The Gig Pt. 03

Pat had avoided Amanda for a week. She was sure that her new friend was disgusted by her behavior at the last gig, that she would call her a slut and a whore. She called herself that as she pounded furiously at her pussy with her fingers, her body spasming in orgasm. She called herself that in the darkness of her room, in the solitude of her bed. Those words made her pussy quiver, her nipples hard. But it was different to hear those words coming from a friend.

Pat was crossing the wooded campus of her small college, headed to class, books tucked in her arms, when someone called out her name.

"Pat!"

Pat turned, and there was Amanda, running towards her. The tall woman threw her arms around Pat, hugging her fiercely.

"There you are!" said Amanda, holding Pat at arms length, "I thought you left or something! Why didn't you call me back? Did you get my message?"

"I was a bit under the weather," replied Pat with a smile.

Everything was going to be fine. There was not a trace of judgement on Amanda's face, just what looked like genuine pleasure at seeing her again.

Amanda draped her arm across Pat's shoulder as they both started walking towards the classrooms.

"Well, I hope you are ready, because we're on again this weekend. Just the two of us. You're in?" asked Amanda.

"Another gig?" asked Pat.

"Yeah, same place, same guy apparently. He requested you, you made quite an impression apparently," said Amanda.

"Same guy?"

"Yeah, the birthday boy. See you later? Pick you up? What are doing tonight? Nothing, fantastic, let's hang out, and then this weekend we make beaucoup bucks. Yes!" exclaimed Amanda, her fist pumping in the air.

She turned and jogged away. She never stops moving, thought Pat, a little awed.

The weekend came quickly. Pat was getting more and more nervous at the thought of seeing that man again, the birthday boy. He had ordered her around last time, used that tone of voice that made her weak in the knees. He was handsome, too. Older, but that was okay. Rich, which was nice. Visions of spankings and hard cocks had danced in her head all week, the memory of his cock in her mouth making her drool. She was worried that she would not be able to contain herself and just dive for his crotch as soon as she saw him.

Pat drove up the long driveway to the country club, heading for the back parking lot used by the employees. It was barely five in the afternoon, this was going to be an early dinner for the boys. Ted, her boss, had said that it was going to be a small affair, just a few guys who wanted someone more interesting than the usual wait staff for their monthly dinner. The club would still be open, so she was instructed to wear a skirt and shirt, something appropriately wait-staffish and not too sexy.

Though underneath, and the instructions had been strict, she was wearing a garter belt and stockings, and her nicest black set of underwear.

Pat parked and waited in her cart for Amanda to show up. There was no way she was going to be alone with that man. Not yet, not so soon at least.

Amanda finally showed up and the two girls made their way to the building. A helpful staff member pointed them in the right direction and they were soon in the small dining room where they would be serving their clients.

There was no one there yet, so they stated setting up. The room was small enough that the table in the middle of the room, large enough to seat eight, took up most of the space. The walls were paneled in dark wood, and heavy curtains hung across the tall windows. Bookcases lined the walls, heavy with bound books. Pat had the sneaky suspicion that none had ever been read. In a corner was a globe. In the other, a brass telescope. The few patches of bare wall were hung with vaguely maritime themed paintings. It was a very masculine space, though also completely and utterly fake. It dripped with money, the kind earned by dentist and lawyers. No old wealth had graced the steps of this country club.

A door led to a short hallway, beyond which was a small pantry where the food would be prepared. The club wait staff would bring the food to the pantry and Pat and Amanda would serve it. The wait staff could access the pantry through yet another door. The pantry was small and tight, but Amanda had found the booze cupboard, so things were looking up.

In the middle of the short hallway was a door that led to a small linen closet. Pat started sorting the napkins while Amanda fixed them both rum and cokes.

A cough startled them both.

The birthday boy was standing in the dining room, looking at both of them. He was as handsome as Pat had remembered him to be, squared jaw and salt-and-pepper hair crowning his head. Dressed in a dark business suit, he cut a very authoritative figure. He waved them over to him and sat down. Obediently, the two girls joined him in the dining room. He unabashedly looked at them as they walked in, a small grin on his lips. Pat and Amanda stopped in front of him, waiting in the suddenly awkward silence.

"You both look good," he said finally, "but you need to put your hair in ponytails."

Pat and Amanda did so, exchanging questioning glances.

"Now put these on," he then said, pushing forward a cardboard box with his foot.

