Uncovered in San Francisco

"You should remove the jacket, too. It's quite warm up here."

"No, I can't."

"We talked about change and renewal. I see a flower that wants to bloom."

She removes the jacket and arranges it on the seat back, her shoulders shaking, biting her lip. With each of her deep breaths, the points of her tits stretch the thin fabric. Her black open work lace bra is magnificent, even if it's not the one I picked.

The service is excellent, the waiter taking a lot of time to explain each dish and the wine list in minute detail, leaning over Anne's shoulder. She sits with her knees tightly together and asks me in a meek voice to order for her.

As he leaves, the waiter who has written down our order on a little pad stops on the stair landing to verify something on it, which seems to take a while. His eyes are level with Anne's thighs.

"You look tense, with your knees clenched like that. Relax. We're having a good time."

She crosses her legs. A little more of the thigh is revealed, up to the edge of the panties. The waiter has finished reviewing his notes and continues downstairs, whistling a tune.

"Everyone here is having a good time, in fact."

She relaxes a bit during the meal, the conversation flows more easily again.

"I think your desire for change is starting to make itself become real. How do you feel things are going, up to now?"

"It's true that I find myself attractive in this new look, but I'm not comfortable. I feel panicked at being judged, to be taken for a tart."

"No one here is judging. They are just admiring a beautiful sexy woman who feels empowered by her femininity."

One of the diners from a noisy group on the lower floor is taking pictures of his group towards the street. One of his colleagues who is looking at us speaks to him, and climbs up to the stairway landing. He also makes a lengthy pause to fiddle with his phone.

"Open your legs." I tell her,

squeezing her hand again. She becomes nervous again but obediently complies.

Now on the ground floor it's the rest of the group that is taking pictures of their colleague who is standing on the landing next to Anne's crotch. Or that are taking pictures of Anne's crotch which is next to their colleague, it's merely a point of view.

"I think that your desire for change goes beyond your outfit. I think that you want to be shown off. You know it, but you want to be pushed into taking that step, you don't want it to be your fault. You have obeyed me knowing full well that the customers and staff are looking under your skirt. And you like it, even if you won't admit it. I notice you haven't asked to change seats with me. This confirms my belief."

She laughs nervously, then says:

"Maybe, yes. I think I might have wished this for a long time without daring to, but here, in this context, in a place where no one knows me..." She does not finish her sentence.

"That's what I think too. And I'm happy to help you uncover..."

How altruistic on my part. I earn my place in heaven with each passing day.

We leave the restaurant. I take her to another establishment nearby, the Grant & Green Saloon. It's at the intersection of Grant and Green. Easy enough to find. I fell upon it by happenstance over thirty years ago and I've tried to visit at each of my stays. It's a classic neighborhood dive bar, a little dated but clean, where things don't change much. They don't invest a lot in the decor, the drinks are cheap and the clientele is very varied. It's San Francisco, so you have tourists, locals, hipsters, merchant sailors, military on leave, tech millionaires, beards, tattoos, all genders are represented, not just the two original ones. There's a good vibe to the place.

It's not crazy busy, maybe half full. A small band is playing good live bluesy rock on a small stage at one end of the L-shaped room. In front of the stage, a small crowd is watching the band perform, some dancing in place. Along the bar at the right side as you come in, quite a bit of people are at the bar, most watching the stage and holding a drink. At the far end, on the other side of the L, there's a pool table where a small group is watching both the game and the show.

Anne's outfit does not go unnoticed, there are some knowing smiles, a few eyes popping out, heads that turn, but nothing unseemly. This place has seen a lot.

No room to sit at the bar, all the high stools are taken (damn!) but we make our way towards it and remain standing. I order two pints of Anchor Steam beer and two shots of Jack Daniels.

"Drink up" I tell Anne, handing her a Jack. "You'll need it." I gulp mine down. She hesitates, I catch the hem of her skirt with my hand and look into her eyes. She drinks her shot, wincing, and puts the glass back on the bar. The barman is grinning as he watches us.

My hand has released her hem, which falls back into place. I hand her a pint, and resume my little talk from the restaurant:

"The best way for you to overcome your fear of showing yourself, is to let fate decide. Not yourself directly. We need to bring about occasions for acts of fate to happen."

