Exposed Ch. 12

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My personal story of exhibitionism.
5.4k words
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Part 15 of the 18 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 10/07/2013
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E_Harley
E_Harley
347 Followers

My husband/date was still traveling quite a bit for business so we continued our weekly date routine.

As it is my custom to please I always wore dresses or skirts along with heels on our dates making sure that my bra and panties coordinated with my outfit.

This is a habit that I have had since I started picking out my own clothes and undies.

Our dates made me feel just like the first ones i.e. when we first started to date. I couldn't wait to show off what I was wearing underneath.

Our routine was pretty much the same. After dinner or a movie we would drive home often using a route that was neither quick nor full of other cars or pedestrians. My date would place his right hand on my knee slowly making it's way up my leg while at the same time lifting the hem of my dress higher and higher until my panties were peeking out.

My heart would beat faster as my anticipation of what would come next filled my mind.

Once his hand arrived at my nylon covered crotch the conversation would always go something like this:

"I think that you should take your dress (or skirt) off?"

"Really?" I would respond coyly. "I don't know if that is a good idea?"

My hesitancy paled in comparison to my desire to comply. The minor trepidation that I had entirely hinged upon the possibility of being seen by someone; especially someone that we knew.

"Who would see? You're in the car," would be his response.

I would look outside to make sure that we were truly alone.

When we were dating and parked somewhere I couldn't wait to strip for him. Stripping for him would always get me so aroused.

I would think about this and wonder why growing older made me so cautious. I seemed to have very little hesitation when we were somewhere else. In another place or when I was younger, I would strip upon command.

I wanted to be that same person now.

I wanted to do as I was told and see that look on my date's face as I undressed. I wanted to feel the excitement that I felt as I removed my clothes.

I wanted to experience how it felt to be wearing just my bra and panties while my date remained fully clothed.

It was what made me aroused.

As these thoughts passed through my head I would begin my striptease.

My fingers would be trembling as I fumbled with whatever style of clasp or enclosure held my dress up.

As the clasp released, my apprehension would increase knowing that my performance was about to begin.

Leaning forward in my seat I would work the dress' zipper down my back until the folds of fabric parted exposing the bare skin of my upper back along with whatever bra I had chosen to wear that evening.

Depending on the time of year I would feel the onslaught of warm or cool air on my exposed skin confirming my evolving exposure.

Once the back of my dress was apart I would slip my arms out of the sleeves working the top of the dress down to my waist.

My date would immediately see my hardened nipples as they created little pointers under the thin fabric of my bra.

If I had on a half-cup bra, which was more often than not, my dark red nipples would be sitting on top of the cup begging for attention both visually and physically.

There was no way to hide my arousal not to deny the cause.

By this time my date's magic fingers would have found the moisture located at the very center of my crotch and began to rub me gently between my nylon covered lower lips.

My hardened appendage would be pushing out from between my lips welcoming his attention.

My breathing would become pre-orgasmic alternating between heavy inhales and exhales accompanied by little moans of sexual delight.

Very reluctantly I would take his hand from underneath my dress allowing me to lift my hips off the carseat and slide my dress down my legs and over my heels.

Almost 20 years later I would again be sitting in the front seat of his car wearing just my bra and panties. Placing his hand back upon my upper thigh I would encourage his quest to make me moan.

My eyes would close so I could concentrate on the sensations invading my lower erogenous zone. Almost unconsciously I would part my knees and push my crotch forward into his massaging fingers.

While he worked downstairs I would work upstairs pinching my hard little nipples until I couldn't stand it anymore.

At this point any thought of someone seeing me was utterly forgotten. I was in my sexually charged state of mind looking only to achieve orgasm.

With a loud cry of "Oh God" I would come, performing my orgasm dance on the front seat, wiggling and gyrating this way and that until the last pleasurable convulsion vacated my body.

