Bad behaviour Saturday

Wow.

Talking to Roger on the phone, he agreed I was so despreate for a fuck it classed as an emergency and needed immediate action. He loved the idea of me going out on the street but convinced me it’s not safe unless he’s there, and made me promise not to.

In the end he reckoned tonight’s wine bar appointment that I’d brought forward 24 hours to yesterday when I was desperate the first time might be the best option. On the other hand he’d miss it again because he’s not back till Tuesday, and what if Marco decided I was too easy and didn’t want me a third time?
Not likely, says Rog, but we both think he’s not short of offers, and I wonder how many times he’s been out the back of the bar with local women who’ve got their knickers all soggy looking at the monster in his trousers. What with that, the fantastic arse, the big eyes and the accent, he must have more offers than he knows what to do with.

Rog said he thinks that a lot of local wives must have offered him their pussy, and the rest of the staff must be used to him just popping out for a few minutes to let them have the benefit of the equipment. I bet the other two waiters and the owner could give you a list of women he’s fucked, and it would be a long one.

Suddenly the thought of them knowing he’s spread me as well was very horny. Very, very horny. I’m wet again sat here writing it. I wish they could have seen. Now that IS very wettening. For a while I thought about doing that, going back and letting him fuck me in the kitchen with the rest watching, or taking turns with all of them and saving him for last (of course). Suddenly very wet, I decided it was not a good idea. Then I thought about the ways I could just talk to the other waiters and casually let it drop that I’d also dropped my knickers for him, and watch their faces. More wet, but really not on. Damn.

So I texted my American friend and told him I was ready now, and you know what? He came back at once with I don’t think so. Text me again when you’re REALLY ready, and I was halfway through typing ‘believe me, I’m REALLY ready right now’ when I realised what his game was and that I’d almost been caught, and stopped before I pressed send and changed it, saying ‘don’t worry, I’ll tell someone else’, but he didn’t answer. Hmm.

Didn’t help, because I’m sitting there in a puddle of goo gasping for a fuck and no way of getting one except going out alone to find it, which Rog thinks is very scary, even if I don’t go to the red light area and try for a punter. Or two. Why stop at one? See? He’s right. Too scary, especially alone.

I thought about Mister Blackmail, and I still thought the idea of him thinking he was fucking me against my will was fantastically rude, especially when we get to the bit where he believes he’s made me like it. That made my pussy twitch, but if I did that now he’s have won and there’d be no fun. I’m not clever enough for secret filming, so that would have to wait until Rog gets back and hides in the wardrobe. Don’t want him in the house, actually, so Rog’ll have to hide in the woods. Or a car park or somewhere.

Car park. That’s when I became brilliant. What if Mr Blackmail was still in the wine bar with his golfing mates? I could go in there and flirt with all of them except him, and take one of them out to the car park. Or all of them, one at a time. All except Blackmail himself. That would really make him cross, and keep his interest until Roger gets back, and he’d follow me to the car park like a shot, never thinking Rog is lurking round the corner with his camera.

Sometimes I’m very nearly as clever as Rog, and I rang him to tell him about my brilliance but his phone was off. Too early for hooker bars, so it must be tax again. I texted instead, and said I’d let him know what I was wearing, and that I’d text again when I was safely home. But what to wear? I thought about that in the shower while I renewed my shave, and thought about all three golfers having me in the car, which was getting more and more exciting the more I thought about it, and quite made my legs buckle at the end, so much that I almost fell over while I was cumming.

It only took me about half an hour to choose my wardrobe, and I must say I looked demure, black boots, black knee-length skirt and black top with a jacket that’s just cut softly enough no to look like the top half of a business suit. And beautifully made too. Rog says he’s paid less for cars. When he was younger, of course. The boots cost twice as much, but I haven’t told him. Until now, I suppose.

But the skirt, though not the most expensive part of the ensemble, was the best part by far. Knee-length, it’s full and flared, very feminine, so Rog says, because it swirls when I walk, and makes my legs and bum look good. Better still, it flares when I dance, rising almost horizontal so people can see just about anything I want them to see. No dancing in wine bars, of course, but that wasn’t the point. The point is that when I bought it there was a modest black silk lining that kept it weighted down and stopped it being too see-through. I cut that out of course, so it does the flaring thing while dancing, but it is also now very see-through when you stand close enough and look carefully. With the light behind it, you can see right through it.