The band has finished its set, the singer is taking donations from the room in a hat, most patrons give something. He even has a device for electronic payments, that wasn't around last time I was here. He chats with customers, gets some handshakes and pats on the back.

At the far end of the room, the pool players have finished a game and appear to be starting another. I pull Anne towards the pool table, bringing our beers with us.

"We will play a game, but your performance will have an influence on your state of dress. Do you know the rules of American eight-ball pool?" She makes a weak and nervous nod.

"With each shot you miss, it becomes my turn, as usual. But if you miss twice in a row, or sink the white ball, you will have a forfeit. For instance, I might ask you to undo a button, or shorten your skirt. Whatever my fancy is," I tell her, sliding my hand under her top on the small of her back, causing a shiver.

"And if it's you that misses twice? What happens then?" she asks, trembling, fearful, but curious. Good sign.

"If you win, you get to decide whether the game stops, or continues. That's all. I'm confident enough that you will want to continue. After all, if your fantasy is to be shown off, and mine is to show you off, all is good. Win-win, as they say here."

I tell one of the payers that we would like a game next. He says yeah, maybe later, they want to play some more. I don't insist, we stay to watch their game while drinking our beers, but Anne is attracting attention.

As I see their game ending, I take Anne's beer and set it down on the sideboard, stand behind her shoulders, and slowly slip her jacket off. The pearl grey top, black bra, and tits make their appearance.

The guy who just won the game hasn't missed this. He says ok, we'll take a pause, you can have the table. The two stay to watch us play, along with the small group of spectators that was already there.

I setup the table using the triangle, and let Anne start. She breaks and sinks a solid colored ball. She aims for her second shot. It's a pretty nice sight: she is rather short, so she has to lean forward on tiptoes quite a bit and that uncovers all of her thighs above the stocking tops. Absent the jacket, even if her blouse is buttoned up, her beautiful round tits are nicely displayed in her bra as she handles the stick. Which she does rather well, a good omen.

She misses the next shot, my turn. I sink two of the striped ones, then miss a third. Back to her.

She goes for a simple shot for a corner pocket, but she's too nervous and misses by a fraction. Fail.

I sink one, but miss the next one on purpose. I don't want this to end too quickly.

She aims again, but the pressure is on. The consequences of another failure are on her mind. Then she gets her shot, but the white ball follows the colored one into the pocket. Double fail.

She turns to me, pale, trembling.

"Undo the top button."

The small crowd around us have caught on that something interesting is going on. Our conversation in French has also piqued their curiosity.

Anne sets her pool cue down, then slowly, staring at the floor, undoes a button. The stretchy fabric of her top immediately relaxes, revealing a good bit of cleavage. Revealing isn't the right word, in fact. It's just that things that were hinted at by transparency are now brought into the light.

Within the crowd, some conversations in low voices, a few snickers. Let us continue.

I go through my little routine again, sinking one but missing the next on purpose. Anne takes her stick back, but already we can see that the tip is trembling in her fingers. So much that she just scratches the white which rolls a few inches and stops. Another fail.

My turn to aim, and I miss. The situation is making things tense for me, as well.

Anne's turn again. This time the shot starts true, but the ball that she hits misses the pocket. Oops. She turns to me, I look at her without speaking. Everyone is looking at her, in fact.

She looks into my eyes, I nod. She undoes another button.

The thin clingy fabric stretches back further, only two buttons left. The bra and tits seem happy to be further out in the open, it is rather warm in here.

The little crowd of spectators around us is denser now. My turn. I sink one, then on the next it's me that sinks the white. I turn towards Anne with a smile, and an inquisitive look.

A good thirty seconds of silence, then she bites her lower lip and looks at me, trembling, and resumes the game. Her head says no but her pussy says yes.

For her next shot, the white is far enough from the edge that she needs to lean forward, ass well out, elbows on the felt. The audience across the table smile at the sight of her tits and black bra spilling out of the partially unbuttoned blouse. From behind, the barman and I have a great view of her thighs from the stocking tops all the way to her little black panties, the skirt ever rising as she tries to stand on tiptoes.

