Author:  OneIdleHand
Title:  Invitation & Revelation
Summary:  It took a while for Hayley to warm up to life in the Big Easy, but after daring to participate in a certain Mardi Gras tradition, she finds that she wants more. Soon, she receives an invitation to participate in a lesser known Mardi Gras tradition, finding it to be both a revelation to others and herself. 
Keywords: Exhib, M/F 


“Invitation and Revelation”



Unbelievable.  Absolutely unbelievable.  Hayley looked herself over in 
the mirror, from the hem of her black dress at mid-thigh, past the 
flaring of her hips to her narrow waist, to the fuller curves of her… 
well, then to her face.  There she met her own eyes, staring hard.

“Look at you,” said she to herself, “going out like this.”

“And look at you, standing there.  I don’t think you have it in you.”

She broke eye contact, doubtful, and looked again to her dress.  She 
was certain that one of her was right.  How could she go out like this?  
She reached forward and tilted her floor mirror forward, revealing the 
reflection of her spaghetti string black heeled shoes.  She had always 
considered her feet cute.  At least she could agree with herself about 
that.  Looking up again, the angle of the mirror now cropped her image 
at the neck, so she could no longer see her face in the mirror.   Good.

She returned to her conversation.  “Look at you, going out like this.”

This time there was no reply, but she casually acknowledged that she 
couldn’t look herself in the eye.  A little more than four years in the 
Big Easy had gradually loosened her from her conservative upbringing, 
but this…this was hard.  How had she come to this?



It was “the” season.  Christmas had come and gone.  Gifts had been 
given; gifts had been received.   There hadn’t even been any returns 
this year.   Provide Steven a list, show Steven the things on the list 
at the stores in which they are for sale, remind Steven where the list 
is, and receive the items on the list.  Quite simply done.   But she 
wasn’t as mercenary as that seemed.  It had been a wonderful holiday.  

New Year’s, too, had been great fun.  They hadn’t painted the town red 
but spent a quiet evening at home with some friends, playing Hearts 
until an ageless Dick Clark acknowledged that another year had passed.

But four years of living in Louisiana had taught Hayley that the real 
holiday season was the two weeks prior to Fat Tuesday.  She had heard 
of Mardi Gras growing up in North Carolina, but she had never really 
paid attention to it.   There had a childhood friend that had gone to 
Mobile, AL for Mardi Gras, returning with cheap beads and moon pies.  
She was jealous at the time of the trinkets, but it was quickly 
forgotten.

That was then; this was now.  After moving to Mandeville with Steven, 
she, like many of her neighbors, had pulled out the storage cases of 
gold, purple, and green knick knacks, flags, and beads, decorating her 
home on the inside, with a few flourishes outside.  The addition of 
colored translucent plastic sheets in her patio lights put them one 
ahead of the neighbors.  But that wasn’t really what it was all about.  
Decorating was a relatively quiet acknowledgement of the traditions of 
the area, including the wild things that went on in the city across the 
bridge and a bit east. 

She loved Mandeville.  She did.  Clean city, nice shopping centers, 
good schools, excellent waterfront park…   But it was at this time of 
year that, to some measure, she felt disconnected from everybody.  All 
the native Cajuns always seemed to have a tradition about the way they 
celebrated Mardi Gras.  This included the parades, surely, but they 
disappeared to family member’s homes for Cajun boils or were invited to 
other parties.

Therefore, it was the parades which were her participation in the 
festivities.

She remembered her first trip downtown to the big parades the first 
year they had lived here, accompanied by their neighbors, the Michells, 
John and Louise.  The Michells had grown up in the area, mostly in 
Jefferson Parish.  But they had wanted to try life on the other side of 
the lake, primarily for their kids’ education. They had surprised her 
with the invitation to go to a parade in New Orleans.  She had expected 
to go to one of the small ones in Mandeville or perhaps Slidell.  Most 
people had suggested they stay away from New Orleans when they had 
learned she was new to the area, including their realtor.  “It’s so 
much safer out here.  You just never know what might happen downtown; 
it’s a dangerous place.”  But the Michells insisted that they try it, 
perplexed that she and Steven would even consider not going.

Well, her first experience was so wonderful that she couldn’t stay 
away.  She had attended parades as a child… Memorial Day, Labor Day… 
she couldn’t remember which.  It was mostly some floats, a few high 
school marching bands, uniformed veterans out for a march, and a lot of 
aging Rotarians dressed in silly costumes.  It hadn’t been worth the 
time.  But Louise had explained how extravagant the parades here would 
seem in comparison, and Steven and she had a natural curiosity.  And 
too, she had a natural inclination to say “yes” when others told her 
“no.”  Perhaps she would grow up some day…  

Debauchery.  She had never really understood the stupid things people 
do when they’re inebriated.  And with each parade she attended over the 
last several years, she came to understand that people do stupid things 
even when they’re not drunk.  They were just debauched.  Was that a 
word?  

And it had shocked her that first year to find that Louise and John 
were included.   She would never forget when Louise flashed her breasts 
to a guy on a balcony, getting several strands of beads in the process.  
A process which had been repeated numerous times that night.  And her 
husband, John, had just smiled and smiled.  And so had Steven!  And she 
had laughed too, the initial shock mellowing to amazement.  

This was, after all, their neighbor!  People they would see again and 
again.  It hadn’t remotely touched her life to that point that people 
would expose themselves to others that they knew.  As she had watched 
other girls and women expose their breasts, there was an excitement, 
yes, but, after all, she didn’t know them and would never see them 
again.  As she watched, she realized that most of them were in small 
groups, obviously comfortable with their friends seeing them.  

She hadn’t bared her breasts, that first year, or even been tempted.  
Nor had she the second year, despite some encouragement from Steven 
late in the evening.  She wanted to, kind of, but just when she thought 
she had the nerves to do it, she would back out.  

It wasn’t until the third year that she went without her bra, which, 
she remembered, was only because Steven had insisted.  She knew what he 
wanted, at that point, because he had started asking her if she would 
flash people, starting some weeks before the season arrived.  And she 
planned to, she had thought, but she never quite worked up the gumption 
to do it.  As it turned out, thankfully, she didn’t have to.  Louise 
was showing her breasts to a crowd of guys on the street, and suddenly, 
Steven grabbed her shirt and held it up.  It couldn’t have been more 
than 2 seconds, but it seemed like forever.  She still treasured the 
beads that had rained down upon them from a balcony, but she couldn’t 
even look up there to see who had thrown them.  What if she knew 
someone?   She knew that was unlikely, but it was just difficult to 
make eye contact with people that had just seen you half naked.

Then there was last year.  A whole year of remembering her one indecent 
exposure had driven her to masturbate countless times.  She hadn’t told 
Steven how excited it had made her.  She had told Louise though, and it 
was for that reason that they had gone to all the parades on Fat 
Tuesday, rather than the smaller parades on a preceding weeknight.  
Louise had understood Hayley’s emerging daring, although she was 
surprised that it had taken so long.  As Louise had set the stage for 
the parades throughout the day and evening, she had frequently reminded 
her, “More time on the street, more opportunity!”

She didn’t know exactly how comfortable Steven was, although, 
obviously, the first flash had been his doing.  But still, she was 
married, and to go through with what she was planning, she thought it 
right to seek his “permission.”   

The kids had been sent off to another neighbor’s house, who seemed to 
be babysitting for a number of kids in the neighborhood.  Steven had 
come into the bedroom while she was dressing that morning, and had 
performed a “bra check,” gradually caressing her back to see if there 
was evidence of a bra.  He hadn’t found one and had left encouraged, 
she had thought.  But she had been wearing a conservative collared 
blouse that buttoned and tucked into her jeans.  It was somewhat tight 
and gave evidence of her curves, but it was ridiculous to expect that 
she would be able to flash without seeming to undress.  About 10 
minutes before John and Louise picked them up, she hastily had changed 
into a clingy, satin purple halter-top.  Louise would be wearing an 
identical one, but gold, as they had shopped together.  Hayley had 
walked into the living room, watching Steven’s jaw actually drop, 
admiring her as she approached.  She had stopped several feet short of 
his reach, curled the hem of her top around pinky fingers, lifted, and 
said, “How do I look?”

