Castle Showdown

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Castle Showdown By Jennifer Doalfer Copyright 2007 Jennifer Doalfer

For many years we have been celebrating our anniversary by going to some amusement park or the like, with me dressed somewhat provocatively wearing lightweight or semi-transparent clothes, enjoying the thrill of knowing people were looking at me. Often we relieved our arousal in some public area nearby, imagining that people could be watching us.

However, for the last couple of years we have gone through a phase of too much work and stress which affected our relationship, to the extent that I had actually moved out of home for a while. I am happy to say we are back together again. The workload is still there, but we seem to be better able to cope with the stress without taking it out on each other. Unfortunately it's had a negative influence on our sex lives. My dreams, and the excitement they sparked, have not been so intense, probably because of the lack of time. Also, it seems that the stress has limited Poul's "abilities" somewhat. He feels embarrassed and it probably has also had a general effect on me, as it leaves me frustrated if I get this pent up and mere manual stimulation cannot satisfy it.

So, a couple of weeks before our anniversary when Poul said that this year he had booked a four-day stay at a secret location for us to celebrate in a different, more romantic setting, I received the news with mixed feelings. I still enjoy the exhibitionism we practised, and even though the actual ensuing act might lack something, I still felt that a "romantic only" stay was not exactly what I needed. But I didn't want to say no, as I was afraid that he had chosen this solution in order to be spared the embarrassment of not being able to perform when we reached that part of the night.

"What clothes should I take?" I asked innocently as I packed the suitcase the night before we had to leave.

"Both kinds," Poul answered, knowing perfectly well what I was asking. "You never know what opportunities might arise," he continued with a lewd smirk. I guess that meant there was still some hope.

So I packed for walks in the woods, days at the beach, decent dinners and not so decent public displays -- with a slight arousal already building up.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we got into the car the next morning. I had already found out that we were going by car and not by plane as I needed to know that when planning distribution between the suitcases of "prohibited items" such as nail files and scissors.

"That is for me to know, and for you to find out – as late as possible," he replied keeping the eyes on the road as the morning traffic out of Copenhagen was getting hectic.

We drove for almost two hours, the roads getting narrower and narrower, entering parts of Denmark I had never seen before, and certainly hadn't known contained such a beautiful landscape. We hit a gravel road and finally as we turned a corner around the edge of a forest, a huge old castle or chateau with moat, tower and flying standard emerged.

"Whow!" I couldn't help myself exclaiming. I knew this part of the country had some nice old castles, but I had never seen this one.

"The castle, now a hotel, was only opened to the public last year. It is very exclusive so they are not advertising their existence. Only those it the right circles know about it," Poul explained.

"When did you enter those circles?" I asked as I didn't feel we belonged to any blue-blooded line of aristocrats.

"Well, I didn't," Poul explained with a smile. "But I heard a patient of mine describing it, and I asked him if he could swing a reservation for us for our anniversary. When he heard of the idea of taking you there as a surprise anniversary gift, he caught on immediately and made all the arrangements for me."

The place was fantastic. They lowered the drawbridge over the moat as we announced our arrival at a small phone in a guardhouse. Young boys in medieval dress took our suitcases and drove the car out of the courtyard and into a hidden parking area in the woods, so no cars would be visible from the castle. The check-in was equally impressive; somehow they already knew who we were, so there was no signing in or pre-registering credits cards. A very attractive hostess took us to our suite, which must have been the biggest in the place, occupying the entire width of the end of one of the wings. The view was excellent, the moat and a lake in front, a foot bridge to a park across and behind a long row of trees you could see the sea less than a kilometre away.

However, the view was nothing compared to the suite. At the front it had a large room, with a knight in shining armour with a full-length lance which didn't even reach the high ceiling. There was a bar, seating arrangements with sofa and large armchairs, enough for a small party, all in royal blue with gold motifs. The bedroom was so large that the huge, four-poster bed at the far end seemed like a child's bed. The bathroom had real gold taps, whirlpool, sauna and steam bath. I had never seen anything like it.

I think Poul was as taken aback as I was.

"I don't even know how much this is going to cost," he said, shaking his head. "My friend just said he would take care of the arrangements, and I didn't think it was right to start asking about the price".

"Let's not worry about that now. Let's just enjoy it now we are here. What do you want to do now?" I asked him.

"Well, tomorrow is all arranged with meals etc. planned for the day, but I haven't organised anything for today or the other days, so I guess we can do as we like. Maybe unpacking, then a quick snack for lunch and then a trip to the beach? We can ask reception to book us a table for dinner in the local fishing village which I've been told has some excellent fish restaurants."

Poul seemed to have it pretty much worked out already, so I just agreed and started unpacking. We ended up having sandwiches served in the room, and, as we relaxed afterwards, Poul produced a small gift-wrapped parcel.

"This is a small 'day-before' gift for you," he said with an embarrassed smile.

