Sixty minutes as a voyeur changes the way Stella sees the world — forever

“Why would I want to watch?”

I’ve always been a doer. Watching never works for me. Spectator sports? That’s not what floats my boat. Learning by example? I’d rather be the example, and let the others do the learning. So when my man said he wanted me to watch something sexy, my initial reaction was no fucking way. I didn’t phrase it exactly like that. What I said in the sweetest voice I could manage was, “Why watch when you can participate? Why stay on the sidelines when being in the mix is much more satisfying?”

I thought of some of our previous nights out. There was the time we’d gone to a strip club and I’d entered (and won) the amateur wet T-shirt contest. And then there was our tryst at a swingers party; we’d fucked in the center of the room while the other guests cheered as I reached orgasm after glorious orgasm. Oh, that had been a hot night.

Peter brought me back to the present with one hand on my back, and I felt his fingertips tracing up and down my spine. Earlier, he had sent me a text carefully outlining how he wanted me to dress for our Halloween date. My long legs were adorned in stockings embroidered with a spider-web pattern. My dress was black and vinyl, shiny like flat water. The sheer cardigan I wore over it had extra arms — turning me into what Peter said was the sexiest spider of all time.

“You don’t see how watching could ever be a turn-on?” Peter asked.

I shook my head. I hadn’t even watched a dirty movie with him. I’d always insisted we film our own and then screen it back. That’s why we had our own personal collection of X-rated movies starring the two of us.

He kissed me lightly, just a peck, and with our faces close together he whispered, “You don’t even want to ask me what you’d be watching?”

All right, so he was definitely piquing my curiosity — as he peeked down the front of my dress. I wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d told me to go without. I’d obeyed.

I ran one hand along the side of his face, feeling the sexy scruff of his five o’clock shadow, then moved in for another kiss. Our lips met, then our tongues. I felt flickers of desire burn through me. Peter pulled back.

“Watch out,” he teased. “You might start something you can’t finish.”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to finish it?” I asked. We were in public, but not in any place our kiss would bother people. But I knew he was planning to take me somewhere else. He’d let me know that for this Halloween he was whisking me somewhere for treats rather than tricks. But the location was still a mystery.

“You still don’t know where I’m taking you.”

I was thinking it would be some type of outrageous party. Beyond that, I didn’t really have a clue about his plans.

“First, you have to agree to watch,” he said. “Watch other people, and then watch how hot you get.”

I must have looked more skeptical than confused.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked, sliding one hand up my thigh under my dress. “Don’t you trust me to know how to make your motor hum?” His fingertips flicked over the gusset of my panties. “How to rev you up?”

“Yes,” I finally agreed, breathless. For one night, what did I have to lose?

Peter took me by the hand, and he eventually led me to a dark building. There was no loud music. This wasn’t a club or disco. My mind whirred with possibilities. He said something to a man in a suit standing outside the front entrance. The man checked the list on his clipboard, found Peter’s name and allowed us to enter. I felt my arousal growing. We were going somewhere sexy; I knew it deep down in my bones.

As soon as I walked in the door, I took note of the surroundings. There were other women in the lobby dressed in similar attire to my own. Black was the color of the evening. Skintight was the preferred style. But the costumes ranged from fanciful to fairy-tale.

There were cats and vampires, witches and mermaids, and assorted adorable animals.

Peter led me by the hand down a hallway to what appeared to be the   main area.

“Nobody was looking at me anymore; I was looking at everyone else.”

For a moment, I found myself overwhelmed by the visual stimuli. There was too much to take in all at once. One man was cuffed to an “X” shaped cross while a woman dressed in head-to-toe latex teased his dick with a suede cat-o’-nine-tails. The sub wore a mask which hid his face completely. It was disconcerting to see the permanent smile on his devilish face, while listening to the sound of his ecstatic groans emanating from beneath. Across the way, a stern-looking man had a squirming woman draped over his lap, and he was punishing her with a wooden paddle. She was dressed as a bunny, with fuzzy white ears. At the base of her panties was white puffball tail. The man avoided the tail as he spanked her cheeks intensely.

Everywhere I looked, someone was experiencing some form of kinky torment.

“What do you think?” Peter whispered to me, his mouth close to my ear so I could hear his words over the sighs and groans that made up the general symphony in the room.

“I think…” I started. But what did I think? The scene was too much to soak in all at once. Peter hadn’t prepared me for something so damn exciting. I tried to decide where I wanted to begin. There was a spanking horse in the corner of the room. I spied a second “X” shaped St. Andrew’s Cross. There was even a stockade-like device. This erotic dungeon scene definitely had been decorated by a pro.

“Are you ready, Stella?” he asked, taking me by the hand and leading me through the crowd.

My heart began to race. What was going to happen? What would Peter do? As those question raced through my head, I saw a chair up on a small platform and started to understand. Answering my unspoken question, he said, “You are going to watch — everything.”

That’s what he’d said before. That’s what I’d agreed to. But I was having a change of heart now that I saw all the erotic possibilities that seemed so much more enticing than being a simple observer. It seemed almost cruel but also inherently exciting. I was a ball of conflicted feelings.