It had been a good thing the Michells had shown up shortly thereafter, 
or they wouldn’t have made the trip at all.   As her hand had 
frequently, and, at times, rather openly confirmed, Steven had stayed 
hard throughout the day.  And afterwards… it had been a night to 
remember.  She also understood why Bourbon Street had a certain sour, 
earthy smell to it during the day.

Her initial musings about the previous year had changed though.  She 
had searched web sites looking at pictures posted from Mardi Gras.  It 
was an absolutely fantastic finger fuck when she first found her own 
picture on the web.  And Steven had satisfied her more “fully” when she 
had shown it to him.  She had known, of course, about the picture 
taking, as John had taken pictures of Louise the previous years, which 
was really just an asterisk compared with the seeming thousands of 
other revelers that had taken pictures as well.  So, she had taken and 
worn a little feathered mask.  That had lasted about half the day.  It 
was too uncomfortable.  Sure, someone might recognize her in the 
photos, but Louise had convinced her that even if someone did, it was 
very unlikely that they would confront her with it.  After all, who 
admits to looking at pictures of nude women on the internet?   Louise 
had a point.  

An unanticipated result of that day had been that anytime Steven needed 
inspiration for a little romance, she simply pulled out pictures that 
either he or John had taken of her flashing her tits.  What a strange 
day that had been!  And with such mixed emotions!  It was wrong to show 
her breasts – that was the way she was raised, and she knew deep within 
that was what the majority of people believed, because their behavior 
confirmed it.  You just didn’t see women flash their tits.

But then there was an excitement, too.  Doing what was wrong somehow 
felt so right, especially down…there.  Feeling a slight cool breeze on 
her bare nipples had opened a new world of sensation to her…  men 
walked around without their shirts, so it was only fair.  But even as 
she rationalized, she knew that the wrongness outvoted her desires by a 
solid 1%.  But it was, after all, her desires, that had won the moment 
and, for that matter, the day.

Still, considering all of that, it had been somewhat of a surprise to 
find that in every picture, there was an enraptured smile.  The photos 
also showed the gradual increase in the number of beads she had been 
given, to the point where she couldn’t properly expose herself.  Steven 
had taken the overflow, gladly

But then there was the wrongness again.  Every picture showed her 
raising her shirt, even holding a breast for a man to ogle, as she 
looked squarely at her admirers.  But not once had she looked at Steven 
in the pictures.  It didn’t change his excitement, certainly, but how 
strange it was to be putting on a show for others, almost to the point 
of neglecting her own husband.

But the beads…  She had earned them.  Only cents to a few dollars each, 
she guessed, but she took great pride in them.  Her mom had admired 
them during her annual visit, not knowing that her little angel had 
fallen a step or three to obtain them.  

They weren’t trinkets to her though.  They had been earned.  There was 
a contract of sorts.  I’ll lift my blouse and show you my tits, and 
you’ll throw me some beads.  It was transactional.   It was like she 
was a celebrity for a day, and the masses were paying for her 
autograph.   Well, that was stretching it a bit far.  But certainly she 
had earned them.  So many of the pictures showed plenty of guys 
staring, fighting for position to see, and even reaching.  One had even 
shown a faceless stranger’s hand on her tit.  She had assumed it was 
Steven at the time…  

It was a catching atmosphere…the cool night air… shoulder to shoulder 
people… the costumes…the beads… the masks… the smell of the food… the 
junk vendors… the stuff thrown from the floats…

The floats.  While there was a growing satisfaction in having dared to 
do what she had done, it was ultimately the floats that had caused her 
mood to gradually change.   In October or so, articles started 
appearing in the newspaper about the secret societies that paid for, 
built, and manned the floats, with occasional snippets regarding past 
Kings and Queens, ballrooms committed for the societies, and 
Even fundraisers to be held.   

She had turned to the internet for information about these groups.  She 
had quickly found that her blood would never be blue enough for the 
local in-crowd to be asked to join one of the main societies, and that 
had caused a strange depression in her, and precious little was known 
about most.  Her memories were treasured, but they began souring as she 
dwelled on the fact that she had participated in “their” event.  Mardi 
Gras wasn’t “hers,” not that anyone would claim to own it, but it 
certainly would never belong to a woman from North Carolina.  It made 
her seem a stranger in… not a strange land – strange as it was, but a 
known land.  And that just made her mad.


Steven had noticed her turn in mood, and it was him, ironically, she 
thought now, that had suggested she talk to Louise about it.  And she 
had, shortly after Thanksgiving, when she had invited Louise to lunch.

“So, you’re jealous of the local high society?” asked Louise.  “Listen, 
people pay a lot of money to join those societies.  And it’s basically 
just a party.  They spend tons of money on the floats, their costumes, 
the ball, the parties leading up to the ball…  It’s very expensive.  
Why can’t you just enjoy it as you have?  After the way you finally 
joined in last year, we’re really looking forward to another Mardi Gras 
with you.  You’re officially an exhibitionist, you know.”

“I am, am I?”  

“Doing it once is a dare.  Doing it, well, how many times?  Honey, 
that’s the real you finding it’s way out.  You’re official alright.  
John and I had decided that you didn’t have it in you, but then you, 
well, exhibited your true nature.”  Louise laughed.  “Look, I’ve been 
showing off down there since I was 16, but don’t tell my parents if you 
ever meet them!  But I guess I had forgotten how people might be shy 
about it, if I ever knew that to begin with.  And now, here I am, 38 
years old, with a buddy to keep me young!  And with John sharing in it, 
it’s just wonderful!”    

“Well, in a way, it’s the sharing that’s been the problem.  And I don’t 
mean the awkwardness of my friend and neighbor’s husband having seen my 
boobs, as awkward as that sometimes seems to be.”  

Louise looked baffled.

“Oh, I’m over that!  But Louise, haven’t you ever wondered what it 
would be like to ride on a float, to take a peek at Mardi Gras from the 
inside?  You’ve lived here a while.  Have you ever been invited to join 
a society?”

Louise didn’t answer, then broke eye contact.

“I can see it!  Don’t hold out on me!” said Hayley.

Louise shook her head.  “No, Hayley.  I’ve never been a member.  I’ve…  
Well, John was once a part of… I guess you would call it a feeder 
group.  A few of the societies have…well, they’re not members, but 
they’re relationships with others that do certain work to help the 
society get ready, like volunteers.  There’s a lot of charities that 
benefit from the Krewes, you know.  So, John helped once.”

Hayley sniffed a story and wasn’t about to let it drop.  “And?  That’s 
it?  I don’t think so.  Continue, please…” 

Louise looked uncertain.

“Louise…  Come on.  And?  You were invited to a ball?  Or, you were 
invited to ride a float?  What?”

Louise exhaled loudly, obviously making a decision to give in.  “Yes, I 
got to ride a float.  There’s this one all-male Krewe that sometimes 
hides a woman on the float, sort of.  It’s kind of like a guest of 
honor, and it was John’s…  I won’t call it work.  But basically he got 
me the ride.

“Was it fun?  Did you get to go to a ball?  Did you get to throw beads 
and cups and stuff?  When did you do that?”

Louise looked guilty.  “Actually, two years ago.”

“Two… You never told me!”

“Well, you never asked!  No really, it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“How about John?  Did he get to ride, too?”

“No.  I guess you could say I reaped the benefit of his contributions.”

“That’s so great!  Were you invited back last year?”

“No, it was a one time opportunity.”

“Is there anyway John could work me in?”

Louise looked slightly distressed, and Hayley was surprised by it, but 
not enough to let her off the hook.  This was something she really 
wanted, and she let the silence linger.  Louise shifted, her face the 
picture of a petition to escape a hangman’s noose, or in this case, 
answering the question.  Hayley stared at her, ready for a long term 
contest of wills.

