Susan and I arrived at the famous old hotel just after lunch. We were to attend the wedding of her good friend Elizabeth later in the afternoon.. The hotel has been for more than forty years the mecca for country visitors to Melbourne. It is centrally located close to the business didtrict, and was upgraded significantly about ten years ago. It retains the charm of yesteryear, comfortable, but not in any way modern. Having checked in, the "bellhop" took us, and our luggage, up to our room, and gave us a tour of the accommodation.

He was a sorry-looking individual. Wearing the traditional porter uniform, well-worn and shiny with too many trips to the dry cleaner, he adorned its shoulders with copious dandruff from his receding hair. He was in his forties, meek, had an air of indifference, and was by no means the hotel's prime asset. A loser one would ungratiously say. Susan asked him if she could have the dress pressed, the one she intended to wear to the wedding. This would be OK - " just ring reception when it is ready, and I'll come and get it."

We quickly realised that someone standing at the entrance would have a good view into the bathroom if its door was open, whilst the bedroom/living area would be largely private. Susan decided to brighten up the porter's day. The layout in the bathroom saw the toilet hidden behind the bathroom door, a double vanity overlooked by an extensive mirror, leading to the bath with shower protected by curtains.. We managed to get the floor mat under the door, so that the door could be opened with a surreptitious foot movement, to expose a naked Susan as she attended to her post-shower routine. 

After I placed the call to reception, Susan went to the bathroom to wait, and I answered the knock on the door, and verified that the caller was, in fact, our target porter. I asked him to wait while I fetched the dress, at which time Susan was to sneakily open the bathroon door a little, as planned. I kept the porter waiting, asking where I could find the paperwork, then a writing implement, and a bag in which to place the dress. All this time we were not in view of each other. I thought Susan was taking more time than expected, but assumed she was enjoying herself, so I continued to ask questions about how to fill in the form, and how we could be sure that the dress would be returned in good time.

I noticed that his responses were getting a little more breathy, and vague - indicating that his mind might be elsewhere. At last the waiting was disturbed by a loud crash, as if a glass receptacle was breaking, a profanity from Susan, the sound of a door being slammed, and a faint whimpering. I took the dress, etc. to the porter, who stepped back a little as I approached, thanked him (no reply), closed the door in his face, and opened the bathroom door to find Susan. She was sitting on the toilet, naked, face in her hands that were resting on her knees, shaking and emanating a low moan. I picked her up, and actually carried her to the bed, and covered her.

Eventually she came out of this funk, and was able to tell me what had happened that had upset her so much.

"After you walked past, I manoevred the mat as planned to open the door a little. What we had not realised was that not only could he see me, but I could see him in the mirror. Our eyes met immediately. I realised that, not only could he see me, but that he knew that I knew he could see me. So I was in a dilemma - close the door straightaway, or proceed as planned, with the common knowledge that this was no accident. The thought that I might bring some joy to his otherwise miserable day, propelled me to carry on.

 "I turned to face him, winked, and opened the door fully while retaining eye contact. Turning back to the mirror, I dropped the towel that had been around my waist, and kept my eyes on his in the mirror, as I went through my normal routine, slowly and methodically. I felt my breasts for lumps. pinched my nipples for colour, brushed my hair, checked my eyelashes, gently slapped some colour into my cheeks. I then turned to face him and then looked over my shoulder to examine my back and bottom in the mirror.

" I turned back to the mirror, and placed one leg up on the vanity, and began massaging my body lotion into my foot, and then slowly along my leg. I then replaced the leg on the vanity, and saw his eyes turn down a little, and brighten, as I realised that this new position made my pussy quite open to his gaze.. Starting again at my foot, I worked the lotion further and further along my leg, until the back of my hand brushed against my pussy.

"It was then that I relised how excited I had become. I was breathing heavily, sweating and clearly overcome with lust. As I slipped some fingers into my saturated pussy I realised that I could no longer control the situation. I was frigging myself vigorously. I knew I was about to climax, so I turned to see his reaction to this imminent event. It was then that my leg slipped along the vanity, and knocked over the fake shell that contained toiletries and sent it crashing to the floor. The spell broke. I slammed the door, and collapsed onto the toilet. I think the mental climax never came, but the physical climax could not be stopped. It was quite painful.

"And as I sat there, I was overcome with shame. I am not a whore. Why did I go so far? How dare I assume that my disgusting actions would make his day? How presumptive of me to include him, without his consent, into my weird fetish? I wanted to beg his forgiveness. I wanted to assure him that I that I would never again allow such a scene to be repeated. But I know I am too ashamed to face him again."

Hours later, after a few wines, at the wedding reception, it was evident to all that Susan had not given up exhibitionism entirely. Her bra-less tits were still visible through the sides of her sleeveless dress, whenever she stooped, or raised her arms. And her pantyless bottom was still quite noticeable as she whirled on the dance-floor - her hairless pussy just a little less so. And I was so proud of her.