“Hi Caitlin, call for you.” A call for me at work was in itself a surprise. That the voice on the end of the phone belonged to the receptionist Adele was even more of a surprise.
“Thanks Adele. I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to be back at work. How are the boobs?” She’d gone up a couple of cup sizes, and the op had left her bruised and tender.
“Well, the bruising has mostly gone down, but I can’t really bear anyone to touch them, which is a bit of a shame because-”
“Yes, I can imagine. Who’s on the phone?”
“Sorry?”
“The phone call for me, who is it speaking?”
“Oh, somebody called Ben. Hey, call down in a bit, I’ll show you the girls now the swelling has gone down.” There was a click on the line and Ben was patched through. Funny, even down the phone I could tell he was grinning.
“You okay?” That was it. No ‘hi’, no ‘how are you’, just launches straight into it. Oh, hang on, he did just ask if I was okay. See, I was already busy being indignant; I wasn’t actually paying attention to what he said.
“Your father nearly caught me. I’d only just got in the kitchen and taken of my shoes and he came in.”
“Did he know anything was wrong? Do you think he-”
“No Ben, don’t panic, he didn’t suspect anything. Quite the opposite in fact, he- ” I stopped, abruptly. I may have just gone down on a teenage prostitute in front of him but I wasn’t going to discuss the sex life I shared with his father – it just wasn’t proper.
“I was going to say that he took me shopping for some new underwear just yesterday.” I settled for that, and it was still more intimate than
“Sounds great. Gonna wear it out tonight?”
“What’s happening tonight?”
“Me, you, a bar, some making of amends. I feel bad about the way things ended the other night.”
“Can’t, I have a dress rehearsal tonight.”
“I could come and watch?”
“It’s your father’s drama class. Planning on the next threesome being me, you and him?”
“I haven’t ruled it out…”
“Ben!” I snapped, but the tone of voice he employed did not belong purely to one generation of the family and it was one I had heard before. I knew of the futility of argument. Negotiations were concluded swiftly, and a date made for three nights hence.
The bar in question was some way from the scene of our previous date, and a completely different type of bar. It favoured a slightly more mature clientele, which I thought was very considerate of him. Perhaps he’d seen me wincing as I tried to ignore the din from the other bar (do they call it gangster rapping, or something like that?). This one had deep leather sofas in various colours in pairs facing each other, and although the walls were adorned with flat-screen TVs they were easy to ignore. The music was soft and quiet, summery almost, all pianos and glitterballs. I took a stool at the bar and when a very smart barman smiled expectantly and placed a napkin before me, I ordered a large white wine.
I was rather hoping that Ben would think I looked rather somewhat better out of casual clothes – and in partying clothes, rather than just out of clothes altogether. This was my number one LBD, short and silky, delicate cleavage allowing the choice of whether to go with undies or not. I decided I would, simply because I do pride myself on being a connoisseur of lingerie and therefore own many items that he may or may not be lucky enough to get a look at. Underneath this was a pink and black set, very lacy, and not very much of it. The cups gave me rather more cleavage than would normally be available and honestly, there’s nothing that gives a girl more of a confidence boost than looking down and seeing the cleavage of a supermodel. Well, nothing that gives this girl more confidence anyway.
I was a little early, admittedly, because the taxi had been early. That I’d been sat watching for the taxi from the dining room window for fifteen minutes already should not necessarily be seen as a sign of desperation. I admit that I was looking forward to seeing him. He was smart, good-looking, charming, and sexy as hell, so why would I not be looking forward to it? Well, yes, there is the Richard factor to consider, but honestly, the way he’s been treating me lately, he’s lucky I still answer the phone when he calls. Apart from the brief shopping outing the other day (yes, the one just after I’d had sex with him and his son in the space of an hour, thanks for reminding me I don’t think) I’d seen him once in two weeks, or was it three? And that night in the kitchen had been the only time we’d had sex in what – three weeks? Four weeks?
Eleven minutes. That was all it took, and sometimes the eleven minutes included him undressing himself and folding his clothes neatly on the chair. He’d never been full of passionate abandon (by which I mean he’d never failed to untie his shoelaces before taking them off) but our sex life had been, well, pleasant enough until recently. I was satisfied that he seemed a decent man, respectable, comfortably enough off, and in my lonely state of spinsterhood that I occupied back then these seemed like important things.
So, the fateful eleven minutes. Sex usually begins when we’re already in bed. I don’t think he likes to be seen nude with the light on, so we’re in bed and in the dark. He’ll roll over and hug me, and when I feel some life in his flaccid little member, then I know that I’m in for a good – sorry, pleasant – time. We’ll kiss for two minutes, then he’ll start to grope around down south, to see if I’m starting to get wet. I know this is coming, so generally I’ve been touching myself a little beforehand, so it feels like his ol’ OFT magic is working on me. If I’m lucky, he’ll remember I have breast and nipples before he dives in gung-ho at the business end, so we’ll put down three minutes for foreplay. Then, often at my behest, he’ll roll over on top of me. He doesn’t often sleep in his briefs, which saves me the necessity of touching them. We’ll kiss for another minute or so while he’s on top, and then I feel him nudging his thing wherever he feels a damp patch. This calls for intervention from me again to make sure that it goes in the right hole. Up until recently I didn’t even want to do it with people I might actually like having sex with, let alone him.
We’ve reached the six-minute mark, and he’s just got inside me. I have to beg him to go slowly at first, and I swear that sometimes he smiles at this point. It’s as though he thinks his almighty todger is stretching me in some way and I have to pause to become accustomed to it. Actually, I have this little fantasy that I might share with you later that I have to run through in order to get myself wet enough to carry on. We’re on to six and a half, maybe seven minutes if I have to let the fantasy run on a little.
Then the grinding begins, and I start pulling faces that I imagine make me look interested. Recently I’ve moved my alarm clock from the bedside table, because I’d found I’d taken to counting the seconds off until his orgasm. That’s how predictable Richard has become. I don’t think I’ve ever been more than fifteen seconds off with one of my guesses. Then there’s the question of positions. I described sex with Richard to the girls over lunch once, pretty much as I am doing with you now. Jenny described him as being like George Bush; he had a position, and there wasn’t anything that anyone could say or do that would make him change it. I’d taken to counting the time since I last did it in something other than the missionary position in leap years because it made it sound that much more respectable.
