Naked Revelations

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

She was cool in bed that night. He was hot. She felt the touch of his hands and hoped they would arouse her, although she rarely was by such simple fondling. Sometimes she wondered if her body didn’t work right, not responding to this natural means of arousal. She reached for his c**k and played with it as she whispered in his ear.

“You know what I’m going to do?” she purred, her voice dropping an octave as she spoke.

“What’s that?” he asked.

His eyes were open; hers were closed, as she spun a fantasy straight from her imagination, always a good thing for his arousal.

“I’m going to put on that little black skirt, the one with the two inch slit up the back that barely covers my ass end, and doesn’t cover it all when I bend over...”

“And...” he urged her on.

“I’ll put on my see-through blouse, no bra at all...or maybe you’d like the black bra under the sheer white?”

“Yeah, baby, I’d like that,” he said, thinking of the black lace under the filmy white silk. His c**k was growing in her hands.

“I’m gonna dress real sexy in tall high heels,” she went on, “and I’m gonna wiggle my ass for the guys in the bar. See who I can turn on.”

“God, I’d like that,” he murmured in her ear. Her thoughts had become his thoughts, and now they made his erection expand even more. He pulled her close to him and pressed his c**k head into her cunt.

“I’m gonna wiggle my fanny for them, and when I bend over they’ll see everything. You like that don’t you?” There was a hiss in her voice, a provocative, nasty, slutty kind of hiss. She wiggled against his groin just as she would wiggle her bottom for a crowd of men.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he replied He was almost too out of it to answer at all. Her words were powerful, provoking a powerful response. He loved her whispering fantasies. Her sexy voice, and the slutty way she moved against him when she spoke. Soon, his s****l urgency took over. She still moved against him, but she didn’t say a word as the pressure in his body steadily rose. When he was close to cumming, she answered his mounting need, writhing against him more passionately, as if she were cumming too. She squeezed his c**k with her inner muscles for maximum effect, and he responded to her efforts. At last, while holding her against him, he seemed to freeze for a split second. Then an agonized groan escaped his lips as he buried his c**k deeply within her and came. She squeezed his organ even harder when he began to c*m. The milking sensation was almost too much to bear. For a time, they seemed suspended in an erotic dreamland. Then, as the fierceness of the moment finally ebbed, he pulled from her steamy hole, dripping a little c*m against her thigh.

As Kate lay back on the bed beside him while he caught his breath, her hand went immediately to her p***y. Her fingers played efficiently between the two plump outer labia. She’d perfected a method that would bring her orgasm swiftly. He stroked her thighs, then moved his attention to her breasts where he pinched her n*****s hard enough to cause her to moan. Then while massaging her belly where it seemed there was always a wild passion stored, he watched her placid face, wondering what lay inside her pretty blonde head as she brought herself to a climax.

I’m in a bar where there’s a light show and dancers and lots of smoke making it difficult to see. The feeling is erotic, the mood provoking s****l thoughts from the moment I enter. The dancer before my eyes intrigues me, the way she moves like a lady lioness, like a sultry bird, like the smoky vapors themselves that wind their way about the mindless shadows that watch her work. When she bares her breasts, I wish they were mine. I can feel the thrill of letting the exposure make me hot between my legs. Her breasts jiggle, swaying softly back and forth against her naked torso, looking as if they are reaching out to an appreciative audience.

Her fingers the tiny waistband of her panties and slowly, a millimeter at a time, they descend from her thighs until it’s just the wisp at her crotch remaining between her last shred of decency and full exposure. A collective sigh goes around the prickly heated room when the cloth recedes, providing a glimpse of the randy girl’s shaved cunt. Her two lips look innocent enough, though they’re wet with pre-c*m dew.

The beckoning dance continues and the sultry movements go on, until the sweet seductress rests her eyes on me, and with a breathless whisper, invites me to the stage.

Kate’s hands followed the path they knew so well, as her mind led her through the fantasy while Sam toyed her gently moving body. Patience, it took patience for them both to complete the orgasmic ritual. After the little ripple moved through her body, and a soft gasp issued from her mouth, she opened her eyes and smiled. s*x was over for the night, and they both relaxed.

“Where are you when you’re getting off?” Sam asked her while she washed her hands in the bathroom. He was peeing beside her.

“Where, when?” Kate asked back.

“You know, during s*x. What do you think about?”

