Exposing Kathryn SeXStoRY

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