Little beads of sweat would coat my exposed skin regardless of the time of year. Simultaneously as my entire body relaxed into the post-orgasmic glow, I would feel a warm flush of embarrassment fill my cheeks.

I was embarrassed because of how aroused I got by the simple suggestion to strip. It was as if I didn't want to admit it to him or to myself.

However, it was way to late to conceal my sexual peculiarity.

As I think of it now I am sure that it was too late 20 years prior. My husband knew from the beginning what aroused me the most.

Despite my orgasm I would remain aroused wanting to return the favor. In fact is was much more than a wanting. I needed to return the favor.

Giving pleasure was as much a part of my desire as being asked to strip.

Turning my torso towards my date I would reach down between his legs to find his nice hard cylinder of flesh currently concealed under two layers of fabric.

The first layer was removed by a simple unzipping of his fly along with undoing his belt and clasp.

Now the cylinder was quite evident as it filled the front of his nylon bikini briefs almost poking out over the top of his waistband.

I would take a hold of his erection through his briefs wrapping my fingers around the shaft and pump it as often as it took for a small amount of liquid to leak through the nylon.

Then the fun would start as any reoccurring paranoia about being seen would again magically disappear. Lifting my legs up onto the car seat to get myself into a kneeling position I would lean forward sliding the waistband of his briefs down fully exposing his dark red and hardened flesh.

Down my head would go bringing my panty covered bottom up.

My mouth would be dripping saliva as I wrapped my lips around his sausage. I would hear the faint click of the map light going on putting a spotlight on my nylon covered cheeks.

Besides his panty fetish, my date loves bottoms and as my mouth bobbed for his sausage it was a view that would arouse him the most.

I guess I should have told him to turn the light off, but as I have stated before, once I become aroused any remaining scruples about being seen become quite insignificant.

Just as with myself it never took very long before the convulsions of his orgasm began and I would feel the first squirt of hot liquid hitting the back of my throat.

I would slow down my head bobbing using my tightly wrapped lips to milk him of all of his creamy goo never removing my mouth until all of his convulsions were over. Making sure to lick the top of his member I would collect any remaining ooze.

Until this point I wouldn't even consider that I was barely dressed and performing fellatio in the front seat of a car with a light shining on me.

But once it was all over my self-consciousness would return in force. Often quickly getting redressed wondering what the hell I was doing.


The combination of my age and my status as a mother that would have me feeling that we shouldn't be doing this sort of thing. It was like we were still horny teens and not a mature married couple.

But it was never very long before I found myself looking forward to our next date. Just thinking about it would fill my mouth with saliva.

The attached photo is an example of how I often found myself in the car with a considerable amount of my skin showing. On this particular date I began with a red and white striped satin blouse along with a pair of fitted white linen men's style trousers. I had deviated from my usual short dress, which may have been why my bra ended up in the back seat along with my blouse and pants.

The jacket was suede and my very tiny rose colored bikini panties coordinated perfectly.

My date insisted on taking a photo of me once we returned home.

As a side note:
I do apologize for many of my photos since we did not own a digital camera until just a few years ago.

The pictures that I post are of a decent quality in print form, but lose much of their clarity once I scan them to my computer. Then when I edit them to make them a bit larger, they lose even more.

On this particular date I was required to be topless while performing my auto erotic duties.

Also, I wasn't allowed to put anything back on until we were almost back in our neighborhood.

My tiny headlights were on full beam all of the way home along with the map light.

Our dates were the perfect response to our sexual needs fulfilling the requirements of what aroused us the most.

I was almost constantly feeling sexually charged and incredibly sexy.

It pretty much carried over into my daily life as well. I found my choice of clothes for a mother in her mid 30's tended more towards the sexy side. Not in a "Hey everybody look at me" way, but my dresses and skirts were a little shorter than all of my friends and my pants were a little tighter.

And I virtually aways wore heels.

I liked how I looked and how it made me feel.

But as they say, "All good things must come to and end."