I knew that smile, so I wasn't really surprised when I unpacked the smallest tanga bikini I ever remember having seen. Life on the Danish beaches had changed radically over the last 4 or 5 years. Before that everybody would be sunbathing, swimming and even playing at the beach topless and in many areas along the west coast even totally naked. But a new generation of shy teenagers, disgusted with their parents '68-style liberation, now populated the beaches in swimsuits, which still didn't leave much to the imagination, but at least was not signalling a connection with their parents' generation. Last time I had been topless at a beach I had been aware of stares, which were no longer admiring, but rather critical. Not so much, at least I hope not, because of my body, but because it really wasn't acceptable to the young people that their parents' generation still went topless on the beaches. I am not looking that old, and I believe I am still attractive, but I also realise that you have follow the trend of the time. With this swimsuit I would be "dressed" but might just as well be naked.

Even though I had just had a bikini shave, which left bare all but a little puff of hair at the top of the slit, I still had to get the shaver out and trim a bit more of the hair as the front part of the bikini bottoms was no more than two or three centimetres wide at the top, thinning into a narrow band digging in between my pussy lips, turning it into only a string not even visible between the buttocks. The top was as flimsy, again with no more than the same amount of material covering the nipples, and the rest just strings. Oh, and I didn't mention that the material was rose coloured and very thin, bordering on transparent.

When I modelled it for Poul he came over to me and while kissing me, pulled up the front of the bikini bottom so it dug further into my pussy.

"I think you like these," he said as his fingers played with my lips which were already swollen and wet.

"Uhmmm, yes. But let's not waste the excitement now. Let's keep it for later, please," I whispered in his ear.

I threw on a light summer dress over the bikini, packed a bag with towels, sun lotion, books and something to drink. On the way down we arranged for reception to book us a table at a restaurant in the village and organise transport as we didn't want to drive.

When we got to the beach it turned out that that there were more stones than sand and that quite a few people were crammed together at the only part with soft sand. There were grass patches and dunes, but going to the beach, in my mind, meant lying on the sand on your towels, not in chairs on the grass. Otherwise we might just as well have stayed at home.

We managed to find some space when a family left just as we arrived. It was as far from the sea as you could get without leaving the beach. You could actually comfortably lean against the elevated grassy bank, which was up to half a meter in height.

The space was small but we managed to get our large towel laid out flat. I don't think my attempt at dropping the dress and lying down without attracting too much attention was very successful. Lying on my tummy, getting my book out, I could hear the guys one row down towards the sea making giggling comments, and I was fairly certain I knew the cause. But even with the thong digging in between my buttocks, I didn't think there was too much on display, so I spent the next half hour reading until finally we got hot and sweaty and the sea became too irresistible.

Walking towards the water was, however, not something that could be done while remaining decent. I don't think there was a pair of eyes on that small beach which didn't follow me. I could see them first looking neutrally in the general direction of our movements, then focussing eyes and attention, perhaps nudging a friend in the side; the first stare concentrated on my breasts where the material proved totally inadequate in controlling the swaying of my breasts. I pretended not to be aware that the nipples were outside the material as much as inside. Soon that was no problem because as I had to step around bags, towels and people, I noticed the shift the glares, away from my breasts and down between my legs, where the long strides over obstacles totally bared my shaved pussy, with only a crumpled piece of material digging in between my pussy lips. I hoped the flush on my face would be written off as pertaining to the sun, but I knew the swollen nipples and red wet swollen pussy lips wouldn't. The last bit, where the sand was wet, was free of people, which allowed me to run the last few metres into the sea, splashing through the small waves and throwing myself into the water, finally being able to get most of my body out of sight.

"That was some show," Poul laughed when he caught up with me.

"Yeah," well, I hope you got your money's worth. If your intention was to show me off in that skimpy bikini, you certainly got your way." I wasn't really angry with him, which he knew perfectly well.

We splashed around a bit, swam along the coast and ended up a good bit away from our sandy beach.

"I think I will get out here and walk back on the grass. I felt a little funny about getting back out of the water with everybody being prepared for the show," I said as I made my way towards the more stony part of the beach.

Back at our place on the beach, I wrapped a towel around me and sat down leaning against the bank. I put on my sunhat and sunglasses and got my book out. Soon I was caught up in the book and had forgotten all about my little display. A light breeze had come in from the sea, making the temperature more bearable. The book turned out to have some rather arousing episodes, such as when the couple visited ancient temple sites in Mexico and decide to have sex on one of the alters used to sacrifice young virgins.

It was only when I noticed the cool wind on my pussy lips that I realized how excited I had become. Without thinking I had pulled my legs up, resting the book on my knees. From behind the sunglasses I looked up to see if anybody was looking at me. Of course there was! A middle-aged man right in front of me was pretending to read a newspaper, but I could see his gaze fixed on me, or rather somewhere between my legs. Me, being me, didn't for a second consider covering myself.

The book had already got me excited, and now this guy was staring at my crotch, with the thong once again dug in between my lips. I pretended to scratch my stomach and managed to pull the throng even further into my slit. The way I sat I could easily look down at myself while pretending to read. I was rather surprised to see how exposed I was. My rather large pussy lips were totally visible and the whole area was wet with a combination of perspiration and wetness from the excitement. I was wondering about the state of his cock. It was really frustrating not to be able to touch myself.