"If you lift this leg and stretch that one, " I tell her as I delicately graze the inside of each of her thighs under the skirt with the tip of my pool cue, triggering a sharp gasp and shiver, "you'll be in a better position to aim."

Her shot starts well, but after the white has struck the 7 to sink it in a side pocket, it continues its way across to softly come to rest against the black which lies at the edge of the other side pocket. And sinks it.

She hesitates, turns to me, trembling with shame and excitement, and asks:

"An... Another button like earlier?"

"No. That was the black. It's a major error that ends the game. But I will be nice, I will let you decide. Your bra or your panties. Your choice."

Her eyes are wide in surprise, she is shaking, goosebumps on her arms. The audience watching our game don't understand our conversation but can feel the sexual tension in the air. Anne sets her cue down and starts to make a few hesitant steps towards the restrooms.

"No Anne, not that way. Here."

She is frozen. I lead her by the hand back to the table. The band which has now joined the group, as well as all the other customers are watching her with rapt attention. Then, with her wet eyes fixed into mine, and avoiding everyone else's, she slides both hands to her hips under the hem of her skirt, displaying the top of her stockings. She slides her little black panties slowly down her legs, knees together, one foot slightly in front of the other, then takes a step to get her black ankle boots out of the leg holes. From the crowd around us, a few soft whistles, a few grunts, smiles of appreciation. Let's not overreact to attract undue attention, lest the show stop. But not miss any of it.

The skirt has fallen back over the stocking tops. It's within the limits of decency. For now. I take her panties from her hand, and fold them like a handkerchief, to put in my jacket pocket. Anne is dying of shame, holding her face in her hands. But I noticed as I folded them that her panties were wet. Ashamed, indeed. But excited.

I look at the guy who let us play earlier, and ask:

"Mind if we play another one?"

"Be my guest," he says with a grin.

I setup again with the triangle. As I'm doing this, a tall chubby girl in black leather, with mesh stockings, black lipstick and a stud in the nose, accompanied by a bearded giant, comes closer to caress Anne's thigh and asks me:

"Nice. Is she your slut?"

I answer:

"I don't know that she's anybody's slut, we met only recently."

She bends down to Anne's ear, still with a hand on her thigh, and tells her:

"Well sweety, if it doesn't work out with him, perhaps you could be my slut. I would like that."

She stands back but stays to see how things continue.

Next game. I break, and sink two balls before missing a third. Anne has to move to the side of the table that faces the bar to take her shot. She's trying as best she can not to stretch on tiptoes too far in fear of exposing her privates. I notice that some people seated at the bar are bending down to try to look under her skirt. One of them is even holding his phone near the floor.

Anne is too nervous and misses her shot. I sink two more, miss a third again. Anne sinks one but the white follows the other ball into the pocket.

She looks at me, raises her hand to the third button. You can feel the tension around us.

"No. Raise your waistband two inches."

Her eyes are full of water, she looks at me, frozen, then brings both hands to her waist and brings up her waistband in small successive increments. The tops of her stockings are now fully in view, as well as an inch of flesh above. Lots of phones are out now, some flashes, even a few with the light on for video mode.

I resume. One more down, then a miss. Anne's turn. She needs to lean forward again and stand on the toes of her ankle boots. Some people have moved to her side of the table to see better. The skirt has risen high enough to show the bottom end of her cute round ass cheeks, and there her slit is hinted at in the darkness. Then in the flash of a phone picture, we see light reflected in the slick wetness oozing down her thighs.

She is shaking so much that she scratches the white again. As soon as her shot is missed, she straightens, pulls her skirt down, clenches her legs. A tear of shame is running down her cheek.

I sink another one and miss the next.

Anne resumes her game, she doesn't have to lean much this time and her shot is better aimed. She sinks a ball but in turn sees the white one follow in the pocket.

"Undo your lower button now."

The rumor has spread, almost all the bar patrons are now near the table to watch Anne undo her button. The blouse is hanging on by a single button at the base of her breasts. Her belly is exposed, the stretchy fabric has naturally shrunk back. Her lower back is also bare.