Louise resigned the stand off, as Hayley knew she would.  “Hayley, you 
really don’t know what you’re asking, you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“I don’t know.  Naïve?  Not from around here?  Too good a friend?  I 
just don’t know how to explain it to you without…  Well, there’s a 
certain…  Hayley, I just don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

Hayley considered this and made a decision.  “Louise, whatever it is, I 
promise not to hold it against you.  I’m a grown woman.  I’m 36 years 
old, just a couple years younger than you.  I can handle it.  Please!”

“You’re 36?  Maybe there’s something to numerology after all.”

“What?”

“Oh, never mind.  You’re not going to like this, but I really, truly 
can’t tell you what the evening is about, other than riding on the 
float, obviously.  I’ll have to talk to John, and then…well, maybe 
you’ll receive an invitation in the mail.”  Louise looked at the hope 
on Hayley’s face.  “Hayley, you really are naïve.  I shouldn’t even say 
this, but I’ll tell you this.  It’s not a free ride, but I am 
absolutely convinced it’s an evening you would enjoy.  Oh, and I’ll 
tell you that the night makes sense afterwards.”

“That’s it?  You can’t tell me anything more?”

“No.  It’s one of those ‘I’d have to kill you if I did’ things.  Like I 
said, let me talk to John.”

Hayley remembered the strangeness of Louise’s parting comment.  “You’re 
really 36?”

“Yes, why?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe there’s something to those Tarot quacks in 
Jackson Square, after all.”



For the next two weeks, Hayley’s thoughts had bounced between Christmas 
and Louise.  Louise had said that she had talked to John the same day, 
and that John had agreed to start the process.  She said to watch for a 
piece of registered mail.  It would be addressed to Steven and not to 
open it.

Steven’s letter did finally come, but it had to be signed for by him, 
and it was another day before he was able to go to the post office to 
pick it up.  She hoped it had answers.  Still, Louise had told her to 
play dumb about it.  It was part of the process, and she wasn’t to even 
let Steven know about their whole discussion.  But she hadn’t said to 
ignore a registered letter, after all!

“Well, what’s the important letter?” she had asked oh-so casually as 
Steven arrived home.  It was disappointing to have considered all sorts 
of strategies to find out about the letter only to have her excitement 
cut to the simplest of forms.  

Steven had also answered casually, damn him.  “Oh, that.  It’s just an 
invitation to an informational meeting from a guy I know.  I think it’s 
one of those multi-level marketing or business things.”

Yeah, right.  “Oh.  Like Amway?  Is that all?  What a waste of time.  I 
can’t imagine someone sending that by registered mail.”  I’m not 
letting you off that easy, hubby.

“Well, he had told me about it, and he’s a good friend.  So I’ll at 
least sit through the one session.  I’ve always been a bit curious 
about these things.”

Not as much as me!  “When is it?”


It was two nights later, and Steven returned late, offering nothing to 
her in the way of information.  She had searched for the original 
letter in the house to no gain, not to mention the trash, his car, his 
briefcase, his suit pockets…  She also searched for any of this “multi-
level” marketing crap that, in theory, he would have returned with, and 
she wasn’t surprised not to find that either.  Damn.

Then the quiet period had come.  It hadn’t been until mid-January when 
her head started spinning.  

He had arrived at the door, knocking several times, with even, firm 
taps.  Through her peep hole she was a liveried courier, and a glance 
through the window indicated a limousine.  In all likelihood, this 
either had to be her invitation, or else Ed McMahon was waiting outside 
also with a $1 million check.  And she hadn’t entered that sweepstakes, 
but it felt the same.  She opened the door.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.  I presume you are Hayley Anders Fleming?”

The use of her middle name was unexpected.  “Yes, I am.”

“Very good.”  He placed an envelope in her hand, then held her wrist 
firmly as he said, “For your sincerest consideration, I offer you this 
invitation.”

What do you say to that?  “Thank you,” she said, with more eagerness 
than had intended.

“And for our sincerest appreciation of your beauty, I offer you this 
rose.”  It was a beautiful red rose in a black vase marked with a 
golden “36” on it’s side.

“Good day, ma’am.”  He bowed slightly, turned and left.  She remained 
at the door, somewhat stunned as he began to pull away.  How did he 
know her middle name?  Who was “us?”  And had they seen her before to 
know that she was… well, attractive, she thought.  And then there was 
that 36...  Then she ran inside, setting the vase down quickly and 
roughly tearing the envelope open.  She didn’t know much about 
stationary, but she knew the paper was expensive.

Dearest Mrs. Fleming,

You have been nominated and accepted by the OBO as a candidate 
for our society’s charitable evening, to be held Thursday, 
February 19th, 2004.  Mardi Gras in our City has become known for 
its licentious behavior, a behavior in which we, the men of OBO, 
freely participate.  

Of you, Mrs. Fleming, much will be required, and much will be 
offered.  The evening will begin by your honoring the Krewe of 
Chaos as a guest aboard one of their floats.  This is, however, 
only the beginning of the evening, and the only aspect of which 
you may know in advance.

This opportunity will only be offered once.  This invitation may 
incite certain questions.  We ask that you trust the judgment of 
your nominator, who will not be revealed to you, that you will 
find this to be not only a rewarding and exciting evening, but 
one that fulfills some, or perhaps all, of your deepest desires.

To accept our invitation, you must present this invitation to Mr. 
Chin, at 400 Toulouse Street, promptly at 3:00 p.m., Wednesday, 
January 21, 2004.

Cordially,

The 36

She had spent days reading over the invitation, and had shown it to 
Louise in the hope of her letting out some details or at least some 
hints.  Aside from an initial admission of feeling a great sense of 
guilt, Louise had finally brightened, although she offered no help at 
all in coming up with acronyms for OBO or explaining the meaning of 
“36.”  Order of Better Orgasms?  Oreos Bring Orgasms?  It was pointless 
speculating, but the orgasms came naturally enough as she considered 
what this was about.

And, therefore, she had dutifully presented herself to Mr. Chin.  This 
Mr. Chin had her strip to just her panties and had carefully measured 
her in every way she thought possible.  Although quite the 
professional, he had seemingly touched her in every possible place 
before dismissing her abruptly with the words “You get package 
delivered.  Here.”  Thank you, Mr. Chin.  

“Here” had referred to another note, which simply thanked her for 
accepting, and indicated that she was to set aside 4:30 p.m. through 
the night on Feb. 21st.   She had imagined a Ball that started at 
midnight.  Maybe.

In the coming weeks, she had fretted over what excuses she might offer 
Steven for her evening…would it be the whole night?... away, but 
several days ahead he indicated he would be working out of town.  That 
was a relief, sort of.  Although she didn’t anticipate betraying their 
vows, holding a secret wasn’t healthy to a marriage.  As the first note 
had said, she had to trust her sponsor, whom, of course, she knew was 
John.  She tried to imagine receiving the invitation without knowing 
who the sponsor was or any other clues.  Had Louise known when she had 
done this?  The thought was both erotic and terrifying.  She was happy 
to be able deal with just the erotic…, although, there were plenty of 
questions that, if answered certain ways, could be terrifying.  Trust 
your sponsor.  Trust your sponsor…

The 21st finally finished creeping up on her.  She was beginning to have 
serious doubts.  Was someone going to call her?  Pick her up?  If she 
was supposed to be downtown for a parade, it was going to take time to 
cross Lake Ponchartrain and fight rush hour, especially with the mobs 
in town, to get to the French Quarter.  

The promised package never showed until 1:00 p.m., and what was that?  
Two hours ago?  It was delivered by a commercial courier this time.  
Her “package” included one hanging garment in a box and a smaller cube 
shaped box.  Both boxes were black and were adorned with “36” on them.  
The smaller box had contained the shoes now on her feet, hosiery, and 
garters.  

As she held each aloft, she was thankful that she had thought to tell 
the kids to go to a neighbor’s house after school.  Claire seemed to 
manage a co-op of sorts to baby-sit for the majority of the 
neighborhood whenever the parades were scheduled.  

For as little as she received, though, there were plenty of surprises.  
She was surprised that the shoes fit so well for being so new.  She 
would have liked to have known a brand for future purchases, but there 
was none, other than a small indentation indicating the crafter’s mark, 
she believed.  Which meant that this was custom.

