The Bar

After another sip via the straw, I think how never in my life have I felt like this. I feel stunned and powerless, as well as stupid and scared. That one wrong move means the end of my life. That I made the biggest mistake ever. Where the cold fear that normally goes away is sticking around to be made permanent. Where it feels like everyone has the right to laugh at me.

Yet, as the alcohol sets in, there's another part of me that recognizes that I'm enjoying this. As crazy as that is, I think I'm enjoying this on some primal level. Enjoying it, a lot in fact. Not just being exposed either, but all of it. Being threatened by an older woman, the men able to see me, even the way I'm tucked in this dark corner like a secret surprise. It's as if it's the recipe for some secret evil kink that I didn't know existed.

I practically down my new drink as I admit that my body is very much aroused. My nipples feel harder than they have ever felt, to which I feel like touching them. Making me wonder if I am trying to drink the feelings away, or make them stronger.

As weird as it is, it's the feeling of my tits resting on the bar that does it for me. I'm not used to letting them rest on anything, and it's really humiliating. It makes me feel like I'm presenting them on a silver platter for the bartender. It's such a weird feeling that I'm not sure how much more I can handle.

"M-May I go now?" I ask as the bartender returns with a new drink for me. I'm not sure why I ask this, as it is probably the dumbest thing I could ask. Or is that why I asked it? To make her get upset so she would do more to me? To make her mad to see what more she might do.

The bartender gets a look on her face that I probably would get if someone asked me if I would like to get gangbanged by little people. It's such a look of disgust and anger that I turn my head to show how ashamed I am at having asked it.

"Get up. Go on, stand up," the bartender says now. She has a demanding tone, but it isn't loud nor is it overly angry. It's more like a mother barking an order at her kid.

Her ordering makes my arousal go into hyperdrive, again making me wonder if I asked that stupid question to make her do more to me. For I bet if I stayed quiet and on my chair, she wouldn't do anything more. She would just let me sit in shamed silence like an attraction.

As I slide off the barstool and onto my feet, I wonder what about her doing this to me is so arousing. It must be multiple reasons, from her older age, to her being female, to her looking like she hates me. All of it combines to make my womanhood tingle hard. Tingle so hard in fact that if I wasn't in this public place, I may actually find a toy and, you know, find relief.

"Come on, you know what to do. Pull them down," the bartender orders in the same mother-ordering tone while motioning at my lower half with her hand. It's a demanding tone, but not loud enough pull attention from the guys. Or if they are paying attention, they are doing it very quietly as to not get her attention, because none are looking at the moment, even with my tits jiggling from getting off the chair.

This time I don't say anything as my fingers unbutton my jeans. With a scared yet pouting face, I undo the button completely, then unzip my zipper. After doing this, I feel how loose my jeans are, but I don't pull them down yet. Instead, I stand like this for a moment, savoring the strange feelings.

Then I pull my jeans down. I pull them all the way to my ankles, exposing my white and yellow Wonder Woman panties that are styled to look like men's briefs. They come out, looking like they are glowing, bringing attention to my bare, shaved legs as my jeans pool around my feet.

Swaying a couple of times, I stand there, feeling naked. My hands go behind my back as she wanted, where I enjoy the feeling of doing this. In a weird way, I want her to remind me to keep them behind me. Where I don't get to use my hands at all any longer.

I stand there, feeling on display. It's only when I look down that I notice that I'm thrusting my tits out. My back is arched somewhat, making it that I'm pushing my breasts out towards the bartender.

"Good gravy. Are you really this stupid, bitch?" the bartender asks seriously. Her voice rises and she puts her hands on her hips to show her anger.

"W-W-What? I...I did what you said," I say softly, showing I don't understand why she's mad. That I'm trying to be a good girl and follow what she says.

"Get your fucking panties down, you dumb cunt," the bartender orders, shaking her head to show how tired she is of me.

In all my life, I've never been called a cunt before. I know it is a popular curse by the British, but that's not how she is using it. She seems to mean it as if calling me a coward or weakling. It's a very harsh and mean curse, especially from a woman. A curse that hits very hard. It hits because that's exactly how I feel, like a dumb stupid little cunt.

