1. Today My Name is Caprice


    Date: 10/25/2017, Categories: Exhibitionism, Author: Verbal, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    the message. Her muscles go rigid. OMG! He’s coming over! Can you blame him? A beautiful woman, sexy clothes, hard nipples, flushed face. You look so hot. You look so slutty. A whore with a sweet, wholesome, girl-next-door face. You are perfect. You are a fantasy woman, given life. What should I do? Keep doing what you have been doing, pet. Don’t stop. Let’s play with him. The young man approaches the table. She relaxes, slumps into her chair, and as she shudders he can visualize her finger gliding back into her pussy. Perhaps two. He stands over her, asking if he can sit with her. She says yes. He sits. Can he see your screen? She excuses herself from her tablemate. No. Is your finger still in your pussy? Not finger. Fingers. As in more than one? As in two. Deep inside me. I’m spreading them as I push them in. Imagining it is your cock. It was his turn for his face to flush. His turn to type with one hand. His muscles begin to tense. Tell him what you are doing. Don’t tell him about me. Don’t tell him anyone is watching. Just tell him you are fingering your pussy under the table. Just ask him if he’d care to help. She leans over, seductively close to his ear, so close she could touch it with her lips. She whispers to him. His eyes widen, and even from across the room he grows noticeably hard. She licks the inside of his ear and relaxes into her chair. He turns to look at her. She smiles and closes his eyes. He scoots closer to her. His hand disappears under the table. She ...
    gasps suddenly, holds her breath for an endless moment. Her lips tremble as she struggles to control herself. She throws back her head slightly, exposing a delicious curve of creamy white neck. As he watches her from across the room he envisions the young man’s hand rubbing her clit, while she continues to finger fuck her pussy. Anyone taking more than a passing look at her would know how highly aroused she is. She has told him more than once how much it turns her on to know people are watching her. The scandalized stares, the hard cocks, the wet pussies, the thickening nipples. She tells him she imagines men at home, and women, fucking their wives or husbands, their girlfriends or girlfriends, while thinking of her. Their arousal arouses her, her arousal arouses him, his arousal in turn arousing her, in turn arousing whoever may be watching, on and on, an endless and ever widening loop, a spiral of desire. It is why she lets him watch her, every Thursday, at two minutes before two. Her chest begins to heave. The muscles of her neck tighten. She bites her lower lip hard. And suddenly her head lolls forward, her eyes tighten shut, her mouth forming a perfect O with her wet trembling lips, and for a single perfect instant she does not move, she if frozen; he feels as if he is inside her very body, at the nexus of every fuming nerve as wave after wave of an orgasm rolls through her body like waves on the shore of a shining beach. Her breathing slows. She opens her eyes. She turns ...
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