The Amorous and the Embarrassed

I was working in McDonald's around when I'd just turned eighteen, and there was this co-worker, about twice my age, and he was always staring at me: Gabe Leary. He was a reasonably good-looking guy, tall, thin, blonde-haired and blue-eyed; and apart from his ogling of me, he seemed nice enough. His eyes were always pouring over my tits and ass, which were tightly hugged by my uniform.

One afternoon, when I'd arrived for work and was in the washroom changing into my uniform, I heard the door to the room next door open, the room where we girls put our regular clothes and purses. I assumed it was another girl coming in. I hadn't locked the washroom door, silly me. I was standing in only my purple lace bra and thong, my back to the door.

When I heard it open, I assumed it was a girl and didn't react for several seconds. Then I turned around.

It was him.

His eyes, popping out of his head, were going up and down and all over my body.

He had a broom and dustpan in his hands, his excuse for coming in to clean up.

I put one arm over my bra, though my cleavage was still showing (his eyes were aimed at it), and I put my other hand over my crotch.

My face went red. I grinned and giggled. I was shivering.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said with his mouth as wide open as his eyes, which continued to check me out without apology. "I thought no one was in here. I came to clean up in here." He looked at my face for a second, then his eyes went right back to my cleavage.

"Haven't you seen enough, Leary?" I said, trying to close the door, and so uncovering my underwear so his greedy eyes could study the pretty flower patterns on my bra and thong.

"I can never see enough of you," Leary grunted, pushing the door open. I couldn't come close to matching his strength with my petite body. "Your body...is more beautiful than I imagined it could be."

"I have a boyfriend. I'll tell the boss."

"OK, I'll stop. Sorry, Iris."

"Iris? My name's Betty!"

His eyes were still checking me out. "Sorry, Betty." He finally left.

I locked the door. Then I took a deep breath and sat on the toilet for several minutes, shaking. My heart was racing. I was still blushing.

Creep, I thought; how embarrassing! He got a thorough eyeful.

The funny thing, though, is that I didn't completely mind him, of all people, seeing me. My boyfriend, Phil, never worshipped my body like that. He just used me, and not even for sex, really, but for money, if I had it to give him.

Gabe Leary, on the other hand, always tried to be considerate to me (except for his ogling, of course), to get me to like him. Later that very day, he'd volunteer to get boxes of burger patties or bags of fries out of the freezer for me, or anything to make my work easier. He had a sweet side Phil lacked...he just had to learn to keep his eyes to himself.

A week later, I went to the toilet to pee during my ten-minute break. Again, I forgot to lock the door (What was wrong with me?). As my pee tinkled against the toilet bowl, I sat there absent-minded, my legs wide open and my pink panties around my ankles, as exposed as my skin was, over my grey uniform pants. I reached back to scratch between my shoulder blades, pushing my uniform top up and showing off all my bare skin from just below my bra, all the way down to just above my ankles. I was about 80% naked, my little patch of pubic hair, as brown as my shoulder-length hair, showing, a line of yellow still pouring from between my legs. I wonder if my clit was showing. Probably.

Just as I'd begun scratching, Gabe barged in and saw all of me.

I gasped as I looked up at him, still pawing that itch.

His agape eyes were aiming at my crotch, the pee still coming out.

Not even bothering to cover myself, I used my free hand to try to close the door, though his greater strength was making that impossible. I saw his eyes roaming all over my body, trying (and succeeding) to see as many of my secrets as he could. His eyes looked down at my panties: his agape mouth curled up into a grin.

"First, purple underwear, now pink," he said, leaning against the door while holding a mop in his hands. "You have great taste in colours, Iris-I mean, Betty. Speaking of colours, your pee is golden. Divine." He was audibly sniffing my pee, savouring the stink.

Again, I blushed and giggled, still failing to get the door closed. My uniform shirt was still rolled up to just below my bra, so he could still see all that skin. In my struggle to close the door, I never thought to close my legs.

"Gabe, this is private," I said in a shaky, struggling voice. "Go away!"

"Betty, I worship your body," he said, still sniffing and looking at my arched back, admiring my round hips, then looking at my pubic hair and pee, which finished with a few squirts. "Squirt, squirt. How cute. Even peeing, you're beautiful."

"Leary!" a voice shouted from the outer doorway, which was wide open. It was our manager, Mr. Gibb. "You're fired!"