Peter led me up a few stairs. The chair was large, like some kind of gothic throne with sturdy armrests and a high back. Whoever sat there would be able to view all of the various goings-on; the vantage point was excellent, I realized. I turned back to the leather-upholstered chair and suddenly realized there were restraints attached to the armrests and the two front legs — and that’s when I started to get nervous.

“Just watch?” I was practically babbling. “Only watch?” I know that’s what I’d agreed to earlier, but I hadn’t realized I’d be physically restricted — that Peter would bind me and force me to do exactly as he desired. Yet even that idea was turning me on. I could feel how wet my pussy was growing inside my nylon panties. In that moment I felt overwhelmingly shy.

“Watch,” I said one more time. Not as a question, but as a subdued acknowledgment.

Peter nodded. I could tell by the look on his face that he was still wondering if I was willing to go through with this — if I was going to be completely on board with his wicked plan.

“Why do you want me to do this?” I whispered.

I wondered: Why didn’t he want to punish me as I was draped over one of those spanking horses? Why didn’t he want to put a collar around my neck and lead me up onstage where he could make me crawl across the floor toward him while everyone else watched? Why didn’t he want to tie me down and use a cat-o’-nine-tails on my perky ass?

“You said you trust me, right?” he asked.

That was easy to answer. I did. Implicitly. I nodded.

“Then strip, watch and learn, Stella.”

Staring into his eyes, I took off my clothes. First, my lace-up boots. Then the spidery stockings. I pulled off the silly extra-armed faux-spider cardigan, unzipped my black sheath and let it fall to the floor. When I was down to my panties, I hesitated. I saw people looking at me — and that part worked for me, the way being on display always did. Then Peter said, “I’m not asking you to do this forever. I’m only asking for an hour.”

I considered his words. Over the years, Peter and I have engaged in many sensual situations. He’s always had my back, as I’ve had his. Why shouldn’t I follow along as he was requesting? Maybe he was right. Maybe I could learn something. And if not, then he’d definitely owe me.

I stripped out of my undies and settled down on the chair. Peter made a production of binding my ankles and then my wrists. I shifted my hips, adjusted my posture and sat up straight in case anyone was looking at me. That’s when I realized: Nobody was looking at me anymore; I was looking at everyone else.

For a moment, the whole room seemed to be one big ball of electrical energy. There was an ocean of rolling, flowing motion. Then I began to focus on the different scenarios that were closest to me. Only a few feet away, a man was taking off his clothes while his domme watched him, hungry desire etched on her lovely features. When he was totally nude, she locked a cockring around the base of his dick. Then she forced him to his knees and demanded that he lick her pussy. My own pussy ached upon hearing her words. I wanted Peter to lick me. If he licked my pussy while I was seated in the chair, everyone would see. People would watch us. I turned my head toward him. He didn’t even look at me.

Damn.

“I was overflowing with desire. I could feel my juices puddling below me.”

I glanced to the left. Oh, what was this? The woman who’d been on the receiving end of the spanking I’d witnessed earlier was now having lotion rubbed into her bright red ass cheeks — her bunny-tail panties gone. She seemed to be finding the massage more than appealing. She made dove-like cooing sounds as a blonde woman caressed her punished flesh. I wasn’t surprised when the two vixens took things to the next level. Of course they would find a place to 69 — and that place would be almost directly in front of me. I stared, fascinated and worked up, as they brought one another erotic satisfaction. The bunny-earred girl cried out when she came. Her voice reverberated within me, making me feel more desperate.

Then I had a wicked thought: What if one of them would lick me? What if I said, “My pussy is wet, too. You could trace your tongue up over my clit.” I cleared my throat. Peter looked at me harshly. In a flash, he pulled a ball gag from his pocket. I parted my lips, resigned, as he buckled the gag into place. He knows me too well. He had come more than a little prepared, but I was prepared to come!

There I sat, bound and gagged, watching the two minxes rocket off. Then they moved aside, and I turned my head to take in their satisfied struts as they wandered away. Who would I watch next? I wondered. Would they be as much of a turn-on as the women had been?

I needn’t have worried. A triad of lovers — two women and a man who were aglow with excitement — found a spot to my right. They were dressed as cowboys, and they seemed to be having trouble taking off their clothes because they were so busy kissing one another. I had to crane my neck slightly, but it was worth the effort. What did I see? They all had hard-ons. I realized as they disrobed that the women were each packing. Their cocks were at least as thick and hard as their male counterpart’s real one. With the addition of a lot of lube, the ménage made the most of their moment. First, one woman started to fuck the other with her unflagging dick. They were so engaging that a small semi-circle of spectators soon surrounded them. I worried for a second that my view would be impeded, but Peter was looking out for me. He stepped forward, urged the crowd to part slightly, and made sure I could continue to see everything.

Things got steamier still as the man engaged with the ladies. First, he fucked the brunette’s perky ass. Then he let the blonde fuck his. Whichever role he took seemed to please the audience equally, based on the encouragement he received from the crowd. Which did I like better? I didn’t care, truthfully. I wanted to be in the middle. I would have fucked. I would have been fucked. I was overflowing with desire — completely torqued up. I could feel my slippery sex juices puddling below me.

