thick, aching cock in one smooth, desperate motion. We both groaned at the stretch—my soaked pussy swallowing him inch by inch, until I was seated fully, my thighs trembling from the intensity.

Jay's hands gripped my hips.

But I didn't move. Not yet.

Instead, I placed both hands on his chest and leaned forward, eyes locked with his.

"I had a thought," I said softly, breathlessly.

His thumbs stroked my hips. "Yeah?"

I began to rock slowly, letting him feel the tight grip of my pussy around him. Up, down. Up, down. Slow and deep.

"Next time," I whispered, "what if I don't accidentally answer the door naked?"

His eyes darkened.

"What if... you invite someone over. A friend. Or a stranger. And I don't hide."

I rolled my hips harder, faster now. His hands gripped tighter.

"What if I stay just like this?" I gasped, rising and falling on his cock. "Naked. Wet. Legs open. And I pretend it's completely normal."

"Fuck, Tracy..."

"And maybe I don't even stop touching myself," I moaned. "Maybe I smile and offer them tea while I rub my clit in front of them."

Jay's hands slid up to my breasts, squeezing them, eyes wild.

"Would you watch?" I breathed. "Would you tell me what to do in front of them?"

His jaw clenched, breath ragged. "I'd make you come for them."

I cried out, riding him faster now—slapping skin, slick heat, my body clenching around him as the fantasy and reality merged into something uncontrollably hot.

"I'd fucking love that," I gasped. "Knowing you gave me to them. Knowing I'm yours, but they're allowed to watch what you've trained."

Jay exploded beneath me, grabbing my hips and driving up into me with a deep, rough growl. I felt him pulse, thick spurts flooding me as I came too—my pussy clenching around him, my cry caught in my throat as the orgasm ripped through me.

We collapsed into each other, panting, shaking, slick with sweat and sex.

He brushed his lips against my neck, still hard inside me.

"That fantasy?" he whispered.

I nodded weakly, my head against his chest.

He smiled.

"Let's make it real."

The Picnic

It was the kind of Saturday that begged to be wasted in the sun.

Jay had texted me early, saying he had an idea—"nothing big, just lunch somewhere quiet." I didn't ask for details. I liked it when he planned things. I liked it even more when I didn't know what was coming.

By midday, I was packed and dressed.

Well, dressed might be generous.

He told me exactly what to wear: my long beige trench coat. Nothing underneath.

No bra. No knickers. No shoes for walking—just sandals. Loose hair, light makeup, and a bottle of wine in my bag next to the plastic cutlery.

When he pulled up outside, I felt a warm flutter between my legs. I'd already broken a sweat just thinking about it.

The drive was peaceful. Jay didn't speak much. Just slid his hand onto my bare thigh at every red light, thumb tracing slow circles up toward the place I was most aware of.

We parked at the edge of a country meadow—sun-drenched and open, with a gentle slope that led to a lookout point shaded by a few tall trees. The kind of spot families might visit in the morning... and couples claimed in the afternoon.

Jay carried the blanket and food. I walked ahead, the coat shifting around my calves, the warm air slipping beneath the fabric to brush across bare, sensitive skin.

When we reached the top, we spread the blanket on the short grass and sat down.

There were others nearby. Not many. A couple down the hill, another pair walking a dog in the distance. Far enough away not to hear us. But close enough to see—if they looked at the right moment.

Jay poured us wine.

I sat cross-legged, holding my glass, the coat parting slightly with every shift. I could feel the edges of it pulling apart. The warmth on my skin where it had opened. The breeze dancing between my thighs.

"You look perfect," he said simply.

I smiled, flushed.

We ate slowly—fruit, bread, olives. He fed me grapes from his fingers. The heat made me drowsy and flushed, but under the surface, I buzzed with anticipation.

Then he leaned back on one elbow and looked at me.

"Unbutton one."

I glanced around. No one was watching. Not obviously.

I reached up and undid the top button of the coat.

"Another."

I obeyed. Another.

The fourth button released, and the coat dropped open at the front, revealing my breasts—soft, heavy, flushed in the sun. My nipples already taut.

Jay looked at me like I was dessert.

"You're the most stunning thing I've ever seen."

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, and kissed one nipple. His tongue flicked out, just once, and I whimpered.

Then he pulled the coat fully open and pushed me down onto the blanket.

"Keep your eyes open," he murmured. "If someone looks, I want you to know."

His hand slid between my thighs, finding how wet I already was. One finger sank inside, and I gasped—hips lifting off the blanket as his mouth closed around my nipple again.

I writhed under him, spread open on a sunlit hill, coat flared beneath me like a stage curtain. My pussy throbbed with every slow stroke of his fingers. My breasts glistened in the heat as he licked and sucked, turning me to jelly.

Then I heard it. A footstep. Grass crunching. Not close, but... near. I turned my head—and my breath caught in my throat.

Marcus.

Leaning casually against a tree, half in the shade, sunglasses on, water bottle in hand. No surprise in his posture. Just a faint smirk. Like he'd been standing there for longer than I realised. He was watching. All of it. I locked eyes with him. I should've panicked. Covered myself. Shouted. I didn't.

Instead, I moaned softly, loud enough for him to hear. Jay looked up, noticed the shift in my gaze. He turned, saw Marcus. And didn't stop. He pulled his fingers free from my soaked cunt, pushed his joggers down, and knelt between my thighs.

"You still want it?" he asked softly.

I nodded. "Yes."

He slid inside me in one smooth, perfect stroke—and I arched back on the blanket, fully visible, completely bared to the man watching from the trees.

Jay fucked me slowly at first, deliberately. Each thrust was a show. His hips rocking against mine as the coat slipped off my shoulders entirely. My body was on display—sunlit, open, his. And Marcus watched it all.

His, Seen

Jay was inside me. Deep, warm, stretching me open perfectly.

The blanket rustled softly beneath my back with each motion, but the rest of the world seemed to still. The wind calmed. The air thickened. Even the distant birdsong felt quieter, as if the world itself were holding its breath for us.

My coat lay discarded around me like parchment—light against the grass, offering no coverage at all. My breasts swayed gently with each slow thrust, nipples still slick from Jay's tongue, catching glints of sunlight as I moved.

His hands gripped my thighs, thumbs pressing into the softness just above my knees, spreading me wide for him. My pussy welcomed every slow push, every retreat, wet and tight and desperate to be filled again.

But it was his eyes that held me there. Jay's gaze was locked on mine, dark and steady. There was no smirk. No playful comment. Just command.

"Keep your eyes on me," he murmured. "Unless you want to look at him."

A shiver rippled down my spine. Because I did want to look. I couldn't help myself.

I turned my head just slightly—just enough to see Marcus, still leaning against the tree, still watching. One hand on his hip. The other resting casually by his side. His stance said: This is exactly what I expected.

He could see everything. The way Jay's cock stretched me. The flush rising over my breasts. The way my hips rolled into every slow thrust, hungry for more.

Jay leaned down, his mouth grazing my ear. "He's still watching."

My breath hitched.

"He's seen your pussy take me. Seen how wet you get just from being watched."

I whimpered—soft, desperate. My fingers tangled in the blanket beneath me, needing something to hold onto.

Jay didn't speed up. He stayed deep and slow, every thrust a statement, every inch of him sliding inside like he was etching his claim into me.

"Do you want him to keep watching?"

I didn't answer out loud.

My legs wrapped tighter around him, pulling him deeper, tilting my hips just enough to give Marcus an even better view of where we joined.

Jay chuckled darkly against my cheek.

"That's what I thought."

He kissed me—long, possessive, tongue deep and slow like the rest of him—and then sat back on his heels, hands gripping my waist as he adjusted his angle, thrusting forward with a lazy roll of his hips that sent stars bursting behind my eyes.

The heat inside me coiled tighter. My pussy clenched around him, slick and aching. My lips parted, but I couldn't speak. I couldn't even think. I was his. And I was being watched. And it felt... perfect.