The bartender yelling at me to do this makes the strange tingle between my legs even stronger. Never in my life have I felt my womanhood tingle like this. It feels almost like a forbidden tingle, an arousal that shouldn't exist.

That weird feeling of being disconnected from my body happens again as my hands move to the waistband of my panties. Without thinking but feeling, I pull my panties down my legs. Just like my jeans, I pull my panties all the way that they can go, pressing them against my jeans that are bundled around my feet as if trying to merge them into the floor.

When I stand straight, the realization that my womanhood is fully exposed makes my face go red. Then I feel my tits jiggling and swaying from the movement which makes my face go even redder. Soaking in this feeling, I let my arms go to my sides, knowing that she wants to see everything.

My eyes meet the bartender's and something changes inside of me. When I see the way she looks at me, I no longer feel like a human being. Instead I feel like, I dunno, an object. Something to be displayed. A lower life form that could never reach the heights that she could. Almost like she is the real woman and I've just been pretending and acting like a little girl. I feel like I deserve this.

"Proud of yourself, huh?" The bartender asks, again in that stern, mom/school teacher manner. To answer her, I shake my head while looking away, showing how embarrassed and humiliated I am, and trying to hide that I'm secretly loving this.

"Maybe now you will think twice of trying to steal drinks from hard working people," the bartender scolds, still fully believing that is why I came into her bar. Now there's no way I would dare try to convince her otherwise.

"Sit, just like that," the bartender then orders, pointing at my barstool. To this I sigh, making a show that I had hoped she would at least let me pull my panties up. This of course is a lie as that dark part of me loves this, but it is what my brain cries out that it wants.

Saying nothing but feeling drunk and in a daze, I step back towards the barstool. I walk towards it, having to take small, short steps to do so. This causes my tits to jiggle comically as I take fast steps in order to get to it fast.

When I reach my barstool, I use my hands to help me hop back up, where my bare ass lands on the stool. I then sit there, my jeans and panties pooled around my ankles as my tits rest on the bar again. Now in place, I look at the bartender to see her giving me a strange look. It's a very expectant look, like I know I better do something. I then understand what she wants and put my hands behind me while sitting up straight.

This proves to be correct as the bartender moves away and resumes her bar-chores. She leaves me like this, all but naked at her bar, still in the shadowy corner. Still in my daze, I stare up at the TV playing football as if everything is normal. Everything is ok.

A minute later, one of the pool players comes up to the bar on the other side to ask for a beer. Staring at the TV, I try not to even look on the corner of my eyes to see if he has spotted me. I mean, my tits are resting on the bar. It'd be hard to miss if you take a glance around the room.

The man gets his beer and then walks back to his table. To be honest, I don't know if he saw me or not as I didn't see anything. All I know is that he didn't say anything, but that could be because the bartender threatened him.

Once he is back and playing pool, I lean over and take another long sip of my nasty drink. Each sip I take does help me feel more...comfortable with what is going on. Maybe comfortable is the wrong word, but more like, accepting. Like I know on some level I should be treated like this, and I am coming to terms with it. Or maybe I'm just extremely drunk and am losing my mind.

"Now...you learn your lesson?" The bartender asks me several minutes later, well after I finished my drink. She's just left me here in this seat, hands behind me and everything showing.

In a daze with my face feeling warm, I look at her and nod softly. I can't find the right words to say, so I just nod and look at her with a defeated and dazed look. Upon looking at her, I turn away, showing just how humiliated I feel by her punishments.

"I guess not...since you keep trying to fucking hide yourself," the bartender says, her tone angry again. At this my stomach drops and I look at her as I don't understand. I see that she's looking at me, but not at my face. I then follow her eyes to which she's looking at my chest.

A groan comes out of me as I see what's happened. When I turned to face her just now, I didn't notice that I leaned back a little. When I did, my breasts slid off the bar and now dangle. Because of this, the bottom most part of my tits are covered by the bar, making it so she can't see my nipples.

