Deep Down Inside Ch. 05-08

Chapter 5: Skeleton Bones

It was the weekend Bobbie called screaming her and Kaden had really split up for good, a week after Kaden had popped her anal cherry, and two weeks after Camille and I had our first rendezvous on her couch. Camille hadn't spoken to Bobbie much, especially after Kaden's pursuance of Bobbie's asshole had turned fruitful. I seriously believed his only real interest was in succeeding where his predecessor had failed. And it wasn't her giving into the sex that disappointed Camille, it was Bobbie going back on her stance just so Kaden could feel superior. And Camille really didn't think much of Kaden for a host of other reasons, although she encouraged me to stay friends with him. She knew I'd choose her if it came down to it, and I'm sure she fretted over putting me in that position. And I certainly would've chosen her. The more time I spent with Camille the more I found to like. Not to mention I'd lost count of the times we made love in the prior two weeks. She didn't just have the body of a fuck machine, she was a fuck machine, something you'd have never known given the way she carried herself in public.

She'd convinced me to take a yoga class with her, and afterward we took a bike ride. We ended up in a near repeat of our first time, stripping down for a hot sweaty session on her couch, again covered by the knitted blanket. I started to hate that blanket, the way the loose knit painfully rubbed against my butt. But I wasn't complaining! Not with every other nerve ending in my body going wild over the sexy goddess fucking my brains out. I truly wanted to brag to my buddies, but I could never do that to her. If I wasn't already in love with the woman I was well on my way.

Post coital I ended up in the same big shirt as last time, the one that had previously belonged to a nameless ex-lover. I followed her into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to tug at the big shirt and say, "So did this belong to Steve?"

"Steve?"

"The Hooligan's guy."

She thinned her eyes. "Is this about what Kaden said? About the Steve who asked him to say hello?"

"Yeah, the guy who still owns a broken couch."

I climbed onto the bed as she plopped her head on her pillow and grabbed the remote. Clearly she knew my game, and shook her head dismissively, "Just for your peace of mind, that's not Steve's shirt. But I swear, we make love a couple of times and you already have it in for every guy who came before you."

"It's been more than a couple times that we..." I finished with a wink. "And I'm just looking out for my well-being, cuz this is a pretty fucking big shirt."

She laughed, clicked on the TV, and then looked at me with wide innocent eyes, "Those other guys meant nothing to me, baby." Her voice oozed with cheesy sarcasm. "You're the only one for me."

I tickled her armpit and she shrieked.

"I'll believe that when you tattoo my name on your butt."

A minute later we'd settled down beside each other and streamed a Chris Pratt movie on HBO and I ordered Pasta from the Doordash app. I couldn't follow the film, mostly because I was still hypothesizing about that stupid couch comment Kaden had made. It haunted me ever since Kaden had first mentioned it. And Camille seemed momentarily confused when I'd just brought it up, but not completely clueless either, which made me speculate that I'd gotten the "broken" part wrong. Now it really troubled me—what other fucking significance could there have been to someone's couch?

When the pasta came we ate in bed straight out of the round foil to-go tins. It was so comforting being there with her and I thought maybe I should just ask about the couch. Maybe she would even find it funny.

She was looking directly at me with a mouth full of pasta when I let it slip. First I explained I was in another guy's shirt, so clearly I wasn't judging, and then I put the question out there point blank, "This is really dumb, but what's the actual deal with Steve's couch?"

With food still in her mouth she tried not to laugh, and then covered her mouth to speak, "Oh my God. You are seriously asking about a couch now?"

"Yeah, I am." Now that it was out of the bag and she actually laughed, I felt more at ease being straight with her. "I don't give a shit about him, but the mystery of the couch is killing me."

She swallowed her food and then sat up so she could lean over me. She giggled, "I assume this is about Kaden's sick burn back at the bar?"

"Yeah, unfortunately."

"You're going to be so sorry you asked, because it's the dumbest thing you'll ever hear. And it pretty much sums up what idiot's guys can be."

I gave her a kiss. "OK, go on, debase my intelligence."

"Alright, you asked for it!" She sat up crossed-legged. "First—Hooligan's sucked. Have you ever been there?"

I shook my head no.