The Edge and Over

Jay's hands were on my hips now—firm, steady, grounding me as the slow rhythm intensified just slightly. Still deliberate. Still deep. But each thrust began to carry more weight, more hunger.

My head fell back, a moan escaping my lips—long, needy, half-wild.

The heat inside me had been building for too long. Every inch of my body was primed—nerves buzzing, skin damp, breath shallow and broken.

And he knew.

He could feel how close I was. How my pussy clenched around him tighter with every stroke. How my nails dug into his arms as I held on.

Jay bent over me again, his cock buried to the hilt, and whispered against my cheek.

"Cum for me."

I gasped.

"I want you to fall apart," he said. "Right here, with your legs open, tits out, his eyes on you."

The tension snapped.

It hit like a wave—no, like a collapse. Not just in my body but in something deeper. My back arched, thighs locking around Jay's waist as the orgasm crashed through me—violent, helpless, world-ending.

I screamed. Truly screamed. No restraint. No care who heard. My body convulsed beneath him, muscles seizing, toes curling, the world going white at the edges of my vision.

I was shaking.

My chest heaved, every breath ragged and wet with the aftershocks. Jay didn't move. Just held me there, cock still inside me, riding out the tremors with slow, grounding thrusts.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Fucking beautiful."

He slipped out of me carefully. My pussy clenched at the loss, still twitching with aftershocks. Then he moved me.

Gently, but with purpose, he turned me over, onto all fours. My knees wide on the blanket. My breasts hanging heavy, flushed and damp. My pussy still wet, spread open, dripping.

Jay knelt behind me, gripped my hips, and slid his cock back inside. I cried out again. Different now. Raw. Fucked out and wrecked—but still needing. And then—

Jay spoke.

"You should let him see your face now."

I looked up. Marcus was still there. But now, he was walking toward us. Calm. Measured. Unbothered. I didn't speak. Didn't move.

Jay thrust into me from behind, slow and deep, stretching me again as Marcus came closer. Close enough that I could see the outline of his cock, thick and heavy beneath the fabric of his joggers.

He knelt in front of me. My breath caught. Still, he said nothing. He just watched me for a moment—watching my mouth, my eyes, the way my body jolted with every slow push of Jay's cock inside me.

Then he pulled his joggers down just enough to free himself.

God.

Thick. Dark. Already hard. Not as long as Jay, but heavier, the head smooth and gleaming. He held the base in one hand and waited. Jay's hand tangled in my hair.

"You want it?" he asked.

I nodded, lips parting.

"Say it."

"I want his cock in my mouth," I whispered. "Please."

Jay grunted behind me and thrust harder, pushing me forward just enough that my lips brushed against Marcus's shaft.

And then I took him.

My mouth opened around the head, warm and eager, tongue swirling, jaw stretching to accommodate the weight. Marcus let out a low sound—almost a growl—but still didn't speak.

I sucked him slowly at first, matching the rhythm of Jay's thrusts behind me. My mouth was full, my pussy filled, my body trembling again. I had never been more open. More alive.

Filled Completely

Marcus's cock slid deeper into my mouth.

Heavy. Hot. The salt of him already on my tongue. My lips stretched around the thick head as Jay thrust into me from behind—slow at first, letting me adjust to being truly taken.

Both ends. Both men. All of me.

I moaned around Marcus's cock as Jay pushed forward again, filling my pussy to the root, his grip tightening on my hips. The blanket beneath my knees was bunched and damp with sweat and arousal. My body rocked between them with every motion.

There was no rhythm at first. Just need. Chaos. Me being pulled apart and pushed together again, my holes stretched and wet and hungry.

Jay found his pace first. Long, hard strokes that made my breasts bounce, made my vision blur. His balls slapped against my soaked pussy as he slammed into me, his cock driving deeper with each thrust.

I sucked Marcus harder, my hands gripping his thighs for support. He guided me gently but firmly, one hand resting at the back of my head, controlling how deep I took him. His cock hit the back of my throat, and I gagged—but didn't stop. Didn't want to.

I loved it.

I was moaning constantly now. Guttural, shameless sounds vibrating around Marcus's cock as Jay used me like I was built for it.

"You're fucking perfect," Jay grunted behind me. "Taking both of us. My filthy girl."

Marcus let out a quiet groan. "She's got a good mouth."

The first words he'd spoken. Deep. Calm. Like he wasn't even surprised by this.

Jay fucked me harder in response, hips slamming into me, making me jolt forward—taking Marcus deeper.

Tears stung my eyes from the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, the sheer filth of it. I was being shared, on my knees in public, coat fallen away completely, fucked and filled and owned.

And I had never felt more alive.

Jay's thrusts grew erratic. Rougher. His grunts louder.

"Touch your clit," he ordered.

I obeyed instantly, reaching beneath me, my fingers finding that swollen, aching spot. Just one brush and I cried out—muffled by Marcus's cock—my whole body jolting.

"Yeah," Jay growled. "Make yourself cum while we fuck your holes."

Marcus moved faster now too, hand guiding my head up and down his thick shaft, letting me work his length with my lips, my tongue, my throat. I drooled down my chin, my spit mixing with precum, running in strands to the grass below.

Jay grabbed my hips and drove into me with brutal force—once, twice, three more times—and then I felt it:

He came.

Hot, deep spurts filling my pussy. His cock twitching inside me as he buried himself fully, groaning my name.

That was enough.

The orgasm ripped through me again, even harder than the last. My whole body shook. My thighs clenched. My moan was animalistic, raw, my mouth still wrapped around Marcus's cock as I shattered.

I didn't stop sucking.

Marcus's hand tightened.

He grunted low in his chest—and then he came, thick ropes spilling across my tongue and into my throat. I swallowed hungrily, licking him clean, eyes fluttering closed as the taste filled me.

When I finally collapsed onto the blanket, they both stepped back. My body trembled, my chest heaving, legs spread, cum leaking from between my thighs and still smeared on my lips.

I had never been so complete.

Afterglow

I barely heard them move.

My ears were ringing with my heartbeat, with the echoes of moans and skin and grass and need. My chest still rose and fell in short, shaky breaths. My pussy twitched, still dripping with Jay's cum, my throat sore, lips swollen from Marcus.

I felt used. Exposed. Completely, utterly fucked. And I had never felt more right.

Marcus zipped up casually and stepped back, his expression unreadable but his eyes lingering on me a little longer than necessary. I didn't cover myself. Didn't flinch. Just lay there on my side, one leg bent, an arm flopped across my stomach, breasts rising gently with each breath.

He looked at Jay, gave a faint smirk, and held out a fist.

Jay bumped it with a nod—nothing said. Nothing needed.

Then Marcus turned and walked back down the hill, his figure gradually swallowed by the slope and sun. Like he'd never been here at all.

Jay sat beside me, not touching, just watching me for a moment.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now.

I nodded, still catching my breath.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm... more than okay."

He smiled.

I closed my eyes as the sun kissed my skin. My coat was beneath me, barely covering anything. My breasts still glistened with sweat. My thighs sticky. My hair a tangle of sex and wind.

And I didn't care who saw.

I felt so open, like my skin had been peeled away and underneath it all was the real me—hot, aching, desperate to be owned and watched and given. I let out a slow breath and looked up at the sky. How had I gotten here?

From cheeky photos to public exposure to being shared like a prize between two men, outdoors, in full view of anyone who dared to glance up the hill.

And yet I wasn't embarrassed. I was proud. Owned. Adored. Marked.

Jay's fingers brushed mine. I turned to him, eyes half-lidded.

"What now?" I asked softly.

He smiled, not answering.

But I had a feeling there was already another idea forming in that filthy, brilliant mind of his. And I knew—whatever it was—I'd say yes.

House Rules, Revised

The next morning, I was already standing nude in the kitchen—coffee in hand, hips swaying slightly to the quiet music playing through the speakers—when Jay came downstairs in his boxers, scratching his chest and smirking like a man who'd conquered the world.

