Cathy's Mistake Ch. 02

The stress and suspense I endured for the days following my unfortunate encounter with Mickey Fisher, culminating with him walking out of the house with a DVD of me masturbating and, as I suspected, posing nude for him on tip-toes with my bare bottom pushed out, was unbearable. I'd racked my brains trying to think of an escape from my predicament but to no avail. Mickey had me cornered, where he wanted me, and there wasn't a blind thing I could do about it nor even anybone I could ask for advice for fear of my most private activities being exposed, in his words, "high wide and handsome".

The only positive event that gave me some respite that miserable week was learning that my application for employment at the local high school had been successful and that I was to start there teaching gym, dance, drama and English at the beginning of the new academic year in September which was only a couple of weeks away now. My first career job and first income would normally have been a time for celebration but Mickey having that damned DVD had put an insurmountable damper on everything.

Finally, the stress became unbearable and, taking courage in both hands, I plucked up the courage to contact him via the estate agent where he worked.

"Edwards and Edwards, good morning," came the sunny response from the receptionist.

"Could I speak to Mickey Fisher please?"

"Oh, I'm afraid Mr Fisher is at a client's, could I give him a message?"

"Yes, please tell him to call Cathy Matthews... er, he has my number."

"Certainly, I'll tell him when he comes in."

During the intervening hours, I mooched around the house, trying to read a novel, unable to concentrate until, towards lunch-time, my phone finally rang.

"Cathy Matthews," I answered.

"Hello, darlin'," he replied, cheerily. "What can I do for you, today?"

"Listen, Mickey," I hissed so as not to be overheard, "you know damned well why I phoned you. This has gone far enough and I want that DVD."

"Certainly, miss."

"You agree, then?" I asked incredulously but hugely relieved.

"Sure, no problem."

"Good," I said. Mickey was vaguely attractive in a rough kind of way so I was glad that common sense and decency had apparently prevailed. "When will you bring it around?"

"Ah, I'll get back to you with that, miss. I'm flat out at the moment so I'll ring you again when I have a gap," he pondered. "Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright," I replied, somewhat surprised but very grateful that retrieving the DVD had been so easy.

I waited, on edge, for fully half hour, poring over the phone and praying that he didn't change his mind. My mother, who looked and behaved like my blonde sister rather than a parent, walked past.

"Waiting by the telephone, eh? --New boyfriend?" She asked, hopefully, as she seemed disappointed that I didn't bring a steady flow of the male sex through her front door.

"No, definitely not," I answered, curtly.

"Now don't bite my head off..."

But before she could go any further, my phoned beeped to announce the arrival of a text message. It wasn't a number I recognised so I guessed it was Mickey's mobile.

"... okay, sorry mum," I snapped. "You'll have to excuse me for a moment," and I went to my room to read the message.

"For the DVD, be at my place, 10 Wordsworth Avenue, this afternoon at 3:30."

Result! He'd kept his side of the bargain, restored my faith in human nature and I allowed myself a satisfied, audible sigh of relief.

Also, the timing was perfect for me as I had a hair appointment at two and could call in to pick it up on my way home.

It was very a warm and sunny afternoon, so I donned my powder-blue flared mini dress with a pair of white shoes and, save for a white, lacy thong, that was about all. I eyed myself in the mirror and was pleased with the result --contrasting the golden brown tan I had lazily been building up in the garden over the summer holiday.

Raymond worked his usual magic on my shoulder-length hair and I flounced out of the salon immaculately groomed, feeling and looking a million dollars and skipped into my car to drive the short distance to the seedy council estate and then the run-down semi that was the Fishers' residence. I parked outside the rusty front gate and negotiated a gang of urchins who wolf-whistled and made crude comments as I made my way to the gate.

Closing the gate behind me, I walked briskly up the path to a chorus of little brats remarking about my breasts, bottom and what they'd like to do to me --needless to say, not exactly in those terms. Feeling my colour rising, I remember thinking how advanced kids are for their age, these days.