"I didn't think so. It's a sports bar, mostly guys, mostly in their thirties and forties, all pretty much perverts, and Hooligans only hired girls in their early twenties. I started at nineteen, and remember a few others, but no one over twenty-four. At least not while I was there."

I pictured Camille at nineteen—her angelic face with the last ruminants of baby fat, still going home to the bedroom she grew up in, the same ribbon running across her head keeping her dark chestnut hair back behind her ears, and a head full of wishful ideals and a go-get-em-girl attitude. It seemed a crime to let that girl even set foot into Hooligan's.

"So Hooligan's dressed their cocktail waitresses in low cut t-shirts, belly totally exposed, and these ridiculous blue short-shorts. I could only work three nights a week with school, and you could make a ton of tips at Hooligan's—so more money but skimpy outfits."

When she said "skimpy outfits," she squeezed her boobs together. She'd never put her shirt back on after we did it, and I got an instant erection at those c-cup globes squashing together.

"So the skimpy outfits I'd signed up for, but what I didn't sign up for, and wasn't cool, was how raunchy the staff would get. Or at least the bartenders would. All older guys. Old like in their thirties. They'd work in shifts of two, but I think there were six altogether. Yeah there were six. And everyone of them harassed the servers. No qualms whatsoever. Grabbed our asses, held us by our bare waists to talk into our ears, spanked us.... And this was all within sight of customers. A bunch of guys watching a nineteen-year-old girl get felt up. It was crazy. I can't even count the times one of them just pushed his crotch into my ass."

"You couldn't say anything? Like please don't do that?"

She took a deep breath expressing her frustration. "Yeah. But OK, so like the reason they probably hired such young girls is they don't speak up. I was an angsty but impressionable girl. It was my first job. It was my first impression of the world outside of school. And the guys were older. I spoke to some of the other girls but I'd just hear how flirting was basically Hooligan's business model. I think there was a fear of being naive and hypocritical because... well, yeah, it seemed like a policy we'd somehow agreed to by taking the job. And I can't entirely blame Hooligan's, because, stupid me, I even felt rebellious flirting back with the guys. It's just, we were at the age where you're all about tearing down boundaries, we had no idea we could set up new ones. And you hear about this stuff on the news, but at Hooligan's everything was so out in the open and acknowledged that it didn't seem like the same awful thing, and it... it just...."

She was speaking hurriedly and I could see she was getting upset, so I interrupted. "Hey, I get it. I hate places like Hooligan's. I didn't mean to sound judgy."

"I didn't think you were being judgy, I just.... You just needed to know about that before I get to the rest."

"It gets worse?"

"Not worse. But... Well we all drank."

"Wait, you were only nineteen?"

"Yup! The guys would feed the ones over twenty-one drinks, and the rest of us had a flask we'd pass around on break. Drinking just made it easier. Getting buzzed made it feel like a college party. And I admit, when I'd just shut down and go with it I had some pretty fun times. But of course everyone was sleeping together. Like I don't think there was a single girl who hadn't slept with at least one of the guys."

"And Steve was the lucky guy who ended up with the hottest waitress Hooligan's ever had?"

"Yeah, Steve..." She drew out his name as if more names would follow.

"Wait, wait, wait, just how naughty were you?"

She looked shocked and pinched my side. I tickled her sides back, which made her fall forwards onto me. I then grabbed her leg and pulled her bottom on top of me too.

"Don't make me feel bad," She chided as she rose up and sat on my crotch again.

"I won't, I'm sorry." I then burst into laughter, I couldn't help it.

She went for my armpits, digging in her fingers. "Stop already!" She was laughing now too. "Those were my fun years. Twenty-four-year-old me is light years apart from the nineteen-year-old me."

I built up an obnoxious smile, and then stated, "Too bad."

She was tickling me again before I got the words out, during which her panty covered pussy rubbed my dick through my gym shorts. She had to feel what it was doing to me, and yet stayed in that position.

"So we aren't having fun? I don't think you have anything to complain about."

"A joke! A joke! I was joking."

She stopped tickling. "It just sucks I had to waste my fun years at God-awful Hooligan's."

I laughed again, I couldn't help myself.

"Alright, storytime is over."

