It was a very simple profile. The screen name was WeLike2Watch, and the photo was the torso of a man in a dark blue suit with a maroon tie. No face.

No name listed on the profile beyond WL2W. The “About Me” section read:

“Polite gentleman, dresses neatly, well off, with close friends of same caliber who are all interested in the same thing. We don’t touch. We just look. Interested? Message me.”

Online dating hadn’t been treating me too well. I’d met a guy whose wife had been legit crazy, according to him. He came on strong and then — poof! — ghosted off into the ether never to be heard from again. The next guy had been a commitment-phobe who’d also, you guessed it, been married to a “crazy woman.” Poor thing. I’d never known how many legitimately crazy women existed until I’d started dating their exes.

Currently on hiatus and more than a little disgruntled about my experience so far, that profile sent a shiver up my spine. So, I wouldn’t meet a soul mate. But who knew if they even really existed? And I wouldn’t get into a long, tied up, dramatic affair. I’d go and be…watched?

I typed out a message with thumbs that were a bit unsteady. “What do you like to watch?” I hit send and ordered a glass of wine to finish off my lunch, I figured: what the fuck. And waited to see how long it would take him to respond — if ever.

I’d just set my phone down to pay my check when it burbled that I’d gotten a message. My heart kicked in my chest, and I practically thrust my credit card at the waiter. When he left, I opened my app to the message:

“We like to watch beautiful women, such as yourself, get off. Whatever and however they want. We simply don’t engage. Do you think you’d be game? We’d love to see you.”

I laughed outright at the “see you.” Normally, that would be a way of saying “I’d love to meet you” or “I’d love to take you out” but Mr. Suit was being literal. They’d love to see me. To watch me. Watch me get off while they stood there staring.

I’d have thought I’d find that weird or creepy, but I found the idea oddly thrilling. No strings, no muss, no fuss. Just an experience that would be fodder for lonely night masturbation, forever and a day. And if that was a real picture of Mr. Suit, I couldn’t think of someone I’d rather have watch me. I couldn’t see his face. Just a thick neck, a square jaw, and a hint of a curl of very dark hair above his dress shirt, but I liked what I saw.

I fired back: “How do I know this isn’t some serial killer move?”

Then I snorted at my own caustic humor. You can never be too careful, but actually, I thought sometimes you could be.

My phone chimed again, and I grinned like an idiot.

“We only gather in hotels. You are free to tell anyone or everyone there who you are and what room you’re in. Your own discretion. It gives the ladies a little more security to know they’re surrounded by occupied rooms and not at some mystery location. So, what do you say? Game for some group admiration?”

I didn’t let myself think too much. I simply answered: “Yes. Send me the details.”

When I got home it was all set up for Friday at seven at The Charles Hotel. A very swanky place, if I do say so myself. I climbed in the shower, doused myself in hot water, pressed my forehead to the cold tile and stroked myself to climax with wet fingers. But once wasn’t enough with all this craziness swirling through my head, so I plunged two fingers into my cunt, working my G-spot and fucking myself until I was at that sweet spot that meant the very verge of orgasm. Once there, I went back to stroking my clit until a second, much stronger, orgasm rocked me. My loud cries echoed throughout the tiled room.

My legs were shaky, my fingers were pruney, and I’d never felt more exhilarated in my life.

Friday couldn’t come fast enough. And apparently, neither could I.

The hotel was nice, much nicer than I’d ever have anticipated. This was the kind of place where people flashed platinum, diamond, and black cards. Me, I had a regular old Visa with a bird on it. This was a different world.

I gave the man at the counter my name, and he smiled a coy smile before handing me a key card with the hotel’s signature “C” on the front. “Elevators are to your left, up two floors, down the hall to your right.”

“Thank you.” I felt heat in my cheeks because that smile he’d been unable to stifle said he’d probably dealt with these men before. Maybe even knew their voyeuristic habits. And every voyeur — or group of them — needed an exhibitionist.

The walk to the elevator seemed long, but that was because inside the small, white lace panties I wore, my pussy was already wet and swollen. Every stride jarred my sex and sent a resounding wave of near-pleasure through my center.

I blew out a long, slow breath to steady my nerves and pushed the button for the second floor. I was alone on the elevator, and it ascended slowly. I pressed my hand to my groin, grinding the heel of my hand to my pussy, putting pressure on my clit through my dress and panties.

“Jesus. At least wait until you get there,” I muttered to myself. I followed with a shaky laugh that sounded only slightly insane.

When the elevator stopped at floor two, I used the mirrored wall to check my hair, and then realizing I couldn’t stall any longer, I stepped off. I wasn’t scared, I realized. I was thrilled. More thrilled than I could remember being.

I walked slowly toward the room, willing my legs to stop trembling. But they didn’t, so I soldiered on. Truth be told, I wanted to be seen as much as they wanted to see. I did feel a rush of relief to see a man swiping his card to the neighboring room. He tossed me a wave, and I returned it.

I knocked on the door, and my hand felt a million miles away. The door opened to reveal a tall, broad man in a suit. The suit. This was no doubt Mr. Suit, and when he smiled at me, the gesture broke his ruggedly handsome face into a boyish expression. He held out a hand and I took it, noting I’d been right about the darkness of his hair.

“I wanted to bury my fingers in my cunt and rub my clit.”

“Glad you came,” he said.

He grinned when I let out an involuntary laugh at his double entendre.

“Well, not yet,” I said. “But hopefully soon.”

I checked out his company. Four other men. Most tall, but one short and stocky. All dressed well in suits and ties. Expensive watches flashed at five wrists. And as I assessed them, I was met with attentive, polite smiles.