But then, why couldn't I, I thought to myself. Poul was facing the other way; there was nobody else apart from my voyeur who was able to see up between my legs. The naughtiness of what I was about to do really got my juices flowing.

I pretended to concentrate on the book, while I casually placed a hand between my legs. I spread them a little more, as I very lightly ran my fingers over the pussy lips. I could almost hear the gasp from the man as he realised what I was doing. Of course, he thought I was caught up in my book without having noticed him. Just touching the lips wasn't really enough for me and soon I was playing more actively with them. I was getting hot. I was trying to imagine what my actions must look like from his position. I shivered as a small orgasmic contraction hit me. My clit, still covered by a piece of material, was very wet. My movements were becoming more rhythmical and I knew that the display from earlier had built up an excitement, which would rapidly lead to a full orgasm. There was no way of stopping me now. I looked down, no longer pretending to read, and moved the material aside, totally baring my pussy and dug two fingers into myself as far as they would go. I leant my head back against the grass on top of the bank. Looking out from under the sunglasses, I knew the guy now would be able to see that I was looking at him -- had he been able to get his eyes away from the action of my fingers. I kept looking at him as I slipped the fingers out and found my throbbing clit. It was so arousing to sit there looking straight at a guy watching me while I knew that in 30 seconds he would be watching me come. I didn't want to miss the opportunity; I just wanted to come now. I increased the speed and soon felt the familiar warming sensation and the first small contraction rippling through me. Just as the first major contraction hit me, I saw the guy's eyes shift to my face. I just stared at him. He didn't try to hide that he was looking, and just kept his stare fixed on my face as it displayed the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. I dropped the book when the largest contraction hit, but was unable to reach for it in the middle of the orgasm, so I just let it fall. I dug my fingers inside me again and held them there forcing my breath back to normal as I was slowly coming down. The guy gave a knowing wink, but I only had energy for squinting an apologetic smile.

Fingers out, bikini material back in place, book picked up, trying to look normal again. Pretending to continue reading the book, I replayed the scene in my head, not really believing what I had actually done. But I had, and I actually felt good about it. It had been too long since I had had the satisfaction of such blatant exhibitionism.

About five in the afternoon Poul and I made it back to the room, had a little rest, a pre-dinner drink and got dressed for the evening. It was remarkably hot for a Danish summer evening, so my thin summer dress was perfectly adequate. Adequate from a temperature point of view, but barely from one of decency, It was made from a loose, thin flowery material which clung to the body, especially if it was just a bit moist from perspiration. At the front it buttoned up all the way, and unless unbuttoned didn't really offer any views of my breasts or upper legs, but because it clung to the body as it did, it didn't leave much to the imagination. It was obvious that I wore no bra, and even though the absence of a "visible panty line" didn't necessarily mean no panties, it didn't take much imagination to realize I probably wasn't wearing any.

At reception we found out what the hotel understood by "transport to the village". In keeping with its style, a two-horse carriage with the hood down was waiting in the courtyard. Judging from the lack of interest shown by staff and other guests, I guessed that it was the normal means of conveyance from the castle, so I tried to make it look like it was totally normal for me to be transported in this fashion.

What would have been a ten-minute drive by car, turned out to be a 30-minute ride through small forest roads, which didn't allow room for any runners or cyclists and us at the same time, all of which slowed us down further, but also allowed us to enjoy the surprised looks of the tourists as we passed by.

The restaurant was right on the harbour and the fish we ate was so fresh, probably no more than a few hours after being caught, and it certainly tasted fantastic. We ate outside where a mild breeze made the cloth cling to my body, making my excited nipples stand out prominently. Excited, because with both of us were sitting on the same side of the table in order to enjoy the view of the harbour; Poul had a hand up between my legs while we were drinking the aperitif. I was aware of the stares of the waiter, but actually thought we were behaving a lot better than what we had done many times before.

After dinner we called for the cab and spent the 30-minutes wait walking around the harbour enjoying the smell and the atmosphere.

The cab driver had pulled the hood halfway up, shielding us not only from the evening dew but also from his view -- apart from a small plastic window. Considering how hot it was, I suspect it was rather to give us some privacy. We were quickly out of the small village and into the forest.

Poul turned towards me.

"Jenny, I would like you to take off your dress. I have been watching you all evening through that thin dress, and I am just really excited by the idea of you riding naked through the woods."

I had been thinking of some exploit once we were back at the room, but the thought of obeying Poul's request, already had my imagination going.

"But, Poul, it is not actually really dark yet. With the hood up we would not be able to see ahead if there were other people on the road until too late when we pass them." I was just merely thinking aloud, not really objecting.

"I know," he just said, as he indicated for me to get started.

I undid all the buttons in one go, waiting for his next command.

"What are you waiting for," he asked. "I want it all the way off."

He almost ripped the dress down my shoulders and off my arms. The dress fell off me as I leant forward and I suddenly felt very exposed. I could clearly see the trees in the woods and knew that anybody passing us would also easily be able to see me in the faint light that never really disappears in the Danish summer nights. We were, however, shielded from the driver, unless he should choose to turn around and bend down to look through the small window.