Kelly's Liberation Ch. 06

Talk about a whirlwind couple of days... Hardly had I recovered from one of the longest, most head-spinningly awesome nights of my life -- where Libby and I met face-to-face after seeing each other naked on Literotica's amateur photography threads, reviewing a few hard-core shots of Libby getting fucked by her old boyfriend, posing together in front of the camera for a very 'up close and personal' dual strip-tease, and all the while masturbating in front of each other and coming and coming and coming -- after all of that, not even two days later I found myself driving my husband's luxury saloon out to the Berriga pub, with Libby in the front seat, en route to our new profession as topless waitresses!

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I said, for perhaps the hundredth time.

"Nervous?" asked Libby.

"That's putting it mildly," I assured her -- my heart was in my throat and pounding a-mile-a-minute, my palms were clammy as they gripped the wheel, and I felt a curious sort of queasy, giddy elation in anticipating our planned shenanigans.

"Well, let's try to get your mind off it for a little while," said Libby, kindly. "Tell me: how did Tom react when he saw our pics?" she added, with a wicked grin at the thought of it.

"He nearly blew his top," I informed her, with a grin of my own. "As soon as you went home, I messaged him and made him promise not to look at the pics until I could do it with him -- the next night, when I had put the kids to bed. He was impatient, but he waited... and we went over them together, we downloaded each pic one by one, and we went mad."

"Did you guys come?" Libby asked, obviously thrilled that she was able to ask me such a question these days -- it wasn't so long ago that we never would have dreamed of saying such a thing to each other.

"We both came, a whole bunch of times," said I, unabashed. "And that's really rare for Tom, usually he gives his all on the first blow and he has nothing left for the rest of the night... but last night, he came when he saw the pic where I was holding your tits; and then he came again when he got to the pic of us with our knickers pulled down and our pussies pushed together; and then he came again after we went through the pics we didn't publish: I emailed him the ones where you and I were kissing, and groping, and rubbing up against each other with our hands pressed together on our own pussies..."

"Mmm..." Libby murmured, and I looked over to see she was running her hands tenderly over her body -- over her breasts so perky and firm, her curves and hips so toned and delicious, and up and down her legs so long, silky and smooth -- while I recounted the tale. "And you came, while he came?" she added, as I realised she was getting off on picturing Tom and I, touching ourselves and making ourselves come as we looked at the pictures of Libby and I...

"We did come, every single time," I assured her, every word of it the truth.

Libby grinned at the thought of it... but she started to calm down, her hands wound down in their adventures and she let her pleasure abate.

"Settling down there?" I observed, with perhaps an ounce of disappointment in my voice -- I'd started to wonder if I was in for a show, nice and early.

"Yeah, I think I'll leave myself alone for now," Libby allowed. "Gotta save my energy for the coming fun!"

"Okay then. So tell me: exactly what is expected of us, in this topless-waitressing gig?"

"Your Tom explained it to me while he drove me there last time," she began, with a grin as she remembered the naughtiness she and my husband got up to last time she came this way. They didn't fuck, of course, but they came close to it, which had caused me some concern when I learned of it. But then, they didn't get as close to fucking as Libby and I had gone, only the night prior...

"So," Libby began, knocking me off my thoughts. "First and foremost: we're not whores. We're not being paid to suck cocks or get gang-banged or anything."

"Well I'm glad to hear that," I laughed -- that much I had assumed.

"We don't even have to dance, or shake our booties on a stage, or anything like that," she went on. "All we have to do is be waitresses: take drink orders, take their money to the bar, the bar staff serves us the drinks, we take the drinks and their change back to the customers... all the while, with our tits out and free."

"Okay then," I frowned. "Sounds pretty simple..."

Libby saw the look on my face, and must have guessed at my slight disappointment, figuring that I had somehow expected something more. "It's better than it sounds," she promised me. "I mean: it is all very laid-back and subtle, but that's the biggest thrill of it. All the guys are standing around, drinking, laughing, playing pool -- and there you are, in the middle of all these men, with your tits out and wearing almost nothing at all... and it's as if no-one has noticed!" she nearly squealed with glee. "You know they all know your tits are out, you know they're all staring at you when they think you can't see them, but when you walk up and talk to them it's like an unspoken agreement: 'yep, my tits are out, but hey: no biggie.' And that's what's so awesome about the whole thing!"