She began to climb off me but I grabbed her leg and pulled her back on.

"Come on. I still haven't heard anything about this hyped up couch. I promise, no more teasing."

With a long stare she sussed out my bullshit but continued anyway. "OK, the couch." She put her hands on my belly and tilted forwards, bringing her face closer to mine.

"You'd better be the understanding guy you seem to be."

"I am. Seriously."

"Alright then." She absent mindedly began drawing circles on my chest. "So Steve had the keys. On his nights to close, which was almost every night, he had the keys to everything. He was probably thirty-three and hot in a cheesy kind of way—beard stubble, tough guy jaw, rode a big, loud motorcycle. He had a crazy Jersey accent, and he must've spent most of his off hours working out. But he was also aware of what a macho caricature he was and let us girls poke at him for fun."

"All the girls kinda had a thing for Steve, and Steve had the keys to the bar, and one of those keys was to a door at the back corner that let you into like a janitorial area. It was a short hall with a closet door that went into a closet with cleaning supplies and stuff, and then there was another door opposite the one from Hooligan's. So Hooligan's is basically in an upscale strip mall, and that other door led into another attached store. It was an Anthropologie. Do you know Anthropologie?"

I did. I also knew that her vagina was still seated directly over my cock, and my cock was still partially erect.

"I don't know why, but the same key worked on all three doors. And so if one of the waitresses and one of the bartenders were behaving a little too into each other or just bored, Steve would give out the key. And then they could go through the hall and into the Anthropologie, and this was after the retail store closed and after dark, so no one was there and no one could see in through the front window."

"And you went back there with Steve, I take it."

"Yup."

My cock jumped when she said that. I couldn't help it, the idea of a nineteen-year-old Camille sneaking off to fuck was a hot one. To my surprise she rocked her shapely hips in response, pressing harder down on my bulge. So apparently it was a hot one for her as well.

"I won't lie, Steve was sexy in a cheesy way. He just had this physical thing about him. Working on his shifts, under his watch, everything felt under control. He'd always side with me. We made each other laugh. Like we were laughing all the time. And I was definitely his favorite." Camille then batted her eyelashes and feigned innocence before saying, "And really, can you blame the guy."

"No, I can't." I reached up and stroked her cheeks, then down her neck and over her perky tits, where I paused to lightly pinch her nipples. She rocked her hips again, and that brought me to full staff.

I had mixed feelings. I was jealous and yet excited to hear more, but I didn't want her to know either of those things. Camille wasn't the type to put up with unwarranted jealousy—a perceived weakness for sure.

"Like the first time I saw a pair come out of the door to the hallway, and the girl ran straight to the bathroom, I was like, no way. And I told the guys that it wasn't ever going to happen so don't even think about it. That sort of backfired though, because then all the guys wanted to be the one who got the angsty girl to go. It was all hands on Camille after that. I was only two weeks into the job and just getting constantly felt up and told how beautiful I was and that kind of harassment."

Picturing an ultra-hot nineteen-year-old being groped through a pair of short-shorts was... well, yeah it was pretty disgusting. I'd throw a hashtag-me-too on those fuckers for sure. But then I don't know, Camille being the most outspoken, in control woman I've met, that made it likely nothing could've happened without her consent. And it would be a lie if I didn't say I found it pretty fucking hot too! Wrongly so, but the excitement rose out of a part of me I couldn't control. And that part of me seemed to be hardwired to my hard cock, which involuntarily pulsed against her vagina.

I grabbed her ass, the top part not seated on me, and then felt up to her narrow waist and then her taut, plump tits. I cupped them and gently sunk my fingers into the sumptuous flesh, at which point she took hold of my wrist and leaned forward to pin my arms to the bed.

Her face was very close to mine. "Yeah, now imagine that happening in a packed bar."

I just smiled.

She freed my arms and leaned back again. "Well the night that broke me was when this guy grabbed me by the waist while I was trying to ring out a bill. We called him Boo-Boo, but he was nothing like a Boo-boo. The other servers all thought he was some delicious, half-Cuban hottie. And he would do this thing where he'd dance up on you and expect you to pick it up. So he started flat out grinding my backside to some Rock song and pushed his crotch right into my ass while I was half drunk and trying to figure out a customer's bill."

