Everybody’s Watching (Part 6 – The Exhibitionists)

James followed Caty into the British Museum, camera at the ready. He’d admired her poise, doing a perfect, smart intro on the museum steps. She looked perfect in her black sweater dress and ribbed grey tights. Perfect for someone wearing clothes. 

Of course, wanting to undress her was all part of the game. 

Wanting to undress her here, at the museum.

Among all these incredible artifacts, all these monuments to history, to man, to the passage of time, what he was most interested in was taking Caty in his arms again, and doing unspeakable, delicious things to her body. 

There, in front of the implacable painted black eyes of the elaborate sarcophagi, there in front of the tourists snapping selfies by the Rosetta Stone, or perhaps in the back, in the curtained off area with the sign that read “Installation in Progress.” Oh yes, installation.

He took her in his arms and carried her to the largest shipping crate, layer of smooth foam packing material crumbled on it.

He kissed her lips, ran his hands through her perfectly combed hair, tangling her curls in his fingers. He ran his tongue along the edge of her chin and down her neck, and dropped his lips to her breasts, kissing them. He rubbed the nipples erect with his fingers, pinching her nipples gently.

“Too many layers,” he said.

He raised the hem of her dress and rubbed her pussy, through stockings and panties. 

“Too many there, too,” he said. 

“Let’s fix that,” she purred in his ear.

His hand slipped around her back and unsnapped her bra, then he pushed it up, so that her breasts were confined only by the fabric of her dress. He sucked her nipples now, through the soft fabric.

He rolled her dress up, draped the fabric over his head, and blanketed like that, sucked and licked and pulled at her bare nipples gently, with his teeth, until she moaned.

Then, he dropped his face to her belly, kissing it, while his hands rolled down the dark stockings to mid-thigh, and then he pushed her panties aside, and stroked her velvety wet pussy with one finger, then two.

He stroked her over and over until she came and her panties were wet, and then he tugged them down to where her stockings confined her, and he put his lips to her, finding her clit, sucking and teasing it, lapping at her with his tongue, until she panted, and cried out, her cry echoing against the marble floors and high ceilings…

“We need to hurry,” Caty said, taking his hand. “You said our performers were set for 2 p.m., and it’s almost that now.”

“Time to see the exhibitionist exhibit,” he agreed.

He could feel his cock pressing against his jeans, as they showed their press credentials at the media admissions desk, got a map to the cavernous place, and looked for gallery 12A, the spot posted in the watching group online, while she tucked her press pass away.

He found it difficult to be physically separated from her for as long as it took him to unfold the map and study it. That this incredible sexual relationship they were having was more than just that would’ve overwhelmed him at any other time in his life, but now, he was so consumed with desire for her that the roots of that feeling were simply allowed to grow. And claim him, he thought, heart, soul – and cock.

“Found it. Second floor gallery.”

“Coming,” she said.

“Not yet you’re not,” he teased.


There was already a small, discreet group clustered throughout the mummy room, studying the ancient objects. The gallery was roped off, and each of the watchers, Caty and James included, had slipped in under the rope.

The couple who’d posted about their own exhibition were off to one corner, just out of reach of the security camera’s scan. 

The room’s security guard was among the watchers, an amused smile playing across his face. 

The performing couple were talking in their corner, the woman dressed in a long, tunic-like dress and high heeled boots. The man was wearing a dark shirt and pants, and over them, a long rain jacket. She could see as he bent toward the woman, whispering something in her ear, that he was concealing an enormous erection.

James and Caty both went over to speak with them, and it was no trouble at all to get their signatures on a release form. Camilla and George. Such proper English names she thought, for such an improper exhibition.

The watchers were restive. Well-dressed Londoners on their lunch hour. 

There was a collective intake of breath as George swept Camilla dramatically into his arms, bending her back in a long, stagy kiss. Then he dropped his head and began to suck her nipples through the fabric of the long dress. As he wet it, Caty could see Camilla wore nothing beneath it; her nipples were erect and hard.

That dress had a long, thigh-high slit, and Camilla slid one booted leg through it, toward the watchers.