Around the ten and a quarter, maybe ten and a half minute marking, he would clench his bum and his face. Sometimes I could even tell the difference between them! Then the rush comes, and I practice my faking while he dribbles over me. For some reason he won’t come inside me, only over me. When he’s done grunting, he goes to the bathroom to tidy up. I go when he returns. By the time I return, he’s usually asleep. I may get a peck on the cheek if he’s facing the same way as me, but that’s pretty unusual. So that’s our love life. Eleven minutes is not quite enough to get me to heaven and back! But at least you see why Ben holds such an attraction for me. I remember once discussing our sex lives on a night out with the girls, when Natasha was complaining about sex with her boyfriend. They’d gotten all cuddly, she complained, when sometimes (and I quote) “a girl wants to be tied up and banged like a whore”. At that time I was a little shocked at her, but now I do understand what she meant, even if I would probably have described it a more eloquent way.
At this point Ben is now some ten minutes late. As ten minutes is nothing, and as I spent two hours getting ready, I’m more than prepared to wait. The barman has checked me out twice already, so at least I know someone thinks I look good. Finishing my drink, I catch his eye and order the same again.
At the twenty minute mark I’m a little put off, but once it gets to the thirty minute mark I’m actively starting to get pissed off. I’m actively starting to get drunk too, because the cute barman has now cleared away three glasses and the fourth is down to the dregs. Two red wines followed the two white ones, and because I didn’t specify which size glass I wanted they came as large ones. Glancing around again at the door I catch the barman’s eye, which he takes as a sign to refill my glass. He pushes the ten pound note back across the bar to me and smiles, signifying that this one is on him. And now I wonder; do I have it in my power to pull another gorgeous young man this week?
With the sound of La Cucaracha (I really should get a better ring tone) my thoughts about toy boys are stifled, especially when I look at the display and realise it’s Richard.
“Hello.” That’s me, full of enthusiasm.
“Hello Cate, how are you?”
“I’m okay.” I don’t really feel like talking to him and I am hoping that it doesn’t show too much. “How’s the marking going?”
“Umm, rather badly. I know you were hoping that we might be able to get together tomorrow night, but there’s just so much to do and I have to get back to the students soon, it’s late already. I was wondering if we might make alternative plans?”
“Oh, save it Richard, it’s not like we’re actually discussing it, we both know it has to be done and that you’re going to do it. I suppose I should be grateful that you’re even telling me in advance.” Like father, like son, as the cliché goes. If I’m not waiting on one, I’m waiting on the other!
“It’s not all bad – Ben’s invited us round for a meal. He’ll cook for us, he’s a really terrific cook.” Hmmm, that changes things. I mean, I know I’ve been sat cursing him for the last ten minutes, but this way I definitely get to see him. Play it cool, Caitlin.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to make do with that then.”
“It’ll be nice Cate, he’s a really excellent cook and I think you’ll find he’s got a little surprise for you. I’ll get some wine, and I’ll drive so you can have a drink, we’ll have a nice time. He’s good, he really is.” This much I know. In fact it’s a shame you can’t take lessons from him. “I’m sorry about tomorrow, but it’ll be a nice night. Look, I have to go. Call you tomorrow.” The buzzing tone from the phone told me he’d already gone.
I snapped the phone shut, glaring at it. Looking round for the barman, I drained the glass of wine I’d only just received, trying to decide whether I really could get something out of him. I had a companion at the bar now, a slim young woman with long, tousled blonde hair to the middle of her back, wearing a tiny denim skirt with a strapless white basque top and some of the most gorgeous heels you could ever go into your overdraft for. You’re staring at her chest, but we notice each other’s shoes. She too was involved on the phone, and by the sounds of it she was having a similar conversation with her very own Richard. Shouting a little to get the last word in, she slammed her phone down on the bar and yelled for the barman, who seemed to be hovering at a discreet distance from both of us.
“Barman! Excuse me, can I get a drink please?” She snatched her purse up from the bar and, looking up, caught me looking at her. “Hi. You have man trouble too?” All I could offer was a nod and a feeble smile. “Well look, we shouldn’t let shits like them get us down.” The barman flinched visibly.
“I think we’d like two glasses of wine please,” I said to him, indicating my distressed companion, “and I think you better make them both large ones.”
“That’s a good idea!” my new companion beamed. “I’ll have two large wines as well please! In fact, just fetch us a bottle each and then bugger off and flirt with someone who doesn’t currently hate men.” She jumped down from her bar stool and perched on the one next to mine. Her skirt, already tiny, hitched up even further to reveal probably the perfect set of legs, climaxing in a little white V of lace knickers. I tried not to look – I tried not to get caught looking – I failed at both. A little flustered to have been caught as an unintentional voyeur, I poured my wine hastily and some slopped over the side. Taking the chance to introduce myself, I also filled my new friend’s.
“Hi, I’m Caitlin. No-one who expects to walk afterwards calls me Cate,” I smiled, “except the person who has just hung up on me, and he’s so self-obsessed he doesn’t even notice when I ask him not to.”
“You see? You hate your name being shortened, yet you can’t make the only man that does it even register your discomfort.” She took a quick, unceremonious slurp at her drink in a manner that belied her extremely agitated state. “I’m Zoe, by the way; and I’ll wear as earrings the bollocks of the first man that calls me anything else!” We laughed together, firmly bonded as sisters in the sorority of women who hated their men. As we took another drink, I took the opportunity to look at her a little more closely.
Her lips, as perfectly made up as the rest of her, were full and inviting. Her hair was made up in that just crawled out of bed style that takes so long to replicate, and her eyes, in combination with her cheekbones, lent her face a sullen, almost sluttish look when she wasn’t smiling. I found myself thinking that if there was a man somewhere that was blowing her off for a night watching football or drinking with his mates, then men were more stupid that either of us really thought. She wasn’t just gorgeous, she was exactly what I thought men would find sexy. Just goes to show how wrong I can be, because here she was alone.