The hose and garters also fit perfectly, with no adjustment needed.  
She would have guessed some strap adjustments would be necessary, but 
not in this case.  The box had also contained a note, indicating that 
the delivered clothes were to be her only attire for the evening.  Her 
first cursory look had revealed that she had a little trimming to do 
with her “winter growth.”  Having reassembled, the black garter straps 
provocatively framed her freshly trimmed mound, now sporting the clean 
lines of a narrow triangle.  She shuddered to think that she might be 
flashing someone “that,” but on the other hand, the provisions made it 
seem likely that she would be asked.  And she would, she knew, because 
the moment would be too strong for the 51% now saying “This is wrong.”  
But if she were asked, and said yes, she would have been mortified if 
she hadn’t trimmed.

That she wasn’t to wear a bra wasn’t a surprise.  She did like 
surprises, though, and it was for that reason that she hadn’t opened 
the garment box until that moment.  But when she had opened the garment 
bag, her dress hadn’t surprised her.  It shocked her.  It shocked her 
still.  And it was at her dress that she continued to gaze upon now.

It, like the rest of her wardrobe, was black.  Black was good for 
slimming the appearance, but she didn’t particularly need slimming and 
that wasn’t the point.  The dress clung tightly to her skin, but that 
wasn’t a surprise either.  It seemed to cling to the very places in 
which Mr. Chin had placed his hand, which was all over.   Such a tight 
fitting dress wasn’t what she would have chosen, perhaps, but…  

It had been confusing to put on, with the left arm opening impossibly 
wide.  It was so wide that she had thought that surely she had somehow 
missed both a head and an arm opening.  But there it was.  The dress 
clung to her thighs mere inches below her crotch, roundly fastening to 
her hips before diving in to her waist.  It clung for a short distance 
to her abdomen, before turning with a direct line for her right 
shoulder, slightly flattening her breast yet managing to capture her 
natural curves, with not a single wrinkle.  

The problem was her bare left tit.  

As she looked now, her right nipple was fully erect, obvious under the 
tight fabric.  And she imaged that, if viewed doubtfully by a casual 
observer, then one had only to glance at the other more directly 
observable nipple for conformation that, yes, the protrusions are at 
the same elevation and are, indeed, a matched pair.   She was getting 
silly now.

There had been one other item on the hangar, and she put that on now, a 
short black shawl to cover her shoulders and her breast.  It seemed a 
barely practical accessory to what was almost a Spandex toga.  A single 
button and loop connected the halves.  The left nipple remained more 
prominent than the right, as it had only half the fabric thickness 
covering it.  Yet, this wasn’t as obvious, due to an embroidered “OBO” 
in gold threads, set on the shawl upon her left breast.   What?  No 
“36?”

She raised the shawl.  Boob.  She lowered it.  No boob.  A dress with 
one boob exposed.  Something clicked.  Aha…  One Breast Out.  OBO.  
There, that was it.  She was tempted to call Louise and tell her the 
gag was over.  But really, it wasn’t.  She had no idea what to expect.

She returned to the bathroom, checking her hair, checking her light 
makeup, checking her teeth, checking anything but her eyes.  She didn’t 
want to go there.  Her mind was made up; she was going.  She had shown 
her breast before; she would do it again.  No big deal.  Really.  No 
big deal.

She argued with herself about not being brave enough to argue with 
herself regarding the wisdom of the whole enterprise.  This wasn’t 
terrifying, she knew.  It was more of a nervous excitement.  And 
looking at herself in the mirror, again, she felt dressed beautifully, 
and if she could only look herself in the eye, she knew that she would 
see beauty there as well.  Thank you, Mr. Courier and the 36.  How 
curious it was that with a simple flip of her shawl, she felt 
beautifully… pagan?  Her thoughts were finally interrupted by a knock 
at the front door.  It was 4:30.  And there was a limo waiting.

The ride was wonderful, but lonely.  The driver wouldn’t talk, although 
she caught him steal glances in his rear view mirror several times.  
She had been mindful to cross her legs when she sat, but she couldn’t 
remember if she had maintained her poise as she had entered the limo.  
Maybe she had unintentionally invited his glances now.  She had never 
worn so short a dress or a skirt.  

Her immodest attire had certainly changed her ability to concentrate.  
She tried to think of what the parade would be like, she couldn’t think 
about it for more than five seconds before she started dwelling on her 
dress, and how it might play a part in the evening.  She decided on a 
more deliberate and controllable course by helping herself to a glass 
of white wine.  It soothed her nerves.  A bit, anyway.

As they began their drive across the bridge, she saw the bright flame 
of a refinery west of Kenner venting gas, a veritable beacon.  It was 
rare to see that, due to environmental requirements.  With her shawl 
off, she, too, would draw attention, and she already felt a tinge of 
heat between her legs.  If there was a similarity to her and the 
refinery, she only hoped her fine wouldn’t be as severe.
 
As they continued, she speculated where she might be delivered.  Her 
guesses of law offices, a hotel, an accountant firm, a street corner 
with the other women participating, and surely there would be other 
women, were all completely wrong.  She was dropped off at a fading, 
beat up metal building with gunshot holes in the wall just east of the 
Quarter.  Faded paint indicated it had once been a cotton warehouse.  
Royal Street.  How ironic.  She was receiving the royal treatment, 
certainly.  But in whose kingdom?

She exited the limo rather gracefully, she thought, for being so 
focused on keeping thighs pressed together.  She was ushered indoors, 
where she found other women waiting in a moderately sized room, 
surprisingly well appointed.  There were only 10 of them, gathered in 
an unnatural silence.  She would have guessed that there would have 
been 36…

Then it dawned on her.  All the women appeared to be about the same 
age.  And two years ago, Louise would have been…

“A question.  Does everyone here happen to be 36 years old?”

This was quickly confirmed.  How… unusual!  No one had an explanation 
for it.  But at least it started conversation.  No one seemed to know 
anything other than what she knew, and all had the same fears and 
excitement that she did, it seemed.  They shared several trays of hor’s 
doerves, talking lightly, about… nothing really.  And they waited.

The building did turn out to be a warehouse, after all, one used by the 
Krewe to apparently build and stage their floats.  She was escorted to 
a float colorfully decorated like a jester.  And although she didn’t 
dwell on it, she had half expected for them to ask for her shawl before 
climbing aboard.  That didn’t happen, but as she surveyed the steps to 
the float and the assortment of goods that she would have to climb 
over, it would be impossible for her to maintain her modesty.  
Strangely, her spirits lifted.  She knew maintaining her modesty was 
not what this evening was to be about.  And as the several men grew to 
a small group as she approached the steps, there was more than a twinge 
of excitement as she climbed, making neither an obvious show of her sex 
nor awkwardly trying to keep her thighs closed.  She finally settled in 
a centrally located seat, with some vocal admiration from the assembled 
gallery.   

It was a different kind of exhibition, the “accidental” type.  
Intentionally accidental, perhaps.  But she knew that she would try 
something similar again, with Steven around.  Steven!  At that thought, 
she mentally sobered, feeling more than a twinge of guilt for carrying 
on without him there, and without him knowing, even, what she was up 
to.  

The men filled in around her, and the floats began to move.  There was 
ample beer, but more importantly to her, there were boxes of beads, 
plastic cups, doubloons, and candy placed about her, and she was 
encouraged to throw the items as she wished.  She was surprised to find a 
pretty good quantity of stuffed animals, even.  She was also provided 
with a feathered mask that she was to wear which matched those to be 
worn by the Krewe.  Fortunately, it proved to be comfortable.  

There was much to remember about the parade.  She had great fun tossing 
items and waving.  She tried to target children and those kindred 
spirits that bared their breasts for the men around her on the float.  
She had been tempted several times to lift her shawl, but that seemed 
like cheating her evening in some sense.  Her time would come…and there 
was always Fat Tuesday around the corner when she could flash more 
conventionally to her heart’s desire.  And her desires were strong.

