Natalie's Back

From side to side her hips darted, her hands clapped over her, and she called out over the music, "Are you gonna leave me up here by myself?"

Getting out of the pinch zone seemed like a good idea, so Natalie hurried forward with her best runway model strut, put her hands on Lou's waist, grinning at her as she blushed, and pressing close enough to her that their breasts met. The men didn't keep their enjoyment silent, the vibrations from the noise were coming up through the floor.

The tables where Lou had performed were suddenly blocked with the guys who had swarmed after her in her wake, and though Natalie could have chased them away and followed that tough act—but she turned her head and saw the bar was emptier, and it gave her an idea. She pulled Lou along with her in that direction, feeling the eyes of all the men on her as she jiggled in her high-heeled run.

On the way she passed three more people she recognized, John Bell, Larry Argus, and even a woman, Meryl Harper, the girl she had shared a locker with in ninth grade. Don't worry how weird it is, she told herself, nobody would ever know it was her.

The bartender picked up on what she intended to do and cleared the bar of its bottles and plastic cups. Being higher than everyone else might make it feel like a stage to her, Nat thought, and that would probably help. She pointed a thumb in the direction of the bar and gestured for Lou to kneel, to offer herself as a stepstool. When Lou did, Natalie put a clumsy foot high on her friend's thigh, stabbing her with the heel, trying to reposition it, and then pulling away to try again, landing more of the front part of her foot there and finding a firm step; she threw herself forward, a hand on the bar, and used a barstool to reach the top of the bar as delicately as possible. A sneer from the bartender made her rethink her choice, and she kicked her heels off first in order to get his approval.

Some guy—probably just being nice to her—waved a five dollar bill in the air and approached until he could reach up and slip it inside the band of her white panties. He looked like a bookie, especially with his silk jacket, gold chains, and sunglasses, and it took her longer than it should have to recognize him as a member of the basketball team. Ouch, he wasn't going to be hitting any more threes from mid-court with all those extra pounds.

Her first tip had taken her attention from Lou for a moment, but when Natalie looked back, she saw her friend trying to tie the band of her thong again. What had happened? Something had ripped it, she was still kneeling in the spot where she had given Nat a leg up—oh fuck. She realized her heel had done that. Natalie stopped everything, put her hands on her knees and leaned forward, checking on how Lou was coping. Someone called out for her to "work it," but she ignored him.

The thong wouldn't tie again, that much was apparent, and Nat didn't know what to do; she was about to climb down from the bar and walk Lou to the kitchen again, helping her keep covered, and Lou might have suspected that when she glanced up at her. She stood and turned to the looming men around her, swayed her hips back and forth again for enticement and then—a gasp stuck in Natalie's throat—she pulled at the thong until it ripped away, sending dollars into the air with the abandoned red cloth. Lou stood there bottomless, bare above her shiny red boots, except for the wisps of brown hair growing from her groin. Natalie could watch her ass shake, feeling nervous enough for her that she felt she would explode, but Lou, as she should have known, had no obvious inhibitions.

She picked up a few of the dollars from the ground with as elegant a motion as she could manage, and then Lou threw them in her friend's direction, sending the attention back her way. Natalie's heart was pounding like crazy, but she wasn't going to let her down after all of that. She took the curtains of her snow-white camisole and flapped them around, letting the boys fixate on her very flat belly. Hours in the gym every week hadn't given her concrete abdominals, but no one could pinch any fat on her in that area.

Natalie let them drink in her backside, protruding in all the right ways from her tight bikini bottoms. If she could claim to be an expert on any of this, it was making her butt look good—from her first bikini shoot she had found poses that brought out the best angles of her from behind. She could see a picture of her ass and find it attractive without ever realizing it was hers, maybe that gave her too much confidence, but it was one thing she was sure worked for her.

Watching the crowd over her shoulder, she loosened the knot keeping it together and then doffed her camisole. A slight roar from the wide-eyed men stroked her nervous ego. Her strip had actually begun.

Down in front of the bar, Lou still stood there naked, bouncing up and down, shaking all over, and goading her on. Natalie could only imagine how many pinches she was enduring, surrounded by all the goons in high school who had fantasized about her and would never get closer.