My turn, I sink two more. Only the black one left. It's hard to miss, close to a side pocket, the way is clear. I line up, then turn to look into Anne's eyes. Five seconds of suspense, and I shoot without even looking. I hear the clack of the white against the black, and I hear the black fall in the pocket. Anne's body jerks, she brings her hands over her mouth to suppress a "Hhuunnh!" of excitement and shame.

"I win. Take off your bra."

She doesn't dare move. I stand in front of her. I undo her last button, then moving my torso closer to hers to provide a slight touch of semi-privacy, I take her blouse off. She is hiding her face in my shoulder as I unhook her bra, then pull the straps away as I caress her shoulders.

Holding her bra in one hand, still holding her to me, I help her back into her blouse, one arm at a time. As soon as she can, she encircles my waist with her hands to lean into my body. I kiss the back of neck softly.

Bringing my hands back to her breasts, I reattach that third button while caressing her globes.

"The third button survived the combat. Congratulations."

Her full and round breasts are beautifully outlined through the sheer gray fabric. Her nipples are so hard they look like they're about to tear through it.

She looks up to me, tears in her eyes. I lean my face to hers, lick a tear off her cheek and kiss her. She sticks her mouth on mine, very hard, her tongue spreads my lips apart and swirls against my own. Her body is shaking with spasms as she clings to me tightly. I take her waistband in my fingers and delicately put it back into place. The game is over. I'm proud of her.

I help her into her jacket, which she zips up. The audience understands that the show is over. Applause, louder whistles. I take Anne's hand to lead her outside. Along the way, the barman says:

"It's a good thing you stopped there, but I'm glad it went as far as it did. Comme back anytime."

On the street, a Uber has just dropped off some customers, I signal him, he nods. I ask him to take us to the Marriott Marquis.

During the ride, Anne doesn't speak but is holding tightly to me, her face in my shoulder. The emotions have knocked her out. I hold her tight as well, one arm around her shoulders, her hand is warm in my own.

As we cross the Marriott hallway towards the elevators, Anne's look is back to sexy but decent. The zipped-up jacket is keeping her tits sheltered, you can't tell that her bra and panties are in my pocket.

We're alone in the elevator. She holds me tight again into a deep kiss. I let my hand run up her slit, three fingers in her wet folds.

In my room, the door has barely shut when she slams me against the frame, drops to her knees in front of me, undoes my belt and the buttons of my jeans quickly, then pulls them down along my boxers. My cock which had been semi-stiff all evening has sprung back up during the elevator ride. She sucks my tip, then swallows almost my whole length. She clings to me, her fingernails digging in my butt. She is sucking furiously, noisily, slobbering, she makes fantastic little sounds of "Mmmmh! Mmmh! Mmh!"

It's not going to last long at this pace. I take her shoulders, stand her up, and take her to the edge of the bed, in front of the window where the open drapes let in the sight of the city lights. I unzip her jacket, remove it, then her skirt. I turn her towards the bed and bend her forward, elbows on the bed but standing up. She is only wearing her ankle boots, stockings, the little blouse and her glasses. I spread her legs with my foot, and penetrate her from behind, triggering a sigh of relief. One of her hands is furiously frigging her clit as I fuck her. I gather some wetness from her pussy on my middle finger and insert in in her asshole. She moans and her body starts in spams again, in what I believe is her second orgasm of the evening.

I take off the rest of my clothes, and lie on my back on the bed. She licks my chest, the hair on my lower belly, the base of my cock. She rises, climbs onto the bed and over me to lower herself on my cock, cowgirl style, still wearing her stockings and shoes. As she is riding me, I undo her last button and roll her nipples between my fingers. She leans her body forward so I can brush her tips with my tongue at each of her movements. I suck on her tits one after the other.

We are both so excited that after just a few minutes, I feel my orgasm coming. I empty myself in her cunt in long jets, while she hangs her head back in a scream. I can feel the contractions of her vagina on my cock as she comes again.

We're both worn out from the emotions and effort. I take off her boots, pull down her stockings delicately, remove her glasses. We spoon in the bed, my cock between her butt cheeks, one breast in my hand, and I pull back the quilt over us with my other.

She wanted some change in her life, I think she achieved her goal.