After the parade and enough time for traffic to clear the backstreets 
of the Quarter, they were guided to the limousines and driven a short 
distance where they turned into an very narrow gated alley.  This led 
to a courtyard that otherwise wouldn’t be visible in the street.  The 
area was well lighted, with a central fountain and ample plants hanging 
from the upstairs walkways that surrounded the courtyard.  The building 
appeared to be an old hotel, possibly converted into several apartments 
or condominiums. 

They were led to one of the upstairs rooms, where they were again 
treated to a light snack.  The room was equipped with mirrors, brushes, 
combs and an assortment of makeup.  It was both an obvious and welcome 
opportunity to clean up a bit, before… whatever.  Everyone was talking 
about their trip on the floats as they groomed.  After about half an 
hour, the conversation was interrupted as the gentleman who had 
originally handed her the invitation entered the room.  

“Good evening, ladies.  Our party has assembled.  We will be calling 
you individually.  Mrs. Connor, would you please accompany me at this 
time?  A brunette who had been pacing walked to the door, where she 
accepted the gentlemen’s arm.  The door was closed, and she was gone.  
And the room became quiet for a time.

Just as conversation would return, the gentlemen would return.  Mrs. 
Daniels.  Mrs. LeCroix.  Mrs. Shaner.  Ms. Williams.  Mrs. Lombardier.  
And so it went.  Hayley wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, as there 
were no clocks in the room, but it seemed like the intervals were 
getting longer and longer.  Mrs. Gottschall.  Mrs. Landon.  

There were three of them now.  A lady she now knew as Addison looked 
like she might pass out.  She kept repeating, “oh my God!” again and 
again.  The gentleman returned, and Mrs. Fauber, as she turned out to 
be, was led away.  

“Any final ideas before one of us is called away?” Stephanie asked.

“Not really.  A bunch of 36 year old women, all pretty.  All with great 
figures.  All wearing a dress that leaves one breast out.”

“Oh!  Is that what that means?”

“That’s my guess…”

Then Lynn was called away, and she was alone.  Figures.  Last.

She sang the ending of a children’s song to herself.  “There were two 
in the bed and the little one said, roll over, roll over.  So they all 
rolled over and one fell out, and the little one said, Good Night!”

Well, she hoped it would be, and she certainly had one breast that fell 
out.  

The door, finally, opened.

They walked a short distance down the 2nd floor balcony to another room.  
This room appeared to be lived in, but temporarily converted to a 
photography studio.  The gentleman waited outside.  The photographer 
seated her on a stool and angled the lights slightly.  Curtains were 
behind her, one embroidered with a large “36” and the other with “OBO.”  
The photographer stepped behind her, straightening her back and 
directing her jaw at a certain angle.  He then, professionally, she 
remarked, removed her shawl.  She colored slightly, a breast visible to 
this stranger in a rather more intimate setting than the public 
streets.  There found a sense of irony in that, and he seemed to 
appreciate her expression as again assessed her posture and placed her 
mask on her face.  He then darted behind the camera.  

His task was completed quickly, and he also proved to be a man of few 
words.  “Please step forward.”  She did, and he placed the shawl about 
her shoulders, leaving it to her to refasten.  “This photograph will 
adorn the walls in our member’s hall.  You, of course, will be 
receiving a framed portrait of the same.  Should you wish to display 
it.”  It was clear he saw the humor in the likelihood of her hanging 
this picture in her house.  

He opened the door for her, where her escort was waiting.


They continued along the balcony into another portion of the building.  
She was immediately taken with the décor of the room she entered, 
completely packed with art on the walls, blown glass collections, 
sculptures, old books.  A private library…  There was wealth here.

They exited the room to a landing, where she descended a wooden curved 
stair case, possibly imported and antique.  The room was lit by a 
suspended light, set behind a large circular assembly of stained glass.  
She dared not look at it long, however, as she may have tripped.  And 
besides, there were a gathering of men at the bottom of the stairs, in 
what was a surprisingly large room.  They all wore various masks, 
unrecognizable, each in a black tuxedo.  She didn’t have to count, but 
if she guessed, there were probably 36 of them, many seated, some 
standing at the sides are rear.  A small platform had been placed at 
the foot of the stairway, which she didn’t notice until she found 
herself on stage.  It was well padded and carpeted, with a stained 
railing on each side, carved in the same shape as the stairwell 
railing.  The only person who wasn’t masked was a bartender in the rear.

Her escort continued to hold her arm in arm and then cleared his voice 
as he faced the audience.  

“Gentlemen, may I present…  Mrs. Hayley!”  The men applauded, and she 
blushed horribly behind her mask.  She was glad, though, they didn’t 
use her last name.  

He let go of her arm, stepping behind her.  “Mrs. Hayley, your shawl 
please.”  He was the only man not wearing a mask, and he had seemed so 
impossibly kind as to so directly ask her for her shawl.  But yet, he 
was impossible to refuse, and really, she knew she wouldn’t anyway.  
She unclasped her button, and he withdrew her shawl over her shoulders.  

The sensations were…overwhelming.  Her face remained red, but the 
tingling in her breasts made her wonder if her breasts were blushing as 
well.  Her nipples, she knew, were hard, but she didn’t dare look at 
herself.  She might faint.  It was somehow easier to look at the 
anonymous men in the audience.  She realized the lighting, too, worked 
in their favor, as she was illuminated by lamps set behind the men.  

She was shivering… No, it was tremors.  It was one thing to flash 
someone with your own effort.  This was quite different, with a 
complete stranger exposing her breast to a group of men.  Despite the 
tremors and some fairly heavy breaths, she felt steady, and realized 
the trembling was inside.  Butterflies.  She was 36 years old and a 
bunch of men were now talking about her, looking at her and 
particularly at her breast.  At the same time, they were casually 
holding their mixed beverages as if this was an ordinary occurrence.  
She being the tenth lady of the evening, a particularly poor choice of 
words to dwell on, maybe it was ordinary for them by now.  But they 
were admiring her, and she liked it.  She smiled inwardly.  She smiled 
outwardly.  She really couldn’t believe she was doing this!

“Order, gentlemen!”  Her escort was definitely the man in charge.  “As 
usual, you will appreciate that I kept the best for last.”  There was 
an “amen” from the audience.  “Thank you, sir.  Mrs. Fleming comes to 
us from Mandeville, only the second to ever grace us from outside our 
two Parishes.  I would expect that the rules committee will extend the 
waiver on geographical requirements we set two years ago; I would 
suggest permanently, based on the evidence.  But I digress.”

“Mrs. Hayley, it is proper for you to know a bit about us, as we are 
obviously admirers of you.  OBO is, at our core, a charitable 
organization.  Your sponsor has met the $3,000 entry requirement for 
your attendance this year.  As the gentlemen here have heard nine 
previous times this evening, this only meets our expenses in providing 
such a visual allure to our members this evening.”  Hayley was stunned.  
She would pay John back every dime; it was worth it.

“We are unlike other Krewes in that the gentlemen here give charitably 
to a variety of causes, driven by professional appropriateness, or, 
more often, spousal edicts.”  There was much laughter in the room.  
“Pardon them.  It’s obvious I’m loosening up at last.”  Applause followed.

“Well, our wives still direct the monies we give, but we do receive in 
other ways.  Several of us began this organization 10 years ago, over a 
conversation about… about what, gentlemen?”  

“Mother’s I’d Like to Fuck!” several yelled in unison.  There was much 
laughter.

“Pardon them.  But MILF was a term that just seemed very humorous to 
several men gathered at a bar.  Then we realized how many good looking 
women there are in this City, and how obviously superior they were to 
men of taste beyond the, well, capable younger women that perform on 
Bourbon, professionally or otherwise.”

 “And so we have our bit of fun, searching out the best MILF’s our area 
has to offer.”    He reached for a straight cane, with which he teased 
her nipple, then raised her breast slightly with the tip.  “Gentlemen, 
you see here 36-C according to Mr. Chin.  36 is such a wonderful 
number; it works on so many levels.”  There was laughter in the room.