He reached for the mug I'd set out for him, then paused when he caught my look.

"What?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow and crossed one arm beneath my breasts, letting them lift a little.

"No clothes," I said.

Jay blinked. "I'm not dressed."

I tilted my head, lips curling. "Not naked either."

He stared for a moment, then chuckled, setting the mug down and slipping his boxers off with a shrug.

"You're serious."

"Dead serious," I said, stepping closer. "That rule goes both ways now. My house, my rules."

Jay looked me up and down, clearly enjoying the shift. "Even Marcus?"

"Especially Marcus," I grinned.

I saw the flicker of interest in his eyes.

"And anyone else who steps through that door," I added. "If they want to come in, they leave everything at the threshold."

Jay laughed softly and shook his head. "You're insatiable."

"I'm just getting started."

Bare Plans

Jay stood naked in front of me now, coffee in hand, still adjusting to the role reversal. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, relaxed but beautiful in the morning light. I let my eyes linger.

"See?" I said, sipping mine. "Doesn't it feel better already?"

He smirked. "You just want to look at me."

"Well, yes," I said with a grin. "But that's not the point. This is balance. Fairness. Equality."

Jay laughed and took a slow sip. "So what—you planning to have Marcus strip at the door next time he shows up?"

"Obviously," I said, turning to lean against the counter. My arse brushed the edge, skin against marble. "I think it's only polite."

He chuckled again but didn't argue. I could see it—he liked the way I was owning it now. Reclaiming the game he'd started and turning it into something mine.

There was a brief silence as we drank. Warm morning light poured in through the back windows, casting soft gold across our bare skin.

Then I said it. Casually.

"You know what would be fun?"

Jay looked over, one brow raised. "What?"

"A nudist beach."

His expression shifted. Cautious curiosity. "Seriously?"

"Why not?" I said, turning to face him fully, resting my hip on the counter. "We're already like this here. Imagine doing it out there. Sand on our feet. Sun everywhere. Just... us. No shame. No restrictions."

He tilted his head. "You're saying that like it's just a nice walk in the park."

"It could be," I said, stepping closer. "We don't have to do anything wild. Just be seen. Or not. Feel that breeze everywhere. Lie there naked next to people we don't know, all of us pretending it's normal."

Jay looked at me for a long moment, then gave a slow nod.

"You've changed."

I smiled, kissing his cheek.

"No," I whispered. "I've finally started being who I really am."

Her Afternoon

By midday, I was back on the sofa, nude and glowing, legs curled beneath me as I scrolled idly on my phone. Jay had just finished tidying the kitchen—still nude, of course. He was adjusting well to the new house rule. A few teasing glances, a brush of his cock as he passed me, but nothing more than light touches so far.

I waited until he sat beside me before speaking.

"You know what I want this afternoon?"

Jay glanced over, half-smiling. "I'm guessing it's not Monopoly."

"No," I said, turning toward him, knees brushing his thigh. "I want Marcus here. I want him to come over. Strip at the door like you did. And then..."

He raised an eyebrow. "And then?"

"I want an afternoon where I decide what happens. I want to explore both of you. On my terms. My pace. I want to use you. How I want. Where I want."

Jay was silent for a beat. Not resisting. Just... processing.

"You want to lead."

I nodded. "I want to be the one who says who touches what. I want to taste you both. Sit on your faces. Ride you one after the other if I feel like it. Maybe at the same time."

Jay's eyes darkened, slowly.

"And Marcus?"

"He's here for me. Not to take. To be taken."

Jay let out a quiet breath and stood. His cock twitched as he walked toward the counter, picked up his phone, and tapped out a message.

Then he turned back, a smirk spreading across his face.

"He'll be here in twenty."

Her House, Her Rules

I was already standing by the front door when the knock came.

Still nude, hair loosely pinned up, a slight sheen on my skin from the heat of the afternoon. I'd applied a touch of perfume, something musky and warm that clung to me like a second skin.

Jay was behind me, leaning against the wall—nude too, but silent now. Waiting.

I opened the door slowly.

Marcus stood there in joggers and a sleeveless tee, sunglasses perched on his head, a faint smirk already tugging at his lips. His gaze dropped instantly to my bare breasts, then down, lingering.

He looked up, amused. "No time for clothes today?"

I smiled, slow and measured. "House rule."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Anyone who enters strips. Immediately. You want in?"

Marcus's mouth quirked at the corner, but I saw the flicker of hesitation—just a flash—before he reached behind his neck and pulled the shirt off.

His chest was just as I remembered it—broad, smooth, hard. He kicked off his trainers next, then tugged down his joggers.

I folded my arms beneath my breasts, watching.

No rush.

Let him feel the weight of my eyes for once.

When he straightened up, fully nude, I stepped aside. "Come in."

He crossed the threshold and paused just inside, bare and still slightly guarded now. I liked that.

Jay didn't say a word.

I walked slowly around Marcus once, inspecting him like I might a new toy.

Then I stopped in front of both men.

"I'm in charge today," I said simply. "That means you don't touch unless I say so. You don't speak unless I ask. You do what I want, when I want it."

Neither of them moved.

I tilted my head slightly. "Any objections?"

Jay shook his head. "None."

Marcus hesitated only for a second. "No objections."

I stepped back.

"Good," I said. "Then get on your knees. Both of you."

They did.

Two strong, muscular men kneeling nude before me in my living room—heads slightly bowed, cocks thick and heavy between their thighs. My pulse fluttered at the sight, but I kept my voice calm.

"I'm going to have fun with both of you," I said, stepping forward to run a finger slowly down Marcus's cheek, then across Jay's chest. "But first... I think I'll have a seat."

I turned and walked over to the sofa, reclining slowly, legs spread just enough, the afternoon sun highlighting the swell of my breasts and the gleam between my thighs.

Then I pointed.

"Jay. My pussy. Marcus. My mouth. Now."

They rose as one. And the afternoon began.

Let Them Wait

They rose—obedient, eager, hard. But I didn't let them reach me. Not yet. Jay's eyes flicked down to my spread legs. Marcus's gaze lingered on my breasts, parted lips, the subtle flex of my thighs. Both of them were so ready, so thick and stiff it almost made me lose focus.

But not today.

I lifted a single finger.

"Stop."

They froze mid-step, standing just in front of me—nude, magnificent, straining.

"Did I say I was ready for you?" I asked, voice soft but sharp.

Jay shook his head. "No, ma'am."

Marcus's jaw flexed. "No."

I let my gaze drift slowly between them. Jay's cock pulsed visibly. Marcus's hands twitched at his sides like he was resisting the urge to stroke himself.

I leaned back, dragging one hand lazily down my body. Between my breasts, across my stomach, just barely grazing the top of my mound.

Their eyes followed every movement.

"I want to watch you ache for me first," I said. "I want to see just how much control I have."

Jay let out a slow breath. Marcus said nothing. But his cock gave the faintest twitch.

"On your knees," I said again.

They dropped immediately. I let my legs spread wider on the sofa and dipped two fingers between them. I was already soaked. I circled my clit slowly, staring down at the two of them watching me.

"I want you to look," I whispered. "But you don't get to touch. Not yourselves. Not me."

They stared—hungry, mesmerised, obedient.

I moaned softly, playing with myself in long, slow circles. Not for release. Just for the tension. Just for the sheer filth of having them there on the floor, muscles flexed, cocks hard, waiting.

"You want to taste me?" I asked Jay, breathless now.

"Yes," he rasped.

I turned to Marcus. "And you want to fuck my mouth again, don't you?"

He nodded, eyes dark. "Desperately."

"Then you'll wait until I say."

I brought my fingers to my lips and sucked them clean, still watching them both.

"Now crawl."

Jay and Marcus moved forward—slowly, as instructed—nude and powerful but utterly under my control. They knelt at the edge of the sofa. Close now. The heat of them making my skin prickle. And then I spoke the words they were aching for.

"Now... give me everything."