George stroked her leg, caressed it, higher and higher, spreading the two sides of the slit wider and wider until it revealed another slit – Camilla’s pussy.

He dipped his face to kiss her thighs, to lick them, leaving a long shiny trail of saliva as he worked up her leg. He backed her into the corner, and she rolled the two sides of her dress up, and up, so that George, and everyone else could see her pussy as George began to lap at it with his tongue. He paused every few moments to step back, spread the lips with his fingers, and thrust one, two, three, fingers into the widening pinkness inside her. Camilla moaned softly.

Caty realized with a smile, that there was a hush over the crowd, and the gallery space, as was – well, appropriate seemed the wrong word – for museum visitors.

James was all business, behind the camera. But Caty could see how his cock was pushing against the front of his jeans, and she knew that afterwards, after they grabbed a few bystander interviews, after the security guard shooed them away, after that – it would be their turn. 

As Camilla bucked and cried out, as George unzipped his fly, Caty felt her own ready wetness. She couldn’t wait.


It was almost as James had pictured things, but perhaps even better.

The waiting, and of course, the watching – had them primed.

They took the freight elevator to a storage area; the door was propped open, revealing racks of boxed objects and empty display cases and stands. 

He closed the door behind them.

She reached for his cock, swollen hard, and unzipped his pants. She knelt down on the dusty floor, and took him in her mouth. She sucked him hard and fast, then slowed down, languidly licking him all over like he was a lollipop. He groaned.

He raised her to her feet, and rubbed his cock against her, leaving a little glistening trail on her dress. He lifted her skirt, tugged down her tights, and flicked at her with his fingers. She was so wet, so open.

He spun her around and bent her over one of the display cases. He pulled her panties down and pushed his cock inside her. She felt amazing.

He unsnapped her bra through her dress, and her breasts swayed as he took her, her creamy buttocks smacked against him, he cried out as he came.

She moved against him, one, two, three more times before she, too, gave a low guttural cry, and collapsed against the counter.


He started to zip up again.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Caty said, turning toward him. “I’m having too much fun to stop now.”

He kissed her, and she pulled him against her, rubbing the soft fabric of her dress against his dick. 

She was delighted to see him quiver and start to swell again.

She bent low, kissing the tip of his cock lightly, then running her fingers along the shaft.

She kicked off her boots, and peeled off her tights.

Hiking up her dress, she stood there barefoot, panties mid-thigh, a thin line of his semen running down her leg.

He seemed to be reading her mind.

It was his turn to kneel down, licking her legs, her thighs, up and up, until his tongue, hot and wet was sucking and licking her clit, and all around, and deeper and deeper, thrusting into her with his tongue. She spread her legs wider. She clutched his hair in her fingers as she came, one of those colored-lights intense comes that made her weak in the knees.

He took her in his arms and just held her, both of them half undressed, his cock dangling from his pants, her dress rolled up, panties now down at her ankles.

She kicked them away.

He lowered her onto the floor, and straddled her. He cradled her buttocks in his hands and thrust his cock inside her. She wrapped her legs around him. This time as he slipped in and out, in and out, faster, harder, her shoulders feeling the cool linoleum of the floor grow slippery with their sweat, they both came at the same time. She buried her face in his neck.


“Do me a favor,” he said, as she picked up her discarded tights and underwear. “Don’t put your panties on again.”

“Alright,” she said, and handed them to him to pocket.

Feeling their dampness, and smelling the scent of her on them almost started him off again. 

Instead, he helped her step into her tights, pull on her boots. 

Without a word from him, she slipped her arms through the sleeves of her dress and peeled off her bra. She handed that to him too, warm from her body, black and lacy.

She slipped her arms through her sleeves again.

“There we go. Dressed for the day.” She grinned impishly. “Let’s go do something incredibly English.”

“Besides watching other people have sex?” James laughed. 

“Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse on our way to high tea.”

He brushed his fingers across her breasts and watched her nipples harden. He tweaked each of them, making them stand out through the fabric. Already his breathing quickened, and her eyes widened.

“Oh you,” she teased him, batting his hand away. “Save that for dessert.”


