The Hen Do Pt. 02

This is the second part of my first Literotica Story. Set in the late 70s to early 80s, attitudes to unprotected sex were a little lax.

If you haven't read the first part, The Hen Do Pt. 01, I recommend you do because, well you should.

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I did not even look at the urinal troughs this time. I was that flustered. My knickers were soaking, but I didn't know if it was piss or lady juice. I relieved myself anyway, but not quite the way I wanted to.

Damn! No bag, no tissues. There was only the remnant sheet on the toilet roll to my left. That'll have to do, I thought, and did what I could. What harm would a little extra dribble do amongst that dampness?

I thought it would be safe enough to return by the time I'd finished in the toilet, my embarrassment forgotten. I sidled back into the room to see Jennifer-not-Jenny in front of the same chair. It was on the stage now. Her face hid behind her curly mass of hair, as her head drooped in her own embarrassment. A mirror-polished shoe lay to one side, and Roger danced in front of Pam's work friend. He peeled down her red, embroidered bolero jacket, leaving it around her elbows. Dancing behind the chair, he reached over, rested his arms on her shoulders and dangled his hands over her round breasts. She looked up and giggled, her blush shining through her makeup. With extra pressure on her shoulders, she sank into the chair, allowing his hands to rest on her tits. Her floral wrap-over skirt was shorter than I wore mine and had a scooped hemline, so it slid off her thighs a little. Good-girl kept her knees glued together.

Facing her at the front, he jerked open her knees, pulled her forward and fell between her thighs. His arms rested on her shoulders. She yelled, and the crowd roared as he slid up and down in a mockery of lovemaking. He was whispering sweet nothings to her or, perhaps, sucking her ear lobes. Her skirt was of little use to her, as it had ridden up and parted ways. She wore what looked very much like the sort of shocking pink cami knickers that I was fond of wearing. She'll regret that choice, I thought. Their being elevated meant that everyone had a glorious technicolour view.

The handsome lookalike stood and moved away, confirming my suspicion about her underwear. The pink satin stretched tight over her mound, betraying the shape of her nether cleavage. In her embarrassment, she tried to shuffle back up the chair. This exacerbated matters as the undergarment loosened and slid sideways, allowing dark wispy pubes to escape. Oblivious to the reason for the whoops from the men, she had displayed one side of her fanny before realising that her legs were still splayed. Though I am straight, I've had my moments, and the lip-slip sent flutters through my own fanny. She fought the good fight with her skirt, but Raunchy Roger was there in a flash, pun intended, falling to his knees in front of her, before dragging her legs apart again and shouting, "Yeah!" Her laughter shrieked over the music as he dropped his head between her thighs. She tried to reach for his head to push him off, but her jacket restricted her movement. She may as well have had no skirt on at this point. The audience applauded as he pretended to lick her out before standing and slamming his foot between her legs.

Of course, she could not reach his shoe, so he reached down and pulled open the lace. Balancing on one leg, he dangled the foot close enough to her hand for her to grab the shoe. She forgot to close her legs, and the audience cheered again. As she dropped the shoe, Mr Stripper Guy put his bare foot back between her thighs, which she now tried to close. He kicked her knees apart and, rather than resisting, she laughed and complied. Despite the cheers, she still had not realised that her fuzzy lip was on display again.

As he did before, Dirty Daltry walked his toes towards her crotch. Jennifer-Not-Jenny's giggling, laughing face ran from the room, and horror crashed through as bare toe stroked bare labium. She screamed and almost threw him to the floor in her attempt to escape. She followed her happy face out of the door with the speed of an Olympic sprinter.

I would have felt sorry for her had my own box not been ablaze.

While envious of the attention she received from this God among gods, I was relieved that my stint had been over long before it became this raunchy. It was nothing short of sexual assault, and I could not understand why these women allowed themselves to give in to it. While I pondered this and the diddlers from earlier, Sexy Stripper sidled up to me. Shit! Surely, he can't do this again.

He pulled me forward, against my resistance, and stopped as we came to the spot a little way in front of the rest. Making me grab the open cuff of his white cotton shirt, he turned away and dangled his other cuff near my empty hand. I knew what he wanted. I remember doing this myself. Had he been there? He walked away, leaving me holding his shirt. More cheers. He came back. My heart stopped dead in my chest. He grabbed the shirt and walked away.