Our good thing came to a sudden halt towards the end of the summer.

We started a home improvement project that filled our nights and weekends.

The project was to install wood floors, crown molding, french doors to our deck, and finally new paint for our walls.

Once the project began I spent my evenings and weekends in an old pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers crawling around on my hands and knees pulling up carpeting, a carpet pad, and looking for errant staples that needed to be pulled up from the sub floor.

Not exactly a chance to show off my sexy side unless I wanted to endure the cuts and bruises resulting from too much bare skin.

After the floor was down to the sub floor, I was assigned to painting baseboards and crown molding strips in the basement, while my handyman replaced our sliding glass doors with french doors and began to install the wood floor.

I enjoyed helping out but at the same time was feeling more than a bit frustrated that my time had become so plain vanilla. I was either volunteering at my children's school, participating in a local women's group, or performing my handyman's assistant duties.

Nothing that involved involuntary stripping, arousal, sucking, or swallowing was included in my daily routine.

I wanted a bit of color. I just didn't realize how much.

My body actually ached with an urgency to feel sexy and submissive.

My handyman wasn't in the best of moods either.

Something needed to change.

On one particular Saturday, I was in the basement stirring the paint for our walls, leaving me entirely by myself.

The urge to misbehave was more than I could stand.

I tried taking deep breathes in an effort to calm myself down.

If you have ever found yourself in a similar situation, you know how extremely difficult it can be to make a sexually charged urge to go away.

It seems that nothing other than giving in to it will do the trick or maybe that was just something I told myself.

Anyway I stopped my stirring and went into our bedroom, which was also located downstairs as we had a split level house.

Surrendering to my overwhelming desire, I stripped off my jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, bra and panties.

Reaching into my lingerie drawer I picked out a matching white bra and string bikini panty set. Both had sheer lace panels that would show my now very erect and throbbing dark red nipples and glistening pubis.

Just the thought of what I was planning to do had me in a lather.

I added a pair of white high heel pumps, a white sweat band to give an air of painter assistant to my ensemble, and work gloves.

I had transformed myself into a panty clad painter's assistant and couldn't wait for the painter to see me.

The throbbing inside of me was in full force and quite exhilarating.

I went back into the basement area picking up the paint can, a paint tray, and a paint roller.

I headed up the stairs knowing that my brief trip to the living room would take me right past the open front door.

I could have easily pushed the door partially closed while I walked past, however I had been denied for weeks now and "Ms. Panty Clad" wanted to feel vulnerable.

I needed to feel the anxiety and apprehension that comes with the possibility of being seen.

I walked up the stairs stopping on the landing to look outside and saw a neighbor mowing their front yard, two other neighbors standing in the street talking, and numerous kids riding their bicycles.

None of them noticed me, but it didn't matter. Just knowing that people were close by had me drooling in a number of areas.

The vibration that I had missed for the past 4 weeks was alive and well and doing its' best to keep me aroused.

What did surprise me as I stood at the door looking out was the twinge of self consciousness that went through me. It was the unwelcome reminder to myself that I shouldn't be doing this, particularly where a friend or neighbor might see me.

It seemed that my absence from performing had brought with it an unwelcome side effect.

I quickly dismissed it as nerves and headed up the rest of the stairs.

My painter's back was to me when I walked towards the step ladder.

As he turned towards me he started to say, "Did you bring the paint?", but his words stopped mid-sentence.

His look was exactly what I had hoped for. It was the look that told me that he couldn't be more pleased with my transition.

My painter got his camera and for the next 15 minutes had me pose for him in my painter's assistant outfit.

I have stated before that one of the fantasies that I have harbored since my teens was to be a pin up model.

Being barely dressed while posing for photos is something that I relish.

I love how I feel when my photographer tells me how to pose essentially showing myself off to him.

I get the same feeling when I include my pin up photos with my stories.

