Eating Breakfast In Glass Slippers - Sex Stories

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Eating Breakfast In Glass Slippers

Date: 11/8/2014, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: TheScheherezadeFeint, Rating: 26, Source: LushStories

naked atmosphere. The aura is so intense I can hardly see the art; can hardly hear the cowboys scream. The same girl is waiting for us at admission, still dressed and wearing now a wide grin. “Nice to... see everyone again,” she flirts, and holds up her stamp. Matt extends his hand delicately and professionally, which she marks while concealing a slightly disappointed expression, “Who's next?” Ursula steps forward, offering up one of her sizable breasts, which the young woman stamps just above her defined areola, smiling. Jasmine follows suit, holding her slightly smaller breast up for her. Andy is feeling less fun apparently, offering a calf, but she gives the whole room a pretty good show when she lifts her leg. Maybe that was her point. Now that it's my turn, I turn around, canting my body forward just enough for her to know where to put the ink. She stamps me, smiling, and waves us through. “Have a nice day.” “Thank you,” Ursula says, as we pass through the gate, all inebriated from breakfast, but two of us far more than the rest. Giggling and sort of stumbling en mass we rove through the corridor, and out of the main foyer, away from the terrified, raggedy riders. In my state, I have no idea what exhibit may or may not be new, so I simply follow the horde. It's incredible, really. A few people are dressed, but most people are at least shirtless and many are in less than that. It's everyone, of course, not just exactly the people I'd want to fuck. Quite a few people ... completely nude, just like us, too. No part of me feels uncomfortable, and I don't think I would if I were sober. This is a strange feeling, but I like it. Everyone is so... Disarmed. This place is familiar to me. I'm at home here. It's my ground, my strong terrain. Nevertheless, everything was stumbling downward, from here. Prowling downhill is still fun, though. Each room is an old friend, each floor and zone a different tone, in different shades. I know Ursula and Jasmine will want to head into the late Renaissance and impressionist rooms. Matt sees the same and tugs my arm, leading me with him. “Catch up with you ladies,” he waves. “No, we should stick together,” Ursula turns round. “We'll be fine,” I say. “Just a second,” Jasmine says. “Okay...” Ursula says, “We'll be back in a minute. Downstairs?” “Yeah.” Downstairs is where they keep all the native art. I used to find that kind of frustrating and vaguely racist, until I realized that it's just because they can control the lighting to their whim in a windowless hole; something that's important for so much sculpture. Anyway, I love it down here. It's a veritable labyrinth of totems, masks, and statues on this end. Follow it far enough and you'll discover a garden of welded sculpture, with stairs to a cafe. I'm where I want to be, though. Black walls, low light, a seething swarm of nudity. Smiling, I watch them intently while I clearly identify all the couples in the room. The hands casually resting on shoulders, the hugs from ...