They sat side by side on a pretty red velvet settee in the Intercontinental Hotel. The tea room was elaborate, golden cherubs on the walls, white linen table cloths, flowers dripping from marble vases. The china was floral and rimmed with gold; dark rich paintings of men and women in early 19th century attire gazed down at them from the wall, as if trying to understand what they were seeing.

She had a crisp napkin on her lap, and beneath it, James had slipped his hand beneath her skirt and was stroking her pussy through her tights. The sensation of the fabric and his fingers was driving her wild; still she nibbled on a cucumber sandwich and sipped her tea.

When she came, she closed her eyes but pursed her lips so that only the smallest sigh escaped.

He reached for tea pot to refill his cup, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

His arm brushed against her breasts, and she watched the nipples swell beneath the fabric of her dress.

She put her hand on his crotch and rubbed her palm against his cock until he grew hard, and then harder still.

“I won’t be able to walk out of here,” he whispered.

“We’ll see,” she said.

He kissed the clotted cream from her lips as she ate a scone.

She unzipped his pants beneath his own napkin, and took him in her hand,  slowly stroking him up and down, up and down, until he was entirely erect.

“Now I know I can’t,” he said.

Again, she said, “We’ll see.”

She held him lightly as she ate a chocolate petit four.

She licked her fingers.

He was watching her so closely, it excited her. She lifted one of his hands and placed it against her breast.

He slid his other arm around her and held her close, kissing her for a long time before tracing her ear and her neck, with his tongue.

Leaning down, just as George had done to Camilla in the museum, he sucked one nipple, and then the other, through her dress.

She began to work him over with her hand again, faster now, faster. He leaned back on the settee.

“They may throw us out,” he said.

“They may.”

She could feel his dick tense and shudder, and she knew that soon – soon it was the right time.

She bent down and took him into her mouth, her hair falling over his cock, hiding him but barely. Her timing was perfect: he shot into her mouth and she sucked him dry. He couldn’t quite stop the guttural sound he made when he came, but her head was still down and she didn’t notice just who was watching.

She certainly hoped someone was. 


They’d moved from the tea room to the cocktail bar. They were the only people in the room except for the bartender. James saw him eying Caty’s breasts as they bounced a little, loose beneath her dress. He put his arm around her shoulders as they slipped into the booth in the very back of the room, again side by side.

It was darker than in the tea room and a fire was roaring in the fireplace, making it cozy.

“It’s so warm,” she said. “I could take off my stockings.”

“I wish you would,” he replied.

They were sipping James’ usual drink, scotch and soda. 

“I’ll go to the ‘loo’ as you Brits say.”

“While you’re there,” he said, “do me a favor.”

“Another favor,” she laughed. “What could I possibly do there?”

“Stand in front of the mirror and make yourself come. Tell me what you saw when you did.”

She smiled. “All right.”

He watched as the bartender’s eyes followed her across the room, he watched her stride around the bar to the bathroom.

He waited a few achingly long minutes before he tossed some money on the table and followed her.


When the door opened behind her, Caty was surprised. She’d peeled off her tights and folded them into a little square by the edge of the sink, and was standing in front of the full-length mirror.

She’d tweaked her own nipples to see them swell against her dress, and pulled the neckline lower. She felt sexy and loose with nothing on beneath the dress.

She raised her skirt and put a finger inside her. She stroked it back and forth until she was nice and wet, and then she slipped a second finger inside. She lifted her skirt higher with her other hand, to see herself, her legs slightly spread, her own hand rubbing her pubic mound, her own fingers inside her, there in the brightly lit bathroom. Her breath quickened.

And then the door opened. 

James leaned back against it. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“All right.”

She flicked at herself with her thumb, finding her clit. In and out slid the two fingers.

Her mouth opened, she saw in the mirror, almost involuntarily. She caught James’ eye in the mirror.

He had his hand inside his pants. He was touching himself while she was touching her pussy.

She felt unbelievably excited. She moved her fingers faster, faster, faster, and finally, she came. She cried out, and slapped her other hand against the mirror.

Now James was behind her, rubbing himself, fully priapic against her buttocks.

She pulled her fingers from inside her with a little pop.

Her face was flushed in the mirror.