Giving her shoulders a slow rise and fall, Nat decided it was time to get through it, then unfastened the camisole and slid it off her shoulders. There were some enthusiastic shouts, but she couldn't enjoy them much with her mind on what was coming. The bar was somewhat thick, but she took a gamble with her next dance step, swirling around on her bare feet, sliding to one end with a leading knee, leaving her arm extended behind her. She was closer to the bartender than anyone else, and he applauded, grinning wide as he gawked at her.

As close as she was, it gave her an idea. She pressed her forearms against her breasts in a fake show of modesty, then arched her back as she leaned toward him.

"Can you get my top?" She had to repeat it before he heard her over their calls. A dollar rained down on her shoulder, then off her chest. "Can you take off my top?"

Shrill howls, and the bartender looked more nervous than Natalie, but he edged closer, lifted his fumbling fingers to the clasp, and then she felt the tension break. Nat smiled at the crowd, sucked in a breath that was obvious to everyone, and then she pulled it off her shoulders by the straps. Her modest breasts stood out on her chest, dark red nipples more erect than she could ever remember them being. She held the white top out with one dainty extension of her arm. One guy reached over another and snapped it up—she wondered if she would ever get it back. If she didn't, the tidal wave of singles that were suddenly hitting her would work as a paper dress, she thought with a smile.

Glancing down again, she saw Lou was actually dancing with a guy. Was it Alan? No, he looked a bit like Alan, but he had no repulsive mustache. The nametag said "Weitz," but Natalie thought he looked nothing like the Dave Weitz she remembered from gym class. How nuts it was that Lou could dance with him like that, the only person in the room who was entirely naked.

"You want a water?" asked the bartender. Her stalled dance must have made him think she was passing out, she was covered from head to toe in sweat, just like Lou and some of the guys. She nodded, and the bartender sprayed the water from a hose into a plastic cup, then handed it to her.

Natalie sipped a little, then collected her breath as she stood again, watching Lou swerve her pelvis in time with her partner. The men around her were mostly watching the naked girl dance, but most of the room was still watching Nat on the bar, and all she was doing was standing there.

"Is the show over?" a guy asked, and a resounding groan of disappointment rolled upon her.

Wiping her head with the plastic cup, Natalie spilled just a little—then inspiration struck her as she saw a guy swinging the remains of Lou's red thong; she poured the water over her breasts, and it ran in rivulets down her bare body. A shout of approval grew out of the audience. She looked to the bartender again and made a gun motion with her hand until he understood what she wanted. At first she didn't believe he would do it, that it would make a mess of everything.

But he did. The bartender lifted the hose and squeezed, spraying with water her back, then her ass, then her breasts and belly as she shifted toward him. Natalie splashed the water into her face, then ran her fingers through her hair until the strands clung together. People screeched out their approval. Natalie cleared the water from her eyes when the hose stopped, and she stared over the faces, trembling upon noticing how many she recognized. Fuck, in the back of the room there was Emma Barndale, the girl who was rumored to have slept with the art teacher, her hands over her heads, clapping for her.

Nat pulled the front of her bikini bottoms out very far, letting the water run down over her sensitive flesh. The approval of the audience made the bar rumble. She smiled coyly at them. She let it snap back and they all spat out a collective, "Awwww..."

"I'm not that nasty... am I?" she asked, and they cheered like raucous animals, making her break character and laugh. Natalie dropped down on all fours, knees at each edge of the bar, then straightened enough to lower the back of her bikini until they could see her ass at an angle. They howled again.

She held the back down until she could get the bartender to take hold of it. She squeezed his hand into a fist on the material, then told him to hang onto it and not let go... then she began to crawl toward the other end of the bar. The enthusiastic yells started to grow, the sides of her bikini wound their way down until they were stretching around her hips at their widest place, and the material stretched behind her as the bartender applied his strength to hold it.

"What are you doing!" yelped Lou, laughing too hard to really protest.

Swinging her head hard to the side, her wet hair flipped in that same direction and smacked against her. She kept her eyes closed, focused on the calls of the lustful men around her, feeling the air chill her ass, and she put all of her muscle into creeping along the bar. The strain of the material against her body genuinely began to hurt.