Our wine bar has some trendy low-level lighting round the bar ( Rog thinks Enzo, the owner, is a pervert) and I planned to be making good use of it to get the golfers to come over. When they did, they’d be able to see my knickers, white under the thin black material, and if I stood with my legs apart, I knew they’d see the shape of my pussy, split where my knickers pulled tight around it. Legs apart as much as possible then. The only downside of the skirt is that hold-up stockings are quite visible and look dreadful because they stand out so much, dark srtipes round my legs. So no stockings, no heels, just the boots. Men like boots, especially laced up and spike heeled.

I tried to keep my mind on my driving and not get too worked up, but the anticipation was adding to the need, so I arrived gagging and expectant, a dangerous combination, especially because this is our local wine bar and I didn’t want to start acting like the village bike. Stay aloof, stay classy, but rude and horny. That’s the key. The clothes helped. I know I looked professional and businesslike, but not like a working girl, so anyone who caught sight of my knickers would assume it was an accident. Except the golfers. They’d know it was deliberate, because I was going to tell them.

And those knickers were already soaking when I parked outside, as close to the back entrance as possibly, and right under a light. If there was anyone around to see me, I didn’t want them to miss anything because it was too dark. Deliberately choosing a parking place to be watched gave me a small twitch of arousal and another little bubble of wetness seeped between my lips as they swelled apart. Wish Roger was here. He’d love this. But it was a lot more daring doing it on my own, and so a lot hornier. More wet oozed at the thought.

When I saw the golfers through the window as I approached I wasn’t sure if I was scared, relieved or what. Pussy knew though, and opened, warm and wet. I was a boiling mixture of want and need between the legs as I walked in and I was so conscious of my pussy rubbing on its own slipperiness as I walked to the bar and took a position right in front of the lights so they could admire my legs and boots .And a lot of my bum, I hoped. When I’d got their attention I put a toe up on the footrail, a comfortable standing position that left my knees apart. Now they were looking properly. The mirror behind the bar, with all their faces in a row, was a picture.

Marco was across in a flash, glass of Pinot ready, big smile. He thought I’d come back for another helping of Italian sausage and I was quite looking forward to turning him down and making him want it a bit more keenly. If he was wanting me harder when Rog was watching that would be better for all of us.

There’s a big difference between want and need, so my friend Christine says. Some women want a fuck, some women need cock. Right now I was both, but normally I’m the second kind, as you know.

I changed feet, turned the other cheek, got my feet further apart. They could see the round swelling between my legs, I hoped, and perhaps the little divide between my lips. Pity they couldn’t see how wet I was. Later.

Mr Blackmail couldn’t sit still any longer and was beside me in two steps, offering a drink, and anything else I’d like. He thought I’d come for Marco and he was jealous, or greedy and wanted to get in first. Or both. I took his drink and deliberately raised my glass to the golfers at the table. I’d swivelled to face them but kept my foot on the rail so my legs were as wide apart as I could get them without actually putting my knees behind my ears.

There were about 20 other people in, clustered round tables in small groups, paying no attention. Great. Blackmail was talking, so I had to turn and face him, but I kept my feet apart and stuck my bum out. Wish Rog was here to tell me what it looked like.

Blackmail was asking if Rog knew I was here and I said no, he was in a meeting and so couldn’t answer his phone. He offered to keep it our little secret and I agreed, naturally. Now he was asking about doing something for him in return. ‘Like what?’ I asked, as if I didn’t know, and he actually struggled to come out with a sentence that said fuck me without asking me to fuck him. He ended up pathetically with I’m sure you can think of something and looked down at my groin, and almost dropped his glass, so I knew the skirt was working, and he could see my knickers about as clearly as if that was all I was wearing. Hot dribbles, sorry about that. Much as I dislike him, the fact that he was staring and getting hard made me wet all over again. Hated that, but liked it too. Time for reinforcements. ‘Introduce me to your friends while I think about it’ I said, so he had no choice but to wave them over.

This was good, because it meant that I had people round me, and when I put my foot back on the rail and was standing directly over the light, with what amounted to a spotlight shining up my skirt and making my knickers stand out as much as their eyes, their bodies were making it harder for anyone else to see through my skirt. Normally the more viewers I have the better, but that wasn’t what I wanted tonight. Not in here, anyway. If the golfers were too pissed, though, I might need to go on somewhere. Let’s not forget, the sole purpose of the expedition was to get fucked, and though the golfers were handy, it didn’t have to be them. I was so gagging I would have fucked a scabby donkey if that was the only option. Luckily, it wasn’t, at least not while the golfers were still standing.

