tagExhibitionist & VoyeurCar Show Slut Ch. 04

Car Show Slut Ch. 04

bydavidwriter©

The sun was peeking through under the blinds as I read Kelly's note. I lay there reflecting on the events of the previous night. Kelly. We had made love. Had sex. I'd had sex with a woman. When I had kissed her in the car at the car show, that was as much love as it was sexual. But this was pure lust. She had fucked me. Actually, that's how it felt – she had been dominant with me like a man, and I had enjoyed letting her take control, controlling me, fucking me. Little Kelly! And I had enjoyed it. I loved it. My hand slid down to my between my legs as I remembered the feel of her touch, her tongue...

Driving to work, I thought about all that had happened over the past few weeks. The car show. Then there was the following Saturday night when I exposed myself like a cheap slut to Roger. Then there was Ron feeling me up at the beach. Then Rich at that asshole Jem's function, where I was a car show slut for the second time. And then, last night, Kelly. Reflecting on my behavior of late, I almost couldn't recognize myself. I had done things I would never have remotely considered only weeks earlier. What was happening to me? And now I had had sex with a woman! Did this mean I was bi-sexual? Maybe I am. Who would have thought...

On the whole it was a disconcerting feeling. But at the same time reliving all those experiences sent a tingle through my body. I was enjoying myself. I was enjoying life. I thought my life had been fine before, and it had been. But now it seemed to have taken on a whole new dimension. I felt sexual in a much deeper way than ever before. My pussy was shaved. I wore g-strings. I was wearing one now.

I parked my car in the basement car park. I saw up the row of cars Kelly getting out of her car – she had arrived at the same time. She saw me and came over.

"Hi Anne!" she said with a lovely, breezy grin. "How you feeling this morning?"

"Bit tired, but pretty good." I smiled as I pulled my bag and papers from the front seat.

"Me too. Last night was sooo good!" she said. I was leaning against the car, and as she spoke she leaned into me, kissing me hard on the mouth and wrapping one arm around the small of my back. She slipped her tongue between my lips. I couldn't help but respond to her silky touch as our tongues darted around one another. Right there in the car park, I let her. Oh yes, last night had been good!

I heard a car coming. I panicked, pushing her away, gently but firmly. Luckily there was no one else around – pretty much everyone else would have been at their desks by now.

"Kel, not here!" I whispered.

"Um, guess you're right there! Hey, sorry I had to leave last night, but you were out like a light, and I didn't want Rick to worry."

Rick. I'd forgotten about him. I always seem to forget about him when Kelly is around.

"Did you tell him?" I asked, as we headed for the elevator, the sharp click clack sound of our heels on the concrete floor echoing around the basement as we walked.

"Oh yeah. But don't worry, he's OK. I had full permission. And the idea of us together was a major turn on for him – we had great sex when I got home!"

Was that a pang of jealousy I felt when she told me that? Oh dear...

"Glad to hear it," I said. "But we better get inside or we'll both be late."

Work was too busy for any quiet introspection concerning the interesting developments my life seemed to be taking. The day over with, I went straight home. I was dog tired. I nibbled on some leftovers from lunch and went straight to bed.

Nothing like a good night's sleep. I must have slept more than 10 hours. The weather forecast had been for a hot day, and already at 7am you could feel it. I sat up and stretched. I felt good. Rejuvenated. I grabbed my yoga mat and went out onto the balcony. I was nude, but I hardly gave it a second thought. I leaned over the balcony and watched the passing parade, such as it was – an old man walking his dog, two guys jogging and a teenage schoolboy waiting at the bus stop. What a sight I would have presented had any of them glanced in my direction – naked girl, tits hanging over the balcony, although my bare pussy would have been obscured behind the railing. But none of them noticed.

I laid the mat down and went through my poses. Glancing across at the building opposite, it occurred to me that anyone in probably the top three floors of that apartment complex would have a bird's eye view of my naked form, if they only went across to their window. That knowledge was slightly disturbing but, I had to admit, slightly tantalizing at the same time. Was anyone watching me, I wondered?

Thursday. Today I was booked in for a meeting with Luca concerning his company's marketing strategy for the rest of the year. Personally I didn't like him, but his company was a very big client and, in any case, he was a pretty effective, no nonsense operator. We did work well together, even if I didn't like his arrogance and propensity for sexist remarks, and I was pretty sure he would approve of the plan I had devised.

