tagExhibitionist & VoyeurCar Show Slut Ch. 02

Car Show Slut Ch. 02

bydavidwriter©

Monday morning, another day at the office. Two days ago I was a car show model. Now I was back in the real world: my position as a marketing executive. Already the events of Saturday seemed distant, almost surreal. I had spent a lazy Sunday going through the newspapers, cleaning the flat, getting my house in order, so to speak. The things that had happened on Saturday, the things I had done, shocked me somewhat, shocked me a lot, but it was behind me now. How horny all that attention had made me feel made me realise just how much I had been missing sex. You need a boyfriend, girl, as I thought about the impression that cute guy from the electronics company at the show had had on me. Well, maybe, but I didn't really want the complications of a man in my life right now, to be honest. And I had to admit that my vibrator did serve its purpose very nicely when I got home on Saturday night...

I was in meetings most of Monday morning and didn't bump into Kelly at all until lunchtime. I joined her in the cafeteria.

"Hi Kelly," I said, placing my sushi tray on the table.

"Hi Anne," she said.

"Any news on the sponsor front?"

"It's looking real good," she said. "Rick should know in a day or two, but he thinks it's pretty much a certainty. Thanks again for everything you did; I really owe you."

Everything I did. I wondered exactly what she meant by that. Did she know that I had jerked Hank off in the back seat of the car? Oh God, I hoped not!

"Anne," she said, her head bowed, eyes looking up at me intently. "I hope I didn't freak you out too much on Saturday. You know, when we were in the car."

"No, no, not at all," I said, feeling slightly embarrassed. "But I have to admit, first time I've done anything like that."

I paused for a minute.

"Have you ever been with a woman before, Kelly?"

"No," she said. "But I've always wanted to." We giggled together at her confession.

"But in the car, it wasn't planned. It kind of just happened. And it was really nice."

"Yes, it was," I said. "Did Rick say anything? I hope he was cool with it. You know, us together like that."

"Oh yeah," she laughed. "He totally loved it."

"I imagine after that he wants us to have a threesome now," I said.

"He's already asked me about that. I told him you're too good for him!"

We both laughed. I was glad it hadn't changed things between us. Well, of course things had to have changed a bit: we had been sexual with one another, even if it had only been petting – heavy petting, for sure - but our friendship didn't seem to have been affected. But things were a little bit different. Looking at her across the table I was seeing Kelly in a different light from what I might have previously. I had never noticed her beautiful blue eyes before. And now I found myself observing the shape over her boobs under her light cotton blouse, the small amount of cleavage she was showing under her clothing. She had such lovely breasts, bigger than mine, so firm and round...

I looked up. Kelly was staring straight at me. She'd caught me checking out her boobs. She smiled with a sly look on her face, one I'd never noticed before. She knew, and she approved. I smiled back.

Monday was a slow day. I left work early for an extended gym workout. After I'd done half an hour on the exercise bike, I hooked up with my personal trainer, Steve, and we went through my normal weights program. Steve is younger than me, quite a nice guy really, early 20s, obviously extremely fit, and hoping to make the next Olympic rowing team. Nicely built, too; not too muscle-bound like so many other gym instructors, but toned in all the right places. Not that I fancied him or anything; but he certainly wasn't hard on the eye.

This night, though, as he guided me through the routine, I found my gaze drawn to his skin-tight lycra shorts. He always wears them, the kind of thing worn at gyms only either by gays or elite athletes. He certainly wasn't in the former category, so I had overheard in the women's locker room.

Standing above me, legs astride me as I did my floor lifts, I could not stop myself from staring at his cock. You could clearly make out the shape under the tight lycra; even the outline of the head was unmistakable. Pushing hard against the weights, sweat pouring off my own lycra-clad body, I couldn't help but wonder how big that thing got when he was aroused. How sexy it would look all hard, pushing against the stretchy material. What it would feel like. What it would taste like...

He must have seen me looking. He smiled down at me at one point, with a gentle 'you seem to be having a nice time' kind of look on his face. I smiled back, surprised at myself that I wasn't embarrassed. No that I was worried about him making a pass at me; this guy must be beating all those hot young gym junkies away with a stick, I thought to myself. And with that rippling body of his he'd fuck them good and hard, too. Oh Annie, I thought, you're in a funny mood tonight!