Before I could get to the front door, the Fishers' drooling bull terrier pounced seemingly from nowhere and took great delight in jumping up my leg and under my skirt, sniffing embarrassingly. As hard as I tried to push him down, this solid ball of muscle pushed back harder and I simply did not have the strength to bring him under control. I lurched to the doorbell and rang it with an outstretched arm to an urchin chorus of "Oooh-ooh! White knickers!" as my skirt rode right up to my waist because the damned hound had entangled me, shoving his cold, moist nose all over my thighs, leaving horrible, gooey tracks on my lovely tan.

Mercifully, the door opened, Mickey answered and seeing the dog, who had apparently decided that the foreplay was over and was now gripping my leg like a vice with its front paws, shouted sternly at it.

"Pricky!" Well, the name was apt, at least.

"Er, come in, miss," he said as the dog skulked awayed whence it had come looking thoroughly disappointed to have been interrupted. And in we went.

If the garden was strewn with litter, and broken machinery, then the Fishers' house was a positive health hazard, I observed, picking my way through the beer cans and discarded food packaging.

"After you, miss. Don't worry, there's no-one else in," he ushered me into the front room, and gave me an inappropriate little pat on the bottom as I entered. "You look stunning today, darlin'." I paid scant notice to his unwanted attentions.

"Thanks, I've just had my hair done," I humoured him with the sole objective of securing the DVD.

"Nice place," I enthused, falsely.

"Shit-hole," he said. "Now to business."

"Yes," I offered, "the DVD please."

"Well, not quite that easy, darlin'," he said.

"But we had a deal," I said, somewhat bewildered.

"We still do, darlin', but there's a condition attached."

I didn't like the way this was going.

"C-condition?" I stammered.

"For sure! You didn't think I was just going to hand it back to you for nothing, did you? I thought I told you it would be worth big money."

I had that sinking feeling again but had to stay cool and friendly to have any chance of securing the disc that I so desperately wanted. He was now standing in front of me playing with a strand of my hair as if I was his property.

"You want money? I could..."

"... Not money, miss. There are other ways."

"Please say what you mean, Mickey." I said, tired of these double entendres.

"Áh, miss. All, as they say, shall be revealed."

And with that, he took my hand and half led, half dragged me through the passage and out of the back door behind him.

"Put this on," he instructed, grabbing a crash helmet from the kitchen porch as I noticed his motorcycle outside.

"I'm not going on that thing," I said, horrified.

"You'll do exactly as you're told," he hissed, menacingly.

"But, I'm hardly dressed for..."

"...Get on!" He said impatiently, then he started his machine, revved up and I tentatively took the pillion seat, clinging on to the grab rail for grim death. My head was flung back with the acceleration and my confounded skirt blew upwards in the wind exposing far more than I'd like of my rear view to the cars we passed as a thousand cc's throbbed smoothly between my thighs.

We rode out of town for a few miles until we pulled in at what I recognised as The Hideout, a notorious bikers' pub with a fierce reputation at which no respectable girl would be seen dead. Ordered to get off and dragged once more by the hand by Mickey, my grooming and powder blue and white outfit looked hopelessly out of place. As indeed did good hair and teeth...

"Now you go along with everything I say, darlin'," hissed Mickey, "or your precious DVD hits the streets before you can blink those pretty, doe-like, big brown eyes of yours."

We approached a table full of scruffy, greasy bikers who evidently knew Mickey.

"Hey Mickey, that's quite a number! Who've you brought this time?" Said the leader of the group, who looked like a cross between Meatloaf and Mike Tyson.

"This is Cathy," he answered. "What do you think?"

"Well, I'd say you've outdone yourself," said the leader, eyeing me up and down appreciatively, "absolutely fucking gorgeous -classy too! -Nice of her to dress up for us."

I blushed and looked down to avoid the leers of the dozen or so bikers seated around the table as their leader spoke.

"What say you we have a drink missy, before you start?" He continued.

"Start? Start what?"

"Your show." This was not good. I turned to Mickey, demanding an explanation.

