Natalie Shows Off

It wasn't the classiest place. The concierge at the hotel had warned us that there weren't any nice places to get a drink in walking distance, but this place was safe, if not clean. As it turned out, however, it was a place of opportunity. It was nearly deserted except by a few locals who must have used it as their watering hole.

Every head turned toward us as we entered, and they did not turn away. Natalie was wearing a deep cut black top and a short skirt. It was an outfit that showed off her deep cleavage. Even more spectacular were those swinging breasts that always managed to spill out before she could corral them back beneath the stretchy fabric. Sometimes the arc of her aureole would sit proudly in plain view.

Tonight, we had another challenge.

"Why not do it now?" I asked. "Do you have the nerve?"

Of course she had the nerve, and Natalie just gave me her impish glance and slid out of the upholstered booth we had been inhabiting. She was only thirty feet to the restroom, but after a glass of wine, her legs were a bit wobbly beneath her. I watched her push through the swinging door. When she recounted events later, she told me that there was a woman inside who was leaning against the wall talking low on a cell phone as she walked down the row of toilet stalls, and entered the last enclosure.

After latching the door behind her, she pulled up the hem of her skirt, hooked her thumbs over the top edge of the elastic band, and slid off her skimpy panties. It was the dare that I had put before her. She liked the idea, but I suspect the wine had given her some added courage. W ith a deep breath she called on her reserves of will, and, before her mind could offer a counter-argument, she was stepping out of her silk thong. She squeezed them into a small wad within her left hand. She pushed open the stall and stepped back into the main chamber of the room. The stranger was still absorbed in her phone conversation. She glanced at Natalie who felt a draft of cool room air hitting the growing wetness on her thighs. She felt naked. Before she could change her mind, she thrust her hand toward the wastebasket, and her panties disappeared in the jumble of discarded paper towels.

The stale air of the bar greeted her nostrils, but more startling was the continuing draft between her legs. For a moment (she confessed later), she wasn't sure that she wanted to go through with this. She was already very aroused, and it would have been an easy thing to turn around, go back to the stall, and finger herself to orgasm on the fantasy of what had almost happened. Fortunately for me, she controlled her flight response. She walked past the booth where I was waiting. Instead of sliding in next to me, she walked farther and mounted the stool at the front of the bar. The bartender was a platinum-blonde, middle-aged woman wearing a open-collared man's shirt. She looked toward Natalie, not sure, but suspecting that something was going on.

"A glass of Riesling, please," she said. "Put it on his tab," she added nodding in my direction. Her soft words sent the woman to rack of shiny long-stemmed glasses. Nat rotated the bar stool to face me. She slid forward until her shapely legs touched the floor. As she slid, however, she pulled her black skirt up a few inches. I could see he naked pussy, her lips slightly parting in the uneven light, she froze in a pose that displayed her now glistening labia. My eyes were fixed on her naked pussy. The other few patrons, feeling the mounting tension, also turned in time to see the ripe flower of her labia. She pulled the fabric back down, jumped back on the stool and swiveled back to the bar.

I joined her at the bar positioning myself between her and the adjacent empty chair. My right hand rested briefly on her knee, and then grazed her tingling flesh as I moved it up between her thighs. She gasped when my finger found her clit and then went deeper to penetrate her. I left a fifty on the bar, and before she knew what happened, we were walking toward the exit.

Outside, under the streetlight, I fingered her wet pussy, and our hands met when her own fingers were added in the exploration of her pinkness. We went straight to the car. Our passion was furious and the orgasm seemed to roll on forever. She now knew the truth, she liked to be seen. This would happen again.