Clarissa takes her spot in the window after my employees have left for the night. I grip my wife’s lovely hand and lead her into the recessed space. I work in an old building, and the window platforms are deep. Back in the old days, it was a big name department store, and during the holidays, the windows used to be filled with intricate seasonal displays. These days, it’s just an office.

Every once in a while, I recruit a willing friend to join Clarissa for a middle of the night show.

Sometimes others watch my wife and her guest alongside me. But twice I’ve been the only spectator of her exhibitionism. Both were especially snowy nights in the bitter winter when very few people would want to be out and about.

Recently, I led my naked sweetie onto the window platform like I had so many nights before. The outdoor streetlights were shining through the thin brown paper I had temporarily taped up against the glass.

I ran my fingers affectionately along the curve of her hip, across the slight swell of her stomach and over her breasts, grazing her erect nipples.

I kissed the back of her neck, and she shivered and laughed. I hugged her from behind, pulling her against my body for just a moment. I let her feel my erection against her back. I wanted her to know how much our games turn me on. I needed to express how much I got off on the whole scene, even though I was fairly certain she already knew.

“Who’s coming tonight?” she asked.

“Russ. He said he’d love to be part of your art show.”

She snickered and repeated the words: “Art show.”

“As always, that’s our story if the cops come around,” I said.

I cupped her breasts, nibbled her neck again, and then let her go.

“All right, baby doll. Let’s get you set up,” I told her.

I helped her slide her long legs into white crotchless hose. They looked very much like the stockings often found on vintage porcelain dolls — from the thighs down at least. Next, I helped her don a ruffled white blouse. It was a few sizes too small, and her small breasts heaved above the affixed buttons.

I slipped a pinafore on over the blouse. It was blue and white gingham with small black buttons.

I placed a pair of low-heeled strappy shoes on the floor, and she stepped into them. She stood motionless and let me buckle them up.

I stood and brushed back her hair. Then I carefully arranged it in two pigtails, checking to make sure they were even. They were. After much practice, I was usually able to get her hair right on the first attempt.

Her makeup bag was at our feet, and I reached down to get it. I applied mascara to make her eyelashes thick and flared like a doe’s. I added some baby pink blush on the apples of her cheeks. Then swiped on just a hint of pink lipstick.

I stepped back and took in the whole picture.

Gorgeous, sweet and so perfect.

It was late, nearly two in the morning. I heard the back door open, followed by some whistling and then Russ calling out, “Where’s our baby doll?”

I felt goose bumps rise on my arms. I felt her tremble, too, as she exhaled softly.

Our play always got her off, got me off and got our guests off.

“In the display window!” I called out.

Russ soon approached us, dressed in black slacks, a white shirt and black shoes. He was handsome, and he was big. Just like my girl likes ’em.

“Glad you could come,” I said.

He laughed and joked, “Not yet. But soon.”

He winked at my wife, and she blushed.

Taking hold of her shoulders, I gave her a chaste kiss.

“Rip that paper down when you’re ready,” I said to Russ. Then to her: “Have fun, baby. I’m sure I’ll love the show. As always.” Then I exited the building.

The paper came down about 2:15. I was sitting on a low brick wall directly across the street from the window. A scant few people passed by. Some hurried on, some paused, and some sat on the wall like me, not knowing who I was.

Russ arranged Clarissa, and she expertly played the part of a rigid but moveable doll. It made me proud to see her performance. She was soon in a sitting position on a tall stool I’d supplied.

My dick got hard watching Clarissa in her immobile form. Her legs were out sort of straight and stiff as Russ lifted the skirt of her pinafore.

A woman standing in front of me gasped to see the crotchless hosiery she wore beneath it. No panties on my dolly. And no hair either. She was waxed as smooth as porcelain.

She was a pretty painted creature. Someone’s perfect mold of a woman.

Playing for the sparse crowd, Russ ran his fingers along the seam where each of Clarissa’s thighs met her body. His digits danced across her sleek mound. Then he began to stroke and slide along her folds, parting her petals like a blooming flower.

