Car Show Slut Ch. 09

Oh God. What had I done! Ron and Darren just fucked me! I sobbed as I made my way back to the car, but I was in a kind of daze. It wasn't until the next day when the full realization of what had happened really hit me. I felt dirty, used. They had used me like a common whore. And I had let them do it. Even worse, if that could be possible, next week I would have to face them again when we finalized the presentation. Oh Anne, how could you! How could you have sunk to this? This!

Why do I let these things happen? I couldn't understand it, couldn't reconcile it within my own image of myself. It was like I was another person. It had even felt like that at the time; I remembered feeling almost detached from myself, as if watching it all happening: the way they manhandled me, forced me, their hard cocks, their cocks that were hard because of me.

But that was the double shame in all this. Because, I had to admit, just as much as I hated it, it wasn't as though they had raped me. I was a willing participant. Yes, I felt dirty and cheap, violated, degraded, unspeakably degraded. But at the time I actually liked it. I loved it, it was true. How it felt, how they were hard for, how they wanted me, wanted to fuck me like I was just a dirty slut. Oh, and how they did fuck me! How they shoved their hard cocks in my mouth, watching me. And I let them because I wanted them to. Wanted it like a slut. What a shameful slut I was for them. Forever onwards, no matter what brilliance I managed to come up with on behalf of my firm, for Ron and Darren I was nothing more than a little slut prepared to spread her legs for them and suck their cocks. And even now, thinking about it, their hard male bodies ramming into me, their cocks, using me, my pussy was tingling in the memory of it, just as my mind shuddered in disgust and shame. I felt as if I was sinking, in some kind of inexorable downward spiral.

Maybe I need some professional help, I thought to myself. A shrink. No. Shrinks were for mixed up losers. That's not what I am. And how could I tell some shrink that I have been going round acting like a cheap slut? I couldn't. Oh Anne, get a grip!

I was dreading the next day at work. I would have to talk to Ron. By mid morning I'd received an email from him to say that the reworked campaign did the trick. That was good, and I was relieved. But I needed to talk to him. I got him on the phone.

"So it went well?" I asked coolly, bracing myself.

"Yeah, they bought it," he said. He sounded a little tense, though not as tense as I was feeling. "We're in the clear. Now we've just got to massage it into something more substantial."

'Massage' it, indeed, I thought to myself. What a sleaze. I felt my blood starting to boil.

"Ron," I said firmly, "we need to talk. About last night."

"Well... um, yeah?"

"Listen. I don't want either you or Darren to breathe a word of what happened. Not a word. I'm deadly serious. I know you're married, and if word gets out, I'll make sure you-know-who also knows about it. And make sure Darren understands exactly what I've just said, too. OK?"

"Anne, you don't need to worry. I understand where you're coming from. I guess none of us needs anyone else to know about it, and you won't have to worry about Darren. He's got a wife, too, you know."

"Charming," I said.

"Well," he continued, "it was just something that happened. No one needs to know."

He paused on the line.

"Anne."

"What."

"That was wild, last night, really wild."

"Hmm," I said, not really knowing what to say. "Look, I don't really want to talk about it any further. Just keep me informed of the status of the campaign. I don't wish to speak about last night again."

"OK, sure."

He hung up. That wasn't too bad, I thought to myself. It was something that 'just happened', and really, if it was all that traumatic, I needn't have let it happen. I let things get out of hand, I did. I must try to make sure I have a better grip on things in the future. And he sounded sincere in saying that he wouldn't tell anyone. God, if word got out about this, apart from the embarrassment, it might wreck my career!

I spent the weekend cleaning the apartment, top to bottom, a kind of penance for my sins, but also an effective form of physical and emotional therapy. I busied myself, throwing myself into the job. And it was a big job. I do like a clean home, and as I dusted around the furniture I realized how I had much I had neglected the place of late. It took almost the whole of Saturday by the time I had cleaned the apartment and moved out onto the balcony, where my collection of potted plants lay near dying through lack of water. I grabbed a bucket and gave them a much-needed drink. Hopefully it would revive them.