They surged forward as if released from chains.

Jay settled instantly between my legs, hands sliding beneath my thighs to lift and spread me wider. His breath was hot against my pussy even before his mouth found me—tongue bold, hungry, devouring.

I cried out, hips bucking up into him, my back arching against the cushions.

Then Marcus was above me, one knee on the sofa beside my shoulder, the other on the floor, his cock in hand—thick, dark, heavy.

I met his eyes. Opened my mouth.

He guided himself in, just the head at first, letting me taste the salt of him again. I moaned around him as Jay's tongue dragged slow and hard through my folds, flicking my clit with practised precision.

I was full.

Jay's mouth claimed me from below, his tongue circling and pressing, fingers teasing the slick entrance of my pussy while Marcus slid deeper between my lips, feeding me inch after inch until the head hit the back of my throat.

I gagged softly but didn't pull away.

I welcomed it.

My hands gripped Jay's hair and Marcus's thigh, needing something to anchor me as the sensations collided. I could feel the rhythm starting to sync—Jay's tongue lapping faster as Marcus began to move in slow, deliberate strokes, fucking my mouth with quiet growls of pleasure.

The sounds were obscene.

Wet. Guttural. Real.

My moans vibrated around Marcus's cock with each flick of Jay's tongue against my clit. He was relentless now—tongue and lips and fingers working together, coaxing me, chasing my orgasm with a focus that was almost cruel.

I was trembling already.

Marcus pulled back slightly, letting me breathe. I sucked the head of his cock greedily, tongue swirling around it, then opened wider again, letting him sink back into my throat as I whimpered into him.

Jay slid two fingers into my pussy, curling them just right, just perfect, while his lips wrapped around my clit and sucked.

And I broke.

My body locked.

Back arched.

A strangled scream muffled by Marcus's cock as the orgasm tore through me. My thighs clamped around Jay's head, and still he didn't stop. He held me there—fingers deep, mouth pressed hard—as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me.

I was shaking when he finally slowed, when Marcus pulled out with a long, wet pop.

My chest heaved. My nipples were painfully hard. My pussy still clenched and fluttered around nothing.

But I wasn't done.

I reached for Marcus first, pulling him down to straddle my chest. His cock bounced, slick from my mouth, veins bulging.

"Sit," I ordered breathlessly. "Use my tits."

He did. Kneeling over me, sliding his cock between them as I pressed them together, watching him rock his hips, groaning above me.

Then I turned to Jay, who was licking my slick from his lips.

"Get up here," I said. "I want you inside me."

He climbed up, kissing my inner thigh, then positioned himself between my legs. I guided him in—still soaked, still pulsing—and we both moaned as he pushed in deep with one long, hard stroke.

I was stuffed.

My tits bounced with each thrust as Marcus fucked them. His cockhead brushed my chin with each movement, his eyes locked on mine. Jay was pounding into me now, fast and hard, hips slapping against my thighs as my body took every inch.

I couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

My hands clawed at their skin, my mouth open, moaning, pleading. I was their toy, their prize, their plaything—and yet it was me in charge.

This was what I wanted.

This was everything.

Jay's rhythm stuttered. He growled as he slammed in deep and held it—spurting hot cum inside me, thick and filling. I screamed again, another orgasm crashing into me from the fullness, from the sheer filth of it.

Marcus gave a final thrust between my tits and painted my throat and chin with thick, pulsing ropes. I moaned, catching some on my tongue, letting it drip down my chest.

They collapsed around me, breathless, drenched in sweat.

I lay there, body wrecked, cunt leaking, skin streaked with cum and sunlight.

And I smiled.

Because I had everything.

Bare and Basking

The water was warm. Soothing.

Jay stood behind me in the shower, arms wrapped around my waist, his lips brushing the back of my neck as the spray cascaded over us both. His cock, soft now, rested against the curve of my bum. His hands were slow. Unhurried. Exploring, not taking.

Marcus stood just outside the shower, leaning casually against the tiled wall, arms crossed, watching.

We'd pulled him in eventually. Stripped him of tension just like I'd stripped away his clothes at the door. I'd made him promise that next time, he'd let me be on top of him. Just me. Just mine.

Now he smiled faintly as Jay lathered my skin with a sponge, soft circles tracing over my hips and breasts, my stomach, my thighs. The touch was reverent. Devoted.

I tilted my head back and sighed.

The water washed away the sweat and sex, but not the ache. That would linger. So would the look on both their faces when they came—Marcus painting my throat, Jay buried deep inside me.

I felt deliciously used. And utterly worshipped.

We eventually moved outside, nude still, towels slung over sun loungers in the back garden. The sun was warm and low, the afternoon quiet. A few bees drifted lazily past the lavender. A wine glass rested in my hand, my legs crossed, my skin still tingling.

Jay sat beside me, eyes half-closed, one hand loosely resting on my knee.

Marcus was nearby, arms behind his head, cock resting heavily against his thigh.

I turned my face toward the sun and sighed.

"You know," I said casually, "this would be even better with a sea breeze."

Jay cracked an eye open. "Oh?"

"A nudist beach," I said, glancing at them both. "I'm bringing it up again. And this time, I mean it."

Marcus turned his head toward me. "You want to go be naked in public again?"

I smiled. "I want us to be. Let's take this out of the garden. Out of the house. I want to feel the sand, the heat, the eyes. I want to lie back and tan every inch of me while strangers pretend not to look."

Jay chuckled softly. "You're becoming a bit of a nudity addict."

"No," I said. "I'm becoming me. You two just happened to bring it out."

Marcus reached for his wine, eyes still on me. "You find a place, and I'll be there."

Jay grinned. "Yeah. Let's do it."

And just like that, the idea began to bloom—sunlight, bare skin, curious glances, and whatever else might follow.

But that would be another day.

For now, I leaned back and let the sun soak into my naked body, wondering how far I could take this... and how far they'd let me go.

Becoming Me

It was late.

The boys had gone home, leaving behind the scent of skin and the echo of laughter in the cushions and creases of the house. The garden was still warm from the day, the sky deep indigo with the first stars blinking awake.

I padded barefoot through the house, still naked. No point in dressing now.

The feel of the tiles under my soles, the night breeze slipping through the open windows and brushing my bare nipples—it all felt... right. Natural.

I didn't feel exposed anymore.

I felt free.

I poured myself a small glass of wine, then wandered out to the garden. The loungers were still there, rumpled from earlier. I lay back on one, glass resting on my stomach, my breasts rising and falling in the darkness.

And I thought.

About where I'd been.

And where I was now.

It was hard to believe that only weeks ago I'd been sending cheeky little pictures from behind clothes, blushing at the idea of being caught with a bit too much cleavage.

Now... now I had two men kneeling naked before me, waiting for permission to touch me. Now I answered the door in nothing but a smile. Now I lay out under the open sky, legs parted, my skin kissed by moonlight, wondering who might see.

And I loved it.

Not just the attention. Not just the sex.

But what it unlocked in me.

Something raw. Confident. Shameless.

I used to be afraid of that part of myself. Used to think it was something that had to be tamed or hidden or only whispered about after a few glasses of wine.

But now?

Now I wanted to show it off.

I wanted to feel wind on every inch of me. I wanted strangers to watch me cum. I wanted the thrill of being on display—not for approval, but for the power of it.

For the woman it let me be.

I took a slow sip of wine and let my free hand drift between my thighs, not for orgasm, but for presence. Just to feel myself. To honour the heat that always lingered now. The ache that meant I was alive, awake, whole.

I wasn't trying to be someone's fantasy anymore.

I was becoming my own.

Chapter: The First Step

It was just past ten when I slipped the dress over my bare skin. No underwear. No bra. Just me.

The soft fabric floated down my body, whisper-light against my freshly moisturised thighs. I'd taken my time getting ready—shaved smooth, hair up, skin glowing. I'd packed a towel, water, my sunglasses, and a book I wouldn't read. I told myself it was just a drive. Just a look.