This would be one of those long lunch meetings, with Luca, my boss, James, and myself. For a change we opted for an al fresco lunch in the city centre. It was nice to get out in the open air, enjoy a glass of wine and some great food over business. Luca was already there when we arrived. He stood up and we all shook hands. I felt his hand go around to the small of my back as he escorted me into my seat, playing the gentleman. Only a gentleman wouldn't let his hand stray down to the top of the lady's ass like he did. I didn't say anything.

I have to concede he is a good looking guy. Tall, dark complexion, jet black hair, chiseled features, and always dressed in immaculate Italian suits. Luca kept eyeing me off like he normally does. It didn't faze me. Nor did his leering and commenting on the various good looking women who walked past put me off. I just left it to James to meekly go along with his male bravado. If only Luca knew what I'd been up to lately... But the important thing was that out of the meeting we got an agreement to proceed, which kept the income stream flowing very nicely indeed. A job well done.

"Thanks Anne, James," Luca said as we all stood up to leave. Again I felt his arm go around my back, as he 'helped' me out of my chair. Only this time it was higher up, around where my bra strap was. Then his hand snaked around as I swiveled to step out of the chair, till it rested on the side of my breast for just a brief moment. The gall of that guy, I thought – and James had seen the whole thing! It was embarrassing but there was no way I was going to make a scene.

"I think there are some good things there," he concluded as his hand slipped down off my breast. "I'll be recommending that we go ahead." He was a pretty smooth operator, I had to admit – he'd copped a feel, but it wasn't overt; it looked like it could have been an accident. It wasn't, of course; I knew it – I felt his fingers gently push into my nipple as he made contact with my boob.

Whether or not James knew, I couldn't be sure. But he was pleased. On the way back – we'd taken my car – he complimented my work.

"It was an unusual proposal, Anne, but a good one, and I think he could see it. Well done."

"Why thank you, Mr Sheldon," I said. I liked to call him by his surname from time to time, in a kind of mock formal way. "I think you've got to try to think outside the square sometimes, especially when it's a product like washing detergent, basically something that's not very sexy."

Not very sexy. A funny thing to say. Well, maybe not in this industry, but it felt like a funny thing to say to my boss.

"Well, maybe his product isn't sexy, but I think he finds you sexy. Then again, I think he finds anything shapely in a skirt sexy."

We both laughed.

Later, back in the office, Wendy phoned. She and Roger were going for drinks after work, and wondered if I wanted to join them. I didn't have anything else on. It would be interesting to see them again after what happened last time with Roger, I mused to myself. But this time I would try to be a good girl...

I met up with them at the Red Oak, a trendy little wine bar in the fashionable part of town. I spotted them sitting at a table near the window. Roger was dressed in a business suit, but it looked like Wendy must have had time to get changed – she was wearing a short, deep blue skirt and blouse, with big thick high-heeled boots. Not unlike the ones I was wearing last time I saw them, I smiled to myself.

"Hi guys," I said. "Gee, love the boots Wen!"

"Thanks Anne. But you were the inspiration for them – Roger took me shopping last Sunday."

I wasn't quite sure what was meant by 'inspiration', and Roger's nervous cough when she said it frankly had me a bit worried. Surely she didn't know about last Saturday night?

"Yes," he said, "yours looked so good that I just had to get Wendy a pair like them. Doesn't she look fantastic?"

It was almost like the poor guy was backpedaling. She's certainly put the fear of God into him. She didn't know, that was clear. I relaxed. She wasn't ever going to know.

As Roger took a call on his cell, Wendy and I got to chatting. Mostly about fashion, those girly things I don't get to talk about in work hours. She was very happy with the boots, and they did look good. She looked great. I hadn't realized what a good looking woman she was before – she'd never been a snappy dresser, but here she was looking pretty sexy, though in no way overstated. Cool, and hot. In my ultra conservative business wear, I felt positively dowdy by comparison.

Wendy had great legs, something else I'd not noticed before. I found myself almost stealing the odd glance at her creamy white thighs and knees - as a redhead, she had ultra white skin - just about where the tops of her boots finished. As I loosened up under the effects of half a glass of wine without any dinner, at one point I was surprised to find myself almost fantasizing about how it would feel to touch her knee, feel the smooth soft skin of her thigh...