It's a poor excuse as she knows I didn't do it on purpose, but it doesn't matter. At this point she will use anything possible against me. Any small mistake, move or comment will be used to punish me. She's obviously been waiting for someone like me to come in so she can unleash her evil abuse.

"Fine. You want to play that way, we can play that way. Take off your pants and panties," the bartender orders, fury in her voice. The way she sounds is as if I'm on purpose messing with her. That my goal is to make her mad and ruin her night.

"P-P-Please...this has gone-" I say having a brief moment of clarity as I realize how horrible this could go. This is how people disappear. How they end up as sex slaves in some weird country. If I remove my clothes, I'm basically giving up.

"Now," the bartender growls, giving me her steely eye stare. At that look, all my protests fail and the words die in my mouth again. There's just no way to go against her. Not as strong and powerful as she seems.

Unlike before, I don't willingly move to do what she wants. Instead I sit on the stool, trying to seriously think about this. My brain tells me not to do this, that only pain, heartache and fear will follow. That I am not this stupid. Yet, there's something that almost feels supernatural letting me feel that I have no choice. That I have to do this.

In my drunken haze, I do finally stand up again, having to hold onto the bar when I drop down. With tears in my eyes and a crazy arousal surging through me, I remove one shoe, then the other. Now barefoot, I use my feet to step out of my jeans, first one foot then the other. Right after, I repeat this move, only for my panties.

Looking down is a surreal experience. I see my shaved womanhood exposed and helpless in this dive bar, along with my jeans and panties that lay limp on the floor. Never has any of my clothes seemed so weak and pathetic as mine do now. Like if I put them back on, they wouldn't hide anything.

"Go ahead and lose the shirt and bra too. We both know they are going to come off because of something you'll do," the bartender adds on, but when I look at her, she's not even looking at me. She's helping another guy at the bar, treating it as if what I'm doing isn't shocking.

My heart sinks as the guy is looking right at me. This time she made no effort to hide what she is doing to me. And now whomever this guy is, he can see me standing here, my shirt pulled up over my tits in this darkened corner. Thankfully the bar hides my bottom half, but he must know that I'm bottomless now.

The guy has a surprised look for good reason. Even if this was a bar for rapists, I doubt this would be a normal daily event. And so I look at him for a long while as if the two of us are playing the staring game. We do this for a long moment where it feels like time has stopped.

I then quickly turn away from him as I see the smile growing on his face. Where for a moment I thought this man may be my knight in shining armor here to rescue me, but that clearly isn't the case. If anything, he's probably the bartender's best friend.

The bartender clears her throat to let me know I've been taking too long. With the stranger still watching, I grab the bottom of my top and bra, and lift. I force them to go up and over my head, where they catch in my hair for a moment. As I do this, I know the man is staring at my bare chest as it jiggles and swings from all the movement I make. Where I feel my massive breasts swing for a moment.

With my shirt and bra removed, I'm naked now. Naked in this dive bar. Naked like a whore, standing next to the bar, scared of the bartender. Where I've dropped all my clothes into a single pile, as if giving them away.

My heart pounds so hard I think it may jump out of my chest as I hop back on the barstool. When I sit, I notice a new drink in front of me, almost like the bartender wants to make sure I'm drunk and under control. I drink a few good sips of my drink to try and steady me and the feeling of being naked, with my hands behind me of course. My lips wrap around the straw and gulp, trying to make as if this isn't happening. That I'm not naked in this bar where I fear the world is going to find out.

"Who said you could sit back down here?" the bartender scolds after I finish my sip. At this I look up at her with a scared whimper, knowing she has something horrible planned.

"You sit...over there," the bartender orders, pointing behind me. Turning to where she is pointing, I see a wooden chair in the corner. It's an antique looking chair with arms, positioned in the back corner as if people sit there to watch what's happening in the bar. Like a chair a bouncer would sit in, tho it's not near the front door.

If I sit there, everyone will see that I'm naked. It's out in the open, where the lights shine down. There's no way of hiding anything if I sit there. At least here, most of my body is hidden. It's a shadowy section of the bar where no one really looks. But there, I won't be able to hide anything. Everyone will see. everyone will know.

