Carol, John & Linda Ch. 01

Exhibitionism and voyeurism to an extreme.

While living my life as a whore, even after I married, with my husband's blessings, I deliberately exposed my nightgown and underwear clad, topless, and naked body to my husband's friends, to our neighbors, and to unsuspecting strangers. Whether exposing myself to men or to interested women, I enjoyed teasing them by flashing them. With flashing an artform that takes practice to make my flashing not look deliberate, I had a way of flashing my underwear clad, topless, and/or naked body while making my flashing appear unintentional or accidental.

Relieved that he's good with me exposing myself, an unexpected surprise, my husband is proud that his wife is an exhibitionistic whore. Instead of stopping my wicked, sexual ways, shockingly, he wanted me to continue my whoredom. As long as I told him about all of the flashing that I do and their reactions to seeing something of me that they shouldn't have seen, he wanted me to continue exposing myself to his friends and to unsuspecting strangers.

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From the time that I turned 18-years-old, no longer jailbait or a virgin, thrilled to be born a woman instead of a man, no ands, ifs, buts, or maybes, unashamed to admit it, I've always been a whore. My favorite sexual things to do, I loved exposing myself as much as I loved sucking, cock, fucking cock, and licking pussies. With it all part of being a whore, I loved exhibitionism as much as I loved having sex with men and with women.

Truth be told, I could have been a prostitute. Instead, being arm candy for wealthy men and successful women worked out for me better than standing on a street corner with other hookers while having sex with random Johns and Jills. Escorting the people that I rubbed elbows with to social functions paid more and was a much safer way of having sex without the fear of arrest. Moreover, instead of looking like a dirty streetwalker, as if I was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, my generous benefactors bought me the best clothes, shoes, and jewelry to wear.

Nonetheless, whatever I called myself a call girl, an escort, sex worker, or lady of the night, I'm a bi-sexual whore. Whether having sex with men or with women, my favorite thing to do, I love having sex. I love stroking and sucking cock as much as I love fingering and licking pussies. Forgetting all of my problems, my regrets, and my woes, clearing my mind of everything bad, I get lost when giving and receiving sexual orgasms.

It thrilled me like nothing else when making out with a man or with a woman when he or she explored my fully dressed body by feeling me through my clothes. Not taking much more than that, I loved it when they felt my breasts and fingered my erect nipples through my blouse and bra while passionately kissing me. I loved it when they felt and squeezed my ass through my short skirt. It drove me wild when they reached beneath my short skirt and cupped my pussy while fingering me through my panties. When they did that, I was theirs for the taking.

Taking full advantage of being beautiful, sexy, and shapely, unable to separate one from the other, I loved being a woman as much as I loved being a whore. Unashamed and unembarrassed of my sexual passion, my rite of passage, I'm actually proud of being a whore. Being arm candy for the right men and women has opened doors for me that would have otherwise remained closed. As if I'm a celebrity, dressed in my best clothes, with my hair and makeup done to perfection while wearing my high, heel shoes, I loved being made to feel special.

Because I willingly and consensually gave men and/or women what they sexually wanted, with them financially well off, they gave me what I financially wanted. They took me to dinner, to the ballet, to the opera, and bought me drinks. Then, by showing them a good, sexual time later, surprising me with their generosity, they bought me gifts: perfume, clothes, jewelry, and even a car. They gave me money whenever I asked and whenever I needed it. A win/win sexual proposition, as long as I gave them all that they sexually expected, wanted, and deserved, they gave me whatever I financially needed.

Leaving their families behind, they'd rather have sexy fun with me as their travel companion. Lying to their spouses that they were taking business trips, they took me on vacations instead of taking their families. They flew me aboard their private jets and took me out on their luxurious yachts. Feeling more like their lover than I felt like a prostitute or a call girl, they showed me good, fun times as I showed them amazing, sexual times. Assuredly, and without a doubt, they've never been sucked, licked, and fucked until they've been sucked, licked, and fucked by me.

Removing the business pressure from their weighted shoulders, I allowed them to decompress. Even if we remained in bed while talking, they needed that time to be away from the stresses of their business and/or the requirements and obligations of their families. I did that for them. Giving them a lightness to their step, I made them whole again. Doing my job as their sexual confidant, I gave them the time to regenerate their energy by making them feel sexually special.

