Tease to Please Ch. 09

When the limo began to move down the block, Elise could not help but grimace at the way so many male hands rushed to steady her. It hardly helped however. At the first corner she rolled face-down over the knees of both Americans. They laughed and clutched her naked limbs to keep her from tumbling onto the floor.

The car travelled across the suburban streets toward the nearest freeway on-ramp. Elise struggled to maintain her balance and dignity. Soon Alex leaned across her and retrieved a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator under the bar. This elicited a cheer of enthusiasm from all the men. Plastic cups were distributed and everyone received a sloppy pour.

By the time the limo roared onto the freeway, a party-like atmosphere was building in the rear compartment. The stereo was on, blasting a local hip-hop station. The first bottle of champagne was empty and a second one just had been opened.

Doctor Yamamoto sipped his champagne rather more slowly than the others and kept watch over the scene with a cool eye.

Alex refilled Elise's second cup nearly to the brim and she felt compelled to drink it down quickly to avoid spilling. The alcohol went straight to her head, making it difficult to remain impassive about the increasingly daring fingers she felt all over her skin.

Elise was very aware that in her prone position her flappy skirt offered almost no concealment. She was certain the men in the back half of the limo were getting an intermittent view of her gauzy panties. She forced herself to get comfortable with this idea because the more worrying thing was that so many hands were roving all across her legs and feet that it became difficult to keep track of who they all belonged to. Alex in particular seemed to have decided that the best way to hold onto her was to put his hand between her thighs, just below her crotch. Kazutoshi and Hiro took charge of her feet, tickling them through her stockings and roaming their fingers to her ankles and knees. Jacob's arms were wrapped around her upper torso, managing to balance his champagne cup in front of her while intermittently squeezing her left breast. Elise began to feel dizzy from the alcohol and the surfeit of attention.

It was not long before the conversation in the limousine became a freewheeling and very intimate discussion of Elise's physical attributes. Some of it was in Japanese but Elise understood the gist. All the men were obsessed with her legs and ass. They began favorably critiquing her physique, illustrating certain aspects by tracing their fingers up and down her legs and lower back. They asked Elise her own opinion, and when she declined to play along they all jeered and taunted her. Alex set aside his champagne cup and intentionally rolled Elise back onto her tummy. He took hold of her slender hips and suddenly hoisted them high into the air.

"This is your favorite, isn't it?" he asked her, much to the delight of everyone in the limo. "That's why you're always wearing these tiny skirts."

"No!" Elise squealed, trying to twist herself from his grip so she could lower her bottom.

All the men cheered in the affirmative, in both English and Japanese. Someone lifted the back of her skirt. Elise felt multiple gropes and slaps across her thighs and bottom.

"Look at that ass!" Alex said loudly.

Elise squirmed and begged to be allowed to roll back over. So many hands touching her at once felt crazy. It was ticklish, humiliating and, worst of all, erotic.

Seemingly out of the blue, one of the men mentioned yoga. Elise was too flustered to even notice.

"Yeah, show us some of your yoga moves," Alex said, abruptly letting go of her hips.

Elise tumbled from his lap onto the floor and came to rest sitting among the men's clustered feet. She grabbed the edge of the bar for support as the men shuffled their shoes around to make room for her.

"Downward dog!" said Alex.

One of the young Japanese men seconded the idea.

"Oh my God, no way!" Elise answered. Her mind was a blurry cocktail of humiliation, panic and alcohol. Ten eyeballs were staring at her from three directions.

"How 'bout the splits?"

"No. Don't be stupid."

"You can't?" Jacob asked.

"Well, sure, but not here. Not like this." Elise answered, gesturing at her surroundings.

"Come on, show us!" Alex urged.

"Yeah, we'll make sure you don't fall," said Jacob.

"No way. I mean, come on, guys! There isn't even room in here."

"Sure there is," Alex said, "just put one foot in Jacob's lap and the other down there by Doctor Yamamoto."

"That's not safe!"

"Nonsense. We'll hold onto you. Right everyone?"

An affirmative cheer resounded loudly through the limo. Even Doctor Yamamoto's impassive face seemed amused by the idea. The heavy bass line of a rap song began to permeate the cabin.