“Please tell me, gentlemen, that you are not spent for the evening.  
What wonders lie beyond this dark fabric?”  He touched her thigh at 
crotch level with his cane, then moved the tip in circles in the air.  
Hayley took the hint, and turned around, giving them a rear view.  This 
was a strip-tease fundraiser.  This could be fun!  And the mask 
certainly covered her cheeks and eyes; this was safe.  But she would 
play it as she was led.  She wiggled her hips, then returned to face 
the audience.

“Finally, gentleman, we have a game participant!  Bidding begins at 
$1,000.  But surely gentlemen, we can have a better offer!    Ahh, 
sorry to leave you without an understanding, Mrs. Hayley.   That night, 
Our MILF discussion was oddly conjoined by a member who bought a used 
car for his son.  Please, we’re not comparing you to a used car; far 
from it!  But MILF has a certain vulgarity to it.  But a term he 
mentioned we came to adopt, OBO.”
 
“Would you know, Miss Hayley, what OBO means?”

She did.  She couldn’t believe she hadn’t remembered it before.  “Or 
best offer.”  

“And such a wonderful voice!  So many of our attractions remain so 
quiet.”

Please, do not take offense.  We’ve come to think of such things as 
“certified, pre-owned, but the OBO remains.”  

“And what is our best offer, gentlemen?”

“Who has $1,000 for the lady to flash us her other breast!”  Hayley put 
a hand on the edge of her fabric, as is ready to pull the dress off her 
shoulder, teasing them, causing a vocal stir.

“Number24!”  

“Thank you sir, you now have an obligation.  Miss Hayley?”  

She had never before imagined herself stripping in front of men.  Wait… 
she had.  Who was she kidding?  She pulled the dress from her shoulder, 
slowly pulling it away, revealing more of her right breast, finally 
revealing her hard nipple.  She squeezed both breasts together for 
show, then turned her back and pulled her dress back up.

“Oh my!”

“Best offers gentlemen?  Do I hear a bid for her dress to return to its 
better suited position, namely, off her shoulder so that we may all 
marvel at length at her marvels?”

“$2,000”
“3!”
“I’ll go 4K”

“Once, twice, sold! Number 3, you now have an obligation.  Mrs. 
Hayley?”

This would happen only once, Louise had said.  “I can manage, but I’d 
manage better with the gentlemen’s assistance.”  She had managed a 
polite, teasing tone.

“Whoa!  She’s the best!”  

Number 3 quickly approached, and stood at one side so all could see.  
He slowly lowered her dress, trailing its edge with his fingers down 
the slope of her breasts.  His fingers trailed circles around her 
nipple, then he cupped her breast.  His face lowered closer to it, and 
he asked “May I?”

“Four thousand dollars?  Sure.”  As he gently probed her nipple with 
his tongue and began sucking, she added, “But only for a bit!”

“I like a woman with…spunk!  Don’t we all?”  There was much laughter; 
she didn’t think he had been that funny.  

“Thank you, Number 3.  Now, perhaps we have someone who would be 
willing to offer $2,000 for Mrs. Hayley to give us a peek at what’s 
under the hood?”

“Done!”

“Thank you Number 7!  You now have an obligation.  Mrs. Hayley, will 
you accommodate us?”

Did she have a choice?  She supposed, really, that she did.  No one had 
ever said anything about not going through with it.  It didn’t matter… 
she was into the game.  She raised the hem of her dress, to just above 
her garters.  Let them look!

“Wonderful, simply wonderful!  Gentlemen, I’m suspecting that for 
another $2,000, Mrs. Hayley may just get a bit closer to the edge of 
the stage, bend over, and give us quite another view!”

Hayley couldn’t resist.  “I think you undervalue me, sir!  That would 
be $4,000.”

The gentleman was genuinely surprised.  “Indeed!  Is there a taker?”

“I’ll do it!” said a man on the front row.  “And I’ll double it if she 
loses the whole dress in the process.”

“Thank you!  Number 28, you have an obligation.  As to the amount, 
we’ll let Mrs. Hayley decide.”

This was beyond, what?  Her expectations?  Yes.  Beyond idle fantasies 
that she had ever masturbated to?  Of course not!  And after all, it 
was for charity.

She moved to the forward edge of the stage, only several feet from the 
nearest men, turned her back to them, and spread her legs slightly.  
Balance.  Balance is good.  She leaned over, her naked breasts dangling 
in their freed state.  She heard murmurs and whistles from unbelieving 
admirers, knowing they were delighting in the view of her sex.  Had the 
other women not gone this far?  Surely some had.

She straightened and moved her legs closer together.  The shoes were 
comfortable, but she wasn’t the most confident woman in heels.  She 
swayed her hips slowly as she moved the dress over her hips, her back 
still to the men, then let it fall and stepped away from it.

“Turn around!”

She looked over her shoulder at them.  Should she suggest more money?  
No, probably not.  She turned, bent a knee slightly, and stretched the 
other out slightly.  She put her hands on her hips and struck what she 
believed to be an elegant pose.  Silence.  More silence.  Did she do 
something wrong?

She looked towards the gentleman, which interrupted his daydream, or, 
well, whatever he was thinking.

“Now, gentlemen.”  He seemed to be actually catching his breath.  She 
smiled at him, causing him to take another couple breaths.  The power a 
woman can have over men...  “I believe that this is the finest show 
we’ve had in quite some time.  You can just imagine from the wonderful 
spirit she has shown, to the rest of her magnificent body, what more 
she has to give.”

“There have been several others tonight, whose sponsors were willing to 
go the distance, but this!  Again, I saved the best for last.”

What did he mean about the sponsors?  She was doing all the “charitable 
work!”

“The sponsor of Mrs. Hayley is willing to permit the Revelation, if we 
are willing to donate a suitable amount.”  What did this mean?  A 
Revelation?  Reveal what?  They had seen her already.  Was she to have 
sex?  With John?  That was overstepping things.

Offers were being heard.

“I’ve got $4k”
“Thank you Number 38!”
“I’ll add $5,000.”
“Thank you Number 30!”
“We’re not there yet.  Others?”

“My wife sent me with instructions to donate $15,000.  We had a good 
year.  I’ll spend it right here, bless her.”
“And bless you, Number 2!”
You each have an obligation.

Hayley felt a slight bend in the platform just as she felt hands on her 
shoulders.  She heard an almost inaudible “Shhhhhhh” whispered in her 
ear.  It was enough to make her think it might be Steven, but she 
couldn’t be sure.  Trust you sponsor… Was Steven her sponsor?  Or was 
it John?

It was only as she felt her juices began to flow down her leg that 
found herself surprised she hadn’t been leaking since she arrived on 
the stage.  She was so turned on!  Here she was, wearing only a few 
leather straps on her feet, black hose, and garters, in a room with 36 
or so men watching.   If she could just put her finger… there… she 
would come in two seconds!  

The gentleman stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the men.  
He withdrew her mask, which left her dizzy with embarrassment, but then 
placed a blindfold over her eyes.  Oh God!  She might never know who it 
was behind her.  She might never know!

She could hear… Steven, it had to be him for her to keep sane, 
undressing behind her.  It just had to be him.  Oh God, she couldn’t 
believe this!  

She felt his hands find their way under her arms, fondling her breasts.  
It seemed to be Steven’s touch, and he would always go for the breasts 
first.  It had to be him.  Then she felt him exhale slightly on her 
neck, which was followed by a lingering kiss.  That wasn’t necessarily 
like Steven.

She felt his hands caress her sides, working their way towards…  He’d 
better be careful, or she would orgasm…like he cared.  He caressed her 
trimmed hair briefly, then his fingers found their way to either side 
of her clit, rubbing his tips in circular motions.  It was almost 
enough, but not quite…  If he would just put the slightest pressure on 
her clit, she’d be out of control.  But he didn’t.  She felt his 
fingers barely enter her opening, pulling her lips apart.  This was 
nothing like a flash!  This was a revelation of… of her sex!  