But I knew.

I was going.

Alone.

To the beach.

The beach.

Clothing optional.

Just thinking about it made my nipples harden.

The drive was quiet. Twenty-five minutes, no traffic. I barely listened to the radio. My thoughts were too loud. What if I got there and couldn't go through with it? What if someone I knew was there? What if they stared?

But then I pictured myself lying back in the sun, legs parted slightly, skin kissed by breeze and warmth... completely, deliberately uncovered.

I smiled.

And kept driving.

~~~

The car park was half-full. Discreet. I followed a gravel path over the dunes, heart thudding harder with each step. There were signs:

Clothing Optional Beyond This Point.

I paused at the top of the dune and scanned the beach.

It wasn't packed—maybe a dozen people in sight, mostly spread out. An older couple nude and reading. A lone man lying on his stomach, tanning. A pair of women chatting topless under umbrellas.

Nobody leering.

Nobody staring.

Nobody performing.

Just people. At ease.

I walked further down—away from the main trail—and found a patch of soft, golden sand against the slope of a dune. Secluded but not hidden. Just enough.

I laid down my towel. Stood barefoot. Took a deep breath.

And slowly, with my heart hammering, pulled the dress over my head.

I was naked.

Outdoors.

In public.

I let the sun touch me—my nipples, my belly, the tops of my thighs—and exhaled the nerves right out of my body.

I lay down on the towel and closed my eyes, letting the warmth sink into every inch of skin. I imagined someone walking by... and seeing me. Really seeing me. I pictured their breath catching. Their eyes lingering on the curve of my breasts, the part between my legs, my soft, flushed smile.

That thought alone sent a pulse between my thighs.

After a few minutes, I opened my eyes. A man was walking past, not close, maybe fifty yards down. Late forties, wiry, completely nude. He glanced over, then nodded gently before continuing on.

No gawking. No pause.

Just... acknowledgement.

It was oddly thrilling.

Later, another pair passed—two younger men, maybe thirties, both nude, chatting and carrying water bottles. One of them looked my way, did a slight double take... and smiled. I didn't smile back.

I just stayed where I was.

Let him look.

Let him wonder.

~~~

I rolled onto my stomach after a while, my hips swaying gently, the sand cool under my chest, the breeze brushing the swell of my arse. I parted my legs slightly, just enough to feel the air kiss the most secret part of me.

I was pulsing. Slow and steady. Not from touch, but from freedom.

From exposure.

From the risk.

Another woman passed by. Mid-fifties, nude, confident. She gave me a warm smile and said softly, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

I smiled back, cheeks flushed. "It really is."

And I meant it.

~~~

I stayed for nearly two hours.

Eventually, I stood, brushed the sand from my skin, and slowly dressed—no rush. Each slide of fabric over my glowing, sun-warmed body felt intimate, almost teasing. I'd been seen. Not fucked. Not objectified. Just seen.

And that, somehow, was even more powerful. Back at the car, I checked my phone.

A message from Jay:

"Thinking of you naked. Where are you?"

I snapped a picture of my towel, the dunes, the distant ocean. Just the corner of my bare foot in frame.

"You'll never guess," I replied.

Then I started the engine. Still not wearing any knickers.

Return Invitation

I waited a couple of days.

Not because I was unsure—but because I wanted to savour it. The memory of the sun on my bare skin, the sand under my toes, the casual glances of strangers passing by. The feeling of being nude, seen, and in control had left something glowing inside me. A kind of quiet fire.

And I wanted more. More breeze. More risk. More audience. This time... I didn't want to go alone.

Jay arrived Friday night, fresh from a shower, his T-shirt clinging to his chest, shorts slung low on his hips. I met him at the door, still naked, of course. He didn't even blink anymore.

He just smiled. "You really don't wear clothes around the house now, do you?"

"Nope," I said, turning and walking away. "House rules, remember?"

He followed me through the kitchen to the back garden, where the last of the light was still golden. I poured us wine. He settled beside me, barefoot, eyes lingering on my breasts like he hadn't seen them a thousand times.

We clinked glasses. Sat in easy silence.

And then I said it.

"I want to take you somewhere tomorrow."

Jay glanced sideways. "Oh?"

"A beach," I said simply. "But not just any beach."

I watched his brows rise.

"You remember that photo I sent you the other day?" I asked.

"The one with the towel and the sand?"

I nodded. "Clothing optional beach. I went nude. For two hours. Alone."

Jay stared at me, stunned.

I let the silence stretch.

"No one touched me. No one even spoke to me. But they saw me, Jay. Every inch. I've never felt so... calm. And powerful."

He set his wine down. "And you want to take me?"

I nodded. "I want you there. Naked. Beside me. On display. Just like me."

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he gave that half-smile I loved.

"You think I won't do it?"

"I think you'll do it," I said, sliding onto his lap, my bare thighs draping over his. "But I also think you don't know just how thrilling it is yet."

Jay's hands found my hips. "Then I guess you'll have to show me."

"I plan to," I whispered. "Tomorrow."

The Night Before

We'd done nothing all afternoon.

Nothing except lie naked in the sun. Talk. Laugh. Touch. Drink. Let the hours slip by warm and slow.

Jay had been with me since lunch, obeying house rules without hesitation—nude from the moment he stepped inside. His toned body lounged in the garden chair like he belonged there. Like this was normal now. Sun on his chest, a half-glass of rosé beside him, his cock resting thick and relaxed against his thigh.

And I loved it.

Loved the way he'd stopped trying to cover himself. Loved how he looked at me—every time—like he still couldn't believe his luck.

But now the sun had dipped lower. Shadows stretched across the grass. The wine was gone.

And the heat between us had turned into something else.

I stood and stretched, bare and lazy, my skin warm and tingling. Jay watched, his gaze moving over my breasts, the line of my stomach, the soft swell of my thighs.

"You coming inside?" I asked.

He didn't answer. Just stood and followed.

Inside, the air was cooler. The windows still open, the night breeze lifting the curtains just enough to tease.

I led him to the living room and turned, facing him.

"Lie down," I said.

Jay obeyed, sinking onto the sofa, arms behind his head. His cock stirred already, half-hard and twitching with anticipation.

I didn't touch him at first. I just straddled him—slow, deliberate—my bare pussy grazing the ridge of his shaft as I settled above him. Not taking him. Not yet.

My breasts swayed slightly with the movement, nipples already tight. His hands twitched but didn't rise. He knew better.

"I loved today," I said, rocking gently, grinding the slick length of him between my folds. "But I want tonight to be slower."

He groaned softly. "You're driving me mad."

"Good," I whispered, and leaned in to kiss him.

It was open-mouthed and deep. Wet. My hips moved in slow circles, smearing my arousal all over him. His cock was slick and hard beneath me now, pressed against my clit with every pass.

I reached behind and held him, guiding his tip to my entrance. Then I sank down. Slowly. Inch by inch until he was fully inside me.

We both gasped. But I didn't move yet. I stayed seated on him, deep and full, my walls clenching already.

"You feel too good," I whispered against his lips. "I want to feel you for hours."

And then I began to ride him. Not fast. Not hard. Just a slow, deliberate rhythm that made his hands clench on the cushions. My breasts bounced softly, nipples brushing his chest. His cock throbbed inside me with every roll of my hips.

At one point, I leaned back, hands braced on his knees, giving him the full view—my body glowing, open, his. My fingers found my clit and I touched myself in lazy circles as I rode him, moaning low and deep in my throat.

"You love watching me, don't you?" I said.

Jay's voice was hoarse. "I can't take my eyes off you."

I smiled. "Good."

My orgasm crept up slowly—no sharp edge, just a deep, warm flood that built in waves. I didn't cry out this time. I moaned. Long and thick and guttural as I clenched around him, shaking.

He was close. I could feel it.

But I wasn't done.

I leaned forward again, pinned his wrists to the sofa, and fucked him properly. Still slow, but with purpose now. Wet, audible thrusts. His cock filling me again and again.

He begged to cum.

I kissed him and whispered, "Now."

Jay let go with a loud groan, hips bucking beneath me as he came deep inside, filling me in thick, pulsing waves.

I didn't move. I just lay on top of him, my breath hot on his neck, his cock still buried inside me, softening slowly.

We stayed there, tangled, quiet. My fingers traced circles on his chest. Tomorrow we'd go to the beach. Nude. Seen. But tonight was just us. And it was perfect.

The First Time Together

The light woke me before the alarm.

A soft gold glow was spilling through the curtains, warming the sheets tangled around my legs. Jay was still beside me, one arm across my stomach, one of his legs between mine. His cock—soft but substantial—rested against my thigh. His body warm, his breath deep and steady.

I didn't move for a while. I just lay there, skin against skin, savouring the silence before the day began. Today. Today. We were doing it. Together.

I slid out from beneath his arm and padded into the kitchen nude, of course. The tiles cool under my feet, the air already warm through the open windows. I brewed coffee and brought two mugs back, placing one on the nightstand.

Jay stirred. Blinked at me.

"Mmm... morning," he said, voice thick and rough.

"Morning," I purred, slipping the sheet off him entirely.

His body stretched long and lazy in the sun. I stood at the foot of the bed, coffee in hand, eyes drinking him in.

"Still want to go?" I asked.

Jay smiled, rubbing his eyes. "I said I would."

"You did," I said. "But you were inside me at the time. I wasn't sure if you meant it or were just agreeing to keep the ride going."

"I meant it," he said, sitting up. "I want to see it. Do it. With you."

"Then we'd better get you ready," I said, setting my mug down.

I stepped closer. Jay watched as I knelt between his legs and took him into my mouth, slow and deep—his cock swelling in my throat, his fingers sinking into my hair.

Just a little morning confidence boost. When I stood again, I kissed him and left him dazed.

