Forbidden Pleasures

Marcie’s “Wardrobe Malfunction”-1

Marcie’s “Wardrobe Malfunction”

Ever since she was teenager, Marcie had this urge, this overwhelming need to…expose herself, to bare her body for all the world to see. And as she blossomed into womanhood, the need became an obsession. It didn’t matter as to time or place, she wanted only to display herself. It was a powerful turn-on; the quiet thrill that came from knowing she was being watched.

Marcie simply loved to flash. This overpowering passion for exposing herself had started when her high school held a school dance with a 60s theme. Since all the girls where in blue jeans or long pants at the time, she asked her mother what the kids wore in the 60s, and was told that back then girls wore dresses and skirts, often with their hair done up in a pony-tail. Marcie was fascinated, and decided she wanted to try going to school clad in skirt and knee socks.

Though never as popular with the boys as the other girls, the first day in her new outfit saw things looking up. She noticed that now the boys were taking a definite interest as she walked down the halls. At the lunch room she saw how they crowded across from her, whispering and snickering and checking her out; she was mildly puzzled until she suddenly realized she had been sitting with her legs slightly parted — and the eager boys had a direct view right up her skirt! The realization sent a surge of arousal shooting through the teenaged girl. Turned on sexually for the very first time in her young life, Marcie decided then and there that she would be strictly a “skirt and dresses girl” from now on.

Even as a married woman Marcie continued to love all the male attention her short skirts inevitably brought her; pleased to see the look in men’s eyes when those eyes made a beeline for her shapely nyloned legs seductively exposed as she casually crossed them while sitting on the bus. When she was alone in some public place, fantasies of exposing herself began to rise up with increased frequency; possibilities that always electrified her with piercing s****l thrill. She constantly watched for new opportunities to display.

Like the time in the local Starbucks, when she was sitting sunk down in low comfortable chair reading a book, when a guy with a newspaper took a chair directly across from her, gave her a slight smile, and then proceeded to ignore her. But she noticed that from time to time he would peek over the top of the newspaper to take in her long slim legs in the suntan nylons she preferred.

Easing back, she languidly crossed her legs letting her brief dress ride up her thighs. Ignoring his gaze, she ran a hand down a thigh to scratch an imaginary itch, rasping nylon with a fingernail, then “adjusting” the wayward skirt in such a way that the thin fabric ended up even further up her uncovered thigh. She called this her “leg play” the crossing and uncrossing of her stockinged legs while putting on a little flirtatious show for her rapt male audience of one. And if the circumstances were right she might open her legs to allow a glimpse of pink panties, or if she was feeling especially horny when she dressed that day, her shifting legs would reveal her lack of underwear to some very lucky fellow.

***

Exciting fantasies were soon crowding into her thoughts; ever more detailed, more elaborate plots began to form and percolate upward. Inevitably the very thought of such a s****l escapade became a massive turn-on. In the grip of those exciting fantasies she found herself m**********g furiously. These were scenes that had moved beyond the brief glimpse of naked flesh she would occasionally allow, to ever more elaborate plots, ones designed to take place when she was alone in some public, well-traveled place: the library, the mall, a crowded restaurant, or on a park bench. She thrilled at the very idea of being caught, “innocent” — a helpless victim of some accidental exposure. But such fantasies remained vague until the day she was strolling through the local department store and happened upon a skirt of deep chocolate brown: a knee-length, wraparound skirt, which suddenly intrigued her with its many possibilities.

Marcie wasn’t really looking for anything, just casually browsing, when the skirted mannequin caught her eye: It stood aloof, a tall straight figure in a white blouse and a full wraparound skirt with the overlap in the back and a tie belt that held the whole thing together…one that might be easily, even nonchalantly, loosened.

She headed for the store’s changing room — one of her favorite places, as she enjoyed trying on clothes while carefully leaving the door to the booth slightly ajar, thus inviting the occasional peek by anyone passing by. It never failed to give her a thrill, and sometimes even more than a momentary thrill, to be innocently “caught” bending over in her underwear.

Once inside, she quickly stripped and wrapped the new skirt around her waist. It could be easily adjusted so that the back flap, if casually brushed aside would reveal her bottom. A thrill shot through her as she looked over her shoulder into the mirror, smiling to see her pantied behind exposed when she slid back the single overlapping panel.

By the time she got her treasure home she was tingling with excitement and couldn’t wait to experiment. Wearing nothing but her new skirt and pair of heels, she practiced in her bedroom, just walking around, strolling back and forth before the mirror, each time adjusting the knotted tie belt to cause it to fail with the slightest movement, and at just the right time. She smiled to see the loosened skirt easily slide down her bare legs with just the slightest wiggle of her hips.

Now Marcie forced herself to wait a few weeks till the height of the Christmas season when she could be assured of a crowded department store in which to make her debut in her new wraparound. She went over the whole thing in her mind, making methodical preparations. Careful thought had to be given to just the right things to go with the skirt: stockings, thigh-highs, dark tan with wide lacy tops; a pair of plain black pumps with 4-inch heels; and for panties, brief boy-shorts, silky boxers of powder blue. With the skirt she would wear a plain white blouse, semi-sheer and buttoned down the front.

As she dressed for action that day she became sexually aroused; feelings of arousal that grew and became palpable as the time got closer. Tense with excitement and with her heart racing, Marcie drove to the Mall to find the lot filled with the cars of holiday shoppers. In the parking lot, she took her coat off to leave it in the car, and in her new outfit, stepped out into the cool crisp air. She took a deep breath and walked quickly to the tall glass doors at the mall entrance.

Once inside, the first thing she did was to pace off the distance to the ladies restroom — assuring herself of the distance involved in her getaway plan. She found it conveniently placed just down a side corridor from the main entranceway. Then she doubled back and plunged into the crowd at the entrance of the bustling, brightly-lit department store. She noted that checkout counter she would use was near the doors; the restroom some 20 yards away.