Clearly she didn’t consider herself alone, because she had me. An hour later I realised that we’d been having such fun (and such wine) that I hadn’t realised that I’d been stood up, more than ninety minutes ago. My new friend Zoe had an endless supply of anecdotes, witticisms, and barbed comments that had me enraptured. Bearing in mind that the two bottles of wine we’d originally ordered were long gone, as where the following one, Zoe could have read out the North Sea weather report and I’d have fallen about laughing.
“So what’s your bloke like?” She asked, looking earnest for almost the first time.
“Fat, old and ugly!” I laughed. “He’s just devoted to his work, He’s a professor at the university and does a lot of marking et cetera. The problem with that is that I’m always left like this, on my own. It’s a shame really because he can be sweet and considerate.”
“And in bed?” My inebriation left me immune to the forwardness of the question, and I answered it with a noise that was supposed to indicate my derision. After I’d wiped my nose, I gave her a more verbose answer.
“Awful. Unimaginative and short-lived are probably his best points.”
“What’s his cock like?”
“Hmmm… awful, unimaginative and short-lived!” Laughing, I explain myself. I attempt to anyway, in between embarrassed pauses, “Sometimes… it’s like, umm, it’s like it’s not quite hard enough.”
“No!” She looked almost outraged. “You’re gorgeous, I can’t believe that he can’t get hard for you.” I blushed; I mean a proper rosy-cheeked blush. “Do you get all dressed up for him?”
“He wouldn’t even notice if I did. It’s not like I don’t have anything nice to wear for him, but we only have sex in bed with the light off so there’s not really any point.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve got a PVC airhostess outfit in baby blue that I wore with white fishnet stockings for my man once. Didn’t notice. I served his tea in it, sat there while he watched a match on TV and he never noticed once. When the match was over, he got up and went straight to bed.”
“What did you do?”
“What any other girl would do, of course; banged some porn on and frigged myself silly on the sofa.” It probably wasn’t what I would do, I thought, taking a deep draught of the wine… She did the same, and then asked, “What do you wear?”
“Oh crikey, nothing like that. I’ve got some nice underwear, but he never notices it either.”
“You look like the sort of woman who takes care in her underwear. Let’s have a look!”
“What do you mean?”
“Give us a quick flash, I want to see what you’ve got on. All you’ve got to do us hoist your dress up a little; that teenage pot-washer isn’t about and there’s no-one in the bar.” She was completely earnest about it, but I was almost in shock just at being asked. Who on earth shows their smalls to a complete stranger, and in a bar too? “Seriously, let’s have a look. What’s it like?”
“Pink, pink and black,” I stuttered, unsure of how this game was played. “Pink and black, very lacy, little bows on and stuff.”
“I love girly stuff like that, all lace and bows. Makes me hot just wearing it, doesn’t it you? If I wear it while I’m working, I can’t make it through the afternoon without a little wank halfway through the day.” Relieved at the chance to change the conversation, I asked her what she did for a living.
“Photography, glamour and fashion mostly. I’m free-lance, and my other half isn’t wanting for money, so I can pick and choose what jobs I want to do. I do a lot for magazines, and I have a studio at home.”
“Do you like what you do?”
“Christ, photography is my life! I love what I do, I mean really love it. In the earliest photo of me I have a toy camera in my hand, and generally I still have. Look,” she said, ferreting in her clutch bag, “I carry a compact digital with me all the time in case a good photo op pops up.” I was about to ask her another question, but my attempts at a stealthy deflection were neither as stealthy nor as deflective as I wished.
“So come on then, show us what you’ve got on! Look, I’ll show you mine first.” At that, she glanced briefly around the room, then inched her denim skirt up the small amount it needed for her to show me what she’d got. It looked like a tiny white g-string, pretty, but not exceptional. I was a little surprised that she’d insisted on showing me.
“It’s this skirt, I can’t get the damn thing high enough for you to… look, give me your-” grabbing my hand, she thrust it between her legs. Too stunned to complain as she moved my hand about between her legs, I just looked at her. She laughed at me.
“I’m trying to get you to feel!” she whispered, in something akin to the noise a Harrier jump jet makes on take-off. My fingers brushed something hard and a little cold. She let loose my hand, and, trying not to touch anything that felt at all moist or warm, I realised there was a string of beads or something. I think I furrowed my brow, but there were at least fifty different questions that came to mind so I don’t know how she knew which to answer.
“Oh, I’ll show you! Come on!” She snatched my hand away from her snatch and jumped off the stool. I could do little but follow as she made her way somewhat clumsily between the tables and led me to the toilets. Once there, she pushed me into the first open cubicle and followed me in, slamming the door behind her. It hit the wall of the cubicle and bounced open again, but by that time she was already hitching her skirt up to her waist and paid it no mind.
“Look!” She exclaimed. “It’s one of those pearl thongs. They go right round between your legs.” I was sort of peering at her to get a better look, so she bustled me out of the way and hoisted one leg up onto the toilet seat. Sure enough, a string of shiny pearls stretched between her legs, right between her swollen and reddened lips.
“Don’t they, you know, rub on you?” She looked at me incredulously.
“You don’t think that that’s, you know, sort of the whole point?” It hadn’t occurred to me and I indicated to that effect.
“You mean you don’t even own a pearl thong? The most incredible piece of underwear that a man can buy his girl, and this guy, Dick?”
“Richard.”
“He hasn’t even bought you one?”
“No. I never even knew about it until just now.”
“Oh Caitlin, you don’t know what you’re missing!” She took me by the wrist again, more gently this time, and used my fingers to trace delicately around the string of pearls. I wasn’t too sozzled to note that she wasn’t just providing me with a feel of how the pearls felt; more, she just used my hands to provide a feel, full stop.
“They’re very nice.” I said, for want of something more constructive. I wasn’t comfortable with my hand between this young woman’s legs, but I didn’t really know how to stop her. This was not how I had imagined the evening would play out.
“Caitlin, you have no idea!” she squealed. Then, finally stopping masturbating with my hand, a sinister smile came across her face. “Look, put mine on for a little while. You can see how it feels!”
“No, I couldn’t-”
“Trust me. I know what you’re thinking, another girl’s pants and all that, but – trust me.” I had the distinct feeling she was toying with me, enjoying making me feel this uncomfortable.