Elise gave in. It was just the splits after all; certainly no worse than lying across their laps in such an absurd miniskirt. She got into a low squat in the middle of the floor with her back against the entertainment console and extended her right leg sideways to the rear-facing seat.

Jacob's eyes became transfixed as his hands accepted her delicate foot.

Elise placed her own hands flat on the floor in front of herself for support and then began to hop her left leg in little steps toward the back of the limo where Doctor Yamamoto sat. As she did so she felt hands scoop under her from all sides; lifting her fishnet-clad legs and feet. She became nearly weightless atop a bridge of hands as her second leg went parallel to the floor. A happy cheer went up in the limo as she achieved full extension.

Elise could not help smiling at the intensity of the men's appreciation. All around her, their faces and eyes reflected awe at her flexibility. She held a perfect 180 degree leg-split spanning the length of the compartment and grinned proudly back at them. Drinks were quaffed and cups discarded so that more hands could support her.

The car sped along the concrete freeway, bouncing over expansion gaps and the occasional staccato burst of Botts' dots.

Someone turned the music louder.

Elise realized her coworkers were inebriated. They were lifting her legs higher and higher in time to the song's beat. Each was being gentle, but in their collective excitement they were lifting her well above the carpeted floor. Unable to get out of the splits or stay upright, her weight tipped forward onto her hands. She called out in protest as her legs and ass were raised inexorably behind her. No one listened.

Very soon Elise was completely inverted, forced into an involuntary headstand with her stiletto-clad feet captured at opposite ends of the limo.

Her silk skirt fell to her ribcage, completely inside-out, leaving her gauzy underwear on full display. The cabin exploded with celebratory exclamations in both languages.

Her face was to the bar, inverted. Her torso's weight balanced on a tripod formed by her hands and the top of her head. The men held her perfectly upside down with her legs 180 degrees apart. Her privates, she knew, had just become their utmost fixation. A cacophony of approval drowned out her desperate pleas to be released.

Blood rushed to her head, making her champagne buzz positively delirious. She began to pant for air, feeling claustrophobic in the narrow foot-well amongst all the shoes and trousers. She complained loudly again and again, but could not make herself heard. She knew her tissue-thin panties would hardly conceal her waxed crotch from the men's eyes. She just hoped they would not notice the Model O.

"You should twerk for us!" Alex yelled out.

A chorus of male voices affirmed his suggestion.

"What?! No way!" Elise whined. She could barely hear herself amid the music and the thrum of the road passing under the limousine.

She tried to flip herself back over, but made no progress. Someone grabbed her pelvis and begin to shake her ass in time to the music. All the while firm hands kept her ankles as far apart from one another as possible. Her leg tendons were taut beneath the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She felt her hip joints nearly over-extend.

The bump-bump of earthquake expansion gaps passing under the limousine sent tremors through her skull.

An avalanche of appreciative comments spilled from the mouths of men as they leaned in close to examine Elise's upended body. In her position she could no longer see their faces. She was lost in a forest of shoes and trouser legs. Music and male voices comingled into a frenetic swirl of sound that rose in intensity as several fingers ventured above her garters.

"Oh my god!" Elise cried out as she felt a man's finger tickle her innermost thigh, right beside her panties. Then someone snugged the back of her underwear deep between her butt cheeks.

The erotic display of a girl's ass waving around in the middle of the limousine was more than several of the men could handle. They began to lose their cool, giggling and swearing as they leaned in and squeezed whatever parts of Elise's body happened to be within reach.

Elise closed her eyes and clenched her teeth amid the onslaught of sensations. The music's pounding beat, the thrum of the freeway against her skull and the swarm of fingers caressing every millimeter of her legs and ass combined into a single mad rush of panic and endorphins.

"Oh my God, please let me down!" she yelled. Her face turned and pressed sideways against the carpet, still surrounded by men's shoes. Someone's fingers were pinching the big tendons that stood out in high relief to either side of her crotch. Whoever was holding her hips was keeping very good time with the music. Fingers kneaded the soft spots behind her knees.

Elise opened her mouth in shock. Someone smacked her ass to the beat. A high-pitched moan escaped her throat.

The Model O began to chime.

Elise convulsed at its first resonant "Ting...!" It was devilish. Her exposure, the roving fingers and the champagne all combined to make her anticipation of the device's next eleven strikes too much to bear. She whimpered into the carpet as the second 'Ting...!' rang around her clit.