Not an easy job for me to do, I had to read literature, keep abreast of changes in the stock market, global economies, and current events. I needed to learn more than one foreign language. It was my job not only to sexually entertain them as their escort but also, I needed not to bore them. Plying myself with information as if I was a contestant cramming for Jeopardy, I needed to know about geography, history, science, and math. I needed to impress whoever I was with to maintain their interest in them wanting to keep me around.

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Then, catching me by surprise, even when maintaining my way of staying emotionally detached, something unexpectedly happened to ruin my whoredom. Not wanting love nor looking for love, when I least expected it, love just happened. A man that I met at a bar, I allowed him to buy me a drink. Bored while waiting for someone who was a no-show, we talked the night away. A welcomed change, I enjoyed myself being with a normal person instead working to hold my own when with a rich, enormously intelligent, witty, and career driven man or woman.

With him as handsome, as he was funny, and intelligent, I fell in love with Jim. I impressed him with my big brain and my worldly manner. I never thought of marrying anyone until I met him. A perfect match, because he already had a son from a previous marriage, as much as he didn't want any more children, thinking more of my figure than of motherhood, I didn't want children either. With me so vein, and with my body image important to me, I didn't want to be fat and flabby with a big ass and saggy breasts.

Retired from my lifestyle of sexual debauchery and luxury, I was in love. Not wasting time with formalities, love at first sight, and immediately engaged, giving up my fast lifestyle, I returned to Earth to marry when I was 28-years-old. My fiancé, a machinist instead of a banker, a financial adviser, a business owner, a multi-millionaire, or an aspiring billionaire, bought us a modest, two-bedroom, one bathroom house that he paid cash. Finally, pulled down to reality by my feet as if I had traveled the globe in a hot, air balloon, I'm a happily married woman in suburbia.

Yet, my life was not all roses. Before I married, filled with anxiety and trepidation, nervous about telling Jim about my sordid, sexual past, yet not wanting to start our marriage with lies, I needed to tell him all that he needed to know. Deeply in love with him and believing that love conquered all, I surprised even myself with all the sexual exploits that I remembered and wanted to tell him. If I was a gifted, romance writer, I could have written a book of all the sex that I had in that ten-year period with a multitude of men and women.

Yet, fearing the worst, if I dared tell my future husband every, sexual thing that I've done with so many men and women, he may no longer want me. Disappointed in me, and not able to understand my need for sex from not only men but also from women, he may no longer love me. Instead of him thinking of me as his fiancée, he may think of me as the whore that I am and would no longer want anything to do with me. To be honest, now that I saw myself in a different light, I wouldn't blame him.

My first time having a guilty conscience, as if I had an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other shoulder, I was locked in a personal quandary of should I tell him or should I not tell him of my extensive, sexual past. What would happen if I told him or what would happen if I don't tell him? What are the ramifications of telling him or not telling him?

What should I do? Never embarrassed or ashamed of my sexual past before, suddenly, I was embarrassed and ashamed of myself now. The first time fearing someone judging me for the whore that I am and have always been, I feared that my fiancé would have second thoughts about marrying me. Just as I feared that I'd be making a big mistake by telling him, I feared that I'd be making a huge mistake by not telling him.

'What do I do,' I thought? 'In the light of day instead of the sexual passion that we shared at night, who would want to marry a whore,' I thought? 'If I told him the truth, he may break off the engagement, take back his ring, evict me from his house, and kick me to the curb.'

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Nonetheless, in case I bumped into a past lover on the street when with him, a good chance of that happening with all of the people that I bedded, avoiding such an awkwardly, embarrassing situation, I decided to tell him everything. Beyond my better judgement to confess all of my sexual transgressions, I couldn't keep such a sexually, deplorable secret from him. The right thing to do, he needed to know, and I needed to tell him. With chin up, while hoping to explain my way out of my difficult, personal situation, I told him the truth.