My heart drummed against my ribs again.

Randy Roger spun around, marched up to me and dragged me towards the stage. I pulled away and turned but felt something cold round my neck, then a snap and a pull. Out of nowhere, he'd produced a studded dog collar and lead. A cheer flooded the room. I was so shocked, I couldn't resist. My legs trembled and weakened, a combination of fear and sexual tension, but they managed to take me up those steps. Elation buzzed through me, intoxicating me further, on hearing the audience's applause.

The crowd whooped again as he pulled me into the low chair and straddled me. Holding the lead with one hand and grabbing my head with the other, he buried my face into his bare chest. I breathed in his musk, and electricity shot through my body, lighting up my sex with the power of a lightning bolt. Fuck me! If he did much more of this, I'd have a very embarrassing climax on the stage. He pulled the lead to bring my face up towards him, and his eyes burned into me again, his head inches from mine. His beautiful visage inched closer till his nose was a gnat's dick away from my own. His breath warmed my lips and my eyes locked on his. The audience chanted, "kiss, kiss, kiss!" I was trembling with the anticipation of a child about to open a present. His face tilted; his lips drifted to mine. My workmates and the interlopers yelled as our warm, moist lips touched and held with imperceptible movement. A tongue tip grazed my unsealed lips, which parted in an invitation to a welcome guest, who slid away, leaving me wanting more. My thighs clamped tight as I willed myself to come while ordering myself not to. He purred into my head, "ever orgasmed in public?" I nodded at him; his eyebrows lifted, a faint grin of surprise dawned on his lips, and mischief twinkled in his eyes. And I wasn't kidding. Oh, don't be so shocked; you must have gathered by now that I was quite an adventurous soul.

He stood, turned, and sat on my knee, pulling my arms around him. He encouraged me to stroke his smooth chest; I obliged, feeling the silky skin sliding beneath my delicate hands, aided by the oil and sweat. He guided my hands south; my hands obliged, moving without my instruction. It stroked at the bulge hidden within the serge trousers. It certainly felt real, and the biggest I'd ever touched.

In the middle of my reverie of enjoyable embarrassment, he leapt from my lap, stood me up and sat on the chair. As he yanked on the lead, forcing me toward him, I had no option but to straddle his thighs as he had mine.

Immediately, he hugged me and buried his face between my tits and then, one by one, sucked them through the shirt. I pushed at his head, but he held me tight, and I weakened as more flames scorched my lady garden.

My shirt material was now damp and see-through, and my nipples were like clothes pegs. I clamped my hands over the translucence as he pulled the lead down and made me kiss him; the audience roared. I say 'made me', but I needed little persuading. He insinuated his eagerly-anticipated tongue, which I embraced with a warm welcome. Men and women alike cheered us on. My head danced its own waltz. Whether this was from alcohol or arousal, I did not care.

Abruptly, he pushed me up, spun me around, my hands flailing everywhere, and pulled me back down by the leash, spreading my thighs as he did. I blushed towards the audience and grabbed my tits again, thanking whatever superior being was out there that I wore jeans tonight and not a miniskirt. Giggles of embarrassment, excitement, and arousal were bursting from my mouth as he pulled my hands away to display my dark red haloes. Fucking hell! As embarrassed as I was, this was unbearably sexy.

Roger slipped his hands under my arms and hugged me with both of his. His hands wandered all over my torso, breasts and all, in full view of a baying crowd. My nipples throbbed as they stretched the translucent cotton of Jay's shirt, and I watched in a mix of horror and excitement as the men at the front stared right at them. Some of them had very obvious erections; wow, I thought, I was the cause! His hands caressed my bare belly, then my tits, my face, back to my tits. He kissed my neck in those special places and said, "those are the sexiest nipples I've ever felt." I leaned further into his chest, causing me to slide ever so slightly down his thighs. Thank goddesses everywhere for denim jeans.

His hands slithered further south. "You're going to be begging to come soon!" The hands rested over my mons for moments before his fingers stretched to reach the upper edges of my vulva. Shit! The crowd howled. I giggled and tried to lean forward, but he jerked on the dog lead. His hand returned to the other one, and the two slid further south till they could caress my sacred Yoni through the denim. I must have been gushing down there. I could feel my chest burning with the flush of blood, and I could not escape this time. Then he stopped and pushed me up; an orchestrated sigh of disappointment breathed from the audience. I grabbed my breasts again, though my hands didn't stay there long as he leapt up and pulled them down. He pulled me closer.