Despite being quite aroused I found that every little noise coming from outside was magnified making it seem that at any moment someone was about to appear at our front door.

Each and every sound sent a bolt of anxiety that gripped my stomach.

My nerves were on edge. They were too on edge.

It was as if I had crossed an invisible line of what I would or would not do at home.

I have often modeled for my photographer, but always when we were completely alone and all of the windows and doors were closed.

This time anyone appearing at our front door would immediately see me in some very revealing lingerie and this knowledge filled me with anxiety.

My mother and age anxieties had taken over.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore.

I quickly slipped downstairs changing back into my original jeans and t-shirt and the panty clad painter's assistant existed no more.

My painter was quite disappointed when I returned fully clothed.

Despite the fact that my urge to act out was overwhelming it seemed that the urge to behave was even stronger.

For the next two weeks I relived this moment.

I scolded myself for being so "chicken."

I became convinced that my desires to feel vulnerable, submissive, and scantily clad were specific to conditions that felt safe. That in reality I wanted to suppress my urge to act out at home regardless of how aroused it got me.

I would think about our dates and that seemed OK, but being barely dressed in our living room in the middle of the day with all of our doors and windows open appeared to be beyond my limits.

I felt frustrated and depressed.

My husband noticed the change in me. As I later found out, he had plans to put me back to work so to speak.

It was time to put up the crown molding. The lengths of molding were mostly over 6 feet long and required two sets of hands to hold them in place.

My handyman would require my assistance to hold the molding in place while he used his nail gun to secure it.

I appeared in our living room dressed in a pair of old denim shorts, a red t-shirt, and the work boots that I typically wore to cut the lawn.

I used to operate our power mower wearing just my bikini swimsuit and a pair of flip-flops until my husband informed how dangerous this was.

He took me shopping to purchase a pair of steel toed work boots, which added a unique look to my lawn mowing attire.

My handyman took one look at me in my work attire and said, "Come with me."

We went downstairs into our bedroom where I was instructed to remove my shorts.

My body reacted immediately to his instruction to strip.

Tingling started to erupt all over me

Underneath I had on my leopard print string bikini panties.

"Perfect" he said as he saw them.

He then took a hold of the bottom of my red t-shirt rolling it up from the waist until it reached the very bottom of my bare breasts completely exposing my lower torso from my rib cage to the top of my panties.

I was told to wait while he disappeared into the work room bringing back with him a carpenter's apron, which he tied around my waist.

The last additions included work gloves, safety glasses, and a baseball cap that he put on my head backwards.

I took a quick glance in the mirror at the finished product and the sexual vibrations increased immediately.

The apron covered little more than the expanse of bare skin from my navel to the top of my panties.

My leopard print crotch was fully on display in the front as well as the very bottom of my tiny breasts.

From the back I was essentially exposed from where my t-shirt ended and my work boots started.

This time going up the stairs past the open front door was my favorite moment. My stomach was in knots, my hands and my legs were shaking, and the little fleshy appendage located just inside my lower lips was vibrating non-stop.

This time the sense of apprehension and anxiety was exactly the way I liked it to be.

Is it possible that having my handyman tell me how to dress as opposed to me doing it on my own made the difference?

Over the next few years I was to find out that this was exactly the case.

The submissive part of my sexual personality needed to be activated for me to forget about everything else.

Once it was, any thought of acting my age got thrown out the door.

Once we got upstairs I again posed for pin up photos only this time without the overwhelming anxiety.

Just like last time I heard every noise coming from outside that might indicate that someone was coming to our front door. This time I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

My sexual personality was out in full force. I didn't really care if someone came to the door. At least I felt that way.

The mixture of anxiety and arousal was intoxicating for me making it difficult to concentrate on my assistant duties.

More than once my handy man had to smack my leopard print bottom to get my attention.

His hand across my almost bare flesh certainly got my attention, but not exactly in the manner that he had intended.

E_Harley
E_Harley
347 Followers
12