by Bridy McAvoy
I know you were nervous, but I knew I was going to say ‘yes’. In fact, I almost said ‘yes’ before you even dropped to one knee. Holding it back is what made the answer come out so loud.
Tuesday the head librarian left me alone, but on Wednesday insisted on a blow job first thing and again at going home time. He gave me a package and told me to wear it on Thursday if I had the nerve. If I didn’t, he said, I could change into it as we closed up at lunchtime. In any case I wasn’t to open it until I got home.
My curiosity pricked, I managed to get halfway home before looking in the bag. I drove home red-faced for the rest of the journey. Once inside the house I unpacked it fully and looked at the outfit. There was no way I could wear that in the library during working hours—I think he knew that.
The dress had a white, peasant style elasticated top with a flowing floor-length skirt. The skirt was supposed to button up the front but someone—I’ll let you guess who—had cut all the buttons off below the waist. Just to be sure of what it looked like, I slipped it on over my work underwear and stood in front of the mirror.
It was obscene! Just standing still, if I flicked my hips from side to side I exposed the front of my panties. The lightweight skirt would billow and display my legs from my panties on down. Inside the bag was the underwear to go with it. A white Merry Widow with garters and a pair of white lace-top stockings. The panties were thinner than ever—thinner than any I had for that matter—and barely covered my pussy at the front. They were just a thong at the back, leaving my butt fully exposed.
I could wear the underwear under a standard skirt and probably my thickest blouse, but no way could I be seen in public dressed like that.
Decision made, I spent the evening sorting out the house as well as cooking and then, as you know, spent an hour on the phone with you, talking about your interview panel that following afternoon. You seemed happier and, with a date fixed for Saturday, I went to bed smiling.
* * * *
Mr. Bryant was disappointed to see I’d turned up in my normal outfit on Thursday morning, but he didn’t make a fuss about it. He’d left it to me, and I was pretty sure he didn’t want me to wear it in public—just a fantasy of his.
As soon as we’d closed, I carried the bag with the dress in it into the washroom while he pulled the blinds, then ten minutes later I knocked on his open office door and posed in the doorway in his obscene parody of a gypsy dress. Pursing his lips, he rose from his seat and walked around his desk, then, leaning back on it, he beckoned me forward. Kind of as expected, I quickly found myself kneeling, but not on the dress which was swept out to the sides, in order to blow him. Once that piece of business was taken care of he sent me for coffee.
The coffee was part of the ritual now. It used to get rid of my cock-breath, although over the months I’d realized he’d never actually kissed me on the mouth. He kissed me in plenty of other places, of course, but never on the lips.
Once we finished our coffee, and just talking about library business, he took my hand, spun me around and boosted me up to sit on his desk. I laid back and the dress seemed to miraculously open by itself. Then, pushing my panties to the side, he performed the next part of our ritual and ate me until I came a couple of times. We then worked for an hour, tidying up and sorting the stacks. I knew his eyes were on my legs virtually all the time, especially when I had to use the steps. At about half-three he bent me over my desk and fucked me from behind, cumming in fairly quick time, meaning I didn’t. Then it was time to get changed again and another Thursday was over. Friday he left me alone again and as soon as I turned out from work I picked up some groceries for the condo and headed straight there.
Jim had arranged for me to be there for about ten o’clock again. He’d told me to get a drink at the bar—he might be too busy to take care of me. Since he couldn’t guarantee to be available to fend off any unwelcome approaches—as if I couldn’t take care of myself—he told me to dress conservatively. Sometime after eleven he’d approach me and I was to nip outside and carry in my little overnight bag holding my sexy clothing and he’d give me the key to the flat so I could get changed.
So that’s what I did. The bar was busy, very busy—busier than it had been on the previous Saturday, and I could see Jim and his three staff were run off their feet. He must have had them looking out for me because, when I ordered a drink, I was served quickly. When the guy next to me at the bar tried to pay for it, the barman told him it was already paid for by the owner. The guy pulled his horns in at that and I guess the word spread.