She ground her crotch on me at the part where Boo-Boo had done the same.

"And then he whispered, 'Come on, lil Cammy let me help a white girl find her Cuban groove.' I don't know why that got to me, other than it was just... him. It was weird, when I was close to him like that, my body would go 'uh-oh', because he had these sexy eyes that made my stomach flutter, but he gave off wild energy, like if I got with him I'd wake up tied up in scarfs and have a pierced tongue." She displayed her un-pierced tongue and then slid it sexily over her teeth.

"The other thing with him-I found out there was a secret pool, betting on which bartender could get me back there first, and of course, Boo-boo was heavily favored to be the one. So like it felt as if the entire staff pushed for something to happen between us, and at that age, with a mob against me, it started to feel like I didn't have a choice in the matter."

"I finally just snapped and yelled, 'Get off me, dude,' and then asked Steve to elevator me over the bar."

"Elevator?"

"It was a thing he did. Guys would always block the gate to the bar, so Steve would lift me over the bar by the armpits. But I guess I'd been a little loud, because he jumped over after me and took me aside. He said all the right things. He'd make sure Boo-Boo didn't step out of line again. He acknowledged he'd tried to always keep the party going but might've let things get out of hand with the pool. But the one line he'd always used to defend the guys was how the place was a boiling pot and you had to release the steam somehow. He gave me a couple whisky shots even though he could've got in a world of trouble for serving a nineteen-year-old. I can still see him looking at me with his hands on my shoulders and asking in his East Coast accent if I was going to be OK. And I don't know if he was playing me or just being sweet, but I remember feeling better about everything. Good enough that one of us joked I should just pick one and do it so the others would let it go." Camille wrinkled up her nose. "If it was me who said it then yeah, that probably was his cue to make a move. But I can't really remember what was going through my head or who said what. I just know he suddenly kissed me right there at the far end of the bar. And then he pulled out the key and I stuck my tongue out at the Boo-boo and gave him a bye-bye wave as Steve led me through the side door."

She rocked her pussy over my erection, hardening it up like iron.

"I don't know if it was the whisky, or if I just needed to prove it was my decision and make Boo-boo feel like a loser, but Steve's muscles were speaking to me, and I remember wanting to go back there with him."

"You sound like a mean cheerleader."

"Strip off the cheerleader outfit and put on a baggy Kendrick Lamar t-shirt and Vans." She threw her hands behind her head and struck a sexy pose.

"Rap, huh?"

"Kendrick Lamar could buy this shawty a drink, that's all I'm saying," she laughed, pointing a finger at her thirsty self. She then breathed a confessional sigh, "Actually I was in the girls can do anything camp, the track and field girls, not sorority-lite. But there was a bitch hierarchy, even amongst us."

She began steadily but slowly grinding on my cock, as I reached around and massaged her juicy ass. She then stopped, and put a hand on my face.

"Is this too much? Am I talking about Steve too much?

I did not want her to stop. I don't know why I found stories of girls going wild so erotic, but I did. Even the girl I had a massive fucking crush on. So I half lied.

"I'm just imagining you—I can look past the guy." My obnoxious smile returned. "Like with porn, the dude's completely irrelevant."

"Oh, so my serious story is playing out in your head like a porno?"

She tickled my belly but also started rocking her hips again.

"Not porn. Er, whatever the real life equivalent of porn is."

"I think that's just real life," She spoke in a husky, sensual voice. And then back to normal, "But are you sure? I know men act all cool about past sexual experiences, but next month am I getting yelled at because of some repressed insecurities over it?"

I laughed, "Good to know another man's folly so I don't make it my own." I'd come up with that gem out of the blue. Or maybe I was unknowingly quoting Benjamin Franklin or someone. But it worked, and she got right back into it.

"Alright, I get it, you want the long dirty version."

I answered with a spank to her bottom.

"OK, so Anthropologie was kind of spooky in the dark with headless mannequins all around you, and the couch was in an open space in the center of it."

"How big was it?

"The couch? Pretty huge. You could lay flat on it and even spread out your arms some. And It faced the storefront window but wasn't right in front of it, so no one outside could see that far into the dark store."