Seconds later the matter was no longer up for dispute anyway. Stepping down from the toilet seat she quickly hitched up my dress and took hold of the waistband of my panties. I tried to stop her, but she pressed herself against me, meaning that my hands merely slipped ineffectively around her waist. She pulled my knickers down, kneeling down in front of me to make sure that I stepped out of them.
That was the point at which we became aware we were not alone.
There was a rather sheepish looking middle-aged man in the middle of the toilet, staring into our cubicle. He looked surprised – how did he think I felt? The hottest looking girl I had ever met was kneeling down in front of me, her face just inches from what I would have to say was my fairly aroused pussy, taking off my underwear whilst holding my dress up. Her skirt was around her waist and her incredible peach of a bum on full display. Zoe let him look for a moment, then reached out and slammed the door firmly shut.
“Pervert!” she screamed, giggling. The problem was that at this point I was as distracted as I could have been, and she used that lapse to make sure my pants were off. She snatched them up from the floor and brandished them under my nose, laughing. I imagined what the face of someone who was not dying from embarrassment looked like, and then tried to pull the same face. She stretched them out in front of me, admiring them.
“Well, I was right, these are absolutely gorgeous! Very small as well, I imagine that whoever was supposed to take these off tonight – before you met me – was going to be a very lucky boy indeed!” Quickly, she slipped out of her pearl thong and stepped into my panties. I cold see she was completely shaven. Dropping down again, she held the thong out to step into. Gingerly, and seeing little point in arguing, I did as bidden and stepped into them.
She mad a great fuss of pulling them up, complimenting me on being very neat and well trimmed. She pulled the thong all the way up, so high that the pearls pressed against my clitoris immediately. I could see why she wore them. Slipping her arms around my waist, she pulled me close and then dug her fingers into my bum.
“Come on,” she grinned, “let’s finish our drinks and go somewhere a little more lively!”
Walking back to the bar was an experience in itself. The constant rubbing against a clit that just lately needed little invitation to get excited gave rise to feelings I didn’t know I could have – and all I was doing was walking across a wooden floor. When we took to the streets and I had to walk across the cobbles near the University, I could no longer hear what Zoe was saying or walk without taking her arm. All I knew was that I felt like I was about to orgasm, and it would not be quietly.
It occurred to me that we were walking away from the main infestation of bars. I tried to mutter something about it, but words and syllables were now foreign concepts to my brain. This was clearly a feeling known well to Zoe, because she just kept laughing and made sure I had her arm for support.
Finally, the rubbing stopped and I could breathe again. Leaning on some railings for support, I realised Zoe’s face was being illuminated by a large neon sign. There was only one place on the trajectory in which we’d been heading that had a large neon sign, railings, and door staff like the large man in the tuxedo who was trying to explain to me that tonight was amateur night so ladies were allowed in for free.
Once we were inside the ‘gentlemen’s club’, as it was euphemistically called, we were shown to a table at the very front, in the right angle formed by the main stage and the runway. A female waitress in a bikini top and denim hot pants brought over a bottle of wine at Zoe’s bidding. As I looked around, I saw that there was a number of supermodel wannabes walking around in their underwear. I tugged in Zoe’s arm and pointed to one of them.
“Haven’t you ever been here before?” she asked earnestly. “It’s a lap-dancing club. The girls in knickers all work here. They’ll take you into the back and give you a private dance. Every so often one of them will get up and dance on the stage here, which I assume is what we’re all sat about waiting for.” Up until now, I didn’t think of myself as that naïve, but tonight was certainly opening my eyes.
There was music in the background, but no one on the runway. I peered through the haze caused by the darkness, spotlights, smoke, and near-orgasm, and could see that the club was about three-quarters full, and I think ours was the only table populated solely by women. I could see a couple of women, but they were all sat with men, generally in couples.
Then a coloured MC is a tuxedo took to the stage, announcing the arrival of someone called Princess. There was a raucous round of applause, which, given that the newly introduced lap-dancing faux royalty was just a little bit of a minger, meant that everyone was probably drunk. Or high. I caught sight of the drinks menu and noted with disdain the number of drinks that cost less than a tenner each, and assumed most of the clientele must be high, because it would be just that much cheaper.
Princess had cheaply-dyed black hair and sequinned underwear. Crucially, she had a chest that might just have fit into a FF bra cup, so conceivably this might have been the cause of the rapturous welcome. For three minutes, she gyrated gamely, removing her bra halfway through and guaranteeing further cheers. Watching Zoe’s face, I could see that she was less than impressed with the buxom young lady in front of us, and even I had to admit that there wasn’t anything particular sexy about her; she just, well, she just sort of jiggled up and down, making her boobs shimmy. The male portion of the audience loved it, and whenever she approached any of them, she came away with a waistband full of folded notes. It made me feel a little strange; you’d think the girls would be self-conscious, walking about in boudoir lingerie, but they all seem to love the attention. Again I felt like an unintentional voyeur, even though the voyees were parading about in front of me.
There was something about the look on Zoe’s face when the music died down that caused me to feel nervous. I don’t know how to explain what it was, but she was looking around the place as though searching for someone. Suddenly she rose, saying she was going for a drink. I was a little surprised, seeing as we still had half a bottle of wine in front of us, the place had waitress service, and she’d left her bag on the table. When she did come back she had no drink with her – just a grin, which went almost no way to making me feel better. However, the bikini-ed waitress came back and was carrying a bottle of champagne, good stuff too, no cheap own brand rubbish. Zoe beamed as she poured out two glasses and passed one to me.
“Here’s to a good night!” she said, clinking the glasses together.
“How did you get a free bottle of champagne out of this place?” I asked, not unfairly.
“I had a word with the manager! Basically, I said that the last dancer was rubbish, and what did a girl have to do to get a free drink and a good time out of this club?”
“I see…”
As it turned out, it wasn’t a rhetorical question. Moments later, a different girl was by our table, and Zoe was asking me to look after her bag and telling me she’d only be five minutes. I looked on helplessly as she stood up and sashayed away on the arm of the newcomer. Was it right that I should actually feel a sudden belt-lick of jealousy as I watched her disappear into the dark at the back of the stage? At that, it suddenly struck me where Zoe was heading…
Suddenly, the background music dropped off, and I heard the MC announce that the next dancer was about to take the stage. Suddenly panicking, and feeling like a Christian at the circus waiting to see what would come from behind the iron gate, I held my breath and waited for the inevitable. Zoe was announced as the next dancer.
