Liza's Lunch

The drive to the bar near my husband’s office wasn’t far, but traffic this Monday noon was unusually heavy. I was glad for the time to collect my thoughts: I somehow needed to put recent events behind me and prepare for what was in store for me next.

The breeze from the window blew my light chemise and made the lace at my nipples ripple. This was not a garment meant to leave the bedroom, but here I was in the car on my way to have lunch with my husband…and his friend. Marc asked me to wear this, even created the conditions under which I was unable to wear anything else, but that’s a long story. He didn’t even want me to wear panties, but my friend, Ally, lent me hers, which is another long tale. Suffice it to say that in the last twenty-four hours I have been stripped by my husband in front of strangers, spanked by my landlord, and introduced to fetishes by Ally that I never knew existed. Yes, I had a lot to think about as I sat in traffic with the short hem of my garment bunched at my pussy, and my nipples at attention.

Things had been happening fast, and with such convoluted logic that I progressed from one absurd event to the next thinking that there must be some sense to it all. I guess it all started with that beguiling look Marc gives me that makes me say “yes” to anything. My efforts to please him have been my undoing, but I can’t imagine disappointing him. I do want to please him. He got such pleasure from seeing me naked in front of those two boys. It was for him, to keep us from getting kicked out of our apartment, that I took that spanking from our landlord. As for Ally, well…I have to be nice to her, the little snitch, or she’ll get me into more trouble with the landlord. No, I shouldn’t be hard on her: she’s such a dear, and I do enjoy her.

My mind was such a jumble that I was able to settle nothing, figure out nothing, before I pulled up in front of the small establishment with the neon sign inviting me to eat a sandwich and drink a beer. I was ten minutes late.

I looked down at my chemise one more time. ‘How could I wear this in public?’ I asked myself. I blushed at the thought of a passer-by peering into my car. I panicked at the idea of actually getting out of the car and waking into the eatery. ‘Marc must be out of his mind,’ I said out loud. The more I argued against leaving the car, the more moist my pussy became. I knew I would do as Marc asked.

I waited until the sidewalk was empty, then I jumped out of the car and rushed to the door of the bar. Holding my breath, I opened it and walked in. It was dark, and I paused just inside to let my eyes adjust. I was relieved that it was so dark: I thought perhaps people wouldn’t notice my bedroom attire.

“Ah, you made it,” Marc’s voice reached me through the darkness and I felt his arm around my waist. “You look great.”

“Thanks. Sorry I’m late…”

“No problem. Our table’s just over here, in the corner.”

As he guided me through the room, my eyes began to make the adjustment and I could make out a bar along the length of one wall, several ordinary tables and chairs in the middle of the room, a small stage at the wall opposite the bar, and tall round tables with high stools around the periphery. Businessmen occupied several tables, but I saw no women.

“Why is it so dark in here?” I asked. “I expected a little nicer place than this,” I added.

“Yeah, it’s more a bar than a restaurant, but the food really is good. You’ll see.”

“Hi, Liza!” Steve greeted me as we approached the table.

“Um, couldn’t we move to another table?” I had to look up to address him, because the seat of the stool was as high as my chest; the table was at eye level.

Before he could answer, Marc lifted me by the waist unto the stool across from Steve and I came down on it with a “plop.” My chemise billowed as I came down on the seat with the short hem hanging loose behind me. Instinctively I held the fabric at my crotch to prevent a show, but the boys did catch at brief glimpse of my panties.

“My god! I’m going to get a nose bleed way up here,” is all I could think to say as I adjusted the top of my chemise.

“It’s great. You’ll love it way up here. It’s like being on top of a mountain with all the little people below.” Steve waved his hand over the sparse crowd at the normal tables.

I surveyed the room from my perch and another disturbing fact hit me: all the tables were made of glass. My bare legs were on total display to Steve, and my attempt to hide them under the table had been in vain. All I could do was bunch the material of my chemise at my crotch and hope for the best. An unavoidable strip of panty at my hip was visible. I said a silent “thank you” to Ally for lending me her panties. At least I had some protection from prying eyes and the dirty bar stool. My eyes were completely adjusted to the dim light, now, and I realized that everyone could see pretty well in here after all.