Wanting to start our marriage with a clean slate with everything out in the open, hiding nothing, and telling him everything, with heavy heart, I told my future husband the extent of my sexual background. Feeling relieved to unburden myself, unashamed and unembarrassed, as if I was a stripper and/or a hooker, I told him that I lived the life of a whore. Proud of my sexual past then, I'm not as proud of my sexual past now. Over the years, I sucked and fucked more men and had sex with so many women that I no longer remember many of their names.

Yet, if he still wanted to marry me, having to embrace my new life as a loving wife, quite the adjustment on my part, my sexual life as a whore would be over. As a married woman in love with her husband, keeping my oaths to love, to honor, and to respect, I'd be faithful to him. I'd be the perfect, dutiful wife. I'd cook, clean, and wash his clothes. Then, something easy for me to do, I'd give him sex whenever he wanted sex.

With sex the easiest part for me fulfill when married, I'd make love to him every morning and I fuck him every night. I'd suck his cock whenever he wanted me to blow him. I'd allow him to cum in my mouth. I'd swallow his cum. I'd even allow him to give me cum baths.

Perhaps, surprising him as much as I hoped it sexually excited him, I looked forward to being dripping with his cum. As his loving wife, I'd be his submissive bitch. As if Jim was my Dom, I'd do whatever he wanted me to do and whenever he wanted me to do it.

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Sexually surprising me, as shocked as I was sexually excited, instead of him rejecting me and/or being possessively jealous, it sexually excited him to know that I had sex with dozens of men and women. As much as I was proud that I was a whore before I married him, he was proud that I was a whore after he married me. Further, as long as I told him the dirty, sexual details of all that I did as his wife, shocking me as much as he sexually aroused me, he wanted me to continue my whoredom.

'Having my cake and eating it too, the best of both worlds, being married and still being a whore, I found the perfect man to marry,' I thought.

Instead of telling him who I was and confessing all that I sexually did in one sentence, while we were in bed having sex, he wanted me to expand on the dirty details of my sexual relationships. Not leaving anything out, he wanted me to tell him everything. Holding nothing back, he wanted to know all that I sexually did. He got off on me telling him every, sexy thing while I stroked his cock and allowed him to fondle my naked breasts and finger my erect nipples.

He wanted me to tell him about all of the men that I stroked, sucked, and fucked. He wanted me to tell him about all of the women that I fingered, licked, and fucked with a strap-in dildo. He wanted to know their first names and what they looked like. He wanted to know what they gave me and how much they gave me in exchange for sex. Wanting to know where I went when they took me on their vacations, he wanted to know where they took me aboard their private planes and luxurious yachts.

Never believing that he would, something that I had never considered and, again, something that was shocking as it was sexually arousing, he loved being married to a whore. Instead of making me feel perversely perverted or wickedly evil that I was a whore, he made me feel proud that I was a whore. Moreover, as long as I told him what I sexual did with whomever I sexually did it with, he wanted me to continue being a whore.

Sexually shocking me, never considering that he would, my marriage made in Heaven, he wanted me to continue my sexual lifestyle as a whore by exposing myself to unsuspecting men. Something that was as easy as it was naturally for me to do, literally and physically, he couldn't wait to show me and my topless body to his friends. Something that I had never considered, seemingly, making them jealous, he wanted everyone to know that he was married to a whore.

In the way that Ice-T was proud of his wife, Coco Austin, and used the fact that she was an exhibitionist whore who loved flaunting her topless and naked body, my husband, Jim, felt the same way about me. With me as willing as I was sexually aroused to do that, he wanted me to serve his friends drinks during his weekly, poker party in my panties and while topless. He wanted them to not only see my naked breasts but also to watch them touch, feel, and fondle my naked breasts, while pulling, twisting, turning my nipples, and sucking my erect nipples.

As surprised as they were sexually excited, they seemed more interested in seeing and fondling my naked breasts and what they could see of my naked pussy and shapely ass through my sheer panties, than in playing their hands. Not to mention, with them concentrating more on my naked breasts and panties than on playing their hands, showing them my naked tits gave my husband an edge in winning. With some of his poker buddies exposing their naked, erect pricks to me, I was surprised that my husband didn't order me to stroke them, suck them, and fuck them.

