ExtremeCFNM

When it comes to high-energy stripping in public, those naughty boys at ExtremeCFNM are the undoubted experts, and I raise my vodka and lime to them. But I do love a bit of stripping in the home as well. Telling your man to get ’em off can serve as a wonderful forfeit for a lost bet, or a penalty for failing to tidy up, or it can just be a spontaneous bit of fun when there’s nothing on the telly. It’s also a great chance to experiment with different approaches to getting naked.

Don’t get me wrong, when I’m out with the girls, there’s nothing I like more than a polished striptease with the traditional reveals – those oiled pecs bursting out of a policeman’s tunic, the moment when the trousers with Velcro sides come flying off. But when it’s just me and my boyfriend (or some other willing amateur) I like to do things my own way.

I like the guy to strip from the bottom up.

There I am, curled up in a corner of the sofa, looking as cute as a kitten in a calendar in my slim-cut jeans and snug jersey top. I’m nursing a glass of Pinot Noir and a wicked grin and my eyes are sparkling greedily. Some R&B pop is tinkling away in the background, and the guy’s standing there in front of me with an eager but nervous smile. He doffs his jacket or sweater, his trembling fingers drift to the buttons of his shirt, and that’s when I shake my head and point casually to his trousers.

His brows shoot up, as though to ask, “Already?” I say nothing, but my lovely grey eyes darken just enough to put the fear of God into him.

Hands quivering, he pops the waistband. I savour the moment of awkwardness as he fumbles the trousers down his brawny legs and over his feet. When he straightens up, his face is flushed and his shirt is dangling down over the tops of his bare thighs, almost covering his briefs.

And that’s where I point next.

I do it with a slight pout, as though I’m already growing bored and he better hurry up and impress me. That’s usually all the motivation he needs to send his undies plunging to his ankles.

And now comes my favourite part. Technically, the guy is still half-clothed, but the shirt on top only makes the bottom half seem even more naked. I love the way the guy’s swelling dick pokes out from under the fabric, waving hello. I encourage him to move around and I’m just as entranced by the view from the rear, the shirt-tail hugging the contours of his tight little bum.

Finally, I tell him to pull the shirt over his head, so I can take in the whole sweep of his body, and now he doesn’t have a stitch on him.

The naked male. Just as nature intended.

And that, of course, is when the fun really begins …