The bartender clears her throat again, telling me without words that she's waiting. Upon hearing this, I picture her coming over here, grabbing me by the hair and dragging me to that chair. Dragging me there while calling me every name in the book so everyone knows what is happening.

Deciding to do it on my own, I take another sip of my drink which becomes me downing half the glass. Trying to have some sort of dignity, I drop off the barstool and turn around to face the chair. I let my arms swing by my sides as I begin to walk, my head held high.

Each step I take I ask myself why I'm doing this. That this is beyond dangerous. This is how people get killed or gangraped. Yet, here I am, doing it practically willingly.

I then realize what the answer is, even if I haven't said it to myself. The answer being, what choice do I have? I'm naked now. It's not like I can just leave, get in my car and go home. If I tried, they would no doubt stop me, right? Right? I mean, I can't even get my cell and hide in the bathroom because I gave the bartender my phone.

Wait, did I give the bartender my cell? It sort of feels like I did. But I can't remember. I know there was something about my cell and the bartender, but I don't remember wait.

The knowledge that I am officially drunk hits me now. Not buzzed, not tipsy, but drunk. Drunk to the point that my memory isn't working too well, nor will I be making the best choices. This, of course, must have been her plan from the beginning.

Halfway to the chair I pause. Wanting to know where my cell is, I turn to look at where I was sitting on the bar. I sort of remember it being in front of me there.

"Nooooooooo," I groan as I see the bartender, with my cell aimed at me. Like this is my personal nightmare, the bartender stands there with my cell recording me as I walk away. The red light is on and there's an evil smirk on her face, showing she is loving all of this.

Swaying, I resume walking to the chair, feeling much different now that I'm being recorded. It's hard to describe how it feels, but saying that it feels like I'm a prisoner comes close to the feeling. That I have no choice in what I get to do.

The worse part of all of this, is I am so damn aroused. I don't think I've ever felt like this before. It's a spiritual feeling the way I feel, as if I'm about to experience what is reserved only for top tier people. It's a feeling I never thought I would feel, especially in my lame and boring life.

Finally reaching the chair, I take a moment to look it over. Just a normal wooden chair. A chair to relax in. the sort of chair that I'm sure a few of the guys here have sat in and smoked a cheap cigar to make themselves feel fancy.

Looking at it, something tells me that there's a reason she wanted me to sit in this chair and not the other ones nearby. Sure, the fact the chair is in the corner must be a huge part, but not the only reason as any chair near here would do.

My drunk brain then figures it must be because of the arms. None of the other chairs or stools around have arms. That means she must want me to put my legs up on it to make sure they are nice and spread. To make sure these assholes can see every intimate part of me.

Naked and helpless, not to mention insanely aroused, I take a breath and prepare to sit. Some dark part of me is still waiting to hear some drunken redneck yell out, "Look fellas, she's naked!" But thankfully nothing like that has happened yet.

I turn around, my head lowered as I show my entire front to the bar. My eyes then look up, but not to see the entire bar, but only the bartender. She is still recording, focused only on me. I look her in the eye as I lower myself to sit in the chair, where the cold wood makes my bottom chilled for just a moment.

Still staring at the bartender, I lift my right leg up and over the chair's arm, then my left. When I do this, I feel my womanhood part, exposing myself to a deeper level. Where I feel more open than I ever have, where I'm not just on display, but open for anyone to come and force themselves inside me.

Tense yet excited, I let my back rest on the back of the chair and try to relax. Still looking at the recording cell phone, I feel how warm my entire body is, especially my face. How I feel like I could cum at any moment.

The bartender then does some sort of pantomime. She takes her hands and puts them up and behind her head. She does this a few times before I figure what she is wanting. But once I figure what she wants, my womanhood tingles with an even more intense dark excitement. It's so strong I actually get the weirdest feeling to start playing with myself.

Doing as she wants, I move my hands from resting on top of my knees to behind my head. When I do this, I feel my breasts lift ever so much, making them feel even larger than they normally do. To accent this, I arch my back some, knowingly thrusting my tits out so they can be seen. Where I am beginning to love the heavy feeling as they are exposed.