Gabe turned away with a pout. "Sorry, Betty. I couldn't help myself." As he moved away from the bathroom door, I noticed Gibb smirking and checking me out before I closed it.

**************

Three months later, I quit McDonald's and started working as a dancer in The Casablanca, a strip joint. I didn't want to do it, since I'm so shy about my body; but Phil insisted that I had a good enough body that I could make tons of money in lap dances, and with a little luck, he could quit his hated job. I always give in too easily.

Two weeks into the job, and I was finally getting over my embarrassment at being seen naked by strange men. To make myself look better, Phil had me get a bikini wax, a tan in a tanning salon, and even an anal bleaching.

One night, when I was roaming about the stage for my third song, I was naked from head to toe: the only thing I had on was bright, heavy makeup, including red lipstick. I was facing the mirror on the wall, with my ass to the audience of whistling men, when I saw a man in the reflection coming up to sit at the tip rail, right in the centre. I didn't see his face yet, and I turned around to walk toward him.

It was Gabe Leary.

His eyes and mouth were wide open, exploring my breasts, belly, landing strip pubic hair, legs, and bare feet. I saw those eyes of his hungrily go up and down my body several times.

All I could do was giggle and blush. Trembling, I wanted so badly to put my hands in front of my breasts and crotch, but I couldn't: my job was to show off everything. Allow that ogling pervert to know what all my secret places looked like? It was all so unbearable, but I had to let him see.

He mouthed the words, "Fucking beautiful!"

I rolled my eyes in disgust with myself, but I got on the floor on my back and spread my legs for him. I couldn't believe I was actually choosing to show him my pussy! I squinted my eyes shut, for I couldn't bear to see his reaction to the sight of my clit, labia, and vagina.

After a few seconds, I dared to open my eyes. His chin was resting on the stage, his wide-open eyes studying every millimetre of my cunt. His jaw had dropped open, his lips curled up into a grin, his tongue hanging out. I felt so mortified, I thought I'd go mad.

I couldn't look at his face anymore, so I rolled over and started crawling away from him, with my legs spread out and my ass pushed out in his direction. The mirror reflection wouldn't spare me from having to see his reaction at what I was revealing, though. I'm not sure, but his lips seemed to be mouthing these words: "What a beautiful asshole she has!"

My head slumped down, my chin hitting my chest. My face must have gone purple.

My third song was over, but he wasn't finished with me. Before I even had a chance to put anything on, he was standing right behind me.

"Hi, Betty!" he said, startling me. "You look so beautiful naked."

I turned around, blushing, and faced him with utter reluctance.

"Hi, Gabe," I said with a shaky voice, unable to look in his eyes.

"Can I have some table dances, please?" he asked.

"Oh,...OK," I said, still blushing. I picked up my purse and clothes. "I guess there's no point in putting my bra and thong back on."

"Oh, stay nude, please," he said as we went over to a table. "Let everyone see how beautiful your body is." His eyes never stopped going up and down my body.

"Umm...yeah," I said with a sneer as we sat down, me across from him. He was staring at my tits. "Gabe, I'm up here."

"Oh, sorry, Betty." His eyes shot up to look into mine, finally. "I can't help it. I should be more of a gentleman to you, but it's so hard sometimes."

"I thought IT was always hard." I smirked at him.

"Around you, it is." We laughed. "Sorry." He looked away from me for a moment, with a shame-faced frown. He looked back at me, in my eyes, thankfully, for a change. "Look, I'm sorry about that time when I saw you on the toilet."

"You mean, when you kept the door open as I tried to shut it, and stared down between my legs as I was peeing?" I felt my eyes welling up, then I stopped myself from crying, for fear of making my mascara run.

I saw genuine guilt in his eyes. It was amazing. Phil never showed such feelings, for all the bad he'd done to me.

"Look, I'll make it up to you, Betty. I'm gonna pay for a whole lot of table dances and lap dances, if you do them."

"You don't have to, Gabe. It's OK."

"No, really. You're gonna make a lot of money. Around when I was working in McDonald's with you, I'd also started an online business, which really took off quickly. I was planning on quitting McDonald's, but I liked seeing you there, and that time I saw you in that sexy purple underwear..."

I blushed. I'd almost forgotten about that.

"...and then when I saw you half-naked and peeing..." He was almost swooning.

I blushed again.

"...with your then-natural pubic hair, and your pink panties down below..."

I blushed again. Did he have to describe everything so graphically?