Later that night after I had showered and readied myself for bed, I laid out my work clothes for the morning. Rummaging through my underwear drawer, I came across the pair of Victoria Secrets g-string sets my old boyfriend David had bought me. He was always trying to get me to wear sexy lingerie, but I'd always found thongs uncomfortable. I ended up only wearing them – there was one black set, one white – in the privacy of my own home, for him, of course, and they did lead to some spectacular love-making sessions.

I pulled out the white set, holding up the g-string. The thing was so tiny, so raunchy. I hadn't worn these in ages. I slipped off my robe and stepped into the thong. I put on the matching bra. I looked at myself in the mirror, turning to the side so I could see my bare ass cheeks. Hmm, not bad, I thought. But there was something missing from this 'look'. I went over to the shoe cupboard and pulled out a pair of red pumps. Slipping them on, I went back to the mirror. Now you look like a slut, I laughed, feeling deliciously naughty that here I was in high heels and sluttish underwear checking myself out in the mirror. This was a hot look. I imagined what Steve might think if he saw me dressed like this. I cupped the underside of my boobs, feeling the silky lace material against my skin. It felt luxurious, so self indulgent. I watched my reflection as my hands rubbed gently across my nipples. I pulled the bra strap off my left shoulder, slowly easing down the cup until my nipple poked into view in the mirror. I turned to my side and looked back into the glass. I could see my nipple was hard. I undid the clasp, letting the bra fall to the floor. I brought my hands up to my breasts, squeezing them tightly, watching in the mirror how the shape changed against the pressure. Funny, but the g-string didn't feel all that uncomfortable; if anything, I liked the feeling of the material rubbing between my ass cheeks. I felt so... so improper. And so deliciously naughty - what if anyone saw me like this?

I glanced at the clock. It was getting late. Time for bed. I slipped off the shoes and slid the g-string off. I made to put the thong and bra set back in the drawer but then a devilish notion hit me: why not wear them to work tomorrow? Why not? I laid them out with my work clothes in readiness for the next day.

The next day after breakfast I dressed for work, pulling my conservative cream-colored pants suit on over the top of my sexy underwear. I turned to the side and looked at my reflection in the mirror. Hmm, not bad – no visible panty line!

I had a mid-morning meeting out at a client's office. The two reps from the company – one I knew from previous dealings, but the other was a new guy - were waiting for me at reception and led me through the building to their office. It was a productive meeting; there was no deal on the line but rather it was a feedback session on their last campaign and how things might be streamlined and improved. They were impressed with the ideas I presented. When it was over they showed me back down to the reception area, one in front leading the way, the other, the new guy, following behind me. With the guy walking behind me I suddenly became conscious of the g-string nestled in my ass. This suit was conservative, but fairly tight fitting all the same. Was he checking out my ass, wondering what I had on under the cream pants?

Back in the office I began preparing a report on the meeting. Rummaging through my bag for the new rep's business card, some other cards and receipts fell out onto the desk. One looked unfamiliar: Jem Russell, managing director, JR Electronic Systemz.

Jem Russell, I pondered. Then I remembered – the hot guy from the car show with the electronics stand. The guy that wanted me to model for him! I felt a hot flush through my body as I remembered the impression he made on me. His body up close, arms wrapped around me as his buddy took our photo, his hot breath in my ear, his deep voice...

And now I've got his phone number. God, I thought, I'd almost consider modeling for him if it meant a chance to go out with him! Was he married, I wondered? Maybe I could just ring him up for a chat, maybe ask him out for a drink. But I don't do that – I've never, ever asked I guy out in my life. It's they that ask you out. Maybe I could invent some business reason for the call and try to lead things from there? I sat there and pondered, idly spinning his card around in my fingers. But it's just some guy, I reasoned – you don't even know anything about him. All the same I'd love to get to know this guy... But how to do it?

I could always ring him up and say yes to his modeling request.