Pat and Amanda kneeled and opened the box. Inside where aprons, white and frilly. They both tied them around their waist, looping the strap over their necks. They stood again facing the man.

"Perfect," he said.

Indeed, with the matching aprons, both dressed in black skirts and white shirts, their hair tied in similar ponytails, they looked surprisingly similar. Pat was a foot shorter, but they had similar proportions. They looked like sisters. They looked..

"Fuck," thought Pat, "I'm her mini-me."

"Here's the deal," said the man,"tonight is our monthly dinner where we have to talk business. It gets a little dry so I thought I would cheer the boys up a bit, make this less of a drag. How's fifty bucks an item? Fifty bucks and you have to take something off. Your choice. It should keep the evening interesting, and you can make a bit of cash. Sounds good to you?"

Before pat could calculate the amount of money she could make based on what she was wearing, Amanda answered.

"Sounds great."

"Good. Questions?" he asked.

"Just one, your name?" asked Amanda.

"I'm Mister Brady while you are serving, Robert if we are feeling a little more...friendly," he answered.

"Very well, Mister Brady, we will be getting food ready, unless you would like something to drink," offered Amanda.

"Yes, a drink," said Robert, his eyes locked on Pat's, who stood frozen. "Please make me a Whiskey, on the rocks. Thank you."

Amanda turned and left.

Pat stood frozen in front of Robert.

He glanced quickly at the closed door of the dining room. He licked his lips and turned back to Pat.

"Lift your skirt" he said, in a tone that brook no argument.

A flash of heat spread across Pat's tummy. It was happening. Without thinking, she reached for the hem of her skirt and lifted it up, exposing her thighs encased in stockings, the garter belt framing the black triangle of cloth that covered her crotch. Pat stood there, skirt held up, as Robert stared at her.

"Take them off," he finally said.

Pat hesitated for a split second. Amanda would be back very soon. That door could open at any second, exposing her to the rest of the club.

"I'll pay, don't worry," he said, mistaking the source of her hesitation.

Without further delay, she hooked her thumbs in her panties and pulled them down in one swift motion. She stepped out of them, standing neatly next to the tiny wad of cloth, letting her skirt drop.

Amanda walked in, a glass in her hand.

"Here you go," she said.

"Thank you. You might as well make three more of those for the guys," he said waving her away, his eyes never leaving Pat.

Amanda left.

"Lift your skirt,' he said.

Pat repeated the motion, this time slower. The hem of her skirt lifted, revealing the bare skin of her thighs over the stockings. Higher, and the lips of her sex came into view, shaved bare and smooth, a pink peach nestled between her thighs. Up went the hem, bringing more into view, the hood of her clit poking out between the lips, a clit already hot with excitement. Above, the soft triangle of dark hair framed by the garter belt.

Robert licked his lips.

"Perfect," he said.

Pat stood there, keeping her dress hiked up, exposing herself to him. She could feel her pussy moisten and swell with heat under his gaze. She, in turn, was watching the growing erection tenting his pants. She started to salivate.

"Your bra, quick, take it off," he said with sudden urgency.

Pat started to unbutton her shirt.

There was a knock on the door. Robert jumped up, trying to push his erection down.

"In the closet, two minutes, I want it off," he said harshly as he turned towards the dining room door.

Pat quickly retreated into the linen closet, closing it behind her. In the dark little space, she unbuttoned her shirt and removed her bra. She could see the Amanda's shadow as she crossed in front on the closet door. Voices rose in the dining room. The rest of the guests had arrived.

Another shadow crossed the thin strip of light between the door and the frame. The door was suddenly yanked open, making Pat yelp. Robert stood there.

"Give it to me," he ordered, thrusting his hand forward.

Pat placed her bra in his hand. He took it, stuffing it in his jacket pocket. He then reached for the edge of the apron. Pat's shirt was open to her navel, but the apron hid her breasts from view. Robert reached past the apron, pushing the shirt to the side, cupping her breast in his hand, feeling its weight. His thumb brushed against her hard nipple. Pat moaned.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, and let go of her breast. "Cover up and go do your job."

He turned and walked away. Pat quickly buttoned up her shirt. She grabbed an armful of napkins and left the linen closet, trying to look nonchalant. Amanda brushed by her.

"There you are. They want the appetizers already," she said as she walked by.