~~~

Getting ready took no time.

No clothes to choose. No knickers to fight with.

I rubbed sunscreen into my skin, slow circles over my breasts, my thighs, my stomach. Jay watched, still naked, leaning in the doorway.

"You're going to make this unbearable."

I raised a brow. "It's supposed to be unbearable."

I packed the same bag as before—two towels this time, water, fruit, sunglasses, condoms. Just in case.

Jay laughed when he saw me tuck them in. "You think we're going to end up shagging on the beach?"

"I hope we don't," I said. "Which probably means we will."

We both slipped into loose clothes. No underwear, obviously. I wore a linen sundress, white and breezy. Jay pulled on a pair of athletic shorts and a plain tee. His cock was clearly visible beneath the thin fabric. I made no comment—just smirked and handed him the keys.

~~~

The drive was quiet, charged.

Jay kept glancing at me. I could tell he was nervous. Excited, but unsure.

"You know," I said, reaching over to rest my hand on his thigh, "no one cares. No one stares. It's not like the fantasies."

"I don't mind if they do," he said, giving me a sidelong glance. "As long as they know I'm with you."

That made something stir deep in my belly.

Possessive Jay was a rare treat.

I squeezed his thigh and looked back out the window.

"You'll see," I said. "You'll never want to wear clothes again."

Skin and Sunlight

The sand crunched softly beneath our feet.

We'd parked up, passed the small wooden sign—Clothing Optional Beyond This Point—and now the beach opened wide before us. Rolling dunes, golden light, the hush of sea breeze and distant waves. Maybe a dozen people scattered across the sand, spaced comfortably apart.

Some fully nude, others topless or lounging with a towel draped lazily across their hips. No one stared. No one gawked.

It felt right. I glanced at Jay. He was taking it all in. The view. The calm. The occasional bare breast or cock that didn't feel provocative—just normal.

I reached down, took his hand, and guided him along the dunes until we found a quiet spot. Not hidden. But not on top of anyone either. Close enough to be seen. That was the point, after all.

We laid out our towels, side by side, and stood in the warm hush of the morning. Jay hesitated. I didn't. I stepped out of my sandals and pulled the sundress over my head in one smooth movement. Now I was naked. Here. Again.

Sunlight hit my skin and the wind moved softly over my breasts, brushing my nipples, curling between my thighs. I let my arms hang loose by my sides and exhaled.

Jay was watching me. His throat moved as he swallowed. I said nothing. Just looked him in the eye. He nodded once. And began to undress.

T-shirt first, lifting it over his head. Then his shorts. He wasn't wearing underwear. His cock hung heavy, half-stirred already. He stepped out of his shoes and stood up straight, shoulders back, arms relaxed.

Completely bare. My heart thudded—not with nerves, but with pride. He looked incredible. And he was mine.

He looked at me then. "Like this?"

I stepped in closer and ran my fingers down his chest, then lower, until my hand brushed the top of his cock.

"Exactly like that."

We lay down on the towels, side by side, sun on our skin, the sound of the ocean stretching around us. Jay shifted slightly, adjusting himself.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "It's just... a lot."

"Too much?"

"No." He turned his head to look at me. "It's perfect."

I reached over and rested my hand on his thigh. Just a casual touch. But the way he looked at me—it was anything but casual. There would be more later. But for now? We lay back in the sun. Nude. Exposed. Together.

Watching Eyes

We lay there, bare under the sun, our bodies settling into the warm press of the towels. I closed my eyes and let the sunlight toast every inch of me—nipples tightening, thighs tingling with awareness. Jay was quiet beside me, breathing slow and steady, his fingers occasionally brushing mine.

Time passed differently here.

The usual clocks—phones, schedules, headlines—didn't exist on this stretch of sand. Just skin. Just air.

A shadow moved across us.

I opened my eyes and saw a couple strolling slowly past. Mid-fifties, fit, relaxed, both nude. The woman had a soft curve to her hips and a streak of silver through her short hair. The man was tanned, confident, his cock swinging easily with each step.

They smiled.

"Beautiful morning," the woman said, her eyes flicking warmly over Jay and then settling on me.

"The best," I replied, sitting up slightly, breasts lifting in the sun. I didn't cover myself. Didn't even flinch.

"I haven't seen you two here before," the man added, his voice low and pleasant.

"First time for him," I said, touching Jay's thigh lightly. "Second for me."

Jay gave a polite nod, his cock twitching slightly in the corner of my eye.

"Welcome, then," she said. "You picked a lovely spot. Just enough breeze to keep things interesting."

Her tone lingered on the word interesting, and we all shared the faintest smile.

Then they moved on.

Jay exhaled once they were gone. "I thought they were going to stop longer."

"Would you have minded?"

He glanced at me. "Honestly? No. It kind of turned me on."

I leaned in and kissed his shoulder. "Good."

We lay back again. But now there was a charge in the air—thin, electric.

A few more people walked past over the next half hour. No one stared. But I noticed the subtle glances, the half-pauses, the slight tilt of heads as they looked at us.

At me.

And I... didn't look away.

Jay's cock began to swell again, slowly, lazily, resting against his stomach. I reached over and stroked a fingertip along the shaft. Just once.

He sucked in a breath.

"You know what I want to do?" I murmured.

He turned to look at me. "What?"

"I want to make you cum while people walk past. Just once. Just to know they could see if they looked."

His cock twitched hard.

I straddled him, slow and fluid, facing toward the sea. My back arched as I hovered above him, letting my pussy brush the tip of his shaft—slick and ready, already aching.

Jay groaned.

Somewhere nearby, footsteps crunched on sand, paused, then continued. I didn't look. I just slid down onto him. Fully. Deeply. Both of us moaned.

The ocean covered most of the sound. But I knew people were close. A couple had laid towels a little further up. Someone sat reading a book nearby. I could feel them.

Watching? Maybe. Maybe not.

But that was the thrill.

I began to ride him slowly, rolling my hips, my breasts bouncing lightly in the sun. Jay's hands rested on my thighs, then moved to cup my arse, pulling me down deeper.

His cock filled me perfectly, and with each grind I got wetter, bolder. The heat. The risk. The possibility of being seen. It pushed me closer, second by second.

"Fuck, Tracy," he whispered, "they're watching."

"I know," I breathed, and rode him harder.

Seen

I rode him harder now.

The slow rhythm had shifted—no longer careful or teasing. My arousal was thick and insistent, each bounce of my hips wet and deliberate. The sound of our bodies meeting was soft but unmistakable, even over the hush of the sea.

I didn't care. I wanted to be heard. I could feel eyes on us. Not imagined now—real.

The reading man nearby had lowered his book. His gaze lingered on the sway of my breasts, the wet heat of our connection. Further up the beach, the older couple from earlier had paused again—pretending to admire the sea, but their bodies were angled toward us.

A younger man with a backpack had stopped just off the path, frozen in place. His sunglasses made it hard to tell, but I could feel it. The attention. The hunger.

And it made me burn.

Jay's hands clutched at my hips, holding on as I ground down, swivelling my hips in hard, wet circles. His cock was so deep I could feel him pulsing already, right at the edge.

"Fuck," he gasped. "I'm gonna—"

"Not yet," I hissed.

I slowed, just enough to feel the ache build. I reached down between us, rubbing my clit in fast, practiced circles, bouncing harder now, thighs slapping against his.

His cock twitched violently.