A couple of passes were made, but politely turned down. It turned out later that one of the guys invited for the lock-in was one of those making a pass, but he didn’t know at the time who he was dealing with.
Sometime around eleven-twenty, Jim, who’d only managed a smile in my direction all evening, appeared at my side.
“You ready, baby?”
“No.”
He looked taken aback until he realized I was joking. If I hadn’t been ready I’d simply have never showed, deleted his number, and blocked him on my phone.
“Naughty girl, teasing me like that. I should spank you for that.”
“Naughty boy, in your dreams. Not happening.”
He laughed and we walked over to the door. I fetched my bag from the car, slung it over my shoulder, and he showed me around to the outside entrance of the flat and gave me the key. That was better than I’d hoped for. I’d been expecting to have to walk through the bar with an overnight bag—a sure-fire way to garner some unwelcome ribaldry.
“I’ll be up to get you about twelve-fifteen. There’s beer in the fridge if you want one, coffee next to the machine, and you know where everything else is. Okay, baby?”
Instead of answering, I grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. Rather than let him take the lead this time, it was my tongue that demanded access to his mouth.
He kissed me back then broke the kiss after a few seconds. “I have to get back, baby. Buzzing tonight.”
I chuckled. “No problem. Hopefully I’ll have them buzzing for you later, too.”
We went our separate ways. In about three quarters of an hour, I’d be performing my first audience participation show, and at that moment I couldn’t wait. I had to use the bathroom to wipe myself down—I was so wet, it was starting to run down my leg. I’d had the foresight to wear a different pair of panties, so that I could change into the french-cut silk ones at the last minute.
The tight, electric blue jersey-knit dress would also show a wet spot so I had to be very careful. In the end I stripped off my somewhat more sensible summer dress, albeit short, and sat around in Jim’s flat in my underwear. The silk camisole really didn’t go with the plain cotton panties, but that was for safety. I ended up stuffing the panties with toilet paper to stop myself leaving a slick on his leather couch.
I used the coffee to force myself to calm down—alcohol was a no-no. I was going to drive home and didn’t want to risk a DUI, even if the temptation was huge. I’d promised myself I’d do this sober, simply so I could remember the experience. I had no intention of repeating it and, after tonight, no intention of ever darkening the doors of Skinner’s again, let alone see Jim ever. He didn’t know that, and I had no intention of telling him until later.
Every couple of minutes I checked my watch. At five to twelve I could imagine the guys behind the bar starting to hassle people out. At exactly twelve the towels would be going over the pumps. There was no way they were going to tolerate any late orders tonight. By five past I could see, in my mind’s eye, the last of the stragglers being herded out. The rest of the people present—my people, my audience—hustling to get everything set up.
I took a deep breath and stripped off my underwear, then had to make a semi-nude trip to the bathroom to dispose of the wad of messed up toilet paper. Of course, I then had to wash my hands, and I didn’t want Jim coming upstairs catching me naked except for the camisole and starting the party ear
ly. We’d arranged he’d be first, but I wasn’t going to go downstairs and dance with his fluids leaking out of me.
My fears proved groundless. I had the dress as well as the underwear on by the time I heard the door at the bottom of the internal stairs open.
He came about halfway up. “You ready?”
“I guess.”
“Good. Come on, follow me. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, pause, and I’ll announce you.”
I shuddered. “How… How many?”
He winked at me as I stood at the top of the stairs. “Don’t worry, no more than we agreed. There’s one extra person in the room. Dave behind the bar really is gay, and he won’t be joining in.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. It’s set up like we agreed. The guys can’t wait, they’re gagging for it.”
“Anyone I know?”
He chuckled. “Apart from me, you mean? No, Gary can never get out on a Friday night, and Chad’s away on business—so no, nobody you know.”
We both knew that I’d meant know in the biblical sense.
“Come on, before you lose your nerve.”
“And if I did?”
“I’d tell them that, send them on their way with a couple of drinks, but I’d make sure you got out and away clear before I let any of them out the door. I’m not a monster, even if I do fancy fucking you six ways to the dozen every night of the week.”