While doing so I heard a shuffling of papers nearby. It was my neighbor, old Mr Darcy from the apartment next door, out on his balcony. The balconies of this apartment block only had half partitions, it wasn't a fully private situation with the design of the building, and Mr Darcy had filled the remaining space above the wall with some lovely tropical shrubs. It gave the balcony a rather nice ambience, as well as providing a veneer of privacy between us. His plants were certainly doing a lot better than mine, I thought to myself as I surveyed the scorched earth of my own plants, but then as a retired old man he did have plenty of time on his hands for such domestic pursuits. He waved at me from across the lush greenery.

"Hello Anne, lovely to see you. A spot of spring cleaning?"

I hadn't seen my neighbor much lately. He was a lovely old man. English, with a very proper accent, very charming. He lived alone. I had never seen a woman there with him; presumably his wife had died some time ago. Not surprising, I thought; how old was Mr Darcy? I didn't know, but he was certainly well into his twilight years.

"Hi Mr Darcy. Yes, bit of weekend cleaning. As you can see, I've kind of neglected my potted plants a little, I'm afraid."

"Oh well, never mind. You're obviously a very busy young lady. But I haven't seen you around much lately. You haven't been doing your morning exercises and I was worried that you might have taken ill."

"Oh no," I said, slightly touched at his concern. I had often wondered whether or not he had been watching me go through my yoga routines. I often had the sense that someone was there behind the trees. I wondered now whether or not he had seen me when I was doing them naked. Oh well, no harm done if he had.

"Just been a bit busy," I continued.

"Pity," he said. "I must confess, dear lady, that your daily calisthenics bring me great pleasure. Please forgive my boldness, but seeing a beautiful young lady as yourself performing her morning exercises is a rare delight for an old man."

"Why thank you Mr Darcy," I said, slightly shocked at his candor, and not really knowing what else to say in reply. Actually, were it anyone else, I'd probably have been mighty offended. But Mr Darcy was such a sweet old gentleman. If my yoga had been brightening up his existence, more's the better.

"I just hope I'm not disturbing you so early in the morning," I said.

"Oh no, my dear, not at all!" he said. "Young lady, at my age sleep does not come easy and nor, sadly, I must confess, is it long lasting. Most days I'm sitting out here enjoying my cup of tea as the first bird of the morning sings. Please, my dear, do not stop your exercises on my account! On the contrary, I do so wish you would do them every day!"

"Well," I laughed, "maybe I should."

We chatted on for a little while longer before Mr Darcy 'retired' to his living room. What a lovely old man. Cheeky – cheekier than I could ever remember him being, but charming. I liked him. Strange, though, that I wasn't offended that he had been virtually spying on me. Well, by the sound of it he had been spying on me. But I wasn't offended. Well, it was not as though he was being a dirty old man and being sneaky about it – he just straight out told me he'd been watching me. And it's not as though he was any kind of threat; the poor old guy couldn't have that many more years left in him. I didn't know how old he was, but he had to be pushing 80. No, if my yoga exercises brought dear old Darcy 'great pleasure', so what? And he was right: I hadn't been doing them much lately. I had almost forgotten about my morning yoga ritual. I had really been letting myself go.

I was feeling a little better after my chat with Mr Darcy. The apartment was spic 'n span, and all of a sudden I felt somehow settled, at peace, back home. I curled up on the sofa for a night in front of the TV.

A little later on the phone rang. It was my friend, Wendy. I hadn't seen her in a few weeks, not since she and Roger announced their engagement.

"So how's tricks hun'?" she said.

"Yeah, OK. Busy as ever."

"That's no good. Girl, you never seem to relax, you're always working! But hey, are you doing anything tomorrow? Rog and I are going to the beach. It's gonna be a hot day. Want to join us?"

"Sure. Love to."

"Great. I can't talk long, got a roast in the oven. Meet us at our place at about 10. OK? Good. See ya."

A cleansing day at the beach, sun, sand, surf and relaxation – what a great idea. Perfect. I went to bed feeling much, much better.

I slept well that night; in bed early and waking up late. I felt good, nicely rested. I had my morning coffee and dressed into my black bikini, the one I had bought for the Buck's Night. Oh God, the Buck's Night for Roger's brother, where I had been the drinks girl... Never mind, that was all in the past now, and I had already made my peace with Roger over that. It was all in the past.

I was about to throw on my wraparound and grab my things when I remembered my conversation with Mr Darcy. I hadn't done my morning yoga... But should I? Knowing that he'd be there waiting to spy on me? He was probably out there right now. I looked at the clock. There was time for it. Oh heck, why not?