Elise realized her arousal was about to become obvious but there was nothing she could do about it. She was trapped, unable to spare even one hand to cover herself. When the third "Ting...!' struck, her hips reflexively pumped in mid-air.

"Mmmm! MMMuhh!!" she moaned in a mixture of pleasure and humiliation as the Model O measured out its steady chiming on her clit. Her vagina began to soak itself with lubricant. Again her hips pumped in midair.

"She's twerking!" Alex's voice exclaimed. The others cheered.

Someone lifted her hips higher, relieving most of the weight from her neck. Whoever it was began to exaggerate the gyrations of her lower body.

Japanese and American obscenities filled the back of the limo as Elise involuntarily twerked. Everyone but Alex believed she was actually performing for them out of pure enjoyment. The hip-hop music blasted from all sides.

By the time the Model O chimed for the twelfth time, the song had changed and Elise's face was a mess of tears and tangled hair.

She heard Jacob's voice rise above the din.

"Okay, okay, gentlemen!" he bellowed, "I think that's enough!"

Elise felt her right ankle being released and a few other hands retreated from her legs. She twisted herself onto one shoulder as the grip around her hips relaxed, allowing her to sink closer to the floor.

She opened her eyes and looked straight up. Alex was staring down at her from between her legs. His chin was directly above her underwear.

"Come on dude," Jacob said to him, "don't get carried away."

Alex's face disappeared and his hands withdrew. Elise winced as her full weight settled awkwardly across her back. Finally her other ankle was released, the one apparently held by Hiro, and she collapsed onto her side amidst the sea of men's shoes.

Jacob leaned forward from his rear-facing seat and helped Elise clamber up onto his lap. She folded her petite shape within his gentle embrace.

All eyes were on her. She was teetering on an unsteady fulcrum between breakdown and climax. Her face was pink, her hair disarrayed and her skin coated in a fine sheen of perspiration.

"Are you okay?" Jacob whispered in her ear.

A tremble ran through her. She was grateful the experience was over, yet knew her arousal had probably been obvious to everyone. She wanted them to stop looking at her. She turned away from their eyes and buried her face into Jacob's shoulder, whispering: "I'm fine."

The radio played on, but the remaining few minutes of the limo ride passed without conversation. When they arrived in downtown San Francisco, the Japanese men and Alex started talking again. Elise, still balled-up in Jacob's lap, lifted her gaze to the window and watched the tall buildings and busy streets pass by.

They arrived at a crowded shopping district on Market Street. The limousine pulled over and stopped. As planned, everyone began to disembark except Elise and Doctor Yamamoto.

Jacob squeezed Elise's arm gently as he waited his turn to climb out. "Sorry about all that," he said sheepishly, "I thought you were having fun at first and, umm... I was kinda distracted by your feet. They're fucking perfect."

Elise gave him a wary smile. She was too humiliated to speak.

A few moments later the doors slammed shut and the limousine began moving again. Elise felt conflicted about being alone with Doctor Yamamoto, but given their language barrier there was really nothing to say.

Their long car crawled through clogged intersections, one after another. Elise leaned her head against the seat and tried to relax. Doctor Yamamoto appeared to be in a safe mood, at least. He had turned off the music and was gazing intently at his phone, scrolling through emails with his thumb.

Elise stared out the window. People-watching from behind the anonymity of tinted windows was a novel treat for her. She folded her arms in front of her chest and let out a long sigh as her heart rate and stress level faded.

A few minutes later Doctor Yamamoto pressed a button which lowered the privacy glass between the driver and passenger compartments. In surprisingly cheerful Japanese, he began to converse with the driver.

'Ah,' Elise realized, 'that's why Doctor Yamamoto arranged the limo... he must use this guy all the time.'

Indeed, Doctor Yamamoto seemed to be on friendly terms with the chauffeur. When they finally reached their destination, they parked in an underground garage and the driver accompanied them up through a warren of hallways and elevators to a sprawling multi-level shopping area spanning the base of several adjacent skyscrapers. It became clear to Elise that he also served as Doctor Yamamoto's translator on excursions like this.

Once above ground, Elise was embarrassed to be seen by so many people. Her outfit was scandalously out of place among the business suits and long overcoats of downtown San Francisco. Everyone was staring; men and women alike.