Then it snapped, taking the entire piece of cloth away. A bellow from the crowd reminded her of the best touchdown the football team had ever scored. Natalie straightened her back again, resting on her bent legs, then leaned back until she could feel the bar against her bare shoulders. She looked over at the audience, then ran a hand over the slick skin between her breast and her hair-threaded mound.

Natalie pointed one knee at the crowd, lifted the other leg directly into the air until they were approximately perpendicular, choking back the worry that some in the crowd were seeing everything from their angle. The storm of green bills made it hard for her to see the faces locked on her for a few seconds.

"Drink," she called back to the bartender, and he brought her a shot just after the money began to really slow. She sat up, crossing one leg over the other, and slammed the glass back as was her tendency with shots.

"You're beautiful, baby!" one man called out from further in the back, and she smiled at him.

"What club do you work?" another asked, but she couldn't give him an answer, so she said nothing.

She turned her back to them and rose to her knees, letting them drink in her backside, then, on her craziest whim yet, she bent over until she knew they could see the parted lips of her exhilarated pussy. Men stomped the floors and banged the tables, called out her stage name, whistled until she thought it would hurt her eardrums. Then she dismounted from the bar with far more poise than she had ascended it, planting both feet on the floor to loud applause. She gave her ass a powerful wiggle, earning more approval from the crowd.

Lou seemed more surprised than she was, rushing her and throwing her arms around her, kissing her cheek, and whispering that she was a natural. Natalie didn't know about that, but she could tell from everything she saw that she hadn't left any disappointed faces.

They both signaled for more shots from the bartender, who hurried to respond. After they drank them, the audience eventually quieted down enough that Alan picked up the microphone again.

"My god! These girls make you happy you're old enough to be in here, don't they?" Loud confirmations from the room, then Alan laughed and went on. "That's Lulu... and Miss Nasty, god bless her... I think we owe them more applause... I... yes, that's it. Good stuff. Thank you. Now... cool it, guys... now what say we give the groom-to-be his last brush with greatness?"

At that, Lou slapped Natalie on the ass and walked between the salivating men over to where Kevin Fiedler sat in his chair, covering his eyes and laughing loudly. With her legs together, Lou parted his knees and sank between them, then blew a breath onto his crotch. Everyone could tell he was enjoying the show, and it even seemed to twitch beneath the fabric of his slacks when she moved her head closer. Lou rose to her feet again, turned, and rested her ass on his groin as the people around her boomed out baritone cries. She shook her backside like a cartoon character settling into a chair and Kevin adjusted his posture like it caused him pain.

Only the sight of her friend performing a faux sexual act with a guy could distract Nat from the fact she was stark naked in room full of people she used to idolize. Even that forgetfulness didn't last too long, and she looked to her right and saw a trio of guys who were vaguely familiar, their stares melting all over her body. She shifted her shoulders, but that only made her tits quiver. Natalie arched her hip in one direction and leaned her weight on the other foot, then wondered if she had done it because her ass always looked amazing in shots where she posed that way. A look over her shoulder revealed two of the football players she had always fantasized about dating—now they were maybe fantasizing about her. She couldn't believe she had almost said no to this, it was too good to be true.

Near the back of the room, Lou was pressing her breasts into Kevin's face, and though he seemed to take it all in the fashion of an embarrassed gentleman, he did lapse at one point and lick her left nipple, energizing the crowd and winning their praise. Natalie covered her mouth as she watched, wondering where little Louise Kelly had ever come up with the nerves of steel to do something like this.

Her eyes wandered just enough to see some of the other faces in the crowd, one of them Kim Young, an idol from the girls' soccer team—it did make Natalie wonder if she had come for a freakshow or if it wasn't the first strip show she had seen. Just behind her was another very familiar face, and it gave Nat a chill to see Robin Franks, everyone's favorite theater teacher—what the hell was he doing here? She didn't know if she should laugh or throw up, it was a confusing feeling.