One of them started getting very handy just then, admiring my skirt and brushing his hands over my bum. If you don’t slap them right away, they carry on, so I din’t and he did, and and in no time at all he was stroking and squeezing as if he owned it. Which he will do any time now, I thought. Grey hair, other side of 40, maybe a bit more, slim, not bad looking, and quite cheery. I made sure Blackmail had noticed, and smiled sweetly at him, before leaning over to my groper.

‘Is there any reason you’re touching my bum like that?’ I whispered in his ear, making sure he could see I was smiling so he knew he wasn’t getting the brush-off. Well it’s a very nice bum, he whispered back, and you didn’t seem to mind. He squeezed it harder so I didn’t miss the point. ‘Oh I don’t mind. I like it. Is there anything else you’d like to squeeze while you’re at it?’

That stumped him for a moment, and I watched his face, watching me, trying to see if it was a wind-up or not. ‘Alan’s just going to fix something for me’, I sad loudly to the others. ‘On the car. It is Alan, isn’t it?’ I asked as I put down my glass, took his and placed it on the bar and took his arm, heading for the door. He didn’t answer, and in fact didn’t say very much at all after that, not even when I got in the back seat and pulled him in with me.

It was all so fast he’d hardly had time to get hard, but as soon as he got his hand between my legs and slid his fingers into all that hot wetness he grew rigid in my palm. I love having that effect on a cock, and lay back flat, one leg on the floor, one dangling over the seat-back, legs as wide as possible so he could get between them and fuck me. His cock was average in size, but hard and fat and slipped in beautifully, and I was still guiding it in, feeling the wetness opeing around it when it began quivering in my hand and he said bloody hell quite angrily, and I knew what was happening so I pulled him as hard and deep as I could go, and that was it, four, maybe five sprays and I was cumming too, and it was all over, but that was fine. I didn’t have a lot of time, and we’d both cum in those few short minutes, so who’s complaining? Saying that seemed to make him happier, and it had given me release too. I still needed cock, but no longer had to have it NOW, this instant. I’d get it in a while, and that was okay now.
‘Thank you very much’ I said to him loudly when we were back inside, and he scurried off to the gents to clean up and tuck it all away properly. ‘Problem with the back seat’ I said to the others, ‘but Alan sorted me out. Now, where’s my drink?’

I was glowing with excitement, my pussy was hot and wet and tingling with being freshly-fucked, and I’d only just begun. My knickers were on fire, like molten lava. I stood directly above the light again, hoping they’d see how wet I was. They didn’t know what to say, really, so I asked about golf, and giggled a lot about birdies and a hole-in-one, and asked to see Greg’s nine-iron, all chirpy girlie stuff, while they tried not to get caught staring between my legs to see if they could tell by squinting whether or not I’d just been fucked by their friend. I let them stew for 10 minutes and then went to the Ladies so he could tell them.

I could tell he had when I came back. The atmosphere was different. They were tense, excited and eager. And familiar. Men treat you differently when they know you’re available, as opposed to hoping you are. They were all a lot more cocky, if you see what I mean, and a lot more eager to please and be the one talking to me. All except Blackmail, who was positively sulky. Perfect! I’ll show you what available really means, I thought. When I rearranged myself in the Ladies, I’d pulled my knickers nice and tight, so I hoped they could se the shape of my open pussy better than before, and the goggle eyes said they could.

After they’d all had a good look I decided I’d done enough with lights, so I suggested we sat at the table in the corner. They almost ran, and pushed each other aside to arrange the seats, and I ended up on the bench along the wall, facing the rest of the room, with a panting golfer on either side and Blackmail dead ahead. Better than ever.

The one on the left was faster than on the right, but not much, and I hand a warm hand on each knee. I opened wide, pressing a thigh against each of theirs, and waited. Left again, sliding up my thigh, waiting to see if I’d stop him, then moving again. My right-hand man was slower to start but went straight for gold, one smooth movement all the way up and his hand was deep between my legs, cupping me, fingers curling down to where I was so hot and wet and slippery.

Blackmail knew, I could tell, and smiled at him. If he’d been Roger he would have beamed back, but he wasn’t and just pouted. I was liking this more and more. And I was loving right-hand man, who’d managed to wiggle a finger into me and was now making quite breathtaking circling movements inside my pussy. It was so nice I reached down to hold the left-hand arm, stopping it just before there was a meeting of hands. ‘I don’t mind’, I whispered, ‘but he might.’ I nodded to the right and sat back against the wall, looking down under the table. Left-hand man followed my gaze and couldn’t not notice that his friend’s hand was already well up my skirt and working away.