The thought sent a chill through my spine. Maybe I could be his show model? But be a car show model again? I couldn't. But could I? Just one more time? My body tensed at the very idea of it. Repulsed and shamed that I could even think half way seriously of doing such a thing again, but inwardly thrilled at the possibility that I MIGHT do it again. And horrified that the idea of being a car show model again didn't simply repulse me outright. Because a part of me liked it. A part of me wanted very much to do it again.

I began to think about how I felt on Saturday. I had to admit, I enjoyed it. I really enjoyed it. Oh Anne, why not just face the fact, admit it: being a car show model was an unexpected turn on. You liked looking sexy, and you liked it that guys were looking at your body with lust in their eyes, like you were nothing more than a sex object, and you liked it that they looked you up and down as if all they wanted to do was fuck you. And you were wet for most of the day, weren't you?

It was all true. I loved the attention, I loved doing a job that didn't require my brain, and I loved being appreciated visually on such a visceral level. I loved being a Car Show Slut for the day.

But I couldn't do it. Not again. In my mind I reminded myself about my job – Anne, you're a respected senior marketing executive. People of that stature simply do not become car show girls out of work time! But what did it matter to the firm what I did after hours? I worked hard, I got results; as long as I didn't break the law in or out of work hours, what business was it of the company's what I did in my spare time? And it wasn't as though any such restrictions were written into my labor contract.

But it did matter. I was senior, I was respected, I was a leader. With that came a certain unspoken responsibility for one's conduct. It mightn't have been written in stone, but it would be taken for granted that such behavior was highly improper, simply not acceptable. It wasn't as though there was a set moral code or even a highly-charged political atmosphere within this company – I had not had to climb over anyone to get where I was. But it was something that could – and might – be used against me. I had been a Car Show Slut one time. But never again.

Still, this guy... I'd only met him for a few minutes but he'd pushed all my buttons. I wasn't looking for a boyfriend, but... Jem. Jem Russell. Unusual name. I could really imagine being this guy's girl.

Oh hell, why not just ring him? Talk to the guy? My heart beat louder in my chest at the idea. I felt like a silly young girl. Just ring him!

I pulled my cell phone out of my bag. I dialed the number, his cell phone number. I heard it ringing.

"Jem Russell speaking."

God, there was that silky deep voice again. I almost froze at the sound of it, found myself leaving an uncomfortably long few-second pause before I finally stammered an answer.

"Um hi, this is Anne Johnson, the model from the car show on the weekend. You gave me your card."

"Oh yeah, hi babe, how you going? I'm glad you rang, I haven't sorted anything out yet and I was really hoping you'd call. The function is on next Monday night and really it's a pretty easy job. It's a small do, I'm showing off a new product to a group of retailers. All you've got to do is go round serving drinks and aperitifs. I don't know what the going rate is, but how about $300? It'll start at seven and wouldn't think it would run much past about 9.30, so it should be an easy couple of hours or so. How does that sound?"

"Um, well..." said. His rapid spiel had caught me right off guard. I almost didn't know what to say to him. "Umm, I'm not sure."

"Um, OK, then why have you rung?" he said, his tone sounding slightly perplexed, and slightly annoyed. Why had I rung indeed – as far as Jem Russell knew, I was a professional show model.

"Tell you what, I'll make it an even $500. You were the hottest thing at that show last week - you're worth that much at least. Give me your address details and I'll have my secretary send over the outfit. You've got the company address on the card. Be there a bit before seven if you can."

"Er..." my mind was racing as I thought of how to respond, the words 'you were the hottest thing' reverberating through my head. "OK."

"Great. And hey, why not bring that cute blonde you were working with last Saturday. It'll halve the workload. We'll make it $500 for her as well."

"Er, OK, I'll ask her."

"Great. Thanks babe, I'll see you next week."

He hung up. I slumped into my chair. What had just happened? What had I just done? I had clamed up like a shy little girl, mesmerized by his voice, unable to say no. Pathetic. And when I did try to say no – and I did try - he just thought I was pushing for more money! All I had to do was say the words 'no thanks'! What if he'd asked for my bank account passwords – would I have also been unable to say no to that!

Crestfallen, I fell into a depression for the rest of the afternoon. Running it over in my mind, it hurt on several levels. One, that I really wanted to date this guy, but was unable to communicate the fact and he didn't seem interested. Two, that I hadn't had the presence of mind to say no to being his car show model – when at any other times am I lost for words in any situation? And finally, that against my better judgment, I was going to be a car show model again!