A tingle went through her skin, the air seemed much, much colder, when she saw on the other side of the room, seated at a table by the bar Tom Davenport himself. She thought she would lose consciousness, all the blood was rushing out of her body, she was breathing too fast, bombarded by thoughts. Had everyone seen her—had he watched? Was he turned on? Oh, fuck, it was driving her crazy to even consider it. She found herself staring, but that wasn't mortifying until he turned his eyes her way and caught her unbreakable gaze.

"Dance for me," someone said over her left shoulder. She didn't even realize it was her he addressed until he spoke again. "I want a lapdance—honey! Miss Nasty, yo! Give me a lapdance... I've got twenty dollars for you!"

A hand flapped a worn twenty back and forth just in her field of vision as if it was the least bit enticing, but it only annoyed her. She turned enough to see the guy, determined to read him the riot act, but she couldn't when she saw him, she smiled too big and lost her anger.

"Fat Robbie!" she said, then covered her mouth. "Sorry, sorry. Look at you! You look great!"

A couple of other guys around them were passing the words "Fat Robbie" back and forth, but it didn't sound like a taunt anymore, more like the same fondness people had when they talked about '50s rock idols like Chubby Checker or Fats Domino. Robbie stood there, leaning toward Natalie as if he would topple forward, surprised she knew him, but she only pushed his offer of money aside and pressed her body into his. She was smiling at his shock, then she pushed her lips to his and gave him a kiss, kind of quick, but long enough to make people jealous. He had lost about ten or twenty pounds since high school, looked pretty good, but nobody was going to forget he was Fat Robbie with the way he looked.

"I'm sorry, Robbie, baby... I only lapdance for one man," she said, taking a long breath before she left him.

She swatted aside anyone staying in her way, and all but one or two of them moved aside with good manners—the pair that didn't were forced aside by more gentlemanly guests. Natalie made a beeline for the man of her dreams, and Tom saw her about a minute before she reached him, and he didn't dare look away. He sat in his chair with one arm on the table, hand cozying a beer, the other resting limply on his thigh. He wore wire-frame glasses, his dusty brown hair was brushed back in a way that suited him more than his high school tangle of curls, and he had probably lost some muscle mass since those days—though his baggy yellow pastel dress shirt and loose-fit jeans might have hidden more than his old clothes.

His head moved back involuntarily as Natalie neared, like he was watching a 3D movie. A friend of his at the same table slammed back his beer while shifting the contents of his slacks around without a thought of witnesses. It made Natalie grin, which was a welcome change from the blank expression she had worn. It prompted her to speak.

"Tom Davenport... I'd love to give you a private dance," she said, fearing she would faint as her heart beat faster and her skin went nuclear. The shrill whistles around her were an unpleasant reminder they weren't alone, but it wasn't like she would get another chance.

It was Tom who nearly fell, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet and pulling it out with enough force that he almost tossed it. She put a hand on his, making her heart jump, and pushed it aside. No charge, she mouthed.

With the rumble around them getting louder, Nat parted her legs, revealing everything to those standing in front of her, and she straddled Tom and sat on his thighs. Someone clapped with sharp, distinct sounds. It wasn't ten seconds of sitting that way before she could feel Tom's bulge take shape, nuzzling against her throbbing labia. They were well-matched, she thought with amusement—neither of them could hide their enjoyment of the moment.

Holding his hands, she leaned back slowly, letting the assembly behind her get a better look at her breasts, but then she returned to her former position, guiding Tom's face down to her breasts. He seemed unsure, even when he was close enough to feel their warmth on his chin, but she gave him a nod and he knew it was okay. He lashed out with his tongue and the crowd made a sound like sizzling. It was unbelievable, his tongue, the direct line it had to her aching pussy, and while she knew he had demonstrated no more skill than most men she had been with, Nat couldn't claim the effect wasn't a hundred times more powerful on her. Even if it was psychological, it was sick psychology that plucked all her strings.

She found herself grinding against his crotch, relishing the way her wet body embraced his firm curves. Natalie rested a head on his shoulder as if she was going to sleep, and she felt comfortable enough that she could have, but she wasn't about to let the sensation fade on her. She grasped the sides of his torso, the place where other men had "love handles" and used her hold to pivot harder into him.