“Oh, the kind of the things I talk to you about. I just keep going in my head with them.” Her response was brief, informing him of very little. How strange to have just had s*x and yet feel this lonely gulf between them. There was no bridge to her thoughts save the few pieces she offered him as compensation for his efforts to please her. But he knew his painstaking attention to her body did little to take her to a s****l climax; her body responded so little to his physical touch. Kate did all the orgasmic work herself, inside her mind. He was just there. Occasionally, she opened her eyes to draw him in, but that seemed more out of kindness to him than to derive more physical arousal. Most of the time she was too far into herself for him to call the s*x act “making love”.

***

It was morning. There was sunshine creeping into the atrium outside their bedroom door. It was seven-thirty, before the alarm went off, when there was something clean about the day, before it got dirty and gritty around the edges after a day’s worth of living. There should be no tension, but there was.

Sam turned over in bed to snuggle against his half-awake wife. She could feel his morning hard-on against her bottom. She instantly recoiled.

“Hummmm. I’m so sleepy, how about just letting me lie while you shower,” she said.

His hand ran over her satiny hips and down her thigh, and then reached around to find its way to her pubic mound.

“Oh, not now, Sam,” she groaned with annoyance.

“Why not?” he answered. “Don’t you want to take care of this?” He rapped his hard-on against her bottom.

“No please, I’m just not horny now. You know I don’t like it in the morning.” Her body recoiled as if it was a snake or a long-tailed rodent climbing on her prickly skin.

Morning was often Sam’s most aroused time of day, but never Kate’s. He tried one more time, moving closer into her back, but she wasn’t budging and she wasn’t turning around. After a few agonizing minutes of internal arguing, she finally slipped from his arms, and the bed. She grabbed her robe from the tall bedpost and moved to the bathroom. “I’ve got to pee,” she said.

Sam lay back looking at the ceiling, his erection fading fast, though the agitation in his body was not so easy to soothe. He was tempted to say, “What’s the matter with you?” But that would start a fight, and he hated fighting because she always won when it came to s*x.

They passed in the bathroom, Kate quick to move out of the room while he showered. She’d make him breakfast, peck him on the cheek on the way out, and probably look soulfully into his eyes before he left, saying, “I’m sorry, Sam, I really am. I’m just not horny in the morning.” She obsessed on everything, but especially on her failures. If only she’d put as much effort into doing something about them rather than mourning over them. He thought that often.

Forty-five minutes later, Kate was at the front door saying good-bye. Her face looked perkier, even a little sensuous as a new day and new energy got inside her. She counted on his responding to her pretty, sun-filled face, though it wasn’t really working, not today.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her soft eyes trying to get through the thick wall of silence he erected since she rejected him earlier. But her pleading look did little good; the invisible wall he’d erected wasn’t about to come down, and while he kissed her good-bye, she was left with that empty feeling again.

Sometimes things were right between them, sometimes perfect. At other times, because of her frigid replies to his s****l overtures, they were a disaster.

Kate loved him. But that didn’t matter. There was a locked place inside her that wouldn’t open, wouldn’t even budge. It was a struggle for her to be alive and happy with the thing inside that space clawing to find some means of expression. Sam knew this, but he was hard-pressed to know what to do about it. The worst part however, it seemed that her mind had shut down her body’s natural response to s****l stimulation. For all his tries to change her over the past ten years, he’d made little progress. If he could move mountains to lift the pall she’d cast around her sexuality, he would; but instinctively he knew the only key to unlock that place lay somewhere in the murky reaches of her complicated mind.

After Sam left, Katherine sat down with her journal for the third time that week, looking for that small thread of a story that would lead to a plot that would lead to characters that would end up being a clue to her next novel. For the third time that week, her mind drew a blank. There was nothing at all, no hints, no clues, not even the tiniest minuscule idea crossed through her thoughts.

While she struggled for that one pure thing to propel her new book forward, she fought off the little villains that raced around inside her head: nagging thoughts that came to her from nowhere and hampered the peace of mind she needed to do her work. Like cawing crows, they jabbered at her insides until she took care of what they wanted from her. The cawing crows were s****l thoughts, dirty, racy, raunchy thoughts. Where she hadn’t been horny at seven-thirty when Sam’s erection was begging for attention, she was horny by nine, the crows eating away at her resolve, picking apart a well-arranged consciousness that had practiced putting them off every day of her life, until she had no will to do it anymore.