The curtains parted. She stood there with her right hand on her hip, left arm down by her side, all her weight on her right foot, seeming effortlessly to appear assertive and in control. Perhaps it was because she was still dressed, whereas the Princess had started off in just her skimpies. Had that been me, I would have been thankful for the spotlight, because it meant I could see very little of the crowd, but in the limited time I’d had to get to know Zoe, I didn’t think she’d be quite as worried as me.
As the music started, she took several steps forward in time, like a catwalk model, deliberately emphasising the swing in her hips. She smiled as she glanced from left to right. They applauded her extravagantly, and there were some whistles, which considering her appearance was hardly a surprise. When she reached the front of the stage, she stood and smiled at the crowd for a moment, then spun round and made her way back to the chair. It was a dinner table type chair, high backed. She sat on it, crossed her legs and smiled demurely for the audience, before spinning to her left. Putting one her left foot down on the floor, she stretched her other leg out in front as she took hold of the back of the chair with one hand and leaned back. As she did so, her tiny denim skirt rode up, revealing my knickers! Still leaning back, she brought her right hand up to her face, and then slowly ran it down her neck and over her body, cupping her right breast for a moment. She arched her right leg up, running her hand over her exposed thigh.
Zoe rocked forward and sat upright quickly, body swaying slightly in time with the music. Rising to her feet she turned quickly, bending over so that the palms of her hands were flat against the seat of the chair. Further wolf-whistles and cheers were elicited from the crowd as she wiggled her bum in time to the music. She held that pose for a moment, allowing the crowd to take in the tight curves of her bum, and the length of her legs. Zoe was one lucky girl with long legs, and in high heels they were greatly accentuated.
I watched intently as she put her knee on the chair, and then brought the other up too so she was kneeling on the chair, her left side to the audience. She arched her back and ran her fingers through her hair, stretching it out behind her and allowing it to fall. Standing up, she placed one hand on the back of the chair and walked round it in a coquettish and teasing manner, looking down, her face hidden from the crowd by her hair. She dragged it around so that the back of the chair was to the left of the stage, then on the next circuit she sat down with her back to the crowd. Using her left hand as support, she suddenly leant right back as far as she could, so that she was now looking at the crowd upside down. More cheering, as now her firm breasts could be seen very clearly down the top of her tight top. Again she ran her free hand down her body, this time parting her legs and allowing herself a quick rub over the material of my knickers.
She stood up again, and, turning her back to the audience, stood astride the chair with her legs apart. Swaying to the music with head bowed, she raised her arms behind her back and, agonisingly slowly, dragged the zipper of her corset top down, millimetres at a time. The cheering and applause increased with every little tug, until the zip was fully down. Stretching the moment of disrobing out, she swung the chair out from between her legs, and again walked around it a couple of times, hoping that her top would not slide down before she was ready.
Rising quickly, still facing away from the audience, Zoe snapped her legs together. Fingers working deftly at the fastening of her micro-skirt, she wiggled her bum and with no further prompting the tiny slip of denim slid over her hips and gently down to the floor, drawing a huge ovation from the crowd. She leant forward over the chair, swaying her bum in time to the music, aware that as she was only wearing the flimsiest of lacy knickers (my lacy knickers!) her bum would look more or less naked to the crowd. She held that pose for several seconds.
Zoe stood up again and turned, coyly, to face the crowd, smiling serenely from under her fringe. The crowd loved her, and she was quickly warming to her task. She been holding her arms folded over her chest but now she moved them, slowing for the first time the full view of her breasts, shapely and pert. With head down and her hands behind her back, she wandered forwards towards the crowd and the edge of the stage like a shy schoolgirl, the opposite of the brazen performer she had looked at the start of her dance. When she reached the edge of the stage, she stood for a moment, whilst men started to thrust folded notes at her. She turned her back on the crowd and wiggled her bum at them, while the braver souls risked the wrath of the security men by reaching up to tuck notes into the waistband of her knickers. From where I was sitting, I could see that some of them were trying to stuff her underwear with twenties and fifties! With tips like that, I think that even I might have been tempted to have a go.
She danced to the middle of the stage, dropping the money she had collected already onto the pile of discarded clothing. Dropping gracefully to her knees, then onto all fours, she started to crawl towards the crowd again in a feminine and feline way, looking from side to side for a target. On the opposite side of the stage Zoe a-spied a middle-aged man sat with a wife, or lady friend, or maybe even secretary, of similar age. He was probably twice Zoe’s age, but he was definitely very good looking, and I think all girls must have a weakness for men in expensive suits – it’s practically mandatory. She made her way towards him, smiling and yet making growling noises. She leaned in towards him, until she could smell his cologne. He looked slightly uncomfortable and yet excited. His companion beamed at Zoe broadly, and clapped. Zoe shook her hair in the man’s face, and she heard him sniffing her hair, breathing her scent in. He reached up and tucked two folded bills into her waistband, his hand lingering over her bottom as he slowly withdrew it.
Zoe knelt back, then one leg at a time swung them out from underneath her, until she was sat on her bottom with her legs wide open. She was facing the man’s wife directly. I watched as the woman looked deep into Zoe’s eyes, then ran her stare down her body, taking in the modest but firm breasts, flat stomach, and long legs. The woman reached out a hand and I could see there was money in it, so Zoe thrust her groin forward at the woman. The woman responded by pulling open Zoe’s knickers at the front with her free hand, and when I looked closely I could see she’d pried them open at the gusset, rather than the waistband. At that moment, Zoe’s beautiful shaven pussy was on display, although only the woman, her husband, and Zoe herself could see it. The woman took her hand away slowly, smiling all the time.