And Kelly! I'd almost forgotten I'd agreed to ask her to help me with this 'job'. I felt a deep sense of humiliation now that I would be going to her to ask her to help me in a show modeling job. Well, at least I knew that she wasn't going to make it worse by refusing, I thought to myself. And truth was, I wanted her there with me. I needed the support; I didn't think I could do it on my own. And I'd much rather do it with her than some girl I didn't know – a real show model.

Later that night at home I consoled myself with half a bottle of white and trashy sitcoms on TV. I was still mad at myself for letting this spiral out of my control. But the more I thought about it, the more I came around to accepting the situation. What's done is done. More than that, I realised that it had happened because I had been acting out a role. I mightn't have been wearing my car show uniform, but when I phoned Jem I somehow slipped back into that role. That, a car show model, was all he knew me as, and he addressed me as such. In our brief conversation I simply couldn't break out of it, out of character. And it was certainly out of character for me, I joked to myself. Or was I simply reverting to type? I thought back on my adolescent acting and modeling days. Of the certain thrill it gave me. How I experienced that buzz once more on Saturday, though in a different context. A very different context.

Just relax, I told myself. You like this guy, some guy you actually don't even know at all, and in the heat of the moment you let your guard down and committed yourself to something you perhaps normally wouldn't have. Big deal. Who hasn't done that sort of thing in their lives before? And one night – only a few hours – and it would be over.

Yet I was still thankful that work was busy the next day, keeping my mind occupied with things other than my impending 'job' next Tuesday night. But I still had to talk to Kelly about it. She was sure to understand; there's almost no chance she'd say no. I'd see her over lunch and discuss it.

"Hi Kelly," I said as we met for our usual lunchtime chat.

"Hi Anne, how's things."

"Yeah, not too bad. But I have a favor to ask you."

"You know the answer – yes, of course!" "

"Well, you don't know the question yet. Kelly, I met a guy at the car show and he wants me to model for him at a product launch for his company. And he wants me to ask you to do it with me."

She almost dropped her fork.

"What? Are you serious? You agreed to do it...?"

"Yes, it's serious. Look, I never meant it to turn out like that, but I met him on the day and I was quite taken by him. The guy is such a hunk! Anyway he gave me his card, and I rang him yesterday because I was hoping to arrange to go out with him on date. But I got flustered and it all came out wrongly, and next thing I knew I was agreeing to model for him."

"Gee, he must have made a big impression!"

"Well, yes. I don't know what I was thinking at the time."

"Anne, of course I'll do it with you. When's it on?"

"Next Tuesday night. It's just serving drinks and finger food. And we'll be wearing special outfits, of course."

"What sort of outfits?"

"I don't know," I said sheepishly. I hadn't asked. "But he's sending them over."

Inwardly I was cursing myself; I felt embarrassed that I didn't even ask what we'd be wearing. She could see the whole thing was making me upset.

"Anne," she said, reaching over to put her hand on my arm, "don't worry, it'll be fine. And look, it's a chance for you to see this guy again. Who knows what might happen? It'll be fun. And I really enjoyed the car show, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did."

"So, what's the worry? I'm looking forward to it. I can't wait to see what we have to wear!"

I was wondering about that too. Given it was a small function for business people, I expected it would probably be something reasonably classy. I wonder what he's picked out for us?

The rest of the week passed like a blur. And it had been productive. I threw myself into my work. A new client that I had been working on for some months finally came through. It was worth a lot of money. My boss was very pleased, and so was I.

On Friday I got a call from my friend, Wendy. We'd met at a marketing course the company had put me through a year or so ago. We got along well, and began getting together socially on and off for a while until she got a new boyfriend, the pair of them retreating into a life of domestic bliss – and no doubt plenty of action in the bedroom – as new couples so often do.

Wendy and Roger were going to the movies on Saturday night and asked if I wanted to join them. It would be good to catch up with her again after so long. In fact, it had been a while since I'd caught up with any of my friends. I could hardly remember the last time I'd gone to the movies.

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