As soon as she had formed a mental picture of her exposed cunt before a 
crowd of men, she felt hands – others’ hands, on her thighs, and still 
others on her back and under her shoulders, and she was lifted.  Again, 
she felt fingers pulling her lips apart, and she knew that the men 
could see her sex much more clearly,
Then she orgasmed, hard.  Steven, or John, or whoever, had just pressed 
on her clit, and her mouth opened, gasping for breaths as the 
sensations washed through her.   Her hands searched for a cock to hold, 
but she couldn’t find anything but air.  Instead, she pinched her 
nipples between her thumb and the side of her index finger, rolling 
them slightly back and forth, extending… heightening even, her orgasm.  

“Remarkable, gentlemen.  Remarkable.  Please move her to the side so 
that her sponsor can continue.” 

She was turned… sideways, she decided, and her hands were placed on a 
rail as her legs were lowered to the floor.  Then she felt a shaft 
pressed against her, teasing her opening, and a single pair of hands on 
her hips.  His brushes against her made him seem big, so big.  Steven 
was kind of big… was he this big?  

“Gentlemen, as we have met the donation amount qualified by Mrs. 
Hayley’s sponsor for the Revelation, I will add some details.  She is 
36 years old, as you know.  She has been married for 12 years and is 
the mother of two, ages 8 and 10.  As you can see, she has no tattoos 
or unusual piercings.  She jogs regularly and works out frequently, the 
benefits of which we can appreciate.  She has had three previous 
lovers, all in college.  Two were boyfriends.  One was a one-night 
stand, were we all so lucky.  She is in a committed marriage at this 
time, and I must caution that any further personal contact from our 
members is not desired.”  

Hayley couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Her husband indicated to us on his information card that she sucks his 
cock when he initiates it, but she cannot deep throat.  She has let him 
cum on her face once, which he greatly enjoyed and continues to enjoy 
from videotape.  She loves to watch him cum on her breasts as often as 
he would like.  We can only hope for that!  She has no favored sexual 
position, variety being the spice of life.  However, he particularly 
appreciates it when she is on top, as her hair tickles his face and her 
breasts dangle before him.  And indeed, as we can see, they dangle 
deliciously, do they not? Interestingly, she has not been prone to 
exhibitionism until last year’s Mardi Gras.  I think we can expect more 
of that!”
 
Steven!  How could he reveal so much about her!!  The irony of this 
thought struck her as she considered her current situation.  Then her 
heart skipped a beat.

“Gentlemen, may I introduce to you Mrs. Hayley Anders Fleming of 
Mandeville!

What!!!?  

She understood the blindfold now; she couldn’t possibly stand to see 
any of those men!  They knew everything about her!  Just as she was 
thinking this, she felt whoever’s hand brush her skin as he directed 
his shaft towards her cunt.  “This is wrong!” resounded through her 
head, but there was no stopping her from spreading her legs to silence 
that nasty 51%.

And he was big, bigger maybe than she had thought.  He stretched her, 
and although she knew she was plenty wet, he slowly penetrated her, 
working his way in, until reaching her depth.  Finally, she felt his 
balls pressed tight against her, and she knew he was in all the way.  
He was just soooo big…  It had to be Steven, just because it had to be.  
And if it was, he had kept a very big secret for 12 years, because he 
had never filled her so fully before.

It wasn’t an orgasm that she felt.  It was tremors, in her knees, in 
her ribs, up her spine…and definitely in her cunt.  She felt his hands 
leave her hips to reach beneath her, feeling the weight of her breasts, 
then pinching her nipples.  His cock changed orientation slightly as he 
shifted his weight, and her tremors were out of control.  She could 
feel her breasts jiggling, and he wasn’t even stroking her.  Enough. 
Enough!

“AAAIIIIIeeeee!  Fuck me!  Fuck me now!”

Suddenly, she felt so empty, and then he was huge as she swallowed him 
up.  He thrust inside, touching her all the way to… and out again.  She 
could breathe, but only for a moment, and he was filling her again.   

Her breasts were… “dancing” as Steven had liked to say.  But it was 
more of a sprint, swaying and slapping against her body in rhythm with 
his thrusts.  Oh!  She was so naked!  And then, he was into her again, 
impossibly far!  How could she ever ask Louise how big John was?   And 
out again.   Breathe!  This had to be Steven; it had to be.  Her 
breasts weren’t the only thing slapping.  She could feel his balls with 
each stroke.  Did Steven’s balls slap against her?  She couldn’t 
remember!  Men were watching her get fucked!  He filled her again, and 
her breath was gone, her heart racing.  She was seeing stars.  Oh!  Her 
lungs filled with air.  These men knew her name!  Everything about…

She felt a surge of warmth inside her; she knew he had cum.  Yet, he 
still thrust faster… He didn’t seem to be getting any smaller.  This 
wasn’t like Stev…  He had to be super turned on; that had to be it.

She didn’t think she had another orgasm in her, but it came, suddenly, 
and hard, tingling up her spine.  The stars were out again.  He was so 
big and felt so good.  She rested her head on the railing, her arm 
beneath her.  She needed to catch her breath.  So many to catch…

“Gentlemen, look how red she is.  See the splotching on her breasts.”  
She felt his cane again against her flesh.  She moaned.  Was it the 
cool surface of the cane or the spectacle of her wonton exhibition?  It 
was less than a minute before she began trembling again.  She turned, 
reaching for…Steven.  He held her close.  His height seemed right, but 
he and John were the same height she knew.  Her hand found his chest.  
It seemed hairy.  Was Steven that hairy?  She couldn’t remember.  She 
could rip off her blindfold and know.  But maybe it was best not to 
know.


“Gentlemen, this being the end of our evening’s entertainment, I will 
ask Mrs. Hayley for a final benefit.”  She felt her arm being placed in 
the gentleman’s arm yet again.  Steven, or John, was lost to her.

“Mrs. Hayley, there is no polite way to ask this, but I will try to 
refrain from being coarse.  You have won our admiration, and you have 
heightened our lusts.  It has been a tradition to… but that is unfair.  
In most of our past years, our final guest has allowed this membership 
to share their appreciation our guest’s beauty by…how do I say… 
releasing our built up tension.  Additionally, it offers each of us the 
chance to admire your wonderful body from a much closer perspective.  
We are not proposing sex; that is against our rules.  But we would like 
to…”

“Cum on me?”

“Thank you, yes.  For which we would be willing to contribute 10% of 
the entire night’s proceeds to you.”

If silence could be heard, she was hearing it.  They were waiting.  She 
tried not to think about what a mess they would make, but found herself 
irresistibly drawn to the notion of seeing 36 cocks in action.  It had 
been 12 years with Steven, after all, and she was…well, curious.

“Then I have a proposition for you, sir.  I will agree, but, I have two 
conditions.  First, you keep your funds and donate them.  Secondly.”  
She removed her blindfold.  “Gentlemen, you have seem all of me, 
including, now, my face.  But for this, I get to see a part of you.”

There was no argument and quick agreement.

A low table was brought out, and several blankets placed across it, 
with a pillow at the end.  She laid on the blanket, finding it 
comfortable enough.

Two men approached, one on each side, their eyes canvassing her face, 
her breasts and her cunt as they dropped their trousers, then their 
boxers then… this was a treat.  She watched as they stroked their 
cocks, their heads swollen from the start, and it was not long before 
their cum arched their way to her breasts.  

Another pair approached, and she found the idle nature of her hands to 
be impossible to maintain.  She reached her cunt with both, pulling her 
lips apart and touching herself…there… in her special way.  Both men 
positioned themselves so that they could see, and it wasn’t long before 
one and then the other coated her thighs and the back of her hands with 
their cum.

The men remained anonymous behind their masks, but she had no interest 
in their faces.  Their cocks were all she wanted to see.  Longer, 
shorter, fatter, thinner, average, far above average, darker, paler, 
rounder, pointed…the variations were wonderful.

They seemed to almost worship her – their eyes told the story in the 
moments when she tried to watch… they were completely absorbed with 
her, and she tried not to think of herself as lying upon an altar.  
Their jism after each turn covered more and more of her, and she could 
see and hear the delight of the assembly as she worked it slowly about 
her, working it into her skin like a lotion.  

The smell of their cum, the sight of their dicks, the utter stickiness 
of her hands resulted in a sudden urge to cum yet again, which she 
accomplished with her fingers as two more men came on her.