She pressed her hand to her crotch as she sat before the empty sheets of paper at her desk. Any fleeting thought having to do with something appropriate for another novel would have to wait until this moment with her body was over. Her mind spun fast into a quick deep dive where the fantasy of the night before took form in her mind with strange new twists.

I’m on the stage, a little sheepish to begin with, but the sweet dancer that invited me here whispers encouragement in my ear. My skirt is short, my midriff bare, just a simple halter covering the important parts above. Obviously, I’ve dressed well for this moment. Maybe it’s what I was looking for when I came here. When she tells me to dance, I begin, finding it not so difficult once the music gets inside me. The lower half of my body responds as if I’ve done this every day for months. I give the men a good show, while I watch them watch me move my hips to the lazy beat, and the sounds of a husky s*x-filled voice coming through the blaring sound system.

The dancer coming up behind me whispers in my ear. “Take off your top.”

She backs away and leaves me there to wonder if I have the guts to continue the show. When I find the buttons of the halter easily undone, I’m quaking so much I’m afraid I won’t be able to remain on my feet. On spike heels, I teeter dangerously on the brink of stumbling. But I don’t stumble, and I do remove the top, and my breasts do fall from the halter as offerings to watchful eyes. I dance, and dance, and feel something rise up from the audience that’s dark and controlling...

Just as a frenzy of activity occurred in Kate’s bar, she was swept to the edge of her orgasm, her playing fingers making a delicious kind of climax, where her insides tighten in a brisk moment of triumph, and then released a lovely wave of erratic sensation that’s always done too soon. If she could only capture it for longer, but it dies rapidly away, leaving something guilty remaining: where were these feelings two hours before when her aroused husband wanted her to make love? It’s always guilt gnawing on the inside. She knows it’s from the past, but the past is so far from her mind, how could it have such strong impact on the present?

***

“How’s the new book coming along?” Sam asked, as he moved about the kitchen while Katherine, sitting on a bar stool on the other side of the counter, watched him work.

“New book? There is no new book,” she replied. Sam was making salsa, his special variety, the really hot kind that made her lips burn.

“No book? That doesn’t sound like you,” he said.

“Well, it is this time. My mind’s a blank; there’s not one great thought anywhere.”

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place,” he said, as he chopped peppers with a quick, efficient stroke of his butcher knife.

“Not too many of those hot ones,” she said, noting the savage combination of spices her husband was working with.

He glared at her, though it wasn’t a serious glare, just a “don’t disturb my creative moment” glare.

“So what do you mean by the wrong place?” she asked going back to her immediate predicament.

“Maybe there just isn’t another story about “the unhappy housewife finding her place in the working world” in you.” Sam had always found her writing a little macabre, leaving him wondering if she really found her life that bleak.

“But I was so sure,” she said.

“Yeah, and how many words have you written this week?” he asked.

“None,” she sighed heavily, as she picked up a corn chip and dipped it into the guacamole. “Well not exactly none, I’ve started at least a dozen times, get three paragraphs into something, and then decide it’s s**t and toss it away.”

Sam wasn’t listening that much; he’d heard this line from her before. He did like looking at her face while she ate another chip coated with dip. The way she ran the thing across her lips was sexy. “You’re trying to turn me on now?” he wondered aloud, giving her an appreciative smile. Funny how these little seductive gestures slipped out sometimes, especially when she’d been drinking. She just had her second glass of wine. Too bad, she usually reined them in at the very mention of them. Though she didn’t this time, probably because she was pleasantly high.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Though I suppose I should make up to you for this morning.”

His amiable expression faded quickly with that remembrance.

“Yeah, well, let’s forget about that.” He stirred his brew of peppers, tomatoes and spices like a sorcerer. He rather looked like one too, his sharp brown eyes gave off a distinct piercing light, except when they softened in moments of love. “Maybe you ought to try something really outrageous, different. Take some chances with your writing.”

“Like what?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Hell, why not write about what you fantasize?”

“You mean...”

“s*x, I mean sex.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No, no, no, no.” She started to pull off the barstool.

“Hold it,” he said, as if he was ordering her to stay. “What’s wrong with my suggestion?”

“It’s, it’s so . . .” There weren’t the words in her vocabulary to describe the feeling that made her body clench inside.

“You’re scared of it, of where it might lead,” he suggested.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just not the vision I have of myself as a writer.” Her voice rose, sounding a little squeaky, the way it always was when she was nervous – as if she was cutting herself off at the throat. He must have hit a hot button.