Zoe rolled over until she was on all fours, then made her way across the stage towards me. Taking some notes from my purse I waved towards her, at which she turned broadside and presented me with her bum, so I could tuck the notes in. I did just that, and then gave Zoe’s bum a playfully hard slap, evincing a surprised yelp from Zoe, which the crowd loved. Grinning, she turned to face me and advanced slowly on all fours. She beckoned me closer with a gesture, looking as though she wanted to say something to me. As I leant in, she grabbed a handful of my hair, dragging my face closer to hers. Her eyes closed and her lips sought mine. I was so surprised it never even occurred to me to close my eyes! Zoe pushed her tongue gently into her my mouth, and with little option I responded likewise. Her kiss was soft but purposeful, and I let her direct the kiss at her pace. The first time I’d ever kissed a woman, and it had to be in public, wearing lingerie guaranteed to bring on an orgasm just through crossing my legs. Zoe seemed to make a great show of the tongue play for the crowd close enough to see it.
Making her way back over to the married couple, Zoe again arranged herself so that she was sat on her bum, legs wide open, in front of the woman. Zoe reached out and took the tall glass of champagne from the sharp-suited man, and took a small sip before handing it to the wife. The woman knew instantly what she was to do with it, and as Zoe settled with her head tiled right back, the woman slowly poured the ice cold champagne over Zoe’s breasts, making sure that there was enough left to pour into her panties. The crowd whooped and hollered as the champagne trickled down Zoe’s body, sparkling under the multi-coloured lights. Hooking a thumb into the side of her panties, she dragged them down just enough so that when she returned to the upright sitting position, they were not trapped under her. The woman was again quick to take her cue as Zoe snapped her legs shut. The woman reached forwards and very slowly pulled Zoe’s knickers off, as the crowd applauded wildly.
Zoe stood up, naked apart from her high heels, whilst the front of her body was wet from the champagne. She walked back towards the pole in the centre of the stage, and, wrapping her right hand loosely around it, swayed round the pole several times before finally taking hold of it with both hands high above her head. Placing her back against the pole with her arms still above her head, she slid down it, never taking her eyes off the audience.
Standing up again, Zoe took hold of the pole with both hands and swung round vigorously a couple of times to work up some momentum. She wrapped her right leg around it then lifted her left leg from the floor, continuing to spin around it but sliding slowly to the floor until she was on her knees. Positioning the pole so that it was between her bum cheeks she rubbed up against it, before raising herself to her feet. Again she turned her back to the crowd and swung around lazily a couple of times, never looking at the crowd. She raised one leg high above her head and pressed it against the pole, so that the hot pink of her labia was clearly visible to the front rows. Letting her leg lower slowly and using the pole as support she leaned right over backwards.
She performed some high kicks against the pole, exposing her vagina time and time again to those lucky enough to be close enough to see. She spun around the pole again, working up some speed so that she was spinning fast, then raised both legs from the floors and allowed herself to swing round and slowly sink lower. When her knees landed gently in the floor, she drew herself closer to the pole, until the cold, polished metal came into contact with her clitoris. I could hear her gasp audibly, and I as well as the other women in the front rows guessed exactly why. Slowly, she started to raise and lower her groin against the pole, never allowing it to break contact with her clitoris.
Quickly, the thrusts quickened in pace and pressure, and as the song she was performing to approached its climax, she knew her time on the stage was coming to an end. She leaned back and with one hand on the floor and one hand on the pole, frantically rubbed herself up and down the pole, to the mounting cheers of the enraptured audience. As the song reached its crescendo Zoe reached her climax, her screams and gasps audible even over the music, drawing wild cheers from the audience. She collapsed backwards, naked and prostrate on the stage, as the crowd went delirious.
The MC helped her to her feet, and over the ovation I heard him say something about the best ever performance. She looked out of breath but glowing, and as I caught her eye she winked at me. I smiled back, secretly proud that my newfound friend had out-done the supposed professional. Letting go of Zoe’s hand, the MC clapped and started off another round of applause. One of the other dancers appeared at the back of the stage, motioning for Zoe to join her. She took one step in that direction but then stopped, looked at me, and smiled again before climbing down off the stage and taking her place beside me, still naked and glistening from the champagne shower. A couple of people nearby leaned over to pat her on the back or arm and say well done.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever come quite like that in my life!”
“I’m not surprised! You were brilliant, have you done that before?”
“No, but I think I might be a born show-off! I was surprised quite how horny it makes you, just being up there, with people looking at you. I’m more used to being out of the gaze and behind the camera, but I can see now quite why some people are so keen to have a go. It’s incredible! Where’s my drink?” She guzzled down the remainder of her glass, then topped it up and emptied it again. She was still breathing deeply, and I think the drink must have done very little to calm her adrenalin-driven mood. Pausing for breath, she looked around the club, seemingly unconcerned that she was still naked. The discarded clothes had been cleared from the stage, but Zoe seemed to show little concern for retrieving them. Suddenly, the club’s manager interrupted us.
“Zoe, Zoe, you’re a superstar! Honestly, a bona-fide superstar. You want a job here?” He said, cigar smoke drifting from the corners of his mouth. She shook her head, laughing.
“Well, you ever want a job, you come back here, and I’ll make you my star girl. You’ll make us both rich! Becky’s collected your clothes and your tips up, they’re in the changing room at the back, I’ll send her through to show you where it is.” He paused to draw on her cigar, pensive. “There’s no way that I can convince you to come and work for me?” Zoe picked up her glass and sipped from it.
“Maybe when my work dries up,” she said, not altogether ruling out the possibility of a return. “For now though, I’ll settle for another drink and getting dressed. Come on Caitlin, let’s go find my clothes!” She wobbled to her feet, as the manager barked for more champagne to be brought over.
Following the manager’s vague instructions we eventually found our way backstage, to a grim little room with a handwritten sign proclaiming it to be the staff lounge. As there was no sign of the promised Becky I hunted for Zoe’s clothes, but with no success. Deciding to wait for Becky to return I slumped into an armchair.
“What’s the rush to get dressed?” Zoe sighed, as she hoisted her legs around and slid from the arm of the chair down into my lap. Her arms slipped around my neck, and she smiled at me with eyelashes fluttering seductively. “We could just sit here for a few minutes and finish our champagne. It’s not like there’s any-one here to disturb us…”
“Well, shouldn’t we be…” I couldn’t think how the rest of that argument went. I was already wondering how many Hail Marys were required to atone for what I’d already done tonight, and I didn’t want to get trapped in a private situation with Zoe. In front of a crowd she knew how far she could go. Back here there was just me and her, and she had a look on her face that made me worry.