Pat rushed to the small pantry, her knees still a little weak from the encounter with Robert.

The first half hour went by quickly. Drinks and appetizers were served to the four men, including Robert, who sat clustered around one half of the table. They were all middle aged or older, solid pillars of the community. The talk around the table was dry and filled with financial estimates, which Pat tried to ignore as much as possible. Just as she was trying to ignore how naked she felt. Every time she bent over to fill a glass or bring a plate her breasts would swing freely in her shirt. Only the apron hid the obviously hard nipples she sported.

The dinner plates arrived, which Pat and Amanda dutifully placed in front of the men. By then Robert must have explained his plan to the other men. There was a distinct shift in how the men were looking at the two girls. They both suddenly felt like a pair of gazelles in a wolf den.

Robert, the undeniable leader of the group, started things off. Amanda was leaning over to grab his empty plate when Robert pulled out a fifty dollar bill and placed it on the table next to the plate.

"What can I get for this?" he asked, a glint in his eye.

Pat watched from across the table, her hands full of dirty plates. A slight tinge of jealousy flared up in her, married to the relief of not having being picked first.

Amanda smiled and strutted to the other end of the table. She lifted one of her impossibly long leg and placed her foot on the table to untie her shoe.

"Shoes don't count!" blurted one of the men.

Amanda shrugged. Turning slightly so that she was mostly in profile to the men, she kept her foot on the table but started raising her skirt. She lifted it until the bare flesh of her thigh was revealed. She unbuckled her stockings and started to slowly roll them down her long, strong leg. The men were silent, watching. When Amanda reached her ankle she quickly slipped her shoe off so that she could pull the stocking off her foot. She pulled the shoe back on and pulled her foot back down. She stood there for a second, her stocking in her hand, one leg bare and pink, the other dark and silky. A slight smile floated across her lips. If there was one thing Pat knew about Amanda, is that she loved being the center of attention.

"You're not going to leave her like that," said Robert.

A flurry of fifty dollar bills erupted from the pockets of the other men, landing on the table in front of Amanda.

Amanda made a show of counting the bills and thinking of what she would take off. Three more bills, three pieces of clothing.

She turned so that her other side was offered to the men. Staying in profile, she placed her other leg on the table, raised her skirt and started unrolling her other stocking. The room was silent. Amanda slipped the stocking completely off and slipped her shoe back on. She stood at the end of the table, one finger on her lip, apparently thinking very hard.

She turned around and raised her skirt up again, this time lifting it over the swell of her hips. She had to wriggle her ass a bit to help the tight fabric slide over them. What the rising skirt revealed were a set of hard, round buns that had been shaped by hours of sports. They barely jiggled, split by the black thong Amanda was wearing. Reaching behind her she unclipped her garter belt, pulling it off of her waist. With one last jiggle she pushed her skirt back down and turned around to face the men.

Keeping her eyes steadily fixed on the men, Amanda reached inside of her apron and started unbuttoning her blouse. Pat was impressed by her friend's self confidence. Where she would be blushing and hanging her head down, Amanda was practically daring the men to look at her. She knew the effect she had on them, and drew strength from it, not shame as Pat did.

Amanda shrugged her shirt off her shoulders, pulling it off without removing the apron. Her large breasts were encased in an industrial strength black bra, which she proceeded to unclasp. Released, her breasts sprung out, now only held by the apron. The apron hid her nipples, but large crescents of pale flesh could clearly be seen on either side. Amanda tossed her bra to the side and put her shirt back on. As she pushed one arm and then the other through the shirt, her breasts swayed to and fro, coming dangerously close to popping out from behind the thin cover of the apron.

The shirt back on and buttoned, Amanda gave a small "Ta-Da!" gesture, took a bow and walked off to the pantry, followed by a small smattering of applause.

Pat was suddenly aware that she was the only woman in the room. All eyes turned to her.

Dollar bills were getting crinkled in pockets. Pat was suddenly very nervous.

Robert suddenly got up from his chair.

"if this is going any further, we better close these," he said, pulling the heavy curtains shut. The room was suddenly dark. He made his way around, brushing past Pat as she stood there, frozen to the spot. He flicked on some lights. The room lit up, flooded with amber light from recessed lamps.

"She's too short!" exclaimed one of the men.

Indeed, when Pat stood at the table it reached her waist, hiding everything below.

"You're right," said Robert.