She took a cart and picked up a few things, strolling along, working to calm herself, to control her ragging emotions, assuming the role of a casual shopper, and all the while tense with excitement at what she was about to do.

She took her place in the long checkout line, going over the plan in her mind for the hundredth time, suddenly on the verge of panic. As she stood there, practically shaking with excitement, she dropped a hand down behind the checkout counter and began untying the knot. Wildly aroused, she shifted her stance, loosening the knotted tie with one hidden hand like she had practiced alone in her bedroom, till she felt the skirt sag and droop slightly on her hips. She knew that only the slightest movement now would send the loosened skirt dropping to the floor, leaving her the innocent victim of an embarrassing clothing accident.

She screwed up her courage and gave the little wiggle she had practiced so many times, sending the brown skirt falling to the floor to collapse around her ankles.

Now Marcie became an actress in her own carefully managed play — her role: terribly embarrassed, the innocent bystander, breezily unaware of a “wardrobe malfunction” that would send her skirt to the floor. In an instant she was left skirt-less in the crowded department store, standing there exposed in her pale blue panties, and practically trembling with arousal. Time stood still. Shocked by the sudden revelation, the onlookers could stare. For several seconds no one moved.

Finally, the man behind her leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“Errr…ma’am?’ he muttered, clearly embarrassed.

She turned to find him pointing down to her fallen skirt. Her eyes followed his pointing finger; she let out a high-pitched shriek! She reached down, but he, intending to be helpful also reached for the fallen skirt, he had already picked up the pieces and was handing them to her. Snatching the undone skirt out of his hands, she turned and fled the scene, running in panic towards the sanctuary of the ladies room, and leaving the crowd gaping behind.

Her plan was to repair the skirt, tie it properly, and leave the mall by the rear entrance. But in her headlong rush down the carpeted hallway she stumbled and fell in her heels. She scrambled to get up, and just made it to the ladies room, before slamming the door behind her with relief — only then realizing she no longer had the skirt in her hand!

***

Now Marcie found herself trapped in the ladies room in her undies under the scrutiny of a handful of curious women who were silently regarding her with wide questioning eyes. She felt a sudden rush of pleasure; all a-tingle to be showing herself in her underwear to these women, deeply aware of the eyes on her as she stood there without a skirt. But aroused as she was, she was still determined to try to carry it off: to act the helpless and humiliated victim, cringing in the corner and openly sobbing as she let them think the hopelessness of her situation had somehow overwhelmed her. How was she to get dressed and get out of there?

Then one of the women, who had sized up the situation and quickly slipped out, came back in through the door holding Marcie’s skirt in her hand!

“Here, is this what you’re looking for?” she asked. Marcie gratefully snatched up the skirt. But then she started to cry all over again. “Come on, I’ll help you with this,” said the other woman, a women about Marcie’s age — in her 40s. Putting an arm around Marcie’s shoulder, she led her to a quiet alcove, away from the watching crowd. The woman who was so solicitous said her name was Karen, and she asked how she could help.

Marcie explained that she couldn’t make it to her car in her underwear, and was even too embarrassed to show her face in the mall wearing that dress for that matter. “If had to wear this skirt in the mall again, people will recognize me as the girl whose skirts fell off. I’d be sooo embarrassed!”

Karen thought that over, then came up with a novel idea. Karen was a bit taller, but both women were roughly the same size; Marcie might make her escape by putting on the pants that Karen was wearing. Since Karen had worn a full length coat that day, it would be no problem for her to make it to her car without anyone realizing she had no pants on under that long wrapper. Once Marcie got to her car, both women would make the short drive to Karen’s place. There the pants would be returned to their rightful owner, and the infamous dress set right for Marcie to wear home.

And so Marcie, delighted at how things seemed to be going, couldn’t help rubbing herself between her legs with one hand right through the borrowed pants she was wearing as she followed Karen’s silver Toyota to the sprawling housing plan a short distance from the mall.

Once inside, Marcie stripped off the borrowed pants, and plunked her pantied behind down on the sofa, while Karen took off her coat and hung it up, leaving her standing in the foyer, bare-legged in a plain low-cut top and pair of lacy black panties.

Marcie looked up and was struck by how attractive the other woman was; a tingle went through her as she looked at her rescuer with the thin top hanging to her hips and those surprisingly sexy panties peeking out below.

Marcie felt a powerful wave of horniness rise up in her, and Marcie seemed to break down yet again. The full impact of her morning’s escapade had hit her like a ton of bricks: the watching eyes of all those people, the frantic escape, and underlying it all, the powerful rush — the sense of being turned on by the whole incredible scene!

She sat there pretending to sob as all the while she was hot, flushed and wildly horny as Karen moved in to comfort her, sitting beside the seemingly distraught girl on the sofa, putting an arm about her shoulders, pulling her in. As Karen held her in loose embrace, Marcie became acutely aware of the other woman’s soft warm body, her tingling scent. She sizzled as bare legs touched pantied hips when they closed on each other. And in those comforting arms, Marcie felt a quickening in her v****a as she found herself, melting, yielding to the other woman.

It seemed inevitable, almost natural, that the two middle-aged women, sitting in their panties on a broad leather sofa in a comfortable suburban living room, would turn to each other and begin making love. Karen turned to kiss her; Marci welcomed that kiss and answered with her own; a hard and opened mouthed kiss, her tongue seeking and finding the other’s, hungry now, aching for raw s*x. Karen moaned into her mouth, and broke off, panting, to mutter: “Let’s go upstairs,” in a low husky voice. And taking her guest by the hand she led her up the stairway to the second floor bedroom.