“Did you bring a big appetite with you, Liza?” Marc asked.

“I haven’t eaten all day.”

The bartender arrived just then to take our order. I wanted to order a big meal right away that would require a lot of plates to clutter the table and obscure the view of my legs, but Marc just ordered three beers and told him to come back after we had a chance to study the menu. The large man drank in every inch of me with his eyes, then slowly set out on his mission.

“I think he likes you,” Marc joked.

“I have enough admirers, thanks.” I smiled sweetly.

“Well, you can certainly count me as one of them,” Steve spoke up. “That’s a great dress.”

“Um, thank you.” I replied. “Marc insisted I wear it.”

I gave Marc a playful jab in the ribs.

“Yep. Marc’s got great taste. That’s why he’s so good in the advertising game.” Steve raised a salute.

“Well, not everything about the outfit was my idea,” Marc said in a coy tone of voice.

“Oh?” Steve lengthened the single vowel into an inquisition, but one I was unwilling to answer. I sat as if I’d been turned to stone.

“Well, you see, Steve,” Marc began as the bartender set our beer on the table and ogled my chest, “I did lay out her outfit for her this morning: the dress (he called it a dress!) and those sexy shoes. Do you like her shoes, Steve?”

“Yeah, they’re great.”

The bartender continued to stand there, having shifted his gaze now to my legs. I couldn’t believe that Marc was talking about my outfit like this to Steve, and in front of this stranger to boot. I remained rigid, thinking that a statue was less likely to attract attention.

“Well, you don’t see any socks with them, do you?”

“No.”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“As well you shouldn’t, because, as I said, I laid out her dress and her shoes. That’s all.” Marc concluded with a slight twist of the head and an elevated eyebrow meant to infer that certain conclusions were wanting.

Steve used only a moment to come to the proper conclusion with a huge grin.

“I’ll have a house salad and a steak, medium-rare,” Marc turned his attention to the bartender.

Steve and I took his cue and placed our orders, too. I sighed in relief that now the subject would change, and even thought I could help things along.

“So, what have you two accomplished this morning at work?” I asked.

“We worked on an assignment for a client, fulfilling it just the way he asked. Isn’t that right, Steve?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve shrugged his shoulders not quite understanding where this train of thought was headed.

“We followed his specifications to the letter, not adding a single item he didn’t want. Right?”

I was cringing again, hoping beyond hope that we really weren’t going to explore the mystery of my panties.

“Right. No extras,” Steve chimed in.

“Well, the same precise adherence to detail doesn’t seem to be the way Liza does things.”

Marc gave me a hangdog look and pouted. He winked at Steve.

“I saw that wink,” I poked him in the ribs, again. “What are you two up to? No, never mind. I don’t want to know,” I added quickly.

“I saw your panties when you sat down,” Marc said.

So, now it was out. We were going to talk about my panties in front of Steve. I blushed every shade of red, but said nothing. I just wanted to melt into my stool.

“So, where’d you get ‘em?” Marc pressed.

I looked at Steve with horror in my eyes, but his expression was quite natural, as if this were normal table conversation among friends. I turned to face Marc. I started to say something, but my voice failed me.

“I thought we lost all your underwear. Did you go shopping this morning?”

“No.” I squeaked.

“You found some, then?”

“No.” I repeated with a shrug.

“What, then?”

“What’s it matter? I’m sure Steve isn’t interested in this.” I found my voice.

The bartender arrived with our lunch. With each plate he placed on the glass tabletop I felt more and more dressed. We all watched him in silence. I hoped that this break in the conversation would accomplish what the last one did not. ‘Couldn’t we talk about the weather, or religion, or politics,’ I begged silently.

Marc put his arm around me and leaned close to my ear.

“I love you, Liza.”

Then he kissed me on the cheek. It was a genuine kiss. One not meant to add pressure, but simple reassurance. Well, if I wasn’t befuddled before, I assure you, I was now. I felt like melting into my stool all over again, but this time from my husband’s touch.

“Liza, I have a confession to make,” Marc said.