Not stopping with me flashing my naked breasts to his friends, he wanted me to swim naked in our pool in view of the neighbors who could see over our backyard fence. Feeling that all eyes were on me whenever they saw not wearing a bathing suit, I always felt that I had an audience of horny men peeking out their windows. Yet, with no one complaining or reporting me to the police for legally being naked in my own backyard, I loved giving my neighbors a view of my naked body when swimming in my pool.

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Continuing in that exhibitionistic vein, he wanted me to sun myself while topless and/or naked in front of the lawncare men and the pool men. Taking full advantage of me being a whore, for those men walking their dogs late at night, he wanted me to dress and undress in front of our bedroom window with the light on and the shades not closed. While leaning in front of them and bending at the waist, he wanted me to take out the garbage while running out in front of the garbage men while wearing my shortest, sheerest, sexiest, and lowest-cut nightgown.

Giving whoever was driving by or walking by a show of my nightgown clad body, he wanted me to retrieve the mail from the mailbox that was a hundred feet from our front door. He wanted me to take my time looking through my mail while immorally and immodestly standing in full view of everywhere without having the modesty to wear a robe over my nightgown. He loved seeing the surprised reactions of unsuspecting men and women seeing what they shouldn't see of my nearly, naked and/or naked body.

When ordering takeout food, with him wanting me to continue my exhibitionism, he wanted me to flash the delivery men. He wanted me to open the front door while wearing just a towel. Then, when I accepted the food with one hand and paid him with my other hand, by inhaling a big breath, while feigning my embarrassment, my towel fell to my feet to flash them my naked body. With Jim out of sight, he enjoyed hiding around the corner while watching the surprised reaction of the delivery men when seeing me naked.

He loved it when I exposed my panties to a multitude of admiring men. With him taking advantage of the weather to flash me, he wanted me to wear a short, flared skirt on a windy day, and on the windiest streets, those streets between skyscrapers or by the water. While walking a distance behind me, he acted as if he wasn't with me. Sexually exciting him, giving us something to talk about when having sex that night, he enjoyed watching a procession of men following me while staring at my skirt billowing up to expose my bright, white, bikini panties.

With the mall one of my favorite places to flash, he wanted me to drive to the mall and back from the mall with my naked breasts hanging out of my low-cut top and bra. He wanted me to tell him about all the truckers who saw me topless and honked their horns. Then, he wanted me to go through a tollbooth with my top pulled down low and my skirt raised to my waist to show the toll taker my naked breasts, my panties, or my naked pussy.

When buying shoes at the mall, wanting to see their shocked reactions, he wanted me to expose my panties or my naked pussy to unsuspecting, shoe salesmen. He wanted me to try on a pair of boots a size too small. Then, having to raise my leg higher while parting my knees wider to remove them, I gave the shoe salesman who sat on a low stool in front of me a good, long look at my panties or at my naked pussy. With them gone a while to retrieve a boot in my size, no doubt, they masturbated themselves in the backroom.

Something as simple as it was perfectly perfected, he wanted me to wait for men to file in behind me before using the escalator in front of them. He wanted me to climb the escalator a few steps ahead of them while wearing a short skirt. Then, bending at the waist in front of them while pretending to adjust my shoe strap, he wanted to watch me flash the men standing behind me my panty clad ass.

As if I caught the hem of my short skirt in my panties after using the ladies' room, he wanted me to walk through the mall with the back of my skirt tucked in my panties and my panties exposed. Instead of telling me that my skirt was caught in my underwear, most shoppers, especially men shoppers, followed me throughout the mall without telling me. Finally, when someone told me that I was exposed, playing the modestly moral and innocent woman, I feigned my embarrassment, pulled my skirt out of my panties, and thanked them for telling me.

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Still not stopping there, he wanted me to flash my semi-naked and naked body everywhere. When shopping at a supermarket, he wanted me to wear a blouse with a plunging neckline without a bra. Then, whenever there was a man standing beside me, he wanted me to bend at the waist lower and longer while looking at something in the dairy counter or in the freezer chest. The cold from freezer chest while holding open the freezer door erected my nipples. My husband loved watching men and some women stare at my exposed, naked breasts and my erect nipples.