We danced to the music before My Daltry stood me behind the chair and held my hands while he sat down. Once again, I caressed his torso from behind until he jerked me forward. I almost lost balance as he pulled my hands down to his waistband and called to me, "Go on! Drive them wild." I unbuttoned the top of his trousers. He pulled my hand down further till I found a second button. I didn't need encouragement for the third and fourth. I read his mind when he moved my hand again. Without a second thought, my right hand slid into his trousers to stroke at his bulge, returning the favour. More screams came, competing with my own. Yes, it was massive! My jaw dropped, pulling open my mouth, and my eyes grew to the size of footballs. The audience found this hilarious.

Wherever I found the boldness, I had no idea; without invitation, I slid my hand inside his thong and stroked his bare cock. Many a time I'd done this with other people in a room, but never on stage, with about sixty pairs of eyes encouraging me. I could feel the little slit at the end of his organ; the glans twitched and began to grow.

He pulled my hand out and kept hold as he stood up, pushing it under my nose; the audience loved it, and I laughed. He sat me down again and stood with his back to the audience, placing a foot between my thighs. He indicated the side seams on his trousers. They consisted of pop fasteners, which I pulled open, one by one, as his foot edged closer to my crotch. He stopped me before the top one and got me to undo the other side, his toes scraping at my crotch before standing up. With one popper remaining on each side, he turned to the audience and pulled the trousers forward, flinging them to the crowd, much to their delight. He was left with just a bulging thong. I gasped as he turned to face me, his bulge level with my eyes.

Spreading my knees and pulling me forward by my tether, he fell on me, as he had Jennifer-Not-Jenny, sliding up my front as if fucking me. His bulge prodded at my denim seam, and I thanked the stars for them again. He kissed my lips, then my neck, whispering, "bet you're just aching to see my cock," before moving to my nipples. He sucked again, making my shirt wetter and more see-through, and making me laugh my head off. As he slid further from me to his knees, I covered my tits again. He dived right into my crotch, sucking at the seam, teeth scratching at my swollen lips, making me squirm. I tried to cover up with one hand as I pushed his head away with the other. Oh, if only there wasn't a room full of rampant women!

Standing and spreading my knees, he hooked his thumbs into the waist of his thong. As he pulled forward and down a little, I strained to peek inside, but he let go of the waistband. He turned and seemed to repeat the move to the audience, which cheered.

Walking behind me, he bent over and said, "the anticipation is unbearable, isn't it?" He stood in front of me again and repeated the action, this time pulling the thong down further to reveal a shaved pubis and a tantalising glimpse of his shaft. That bare inch had me squirming, and then he tilted forward as I strained again. I screamed with joy to see more of what I knew was a very impressive tool. He shuffled forward and pointed to the ties on his hips. He placed one of my hands on each side, and I pulled at the bows. The thong fell away. My gob fell wide open as I stared at a semi-erect penis, which was definitely real and definitely bigger than I'd ever seen - and I had seen quite a few. The shock rippled down to my crotch, which was in full heat now. The girls screamed for more and stomped on the floor.

Grabbing my hand, he placed it on his cock while leaving my other arm across my chest, and I screamed with delight. The audience screamed in sympathy. I did what any girl would do, might do, should do, and stroked this superb specimen of manhood, from root to glans and back, while it became ever more rigid. I did not think strippers got erections. It was not the first time I'd stroked a stranger's dick in the Linc, but that is yet another story. Once again, this magnificent man leaned over and kissed me, while I continued to stroke his prick and prayed that he wouldn't squirt all over Jay's shirt.

He repeated the mock fucking and, this time, his naked erection poked at my seams. Shaking my head from side to side and giggling, I no longer cared about my near-transparent shirt, and I pushed to get him away. I almost wrote, "get him off," but that might have been misunderstood.

He stood and gently laid his hands on my shoulders, gesturing me to stay. He spun to face the audience as the loudest scream of the night hit me like a truck.