His mix of metaphors and idioms made me laugh, and I was sure he was hoping for seconds himself. After all, he had promised me the use of his bathroom afterward, no doubt intending to lock up downstairs and then follow me upstairs. Still, his reassurance was good, and helped to settle my nerves.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
He motioned for me to come downstairs and when I reached the step above him he leaned up on tiptoe—I had outrageous heels on—and kissed me on the cheek. “You’ll do fine, just keep dancing, everything else will just flow.”
“Are you sure I look okay?”
“Fuck, baby, you look amazing. That dress you had on earlier had them panting, this getup will have them drooling. If I could book you every week, I’d have a sell-out and I could retire in three years.”
We both laughed—I knew the licensing laws too. If he started running a regular strip joint in this part of town without a license he’d be closed down within the week. Still, his enthusiasm was infectious. I paused as we reached the bottom of the stairs and he gave me another quick peck on the cheek and a squeeze of my hand.
I heard him walk out into the bar, and then clap his hand for attention.
“Gentlemen, I have great pleasure to inform you the entertainment is here, and the show is about to begin. The bar is now closed so what you have to drink is all you get. Now please give a big cheer, and put your hands together, for the one and only, the gorgeous, the loveable and the absolutely fuckable, the beautiful debutante, Sammie!”
As soon as he said my name there was a roar from the assembled men, and a thunder of applause. Sometime in the middle of that ten seconds the music started. I took a deep breath and danced into the opening.
My eyes scanned the room. The three barmen were standing leaning on the bar watching me. I knew which one was Dave—he was so outrageously gay. I’d earmarked him from the beginning. Actually, he’d kept me entertained all night with his jokes in between serving other people. The tables had been moved to clear a space between me and the pool tables where the main event would take place. Ranged along the row of tables were Jim and the four other men. I’d agreed on seven as a maximum number, and it was obvious Jim hadn’t had any problems filling those slots. I licked my lips. There were seven men in here that were about to see me naked, seven men who were then going to fuck me—not counting Dave.
The flight reflex took hold but I stamped down on my own psyche—I’d asked for this. I’d set out to do this, now I had to go through with it. At least there weren’t any extra guys in the room. If there’d been one or two more I might have handled it and gone through with it. If I’d counted ten heads, not including Dave, I’d have turned and run.
I smiled, knowing it was a bit strained, but I kept the smile there as I strutted out. The applause had redoubled as I moved into the open space, a controlled strut that waggled my butt from side to side, shook my breasts and encouraged the knitted dress to ride up a little on my thighs. They couldn’t see stocking tops yet, but it wouldn’t be long.
I didn’t look at any of the guys, not really. I was concentrating on not falling over in my heels. They were ultra-high, something like six inches with an inch platform under the sole. Okay, I know there are higher ones, but I’ve only got little feet so they were very high for me, far higher than I normally wear. They did wonderful things for my calves, thighs and ass though, sculpting me. I’d taken one look at my figure in the mirror in the shop and had been hooked. If I’d had an unlimited budget I’d have bought every pair they had, instead settling for just the navy pair to go with the blue dress I’d already decided to wear.
Once I’d reached the center of the cleared area I turned my back on my audience for a moment and faced the bar. The three barmen thus had a front view while the rest of them had a back view. The back view was what I wanted to show off. The tight skirt of the dress held my ass cocooned in blue jersey. It was stretched tight across my hips and showed every curve. I started to dance in place, pushing my hips out to the side and just moving my legs without moving my feet as I slowly bent over. In front, the barmen got an eyeful of cleavage. Behind me, judging from the whoops and hollering, they were enjoying the view.
I straightened and spun around to face the main part of my audience again then repeated the maneuver. This time the guys behind me got in on the act, cheering and whistling. I felt a million dollars at that moment, the absolute center of the universe for so many men. It was like a drug, a powerful aphrodisiac. I’d lost my nerves, rather than losing my nerve, which is what I’d worried about. Sportspeople talk about being in the zone—well, I was in the zone. Empowered. That’s one way of looking at it. I can see why professional strippers do it, other than for the money of course. I was on fire, my skin hot, my nipples hard as stones under the camisole, my pussy wet and starting to throb.
