Exploring the Pleasure of Being Nude in Part 3 Experiencing the Delight of Baring All, Part 3
O was placed on a stool between the two men... and René assisted her in moving her skirt off the stool. The cold leather surface brushed against her skin, while the metal band hugged directly onto the furrow of her thighs. At first, she hesitantly took a seat with only half of her bottom, concerned that she might betray to the temptation to cross her legs. (Pauline Réage, Tale of O)
There is something intriguing about public CMNF that doesn't always require total nudity.
A scenario widely used in a certain category of books and movies depicts the situation in a restaurant. The leading man commands or persuades the leading lady to remove her panties. She discreetly slides them down her legs and surrenders them. In another variation, she visits the restroom for that purpose. In certain cases, other diners acknowledge the situation; in others, they are oblivious.
My episode occurred a few months after my initial CMNF experience with Rob. I had been granted a research grant, which resulted in an elevation in the university physics department and a slight increase in my income. To commemorate this accomplishment, I decided to treat Rob and myself to a meal at a lavish restaurant.
The venue possessed seatings with cushiony leather chairs. Due to our privacy in a hidden corner, I experienced a sudden bout of shameless boldness. Indeed, the reminiscence of my first birthday night was partly responsible. Additionally, I started thinking how my promotion over Rob diminished our equality. Dissimilar to other instances, it wasn't his suggestion. In fact, when he noticed my actions, he frowned and shook his head. He wasn't disapproving, but rather aroused, considering my possible humiliation. Nevertheless, rebelling against societal customs and the anticipation of ordeal fascinated the impudent dimension of my nature.
However, accomplishing the task without drawing attention was challenging. I had silk lace bikini briefs beneath a short, carnation-pink gown with puffed shoulder straps. I didn't wear stockings. The skirt covered my knee length, which meant that once I pushed them halfway down my thighs, my displaced underwear would be exposed to anyone who took an appropriate position. Considering that Rob and I were opposite one another, he could not conceal me. Plus, the tablecloth was inadequate to provide concealment.
I proceeded anyway. After the starters arrived, I lifted my bottom from the seat, gripped the side of my underwear, and swiftly slid them off my buttocks and along my thighs. I hesitated when they reached my knees, the threshold where they could be detected. Requiring to proceed, I had to bend forward in my seat to push them down my calves to my ankles. Then I leaned sideways to the left to collect them, managing to sidestep any major creatures sticking out from my shoe. Relieved, I compressed them into a compact unit, which I swiftly placed in my purse.
"What are you chuckling about?" Rob inquired.
"It's hardly a secret," I wished to say, but refrained. In truth, it wasn't just the excitement of disregarding society's constraints nor the physical sensations that tickled me from within. Moreover, the realization that such a delicate piece of fabric once consisted as the only separation between my body and the chair captivated me.
This was certainly not my first dining experience with Rob without undergarments, but until now, it had taken place in our personal space. The additional intrigue I derived now was the experience of secretive exhibitionism in public, but without explicit public exhibition. It was the intimacy of a secret shared between me and Rob that excluded everyone else in the room. However, I became conspicuously conscious of the other diners. Even if they didn't gazed at me, I felt exposed. Even though a waitress headed toward us, she deviated from our path. Maybe she sensed it, or maybe she simply suspected, but she never stated it outright.
I fought the urge to cross my legs. That could have offered reassurance, but it would have emphasized the shorter length of my skirt, potentially exposing more. Therefore, I found myself keeping my knees together, despite it not being necessary. No one - diners or staff - could compromise my remaining modesty with their angle of sight.
From time to time, Rob would occasionally play footsie with me. This was something he always enjoyed, particularly when I was without any clothing on. However, when the tip of his shoe touched the inside of my thighs, the pressure became unbearable, and I reacted by suddenly shaking my head. He responded with an apologetic grin.
During one of the dinner parties, after we had been served the main course, I had to use the restroom. To shield myself from prying eyes, I kept my hands pressed against the sides of my dress as I made my way there. However, upon returning to the table, my adventurous side surged once more. I slid my shoulder straps down my arms, causing the neckline of my dress to almost reach my nipples. In addition, I pushed the back of my dress back so that my bare butt rested against the leather seat. Rob didn't notice this at first, but I didn't let on. This was my own personal joy. It felt incredible. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but squirm from time to time. My face had probably become red due to embarrassment, and that's when Rob finally caught on. We carried on as if we were just a normal couple dining and chatting.