Wendy is one of those touchy-feely kind of people. In conversation she'll touch your arm or hand as if to emphasise her point, but it's not a sexual gesture in any way. It's just how she is. She was doing it now, occasionally even grabbing my knee when she got particularly animated. A couple of times in the conversation I returned the gesture, touching her bare knee as if to emphasise a point I was making, when in reality I was just, well, I was touching her bare leg. God, I was basically flirting with her...

Eventually Roger hung up. It sounded like he'd been on a business call.

"Rog," I said, "I can't believe you're taking work calls after 8pm on a weeknight."

"No, wasn't work."

"Jeremy?" Wendy asked. Roger nodded.

"Oh God," said Wendy, rolling her eyes. "Not that again. Jeremy is Roger's little brother," she said, turning to me to explain. "He'd getting married next week, and guess who's got the job of organizing the Stag night?

Roger looked up meekly.

"Yeah, I've been trying to get a stripper-"

"Spare us the details," Wendy cut him off. "We don't want to know, just remember: don't do anything you shouldn't, Mister."

Her tone wasn't cross; more one of hectoring resignation. That boys will be boys, and it was Roger's duty as the big brother to put on the night, but not to step out of line. I was getting the feeling more and more that she was keeping him on a very tight leash. Well, that's their life, and if it works for them, where's the problem? It's not as though I was qualified to comment on successful relationships, given my single status.

Soon Wendy got up to go to the bar to order a fresh round of drinks.

"So, Rog, what's with the buck's night?" I asked.

"Yeah, I almost wish I hadn't agreed to it. It's become a bit of a pain. Jeremy can't decide whether he wants to have a stripper or some models serving drinks. Actually he wants both, but he can't afford both, and I'm certainly not giving him any more money. I just said to him then, buddy, you'd better make up your mind, because if you leave it much later it'll be no girls, period. I mean, it's this weekend."

I pondered on what he said. I imagined myself in my big boots and wearing a tiny bikini, a room full of young guys staring lustily at my tits and ass. Hmmm... I wonder...

"Hey Rog," I said with a sly grin, "maybe I can help you out." He looked at me kind of strangely, pausing before he said anything.

"Er, you'll be the stripper?"

"No, I'm not going to be the stripper! But maybe I can be the drinks girl. I can dress up, or dress down as the case may be, you know, look good for the guys, and then you'll still have a budget for the stripper."

He sat there staring at me, appearing dumbfounded.

"Really? You'd do that?"

"Sure, why not? It might be fun."

"OK, deal!" he said.

"But listen, a few things first. Will I know anyone there?"

"No, I doubt it. Absolutely not. Jeremy lives out in the burbs, and I don't mix with his social set. And it's been held locally, it's miles from here."

"OK." I said, thinking about what Wendy's take on all this would be. She wouldn't approve. It would be better that she didn't know. "If I do it, I will be doing it under the name Angie, not Anne. OK?"

He nodded.

"I don't think Wendy would understand, do you? So I'd rather stay as anonymous as possible, just in case word gets out and she puts two and two together."

"I think you're right on that score," he said.

"Just email me the time and address details and I'll be there."

"OK. Hey, Anne."

"What."

"You're amazing!"

"Thank you. And it's not Anne – it's Angie."

We both laughed. Soon Wendy was back with the drinks. We were all pretty hammered by the end of the night, but it was fun. I noticed Roger kept trying to steal glimpses of his woman's legs under the skirt, but he wasn't having a lot of luck. Maybe I ought to teach her a few things, I laughed to myself...

All through the next day at work I felt quite charged by the prospect of being a drinks girl – 'Angie' - in skimpy clothes at a bachelor's send off, especially as there would be only one man there that I knew. Might even meet some cute guy... But what to wear? I imagined myself in my black boots and black bikini. That would get some attention. But not my dowdy swimsuit – I would have to get something new, something more revealing.

Lunchtime I headed for the mall. While there, I decided to get some new work outfits. Something light and breezy, I thought; something at least a little bit summer in style.