"Okay then, I think I see what you're getting at," I smiled, as we kept cruising through the autumnal evening towards our destination, cosseted in the leathery snugness of 'The Big Bruiser', as Tom likes to call his stately saloon. "It's all kind of 'on the sly'. It's not about being sleazy or a show-off. It's about a quiet, classy sort of show."

"Exactly, exactly!" Libby enthused. "But every now and again you might get a loud-mouthed loser, some wobbly drunken teenager who yells 'aww wow, check the tits on her!' But that sort of thing doesn't last long; if a dickhead like that starts acting up, everyone gives him the evil eye, and if he doesn't settle down a couple of heavy-hitters will pick him up and take him outside."

"So it's a rough pub, then?"

"Yeah, pretty rough..." she allowed. "And the later it gets, the rougher it gets. But that's just a few of them, a really small percentage, the rest are surprisingly gentleman-like. Most of them are old and ugly, but nice to talk to, very well-behaved. I've had trouble before with a few former patrons but it's all sorted out now, they're banned from the titty nights. It helps to have Agnes there, too."

"Agnes...?" I asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"The publican," Libby smiled. "Rough old bird, but tough on the louts. We'll be perfectly safe up there, don't you worry."

"So how many times have you done 'Tits-Out Thursday' at the Berriga Pub, Libs?" I quizzed her. "Just the one, when you came up with Tom... or have you done more?"

Libby wouldn't answer me; she just smiled with a surprisingly good approximation of enigma, looking out the window to watch the forestry flitting past and to avoid my eye.

And so the rest of the trip passed quickly and easily, as we both went quiet and dwelled on the task ahead. For the drive over the mountains I had dressed normally and sedately with my sexy-wear packed safely in a bag, thinking it best not to attract too much attention while making our way from the car into the pub. But Libby had clearly thought otherwise: she was already dressed in an incredibly short, belt-like black mini-skirt, with killer high heels and a sheer black sleeveless top to suit. The top she wore braless, what with her tits looking fulsome and fine even without the support, and the cool mountain air filtering into the car's cabin had her nipples standing hard and proud through the thin, stretchy material -- as though her top had been painted directly upon her skin. I definitely had one eye on the road and the other eye on her during that trip; very easy on the eye, our Libby.

We finally got to the pub, and even at this early stage of the evening -- a good twenty minutes before the fun was due to begin -- the car park was quite full with battered old trucks and rusty four-by-fours. "Tits-Out Thursday brings them in from miles around," I observed, as I manoeuvred The Bruiser through the aisles, barely a whisper coming from the engine.

We found a spot and stepped out of the car. I'd hardly had enough time to hope and pray for a discreet entry, when a couple of grizzled 'regulars' in the car park spotted us and instantly cried out: "Libby!!"

"Hello boys," she replied, in a warm yet demure tone.

"Cripes almighty, but it's been a while!" one of them declared. "Great to see ya, Libs!"

"And who's yer friend?" the other one gargled around half-a-mouthful of teeth.

"This is my best friend Kelly," Libby told them, wrapping a possessive arm about my shoulders.

"Will she be workin' tonight, too?"

"Only if you're lucky..." said Libby, ever-ready with the answers. The guys cackled with optimistic glee, looking me up and down in a most appraising fashion; Libby bade them farewell, steering me towards a back-door entry to the pub.

"On a first-name-basis with the regulars, are we?" I observed.

"They must have pretty good memories up here," Libby grinned, still avoiding any talk of her previous visit(s?) to the pub. "Anyways: this is our 'office'," she added, steering me into a dank little bathroom with 'STAFF ONLY' written upon the door. "We can leave our stuff here safely, Agnes has cut me a key."

"And where do you keep the key while you're working, Libby?" I quizzed her, noting an absence of pockets on her costume.

"I keep it in the toe of my shoe, Kelly," she answered, grinning cheekily at the thought of the deeply personal place she might otherwise have secreted it.

We passed the time getting ready. Libby didn't have much work to do, only needing to peel her top off to expose those wondrous breasts of hers, touch-up her makeup and apply some perfume. I had a bit more to do, stripping naked out of my clothes and slipping into the sexiest items I'd had lying about my bedroom, consisting of a red satin g-string down below, a white-collar-and-bow-tie about my neck, and nothing in between. "How does this look?" I asked of her.