He gently took Pat's hand and lead her to the end of the table, opposite the men. He pulled the chair slightly out and invited Pat to stand on it.

"You better take your shoes off," he said.

Instinctively, Pat did as she was told. Shoes kicked off, she stood on the chair and faced the men. She was taller than Amanda now, more exposed. There was no question that she was there to be viewed.

Robert made a show of placing a fifty dollar bill on the table. Immediately the other men followed suit and Pat stood there, looking at four bills. Four items of clothing.

Robert, casually, threw in another bill. Five bills. Five items of clothing. Pat felt her cheeks burn with shame. Naked. She would be naked in front of these men.

That's what Robert wanted. Again, that click in her head. She had no choice, no will, no responsibility. What happened next was not her fault. Like a good slave, she obeyed.

Standing on the narrow chair, she did not have the freedom of movement that Amanda had. She placed her foot on the table in front of her, without turning, before raising her skirt. She wondered how far the men could see. She pulled up her skirt until she could reach the snaps on the stockings. They had to be able to see, she thought, a blush spreading across her face and neck, a heat spreading further down. She could feel her nipples tighten.

She rolled the stockings down her leg and off her foot. She switched feet. She noticed a few of the men were scootching down, trying to get a better peek under her skirt. She pulled her skirt up again, undid the clasps and rolled down the stocking. She kicked it off and stood on her chair, feet together.

With her head kept low, she reached behind her. She unzipped her skirt and let it drop to her feet. The apron fell to mid-thigh, hiding her sex. She undid the garter belt and let it drop. The bare flesh on either side of the apron made it clear she was not wearing anything else.

"That slut's not wearing any panties," breathed one of the men.

The insult hit her right in the clit. Pat started unbuttoning her shirt. Too quickly, she was done, and pulled it off her shoulders. The apron was now her only article of clothing.

"Jesus," said one of the men.

Pat's breasts were full on her small frame, but were completely hidden by the apron. Her dignity would be preserved, at least as long as she stood on that chair.

"Is it time for dessert?" asked Robert, right on cue.

He held out a hand to help her off the chair. Pat stepped down and hurried to the kitchen, acutely aware that all eyes were on her bare ass.

She ran into the pantry where Amanda was setting out some small plates. She did a quick double-take and grinned when she noticed that Pat was naked under her apron.

"I see it went pretty good, hu?" she said, her smile getting wider.

Pat blushed, keeping her eyes down.

"They want the dessert," was all she was able to mutter.

Just then the door leading out to the kitchens opened and in stepped one of the bus boys, holding up a tray of small delicacies. Pat jumped, panicked, and tried to hide behind Amanda. The bus boy carefully placed the tray on the counter, not noticing Pat. Amanda still looked fully dressed, so there was nothing to raise suspicions.

Pat cowered behind Amanda, praying that he would leave soon. Unlike Amanda, it was very obvious she was naked.

But a small wicked smile grew on Amanda's lips.

"Thank you," she said to the bus boy,"all we need is the powdered sugar and we're all set. It think it's around here. Pat could you get it? It's in that cupboard right there."

And with that she turned to Pat, revealing her to the bus boy. Pat froze, coming eye to eye with him. He was cute, young like her, dressed in his ill-fitting staff uniform, a forest of curly blond hair capping his head, trying to stay presentable and failing miserably.

His eyes grew wide when he saw her. Pat looked at the floor, cursed Amanda under her breath, and turned towards the cupboard she had pointed out. In doing so, she revealed her naked ass to the young man. Pat opened the cupboard, finding nothing inside. She could feel his stare on the curves of her ass and the slope of her thighs. The blush she had felt in front of the men returned, blossoming across her face.

"Try the lower cupboard," said Amanda helpfully.

Pat didn't think. She was in that zone, she was being a good slave, obeying orders. She knew what Amanda was doing, what she wanted. So Pat did it. She bent over at the waist, keeping her legs straight, opened the cabinet below and pretended to look for sugar. She could feel the soft air against her pussy lips as her sex blossomed between her thighs. The two plump outer lips framed the pink inner lips, that long soft gash framed by her thighs. Her ass, round and pale, crowned the view. Pat was mortified at the view she was giving, and yet wanted to show more, wanted to spread her legs so that he could see her pussy spread open, inviting, wanted to slip a finger between those lips, to cum for him. She felt herself grow wet. No, wetter. She was surprised at how wet she already was.