"...I didn't worry about being fired, since I was already making tons of money from my online business, so I wanted to get as good a look as I could. Your vulnerable nakedness was so beautiful to see. I'm sorry, though. I was only thinking of my own pleasure, not your needs. But I'll make it up to you, Betty. I'm loaded with cash, and you're gonna get loads of that money. I promise."

My mind started turning. Maybe him seeing me naked wasn't such a bad thing after all. My boyfriend would be pleased with all that extra cash. I just hoped I could keep as much of it for myself as I could.

"OK, but no sex," I said. "I don't do prostitution."

"Oh, I know, Betty. Don't worry about that. I'll respect your wishes."

I have my doubts about that, I thought.

The next song, George Michael's 'Too Funky', began. I stood up. He grinned and looked at my body in adoration. I swayed my hips as I slowly turned around. I looked back at him as his eyes went down to ogle my ass. I was torn between wanting to watch him in case he did something creepy, and wanting to avoid seeing the creepy look on his face. I decided that watching him was safer, as unpleasant as it was.

With my ass to him, it being level with his face, I took a deep breath, full of dread for what I was about to do. I spread my legs out wide, then bent over. Expected as his loud reaction was going to be, it still shook me.

"Oh, my God!" he shouted, his tongue hanging out as he checked out what I had between the legs. "Your pussy and asshole are so beautiful!"

I blushed and giggled in total helplessness as I saw, upside-down from between my legs, his grinning examination of my vulva and anus. At least the anal bleaching wasn't for nothing.

As I stayed bent over, I could hear his ongoing commentary: "Your labia are like the strawberry-flavour filling of a pastry. Your brown butt-hole looks like a chocolate-flavoured Life Saver."

Still blushing, I told myself not to say anything about his uncouth remarks. I'm getting lots of money from him, I reminded myself; Don't say anything he won't want to hear. Make him happy. Aim to please. Let him say any rude things he wants to say.

I continued dancing naked for his lustful eyes and showing off my pussy and asshole for him, still not being spared any lewd remarks, then the song was over. I sat down.

"Can we go in a VIP Room, please?" he asked. "I've just GOT to know what your body feels like, now that I've seen it all."

"Umm, OK," I said, with a huge amount of exhaustion and dread.

I, not seeing any point in covering up a body he'd seen every inch of, went naked with him into a VIP Room, reminding myself: he's going to pay for lots and lots of lap dances.

We sat next to each other on the couch. I set my bikini, heels, and purse on the floor beside the coffee table. He was staring at my landing strip bikini wax.

"Which do you like better?" I asked. "My natural pubic hair, or like this?"

"Well, this looks much prettier and neater," he said; then, as if wanting to avoid hurting my feelings, "but I'll always have that warm memory of your natural bush when I saw you half-naked on the toilet peeing in McDonald's. I recall every detail."

I blushed and rolled my eyes again. If he was trying to avoid making me feel bad, he was failing.

The next song began: 'Feel It (Feel My Body)', an old song by the Canadian rock band, The Headpins. How appropriate. I sat on his lap and began rubbing my ass against his cock. He was hard as a rock, even pointing up in his pants. I could already tell he was much more endowed than Phil...not that that was at all...hard...to do.

His hands were on my hips, caressing my sides. It felt...good.

"How much of you...am I allowed...to touch?" he grunted.

"Everywhere...except between the legs," I sighed, surprised to find myself enjoying the feeling of the tip of his cock rubbing against my moistening vulva. His hands cupped my breasts, giving them gentle squeezes. His fingers stroked my nipples, getting them pointy.

"I can't believe...I'm actually...feeling your tits," he sighed.

And I can't believe I'm LETTING you touch them, I thought; Even more, I can't believe I'm getting pleasure from your touch, Gabe. Your hands are so much more sensitive than Phil's. He only grabs me for his own pleasure. Gabe seems to think about mine. If only his mouth could be as considerate.

"This is...a dream come true," Gabe grunted. "My hands...all over you. If only you'd let me touch your cooch."

See what I mean? I thought, getting up.

He fondled my buns, opening them wide. I looked back at him: he leaned forward; he was checking out my asshole...and sniffing it!

"Don't I smell bad down there?" I asked, wincing and sneering.

"Yeah," he said, still sniffing. "It smells like poo, but I like it."

"You like the smell of shit?"

"Not normally, but I like the smell of YOUR poo."

"Why?"