"Look at them," I moaned, tossing my head toward the side. "Let them see you make me cum."

Jay's eyes locked on the man still standing there. Watching. Staring. Stroking himself now—openly. That tipped me.

My orgasm ripped through me with no warning. A full-body quake. My head snapped back, mouth open in a silent cry, my pussy clenching hard around Jay's cock as I milked him, shaking, gasping.

He growled—growled—and thrust up into me with force. One. Two. Three hard slams. And then he came.

Hot, thick pulses spilling deep inside, his hands gripping me so tight I'd feel it later. His head buried against my chest, groaning against my skin.

I collapsed on top of him, both of us panting. Utterly spent. I opened my eyes after a long moment.

The older couple had walked on, slowly. The man with the book was smiling quietly, returning to his page. The backpack guy was gone now—perhaps finished with his viewing pleasure.

Jay laughed beneath me, still inside me, his chest rising and falling.

"I can't believe we did that," he whispered.

I kissed his jaw.

"I can," I said. "And we're doing it again."

The Walk Back

We didn't dress.

There was no rush.

Jay stood first, stretching, his cock still soft but heavy between his legs, streaked with the final sheen of our climax. I rose a moment later, my legs unsteady, my skin tingling with the kind of afterglow that made every movement feel like a caress.

As I stepped forward, I felt it. A thick, warm trail sliding down the inside of my thigh. His cum. Still inside me. Now leaking out. I didn't wipe it away. Instead, I reached for Jay's hand and pulled him toward the waterline.

The sun was sinking low, casting golden ribbons across the surface of the sea. Our shadows stretched long in front of us as we walked side by side, our feet kicking at the cool foam of the surf.

We were naked. Utterly exposed. And neither of us said a word.

My breasts moved freely with every step, nipples still tight from the lingering thrill. The breeze kissed the flushed skin of my chest, my thighs, the damp space between my legs where his release still clung and slid with every motion.

Jay glanced down at me, his eyes trailing the slow roll of white against my skin.

"Jesus," he murmured, voice rough. "That's... hot."

I gave him a slow smile.

"Think anyone can tell?"

He looked behind us. "Only if they follow the trail."

I laughed—open, light—and leaned into him.

We passed a man with a wide straw hat and a small dog. He gave us a polite nod, as if we weren't both glistening and flushed, walking barefoot and bare-assed across the sand. A couple further along looked up briefly from their towels, then back down, respectful, unfazed.

But I knew. I knew they could smell it. Feel it. The sex still hanging in the air around us like a fog. And I loved it. Jay's hand never left mine.

By the time we reached the dunes, his cock had begun to stir again—just slightly. Enough to make him shift as he walked. Enough for me to feel the thrum starting all over again in my belly.

We stopped at the car and looked back once more.

"You ready to show Marcus next time?" I asked, fingers tracing the curve of Jay's bare hip.

He turned, surprised. Then grinned.

"Only if you do what you just did," he said, voice low. "And make sure he's watching."

Let's Go Further

The days after the picnic felt both ordinary and surreal.

Jay was back at work, slipping into shirts and trousers again, checking emails and chasing clients. I was still nude at home—my now-unbreakable house rule—but something in me itched.

Restless.

Changed.

It wasn't just the memory of Jay between my thighs, or Marcus kneeling before me, feeding me his cock while I was bent over and moaning into open air. It was the way they looked at me. The way the breeze teased across my exposed skin, and how I didn't care that anyone might walk by.

That someone did.

I couldn't stop thinking about that man in the distance—still, quiet, watching as I rode Jay. Had he touched himself while I came?

Would others have stopped if they knew what was happening just over the dune?

Would they join in?

It had been days, but the memory kept flickering back. I'd run my fingers between my thighs more than once thinking about it. Wondering what might have happened if we hadn't pulled the blanket back up. If I'd beckoned one of them over...

Now, I wanted more. Not just Jay. Not just Marcus. Possibility.

So I texted Jay.

T: Saturday. Us and Marcus again? Nudist beach.

T: Same spot.

T: I want to see if anyone joins us this time.

The reply came fast.

J: You're insatiable.

T: You love it.

J: I'll call Marcus.

I lay back in the sun, bare, breasts rising with each breath, and pictured it: three towels side by side, their bodies stretching beside mine, my legs open to whoever walked past... and the knowing look I'd give if they paused.

This time, I wasn't just open to being watched. I was ready to welcome it.

Stirring the Heat

Saturday morning started the same way as every other this week—nude, sunlit, and deliciously free.

I padded into the kitchen barefoot, still sticky with sleep. My hair was loose around my shoulders, my breasts swaying slightly with each step. The cool air kissed my bare skin as I leaned over the counter to start the coffee machine, and I caught sight of myself in the reflection of the oven door.

Confident. Curvy. Absolutely unapologetic.

Jay was at the gym. He'd be back soon, already buzzing about our beach plans. I could practically hear his voice from last night:

"You sure you want others to see that body?"

And my answer?

"I want them to want it. But know they can't have it unless I say so."

I sipped my coffee and wandered back into the bedroom. My beach bag was already open on the bed. Towels. Water. Condoms. Lube. A pair of oversized sunglasses and the thinnest, breeziest cover-up I owned—a gauzy sheer wrap that barely reached my mid-thigh and wouldn't hide a thing in the sun.

I could wear it.

But I probably wouldn't.

I felt a throb of anticipation as I sat at the vanity, still naked, brushing my hair out slowly. Then I picked up my phone and opened a new message to Marcus.

T: We're heading out soon. The same spot.

T: I've missed your cock.

T: Want a reminder?

I set the phone on the vanity ledge and spread my legs slowly, positioning the camera just right. My fingers dipped between my thighs, already warm and slick. I didn't try to fake anything.

I moaned softly—real, aching—as I played with myself, circling my clit and holding my breast in the other hand. Just enough to capture the image I wanted. Not too posed. Not too perfect.

Real.

Hungry.

I hit record and sent him a five-second clip.

Then followed it with a message:

T: Bring that thick cock of yours.

T: I'll be dripping before you even get there.

The read receipts appeared almost instantly.

And a reply:

M: You're fucking dangerous.

M: I'll be there early.

I smiled. Let them come early. Let them watch. Let them ask to join. Today, I was going to say yes.

Permission

The car door shut with a quiet thud.

I stepped out barefoot, already wearing nothing but my sunglasses and that sheer wrap. It clung to my hips in the breeze but did nothing to hide the outline of my breasts, the slight sway of them as I walked. No knickers. No bra. Just skin beneath the gauze and confidence laced with lust.

Jay unloaded the towels, cock already twitching beneath his loose shorts. He hadn't stopped looking at me since we left the house. Every time the breeze lifted the hem of my wrap to reveal the curve of my arse, his hand found my thigh, possessive and hot.

We walked the path toward the beach, following the same route as last time. But this time, someone was already there.

Marcus.

He was lounging on a towel in full view, already nude, dark skin glistening under the sun. His cock rested thick and heavy against one thigh, utterly unashamed. As we approached, he looked up—slowly. A grin curved his lips.

"Thought you weren't coming," he said.

"We said midday," Jay replied, smirking.