She paused in her heavy application of garish blue eye shadow to check me out. "Mmm," she approved, her eyes lingering on my large bared breasts; I did a little spin to let her check out my buttocks, bared cheekily by the g-string. "That's very, very nice," she assured me. "The boys are gunna drool over you tonight! Did you bring a second outfit, to change into at half-time?" she added.

"Yep, just like you suggested," I confirmed: it was in my bag and I brought it out, consisting of an extremely thin white lacy g-string -- so thin it was as if I would be wearing nothing at all -- which I planned to match to a gold necklace, tits-free again. Sure, there wasn't much to it, but hey: it was Tits-Out Thursday, after all!

"Very good," Libby approved. She was nearly ready, so I worked to catch up with her, applying my makeup with trembling hands -- the nerves were starting to mount now, I was extremely nervous and getting worse by the minute as I started second-guessing my daring intentions.

What was I doing here? Was I insane? It was as if I hadn't really thought about what was required of me tonight: I had to step out into a bar filled with a hundred leering men, with my tits out for all of them to see, wearing barely a scrap to maintain the barest modicum of modesty... and all the while, I was expected to 'act natural', as though it wasn't really happening? Exactly what the fuck was I thinking when I agreed to do this?

The nerves must have been building for Libby too -- all of a sudden she let out a huff of a sigh, though she made it sound brisk and excited. "Well: I'm ready! Let's do it!" she declared.

"Hang on, hang on -- still haven't finished my eye shadow," I grumbled. "My hands are shaking so much I can barely do it... I'm scared, Libby," I told her. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"Give it here," Libby kindly instructed, and as I turned to face her I handed her my eye shadow brush; she took it and stepped in near to me, very near, our bared tits almost touching as she worked to finish my makeup for me.

"How do you do this, Libby?" I whispered to her, now gripped with the added excitement of standing so close, and so naked, to Libby -- we had been this close and this naked before, even closer and more naked in fact, but the thrill still delighted me beyond belief... "How do you do it?" I went on. "Strutting around in almost nothing at all, in front of so many people..."

"It's the best fun, Kells," she promised me. "I look at it like this: we've already strutted our stuff in front of thousands of people, on the Amateur Photography boards at Literotica; just think of this as a logical step forward, just a step above what we've already done."

"Yeah, but this is so different," said I. "On the computer, you just put your photo up and somebody half-way round the world clicks to download it... but here, I mean, the people are right here. Right in my face. You know?"

"I know," Libby nodded, smiling kindly. "I know how you feel. Hell, I have done this more than once," she finally admitted, "but I still feel it. You get nervous as fuck, beforehand; but once you're out there, your tits are out and they can all see you, and you can see them... you just get into the mix and start having fun. It all goes away, all the nerves and the fear, and you'll have the time of your life. I promise you, Kells: it'll be great."

"Thanks, Libs." Having finished my makeup, Libby came right in for a hug; we craned our necks to avoid smearing our freshly-finished faces, but our bodies were pressed right together, tits against tits, nipples against nipples, hips and thighs against hips and thighs... "I wish we could just stay here, like this..." I whispered.

"Mmm..." Libby agreed. "I love when we get close like this, Kells...." but she loosened her grip, we backed off and beheld each other warmly. "But then: that's what half-time is for!" she added, with a most mischievous smile.

"Something to look forward to, eh?" I grinned, speaking in half-joking tones even as I wondered: 'so what has she got planned for me, then?'

But there was no time to dwell on that, as Libby had opened the door and was dragging me by the hand towards my doom. "Oh, Libs..." I called as we made our way through the back-corridors of the pub, having to raise my voice over the fast-approaching noise of the rabble. "Libs, I dunno about this..."

"It'll be great! You'll be fine, they'll love you!" she promised me, refusing to let me escape. "Wait here," she suddenly said, stopping, making me crash body-on-body into her; "I'll step out first, and I'll give you a grand introduction."

"Libby!" I hissed in protest, but she had already stepped around the corner into the light, and barely half a second passed before the crowd roared their recognition and approval: "Libby!" was the chorused cry from what sounded like at least two hundred men.