"Because smelling you down here brings me closer to you. Knowing your secrets, your vulnerabilities, means I know you better."

"That's not the way I like to be known better." Suddenly, I farted. "Oh, my God! I'm sorry."

"Oh, I loved that!" he shouted, eagerly sniffing. "The breeze of your fart caressed my nose! I love you more and more!" He kept sniffing me as if it were perfume.

"Oh, my God," I whispered, blushing and rolling my eyes again. "Here's another." I gave a fart audible enough to be heard above the music.

"Thank you," he sighed, sniffing away. "That was like music."

I turned around and sat on his lap, facing him. His hard-on was as pointy as ever. He put his hands on my ass, opening my butt-cheeks. His fingers crawled into the crack like spiders' legs. Then he started fingering my asshole. As I felt the tip of his finger stroking my ring and coaxing it open, I tried my best not to let my face show my distaste with his perviness. Instead, I tried to close my butt-cheeks tightly around his fingers to give him the hint that I didn't want them in such a dirty part of my body. His fingers stayed in there, though. At least he didn't stick a finger inside my rectum and get it painted in my shit.

Several more songs went by, with Gabe asking for lap dance after lap dance. He ended up spending about $300 on me, then he ran out of money. I thought my ordeal was finally over, and the pleasant part-getting his money-had arrived.

I grinned as I thumbed through the ten and twenty dollar bills he gave me. Maybe being a stripper wasn't so bad after all.

"OK, Betty," he said. "I'm gonna go to an ATM and get a few thousand dollars. I'll be right back for more lap dances."

"Aren't you worried about going broke?" I asked.

"Not at all," he said, getting up. "I'm loaded with cash, remember. And it's all gonna be yours, 'cause I can never have enough of your body. I'll be back in about ten minutes. Bye." He rushed out.

I didn't know whether to be thrilled at getting a ton of money, or annoyed at having to be naked for, and groped by, an obsessive, lecherous pervert who was twice my age. I put my clothes back on.

Thirty minutes later, I was onstage again. Gabe hadn't returned, so I was entertaining the hope that he'd either changed his mind about returning, or something had come up and he couldn't come back. On the other hand, getting more of his money would have been nice.

During my third song, I was fully naked again. After roaming from one side of the stage to another on my tip-toes, I got on the floor on my back and spread my legs. Just as I'd begun displaying my pussy, Gabe sat at pervert's row, staring at my vulva with his usual lustful eyes. Trembling, I grinned and blushed.

Then I remembered all that money he wanted to give me.

I rolled over and was on all fours. My legs still spread, I pointed my ass at his face. I spread my left buttock out wider so he could see my asshole better, all the time looking back at him. His wide-open eyes were aiming straight at my asshole; his jaw dropped; he was thumping his hand on the table. I held in my embarrassment as best I could.

Put up with it, I thought; get his money.

When the song was over, we went into a VIP Room. We sat next to each other on the sofa. I never bothered putting anything on; I just dumped my bikini, heels, and purse on the sofa opposite him.

"Betty?" he said. "I know you said I'm not allowed to touch your pussy, but what if I paid you more? I don't mind paying a lot per song if I can know what it's like in there. How about I give you $30 per lap dance?"

I did my trademark eye-roll and blushing again. "Oh,...OK," I moaned.

Have I mentioned that I give in way too easily?

The next song began, and I sat on his lap, with my back to him. As I rubbed my butt on his hard-on, I felt his left hand cup my left breast, and his right hand go between my legs. I rolled my eyes and let out a loud sigh of distaste when I felt those fingers feeling their way around my vulva and searching for my clit.

Then I remembered how good his hands had felt before.

My sighs of annoyance quickly changed into sighs of pleasure as I felt that sensitive left hand caress my breast and give light pinches to the nipple; and when his right fingers found my clitoris, and started tickling it...ooh!

Was he paying extra so I could get him off, or so he could get ME off?

I closed my eyes, moaned, and rested the back of my head against the left side of his neck. As I rubbed my ass against his hard-on, I felt the tip massaging my moistening vaginal opening. Why wouldn't Phil make me feel this good?

His index finger was getting my clit as hard as his cock. Another of his right fingers slipped inside my wet vagina, and was searching for my G-spot. I'm assuming it was his long finger, for it soon reached deep enough inside to find my G-spot, and was making it tingle in a way that make me squeal by his ear.

"You like that, eh?" he sighed.