“Shall we go have another drink,” he said, his voice thick. “Because once again, I’m not sure I can walk across the lobby like this.”

“An invitation?” she said, turning toward him.

“Not this time,” he replied. “I want to pin you down and have at you for a good hour, and I don’t think even we can get away with that here.”


The taxi driver didn’t look the other way when she climbed on James lap, and hiked up her skirt. 

Neither of them minded.

“You’re the public type,” he said.

“Sometimes,” James managed.

“I like to watch,” the driver said. “You picked the right car.”

James kissed Caty, his hands moving under her skirt, caressing her soft warm bottom. Up and down she moved on him, all he had to do was unzip and – he slid inside her.

It was a trip, seeing the street slide by as the taxi wove through rush hour traffic, Caty moving on him as he thrust in her. 

“Almost home, governor,” the driver said.

“Almost,” James murmured.

“Drive around the block,” Caty said, “twice…please.”

James pushed himself deeper inside her. She pressed her face against his shoulder as she came. He clutched her against him as he felt himself explode.

As the cab pulled to front of his building for the third time, James was able to say, “All right. I think we can stop now.”


Inside his loft, they dropped down on his bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning, the musky scent of their sex in the air.

He looked as spent as she felt, and yet she was reluctant to stop now, now that they were finally alone…in an actual bed…the whole night before them.

She sat up long enough to pull off her boots, and then she curled up against him with her head on his chest. He put his arms around her, and she drifted off to sleep. 

When she woke again it was inky dark, except for the glow of James’ edit console.

He was looking at the monitors intensely, headphones on, face bathed in the soft blue light from the screens. He was bare-chested, wearing only his boxers.

She yawned and stretched, stood up and moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He smiled and pushed the headphones back. “Sleeping beauty awakens.”

“What time is it?”

“After 3. I’ve been up a few hours. I think we’re done with this one. We can send it through tomorrow.”

“Can I – watch?”


He patted his lap, and she curled up against him, nuzzling his neck.

A half-hour in, and she was started touching his balls, feeling the skin tense and tighten. 

Twenty minutes more and he had pushed her dress off her shoulders, and popped her breasts through the neckline. 

“You look terrific,” he said, playing with her nipples, that delicious back and forth that he did with his thumb and forefinger, making her wild. 

Her voice was thick and low when she asked him “How do you think watching does affect people?”

He smiled but answered with his own question.

“How does watching affect you? Watching this show?”

“Makes me want more of you,” she said.

He took his hand from her breast and licked his fingers before he went back to rubbing her nipples. She snuggled closer. “Don’t stop.”

“No intention of stopping,” he said.

“So. Your…turn. How does watching this make you feel?”

“The film we’ve made? Proud of what a good job we’ve done.”


“Yes, seriously. And like I seriously, completely, totally, never wanted a woman more.”

The show played on. Caty heard her own voice narrating, but her eyes were closed now, and her skirt bunched up around her hips as he licked his fingers again and this time trailed them across her belly and through her pubic hair, and inside her. He stroked her, and she came over and over, rippling waves of desire and satisfaction, wanting more, getting it, thinking of nothing but the way he felt and how she responded to his touch. He knew just how to get her going now, one finger moving in and out of her, teasing and slow, adding a second to circle her clit, adding a third to thrust more deeply. Speeding it all up, slowing down again, wave upon wave upon wave.

She felt as if she was on fire, her skin felt hot, her hair clung damply to her neck.

He turned her directly to him, so they were sitting now as they’d been in the cab. She opened her eyes again. It was so much easier now to slip his cock from his boxers, push him up inside her.

They just stayed like that, not even moving for a moment. It just felt so good. He looked so good. She wanted him so much –

And now they both began to move at once, and his lips were on hers, and the chair rocked back and forth and swiveled side to side, and they made it last and last, both holding back until they just could not any longer, and once again there they were, coming, both of them, yes, yes, yes!

“So,” she said, when she could speak again. “Can you tell me one more time how watching the others makes you feel?”

“You’ll have to give me a few moments,” he laughed.

“I said tell me, not show me.”

“Like I want you. Like I need to have you. Like I’m – falling in love with you,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “yes, yes, yes.”