And doing very nicely, thankyou. So nicely, that I decided not only to let him carry on but to let him finish. And to make sure everyone else knew what was happening. The idea was so horny I almost spoiled it and came on the spot, but I managed to get control, calmed myself, and then started talking to Alan, until he could tell my breathing was going funny and finally realised what right-hand man was doing. Blackmail was slightly ahead of him, so I had their full attention.

I opened my legs as wide as I could, exaggerating the movement for the benefit of the other thee, but mostly so right-hand man could get two fingers in me a bit deeper, though it was the extra thickness spreading me open that I really liked and wanted at this point. Make that needed.

Just so he didn’t feel left out, I searched around under the table and found the hard lump in left-hand man’s trousers, and held on to his cock for the ride as I started to cum.

It wasn’t Meg Ryan, and no-one else noticed, but my group of golfers went all wide-eyed and amazed as the top half on my body thrashed around a bit and I made a lot of deep breathing noises and some hopefully discreet squeaks, clutching the wrist between my legs and holding it still while I fucked his fingers and tipped myself over the edge, looking across the room at Marco, who was staring hard. He knew something was up, but luckily he couldn’t see what it was.

When I could breathe normally and speak again, I thanked right-hand man politely, told him it was lovely and he was very good (which I knew would piss off Blackmail no end) and he made some mumbling sounds and started to rise. ‘Oh, don’t waste it’ I said, and he knew I knew where he was going and what for. I also knew it would only take a second, so I locked us in the Ladies, unzipped him and squatted down. Whoosh!, he went, as soon as it was in my mouth, all fat and round and slippy, and a gallon of cum jetted out. In this situation it’s better further in than that, because it’s a thick gooey thing that can be hard to swallow from the front of your mouth.

Hard jets of it pumped around my tongue and teeth and I could feel it getting away round the edges of my mouth, and though I licked and swallowed as fast as I could, I still had it all running down my chin when I looked in the mirror. Lucky there was none on the jacket, and the rest mopped up okay, so I still looked neat and tidy when I went back to the table. It had all gone a bit quiet now, no-one knowing what to say or do. Except me. I was gagging for a cock in me, and it seemed only fair to mention it.

Except I didn’t. Quite. ‘Buy me a drink’, I said to left-hand man loud enough for the other three to hear, ‘and you can have your turn’. Olympic gold, all the way to the bar, he was, and he watched me drink with greedy eyes. I rummaged around under the table to keep him happy, and to confirm what I thought earlier. Of the three, this was eaily the biggest. I like a big cock, as you know, but it’s bad behaviour and outrage that really gets me hot. And THEN I want a big cock.

I stopped rummaging left-hand man and smiled at Marco, who’d been watching, wondering what was going on and whether I was waiting for my eleven o’cock appointment. To be honest, I wasn’t sure myself. Five sets of eyes were fastened on me as I put both my hands up my skirt. People can see what you’re doing, but they can’t see what you’ve got, especially under a table. I looked round. Still no-one else looking. I pulled my knickers down, let them drop to the floor, and bent to pick them up. I took Blackmail by the wrist and pressed the material into his open hand. They were still warm, and soaked of course, the juices hot from my body. ‘That’s all you’re getting’ I said with my sweetest smile, and added ‘tonght.’ I hate to lose nice knickers, but it was worth it.

Left-hand man was quite large, and though I wanted him from behind, it was too cold to have the door open, so I hooked one leg over the seat-back, put my other foot on the floor and let him cl,amber on top. Worth it though, because he filled me nicely and fucked me well for a surprisingly long few minutes, and I was still screaming from my own orgasm when he had his, and his long, long spurts finished me off just perfectly.

Marco was watching as I climbed out of the bak, pecked Leftie on the cheek, pulled my skirt down and got into the drving seat. I waved godbye, but he didn’t, and I’m not sure if I haven’t put him off. I’ll wait a couple of weeks and see.

I started to feel a bit regretful and guilty as I drove along, and more than a little bit slutty. Maybe I’ve gone too far again. I can’t help it though. It’s like chocolates. Buy me a box and I can look at it for days without touching or wanyting any. But as soon as the box is opened, I eat them all, non stop greed. But now I was thinking what if everyone WAS waching, and saw what happened under the table, and know what I did in the Ladies and the car park, twice?

I stopped and texted Roger for a bit of reassurance, and he was in his hotel room with an 18 year-old Russian called Natalya Angel, obviously not an accountant. He got her to suck him while I described the night in detail and we came pretty close together, probably because we’ve had a lot of practice. Then I drove home, playing all the way, and did the big pink vibe again, a good long hour of buzzing before I let myself cum and go to sleep.

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