"What the hell is he talking about?"

"Feisty, too!" Roared the leader. "We like that." Mickey grabbed my hand, taking me to one side.

"Just excuse us for a second."

Away from the table, he whispered firmly.

"Now listen, darlin'," he continued. "If you want that tape, you'd better provide the afternoon's entertainment for my mates. Believe me, it's a lot better than having that DVD released onto the internet, particularly as our Terry tells me you have a new job to consider at his school."

"Entertainment?" I asked, fearing the worst.

"A full-on striptease for my friends, inside the bar -private-like. They're paying me a tenner a head for your services, so you'd better keep them sweet"

I felt the colour drain from my cheeks.

"You can't be serious, you wouldn't dare," I hissed back at him.

"Listen, miss," he said firmly, "it's up to you if you want to try me, but I wouldn't. Your career would be ruined before you start, not to mention the explaining you and your parents would have to do. Just one little dance with no record of it and your troubles are over."

Until then, I hadn't even considered the disgrace the disc may have brought to mummy and daddy. The atmosphere was electric during that pause as my indignant glare locked with his impudent gaze but finally looked down submissively in defeat. I knew then that he was serious in his threat.

"Now can I tell my friends that you are going to dance for them?"

"One dance and I get that DVD back?"

"Just one dance. You teach dance, don't you? -So it shouldn't be too difficult. Now come and be sociable and have that drink you were offered and relax a little. They may look a bit rough but they're just pussycats, really."

Grasping my hand once more, he took me back to the table. I glanced from one to the other, greasy hair here, an eye patch there, leathers, studs and riding boots everywhere, a feint smell in the air mixed with alcohol... Pussycats, most definitely not.

A pint of lager, foaming furiously, appeared through the crowd and was banged down on the table in front of me spilling part of the contents.

"Drink," commanded the leader.

Under protestation but aware of the consequences of upsetting Mickey, I drank as deeply from it as I could as the biker gang roared its approval as well as a growing chant of "get 'em off" amongst other observations as I was undressed by a dozen pairs of hungry, appreciative eyes.

"Right," said Mickey, "let's get you into the bar and get this show on the road." And he dragged me off once again, promising to call them in when the show was about to start.

The stage, which faced the packed bar, was makeshift and full of dust and grime. To my consternation it was surrounded by around thirty more bikers who had grabbed the tables nearest the stage. Inevitably, there were raucous cheers as they caught their first glimpse of me being ushered in by Mickey for their entertainment like a lamb to the slaughter.

"This is it, darlin'," there's your stage, the music goes on in a minute, do your best, and don't forget that disc. I'll go and collect the others, when the music starts, make your way to the stage and do your thing."

My thing? I thought, hardly. My stomach was a bag of nerves and I was mortified by the prospect of 'entertaining' this low-life scum but I knew I had no choice. The disc, the internet, my new job, my family.

Meatloaf and the boys loomed large as they came in from the beer garden, cutting much of the natural sunlight from the doorway as the music struck up with a bass that rattled every glass in the bar. There was nothing for it but to edge my way through the crowd to the filthy stage. As I did so, I was man-handled, groped and grabbed more often than a fur coat in a winter sale.

Having finally made it to the stage, I stood at the front. One thing I could definitely do was dance so, I thought, if I danced nicely for them, perhaps it would distract them and possibly, I could sneak away without revealing too much. However, after five minutes of bump and grind, which was initially well received, and during which time some pretty crude, though appreciative cat-calls were yelled about my figure and form, the rabble began to grow impatient and it became evident that it would not be enough to satisfy them.

"Cut the crap and take it off, you bitch!" Shouted one of their number who seemed to have the knack of making himself heard clearly over the pounding music and the rest of the gang bayed in agreement. "We didn't pay a tenner for this shit!" The roar grew and they wanted more.