“Yes?” I ventured. The hope that Marc was about to put an end to this lunacy in front of Steve went quickly through my mind.

“Today at work…Well, I told Steve what happened yesterday. Everything. The whole story.”

“Oh my god…”

“Please don’t be upset, Liza.” Steve jumped in. “I really think it’s okay, really!”

“You think it’s ‘okay’ that I was naked in front of two young men?” I blurted out in an incredulous tone. “You think that that is ‘okay?’” My voice was shrill. I trembled. I shook.

“Please don’t be upset,” he repeated. “Marc said you really got into it after a while. He said you got to like it. I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Yes, I remembered how I enjoyed the attention I got from Marc and the boys, but I also remembered the panic and degradation I felt. Yes, the truth be told, there were things about it I did enjoy and it did feel good at times, but I couldn’t admit that to Steve. How could I look at Steve in the eye and say, ‘Yes, Steve, spending the evening naked in front of people was a turn on and led to the best sex ever?’ I just couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t admit such a thing, ever. It would be too humiliating.

Marc hugged me and kissed me again.

“Let’s eat,” Marc said as he picked up his fork.

No one said a word for quite a long time. I picked up my own fork with reluctance, but once I dug in I ate with great appetite. I drank my beer with gusto and gestured for more. Still not a word passed among the three of us. We drank and ate, but we didn’t talk. We were finished eating and through our second round of beer before Marc finally broke the silence.

“Please take them off,” he said and looked at me with that look that can bend the will of a saint.

“What?” I stammered.

“He asked you to take off your panties, Liza.” Steve joined the fray.

I just looked at him, dumbstruck.

“You know, Liza,” he continued, “I really must say that I’m a little hurt that you would be nude for two perfect strangers, but not for me. Yes, I’m hurt. I thought we were friends.”

“You do owe him this, Liza,” Marc added.

“What do you want from me?” I blurted out senselessly.

“We’ve told you. We want you to take off your panties,” Marc said patiently, as if to a child.

I looked him in the eyes. His expression was both plaintive and stern. I looked to Steve and saw the same.

“Oh, all right. I’ll take them off, already, if that’s what you want,” I said with that certain resignation in the voice meant to put a stop to the bickering. “Which way to the ladies’ room?”

“Do it here,” Marc said matter-of-factly.

“Here?” I stammered. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. Please, Liza.” Marc gave me that look, again.

Steve looked at me intently. His eyes bored through the tabletop to my upper thighs. My hand pressed against the fabric still bunched at my crouch. I blushed. I cringed. My nipples jutted against the lace. My pussy gushed. I inhaled sharply. Another person would have bolted, run for the hills, but I knew that I would do this. For Marc.

I braced myself with my left hand on the table. I put both feet on the rung of the stool and lifted my butt from the seat. With my right hand I worked the waistband of the panties off my hips, trying my best to keep the hem of my chemise over my pussy. I glanced around the room wondering who was going to catch me doing this. The wet crotch of the panties clung to my swollen labia and the waistband was well on its way down my thighs before the panty could stretch no more and came away from my shaved pussy. Once the panty was at my knees I bent low to work it further down over my shoes: it got caught on a buckle, of course. Finally, I had it in hand.

“Give them to me,” Marc said.

I handed to him the panties that Ally had placed on me with her own hands just a little while ago. Ms Thomas’ admonition that I should wear panties and her promise to spank me with a hairbrush if I weren’t good flew through my mind like a jet with its afterburners glowing. Marc placed them on the table near Steve.

“These are for you,” he told his grinning friend. “You can wear them if you like. I have nothing against your wearing panties,” he laughed.

“Gee, thanks!” Steve laughed. “I just might surprise you!”

“You’d look really cute in them,” even I joined in the laughter.

The bartender appeared again to clear the table. When he saw the panties lying there on the table he looked at me with renewed interest and a knowing look on his face.

“They’re his,” I laughed and pointed to Steve.

The bartender disappeared with the plates and an order for more beer. I felt bared once more by the removal of the plates. I clutched the fabric at my crotch in an attempt to bring back a sense of modesty.