My bikini would be fine for yoga – and I certainly wasn't going to do it nude again. I grabbed my yoga mat and opened the balcony doors. As I laid the mat on the floor, I heard a rustling of papers from behind the row of trees. Yes, he was there alright.

I laid out and went through an abbreviated routine – I didn't have all that much time. It felt good, physically invigorating. I hadn't done my yoga in a little while. But it also felt good on another level. Someone was watching me. Watching my body, enjoying it. I glanced down across my tits, down to my hips. Yes, I thought to myself, I look good. My body looks real good. And Mr Darcy thinks so, too. He's watching me now, and old man watching, admiring a near naked young woman, who is doing nothing more than innocently going through her yoga regime – her 'daily calisthenics', as Mr Darcy had so cutely put it. It would be wrong to say that it felt naughty, but there was something about it!

Time to go. I headed inside and grabbed my gear.

Wendy and Roger had just moved into a new apartment. Lovely place, too, bigger than mine, and in a nicer part of town, not that there was anything wrong with my place.

"Hey Anne, good to see you!" Wendy said with a flourish and a hug as she greeted me at the door. "Rog will be just a minute. Hey Rog, let's get going!"

"Coming hun," I heard him say.

Soon we were on our way, in their car, me in the back seat.

"So, you guys go out last night?" I asked. It was good to see them again, and see them looking so happy. They had a hand on each other's leg as they sat up front.

"Yeah," said Wendy. "It's Rog's birthday – well, next week actually – so I took him out to see a burlesque show."

"A burlesque show?" I asked. "What's that?"

"It's a show, like a cabaret. It's kind of a strip show, except they don't go past their underwear. It's a retro thing, really quite the in thing at the moment, so I'm told. You know, like all those voluptuous movie stars from the '50s, Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield – it's kind of like that. I don't really know how to explain it, but it's not sleazy or anything. I thought, since it's Roger's birthday, it would be something a bit different and he would enjoy it, and I think he did."

Roger was nodding in the driver's seat. It looked like he had enjoyed it.

"Actually," Wendy continued, "it was really well done, quite a funny show. And sexy, too. Rog, did you think it was sexy?" She gave his leg a little squeeze.

"Oh yeah, it was sexy," he laughed.

As we headed out of town the conversation drifted away as we settled into the journey, taking in the sights along the way as we passed through the outer 'burbs. It was a fine, warm day, and people were out and about doing things.

I watched as we approached a group of cyclists. I watched them as they hauled ass up a small hill, all those muscle-bound young males, their thin, brightly colored lycra cycle wear, their tight asses gently swaying to and fro as their legs pumped hard up and down the pedals, up and down in a solid, driving rhythm. As we got closer to them I could see their arm muscles flexing as they gripped the handlebars to anchor themselves as they pedaled, pedaled hard, big thigh muscles straining, pumping. I found myself almost in a languid daydream as I watched them, as if treated to my own private little show. Mmm, such rhythm, such power in their hot young male bodies...

As we left them behind, it occurred to me that only a short time ago I wouldn't have thought of the cyclists in such a way; wouldn't have focused on the physicality of them. It would have simply been a group of cyclists out for a ride that we were passing. But everything seemed to be sexualized lately. I seemed to see people, perceive them, in a different way. I had been aware of it just the other day, when strolling through the mall during my lunch break. Watching the passing parade, I found myself focusing on good looking young men in business suits, noticing the shape of a nicely formed neck and shoulders. Watching the way a guy walked, the way his ass and legs moved in a certain definite rhythm, concentrating on the way the material of his suit pants shifted and creased as he walked. And it wasn't just the cute young guys. There was a woman who fairly captured my attention; dressed in a black business suit, conservative, yet stylish and sexy, really very striking. I watched her walking through the mall in her elegant black pumps, her dark curly shoulder-length hair and full, thick red lips. There was a magnetic quality about her; I couldn't take my eyes of her. She looked up and must have caught me staring. She smiled. It was probably nothing more than an innocent smile, but I felt my nipples bristling as she looked me in the eye and smiled. Such sparkling dark eyes! I felt like I wanted to go up to her, place my hands on those perfectly formed cheek bones, run my fingers through her dark curls and place my lips on hers... I didn't, of course, and soon she was gone. But it was how I felt, deeply; what I really wanted to do.