I caught sight of Mickey near the door who simply held up the disc to encourage me. I needed no further bidding and would have to go through with it. Swaying my hips seductively, trembling, I undid the bow of my cloth tie-belt and began to slowly, reluctantly undo the front of my dress which buttoned along its full length. Quite suddenly, I felt unusually dizzy, warm and quite euphoric and I remember wondering at the time whether something had been slipped into that drink --I can usually take at least a few glasses of wine before it affects me seriously, so I couldn't understand why a single beer should do this to me and it was getting progressively and rapidly worse.

"Hurry the fuck up," came the new call, as I felt my inhibitions ebb away from me.

I had unbuttoned as far my navel by this time and hesitated as I reached this point of no return: nxt button I undid would put my breasts on full view and start to expose my panties. Boos and jeers rang around the bar as I froze but they were soon stifled as, completely uninvited, the leader and one of his gang sprang onto the stage. I tried to push them away as they snatched at my dress but was becoming increasing giddy and less resistant.

The powerful leader grabbed me from behind and simply ripped open my dress with one smooth, powerful action, the buttons pinging and flying all over the bar. I had little time to dwell upon the fact that my classic, designer outfit was ruined -the least of my worries as I stood before the mob with my dress wide open and my breasts exposed with only my flimsy thong providing any modesty.

The roar from the crowd was deafening as the second biker grabbed the waist-band of my panties. I tried in vain to stop him but the leader gripped my arms and held them firmly at my side. My squeals of objection seemed only to encourage the second biker and after jokingly gaining approval for what he was about to do from the rabble, he simply yanked the flimsy waistband and wrenched the ripped G-string away from my body to give everyone in the bar an uninterrupted view of my perfectly manicured pussy. Meanwhile, whatever it was in the drink had now taken a serious hold and I lost balance, ending up on all fours on the stage.

The front row of bikers, getting in on the act, hurled their beers all over me, the sticky mess ruining my freshly done hair and combining with the filth on the floor to leave me filthy dirty and matted, scrambling on the ground.

I heard a clunk and, glancing upwards through my hazed eyes, I could make out the leader and his friend removing their boots and jeans enthusiastically. I wanted to try to make a run for the door but by limbs were like lead and my sense of co-ordination and balance had gone completely.

The situation was as out of control as myself as I seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. I can dimly recall the leader and his companion fondling and kneading my breasts, my own hands being clamped around hard flesh and uninvited horny fingers being pushed deep into me as well as a few stinging slaps on my exposed bottom to rapturous applause and cheers. There seemed to be quite a few more than two of these thugs on the stage by the time I could focus no more and mercifully passed out amid the cacophony and mayhem, the last sketchy image I recall was of the leader pinning my helpless arms to the dusty floorboards, while his foul friend was rubbing his stinking member into my face. I felt hard thrusting into my helpless, tingling body, though I could not swear to this and suppose I could have been hallucinating. I could feel a rocking which seemed to go on forever and a smile crossed my lips as I sank into a deep sleep.

"Miss, miss," I came to groggily in a strange, spinning room. Panic-stricken, I looked up at Mickey.

"Where..."

"...my place, darlin'," he said. "You passed out so I got you a lift home from the pub."

With some trepidation, I lifted the covers to see my open, buttonless, tattered dress and my panties thankfully on but inside out.

"I must go," I said and shakily made my way to my feet. My shoes must have been lost along the way and I made to leave somewhat unsteadily.

"Aren't you forgetting something, miss?" I looked at him quizzically.

"This!" And he handed me the disc as nausea and headache overcame me.

"Thanks," I managed.

"That's the one you asked for," he grinned. "But of course I have a couple of copies."

"Copies?"

"See you next time, miss," said my tormentor, "I'll be in touch."

"You bastard," I replied, just wanting to get home and with no energy to argue with him.

As I walked down the path to my car, the urchins were there again.

"Oooh-ooh! Look at her tits!" As my dress hung open, torn and tattered upon my grimy, sticky skin. All I wanted to do was to get home and bath.

"Oh, Shut up!" I turned, irritated, on them, and got into my car.

"Oooh-ooh!" They replied.