That’s when something stroked my pussy.

I cried out around the ball gag, practically coming. It was Peter. Sweet Peter. While I’d been lost in the la-la land of my passionate fantasies, he’d dropped to one side of the chair and began to pat a rhythm of pleasure against my desperate clit.

I gazed helplessly at him. He grinned at me. Then he stood and unfastened the gag before resuming his initial position. He did not touch me again, and I was aghast that he’d leave me hanging like that, right on the verge of orgasm. But he soon took pity on me.

“How did it feel to watch?” he asked softly, and as he posed the question, he probed my pussy with two of his fingers. So he knew exactly how it felt. I was dripping wet, my juices coating his digits. He leaned closer, and he licked my split. I raised my hips and tilted my pelvis as much as I could as he thrust his tongue up inside me.

“So sexy,” I admitted, in spite of myself.

“Better than being in the spotlight?”  he asked.

I shook my head.

“No?” he pulled back. Would he stop if I didn’t say yes? I bit my lip — then looked over at the ménage once more. The group was still going strong, and I felt my pussy pulse as one of the women jacked her hand up and down her juice-slicked shaft. Fuck, that was sexy. That was more than sexy.

“Now, let’s try something else,” Peter said, and he unfastened my bindings and set me free. At first, I was still. I waited for his next command.

I’d enjoyed being forced to watch. Up until that moment, I’d never fully understood or appreciated the role of the spectator. Now, I did. Being a voyeur had made my pussy pulse. Being forced to stay in place had heightened all of  my senses.

Peter pulled me to standing. He whipped out an item from an inner pocket of his jacket, like a magician producing a bouquet of silk flowers. It was a satin blindfold. In seconds, he’d taken away my sight. I was in his hands, quite literally, as he led me deeper into the club. I felt people brushing against me. I felt hands rubbing, pinching. My whole body felt alive with wondrous flickers of energy and electricity.

The strangest thing started to happen then. It was almost as if because I’d spent the first part of the night watching that I was able to imagine how other people felt while watching me. I was simultaneously the viewer and the exhibit. The player and the played. I basked in the sensation of being on display — as I always did when Peter paraded me around. But I also had a soft spot — or was that a wet spot — for those who were watching, now that I knew the ins and outs of being a voyeur.

“My whole body felt alive with wondrous flickers of energy and electricity.”

The way I felt inside was like nothing else. I was a champagne bottle, shaken up and ready to explode. I was a meteor, shooting across a midnight sky. I knew that my pale skin shone under the lights of the club, but I felt iridescent, or prismatic, as if I might send sparkling rainbows to the four corners of the room.

Why had I always pushed back when Peter had pressed the issue of voyeurism? Why had I never wanted to sit on the sidelines? To let someone else be the star of the show?

I told myself I’d think about that later. Right now, I had other delightful notions to pay attention to. Like the fact that Peter was going to fuck me in public. I knew it was his cock pressing against my pussy. I knew the way his arms felt holding me tight. Right as he pushed his dick into me for the first time that night, someone — I’ll never know who — pulled the blindfold from my eyes.

As Peter thrust his thick manhood into my cunt, I met the gaze of a comely brunette standing close by. She locked eyes with me, and I didn’t look away. Not once. Not as Peter fucked me as hard as I’ve ever been fucked. Not as others reached out to brush my hair from my eyes or stroke my breasts.

The brunette was a stranger, not anyone I’d met before. Not anyone to whom I’d spoken, yet she was watching me get fucked. While there were plenty of other lovers in action around us, they all melted away and faded to black.

This girl and I? We were connected. She made sure I was watching as she shook off her shiny pink dress. It hadn’t even occurred to me to figure out what costume she wore. Was she a peony? Was she a strawberry? A puff of cotton candy? She made sure she had my total attention as she opened her bra and let that fall away. Her breasts were luscious and lovely. A man at her side started to pinch her nipples. She shut her eyes and bit her lip. Then she opened those large beautiful eyes of hers and stared at me again as she took off her panties. I was so swept up in watching her  strip that I almost didn’t sense my own impending orgasm.

But there was Peter, stroking my clit with his fingertips and cresting his fingertips over my swollen nub. I yelped with surprise, announcing that I was going to come.

“Go on, Stella. Come for me. Come loud. Come hard.”

I couldn’t have stopped myself at  that point. The rushing pleasure was too intense.

When I climaxed, I saw that the dark-haired girl was matching my rhythm as she stroked her pussy, working herself to orgasm seconds after me. She threw her head back and moaned. I echoed the sound as pleasure continued to flare through me. This was what Peter had been talking about all these years. Watching and being watched. Tricks and treats. My world turned upside down — or possibly inside out. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything other than coming — and coming again.

When Peter released me, I was loose-limbed and malleable.

I had watched. I had learned. Not only something about my spectacular boyfriend. But something about myself. That watching was much more of a turn-on than I ever thought it could be — and I couldn’t wait to do it again.

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