Oh well, I thought to myself as we neared our destination, already feeling a little flushed, if I seemed to be developing a view of the world around me that is more physical, more sexual, then what better place for me to be than the beach?

Soon we were there. It was the perfect day for it; already it was quite warm, and I was looking forward to the feeling of the cool salt water enveloping my body. If the surf was not too rough, I might even do some laps of the beach.

Evidently Wendy and Roger weren't up for such physical pursuits; they'd brought a hamper of food and some excellent wine for us to enjoy: relaxation all the way with this pair. We found a nice spot and spread out our things. The beach was not too crowded, although it was still quite early.

"Who's up for a dip?" I said, peeling off my wraparound.

"Absolutely!" Wendy said, stripping off her skirt and t-shirt. Roger was wearing little speedos rather than surf shorts, and I had to admit he looked good. He had a better body than I'd imagined.

We played around in the water for a while, but since the surf was nice and flat I left them there and went for a nice long swim down the beach. When I returned Wendy and Roger were lying on their towels, sipping a glass of wine.

"How civilized!" I smiled, as Wendy handed me a plastic cup. "Very nice indeed!" I sipped my wine and laid down on my towel, letting the heat of the midday sun dry my wet skin. We chatted about the latest celebrity sex scandal to hit the gossip columns, although I had to admit I hadn't really been following the drama with any great interest.

It was getting hot. Wendy reached into her bag for her sunscreen. With her fair complexion, she was going to need the protection. She was lying on her stomach, trying to apply the cream to her back.

"Anne, could you do my back?" she asked. "I'm not as flexible as I used to be!"

"Sure."

I squeezed out some of the white cream and began rubbing it into her back. I could feel that she had quite muscular shoulders, something I'd never noticed before. Actually, Wendy looked good. I knew she had great legs, but seeing her here like this, practically naked, and touching her skin, yes, she had a fantastic figure.

Roger's head was buried in a book. Well, he was face down in the book, because evidently he had fallen asleep. The snoring we could soon hear confirmed it.

"Listen to him," Wendy said. "But I'm not surprised. We didn't actually do a lot of sleeping last night!" she giggled.

"Lucky you!" I grinned, as I rubbed my hands up and down her back, her skin beginning to take on a glistening sheen against the sun.

"Mmm, yeah," she purred. "God, Anne, you know I can't believe it, what we did last night!"

"Ooh, do tell!" I said, wondering now exactly what this pair did get up to. It sounded interesting!

"Oh, I don't know if I should," she said, cagey all of a sudden, as rubbed my hands into her lower back muscles. "Ooh, that feels good. You have to do my legs after you're done there."

"Well, OK," I said, "but only if you tell me what you and Roger did last night."

"OK, deal. Oh Anne, I can hardly believe it - he fucked me in the ass!"

"Oh Wendy!"

"Oh yeah! He did. It wasn't expected or planned, and we'd never even talked about it before. But we just got real carried away, and then all of a sudden... I've never done that before!"

"Me neither," I said. "So, it was good?"

"Yes! It hurt at first, but once you get used to it, it's... ooh!"

We both giggled.

I was just about done with her back, but I had to admit it had taken a lot longer than it need have. Really, I was giving her a massage as much as I was rubbing sunscreen into her body, but it just felt like a nice thing to do. It was nice to make her feel relaxed, and it felt nice to run my hands over her skin. And it felt nice to feel Wendy's body. She had a very nice bod. Very nice.

"Oh that's great Anne," she said. "Sooo relaxing. You're gonna make me fall asleep, just like Mr Buzzsaw over there." We both laughed.

"OK, I said, "all done."

"But my legs, my legs need doing too," she pleaded in mocking tones.

"OK," I said. And I did want to do her legs. She has fine legs, beautiful, shapely. Sexy. And they needed to be protected from the sun's rays, especially for a fair-skinned redhead like Wendy. I started with her feet.

"Ooh, that tickles!" she giggled.

"Just relax, Wen," I said, pausing, my hand cupping her feet. Soon I was able to continue my, well, my massage, for that's what it was, but my mind kept going back to what she had just told me. Frankly, I was a little shocked. I mean, I didn't think Wendy was a prude, but she'd never openly given me such intimate details of her private life before. It just somehow seemed a little out of character. I thought I would quiz her a little more about it.