“I’m A,” Mr. Suit said. “This is D, X, F, and J.”

Immediately, to calm myself, my mind tried to guess. Alex, Don, Xavier, Frank, and John? I ran through multiple names while secretly wondering if they’d all just chosen random letters.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. I felt like laughing but managed not to.

“The show is yours,” Mr. Suit said, gesturing at the room with two broad, strong-looking hands. They swept through the air. “Wherever you want. However you want. We just watch.”

I had expected some kind of instruction, so that threw me, but I decided to roll with it. I recalled an image I’d seen once that had intrigued me and turned me on enough to make me masturbate. I put my purse down on a chair and met each of their gazes in turn as I untied my wrap dress. I peeled it back slowly, liking the feel of ten eyes turned to me in rapt attention.

The stocky guy was getting a little red in the face, and the tallest one, X by name, shifted from one foot to the other. That quickened my pulse, and I felt the throb of my heart in my cunt.

I shrugged the dress off and let it fall, then I unhooked my white lace bra and tossed it randomly. The one who went by F caught it deftly. He smiled at me, his face a bit thuggish but handsome nonetheless. I pushed past Mr. Suit and crawled into the middle of the bed. The white down comforter was lush and no doubt extremely expensive.

My hair fanned out around my head, and I liked the image of it in my mind. I trailed my fingertips over my nipples so that they stood up in hard, pink peaks of pebbled flesh. They moved close to ring the bed. Two on the left side, two on the right, and one at the foot of the bed, standing so close their knees nearly touched the edge of the mattress.

I was so wet I could feel the press of the cool air of the room to my pussy. I wanted to bury my fingers in my cunt and rub my clit and get to it immediately, but the lead up was as intoxicating as the idea of getting right to it was.

I took my time stroking my belly, my hipbones, and the tops of my thighs. I held my breath occasionally to hear the intake of breath from one, the soft exhalation from another. The moment was heightened by the fact that they all stood there, very formal, with their hands crossed in front of them as if hiding their groins from me.

Finally, I drove myself mad with teasing. I parted my thighs, letting them fall open wantonly, and traced my outer lips with a fingertip. I spread myself wide for them to see, and then with the other hand began to stroke myself.

There was a sigh from the foot of the bed, and I wished he’d move his hands from in front of his crotch. I wanted to see the effect I had on the men as they stood there, silent guards, watching me.

I raised my hips so they could hopefully see the shiny wetness at my clit. I felt drenched. A river writhing on a bed for strangers to observe.

“I moved like a desperate wave, fucking myself with my fingers.”

I rubbed my clit a little faster, reaching up to pinch my nipple between my fingertips. Not even questioning any longer that I was doing this, I simply did it. Let my body take over and ate up their eager attention.

I put my finger — drenched in my own juices — to my mouth and sucked it. One of the men moaned.

Then I returned to stroking. Light flicks of my fingertip, hard rubs, a pinch here, a lazy whorl there. Mr. Suit’s hand twitched for a second, and I recognized it for what it was. A brief, subtle nudge to his hard cock. I came, tossing my head and crying out. Way more wanton than I ever imagined myself being.

They seemed to withdraw a bit, but I shook my head and they crowded in closer. I wasn’t done, the show wasn’t over.

I rolled to my belly, one hand trapped beneath me, the other gripping the headboard. I raised my hips and spread my thighs, angling for a better view. The gentlemen by the sides of the bed migrated to the foot forming a “U.” I pushed three fingers into my cunt and ground my clit against my hand. I moved like a desperate wave, fucking myself with my fingers, all the while listening intently for the exhalations, sharp intakes of air, mumbles and groans of my audience.

I humped my hand, putting rough pressure on my clit, while moving my fingers restlessly against my G-spot. I dragged the moment out as long as I could, focusing on not coming but feeling their gazes on my back like warm summer sun until I couldn’t hold on anymore. The second orgasm hit me, and I groaned into the plump pillows. Before any of them could move, I rolled to my back and pushed my fingers inside my pussy once more.

I could hear my own wetness with every thrust. I gazed up at ten avaricious eyes watching me. It was a rush like no other. I slid my fingers deep but gentle to let my body recover. When the over-sensitivity passed, I started driving my digits deep into my pussy, using harder motions. My free hand strayed to my clit, giving it little flicks and gentle strokes.

I would have paid a million dollars for any one of them to touch me, but that wasn’t why we were here. And it was entirely possible the want of it was better than the reality would have been.

I went for one more climax and managed to give it to them — thanks to the all-eyes-on-me scenario. I bucked my hips to plunge my fingers deeper and rub my tender clit mercilessly. This time three of them did the subtle hand thing. Surreptitiously stroking their cocks for a second, no doubt.

That was all I needed. I came once more with a soft sigh. My body felt utterly boneless, heavy beyond belief. The same way you feel after a long bout with a high fever, only way more pleasant.

I stayed there sprawled on the bed, more than a little stunned. Mr. Suit put a hand out and I took it, sitting up slowly. He knelt before me, smiling. “The room is paid for through the night. There’s champagne in a bucket over there and room service has been instructed to bring you anything you want should you stay. On us.”

I nodded. Well, that was an unexpected perk to putting myself on display and getting myself off.

“Is there any way" — the one named F was speaking, looking both bold and shy all at once — “we could call on you again?”

I pretended to think about it. I had to say the whole exhibitionism thing had worked wonders for me. “Can I bring toys next time?”

“It’s your show,” he said with a small half smile.

I nodded. “Sure. You like to watch and apparently…I like to be watched.”

Check out the Full Gallery