I stepped ahead of them both and let the wrap fall from my shoulders. It slipped down my back like silk and pooled at my feet, leaving me fully exposed to the morning light.

Marcus let out a low whistle.

"Fuck," he murmured.

I walked straight to my towel, knelt on it, and arched my back just enough to feel the sun kiss every inch of me. Jay settled beside me and peeled off his shorts. Naked. Stiffening.

We were three again.

Three bodies on the edge of something bigger.

Around us, the beach was sparsely scattered with others—some nude, some not. An older man alone under an umbrella. A couple reclining nearby, half-interested. Another pair further up, younger, discreet, sunglasses on.

I could feel their eyes. And I didn't look away.

I leaned over toward Marcus. "I want you to watch again."

He nodded, slowly. "Anything you want."

I turned to Jay and pushed him gently onto his back. His cock stood tall, already pulsing.

I straddled him, the heat between my thighs matching the burn of the sun on my shoulders. As I sank down onto his cock, my breath hitched—half from the stretch, half from the thrill.

And somewhere off to the side, I knew Marcus was watching. But he wasn't alone.

Because today, we weren't the only ones playing. A figure paused along the path. Another further back, pretending to look at the waves. We weren't just being watched. We were being studied. And I fucking loved it.

Taken in the Sun

Jay's cock filled me perfectly—hot, thick, and familiar now, but never dull. Every time I lowered myself onto him, I gasped—half from sensation, half from the awareness of where we were and who was watching.

The beach was quieter than before. But not empty.

I'd noticed them already—two figures off to the side, lingering. A man with a book who hadn't turned a page in fifteen minutes. A pair of younger men standing waist-deep in the shallows, their bodies facing the water, but their eyes—hidden by sunglasses—locked in our direction.

I rode Jay slowly at first. Letting them see. Letting them want.

My hands splayed over his chest, my breasts bouncing freely as I moved, skin glowing with sun and arousal. Jay's hands gripped my hips tightly, lifting his own body to meet every roll of my hips, his cock deep, hard, pulsing inside me.

"Fucking hell, Tracy," he growled. "They're all watching."

"I know," I whispered, and clenched around him.

He arched his back, his eyes dark with lust and disbelief.

"They're gonna see me cum inside you."

"Yes," I moaned. "Do it."

I bounced harder now, grinding, using him to reach the edge. My clit rubbed against him with every thrust, the sound of slick skin and shallow gasps filling the air. I looked straight at Marcus.

He was stroking himself now—slow, thick, heavy in his hand. His gaze locked on the place where Jay disappeared inside me. Then Jay groaned, pulled me down hard, and came. Hot spurts flooded me. Deep. Satisfying. Claiming.

I shuddered, squeezing around him, not quite climaxing again—but hovering there, trembling and needing. I stayed still, breathing heavily, Jay still inside me, our bodies locked. Then I felt movement behind me.

Marcus.

He knelt on the towel behind me, his body close, his cock brushing the curve of my arse. Thick. Dark. Ready. I looked over my shoulder.

"You want to feel how full I am?" I asked.

He didn't speak. Just pressed the head of his cock between my pussy lips, pushing into the slick mess Jay had left behind. My breath caught. He slid in slowly. Deep. Deliberate.

"Jesus," I whispered.

Then I heard footsteps. Sand shifting. I lifted my eyes. The two men from the sea were approaching.

Casual. Slow. Cocks semi-hard already, swinging gently with each step. One tall and slim. The other broader, chest peppered with hair. They stopped just a few feet away. No words. Just heat.

Marcus fucked me from behind now—steady, deep strokes. I was dripping, stretched, used—and I loved it. I opened my mouth. And beckoned.

Fully Claimed

Marcus's cock filled me slowly, inch by thick inch, coated in the cum Jay had left inside me. Every thrust was deep and wet, the sounds of our fucking unmistakable now—filthy and rhythmic beneath the gentle hush of the sea.

I was on all fours, back arched, breasts swinging freely, mouth open and eager.

The two strangers stood close now, just a few feet away. One of them—lean, dark-haired, a faint scar across his collarbone—stepped forward first. His cock was already hard, curving slightly to the left, slick at the tip.

He didn't ask. He didn't need to. He stepped in front of me, and I opened my mouth without hesitation.

He groaned as I wrapped my lips around him, taking him deep, tasting salt and skin. My hand gripped the base as I bobbed my head, eyes flicking up to watch his face tighten in pleasure.

Behind me, Marcus slammed into me harder. My body rocked forward with each thrust, forcing more of the stranger's cock down my throat.

I moaned around it, the vibrations making his thighs tremble.

"Fuck, she's good," he muttered to no one.

Jay, still lying beside me, watched everything. His cock was slowly hardening again as he stroked it lazily, eyes dark with pride and hunger.

The second man stepped in now—bigger, thicker, his cock heavy and pulsing as he took his place beside the first. I reached for him blindly with my free hand, stroking him slowly, deliberately, before letting him nudge the other out.

He replaced him in my mouth without pause.

Now I was alternating—taking one into my mouth, the other in my hand, switching rhythmically, messily, hungrily. Behind me, Marcus picked up pace.

His balls slapped against my clit with every thrust. My pussy stretched and ached in the best possible way—used, slick, dripping with a mixture of cum, spit, and desire. I could feel another orgasm coming, thick and unstoppable.

I gasped around the cock in my mouth, spit dribbling down my chin as I was filled and fucked and surrounded.

Then Marcus grunted. I felt him tense behind me. One brutal thrust. And then he came. Hot spurts deep inside me, joining Jay's, filling me again.

My legs trembled. My body sagged, mouth still open, still stroking the two men in front of me.

The second man took over, hand guiding my head down as he fucked my throat once—twice—then came with a grunt, spilling over my tongue, across my lips, hot and bitter and perfect.

I swallowed.

I moaned.

I smiled.

And the last man? He didn't even ask. He simply jerked over my cheek, letting thick ropes fall across my flushed skin and onto my breasts.

They stepped back in silence. Nods of gratitude. No names. And then they were gone. Marcus sat back, panting. Jay looked stunned, breathless, cock hard again now, twitching.

And me?

I collapsed onto the towel, cum dripping from every hole, mouth sore and smiling. I didn't just want it. I needed it. And now... they knew.

The Stillness After

The men had gone. Even Jay and Marcus had drifted off for a swim, splashing out into the water like boys set free. But I stayed. Alone. Nude. Open.

The towel beneath me was damp—salt, sweat, and sex. My thighs glistened, marked by the trails they'd left. My breasts were streaked with release, my lips tingling, my skin sun-warmed and shining.

And I had never felt more beautiful. Not polished. Not perfected. Real.

I lay there, legs parted, arms spread lazily above my head, letting the sea breeze dry what they had done to me. Letting the sun lick the places they'd touched. My pussy ached, sore and sweet. My throat pulsed faintly, a memory of every inch I'd taken.

And I smiled. Because this wasn't shame. This wasn't regret. This was freedom.

I thought back to the woman I'd been weeks ago—teasing selfies, cheeky glimpses of cleavage, heart racing at the idea of being caught.

She was still in me. But this version... this nude, glowing, cum-dripped goddess stretched across the sand... she was so much more.

A ripple of laughter caught the breeze—Jay's, I think—and I turned my face toward the sound, not bothering to close my legs or shield myself from the handful of voyeurs still watching from afar.

Let them look. Let them remember. Because they'd never forget this woman. And neither would I.

The End

(For now...)