“Maybe the vision you have of yourself is out of whack. Maybe it’s why you can’t dredge up another tale of woe. There’s nothing wrong with s*x; and you like reading dirty books as much as I do.”

“But write one . . . ?” she started to protest again.

“Hey, do what you like, Katherine,” Sam said. He was not about to get into a spat with her just before their favorite meal. “Now how’s this taste?” he asked, offering her a spoonful of salsa.

“Ooo, my, that’s hot.”

He snickered, perfectly pleased with himself, for the concoction he’d made and the way his gentle barbs were finding a way inside his sexually impervious wife. Maybe writing about s*x would unlock some of her fears.

After dinner, Kate was in the bedroom changing clothes while Sam was in the living room getting a hard-on. She’d looked sexy at dinner in a nearly transparent blouse. With her naked beneath the white fabric, he could see her n*****s poking out with the pink buds hard as rocks. He began to play with himself.

Kate returned to the living room on tiptoe, wearing her white silk shirt and nothing else, intending to entice Sam to bed. But she stopped short seeing Sam leaning back in his leather chair playing with his rock hard c**k. She cringed with a creepy feeling moving through her restlessly. Closing her eyes, she hoped the feeling might go away, but opening them again, Sam’s hand still vigorously massaged his erection. It made her furious. He knew how much she hated seeing him this way. Why wouldn’t he stop? Gathering her courage, she walked toward him.

“Please put that away for awhile. I had something else in mind.”

“Like what?” Sam said, surprised by her sudden appearance. She crooked her finger at him and started to move toward the bedroom, trying to look sexy as she ignored his erection.

Sam smiled and began to follow her.

Crawling on the bed, on hands and knees to lure him, Kate had Sam entering her from behind immediately, hammering her with almost malicious thrusts. He squeezed her ass and she responded, as if something were being drawn from her. She was in her head, trying to imagine things the way she wanted them.

“Go get the crop,” she whispered. While Sam hustled to retrieve the implement from the top drawer of his dresser, Kate writhed, waiting for the harsh sensations to begin. Only occasionally were they important, and they were important now. Her mind reeled back into the darkest of her fantasies.

The crop stung when it hit, but that aroused her more. More strikes and she turned over letting Sam flail the thing against her thighs while she rubbed herself. He was jacking off seeing the crude gyrations – how hand penetrated her cunt, and then found the side of her clit where it was engorged with blood and sensitive. She rubbed herself as Sam brought the crop hard against her thighs. She climaxed, and then he climaxed, letting his c*m shoot all over her belly. Her eyes remained closed while she continued to dwell in her private nirvana-land where her fantasy had taken her.

“You like watching me like that?” she asked. Her mouth forming a coy pouty smile, as she opened her eyes.

“Yeah, I like watching,” he said, dropping to the bed. He always loved watching in the midst of s*x.

She was happy pleasing him this way, almost as happy as she was pleasing herself. For just a brief instant when that dark side of her rose to the surface, she was a contented woman. But she was content only for a minute; then the guilt began to rise, and she had to leave the bed, return the crop to the drawer and put some distance between herself and their last s****l act.

“Kate, you have to get a handle on the s*x,” Sam said. He still lay in bed watching her move about the bedroom.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” she asked.

“It means that who you are keeps creeping out. But just when I think you’re really making some progress, you close up so tightly that I can’t get inside. You’re afraid to let what’s inside get out.”

“You think I’m frigid, don’t you?” she said. How she hated that word because she knew that sometimes that’s exactly what Sam felt.

“Sometimes. But you don’t have to be.”

“Just look at tonight,” she reminded him.

“That’s what I’m saying. Look at tonight, and look at you now.” She stood before him with her terry-cloth bathrobe clutched around her and the sash pulled tight. “Take what I said seriously about your writing. Do it for me, if nothing else. Though you really need to do it for yourself.”

She considered the suggestion almost feeling sick to her stomach. There were two people inside her, each pulling her away from the other, but pulling her nowhere but to a bleak, dry place where there was memory and guilt and a thousand reasons why she hated the thought of bringing that part of herself into her conscious mind. If writing about s*x took her into the past, she didn’t want to write about it. She didn’t want to remember how bad it was for her as an adolescent dealing with her s****l libido and the disgusting acts it compelled her to perform.