“I think you should show me what you’re hiding there, Liza.” Steve said with a nod to my upper thighs. “As your friend, you owe me that.”

Now things were serious again.

“Would a friend ask such a thing?” I retorted without thinking.

“Steve is a friend, and he has asked, so obviously a friend does have such a right,” Marc spoke to me again as if I were ten years old, with a logic that should only satisfy a child.

My eyes watered. I felt I was about to cry.

“Please don’t ask me to do this. I just can’t. Please! It’s Steve, for god’s sake. It’s embarrassing to even think…”

“Liza,” Marc said softly, patiently, “Steve is our friend. We owe him this.”

“Owe him?” I repeated in confusion.

“If you find it possible to do something for strangers, can’t you, shouldn’t you, do the same for a friend?”

“Just because I…”

“Yes,” Marc cut me off.

“You owe me this,” Steve said again. “It’s a debt, now.”

“You pay your debts. I know you do, Liza. That’s what makes you so special, why we all love you.” Marc cuddled me.

The tears ran slowly down my cheeks as it dawned on me at last what I’d gotten myself into. Yesterday’s exhibition for those boys had changed the rules and bestowed on me an obligation from which I would not be allowed to hide. I obediently raised the hem of my chemise and parted my knees to reveal myself. My bald pussy was on display in a crummy little bar and I accepted the logic of it. I owed a friend a showing. It all made perfectly good sense when you stop to think about it. Indeed, it would have been wrong of me not to be on display. I closed my eyes and waited for it all to end.

“Your breasts, now, Liza. Show me your breasts,” Steve directed.

My eyes sprang open of their own accord. My brain registered immediately the danger here. While no one but Steve could see my crotch from where I was sitting, my torso was in plain sight of the entire bar. He was, in fact, asking me to flash the entire room. I looked at Marc, hoping to see that he, too, recognized the problem with this latest, friendly request.

“Your beers,” the bartender announced as he returned from out of nowhere.

I pushed the hem of my chemise firmly against my pussy and slammed my knees shut. The breath left my lungs at a record rate.

“Thank you,” Marc replied. “How much do we owe you?”

The bartender settled the bill with Marc as Steve and I sat there and watched the process as if from another dimension. We were locked in the past, each waiting for a resolution to a situation blocking history itself. Neither of us breathed.

Marc took a long, satisfying drink from the new bottle. He placed it gently on the table. At long last he looked at us: first at Steve, then at me. He turned and surveyed the room. The bartender was pouring drinks for two men at the bar who were facing away from us. Two businessmen were clicking away at their calculators at a table near the center of the room, three young men of college age were drinking and telling stories at the far wall, at a table like ours, and a solitary old man nursed a beer near the empty stage. He stared into his mug and sighed.

Marc’s next move was smooth and deliberate. With his thumb and forefinger he grabbed the lace between my breasts and pulled down. My chemise rose in the back as it plunged in front to free my breasts to Steve’s gaze. Both my hands still clutched the hem at my crotch, and there they remained. My breasts were on display and I made no move to cover them. I looked about the room quickly to see what reactions might be taking place, but no one was looking. Not a single eye was cast in our direction! I started to rejoice, but realized I felt a twinge of disappointment, too.

“Your pussy, Liza,” Steve reminded me.

I brought the hem of my chemise again to my navel and opened my knees. The scent of my arousal filled the area around the table as I blushed and reveled in my humiliation. I stared at Steve directly in the face as he drank me in with his eyes. My hands holding the hem at my navel brushed against Marc’s hand still holding down the top. He maneuvered to entwine his fingers in mine. We kissed.

“That’s what the stage is for. You know the rules.” The bartender was back.

Marc replaced the chemise over my breasts and I did the same at my pussy. I stared at my lap, too ashamed to look at the bartender.

“Sorry,” Marc replied. “We got a little carried away. Maybe next time she’ll dance for us, but we have to leave, now.”

And we did leave. I have no recollection of it, though. It was as if I suddenly found myself out the door and on the sidewalk. My mind was too busy mulling over the words “stage” and “next time” to pay attention to anything else.