A couple of guys stepped closer for a better view.

I could imagine it then, the slippery wetness between my wife’s thighs. How warm and slick she would be.

My breath hitched in my throat, and I kept my eyes on the show.

Russ knelt, positioning himself at an angle, so the viewers could see his ministrations. He delivered exaggerated licks to her slit. He went to town, pushing his fingers inside her as he tongued her clit. Since I knew her so well, I could tell when he hit just the right spot because her glazed gaze wavered and revealed the slightest bit of humanity.

“Fuck her already,” I muttered beneath my breath. I was ready for the main course.

I observed her body tightening slightly, saw the briefest blink of her glassy eyes, and I knew she’d come. Later, I’d have to praise her for her near-perfect ability to stay in doll mode.

In front of me, a couple who’d been watching with shocked admiration drew closer together. His hand snaked into her back pocket. Her hip bumped his hip. And I had no doubt that when they got home they’d be doing their best recreation of the show we were watching.

In the window, Russ helped my stiff-legged beauty stand. He turned her and unbuttoned her blouse, exposing her pale tits above her pinafore.

He moved her slowly, letting her keep the appearance of a rigid body. He bent her at the waist just so and helped her place her hands on the seat of the stool. Russ turned her head slightly, so her made-up visage faced the gathered crowd.

“He’s gonna fuck that doll,” some guy said.

I couldn’t stifle my smile. Because he was gonna fuck that doll.

Russ ran his hand up the backs of Clarissa’s nylon-covered legs. When he reached the tops of her thighs, he flipped up the skirt of her pinafore. Once her ass was exposed, he palmed her butt and cupped her cheeks.

I heard more than one sigh of appreciation from the audience as Russ knocked her legs apart with one of his feet.

Her ass cheeks were visible to the gathered audience, and at the right angle, so was her pink pussy.

I knew what it was like to bury my cock between her slender thighs. I was well acquainted with the feeling of thrusting deep into her hot, snug tunnel and having her muscles grip my rod. She was exquisitely tight and welcoming; her body was a treasure.

I watched Russ plunge into that treasure. He entered her roughly and quickly. He gripped her lush dolly hips and withdrew his cock slowly. Just as slowly, he sank deep inside her again. His rhythmic thrusts were hypnotizing. A steady in and out that rocked her and made her pigtails swing.

Russ clutched her shoulders, keeping a tight grip on her as his hips pumped. For a split second, I thought I might shoot in my pants as I observed her stellar performance and the reactions it provoked.

Around me people shifted and murmured.

A red light suddenly switched on to cast the scene in color. I’d set its timer earlier, and the bulb’s glow added a surreal nature to the show.

Russ continued to pummel my slutty dolly. His body language spoke of pleasure. Every time he withdrew, I swear I could see her juice glistening wetly on his cock. He started to move faster, and every thrust bounced Clarissa like the inanimate object she pretended to be. Just when I thought he’d empty into her in a less than spectacular finale, he pulled out to gather his bearings. He was obviously a man who’d wished to continue what he’d been doing but had to regroup.

Sometimes, the struggle of her lovers was a pleasure to me. Just when I found myself wishing I was buried sac-deep in my wife, I derived a small amount of satisfaction from seeing her make another man lose his cool.

He gave his cock several slow but firm strokes.

“Why would he stop?” a guy said to his friend. “If I was fucking that kind of perfection, I wouldn’t stop.”

I was filing away all of these comments in my head to tell my wife later. She’d love every tidbit I’d deliver as I took her hard and fast. Our lust was always set on high after her shows.

Russ walked to the other side of the stool. He took my wife’s pretty face in his hands, and he angled it to ensure she was visible in profile. Then he proceeded to slide his cock between her painted lips.

I heard sighs and groans from the people alongside me.

Russ moved at a measured tempo, taking her mouth and fucking it well. His face crumpled when he lost control. When he came, a ribbon of pearlescent come overflowed from one corner of her lips and dripped down her chin.

Then Russ stood, picked up Clarissa and carried her away from the window.

Someone clapped, and I joined them.