Without warning she leaned forward and kissed me, and oh, was it a good kiss. A great kiss. The sort of kiss where your heart stops for a second, your brain becomes a blank, your lips miraculously moisten themselves… the sort of kiss that is, in short, indescribable. And – sorry chaps – it suddenly struck me that it was the sort of kiss that only two women can share. Men can kiss with incredible passion, and they can kiss with that hunger that suddenly transports you back to the time of the cavemen and you’re thinking in grunts and random syllables. I’d heard it said that if you wanted a kiss of such tenderness that would make even statues weep, it’s a truism that you must have another woman.
“Take it you’re not wanting these back just yet then?” came a cheeky London accent, accompanied by a loud crack as a bubblegum bubble exploded. We looked round and there sat Becky, perched cockily on the edge of the manager’s shabby desk, holding a loose bundle which I took to be Zoe’s clothes. She grinned at us. “Don’t let me get in your way!”
It didn’t seem like Zoe intended to let her. Ignoring the newcomer, Zoe turned back to me and we kissed again. There was something more about this kiss, more teasing, more tongue-work, even a little biting. It seemed that any audience was enough to inspire the showgirl in Zoe, and seeing as I would be the one on the end of the show-womanship, I elected to sit there and let her do her best or worst, depending on your point of view.
“Very nice,” giggled the newcomer. She was about five six with a blonde bob (and obligatory highlights and dark roots). She was wearing a sheer black mesh top with a black bra in full view underneath, an incredibly short pleated skirt with a tartan design which was short enough to show that she had black hold-ups on underneath, and heels so high they must have been unsafe. Her lips were small and formed a permanent pout, even when smiling or talking. In other words, she was hot. “Gonna break her in then?” she added, cryptically.
“Is it that obvious?” Zoe asked with a smile.
“Is what obvious?” I enquired. They ignored me, which was infuriating.
“Well, my gaydar reading says that you’re bi and happy about it,” Becky continued, “and she’s as straight as a NAMAS-calibrated ruler!” They both laughed, although I neither understood the exchange nor the laughter.
“Well yes, I’d thought about giving it a go,” Zoe said, “what we me being naked already and hornier than a rhino convention!”
“I’m sorry,” I snapped, “but what exactly are you two talking about?” Zoe opened her mouth to respond but Becky was already talking.
“Simple, really. I am gay, and can pick out a straight girl in the darkness from fifty paces. You are not gay. Neither is your naked friend here,” she said, sashaying over to us like the catwalk superstar she clearly could have been, “except your friend Zoe is happy to join our team as and when. Am I right?”
“Hell yeah,” Zoe giggled. “Honey, I’d fuck anything!” Becky smiled wider before continuing.
“I think it’s clear even to a virgin like you that Zoe was going to fuck you senseless tonight, right now and right here in this chair.”
“That’s silly,” I protested. “Zoe and I only just met,” I added pointlessly. They both guffawed at me in a very unladylike way. The vibrations from having Zoe laughing in my lap were unpleasantly pleasant.
“Oh no,” Zoe interjected. “For the last hour I’ve been wetting myself at the thought of having four fingers in your cunt and my tongue in your bumhole,” she added with admirable but absolutely unnecessary sincerity. “Soon as I get the chance I’m going to fuck you senseless, just like she said.” One had to admire her honesty, if not her grasp of the concept of tact.
“And I was, to continue with the theme of being open and honest,” Becky added, “really quite hoping to join in. There’s nothing quite like the fun of giving a straight girl her first experience of real sex!” In my imaginary book, it would have been quite clear to all concerned that the fate of my heroine was beyond question. I however was quite happy to refuse to look facts in the eye. Settling into the big comfy seat marked ‘Denial’ I opened my mouth to protest, but by that time no-one was listening. Plus, this wasn’t my first girl/girl experience although somehow this didn’t seem like the time or place to argue semantics.
Becky had leant down to kiss Zoe. It wasn’t a kiss like Zoe had given me; this kiss was tactical warfare with the lips. They were both alpha females, which meant they would fight for their territory. Unfortunately that territory seemed to be me. Zoe raised a hand to feel Becky’s boobs, and Becky reciprocated by sliding a hand between Zoe’s legs, which parted without fuss. Expertly Becky sought out my friend’s clit, which even to one as inexperienced as I looked about as aroused as I had ever seen. This was a kiss they both enjoyed, and watching it from my position did not constitute hard work.
Zoe spun around so that she was facing Becky, sitting on my lap facing away from me. They kissed and groped a little more, but this constituted an entrée when Becky was eager for the first course. With a smile she dropped gracefully to her knees, her head disappearing between Zoe’s thighs. When Zoe gasped I knew that this hot little Londoner was teaching her a little about the art of going down on a girl. Zoe grabbed my wrists, hard, and began squirming in my lap. Becky, smiling, responded by pressing Zoe down into my lap to keep her still. The more she was held down, the more Zoe squirmed, and the harder she gripped me. It quite hurt but I wasn’t sure about how to bring the subject up.
“Um, Zoe, would you mind sort of, erm, just loosening your grip on my wrist? It’s hurting me a little.”
“Caitlin?” Zoe asked breathlessly, with eyes screwed shut tight.
“Yes?”
“Shut the fuck up, honey. When you’ve had your cunny licked like this – owww, shit! – then you can ask stupid question. Until then,” she gasped, “make yourself fucking useful.”
“Umm, how?” I enquired nervously.
“Find something to do with your mouth for a start!” Becky looked up, laughing.
“Sweetie, why don’t you find out if Zoe likes her neck being kissed?” she prompted gently.
“But she just told me to be quiet and-” I shut up. I got it. Tenderly I made contact with her neck, nibbling and licking, kissing and teasing. I wasn’t sure how she liked it so I started off gently. It seemed to me the thing to do, but then as Becky pointed out, I was a virgin! How would I know what to do!