I’d thought about my moves, even practiced some of them in front of a mirror, so I knew how much I’d be revealing. As I straightened I lifted my arms above my head, entwined my hands together and arched my back as I moved to the beat of the music. My skirt lifted as the hem rose up my thighs, exposing the dark band at the top of my navy stockings. I gazed out at the faces in front of me, my eyes feeling heavy as lust washed through me—and I hadn’t even removed a single item of clothing yet!
I said I felt empowered, but that was an understatement. I felt I could take on the world at that moment.
As I lowered my hands I dropped into a crouch, my skirt riding higher still, and as I crouched my legs parted, providing the guys in front of me with a glimpse of my panty-covered crotch. Of course, the guys who couldn’t quite see craned their necks for a better look. The movement was designed to attract their attention from my hands. As I straightened again I’d pulled the stretchy dress down off my shoulders. It was time to strip rather than dance.
Nerves were forgotten in the heat of the action now. I crossed my arms in front of me and slowly peeled the dress down my arms. As it dropped, more and more of the upper swell of my breasts were revealed until the dress was caught on the top of the camisole, having drawn it down my arms as far as my elbows. Now I turned around to show them the back view once more, and keep the bar staff interested. Dave was grinning and clapping but wasn’t as interested as the other two.
I stripped the sleeves of the dress off my arms without letting the dress drop below my breasts. Now it was just a tube of stretchy fabric. I’d told Jim I intended to dance in the middle of the room, nothing close and personal until I gave him the signal to be first. Now, though, I couldn’t hold myself in check and started
working down the line of men, starting at the far end from him. I could see their surprise at my actions was a pleasurable one and they quickly got in on the act as I turned and gyrated in front of each of them. I felt fleeting touches on my legs and butt. One enterprising guy managed to get his hand on my thigh under the dress but I danced away before he could work his way higher. As I came up to Jim, I started working on the top of the dress again and, as a result, he was the one who got the close-up view of me revealing the camisole. Again there was wild applause.
Working my way along the edge of the bar, I teased the bar staff the same way, all the time working the dress down until it was at my waist. Then I moved back to the center of the room and turned to face the main part of the audience once more. It was time to lose the dress. Jim had set up a plan with me. I was to make sure I threw each item of clothing to him—that way I’d get them back. I somehow doubted I’d actually get the panties back, though. That was why I’d spent a couple of hours deliberately weakening the seams. Even Jim wasn’t aware of my intentions for the final dénouement.
It took a minute or more to work the dress down over my hips without dragging the french-cut panties with them. Then it dropped to the floor and everyone could see the thin silk top and the even thinner panties. Stepping out of the dress, I used a foot to scoop it across the floor to Jim, watching as he nodded and picked it up. Then I was dancing again, working my way down the line once more.
Their touches were more blatant now, not just fleeting. One of them grabbed my butt and squeezed. I didn’t stop him. The next guy put both arms around me, pulled me in closer to him and squeezed both butt cheeks, while at the same time leaning forward and kissing my belly. The third guy looked expectantly on as I writhed in the grip of number two. It was fast ceasing to be a dance performance and striptease, more becoming a grope and writhe. Even a lap dancer didn’t get touched like this—there were rules on those clubs. I was breaking my own rules here.
I pushed myself out of the grasp of the second guy and danced up to the next one with a smile on my face. He ignored my ass, motioning me closer and pushing his hand between my thighs, his index finger pressing against my slit through the thin silk of my panties. I think everyone heard my moan even overtop the pounding rock music. The fourth guy ignored my needy pussy and used both hands on my breasts. When it came to Jim’s turn my legs were feeling a bit weak, so I spun around and sat on his lap, my legs splayed to either side of him. I could feel his erection pressing against me. He kissed me as I leaned back against him, my head twisting, allowing my lips to meet his. His hands strayed all over the front of my body but didn’t dip under my clothes.