***

Left alone in that chair, my embarrassment pulled my head down, hair covering my blushes, just as I'd seen Jennifer. My heart was banging like a kettle drum and every muscle was trembling. A warmth glowed at my knees.

I felt his eyes burn into me again and looked up to see him peering into my soul. Placing his hand around my head, he stroked my hair and my eyes closed on their own. I felt him lean back, and he guided my head forward. Before I could think, there was a twelve-inch erection right in my face, a finger's width from my mouth. I swatted it away, and he leaned into me as he slid his hand to my crotch. "You are so fucking loving this, aren't you?"

"No!" I mouthed

"I think this says different," he said and rubbed until the dampness from his saliva met the gushing wetness of my sex. "Aren't you so wet?"

I was certain he was trying to make me orgasm, but I was still determined that I wouldn't. I think!

He stopped, walked behind me and pulled the on the lead; my head fell back, aided by his hand. Bending over me, his angelic face hovered and then lowered till his lips, once again, met mine. My eyes close to savour the moment. I had not been this turned on since Zeb and his hypnotic programming - yet another story; full of them, aren't I?

Hands slid from my shoulders to my breasts again. My nipples twitched as he held them between his thumbs and forefingers. I giggled into his face. I could not summon enough strength to raise my hands in protest, since all the blood not in my nipples was doing its bit in my crotch. I was now desperate to run off stage to finish myself off, but knew I could not if I'd tried.

Hands slid back up to caress my face as he stared into my eyes. "Ready to become the star of the show?" Escaped butterflies fluttered around my insides as his hands slid back to my chest, this time to un-pop a shirt button.

"No!" I screamed inside my head. Encouraged by cheers, he opened another one. "No, no!" I yelled, but still, I laughed.

"Yes, yes!" he called.

He can't be doing this, I thought. Then the third button popped open. The knot held my embarrassment in place, but I watched, horrified, as his hands hovered in threat. The crowd began a slow handclap, but I summoned the strength to make a grab for his hands, shaking my head. To my relief, he left the knot but slid his hands inside my shirt to tweak at my nipples. The crowd loved this. I felt more than a little pleasure as well, more so from the encouragement of that crowd. "Fuck, they are beautiful," he said.

Grabbing both tits, he stepped back, taking the chair with him. I screamed from the fear of falling, but the chair stopped against his thighs as the crowd screamed. A shadow appeared beside my head and I knew it was his dick resting on my shoulder. I laughed hard as I moved my head aside to stare at the tip of his manhood. In the distraction, I didn't feel the knot come apart until he pulled open my shirt. The men in the audience went wild and pushed forward. I was on fire, but I still pulled my shirt back across my bare chest.

Not to be daunted, the stripper pulled my hands, which pulled open the shirt, defeated. I no longer cared that my tits, clothes-peg nipples, and all were on display, but I had to play the game.

The exotic dancer's hands slid across to knead my bare breasts. My leaned-back position made me powerless to stop this. I squealed with delight, embarrassment, anticipation as I leaned my head back against him, giggling. A cool breeze breathed across my nipples as his hands slid down my belly, gliding further south until they reached the top of my jeans. A pressure released below my navel as the top popper popped open and I felt the metal grating as my zip slid down, while the hoards bayed.

How was the audience loving this? I was the star of the show while a giant, erect prick was relegated to supporting artist.

"You'll love this bit," he said as he bent his head to my ear.

A disembodied hand slipped inside the denim without effort, stroking my mons through the silk of my briefs as the crowd jeered it on. More male voices this time, and I yelled out a giggle. How the fuck far is this going? I thought. I tried to grab at his hands, and the chair fell back onto its feet while the pretend Mr Who came to the front, straddling me again. Would he ever leave my tits alone? I felt a lover's hands caressing, as his face came closer to mine and those fires roared again from another kiss. His tongue darted in and out with no resistance from me. Without conscious thought, I felt my hand slide to his cock and stroke it like I wanted it inside me, though I knew I didn't. Did I? "Bet you long to have this inside you!" He read my mind.

I didn't feel his hand slide between us, but I felt his fingers slide down the wet material of my briefs and stroke at my pleading pussy. The fingers slid between my silk-clad lips and back up to the nub of my clit several times. I did not want to let go up there on stage, but I really did want to let go up there on the stage! My head spun with the thought, falling back in a giggle.