“Caitlin, you’re a fucking clit tease,” Zoe snarled, grabbing hold of my hands. “When I get away from this dyke’s tongue I’m going to give you such a smack on the arse…” She started to grope her breasts with my hands until I got the idea. She preferred it a little rougher! Well, if that was what she wanted, that I could do. Biting and sucking her neck, I mawled her boobs. She responded to that well, so I made it rougher. Becky looked up and winked, so I assumed I was doing okay. Zoe let loose a stream of really rather coarse language, which shocked me so much I actually slapped her hard on the thigh.
Becky now had two fingers inside Zoe’s pussy, seeking out the g-spot the women love and men treat like an X-file. She flicked lightly at the sore, red clit in front of her until Zoe was actually screaming. Then, in a final and I thought drastic manoeuvre, she actually flicked repeatedly at Zoe’s clit with her fore finger, like she was playing table football. Even I winced, and I was only watching. Zoe loved it, screaming ‘fuck, yeah!’ over and over. Noisily Zoe reached her orgasm, beating the chair arms with her fists and Becky and I stimulated her. Spent, she slumped backwards into me as we caressed her gently.
“Your turn,” Zoe said suddenly, dragging me to my feet. Becky swept everything from the table as, over my protests, Zoe stripped me out of my dress, leaving me in lacy black lingerie and heels. There seemed little I could do to evade my fate, so when Becky motioned for me to perch on the edge of the table, I did as told. Coming between my legs Becky put her arms over my shoulders, pulling me in for a gentle kiss that left me gasping. Her kisses were light and left me chasing her tongue breathlessly. It was only when I heard Zoe giggling that I realised my hands were on Becky’s bum, trying to pull her closer! Opening my eyes I saw Zoe leaning against the chair, legs slightly apart, absent-mindedly fondling her pussy.
Gently Becky pushed me back on to the table and motioned for me to swing my legs round and lay flat out. Only a few hours ago I would have been so against this, yet through a combination of alcohol, the pearl thong, watching my friend strip in public, and then having her orgasm whilst sat in my lap my resistance was lowered. Plus, the kisses I’d had from these two girls were so sensual and passionate compared to the efforts I was used to that I was almost ready for anything. Scooching round to the end of the table, Becky appeared between my legs, looking me up and down.
“Are you going to be a good girl and ask me?” she smiled. Oh, the shame of being made to ask her to go down on me! I was always going to, of course.
“Becky… Please, I want you to go down on me, the way you did with Zoe!” It was all part of a game I was happy to play.
“Now that’s better! I want you to remove your underwear and let me get to that cute little snatch of yours.” With slightly more hesitancy – frankly, a reluctance to be parted from the pearls – I raised my bum and slid down the thong. Becky waited, and I realised she meant all of my underwear, so the bra joined the thong on the floor. I settled back, anticipating, but the girls had other ideas. Becky went to Zoe instead, whispered in her ear before turning to face me. She settled back into Zoe’s embrace, whilst Zoe’s arms snaked round Becky’s waist. Leaning her head back Becky met Zoe’s kiss, which they continued whilst Zoe unfastened the mini skirt and slid it to the floor. Next the mesh top came off over Becky’s head, and with a minimum of fuss Becky’s bra joined the clothing debris. Finally, and with a great show, Zoe slid Becky’s knickers to the floor. This kissed again as Zoe plunged a hand between Becky’s legs, and used the other to massage her breasts. It was gorgeous to watch, but only raised my levels of excitement and frustration!
Finally they ended the clinch and strode over to me. Zoe seemed determined to take charge this time, ordering me on to all fours. She disappeared behind me and before I could even look what she was doing she brought the palm of her hand down across my buttocks, evincing a yelp of real pain from me. Before I could protest she cut me off.
“Right, let’s see what we can’t make you do! Becky, on the table please, let’s get her to lick some pussy!” With something akin to human origami we arranged ourselves so Becky was on her back in front of me, legs apart. Zoe slapped my bum again, hard, which I assumed was a command to get started. Hesitantly I looked down at Becky’s genitals, neatly trimmed blonde pubic hair. I tried to shut out all background noise and focus, and was aided in this by Zoe grabbing my head and pushing it down into Becky’s groin.
I thought about closing my eyes and trusting instinct, but then I thought about how I’d feel if a man did that to me. I tried to relax and remember what had worked with Liv. Swallowing once, I stretched out my tongue and ran the tip the full length of her lips, then did it again. She let out a pleased little noise, so with a little more verve I did it again, this time keeping my tongue rigid so that it parted her lips just slightly. This time I could taste her, it was hot and sort of bitter in an appealing way that was difficult to describe, but in a way I liked. Gaining confidence I continued, until by accident I caught her clitoris, which caused a little shiver to run down her back. This effect I liked, so I kept doing it, until I found I was leaning on my elbows so I could use my hands to hold her groin in place.
Until now Zoe had been content with a watching brief, observing my first attempt at eating pussy closely, but now she wanted to play too. Moving behind me, she took of my buttocks and began to massage them until at last she slipped one hand between my thighs and sought out my clitoris. I would have to say that having one clit on my tongue, whilst my own was being worked over by an expert, was a particularly nice feeling! Trying to maintain my rhythm to induce Becky’s orgasm was far harder once I too was being stimulated, but at that point I was certainly game enough to try.
Zoe was forcing my legs further and further apart, meaning I had to squirm about to keep servicing Becky, as well as to stay comfortable. After trying to haul my legs apart for about the fourth or fifth time, Zoe grunted in exasperation and slapped my arse again, hard enough to leave my skin tingling. It sent waves of surprisingly pleasurable shock through me, and I shuddered. Seeing this, Zoe slapped me again, and then again. I was making low moaning noises and sighing deeply, which – as my mouth was still in close contact with Becky’s vagina – in turn made Becky moan with excitement. The chain reaction seemed to excite Zoe even further, and in between slaps she would go down on me, or use her fingers in my pussy. Thus, less than half an hour after my first ever girl-girl kiss, I found myself naked on all fours with my hair being pulled by a girl I’d just met whose vagina my tongue was inside, whilst another woman I’d only met that evening was fingering me and licking my bum hole, slapping my backside and screaming obscenities in my ear. And to think that when I chose my outfit for the evening, I was hoping to be taking off said outfit during a clandestine meeting with my boyfriend’s son. What was happening to my life!