The waitress who served us our dessert, the same one who had earlier avoided eye contact, smiled when she saw my lowered neckline. But I don't believe she was pleased with what was going on underneath. When she brought our bill later on, Rob, who was a manly man who didn't feel the need to showcase his ego, told me to settle the payment (as we had previously agreed). As I reached for my purse, the small piece of silk that had been guarding my private parts for a while caused an unexpected rise in arousal. Despite this, just before we left the restaurant, I returned to the ladies' room to return my underwear to its rightful position. Standing up from my chair, my flesh separated from the sticky leather with a quiet suction sound, and this was the only moment when I felt fear and disappointment. However, no one noticed. Once back at the table, I sat on my skirt and slid my butt across the chair to discreetly wipe it clean, removing any traces of sweat. And it wasn't just the perspiration that I was concerned about. For almost an hour, I had been experiencing non-stop arousal.
Although I could have left my underwear off as we exited the restaurant, I decided that it wouldn't be prudent. The feeling of nakedness in a public place made me feel extremely shy and even a little ashamed. But that was all part of the excitement.
We took a taxi back home. Although tempted, I chose not to remove my underwear. The seats in a cab aren't as clean as those in a fancy restaurant. While the ride was happening, I squeezed Rob's hand and contemplated the significance of my actions during the dinner. I realized that the fear of being caught had been a major contributing factor to my pleasure. Moreover, there was the one-sidedness, the lack of equality that comes with this type of experience. Even if he had been inclined, Rob couldn't go where I had. He couldn't lower his pants... or else, he would have been asked to leave or even arrested. This was a woman's game. And if I had been discovered, while Rob would have shared the shame, the embarrassment would have been mine. But these concerns didn't stop me. They excited me.
I have previously touched upon this subject. In a way, this dinner party CMNF made me feel empowered - not just because I was making my own decisions, but because I was taking risks and facing discomfort and the possibility of being spotted with Rob not having to deal with the same predicament. That didn't make me superior to my husband, but it did give me a sense of pride.
"By now, the cab has picked up speed... 'You're overdressed,' he says. 'Untie your garter belt and remove your panties.' She puts her hands behind her back and raises herself slightly to remove them. He takes her underwear off, opens her bag, and puts them inside. Then he says, 'You shouldn't sit on your petticoat or your skirt. Pull them up behind you and sit directly on the seat, with nothing in between.' The seat is made of imitation leather, smooth and cold. It's thrilling to feel it adhere to her thighs." (Pauline Réage, Histoire d'O)
Your mom taught you to wear clean underwear in case of accidents, right? That's why it felt strange for me to take off my underwear while driving. One time, we were heading out of town to visit friends who had moved to a new place. Rob and I took turns driving. It was a gray, boring day and the scenery was monotonous, so I was feeling restless. I wore a polka-dot dress, and I decided to pull my underwear down to my knees. I would quickly pull them back up in case of an emergency.
"Stay focused on the road!" Rob said, giving me a glance or two. This was the starting point of my CMNF experiences where excitement didn't blossom for either of us.
I put my underwear back on when we stopped for a break halfway through the journey. After that, I drove. The recess had given me a needed boost and encouraged my adventurous side. So, when we got back on the road, I pulled my dress up and pushed my underwear down my legs, all the way to the mat. This didn't distract me while driving.
Rob's warnings to pay attention to the road reminded me of my earlier reprimand, maybe that was his way of getting back at me. He kindly grabbed my underwear and stashed it in the console between our seats, which was a nice gesture to maintain my comfort while driving.
I didn't sit on my dress, and the upholstery felt nice at first but gradually became damp. I had not anticipated such intensity of the feeling. It could be because I had to remain attentive that my sensitivity was heightened, resulting in an unusual sensation that I've rarely felt (except in bed with my husband). With every sharp curve or swerve, my body bounced a little, causing a tingling sensation on my butt as my skin slid off and then stuck back on the seat. With every bump in the road, my whole body shook, causing a ripple of pleasure from my lower back up to my belly.
Rob became concerned by my pleasure moans. "Are you okay, honey?" he queried. (He says that a lot these days.)
I grunted an unintelligible reply. He tried to continue the conversation with me. It was a weirdly erotic sensation because my nakedness was a hidden secret shared only by those who knew. It wasn't a performance for onlookers or other drivers. The feeling was mostly symbolic and personal.
We struggled to maintain a normal conversation over two and a half hours of intense arousal. I needed another bathroom break, but it was just the pressure caused by my excitement on my bladder. As I sat back down, I noticed the seat had cooled and felt great.
Rob offered to drive the rest of the way, but I shook my head. As we drove up to our friends' street, he teased me by touching the lid of the console where my underwear were tucked away.
"Are you going to wear them?" I questioned, turning off the engine.
"It's our little secret," he responded, removing his hand. "No sharing."
"Pussy," I mocked.
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