Fortunately it was only a short walk and one escalator ride before they arrived at a small custom-tailoring shop. An elegantly dressed older woman welcomed them inside the glass doorway. She greeted each of them cheerfully and waved her hand toward the back of the store. There, two bespectacled and balding tailors stooped over an enormous leather-topped worktable. The table and the men appeared, not coincidentally Elise guessed, antique.

The two tailors welcomed Doctor Yamamoto like a favorite customer. It was clear he had spent a sizable amount of money at this establishment over the years.

As they spoke with Doctor Yamamoto via the driver, each man glanced quizzically in Elise's direction. She knew her outfit was ridiculous in this environment. It would have been ridiculous in any environment, really, other than a strip club or a "Pimps & Ho's" theme party.

Doctor Yamamoto gestured once or twice in her direction. Once his words had been translated, the shorter of the two tailors approached Elise with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand.

"Welcome to Cuthbert's, Miss..." he said while pumping her hand up and down in his soft, dry palm.

"Thanks. I'm Elise."

"Ah, Miss Elise. Wonderful. My name is Giuseppe Spazzafragiotti, but you may call me Beppo. Capisce?"

"Okay. Hi."

"We will be outfitting you with a new suit today. Is that right?"

"Um, yes. That's right. It's for a business meeting this Thursday."

"Perfecto. Very well, Miss Elise, I'm sure we can put something lovely together for you. Why don't you come along to the back and we'll start with your measurements, yes?"

Elise felt like she was talking to a character from a black and white movie. There was no way the old man was less than eighty. He shuffled along in his brown leather loafers, motioning proudly at all the racks of suits and bolts of fabric lining the walls. Once they reached the rear of the shop, he gestured for Elise to step up onto a low platform flanked by three mirrors. He pulled a ribbon-like measuring tape from the front pocket of his coat and began to take her measurements.

Elise marveled at his professionalism. Never once did she feel discomfited by his touch as he worked the soft tape through an efficient sequence of movements. He was the polar opposite of those damn lab-geeks, she realized. And his mind was still sharp. He took every measure he needed in succession and only then penciled them all out, from memory, on a long rectangular piece of cardstock. Throughout this process he appeared totally nonplussed by her scandalous attire, even when taking her bust measurements around her diaphanous mesh top, and her waist measurement around her little belly chain, and her inseam right up to the top of her thigh. Elise felt comfortable the entire time.

The other tailor and Doctor Yamamoto passed through the back room briefly. It seemed to Elise that they were test-fitting bespoke dress shirts, which the Japanese doctor must have ordered previously. She knew he was not in need of a new suit, anyway, since she had seen him wearing one every day beneath his white lab coat.

Giuseppe disappeared for a minute and then returned to Elise wheeling a rack full of women's skirt-suits. He asked her to begin by trying on the suit jackets. Most were charcoal grey and had a slim, tapered cut ending just above her hips. One after another, Giuseppe slipped each jacket onto her while tut-tutting about the fit. Finally he found a size and cut that he deemed workable. He set it aside and retrieved the matching skirt from its hanger.

Elise untied one side of her silk miniskirt. She hesitated briefly, glancing around the room, and then peeled it off her hips in one smooth pull. Giuseppe pinched the tiny pink garment between his thumb and forefinger, carried it a few steps away and gingerly draped it over the back of chair. Now down to her underwear, stockings and mesh top, Elise could not resist momentarily checking herself out in the three mirrors. She thought she looked pretty damn good. In a slutty way, but still.

Giuseppe held the new suit skirt open for her to step into. She rested a hand on his stooped shoulder and threaded her tall shoes through the opening. Once the garment was up around her waist and zipped, they both agreed it was too loose and too long.

"A young woman," Giuseppe informed her, "nowadays can wear the skirt shorter and still be professional. So, just tell me where you would like the hem."

With Giuseppe's help, Elise folded the bottom of the skirt under itself until it was up at mid-thigh. That looked flattering, Elise thought, while still being sensible.

Doctor Yamamoto glided through the room again. His jacket was off and a new shirt hung from his wide shoulders, open to the waist. He paused for a moment, regarding Elise. His face betrayed no emotion, but he made a gentle lifting motion with one hand.