It was after this orgasm, a quiet, private type of stirring that she 
often had when she masturbated at home, that she became aware that the 
men were done, all except…her gentleman escort.  Was he 36 or 37?  He 
was older than the rest, not elderly, and his cock was a… a nice one, 
but on the average size of nice, and not quite fully erect.  It 
contrasted with his massive balls.  He stroked and stroked some more, 
but… she felt for him.  Performance anxiety perhaps.

“Sir, may I?” She reached a hand towards his shaft.

“As much as I would like that, I’m afraid it’s against our rules.”

“Waived!” came an anonymous response from the men.

Hayley didn’t wait for him to think through a proper response, grasping 
him firmly, twisting slightly to get better leverage.  He moved closer 
to her, giving her hand a greater range of motion.  His skin was soft, 
although she could feel him harden at her touch.  She wondered what his 
inspiration was… her breasts? Her cum covered cunt?  She looked to his 
eyes, and saw that he was looking at hers.  

That was possibly the kindest compliment he could give, in a weird sort 
of way.  The head of his cock was close now, and she could see it 
swell.   She whispered to him softly, “I want you to cum on me.  Yes.”  
She felt him harden fully in her hand as she stroked his shaft. “That’s 
it, cum on…”

And he came.  She didn’t realize how close he had drawn, and she would 
never know how long it had been for him.  But his first release flew 
over her face in a stream, trailing into her hair, and the second shot 
forcefully onto her face, covering her cheek and eye  Afterwards, they 
fell shorter, to her jaw, her shoulders, her breasts and her arm.

His cock quickly softened, and she released him, though she could make 
out that he continued to stand over her, admiring… whatever.

The smell of cum was overpowering, and she began to smooth his load 
away from her eyes so that she could see and off of her lips.  She was 
a sticky mess all over, but what sights she had seen!

“Mrs. Hayley, you were indeed, our best offer.  Thank you so much for 
accepting.  You have been the most splendid revelation to all of us.”  
This was greeted by many cheers, but her attention suffered.  She was 
spent.


She slept much of Friday, waking basically to masturbate herself back 
to sleep.  Steven returned home from his “business trip” late that 
afternoon.  She found that she couldn’t bring up the subject of the 
most exciting thing to happen to her in her life.  And Steven, for his 
part, said nothing of what his trip had been like.  Stalemate. 

The weekend was full of sex, however.  They laughed, they talked.  It 
was like they were newlyweds, groping and fondling.  Throughout, she 
expected Steven to get so turned on that he would open up the subject 
of OBO, but she couldn’t do it herself.  After all, what if it had been 
John after all?  That would be…disastrous.  

And because he didn’t bring the subject up, that made her doubt the 
facts that otherwise led her to believe it had been him.  He had 
received an invitation.  He had provided the most private information, 
damn him, about her.  His cock had hardly softened since he returned 
home.  He had a glint in his eyes… It had to be him.  

Louise also hadn’t spilled any helpful information.  They shopped on 
Saturday for their ensembles for Mardi Gras together, which was great 
fun.  The forecast was for a colder Fat Tuesday, so thoughts of 
miniskirts and heels were put aside.  It wasn’t like wearing heels on 
the brick streets of the Quarter was a wise endeavor anyway.  But they 
did manage to find tight leather pants that fit them very snugly. Yet, 
they were equipped with snaps instead of zippers, and they could be 
pulled down very quickly.  The sales girl  even said, “These will fit 
you so tight people can read your lips, if you know what I mean.” That 
inspired the same delicious thought in both of them.  They made a pact 
to shave their mounds completely the morning of Fat Tuesday and leave 
all undergarments behind.  They also found thin white sweaters with a 
loose weave, which gave a hint of their darker nipples underneath.  If 
it was cold, a jacket was probable, but they certainly would have their 
fun.  And if the sweaters should itch… well, the men could carry them.

It was huge fun in planning the day, but it wasn’t as much fun as it 
could have been, or should have been.  Louise hinted time and again 
about Hayley’s special evening, even saying “What a revelation it would 
be” to the men when they lowered their pants in the crowds, but Hayley 
didn’t want to talk about it until the Steven vs. John issue was put to 
bed.  That thought made her wince.  So she told Louise that it would 
have to wait until another time, obviously disappointing her friend.

On Monday, a delivery service delivered a wrapped frame, two boxes, and 
a large envelope.  She knew what the frame would hold in it.  The 
photography turned out to be excellent, and the frame was elegant.  
Neither was a surprise.  However, with kids around the house, she knew 
it would soon find its way into storage, but for the time being, she 
placed it under her bed.  She had hopeful thoughts that some night when 
she was horny, she could place the portrait on the wall above their 
bed, an obvious sign to Steven that she needed attention.  It was the 
only use for it that she could imagine.

The boxes were no surprise. She had seen identical boxes the week 
before.  Her dress had been cleaned and returned to her as well as her 
shoes and hosiery.  She didn’t recall leaving the items behind, or for 
that matter, exactly how she had returned home.  She remembered a 
shower at the…club, was it?  But here they were, and she was thankful 
to have them back, particularly the shoes.  If her mystery man was 
Steven, she wouldn’t need the portrait; she would just reprise her 
role.  But the envelope, that would be something new…

The envelope contained a DVD.  This was, all things considered, an 
unsurprising surprise.  She was fearful about what might be on it, yet, 
at the same time…she knew.  Somewhere there had been a camera, and the 
rest was digital history.  How many copies were made? She decided not 
to ponder that.

The film quantity was not up to the standards otherwise set by OBO, as 
her entire performance had been recorded from a single camera, with 
occasional zooms.  The camera did keep focus on her, but there were 
only glimpses of the man who had participated in her “Revelation.”  He 
was  probably Steven’s height.  But John’s height was the same.  He had 
Steven’s hair color, somewhat more so than John’s.  He was slender, 
again favoring Steven over John.  And his skin was perhaps paler than 
John’s, although the lighting bleached their skin, she saw.  And the 
mystery man had an annoying mask.  But it looked mostly like Steven.  

Still, there wasn’t enough to make her sure.  Whatever certainty she 
lacked caused her nagging 51% to return.  It had been a bad thing.  She 
imagined a low voice, accusing her of crimes… “Adulteress!  Fornicator!  
Exhibitionist!  Everyone will know what you have done!”  And truly, at 
times, she had half expected some bad thing to happen to her as 
confirmation of her guilt, or maybe punishment.  

But watching the video, she realized that she really had enjoyed the 
whole of it, perhaps with the exception of this group of men knowing 
exactly who she was.  Her flashes on the streets had been anonymous, 
but these men possessed her in her nakedness and in their knowledge of 
her.  Still, the experience was a different, unexpected thrill, and as 
much as the evening was a revelation of herself to that group, it was 
even more of a revelation to herself.  And the only thing lacking now 
was the sharing with Steven, the only piece, she realized, that was 
missing to her satisfaction.

That night, after the kids were in bed, she put the disc in the DVD 
player in their bedroom, stripped naked, and started the video.  She 
lay on the bed, an elbow supporting her head as she lay on her side.  
She called for Steven, who entered wondering what was up.  She was 
pleased to see that he was “up” as he saw her on the bed; she hoped he 
would stay that way.  He sat at the edge of the bed, a hand on her 
calf, his attention drawn to the television.  He was expressionless for 
several eternal moments, then he grinned, and that was all the 
confirmation that she needed.

“You.”  She pointed at his crotch, then her own.  “Come here.  Make 
love to me.” 

He looked her over, slowly, up her thighs to her hips, resting briefly 
on her mound, rising to her breasts which cuddled together, then to her 
lips, and her eyes.

Steven’s hand moved up her calf to her thigh as he said, “That is the 
most beautiful thing you have on!  One question first.  Is that what 
you’re wearing tomorrow when we go to the parades?”

“Pretty much.”  She grinned, drawing closer to him.  She lightly kissed 
him on the lips, then looked into his eyes.  “Pretty much.”


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E-mail to:  oneidlehand@hotmail.com

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