"Thank you, gentlemen, thank you!" I heard her yell over the noise. Though she had stepped out of sight, I could see her shadow on the wall ahead, curtsying daintily to acknowledge their rapturous welcome. "What a pleasure it is to be back at 'the Berriga' for Tits-Out Thursday," she added. "Did you miss me at all?"

I laughed at her cheek, as the mob made sure she knew they definitely missed her.

"Well then, Gents," she continued, and I knew my intro was about to begin. "It must be your lucky night... because I've brought a friend!" A short pause for another joyous cheer. "Gentlemen of Berriga, please make welcome my best friend -- and best-looking friend -- in the whole entire universe... Kelly!"

And before I knew what was happening, she had reached back around the corner to yank me out into the open...

...and there I was, clad in only a red satin g-string and a silly clip-on collar-and-tie, tits out and free, blinking with surprise in the sudden murky light of the barroom...

...and there in the pub were dozens and dozens of men, definitely approaching a couple hundred of them, of varying age and varying states of decrepitude...

...and all of them, every single one of them, were looking at me. Taking me in; taking in the large, free and easy set of my bared breasts; taking in the soft, gentle, voluptuous curves of my body; taking in the cheekiness of my skimpy shiny little g-string and the length and curves of my legs; looking me up and down with appraising eyes, judging me, deciding on my beauty and hotness as I stood tits-out and exposed before them all...

...and it took barely half a second before they again roared their approval, long and loud, their faces clearly telegraphing their glad and welcoming acceptance of my mostly-naked presence. As one they rose to their feet to give me a standing ovation, applauding my hotness, and I probably blushed as I gave them a short wave, flattered beyond belief and not knowing what to do or where to put my hands.

Ever the show-off, Libby leaned in close to me, her breast pressing hard against my bared arm as she gave me a cuddle and a peck on the cheek for encouragement. Not one member of our audience missed it, and they roared yet again in highest approval of our closeness, our affection, the bare bodily contact shared between us. "See?" Libby yelled over them. "They love you!"

"Thank god for that," I laughed with relief. "What would they have done if they DIDN'T like me?"

"We'll never know," she promised me. "Now: let's get to work, shall we?"

And as the applause died down, we headed for the bar, smiling and greeting every man with the gumption to attempt eye contact along the way. Libby introduced me to Agnes, the pub owner working behind the bar -- old, grizzled and toothless, she was just as I had imagined her, pouring pint after pint and spitting and swearing to match even the most blokey of her patrons -- and with a wink and a grin she handed us our trays.

"Okay, we go our separate ways now," Libby told me. "I'll work this side of the room, you work that side; we'll swap sides after half an hour and we'll go for our break after an hour. You shouldn't cop any grief, but if you do: sing out for me or for Agnes, or just look for one of the boys in the black shirts -- they're motorcycle-gangers, they'll sort out any ruffians."

"There are BIKIES in here?" I cried, wide-eyed with fear.

"Relax -- the bikies virtually own the place," Libby assured me. "You're safe as houses so long as you can see a bikie. Good luck, hun!" She reached in to give me another hug, front-on and tit-to-tit this time -- giving the men around us quite the thrill, earning a small local cheer from those who could see us -- and with a warm smile she was gone.

I stood for a moment, hesitant and indecisive as I watched Libby head for the other side of the bar. Wondering shortly what the hell I was going to do next, I decided: 'fuck it. I'm here; my tits are out; there's a good vibe in the place; why not make the most of it?' So I turned to the first bloke I saw looking my way and said:

"So what can I get ya, love?"

And thus the evening unfurled. I moseyed through the bustling crowd, safe and unmolested, feeling like Moses at the Red Sea as the bodies parted before me, allowing me to pass with my drink orders with friendly smiles all around. It was just as Libby had predicted; I constantly felt eyes on me. I knew I was being perved on and appreciated, but very seldom did I see anyone actively leering at me.

On occasion I would catch someone out in a quiet, thoughtful gawk at my goodies, but it was okay. Once they realised I had seen them checking me out, they'd catch my eye and I would usually flutter my lids demurely, or give them a smile and a wink; once or twice I even flashed my eyebrows to share in the naughtiness of it, as if to say "yeah, I've got my tits out. But don't tell anyone, okay?" And they'd laugh at themselves and laugh with me, and that would be that.