I trawled through a few women's boutiques until I found some very expensive looking suits. I tried a few on – skirts with suit jackets. The skirts were above the knee, almost mid thigh. They showed off plenty of leg, but they were perfectly within the realm of acceptable business attire. Classy, stylish, and a little bit sexy to boot. I chose three outfits in dark blue, white and gray. I also picked up a short black skirt, very short. Very hot.

There was a bikini store down the row of shops a little. As I scanned the different styles, a shop girl came over to ask if I needed assistance. I selected a few styles and asked if she had them in my size. I watched her as she studied the labels before checking at the back of the store. She was a nice looking young girl. She had shoulder-length auburn hair, green eyes and lovely clear olive skin. She was wearing jeans and a midriff blue t-shirt. There was not an ounce of fat on her. Her arms were nicely toned and she had the broad shoulders of a swimmer. God, I wish I looked as good as her.

Soon she had returned with the sizes.

"The dressing room is over here," she said, showing me the way. Her ass looked great in those jeans.

I tried the different bikinis on. The one I liked was just a bit too small.

"How's it going in there?" said a female voice from the other side of the change room door.

"Well..." I said, "I think this one is just a bit small."

"Can I come in?"

"OK."

She opened the door and looked at the bikini top I was wearing. My boobs were spilling out of it – it really was too small. I liked it, though. It was lower cut than any swim suit I'd ever had, and it was made of a fairly thin stretch material that gave surprisingly good support.

"OK," she said, "Hang on a sec, I'll get you the next size up – just slip that one off so I know which style to get."

She made no immediate move to leave the change room, so I took it off with her standing there, the door just pulled to. I didn't really mind, and in any case, I was in a bit of a hurry. She took the bikini and went off in search of a larger one. I just waited there topless behind the door until she came back.

"Here," she said, opening the door and entering the change room once more, "try this one."

I put it on. It felt better. Not perfect, but maybe good enough. I held my hands to my boobs and jiggled them around. She had a hand on the door, keeping it closed. But she was there, watching me intently.

"It is a bit bigger, but I don't think they'll easily fall out," she said, watching me.

"You think so?" I said.

"Yeah, and I have to say it looks hot," she said as I started to take the bikini off, having decided this was the one. "You've got great boobs," she said, now staring openly at my naked chest. "I wish I had boobs like yours."

"Thank you, but I think yours are fine," I said, eyeing her up and down, just like she had me. She really did look great – and I wouldn't have minded boobs like hers. Hers were smaller, but they seemed perfectly shaped. "I'd have yours any day," I added with a smile.

Her smile was cute.

"Hey, are you sure you don't want to try any more?" she said. "We've got other styles."

"No, this one will do the job fine." Do the job. If only she knew!

She took me to the checkout and I handed her my credit card. The counter was busy with other sales girls and customers as she rang up my purchase; lunchtime on a working day was obviously peak time for this place.

She put the receipt in the bag and handed me back the card. Did I detect her fingers lingering on mine just a little bit longer than one might normally expect for such a rudimentary commercial transaction? When she moved to take her hand away, I noticed a small piece of paper on top of the credit card. It wasn't the receipt; that was in the bag with the clothes. As I stopped to read what was written on the paper, she reached across and gently closed my hand around it. She smiled, released my hand and said, "thank you ma'am, it was a pleasure serving you and please do come again", and returned to her work behind the counter.

I still had the paper in my hand as I left the shop, slightly bewildered by the shop girl's behavior at the checkout. I held up the paper to read it. It had the word 'Sarah' and a cell phone number written on it.

How extraordinary – this shop girl has given me her phone number! Men I barely knew had given me their numbers before, but never a woman. I almost didn't know what to think.

Back at work that afternoon I pondered over the image of the girl in the shop – Sarah. Should I ring her? I thought about all those romance protocols you pick up in women's magazines – how many days you should let pass before calling a man, lest you seem to keen, that sort of stuff. But this was a woman. And did I want to see her again, socially? She seemed a warm and bubbly person. She was cute. She had a fantastic figure. There was certainly something about her. Yes, I did want to meet her. Oh hell, I thought, just ring her now. I dialed the number. I heard her voice answer.

"Hi, is that Sarah?"

"Yes."

"Hi, I'm Anne. You sold me a bikini in the shop today and gave me your number."

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